om a recess, in
which she had hitherto remained unnoticed.

"Enough. I am satisfied. Tarry with me. Stir not--scream not, whatever
you may see or hear. Your life depends upon your firmness. When I am no
more----"

"No more?" echoed Eleanor, in horror.

"Be calm," said Sybil. "When I am dead, clap your hands together. They
will come to seek you--they will find me in your stead. Then rush to
him--to Sir Luke Rookwood. He will protect you. Say to him hereafter
that I died for the wrong I did him--that I died, and blessed him."

"Can you not live, and save me?" sobbed Eleanor.

"Ask it not. While I live, your life is in danger. When I am gone, none
will seek to harm you. Fare you well! Remember your oath, and you, too,
remember it, Handassah. Remember also--ha! that groan!"

All started, as a deep groan knelled in their ears.

"Whence comes that sound?" cried Sybil. "Hist!--a voice?"

"It is that of the priest," cried Eleanor. "Hark! he groans. They have
murdered him! Kind Heaven, receive his soul!"

"Pray for me," cried Sybil: "pray fervently; avert your face; down on
your knees--down--down! Farewell, Handassah!" And breaking from them,
she rushed into the darkest recesses of the vault.

We must now quit this painful scene for another scarcely less painful,
and return to the unfortunate priest.

Checkley had been brought before the body of Susan Rookwood. Even in the
gloom, the shimmer of the white cereclothes, and the pallid features of
the corpse, were ghastly enough. The torchlight made them terrible.

"Kneel!" said Alan Rookwood. The priest complied. Alan knelt beside him.

"Do you know these features?" demanded he. "Regard them well. Fix your
eyes full upon them. Do you know them?"

"I do."

"Place your hand upon her breast. Does not the flesh creep and shrink
beneath your touch? Now raise your hand--make the cross of your faith
upon her bosom. By that faith you swear you are innocent."

"I do," returned the priest; "are you now satisfied?"

"No," replied Alan. "Let the torch be removed. Your innocence must be
more deeply attested," continued he, as the light was withdrawn. "This
proof will not fail. Entwine your fingers round her throat."

"Have I not done enough?"

"Your hesitation proves your guilt," said Alan.

"That proof is wanting, then?" returned the priest; "my hand is upon her
throat--what more?"

"As you hope for mercy in your hour of need, swear that you never
conspired against he