He turned his face to the wall, and Arwed departed in sadness. CHAPTER LII. At the appointed hour Arwed entered the shaft of the first mine in Danemora, with his pistols under his arm. In consequence of the perfect mental repose with which he proceeded upon his bloody business, he had this time a better opportunity to look about him and observe the peculiarities of the monstrous cavity. A strange feeling seized him when he took a nearer view of the active operations of this subterranean world. The miserable huts and wooden booths here and there erected among the rocks; the larger hut with a small belfry which denoted the church of the immense abyss; the market, which the venders of the indispensable necessaries of life, attracted by all-powerful avarice, held here below; the ceaseless prosecution of the mining operations--gave to the whole scene the appearance of an abortive attempt to create a subterranean city; while the black dresses and earth colored faces of the perpetual residents of these melancholy regions were well calculated to strengthen the illusion. The whole was lighted only by pans of pitch which fumed and smoked here and there in their elevated niches. No glimmer of daylight penetrated there. The firmament of these abodes was the roof of the mines, which, indeed, had no sun, but had its fixed and wandering stars in the fires, torches and lamps of the workmen--and, in the frequent explosions which took place, their thunder and lightning, like the upper world. Arwed bent his course directly to the little edifice which served for the church, and upon reaching it discovered in its rear a small building, which rather more than the others deserved the name of a house. It was the dwelling of the clergyman. Upon entering he discovered Christine, whom sorrow and confinement had rendered still more pale and emaciated, busily plying her needle by lamp light. 'Ah, Arwed!' cried she overjoyed, and springing towards him she held out her bandaged hand as before. A dark cloud soon flitted over her beautiful countenance, and she asked distrustfully, 'have you no secret object in this visit?' 'A very secret and serious one,' answered Arwed--'from which, however, you have nothing to fear. On the contrary, I bring you your father's permission to remain here, the consolation that your child is well attended to, and the assurance of a pecuniary allowance sufficient to preserve you from want.' 'And I have to thank you, still you, for all these blessings!' cried Christine with grateful enthusiasm. 'Ah, how happy you make me, and at the same time how inexpressibly unhappy!' 'Poor Christine!' said he with deep sympathy--'How miserable has the vehemence of thy nature rendered thee!' He laid his pistols upon, the table, and listened to ascertain if any one was approaching.