ed me; the possession of that box of matches was
sufficient to endow me with absolute hardihood. I picked up the
church-candle and lighted it; it gave at first a feeble flicker, but
afterward burned with a clear and steady flame. Shading it with one
hand from the draught, I gave a parting glance at the fair daylight
that peeped smilingly in through my prison door, and then went
down--down again into the dismal place where I had passed the night in
such indescribable agony.

CHAPTER IV.

Numbers of lizards glided away from my feet as I descended the steps,
and when the flare of my torch penetrated the darkness I heard a
scurrying of wings mingled with various hissing sounds and wild cries.
I knew now--none better--what weird and abominable things had
habitation in this storehouse of the dead, but I felt I could defy them
all, armed with the light I carried. The way that had seemed so long in
the dense gloom was brief and easy, and I soon found myself at the
scene of my unexpected awakening from sleep. The actual body of the
vault was square-shaped, like a small room inclosed within high
walls--walls which were scooped out in various places so as to form
niches in which the narrow caskets containing the bones of all the
departed members of the Romani family were placed one above the other
like so many bales of goods arranged evenly on the shelves of an
ordinary warehouse. I held the candle high above my head and looked
about me with a morbid interest. I soon perceived what I sought--my own
coffin.

There it was in a niche some five feet from the ground, its splintered
portions bearing decided witness to the dreadful struggle I had made to
obtain my freedom. I advanced and examined it closely. It was a frail
shell enough--unlined, unornamented--a wretched sample of the
undertaker's art, though God knows _I_ had no fault to find with its
workmanship, nor with the haste of him who fashioned it. Something
shone at the bottom of it--it was a crucifix of ebony and silver. That
good monk again! His conscience had not allowed him to see me buried
without this sacred symbol; he had perhaps laid it on my breast as the
last service he could render me; it had fallen from thence, no doubt,
when I had wrenched my way through the boards that inclosed me. I took
it and kissed it reverently--I resolved that if ever I met the holy
father again, I would tell him my story, and, as a proof of its truth,
restore to him this cross,