It was the goblet of the Red Chamber.
First grasping a pointed stone with one hand, then inserting his foot in a crevice of the masonry, then clutching another stone with the other hand, while his remaining foot rested in another crevice, he slowly began the fearful descent of the well.
“This then is the foul den of torture, built by the tyrants of Florence, long, long ago!” The thought crossed his brain. “The well hath been fashioned by the tools of the mason, yet the damp has worn deep hollows between the rugged stones. Hark!” he uttered the involuntary exclamation, “a stone has fallen from my grasp—I hear no sound—none, none! The abyss may be without bottom or depth. Hist! a hollow murmur breaks the silence of the air, far, far, below—the stone has sounded the depth of the well!”
“Water, water—men or devils, give me water!” the shrieking tones of the wretch in the stone-room came faintly to his ear. “Ha, ha! Thanks, thanks—they hand me a cup, a cup of good, clear water, and I drink—oh, horror, horror,—it turns to blood!”
With every nerve quivering, his hand trembling as he grasped the stones, his foot shaking with a nervous tremor as it sought the crevice which might give it momentary support, Adrian continued his terrible descent, until some twenty yards of the subterranean well rose above his head, while the low moans, the piercing shrieks, and the hollow laughter of the Sworder came fainter, and yet more faint to his ear.
Extending his foot in search of a crevice, he was astonished to find it resting on a solid rock, that hung jutting over the abyss, at a point where the well, diverging from its perpendicular course, made a slight inclination to the opposite side.
Grasping the rugged stones with the eager clutch of his trembling hands, Adrian hung swinging over the abyss, as with extended feet, he examined the formation of the well at this particular point, and tested the extent of the jutting rock.
He looked over his shoulder, and a wild thrill of surprise ran over his frame.
“Mine eyes burn with famine,” he slowly murmured; “they deceive me! Great God they mock me with a wild dream—I fancy the well grows lighter and lighter—but ’tis a dream, a mocking dream!”
As he spoke, a cold substance pressed against the palm of his right hand as it grasped the stone—it moved and writhed, while a hissing sound broke on the ear. Two points of flame, like minute yet intensely brilliant fire coals, glared before the very eyes of Adrian, and as the hissing grew louder, he found that a vile serpent wriggled between the fingers of his right hand.