him was a
profound well; doubtless some neighbouring peasant had once used it for
his water, and it was he that had set up the fence. A long while the
count stood leaning on the rail and looking down into the pit. It was of
Roman foundation, and, like all that nation set their hands to, built as
for eternity; the sides were still straight, and the joints smooth; to a
man who should fall in, no escape was possible. 'Now,' the count was
thinking, 'a strong impulsion brought me to this place. What for? what
have I gained? why should I be sent to gaze into this well?' when the
rail of the fence gave suddenly under his weight, and he came within an
ace of falling headlong in. Leaping back to save himself, he trod out
the last flicker of his fire, which gave him thenceforward no more
light, only an incommoding smoke. 'Was I sent here to my death?' says
he, and shook from head to foot. And then a thought flashed in his mind.
He crept forth on hands and knees to the brink of the pit, and felt
above him in the air. The rail had been fast to a pair of uprights; it
had only broken from the one, and still depended from the other. The
count set it back again as he had found it, so that the place meant
death to the first comer, and groped out of the catacomb like a sick
man. The next day, riding in the Corso with the baron, he purposely
betrayed a strong preoccupation. The other (as he had designed) inquired
into the cause; and he, after some fencing, admitted that his spirits
had been dashed by an unusual dream. This was calculated to draw on the
baron--a superstitious man, who affected the scorn of superstition. Some
rallying followed, and then the count, as if suddenly carried away,
called on his friend to beware, for it was of him that he had dreamed.
You know enough of human nature, my excellent Mackellar, to be certain
of one thing: I mean that the baron did not rest till he had heard the
dream. The count, sure that he would never desist, kept him in play till
his curiosity was highly inflamed, and then suffered himself, with
seeming reluctance, to be overborne. 'I warn you,' says he, 'evil will
come of it; something tells me so. But since there is to be no peace
either for you or me except on this condition, the blame be on your own
head! This was the dream:--I beheld you riding, I know not where, yet I
think it must have been near Rome, for on your one hand was an ancient
tomb, and on the other a garden of evergreen trees. Meth