ee, with the better light, was a noble piece of work of priceless
beauty and worth. I tried to keep my heart in full courage with thoughts
of my Lady, and of the sweetness and dignity of our last meeting; but,
despite all, it sank down, down, and turned to water as I passed with
uncertain feet down the narrow, tortuous steps. My concern, I am now
convinced, was not for myself, but that she whom I adored should have to
endure such a fearful place. As anodyne to my own pain I thought what it
would be, and how I should feel, when I should have won for her a way out
of that horror, at any rate. This thought reassured me somewhat, and
restored my courage. It was in something of the same fashion which has
hitherto carried me out of tight places as well as into them that at last
I pushed open the low, narrow door at the foot of the rock-hewn staircase
and entered the crypt.

Without delay I made my way to the glass-covered tomb set beneath the
hanging chain. I could see by the flashing of the light around me that
my hand which held the lantern trembled. With a great effort I steadied
myself, and raising the lantern, turned its light down into the
sarcophagus.

Once again the fallen lantern rang on the tingling glass, and I stood
alone in the darkness, for an instant almost paralyzed with surprised
disappointment.

The tomb was empty! Even the trappings of the dead had been removed.

I knew not what happened till I found myself groping my way up the
winding stair. Here, in comparison with the solid darkness of the crypt,
it seemed almost light. The dim expanse of the church sent a few
straggling rays down the vaulted steps, and as I could see, be it never
so dimly, I felt I was not in absolute darkness. With the light came a
sense of power and fresh courage, and I groped my way back into the crypt
again. There, by now and again lighting matches, I found my way to the
tomb and recovered my lantern. Then I took my way slowly--for I wished
to prove, if not my own courage, at least such vestiges of self-respect
as the venture had left me--through the church, where I extinguished my
lantern, and out through the great door into the open sunlight. I seemed
to have heard, both in the darkness of the crypt and through the dimness
of the church, mysterious sounds as of whispers and suppressed breathing;
but the memory of these did not count for much when once I was free. I
was only satisfied of my own consciousness and