ter gazing for a few minutes at the scene of
ruin, uttered an ejaculation of rage, and retired.

His steps might have been next heard descending the great stone
staircase. He paused not a moment within the entrance-hall, but made his
way along a side passage on the left, and down another flight of steps,
till he reached a subterranean chamber. Here all would have been
profound obscurity, had it not been for a lamp set on the ground, which
imperfectly illumined the place.

As the man took up the lamp and trimmed it, the light fell strongly upon
his features, and revealed all their hideousness. No visage, except that
of Osmond Mounchensey, could be more appalling than this person's, and
the mutilation was in both cases the same. It is needless to say it was
Mompesson. His habiliments were sordid; and his beard and hair, grizzled
by suffering rather than age, were wild and disordered. But he was armed
both with sword and dagger; and his limbs looked muscular and active as
ever.

Casting a glance towards the entrance of the vault as if to make quite
sure he was not observed--though he entertained little anxiety on that
score--Mompesson stepped towards a particular part of the wall, and
touching a spring, a secret door (not to be detected within the masonry
except on minute examination) flew open, and disclosed another and
smaller vault.

Here, it was at once evident, was concealed the treasure that had
escaped the clutches of the myrmidons and the officers of the
Star-Chamber. There was a large open chest at the further end, full of
corpulent money-bags, any one of which would have gladdened the heart of
a miser. On this chest Mompesson's gaze was so greedily fixed that he
did not notice the body of a man lying directly in his path, and
well-nigh stumbled over it. Uttering a bitter imprecation, he held down
the lamp, and beheld the countenance of Luke Hatton, now rigid in death,
but with the sardonic grin it had worn throughout life still impressed
upon it. There was a deep gash in the breast of the dead man, and blood
upon the floor.

"Accursed spy and traitor," cried Mompesson, as he took hold of the body
by the heels and dragged it to one corner--"thou wilt never betray me
more. What brought thee here I know not, unless it were to meet the
death thou hast merited at my hands. Would a like chance might bring
Osmond Mounchensey here--and alone--I would desire nothing more."

"Be thy wish gratified then!" cried a voi