My companion did not answer for some time. Then he said,—
“I leave it to you to find out. I like if possible to make people think—or rather Spirits. Mankind is deeply philosophical without—”
Just then a bell began to toll. It was the most terribly drear sound I had ever heard.
“Come this way,” Vestasian said. And he led me to a balcony by a short flight of steps.
From this we looked down through a kind of grating, and saw beneath us the most gloomy sight I yet had witnessed.
It seemed as if from this particular spot one saw the whole of the gloomy cells and prisons stretching out and down on either side farther than the eye could pierce into the darkness. They ranged side by side in even order, and by the door of each flowed the black river, gurgling as it passed. Every door had its particular number shining in vivid red, whilst arches like those which form the crypts of churches spanned and linked the whole. And from here one saw within the hidden walls into each secret cell, where the naked soul, bereft of every false covering, saw itself as it really was and could not understand. But now the bell had ceased, and, as it were, moved by one impulse every wretched soul flung itself down upon the floor beside the altar.
“Oh, God! remove the darkness. Give us light! Light! More Light!”
And one general cry ascended, one universal cry of bitterness, which died down into still more bitter silence.
As they knelt the light came—the lurid glow of hell—rising like sulphur fumes about the pillars.
Each as they felt its presence rose and turned towards the doors, and they raised their hands above their heads, and now no sound fell on the ear.