“You must know,” she continued in a clear, hard voice, “that a strict account is kept of the life of every man and woman upon the earth. We allow nothing to pass, every ill thought, every ill word, every ill deed, are all entered faithfully and truthfully. Every particular sin has its particular punishment, and as near as possible we destroy like with like.” “And,” said I, gazing round the terrible gloomy place, “are you always perfectly fair and just in your punishments?” “Always,” she answered, “We want them to do our work, and we punish them just sufficiently to make them do our work well.” “But,” I rejoined, “they have done your work on earth and received no punishment for that.” “No, rather they received reward. But here we take away that which has been given them and appropriate it within ourselves. The processes which we employ are bound to be severe, because, as you know, of themselves they will give up nothing, or rather very little.” “But surely,” I observed, “when they see what suffering they are going through they will give up all.” “Too late,” she whispered softly in my ear, and even as that heavy sigh had travelled through the arches, so these words, the saddest perhaps that human tongue has ever framed, rang through them too. It seemed as if a thousand voices from every cell whispered the words, so that one loud and unavailing lamentation became the universal atmosphere. She unlocked the door before which we had stopped, but instead of the cell which I expected a long narrow passage ran both left and right. Door followed door the whole length down, and the numbers on them corresponded to those on the outward wall. The darkness here would have been quite intense had not my guide carried in her hand a clear light, which pierced the gloom for some considerable distance. We walked along the passage for a little time, she leading, I following, till at last she stopped before a cell, and selecting a key placed it in the lock. Before turning it she extinguished the light she carried and left us in total darkness. Slowly, mysteriously and silently the door swung back and we passed in, and then it closed behind us. We had passed from darkness into darkness, but gradually the faintest light began to creep above the cell. It was so faint that till the eye became accustomed to it nothing was in the least discernible, and even then at times the heavy shadow fell again, eclipsing all things as gradually as it had cleared away. And now, huddled in the corner, I perceived a form, and as I looked intently I recognised a woman crouching there.