furious onset overpower him? Or he might
be accessible to pity, or the influence of such munificent rewards as
he could bestow, if once more at liberty and master of himself. Say he
were armed. The worst that could befall, if nor bribe, nor prayers,
nor force prevailed, was a friendly blow, which, though dealt in a
damned cause, might work a desired end. There was no chance so
desperate, but it looked lovely in Vivenzio's eyes, compared with the
idea of being totally abandoned.

The night came, and Vivenzio watched. Morning came, and Vivenzio was
confounded! He must have slumbered without knowing it. Sleep must have
stolen over him when exhausted by fatigue, and in that interval of
feverish repose, he had been baffled: for there stood his replenished
pitcher of water, and there his day's meal! Nor was this all. Casting
his looks towards the windows of his dungeon, he counted but FIVE!
_Here_ was no deception; and he was now convinced there had been none
the day before. But what did all this portend? Into what strange and
mysterious den had he been cast? He gazed till his eyes ached; he
could discover nothing to explain the mystery. That it was so, he
knew. Why it was so, he racked his imagination in vain to conjecture.
He examined the doors. A simple circumstance convinced him they had
not been opened.

A wisp of straw, which he had carelessly thrown against them the
preceding day, as he paced to and fro, remained where he had cast it,
though it must have been displaced by the slightest motion of either
of the doors. This was evidence that could not be disputed; and it
followed there must be some secret machinery in the walls by which a
person could enter. He inspected them closely. They appeared to him
one solid and compact mass of iron; or joined, if joined they were,
with such nice art, that no mark of division was perceptible. Again
and again he surveyed them--and the floor--and the roof--and that
range of visionary windows, as he was now almost tempted to consider
them: he could discover nothing, absolutely nothing, to relieve his
doubts or satisfy his curiosity. Sometimes he fancied that altogether
the dungeon had a more contracted appearance--that it looked smaller;
but this he ascribed to fancy, and the impression naturally produced
upon his mind by the undeniable disappearance of two of the windows.

With intense anxiety, Vivenzio looked forward to the return of night;
and as it approached, he resolved that