Page:Iron shroud, or, Italian revenge (4).pdf/14

14 yielded to their influence, he found no oblivion from his cares. Terrible dreams haunted him—ghastly visions harrowed up his imagination —he shouted and screamed, as if he already felt the dungeon’s ponderous roof descending on him—he breathed hard and thick, as though writhing between its iron walls. Then would he spring up—-stare wildly about him—stretch forth his hands to be sure he yet had space enough to live—and, muttering some incoherent word, sink down again, to pass through the same fierce vicissitudes of delirious sleep. The morning of the fourth day dawned upon Vivenzio. But it was high noon before his mind shook off its stupor, or he awoke to a full consciosness of his situation. And what a fixed energy of despair sat upon his pale features, as he cast his eyes upwards, and gazed upon the THREE windows that now alone remained! The three!—there were no more!—and they seemed to number his own alloted days. Slowly and calmly he next surveyed the top and sides, and comprehended all the meaning of the diminished height of the former, as well as of the gradual approximination of the latter. The contracted dimensions of his mysterious prison were now too gross and palpable to be the juggle of his imagination. Still lost in wonder at the means, Vivenzio could put no cheat upon his reason. as to the end. By what horrible ingenuity