pine-torch wildly above his head till it showered a rain of bright
sparks above him, and exclaimed furiously--"Away, away, and trouble
me not! The days are not yet fulfilled,--the time is not yet ripe.
Why seek to hasten my end? Away, away, I tell you! Leave me in
peace! I will die when Thelma bids me; but not till then!"

And he rushed down the long gallery and disappeared in the furthest
chamber, where he gave vent to a sort of long, sobbing cry, which
rang dolefully through the cavern and then subsided into utter
silence.

Feeling as if he were in a chaotic dream, Errington pursued his
interrupted course through the winding passages with a bewildered
and wondering mind. What strange place had he inadvertently lighted
on? and who were the still stranger beings in connection with it?
First the beautiful girl herself; next the mysterious coffin, hidden
in its fanciful shell temple; and now this deformed madman, with the
pale face and fine eyes; whose utterances, though incoherent,
savored somewhat of poesy and prophecy. And what spell was attached
to that name of Thelma? The more he thought of his morning's
adventure, the more puzzled he became. As a rule, he believed more
in the commonplace than in the romantic--most people do. But truth
to tell, romance is far more common than the commonplace. There are
few who have not, at one time or other of their lives, had some
strange or tragic episode woven into the tissue of their every-day
existence; and it would be difficult to find one person even among
humdrum individuals, who, from birth to death, has experienced
nothing out of the common.

Errington generally dismissed all tales of adventure as mere