"Look round the room, Christine. Read the faces. Here are portraits of men and women. Some of them are eager, some are calm, more are unhappy for thinking of the end. Here is a battle-field; the dead and wounded are lying about the ground. Look at this troop of horsemen charging. Is there any terror in their faces? What do they care about the men who have fallen? Their duty is to fight. See here again. It is a dying girl. What do you read in her face? I see no fear, but a sweet joy of resignation. Here is a man led forth to execution. There is no fear in his face."
"I could never bear to be alone in this room, because Death is everywhere, and no one seems to regard it."
"Christine, did you never hear, by any chance, from your grandfather why people were not afraid?"
"No; he cannot bear to speak of such a thing. He trembles and shakes if it is even mentioned. They all do, except you."
"What does he tell you?"
"He talks of the time when he was young. It was long before the Great Discovery. Oh, he is very old. He was always going to feasts and dances. He had a great many friends, and some of them used to sing and dance in theatres. They were all very fond of suppers after the theatre, and there was a great deal of singing and laughing. They used to drive about in carriages, and they went to races. I do not understand, very well, the pleasure of his life."
"Ah," said Jack, "he has forgotten the really important part of it."
They were at a part of the Gallery where there was a door of strong oak, studded with big square nails, under an arch of carved stone.
"Have you ever been into this place?" he asked.
"Once I went in. But there is a dreadful tomb in it, with carved skulls and the figure of a dead man. So I ran away."