“Be not troubled by his words, good sister,” said Carver. “Be mindful of what I say to you. Avoid idolatry and superstition. Place your faith in the Gospel, and you shall live. Pray for me, sister, and I will pray for you.” Dame Dunster and her maidens turned away weeping, while Carver descended a flight of stone steps leading to the vault, the door of which being unlocked he was rudely thrust into the subterranean chamber. A few trusses of straw for a couch, with bread-and-water for sustenance, being supplied him, he was left alone, and the door locked outside. After glancing round the vault, noting its size, and the solidity of its walls, Carver turned his attention to the barred opening, already described as being on a level with the street. Through this opening noises reached his ears, but no one was allowed to approach and hold converse with him, a guard being placed outside the inn. Carver took a few turns in the vault, and then sitting down upon a wooden bench, which constituted its sole furniture, took out his Bible, which had been happily spared him, and began to read it. He had been occupied in this manner for some time, when the strokes of a pickaxe dealt upon the stones in the street disturbed him, and he raised his head to listen. By-and-by the clatter of a shovel was heard—then there was a great noise as if several men were carrying a heavy mass, which appeared to be plunged into a hole that had just been digged; and then there was a dull, dead, thumping sound, as if the earth were being beaten down by a ram. Suspecting what was going forward, but desiring to know the truth, Carver placed the bench immediately below the window, and, mounting upon it, raised himself so that he could just look through the bars into the street. He then found that his conjectures were correct, and that the noises he had heard were caused by men who were planting the stake in the ground to which he was to be attached on the morrow. With a mournful curiosity he watched them at their work, and did not withdraw till the stake was firmly secured, and a heavy iron chain attached to it. He had just got down, when he heard Captain Brand, whose harsh voice he instantly recognised, giving directions to the men. “Take care that plenty of fagots are provided,” he said; “and, furthermore, I must have an empty tar-barrel large enough to hold the prisoner. He boasts of his firmness,” added Brand with a bitter laugh. “We will see whether we cannot shake it.” It would seem that he was likely to be disappointed in his expectation, for Carver heard the order given without the slightest feeling of dread, but calmly resumed the perusal of the sacred volume at the point where he had laid it aside. Neither did he desist until it grew dark, and he was unable to read longer. He then knelt down and prayed fervently, continuing his vigils until long after midnight, when weariness overcame him, and flinging himself upon the straw, he presently fell asleep.