uld hardly hear it:

"You know--you know my resting-place! How--when was that?" There was
nothing to do now but to speak out the truth:

"I was in the crypt of St. Sava. It was all by accident. I was
exploring all around the Castle, and I went there in my course. I found
the winding stair in the rock behind the screen, and went down. Dear, I
loved you well before that awful moment, but then, even as the lantern
fell tingling on the glass, my love multiplied itself, with pity as a
factor." She was silent for a few seconds. When she spoke, there was a
new tone in her voice:

"But were you not shocked?"

"Of course I was," I answered on the spur of the moment, and I now think
wisely. "Shocked is hardly the word. I was horrified beyond anything
that words can convey that you--_you_ should have to so endure! I did
not like to return, for I feared lest my doing so might set some barrier
between us. But in due time I did return on another day."

"Well?" Her voice was like sweet music.

"I had another shock that time, worse than before, for you were not
there. Then indeed it was that I knew to myself how dear you were--how
dear you are to me. Whilst I live, you--living or dead--shall always be
in my heart." She breathed hard. The elation in her eyes made them
outshine the moonlight, but she said no word. I went on:

"My dear, I had come into the crypt full of courage and hope, though I
knew what dreadful sight should sear my eyes once again. But we little
know what may be in store for us, no matter what we expect. I went out
with a heart like water from that dreadful desolation."

"Oh, how you love me, dear!" Cheered by her words, and even more by her
tone, I went on with renewed courage. There was no halting, no faltering
in my intention now:

"You and I, my dear, were ordained for each other. I cannot help it that
you had already suffered before I knew you. It may be that there may be
for you still suffering that I may not prevent, endurance that I may not
shorten; but what a man can do is yours. Not Hell itself will stop me,
if it be possible that I may win through its torments with you in my
arms!"

"Will nothing stop you, then?" Her question was breathed as softly as
the strain of an AEolian harp.

"Nothing!" I said, and I heard my own teeth snap together. There was
something speaking within me stronger than I had ever known myself to be.
Again came a query, trembling, quavering, qui