“Within the thickness of the dormitory walls is contrived a small singularly-formed dungeon,” continued the abbot.  “It consists of an arched cell, just large enough to hold the body of a captive, and permit him to stretch himself upon a straw pallet.  A narrow staircase mounts upwards to a grated aperture in one of the buttresses to admit air and light.  Other opening is there none. ‘Teter et fortis carcer’ is this dungeon styled in our monastic rolls, and it is well described, for it is black and strong enough.  Food is admitted to the miserable inmate of the cell by means of a revolving stone, but no interchange of speech can be held with those without.  A large stone is removed from the wall to admit the prisoner, and once immured, the masonry is mortised, and made solid as before.  The wretched captive does not long survive his doom, or it may be he lives too long, for death must be a release from such protracted misery.  In this dark cell one of the evil-minded brethren, who essayed to stab the Abbot of Kirkstall in the chapter-house, was thrust, and ere a year was over, the provisions were untouched—­and the man being known to be dead, they were stayed.  His skeleton was found within the cell when it was opened to admit Borlace Alvetham.”

“Poor captive!” groaned the monk.

“Ay, poor captive!” echoed Paslew.  “Mine eyes have often striven to pierce those stone walls, and see him lying there in that narrow chamber, or forcing his way upwards, to catch a glimpse of the blue sky above him.  When I have seen the swallows settle on the old buttress, or the thin grass growing between the stones waving there, I have thought of him.”

“Go on,” said the monk.

“I scarce can proceed,” rejoined Paslew.  “Little time was allowed Alvetham for preparation.  That very night the fearful sentence was carried out.  The stone was removed, and a new pallet placed in the cell.  At midnight the prisoner was brought to the dormitory, the brethren chanting a doleful hymn.  There he stood amidst them, his tall form towering above the rest, and his features pale as death.  He protested his innocence, but he exhibited no fear, even when he saw the terrible preparations.  When all was ready he was led to the breach.  At that awful moment, his eye met mine, and I shall never forget the look.  I might have saved him if I had spoken, but I would not speak.  I turned away, and he was thrust into the breach.  A fearful cry then rang in my ears, but it was instantly drowned by the mallets of the masons employed to fasten up the stone.”

There was a pause for a few moments, broken only by the sobs of the abbot.  At length, the monk spoke.

“And the prisoner perished in the cell?” he demanded in a hollow voice.

“I thought so till to-night,” replied the abbot.  “But if he escaped it, it must have been by miracle; or by aid of those powers with whom he was charged with holding commerce.”