***

I must have slumbered for some time, when I was suddenly awakened by a suffocating sensation of faintness and nausea, accompanied by a sharp pain on my neck as though some creatures were stinging me.  I put my hand up to the place—­God! shall I ever forget the feel of the thing my trembling fingers closed upon!  It was fastened in my flesh—­a winged, clammy, breathing horror!  It clung to me with a loathly persistency that nearly drove me frantic, and wild with disgust and terror I screamed aloud!  I closed both hands convulsively upon its fat, soft body—­I literally tore it from my flesh and flung it as far back as I could into the interior blackness of the vault.  For a time I believe I was indeed mad—­the echoes rang with the piercing shrieks I could not restrain!  Silent at last through sneer exhaustion I glared about me.  The moonbeam had vanished, in its place lay a shaft of pale gray light, by which I could easily distinguish the whole length of the staircase and the closed gateway it its summit.  I rushed up the ascent with the feverish haste of a madman—­I grasped the iron grating with both hands and shook it fiercely It was firm as a rock, locked fast.  I called for help.  Utter silence answered me.  I peered through the closely twisted bars.  I saw the grass, the drooping boughs of trees, and straight before my line of vision a little piece of the blessed sky, opal tinted and faintly blushing with the consciousness of the approaching sunrise I drank in the sweet fresh air, a long trailing branch of the wild grape vine hung near me; its leaves were covered thickly with dew.  I squeezed one hand through the grating and gathered a few of these green morsels of coolness—­I ate them greedily.  They seemed to me more delicious than any thing I had ever tasted, they relieved the burning fever of my parched throat and tongue.  The glimpse of the trees and sky soothed and calmed me.  There was a gentle twittering of awaking birds, my nightingale had ceased singing.

I began to recover slowly from my nervous terrors, and leaning against the gloomy arch of my charnel house I took courage to glance backward down the steep stairway up which I had sprung with such furious precipitation.  Something white lay in a corner on the seventh step from the top.  Curious to see what it was, I descended cautiously and with some reluctance; it was the half of a thick waxen taper, such as are used in the Catholic ritual at the burial of the dead.  No doubt it had been thrown down there by some careless acolyte, to save himself the trouble of carrying it after the service had ended.  I looked at it meditatively.  If I only had a light!  I plunged my hands half abstractedly into the pockets of my trousers—­something jingled!  Truly they had buried me in haste.  My purse, a small bunch of keys, my card-case—­one by one I drew them out and examined them surprisedly—­they looked so familiar, and withal so strange!  I searched again; and this time found something of real value to one in my condition—­a small box of wax vestas.  Now, had they left me my cigar-case?  No, that was gone.  It was a valuable silver one—­no doubt the monk, who attended my supposed last moments, had taken it, together with my watch and chain, to my wife.