damp and chill; this reassured her. She thought she might be among the
cellars of the luxurious mansion, or, at least, in some rude spot not
likely to be visited by its haughty lord, when again her quick ear
caught steps and the sound of voices. On, on, she hurried, extending her
arms, which now frequently encountered pillars of thick and massive
form. With a tact, doubled in acuteness by her fear, she escaped these
perils, and continued her way, the air growing more and more damp as she
proceeded; yet, still, as she ever and anon paused for breath, she heard
the advancing steps and the indistinct murmur of voices. At length she
was abruptly stopped by a wall that seemed the limit of her path. Was
there no spot in which she could hide? No aperture? no cavity? There
was none! She stopped, and wrung her hands in despair; then again,
nerved as the voices neared upon her, she hurried on by the side of the
wall; and coming suddenly against one of the sharp buttresses that here
and there jutted boldly forth, she fell to the ground. Though much
bruised, her senses did not leave her; she uttered no cry; nay, she
hailed the accident that had led her to something like a screen; and
creeping close up to the angle formed by the buttress, so that on one
side at least she was sheltered from view, she gathered her slight and
small form into its smallest compass, and breathlessly awaited her fate.

Meanwhile Arbaces and the priest were taking their way to that secret
chamber whose stores were so vaunted by the Egyptian. They were in a
vast subterranean atrium, or hall; the low roof was supported by short,
thick pillars of an architecture far remote from the Grecian graces of
that luxuriant period. The single and pale lamp, which Arbaces bore,
shed but an imperfect ray over the bare and rugged walls, in which the
huge stones, without cement, were fitted curiously and uncouthly into
each other. The disturbed reptiles glared dully on the intruders, and
then crept into the shadow of the walls.

Calenus shivered as he looked around and breathed the damp, unwholesome
air.

'Yet,' said Arbaces, with a smile, perceiving his shudder, 'it is these
rude abodes that furnish the luxuries of the halls above. They are like
the laborers of the world--we despise their ruggedness, yet they feed
the very pride that disdains them.'

'And whither goes yon dim gallery to the left asked Calenus; 'in this
depth of gloom it seems without limit, a