He caught at the nearest object for support, for he was weak with excitement, and his face looked ghastly in the gloom, as he stood there trembling till he realised what he, the living, had seized to sustain him--a coffin handle--and snatched his fingers away with a cry of horror, to shrink back and rest against the further side of the vault, but only to start away again, for his shoulder was against another coffin. He glanced at Moredock, but the old man was sleeping heavily, and once more he looked wildly round the vault. "I cannot go on," he groaned; "it is too horrible. There is a terror beyond that dark veil which seems to hold me back. I'll wake him up. This night shall end it all, and I'll rest in peace, contented with what I know. I dare go no further." He drew a long breath, as if relieved, and felt stimulated by his thoughts. It was all so simple to try and leave everything as nearly as possible in its old state, generously recompense the old sexton, and return to his regular course. The proceedings of the past would be the joint secret of Moredock and himself. "I've done," he said. "I'll be satisfied. It is too horrible to go on." He crossed to the old man, who was now sleeping quite peacefully, and had raised his hand to shake him and bid him rise and help, but his hand stopped within a few inches of the old sexton's shoulder, and he stepped back with an ejaculation full of anger. "Coward! idiot!" he exclaimed. "That ignorant old boor sleeps as calmly as a child among these grisly relics of mortality, and you, enlightened by science, educated, a seeker after wisdom, shrink and shiver and dare do no more. "No," he added, after a pause; "it is too horrible. There is a something holds me back. "And fame--the praise of men? And love? The kisses of Leo? Her bright looks--her pride in the man she will call husband? Horace North, are you going mad? Pause? Now? When there is triumph waiting, and a little further research will teach me all I want--maybe give me the great success? "No; not if fifty guardian angels barred my way. I will win now in spite of all." The coward fit of shrinking had gone, and, with a laugh full of contempt for himself, he took a step to the table and snatched the white cloth from the great stone slab. Volume 2, Chapter X. A FRIENDLY VISIT. A week had passed since Horace North's straggle with the strange fits of repugnance and dread that had assailed him on his researches: six nights, during each of which he had battled with the same feelings and mastered, and gone on, with Moredock revelling in his opiate-produced sleep in the corner. Night after night the old man slept in that vault for hours, among the remains of the Candlishes whom he had robbed, and enjoying a voluptuous pleasure in his sleep, which made him the doctor's willing servant, whose dread was lest the visits to the mausoleum should come to an end.