“These old fellows believed in having their tombs beautiful!” exclaimed Max, aloud.
And the words had scarcely left his lips when his hair began to rise on his head, for he heard a voice add, with sepulchral emphasis:
“Beautiful!”
“Who’s there?” asked Max, half afraid of his own voice.
“There!”
“It was only an echo,” said Max; but all the same it was startling, especially when the voice of the tomb repeated the last syllable:
“Oh!”
But the sturdy young American laughed; and the whole tomb seemed alive with demoniac mirth, as the walls beat back the loud guffaws of the youth.
“I shall go mad!” exclaimed Max.
“Mad!” repeated the echo.