“The cathedral is tumbling upon us!  We shall be buried alive!” exclaimed Chowles, as he listened with indescribable terror to the noise overhead!

“I owe my death to you, wretch!” cried Judith, fiercely.  “You persuaded me to come hither.”

“I!” cried Chowles.  “It is a lie!  You were the person who proposed it.  But for you I should have left our hoards here, and come for them after the fire was over.”

“It is you who lie!” returned Judith, with increased fury, “that was my proposal.”

“Hold your tongue, you she-devil,” cried Chowles, “it is you who have brought me into this strait—­and if you do not cease taunting me, I will silence you for ever.”

“Coward and fool!” cried Judith, “I will at least have the satisfaction of seeing you die before me.”

And as she spoke, she rushed towards him, and a desperate struggle commenced.  And thus while the walls were cracking overhead, threatening them with instant destruction, the two wretches continued their strife, uttering the most horrible blasphemies and execrations.  Judith, being the stronger of the two, had the advantage, and she had seized her opponent by the throat with the intention of strangling him, when a most terrific crash was heard causing her to loose her gripe.  The air instantly became as hot as the breath of a furnace, and both started to their feet.  “What has happened?” gasped Chowles.

“I know not,” replied Judith, “and I dare not look down the passage.”

“Then I will,” replied Chowles, and he advanced a few paces up it, and then hastily returned, shrieking, “it is filled with boiling lead, and the stream is flowing towards us.”

Scarcely able to credit the extent of the danger, Judith gazed down the passage, and there beheld a glowing silvery stream trickling slowly onwards.  She saw too well, that if they could not effect their retreat instantly, their fate was sealed.

“The door of the vault!” she cried, pointing towards it, “where is the key? where is the key?”

“I have not got it,” replied Chowles, distractedly, “I cannot tell where to find it.”

“Then we are lost!” cried Judith, with a terrible execration.

“Not so,” replied Chowles, snatching up a pickaxe, “if I cannot unlock the door, I can break it open.”

With this, he commenced furiously striking against it, while Judith, who was completely horror-stricken, and filled with the conviction that her last moments were at hand, fell on her knees beside him, and gazing down the passage, along which she could see the stream of molten lead, now nearly a foot in depth, gradually advancing, and hissing as it came, shrieked to Chowles to increase his exertions.  He needed no incitement to do so, but nerved by fear, continued to deal blow after blow against the door, until at last he effected a small breach just above the lock.  But this only showed him how vain were his hopes, for a stream