He trod on cautiously for à consider able time, his hands constantly held out to warn him of any obstacle that might intercept his progress. Suddenly a short but rapid declivity in the ground again threw him on his side, and at the same moment a deep groan struck his ear. With suspended respiration, he awaited its repetition, but no similar sound was heard; all was again profoundly silent.

He sighed aloud, thinking that it had perhaps been the echo of his own breath which had alarmed him, and willing to ascertain if it was so. No echo now replied to it, but at the moment when he expected to have heard it, the air closeby him was cut by the rapid movement of some substance passing through itand all was then again still.

He had heard no footsteps accompanying the sound, but dreading that danger was lurking near him, he made an effort to rise: he could not find the wall which had before been some protection to him.

in

in moving along; still he thought that a few steps might bring him to it. The ground became more slippery than ever: he again stumbled, and in his attempt to catch at something which might save him from falling, he encountered in his grasp a skeleton!

He threw himself from it, as if a serpent had met his touch, and, darting on one side, he again found himself by the wall cold drops of perspiration burst from every pore, and a deadly sickness seized him; he groaned aloud in agony, and the spot where he now stood returned him the echo of his own voice in hollow sounds, which fear might have believed to have proceeded from the mouths of an hundred spirits.

Lord William stood chained to the spot, at a total loss how to proceed amidst the horrors he was existing amongst at length, recovering, in some measure, his fortitude, as no fresh cause of terror assailed him, he thought he perceived

the

the gleam of a faint light at a distance: he fixed his eyes on it; it appeared of the same nature with that which had issued from the chest, on the opening of its lid that night; he fancied that it moved, but if it did, its progress was remarkably slow. He presently ascertained that it did recede from him, and considering that his only chance of escaping from this spot of horrors was to follow it, he moved boldly forward.

The ground became drier, and thus favoured his advances towards the light; he kept it still in view, and believed that he could discern by it a deep and lofty vault, into which he was entering: gradually the vault became narrower and narrower, and at length he moved along. with one hand upon either wall. For a considerable time, he continued to proceed, the light appearing to him to move at nearly the same pace he did, and becoming neither stronger nor paler, till on a sudden it totally disappeared. In this

dilemma,

dilemma, Lord de Mowbray felt himself as much at a loss as he had ever been how to act; he dreaded equally to advance, or to recede from the spot where he stood, and to remain there, could not forward his hope of escape; he therefore determined, at all hazards, to proceed.

After a progress of a few moments, he found himself at the top of a flight of steps, down which his extreme caution just saved him from falling. He de scended about a dozen steps of stone, and on arriving at the bottom of these, he again caught a glimpse of the light, and, as he believed, of the figure which he had seen rise from the chest. He again stopped, to deliberate; was he really under supernatural influence?— was the spirit of Hubert haunting him? or was the living Hubert the agent of a plot for his destruction?

The clock at this instant struck three; it sounded loudly, and appeared much nearer to him than it had done in his

prison:

prison he started at the sound, for its reverberations beat from vault to vault.

The light was now again swiftly disappearing, and still fearing to be left in total darkness, he again quickened his pace; but his progress was almost immediately stopped by a grated door. He placed his shoulders to it, and it flew open with a noise which resounded through the place like distant thunder ; and at the same instant he felt himself precipitated down several steps, upon a hard and flinty ground. He immediately raised himself up again, painful as was the effort, and looked around hastily for the light, but it had entirely vanished.

The dungeon into which he had fallen was so small, that its extent measured scarcely a dozen paces; but he could perceive in it no outlet, no means of quitting it, but by the stairs down which he had fallen, and which were so decayed and broken away, as to defy all his attempts to re-ascend them.

For