d to grasp Ethel. The priest flung himself forward between the two.
Girasole dashed him aside.

"Give us time to pray, for God's sake--one moment to pray!"

"Not a moment!" cried Girasole, grasping at Ethel.

Ethel gave a loud shriek and started away in horror. Girasole sprang
after her. The four men turned to seize her. With a wild and frantic
energy, inspired by the deadly terror that was in her heart, she
bounded away toward the grave.

CHAPTER XXXV.

BURIED ALIVE.

Hawbury last vanished from the scene to a place which is but seldom
resorted to by a living man. Once inside of his terrible retreat he
became a prey to feelings of the most varied and harrowing character,
in the midst of which there was a suspense, twofold, agonizing, and
intolerable. First of all, his suspense was for Ethel, and then for
himself. In that narrow and restricted retreat his senses soon became
sharpened to an unusual degree of acuteness. Every touch against it
communicated itself to his frame, as though the wood of his inclosure
had become part of himself; and every sound intensified itself to an
extraordinary degree of distinctness, as though the temporary loss of
vision had been compensated for by an exaggeration of the sense of
hearing. This was particularly the case as the priest drove in the
screws. He heard the shuffle on the stairs, the whisper to Ethel, her
retreat, and the ascending footsteps; while at the same time he was
aware of the unalterable coolness of the priest, who kept calmly at
his work until the very last moment. The screws seemed to enter his
own frame, and the slight noise which was made, inaudible as it was to
others, to him seemed loud enough to rouse all in the house.

Then he felt himself raised and carried down stairs. Fortunately he
had got in with his feet toward the door, and as that end was carried
out first, his descent of the stairs was not attended with the
inconvenience which he might have felt had it been taken down in an
opposite direction.

One fact gave him very great relief, for he had feared that his
breathing would be difficult. Thanks, however, to the precautions of
the priest, he felt no difficulty at all in that respect. The little
bits of wood which prevented the lid from resting close to the coffin
formed apertures which freely admitted all the air that was necessary.

He was borne on thus from the house toward the grave, and heard the
voice of the priest from time to time,