A low gentle wind is getting up, and
beginning slightly to stir the tall blades of grass that have shot up
between some of the old stones. The silence is broken, awfully broken,
by a sudden cry of despair; such a cry as might come from some
imprisoned spirit, doomed to waste an age of horror in a tomb. And yet it was scarcely to be called a scream, and not all a groan. It
might have come from some one on the moment of some dreadful sacrifice,
when the judgment had not sufficient time to call courage to its aid,
but involuntarily had induced that sound which might not be repeated. A few startled birds flew from odd holes and corners about the ruins, to
seek some other place of rest. The owl hooted from a corner of what had
once been a belfry, and a dreamy-looking bat flew out from a cranny and
struck itself headlong against a projection. Then all was still again. Silence resumed its reign, and if there had
been a mortal ear to drink in that sudden sound, the mind might well
have doubted if fancy had not more to do with the matter than reality. From out a portion of the ruins that was enveloped in the deepest gloom,
there now glides a figure. It is of gigantic height, and it moves along
with a slow and measured tread. An ample mantle envelopes the form,
which might well have been taken for the spirit of one of the monks who,
centuries since, had made that place their home. It walked the whole length of the ample hall we have alluded to, and
then, at the window from which had streamed the long flood of many
coloured light, it paused. For more than ten minutes this mysterious looking figure there stood. At length there passed something on the outside of the window, that
looked like the shadow of a human form. Then the tall, mysterious, apparition-looking man turned, and sought a
side entrance to the hall. Then he paused, and, in about a minute, he was joined by another who
must have been he who had so recently passed the stained glass window on
the outer side. There was a friendly salutation between these two beings, and they
walked to the centre of the hall, where they remained for some time in
animated conversation. From the gestures they used, it was evident that the subject of their
discourse was one of deep and absorbing interest to both. It was one,
too, upon which, after a time, they seemed a little to differ, and more
than once they each assumed attitudes of mutual defiance. This continued until the sun had so completely sunk, that twilight was
beginning sensibly to wane, and then gradually the two men appeared to
have come to a better understanding, and whatever might be the subject
of their discourse, there was some positive result evidently arrived at
now. They spoke in lower tones. They used less animated gestures than before;
and, after a time, they both walked slowly down the hull towards the
dark spot from whence the first tall figure had so mysteriously emerged. *       *       *       *       *

There it a dungeon--damp and full of the most unwholesome
exhalations--deep under ground it seems, and, in its excavations, it
would appear as if some small land springs had been liberated, for the
earthen floor was one continued extent of moisture. From the roof, too, came perpetually the dripping of water, which fell
with sullen, startling splashes in the pool below. At one end, and near to the roof,--so near that to reach it, without the
most efficient means from the inside, was a matter of positive
impossibility--is a small iron grating, and not much larger than might
be entirely obscured by any human face that might be close to it from
the outside of the dungeon. That dreadful abode is tenanted. In one corner, on a heap of straw,
which appears freshly to have been cast into the place, lies a hopeless
prisoner. It is no great stretch of fancy to suppose, that it is from his lips
came the sound of terror and of woe that had disturbed the repose of
that lonely spot. The prisoner is lying on his back; a rude bandage round his head, on
which were numerous spots of blood, would seem to indicate that he had
suffered personal injury in some recent struggle. His eyes were open. They were fixed desparingly, perhaps unconsciously, upon that small
grating which looked into the upper world. That grating slants upwards, and looks to the west, so that any one
confined in that dreary dungeon might be tantalized, on a sweet summer's
day, by seeing the sweet blue sky, and occasionally the white clouds
flitting by in that freedom which he cannot hope for. The carol of a bird, too, might reach him there. Alas! sad remembrance
of life, and joy, and liberty. But now all is deepening gloom. The prisoner sees nothing--hears
nothing; and the sky is not quite dark. That small grating looks like a
strange light-patch in the dungeon wall. Hark! some footstep sounds upon his ear. The creaking of a door
follows--a gleam of light shines into the dungeon, and the tall
mysterious-looking figure in the cloak stands before the occupant of
that wretched place. Then comes in the other man, and he carries in his hand writing
materials. He stoops to the stone couch on which the prisoner lies, and
offers him a pen, as he raises him partially from the miserable damp
pallet. But there is no speculation in the eyes of that oppressed man. In vain
the pen is repeatedly placed in his grasp, and a document of some
length, written on parchment, spread out before him to sign. In vain is
he held up now by both the men, who have thus mysteriously sought him in
his dungeon; he has not power to do as they would wish him. The pen
falls from his nerveless grasp, and, with a deep sigh, when they cease
to hold him up, he falls heavily back upon the stone couch. Then the two men looked at each other for about a minute silently; after
which he who was the shorter of the two raised one hand, and, in a voice
of such concentrated hatred and passion as was horrible to hear, he
said,--

"D--n!" The reply of the other was a laugh; and then he took the light from the
floor, and motioned the one who seemed so little able to control his
feelings of bitterness and disappointment to leave the place with him. With a haste and vehemence, then, which showed how much angered he was,
the shorter man of the two now rolled up the parchment, and placed it in
a breast-pocket of his coat. He cast a withering look of intense hatred on the form of the
nearly-unconscious prisoner, and then prepared to follow the other. But when they reached the door of the dungeon, the taller man of the two
paused, and appeared for a moment or two to be in deep thought; after
which he handed the lamp he carried to his companion, and approached the
pallet of the prisoner. He took from his pocket a small bottle, and, raising the head of the
feeble and wounded man, he poured some portion of the contents into his
mouth, and watched him swallow it. The other looked on in silence, and then they both slowly left the
dreary dungeon.