"Just as soon as supper is over, I will have that door forced open. I will see what that mysterious vault holds," said Sybil, firmly. And she almost kept her word. As soon as they had finished the evening meal, she arose and called upon the gentlemen to go with her and force the door of the vault. And they went and inserted the crowbar between the grating and the stonework, and wrenched with all their united strength; but their efforts availed nothing, even to move the door. They gave over their exertions to recover their breath, and when they had got it they began again with renewed vigor; but with no better success. Again they stopped to breathe, and again they re-commenced the task with all their might; but after working as hard as they could for fifteen minutes longer, they again ceased from sheer exhaustion, leaving the door as fast as they had found it. "It is of no use to try longer, Sybil. We cannot force it," said Mr. Berners. "I see that you cannot. The vault keeps its secrets well," she answered, solemnly. And then they returned to their seats near the fire, and sat and talked over the projected journey until it was time for Captain Pendleton to go. When the husband and wife were left alone, they felt themselves tired enough to go to rest, with a prospect of getting a good night's sleep. "This is the last night that we shall spend in this place, dear Sybil," said Lyon Berners, as he put the smouldering brands together to keep the fire up till morning. Sybil replied with a deep yawn. And in a few minutes they laid down to rest, and in a very few more they fell asleep. How long they had slept Sybil had no means of knowing, when she was awakened by an impression that some cold damp creature had laid down on the front of the mattress close beside her. She opened her eyes and strained them around in a vague dread, but the inside of the chapel was dark as pitch. The fire had gone entirely out; she could not even see the outlines of the Gothic windows; all was black as Tartarus. But still--oh, horror!--she felt the cold damp form pressing close beside her. A speechless, breathless awe possessed her. She could not scream, but she cautiously put out her hand to make sure whether she was dreaming, when--horror upon horror!--it touched a clammy face! Still she did not cry out, for some potent spell seemed to bind her which at once tied her tongue and moved her hand; for that hand passed down over the slender form and straight limbs, and then up again, until it reached the still bosom, when--climax of horror!--it was caught and clasped in the clay-cold hand of the--WHAT? CHAPTER XXIX. GHOSTLY AND MYSTERIOUS On horror's head Horrors accumulate.--Thompson.