This horrible thought never left his memory. Even while he reflected upon other things,--amidst the perils which enveloped his career, and the reminiscences of the dread deeds of which he had been guilty,--amongst the reasons which he assembled together to convince himself that the hideous countenances at the grating did not exist in reality,--there was that one idea--unmixed--definite--standing boldly out from all the rest in his imagination,--_that he might be left to die of starvation!_ At one time the brain of this wretch was excited to such a pitch that he actually caught his head in his two hands, and pressed it with all his force--to endeavour to crush the horrible visions which haunted his imagination. Then he endeavoured to hum a tune; but his voice seemed to choke him. He lighted a pipe, and sate and smoked; but as the thin blue vapour curled upwards, in the faint light of the grating, it assumed shapes and forms appalling to behold. Spectres, clad in long winding sheets--cold grisly corpses, dressed in shrouds, seemed to move noiselessly through the dungeon. He laid aside the pipe; and, in a state of mind bordering almost upon frenzy, tossed off the brandy that had remained in the flask. But so full of horrible ideas was his mind at that moment, that it appeared to him as if he had been drinking blood! He rose from his seat once more, and groped up and down the dungeon, careless of the almost stunning blows which he gave his head, and the violent contusions which his limbs received, against the uneven walls. Hark! suddenly voices fell upon his ears. He listened with mingled fear and joy,--fear of being discovered, and joy at the sound of human tones in the midst of that subterranean solitude. Those voices came from the lower window of the dwelling on the other side of the ditch. "How silent and quiet everything has been lately in the old home opposite," said a female. "Last night--or rather early this morning, I heard singing there," replied another voice, which was evidently that of a young woman. Oh! never had the human tones sounded so sweet and musical upon the murderer's ears before! "It is very seldom that any one ever goes into that old house now," said the first speaker. "Strange rumours are abroad concerning it: I heard that there are subterranean places in which men can conceal themselves, and no power on earth could find them save those in the secret." "How absurd! I was speaking to the policeman about that very thing a few days ago; and he laughed at the idea. He says it is impossible; and of course he knows best." "I am not so sure of that. Who knows what fearful deeds have those old walls concealed from human eye? For my part, I can very well believe that there are secret cells and caverns. Who knows but that some poor wretch is hiding there this very moment?" "Perhaps the man that murdered his wife up in Union Court." "Well--who knows? But at this rate we shall never get on with our work."