His fortune was made.
With a trembling hand he moved a step towards the door of white wood with the curious burned marks upon it.

He stood a moment listening, half for the returning footsteps of Clerk Henriet, and half to the low, persistent whimper behind the panels.

Suddenly he felt his right foot wet, for, as was the fashion, he wore only a velvet shoe pointed at the toe.

He looked down, and lo! from under the door trickled a thin stream of red.
Laurence drew his foot away, with a quick catching sob of the breath.
But his hand was already on the door, and at a touch it appeared to open almost of its own accord.

He found himself looking from the dusk of the outer whitewashed passage into a high, vaulted chapel, wherein many dim lights glimmered.