And yet it was but by a touch—the touch of an ice-cold little hand passing lightly over her face.
She started up in a panic and glared around. All seemed black as pitch, and at first she could see nothing; but as she strained her eyes, she dimly discerned the shapes of the gothic windows, with the dark night sky and the ghostly trees beyond; and she recognized the Haunted Chapel!
They had brought her here while she was sleeping; and now, “in the dead waste and middle of the night,” she had waked up, alone in this demon-peopled place.
She tried to cry out in her fear; but her voice died in her throat, and she sank back upon her mattress and closed her eyes, lest some shape of horror should blast them.
Then again she felt hands at work about her person. They were creeping under her shoulders and under her limbs; they were lifting her from her mattress. Her eyes flared open in wild affright, and she saw two black shrouded forms, the one at her head the other at her feet.
She tried to cry out in her agony of terror; but again her voice died away in her bosom, and all her powers seemed palsied. They raised her up and bore her on—great heaven! whither?
To the open door of the vault, from whose haunted depths a spectral light gleamed!
They bore her down the dreadful steps, and laid her on the deadly floor!
The iron door clanged loudly to, resounding through the dismal arches.
“We have her now!” muttered a hoarse voice. A hollow laugh responded.