There was rhythm and music, as of far-away bells, in the clashing of these chains.
The gibbet was on Mehetabel's left hand; on the right was the abyss.
She looked down into the cauldron, turning with disgust from the gallows, and yet was inspired with an almost equal repugnance at the sight of the dark void below.
She was standing on the very spot where, eighteen years before, she had been found by Iver. He had taken her up, and had given her a name. Now she was taken up by another, and by him a new name was conferred upon her.
"Come!" said Jonas; "it's all downhill, henceforth."
Were the words ominous?
He had arrived near her without her hearing him, so occupied had her mind been. As he spoke she uttered a cry of alarm.
"Afraid?" he asked. "Of what?"
She did not answer. She was trembling. Perhaps her nerves had been overwrought. The Punch-Bowl looked to her like the Bottomless Pit.
"Did you think one of the dead men had got up from under the gallows, and had come down to talk with you?"