Page:Peterson Magazine 1869B.pdf/196

 DEATH IN LIFE. 195

Marion, shivering with fright, and gazing with terrified eyes around the low chamber, with its scanty furniture, which remained exactly as Vivienne had seen it on that dreadful night long months ago. Elise, though herself quivering with superstitious terror, was, meanwhile, occupied in spreading shawls and quilts over the velvet cover of the couch, in placing a flask of wine on the rough table, and in trying to give some appearance of comfort to the cell-like room. Vivienne, with faltering steps, had de- scended the stairs leading to the vaults, and examined the bars that fastened the iron doors at their foot.

“Why do you do that, madame?” asked Marion.’ “Bars, I have heard, avail nothing against——” She paused, checked by a warning look from Elise.

“There is another way of gaining access to the vaults,” answered Vivienne. “I do not know what treachery may be meditated. See, Marion, I am prepared to defend myself against other than spiritual terrors;’’ and Vivienne showed her a keen, glittering dagger fastened in her belt.

As she did so, a slight movement in the chapel startled them, and extorted a piercing shriek from Marion, who threw herself at Vivienne’s feet; and buried ber face in her mistress’ dress.

A figure glided into the dim light shed by a lamp Elise had placed on the table, and Duroc’s bloodless face gleamed out from the darkness.

Ah, Monsieur Duroc!” said Vivienne, speaking calmly, though her very lips were white with terror, you know why I am here, I pre- sume. @ shall certainly remain here. I bid you good-night, monsieur.”

An imperious wave of her hand motioned him to leave the chapel, and with a cringing bow he turned away.

“And now you must leave me,” said Vivienne, in a low, yet steady tone, to her attendants. Marion sobbed and clung conyulsively to the dress of her adored young mistress; but the calmer Elise raised her companion, arid then kissing fervently the hand Vivienne ‘extended to her, she exclaimed, “Madame, may our Blessed Lady, and all the saints watch over and guard you through this night!”

Vivienne would only bend her head silently in reply. She motioned to them to leave her.

tolled its slow, solemn warning. As the eighth stroke fell on her ear, she heard the chapel-door close behind her attendants, and all was silent—the silence of the grave.

Trembling, half fainting, she threw herself on the couch, and lay there, her heart beating in slow throbs, that sounded like thunder in her ears. She dared not close her eyes for fear some horrible shape would steal to the side of her couch; she dared not look toward the great, black ‘doors of ‘the vaults, there were such horrors behind them as chilled her blood to think She thought—though the thought seemed driving her mad—of the dead marquis lying there so néar her; of the mouldering dust and whitening skeletons in their coffins, with the silver on them tarnished, and the velvet palls slowly dropping into dust. The ghastly images her imagination pictured seemed to come crowding round her in the hill and gloom. They were there, those shapes of horror, close to her, lingering in the shadows. If she moved her eyes from the little flame of the lamp, which they had fixed themselves upon, she would see them—these pale spectres.

It seemed to her that hours passed, during which her eyes never moved from that dim, flickering flame. She was roused from that trance of terror by the sound of the clock striking the half-hour. She had been here, then, but one short half-hour! With a despairing shudder she closed her aching eyes for an instant. When she opened them arain— oh, horror! her lamp was out, and a sound stole through the room like a feint, long-drawn sigh. Wild with terror, Vivienne sprang up, and stood for an instant in the pitchy darkness; then the same iow, fluttering sigh breathed through the room, and her senses fled.

She knew not how long this merciful oblivion lasted. Waking at last to faint consciousness, she found herself lying, chilled and stunned, upon the stone floor, with the night-wind blow- ing coldly on her face. Darkness—thick dark- ness surrounded her; but as she lay there, conscious only of the horror to which she had returned, her eyes suddenly rested on an object which seemed to stand out of the surrounding gloom.

High up on the Wall the silver crucifix shone, appearing to emit a palé, miraculous light, faint, yet steady. It was surely a miracle, wrought to save her from death or madness!

In a transport of religious ecstasy, Vivienne dragged herself to the foot of the cross, and kneeling there, fixed her eyes upon it, and clasped her cold hands in half frenzied prayer.