the reflection of a strange radiance, rosily tinted and brilliant.

Turning in its direction, he paused, irresolute. Could there be some
one living in that furthest chamber to which the long passage he had
followed evidently led? some one who would perhaps resent his
intrusion as an impertinence? some eccentric artist or hermit who
had made the cave his home? Or was it perhaps a refuge for
smugglers? He listened anxiously. There was no sound. He waited a
minute or two, then boldly advanced, determined to solve the
mystery.

This last archway was lower than any of those he had passed through,
and he was forced to take off his hat and stoop as he went under it.
When he raised his head he remained uncovered, for he saw at a
glance that the place was sacred. He was in the presence, not of
Life, but Death. The chamber in which he stood was square in form,
and more richly ornamented with shell-designs than any other portion
of the grotto he had seen, and facing the east was an altar hewn out
of the solid rock and studded thickly with amber, malachite and
mother-o'-pearl. It was covered With the incomprehensible emblems of
a bygone creed worked in most exquisite shell-patterns, but on it,--
as though in solemn protest against the past,--stood a crucifix of
ebony and carved ivory, before which burned steadily a red lamp.

The meaning of the mysterious light was thus explained, but what
chiefly interested Errington was the central object of the place,--a
coffin,--of rather a plain granite sarcophagus which was placed on
the floor lying from north to south. Upon it,--in strange contrast
to the sombre coldness of the stone,--reposed a large wreath of
poppies freshly gathered. The vivid scarlet of the flowers, the