his cavern, his treasure of
water? Should he have another companion to speak with; another, with
whom, perhaps, to get over the evil days; to whom to communicate his
secret of producing water from diamonds? For the first time since he
left the cavern, he spoke aloud--he called--he called in the great
silence of the earth, but nothing answered him. If any one were still
alive, he might be afraid of another living creature--had not he himself
left pistols loaded for his poor Ellen, to defend her life and her
children, if any human being should come near her? He gently shook the
door; then proceeded to more violence, and forced it open. It was the
door of a great dining-room, on whose lofty ceiling, as he entered it,
wreaths of smoke rolled, which the air had put in motion, and a heavy
smell, as of burned charcoal, struck him as he entered. There were no
living creatures--the inhabitants were all dead in the last posture of
life. The table was covered with silver and gold vessels, and among them
were dead flowers and fruits, dried by the close chamber. It should seem
they had drunk deeply before they died here--perhaps they had collected
the last liquids, and resolved to perish when they had once more
feasted: for there was wine still in some of the vessels, nay, in one
there was water; and the ghostly shapes were adorned and fantastically
covered with jewels and velvet, and all sort of rare and exquisite
ornaments. Some were still on chairs, some fallen forward on the table,
some prostrate, as if they had lain down to sleep. There were fragments
of shivered glass on the floor; there was a statue broken to pieces on
the table, on the pedestal of which was written "Patience;" there were
pieces of torn paper in the hands of one, which seemed a letter; all
these faint shadowings of long stories, and of a scene of which there
remained no witness, struck Paulett's eye. One had sunk down by the
silver tripod in which the charcoal had burned, and the match that fired
it was amongst his garments. One face was there, resting on a sofa,
still perfect enough to show it had been a beautiful woman; and roses,
artfully made close to nature, crowned the long hair which fell upon
arms from which the flesh had withered. On the neck were diamonds, on
the hands diamonds--diamonds had confined the ringlets--diamonds
sparkled on the feet. Paulett shuddered as he took them away. The
spirit, indeed, was gone; but here was the last act of the spir