p and fixed attention. No word was said;
no sound was heard; the vault was as silent as the grave, its awful
tenants still as statues.

Fain would the curious monk have receded from this horrible place;
fain would he have retraced his steps and sought again his cell; fain
would he have shut his eyes to the fearful scene; but he could not
stir from the spot, he felt rooted there; and though he once succeeded
in turning his eyes to the entrance of the vault, to his infinite
surprise and dismay he could not discover where it lay, nor perceive
any possible means of exit. He stood thus for some time. At length the
aged monk at the table beckoned him to advance. With slow tottering
steps he made his way to the group, and at length stood in front of
the table, while the other monks raised their heads and glanced at him
with a fixed, lifeless look that froze the current of his blood. He
knew not what to do; his senses were fast forsaking him; Heaven seemed
to have deserted him for his incredulity. In this moment of doubt and
fear he bethought him of a prayer, and as he proceeded he felt himself
becoming possessed of a confidence he had before unknown. He looked on
the book before him. It was a large volume, bound in black, and
clasped with bands of gold, with fastenings of the same metal. It was
inscribed at the top of each page

"_Liber Obedientiae._"

He could read no further. He then looked, first in the eyes of him
before whom it lay open, and then in those of his fellows. He finally
glanced around the vault on the corpses who filled every visible
coffin in its dark and spacious womb. Speech came to him, and
resolution to use it. He addressed himself to the awful beings in
whose presence he stood, in the words of one having authority with
them.

"_Pax vobis_," 'twas thus he spake--"Peace be to ye."

"_Hic nulla pax_," replied an aged monk, in a hollow, tremulous tone,
baring his breast the while--"Here is no peace."

He pointed to his bosom as he spoke, and the monk, casting his eye
upon it, beheld his heart within surrounded by living fire, which
seemed to feed on it but not consume it. He turned away in affright,
but ceased not to prosecute his inquiries.

"_Pax vobis, in nomine Domini_," he spake again--"Peace be to ye, in
the name of the Lord."

"_Hic non pax_," the hollow and heartrending tones of the ancient monk
who sat at the right of the table were heard to answer.

On glancing at the bared bosom of thi