Thus guided, they all got fairly into the sacred edifice, and then Henry
closed the window, and fastened it on the inside as he said,--

"We have nothing to do now but to set to work opening a way into the
vault, and I trust that Heaven will pardon me for thus desecrating the
tomb of my ancestors, from a consideration of the object I have in view
by so doing." "It does seem wrong thus to tamper with the secrets of the tomb,"
remarked Mr. Marchdale. "The secrets of a fiddlestick!" said the doctor. "What secrets has the
tomb I wonder?" "Well, but, my dear sir--"

"Nay, my dear sir, it is high time that death, which is, then, the
inevitable fate of us all, should be regarded with more philosophic eyes
than it is. There are no secrets in the tomb but such as may well be
endeavoured to be kept secret." "What do you mean?" "There is one which very probably we shall find unpleasantly revealed." "Which is that?" "The not over pleasant odour of decomposed animal remains--beyond that I
know of nothing of a secret nature that the tomb can show us." "Ah, your profession hardens you to such matters." "And a very good thing that it does, or else, if all men were to look
upon a dead body as something almost too dreadful to look upon, and by
far too horrible to touch, surgery would lose its value, and crime, in
many instances of the most obnoxious character, would go unpunished." "If we have a light here," said Henry, "we shall run the greatest chance
in the world of being seen, for the church has many windows." "Do not have one, then, by any means," said Mr. Chillingworth. "A match
held low down in the pew may enable us to open the vault." "That will be the only plan." Henry led them to the pew which belonged to his family, and in the floor
of which was the trap door. "When was it last opened?" inquired Marchdale. "When my father died," said Henry; "some ten months ago now, I should
think." "The screws, then, have had ample time to fix themselves with fresh
rust." "Here is one of my chemical matches," said Mr. Chillingworth, as he
suddenly irradiated the pew with a clear and beautiful flame, that
lasted about a minute. The heads of the screws were easily discernible, and the short time that
the light lasted had enabled Henry to turn the key he had brought with
him in the lock. "I think that without a light now," he said, "I can turn the screws
well." "Can you?" "Yes; there are but four." "Try it, then." Henry did so, and from the screws having very large heads, and being
made purposely, for the convenience of removal when required, with deep
indentations to receive the screw-driver, he found no difficulty in
feeling for the proper places, and extracting the screws without any
more light than was afforded to him from the general whitish aspect of
the heavens. "Now, Mr. Chillingworth," he said "another of your matches, if you
please. I have all the screws so loose that I can pick them up with my
fingers." "Here," said the doctor. In another moment the pew was as light as day, and Henry succeeded in
taking out the few screws, which he placed in his pocket for their
greater security, since, of course, the intention was to replace
everything exactly as it was found, in order that not the least surmise
should arise in the mind of any person that the vault had been opened,
and visited for any purpose whatever, secretly or otherwise. "Let us descend," said Henry. "There is no further obstacle, my friends. Let us descend." "If any one," remarked George, in a whisper, as they slowly descended
the stairs which conducted into the vault--"if any one had told me that
I should be descending into a vault for the purpose of ascertaining if a
dead body, which had been nearly a century there, was removed or not,
and had become a vampyre, I should have denounced the idea as one of the
most absurd that ever entered the brain of a human being." "We are the very slaves of circumstances," said Marchdale, "and we never
know what we may do, or what we may not. What appears to us so
improbable as to border even upon the impossible at one time, is at
another the only course of action which appears feasibly open to us to
attempt to pursue." They had now reached the vault, the floor of which was composed of flat
red tiles, laid in tolerable order the one beside the other. As Henry
had stated, the vault was by no means of large extent. Indeed, several
of the apartments for the living, at the hall, were much larger than was
that one destined for the dead. The atmosphere was dump and noisome, but not by any means so bad as
might have been expected, considering the number of months which had
elapsed since last the vault was opened to receive one of its ghastly
and still visitants. "Now for one of your lights. Mr. Chillingworth. You say you have the
candles, I think, Marchdale, although you forgot the matches." "I have. They are here." Marchdale took from his pocket a parcel which contained several wax
candles, and when it was opened, a smaller packet fell to the ground. "Why, these are instantaneous matches," said Mr. Chillingworth, as he
lifted the small packet up. "They are; and what a fruitless journey I should have had back to the
hall," said Mr. Marchdale, "if you had not been so well provided as you
are with the means of getting a light. These matches, which I thought I
had not with me, have been, in the hurry of departure, enclosed, you
see, with the candles. Truly, I should have hunted for them at home in
vain." Mr. Chillingworth lit the wax candle which was now handed to him by
Marchdale, and in another moment the vault from one end of it to the
other was quite clearly discernible. CHAPTER VIII. THE COFFIN.--THE ABSENCE OF THE DEAD.--THE MYSTERIOUS CIRCUMSTANCE, AND
THE CONSTERNATION OF GEORGE. [Illustration]

They were all silent for a few moments as they looked around them with
natural feelings of curiosity. Two of that party had of course never
been in that vault at all, and the brothers, although they had descended
into it upon the occasion, nearly a year before, of their father being
placed in it, still looked upon it with almost as curious eyes as they
who now had their first sight of it. If a man be at all of a thoughtful or imaginative cast of mind, some
curious sensations are sure to come over him, upon standing in such a
place, where he knows around him lie, in the calmness of death, those in
whose veins have flowed kindred blood to him--who bore the same name,
and who preceded him in the brief drama of his existence, influencing
his destiny and his position in life probably largely by their actions
compounded of their virtues and their vices. Henry Bannerworth and his brother George were just the kind of persons
to feel strongly such sensations. Both were reflective, imaginative,
educated young men, and, as the light from the wax candle flashed upon
their faces, it was evident how deeply they felt the situation in which
they were placed. Mr. Chillingworth and Marchdale were silent.