The  lamp  still  stood  burning  upon  the
crystal  shrine — the  cross  lay  where  the
hands  of  the  young  mourner  had  placed
it,  and  the  cold  image  beneath  wore  the
same  tranquil  look,  as  if  resigned  to  the
solitude  of  death—  of  all  lone  things  the
loneliest.  Remembering  the  lips  that  J
had  seen  kiss  that  cross,  and  kindling  witli
the  recollection,  I  raised  it  passionately  to
my  own; — but,  at  the  same  moment,  1
fancied  the  dead  eyes  met  mine,  and,
saddened  in  the  midst  of  my  ardour,  I  re-
placed die  cross  upon  the  shrine.
I  had  now  lost  all  clue  to  the  object
of  my  j)ursuit,  and  was  preparing  slowly
to  retrace  my  steps  to  earth,  with  that
gloomy  satisfaction  which  certainty,  even
when  unwelcome,  brings,  —  when,  as  I  held
forth  my  lamp,  on  leaving  the  chapel,  1


68  THE    EPICUREAN.
could  perceive  that  the  gallery,  instead  of
terminating  here,  took  a  sudden  bend  to
the  left,  which  had  before  eluded  my  eye,
and  which  gave  a  promise  of  leading  still
further  into  those  recesses.  Re-animated
by  this  discovery,  which  opened  a  new-
source  of  hope  to  my  heart,  I  cast  but  one
hesitating  look  at  my  lamp,  as  if  to  ask
whether  it  would  be  faithful  through  the
gloom  I  was  about  to  encounter,  and,
without  further  thouQ-ht,  rushed  eager] v
forward.
THE    EPICUnEAN.  69


CHAP.  VII.
The  path  led,  for  some  time,  througli  the
same  sort  of  narrow  windhigs  as  those
whicli  I  had  encountered  in  descending
the  stair-way ;  and  at  length  opened,  in  a
similar  maimer,  into  a  straight  and  steep
gallery,  along  each  side  of  which  stood,
closely  ranged  and  upright,  a  file  of  lifeless
bodies,  whose  glassy  eyes  threw  a  preter-
natural glare  upon  me  as  I  passed.
