thank Heaven! my sense of right was not dead. _She_ had not killed that
yet; and, as I stood there, I prayed to Heaven in my heart that my boy,
my more than son, might live--ay, even if he proved to be the man.

Then I went back as softly as I had come, but still I could not sleep;
the sight and thought of dear Leo lying there so ill had but added fuel
to the fire of my unrest. My wearied body and overstrained mind awakened
all my imagination into preternatural activity. Ideas, visions, almost
inspirations, floated before it with startling vividness. Most of them
were grotesque enough, some were ghastly, some recalled thoughts and
sensations that had for years been buried in the _débris_ of my past
life. But, behind and above them all, hovered the shape of that awful
woman, and through them gleamed the memory of her entrancing loveliness.
Up and down the cave I strode--up and down.

Suddenly I observed, what I had not noticed before, that there was a
narrow aperture in the rocky wall. I took up the lamp and examined it;
the aperture led to a passage. Now, I was still sufficiently sensible
to remember that it is not pleasant, in such a situation as ours was, to
have passages running into one's bed-chamber from no one knows where. If
there are passages, people can come up them; they can come up when one
is asleep. Partly to see where it went to, and partly from a restless
desire to be doing something, I followed the passage. It led to a stone
stair, which I descended; the stair ended in another passage, or rather
tunnel, also hewn out of the bed-rock, and running, so far as I could
judge, exactly beneath the gallery that led to the entrance of our
rooms, and across the great central cave. I went on down it: it was as
silent as the grave, but still, drawn by some sensation or attraction
that I cannot define, I followed on, my stockinged feet falling without
noise on the smooth and rocky floor. When I had traversed some fifty