“To thy duty, Old Gibber-jabber,” exclaimed Balvardo, “Here’s thy man. Lay hold of him, and help me to drag the coffin to the other side of the dungeon. Pull him along—there—there!”
Throwing the coffin upon the damp earth, the old man placed a smoking lamp near the prostrate head of the corse, and then intently watched the motions of Balvardo, who was drawing the point of his sword along the surface of the earth.
“Let me do’t, let me do’t, most noble captain,” exclaimed the old man, pushing Balvardo aside,—“for years, and years, and years, man and boy, have I wielded this good spade, here in these nice, cozy, comfortable chambers! He—he—he! To think a fellow like thee, with that miserable tool, that is unworthy to be called a—spade—to think that a stranger like thee, should think to excel me—Old Glow-worm—in laying out a grave!—He—he—he!”
“Old Glow-worm!—Ha, ha, ha!—a choice name by my soul!”
“A very good name; they call me so—they who bring me food every day—they poke it through the big door through which thou didst pass, most noble captain. A merry time we’ve had of it here—a merry time!”
“We!—who dost thou mean?”
“Well! Thou art a fool, beshrew me!—we, I and my comrades, who always receive our food at the big iron door. Here, long, long, very long, we have lived in these nice cozy chambers.—Sometimes they fight and kill one another—then I dig their graves! See! how nicely the rich earth turns up! This is a spade!”
Prattling after this fashion, the poor old idiot turned up the earth till he stood in a square hole about a foot in depth, when a glance at the pale visage of Adrian arrested his attention.
“He, he, he! They always look so!—Queer,—eh, noble captain!”
“What! hast ever had any other business of this sort?”