ward,
down several passages, and up more than one flight of steps, the
proportions of the place expanded. The ceilings grew loftier, and the
corridors wider. Yet there was no attempt anywhere at decoration or
furniture of any sort. The place was like an early-day prison--huge,
bare, and damp. Once, crossing a balustraded corridor, there was a
view of a huge hall down below, bare save for a few huge skins thrown
carelessly around, and a great stack of firearms and other weapons
which lined the walls on either side. It was the only sign of
habitation that Paul had seen.

Suddenly his guide paused, and held up his finger. Paul, too,
listened; and close at hand he heard, to his surprise, the muffled
sound of voices chanting some sad hymn in a deep minor key. The rise
and fall of those mournful voices was wonderfully impressive. What
could it mean? It was a dirge, a funeral hymn! Its every note seemed
to breathe of death.

"What is that?" Paul asked. "Is any one ill--dying?"

The man shook his head. He could not understand. He only motioned to
Paul to move silently, and hurried on. They were in a wide corridor,
with disused doors on either side, but their feet fell no longer upon
the bare stone. A rough sort of drugget had been hastily thrown down
in the centre of the passage, and their movements roused no more
strange echoes between the bare walls and the vaulted roof. At every
step forward they took the chanting grew more distinct, and at last
the man stopped at the end of the passage before a door, softly tapped
at it. It was opened at once, and Paul found himself ushered into a
great, dimly lit bedchamber.

He glanced around him with keen interest. If the interior of the
room was a little dilapidated, it was full of the remains of past
magnificence. The walls were still covered with fine tapestry, of
which the design was almost obliterated, although the texture and
colouring still remained. The furniture was huge, and of the
fashion of days gone by, and the bedstead was elaborately carved and
surmounted by a coat of arms. Further Paul had but little opportunity
to discover, for as soon as his presence became known in the room, a
black-cowled monk left the bedside and approached him.

"We have been expecting you," he said in Italian, "and we fear now
that you come too late. Our poor lady is beyond human skill!"

Paul looked at him in astonishment. "I do not quite understand you! It
is the Count of Cruta whom I cam