t in ribs and groins; and from overhead depended a molded ceiling
of honeycomb plaster-work. This room had something, even now, in the
days of its desecration, of monastic beauty about it. Where the odor of
sanctity had breathed forth, the fumes of idolatry prevailed; but
imagination, ever on the wing, flew back to that period--and a tradition
to that effect warranted the supposition--when, perchance, it had been
the sanctuary and the privacy of the prior's self.

Wrapped in a cloak composed of the skins of various animals, upon a low
pallet, covered with stained scarlet cloth, sat Barbara. Around her head
was coiffed, in folds like those of an Asiatic turban, a rich, though
faded shawl, and her waist was encircled with the magic zodiacal
zone--proper to the sorceress--the _Mago Cineo_ of the Cingara--whence
the name Zingaro, according to Moncada--which Barbara had brought from
Spain. From her ears depended long golden drops, of curious antique
fashioning; and upon her withered fingers, which looked like a coil of
lizards, were hooped a multitude of silver rings, of the purest and
simplest manufacture. They seemed almost of massive unwrought metal. Her
skin was yellow as the body of a toad; corrugated as its back. She might
have been steeped in saffron from her finger tips, the nails of which
were of the same hue, to such portions of her neck as were visible, and
which was puckered up like the throat of a turtle. To look at her, one
might have thought the embalmer had experimented her art upon herself.
So dead, so bloodless, so blackened seemed the flesh, where flesh
remained, leather could scarce be tougher than her skin. She seemed like
an animated mummy. A frame so tanned, appeared calculated to endure for
ages; and, perhaps, might have done so. But, alas! the soul cannot be
embalmed. No oil can re-illumine that precious lamp! And that Barbara's
vital spark was fast waning, was evident from her heavy, blood-shot
eyes, once of a swimming black, and lengthy as a witch's, which were now
sinister and sunken.

The atmosphere of the room was as strongly impregnated as a museum with
volatile odors, emitted from the stores of drugs with which the shelves
were loaded, as well as from various stuffed specimens of birds and wild
animals. Barbara's only living companion was a monstrous owl, which,
perched over the old gipsy's head, hissed a token of recognition as
Sybil advanced. From a hook, placed in the plaster roof, was susp