ey would suppose,
however, that the stair was continued, and that it would lead them down
to some room, where they were to go. So they would walk on carefully,
feeling for the steps of the stair; but after the third there would be
no more, and they would fall down to a great depth on ragged rocks, and
be killed. To make it certain that they would be killed by the fall,
there were sharp blades, like the ends of scythes, fixed in the rock,
far below, to cut them in pieces as they fell.

It seems these tyrants, hateful and merciless as they were, did not
wish, or perhaps did not dare, to destroy the souls as well as the
bodies of their victims, and so they contrived it that the last act
which the poor wretch should perform before going down into this
dreadful pit should be an act of devotion. To this end there was made a
little niche in the wall, just over the trap door, and there was placed
there an image of the Virgin Mary, who is worshipped in Catholic
countries as divine. The prisoner was invited to kiss this image as he
passed by, just as he began to descend the stair. Thus the very last
moment of his life would be spent in performing an act of devotion, and
thus, as they supposed, his soul would be saved. What a strange
combination is this of superstition and tyranny!

After seeing all these things, the boys returned towards the entrance of
the castle. They met several parties of ladies and gentlemen coming in;
and just as they got to the door again, the carriage containing Mr. and
Mrs. Holiday drove up. So Rollo bade the teacher and all the boys good
by, after accompanying them a few minutes, as they walked along the road
towards the place where they were to go. By this time his father and
mother had descended from their carriage, and were ready to go in. So
Rollo joined them, and went through the castle again, and saw all the
places a second time.

When they came out, and were getting into the carriage, Mr. Holiday said
that it was a very interesting place.

"Yes," said Mrs. Holiday; "and we have seen all that Byron speaks of in
his poem, except the little island. Where is the little island?"

Mr. Holiday pointed out over the water of the lake, where a group of
three tall trees seemed to be growing directly out of the water, only
that there was a little wall around them below. They looked like three
flowers growing in a flower pot set in the water.

"Yes," said Mrs. Holiday, "that must certainly be it. It cor