“It’s the first time you ever thought my face frightful,” replied Chowles, “and I begin to think you are afraid.”

“Afraid!” echoed Judith, forcing a derisive laugh in her turn; “afraid—­of what?”

“Nay, I don’t know,” replied Chowles; “only I feel a little uncomfortable.  What if we should not be able to breathe here?  The very idea gives me a tightness across the chest.”

“Silence!” cried Judith, with a fierceness that effectually insured obedience to her command.

Chowles again had recourse to the bottle, and deriving a false courage from it, as before, commenced skipping about the chamber in his usual fantastical manner.  Judith, did not attempt to check him, but remained with her chin resting upon her hand gazing at him.

“Do you remember the Dance of Death, Judith?” he cried, executing some of the wildest flourishes he had then performed, “and how I surprised the Earl of Rochester and his crew?”

“I do,” replied Judith, sternly, “and I hope we may not soon have to perform that dance together in reality.”

“It was a merry night,” rejoined Chowles, who did not hear what she said, “a right merry night—­and so to-night shall be, in spite of what is occurring overhead.  Ha! ha!” And he took another long pull at the flask.  “I breathe freely now.”  And he continued his wild flourishes until he was completely exhausted.  He then sat down by Judith, and would have twined his bony arms round her neck, but she roughly repulsed him.

With a growl of displeasure, he then proceeded to open and examine the various bags, chests, and caskets piled upon the floor, and the sight of their contents so excited Judith, that shaking off her misgivings, she joined him, and they continued opening case after case, glutting their greedy eyes, until Chowles became aware that the vault was filled with smoke.  As soon as he perceived this, he started to his feet in terror.

“We are lost—­we shall be suffocated!” he cried!  Judith likewise arose, and her looks showed that she shared in his apprehensions.

“We must not stay here,” cried Chowles; “and yet,” he added, with an agonised look at the rich store before him, “the treasure! the treasure!”

“Ay, let us, at least, take something with us,” rejoined Judith, snatching up two or three of the most valuable caskets.

While Chowles gazed at the heap before him, hesitating what to select, the smoke grew so dense around them, that Judith seized his arm, and dragged him away.  “I come—­I come!” he cried, snatching up a bag of gold.

They then threaded the narrow passage, Judith leading the way and bearing the light.  The smoke grew thicker and thicker as they advanced; but regardless of this, they hurried to the secret door leading to the charnel.  Judith touched the spring, but as she did so, a sheet of flame burst in and drove her back.  Chowles dashed passed her, and with great presence of mind shut the door, excluding the flame.  They then hastily retraced their steps, feeling that not a moment was to be lost if they would escape.  The air in the vault, thickened by the smoke, had become so hot that they could scarcely breathe; added to which, to increase their terror, they heard the most awful cracking of the walls overhead, as if the whole fabric were breaking asunder to its foundation.