some sudden recollection, gazing
intently on his countenance.

"I know it--the vision tarrieth not. Now," she said--crossing herself
with great solemnity, and with apparent composure, as if all trace of
her malady had disappeared--"we must away. Follow; yet will I first set
yon rogue to watch." She sought the terrified man of canticles, and,
speaking in a low tone, raised her hand as though with some terrible
denunciation in case of disobedience. Immediately she returned, and,
pointing to a heap of loose stuff, began to throw it aside.

"Here--here!"

But De Poininges hesitated, thinking it a somewhat dubious adventure to
follow a mad woman, it might be, in quest of her wits. Seeing his
unwillingness to proceed, she whispered something in his ear which
wrought a marvellous change. He looked as if petrified with wonder, but
he followed now without shrinking. They entered by a narrow door,
curiously concealed. On its closing after them, De Poininges and his
companion seemed shut out from the world,--as if the link were suddenly
broken which bound them to earth and its connections.

The first sensation was that of dullness and damp, accompanied by a
mouldering vapour, like that from the charnel-house or the grave. Their
way was down a winding and broken staircase; at the bottom a straight
passage led them on to a considerable distance. Damps oozing from the
walls made the path more and more tiresome and slippery as they
proceeded. Shortly it became channelled with slime, and absolutely
loathsome. The bloated reptile crawled across their path; and De
Poininges beheld stone coffins piled on each side of the vault. Passing
these, another flight of steps brought them to a low archway, at the
extremity of which a grated door, now unbarred, led into a cell
seemingly contrived as a place of punishment for the refractory or
sinning brethren, who might be doomed to darkness and solitude as an
expiation of their offence. The only furniture it contained was a
wretched pallet, on which, as the light flashed doubtfully, De Poininges
thought he beheld a female. He snatched the light, and eagerly bent over
the couch. With a shout of joy he exclaimed--

"Be praised, ye saints, 'tis she!"

It was the wasted and squalid form of Margaret de la Bech. She raised
her eyes towards him, but they were vacant and wandering. It was soon
evident that her reason was impaired, and the spirit still inhabiting
that lovely tenement was irrevocably