times. Only the
sullen echoes of the vault answered her, and the wild whistle of the
wind as it surged through the trees of the cemetery. At last she
screamed furiously, as a savage cat might scream--the rustle of her
silken robes came swiftly sweeping down the steps, and with a spring
like that of a young tigress she confronted me, the blood now burning
wrathfully in her face, and transforming it back to something of its
old beauty.

"Unlock that door!" she cried, with a furious stamp of her foot.
"Assassin! traitor! I hate you! I always hated you! Unlock the door, I
tell you! You dare not disobey me; you have no right to murder me!"

I looked at her coldly; the torrent of her words was suddenly checked,
something in my expression daunted her; she trembled and shrunk back.

"No right!" I said, mockingly. "I differ from you! A man ONCE married
has SOME right over his wife, but a man TWICE married to the same woman
has surely gained a double authority! And as for 'DARE NOT!' there is
nothing I 'dare not' do to-night."

And with that I rose and approached her. A torrent of passionate
indignation boiled in my veins; I seized her two white arms and held
her fast.

"You talk of murder!" I muttered, fiercely. "YOU--you who have
remorselessly murdered two men! Their blood be on your head! For though
I live, I am but the moving corpse of the man I was--hope, faith,
happiness, peace--all things good and great in me have been slain by
YOU. And as for Guido--"

She interrupted me with a wild sobbing cry.

"He loved me! Guido loved me!"

"Ay, he loved you, oh, devil in the shape of a woman! he loved you!
Come here, here!" and in a fury I could not restrain I dragged her,
almost lifted her along to one corner of the vault, where the light of
the torches scarcely illumined the darkness, and there I pointed
upward. "Above our very heads--to the left of where we stand--the brave
strong body of your lover lies, festering slowly in the wet mould,
thanks to you!--the fair, gallant beauty of it all marred by the
red-mouthed worms--the thick curls of hair combed through by the
crawling feet of vile insects--the poor frail heart pierced by a gaping
wound--"

"You killed him; you--you are to blame," she moaned, restlessly,
striving to turn her face away from me.

"_I_ killed him? No, no, not I, but YOU! He died when he learned your
treachery--when he knew you were false to him for the sake of wedding a
supposed wealthy stranger