tyrant of the sable hand had bound me in on all sides. Yet I
continued to wrestle with the cruel opposing force that strove to
overwhelm me--little by little--inch by inch--so! At last! One more
struggle--victory! I woke! Merciful God! Where was I? In what
horrible atmosphere--in what dense darkness? Slowly, as my senses
returned to me, I remembered my recent illness. The monk--the man
Pietro--where were they? What had they done to me? By degrees, I
realized that I was lying straight down upon my back--the couch was
surely very hard? Why had they taken the pillows from under my head?
A pricking sensation darted through my veins--I felt my own hands
curiously--they were warm, and my pulse beat strongly, though
fitfully. But what was this that hindered my breathing? Air--air! I
must have air! I put up my hands--horror! They struck against a hard
opposing substance above me. Quick as lightning then the truth
flashed upon my mind! I had been buried--buried alive; this wooden
prison that inclosed me was a coffin! A frenzy surpassing that of an
infuriated tiger took swift possession of me--with hands and nails I
tore and scratched at the accursed boards--with all the force of my
shoulders and arms I toiled to wrench open the closed lid! My
efforts were fruitless! I grew more ferociously mad with rage and
terror. How easy were all deaths compared to one like this! I was
suffocating--I felt my eyes start from their sockets--blood sprung
from my mouth and nostrils--and icy drops of sweat trickled from my
forehead. I paused, gasping for breath. Then, suddenly nerving
myself for one more wild effort, I hurled my limbs with all the
force of agony and desperation against one side of my narrow prison.
It cracked--it split asunder!--and then--a new and horrid fear beset
me, and I crouched back, panting heavily. If--if I were buried in
the ground--so ran my ghastly thoughts--of what use to break open
the coffin and let in the mold--the damp wormy mold, rich with the