e answered me. I peered through the closely twisted
bars. I saw the grass, the drooping boughs of trees, and straight
before my line of vision a little piece of the blessed sky, opal tinted
and faintly blushing with the consciousness of the approaching sunrise
I drank in the sweet fresh air, a long trailing branch of the wild
grape vine hung near me; its leaves were covered thickly with dew. I
squeezed one hand through the grating and gathered a few of these green
morsels of coolness--I ate them greedily. They seemed to me more
delicious than any thing I had ever tasted, they relieved the burning
fever of my parched throat and tongue. The glimpse of the trees and sky
soothed and calmed me. There was a gentle twittering of awaking birds,
my nightingale had ceased singing.

I began to recover slowly from my nervous terrors, and leaning against
the gloomy arch of my charnel house I took courage to glance backward
down the steep stairway up which I had sprung with such furious
precipitation. Something white lay in a corner on the seventh step from
the top. Curious to see what it was, I descended cautiously and with
some reluctance; it was the half of a thick waxen taper, such as are
used in the Catholic ritual at the burial of the dead. No doubt it had
been thrown down there by some careless acolyte, to save himself the
trouble of carrying it after the service had ended. I looked at it
meditatively. If I only had a light! I plunged my hands half
abstractedly into the pockets of my trousers--something jingled! Truly
they had buried me in haste. My purse, a small bunch of keys, my
card-case--one by one I drew them out and examined them
surprisedly--they looked so familiar, and withal so strange! I searched
again; and this time found something of real value to one in my
condition--a small box of wax vestas. Now, had they left me my
cigar-case? No, that was gone. It was a valuable silver one--no doubt
the monk, who attended my supposed last moments, had taken it, together
with my watch and chain, to my wife.

Well, I could not smoke, but I could strike a light. And there was the
funeral taper ready for use. The sun had not yet risen. I must
certainly wait till broad day before I could hope to attract by my
shouts any stray person who might pass through the cemetery. Meanwhile,
a fantastic idea suggested itself. I would go and look at my own
coffin! Why not? It would be a novel experience. The sense of fear had
entirely desert