The String of Pearls (1850), p. 463

She tottered along with as little strength as though she had been lying for weeks upon a bed of sickness, so completely had she been unnerved by what she had seen.
She touched the handle of the door. Even that was support. And then she turned it. The door did not open. It was locked!
Mrs. Oakley felt as if at that moment all her chance of escape was gone. She felt as though she were given over by providence to Lupin to be murdered. Why had he locked the door, but that if by any rare chance she should awaken from the lethargic sleep into which he supposed her to be plunged, she should have no outlet but through the room in which he would be? But he was not there now, and the door of communication between her room and that in which the murder had been done might not be fast.
To try it was the work now of a moment ; Mrs. Oakley felt a little more self-possessed with the knowledge that Lupin was not close at hand, and she opened the door. It yielded readily enough to her touch.
She was in the room of murder—in the very atmosphere of blood. She glanced around her, and, although she had seen all through the opening in the canvas partition, yet she was horrified to find herself closer to the spot upon which the fearful deed had been done. Lupin, when he had lit his lantern with which to go to the vaults, had not extinguished the ordinary light that burnt in his room. That had a long spectral-looking wick; but it gave sufficient light to enable Mrs. Oakley to see the blood upon the floor.
She sickened at the sight.
But if she were to escape, it must be done at once. Lupin would not be likely to linger longer by one brief moment in the vaults than was absolutely necessary; and he might return before she had effected her purpose yet.
She flew to the door of his room, which opened on to the landing. She made an effort to open it. Alas! it was in vain; it, too., was locked, and the
key was gone!
"I am a prisoner!" said Mrs. Oakley, as she clasped her hands; "I am a prisoner to this dreadful man!"
For some few moments now she felt completely overwhelmed by this misfortune. The only outlet from the room that was not fast, was that which
Lupin himself had taken, and which led to the chapel. Should she venture that way or not?—that was the question. Could she resolve upon staying where she was, and trusting to an escape in the morning? No, no; she told herself that would be too horrible. She would have, then, to look at Lupin in the face, and to talk to him.
"No—no—no! I cannot do that," she said. " I will go down the staircase that he has gone down—I will pass through the chapel—I will try to open the chapel door, and then I will rush out with the cry of murder upon my lips."
It was a trembling anxious thing to follow the murderer and his victim down that staircase; but having found all other mode of egress denied to her, Mrs. Oakley attempted it.
Slowly she went, step by step; and ever and anon she paused to listen for any sound that should be indicative of Lupin's whereabouts—but she heard nothing.
"He must be deep beneath the chapel," she said, among the vaults—that is where he must be. I shall be safe if I hasten now. Oh, so safe—quite safe!"
She did hasten, and another moment brought her to the foot of the stairs. A door in the chapel-wall terminated them. That was the door
against which Mrs. Oakley had heard the dead body strike with such a frightful crash when Lupin had cast it down the stairs. It was swinging open
now.