While the hushed and whispered conversation had been in progress between Adrian and Balvardo, the room had been gradually growing warmer and warmer, and at last the walls became heated, the ceiling emitting a warmth almost insupportable, while the confined air of the cell grew like the atmosphere of a furnace.
“What new horror is this!” faltered Adrian. “Tell me, how hast thou existed thus long in this vault of death, without air?”
“A well,” gasped the wretch, “centre of the stone-room—current of air from under the earth.”
Impressed by these incoherent words, Adrian advanced slowly along the floor, avoiding the prostrate body, and in a moment stood near the centre of the room.
He extended his foot—it touched a substance that gave back a slight sound; it was his coffin.
Another extension of his foot, and a whizzing sound assailed his ears, ploughing the air far, far below his feet, then the rebound of wood splinttered to pieces on a pointed rock came welling up from earth-hidden depths and echoed around the room.
He listened with hushed breath for a long and weary moment.
The sound of a pebble falling in water, far, far below, came dimly and faintly to his ear, like the pattering of the water-drop upon the age-worn rock.
“Ha! A well, deep as the fathomless abyss, sinks down from the centre of the room. Let me measure its width—two good paces. The coffin has whirled down into its bottomless depths—I hear the splintered pieces falling in the water far, far below. A slight current of air issues from the well—and the heat of this vault of death grows fiercer every moment—”
“Kill me, and then thank God thou hast strength left to hurl thee down the dark abyss—— I burn, oh, fiend of hell, with thirst and flame I burn!”