Hope mounted high in Tristan. The alert confidence of his companion animated him and he felt almost as if the great ordeal was over. A distant bell was tolling. Its tones came in muffled cadence into the night wrapt corridors of the Emperor's Tomb. Nevertheless he shivered at the Castellan's confession. Maraglia, then, was under the spell of this Wizard of Hell. "I have seen him stalking through these galleries," he turned to his gaoler. "But I possess a spell which renders him harmless. He cannot touch me--nor breathe his evil breath into my soul. I can compel him to take away the spell he has cast over you--that is, if you so wish it." The Castellan squeaked and waved his arms. "You would do this for me?" "If you will not betray me. For only a more powerful spell than that which he possesses can take away the curse he has put upon you." "Ah! If you would do this! It is coming upon me now. I am going mad. I am a bat!" And Maraglia squeaked like a whole company of dusky mice, and flapped his arms as if he were about to fly away. "This very night will I do it," Tristan replied. "But you must help me." "What can I do?" Tristan cast all upon one throw. "Remove your guards from this corridor and leave me a light and a rope." "It is but reasonable," Maraglia returned. "I will fetch them. When appears the wizard?" "At midnight! See that I am not disturbed." Maraglia nodded. Fear had almost deprived him of his senses. "Last time I saw him he came from yonder corridor," Tristan informed the Castellan. "That may not be!" the latter replied. "Unless he hath wings. This passage leads to the ramparts." "It is possible I have been confused by the darkness," Tristan replied pensively. "Nevertheless, I will oblige you, Messer Maraglia." The Castellan retired with many manifestations of his gratitude, leaving Tristan in possession of a lantern, a candle and a coil of rope. It was midnight. The sharp click of a flint upon steel was repeated several times before a spark fell upon the tinder and it caught with a blue, ghostly flicker. There were strange reflections in Tristan's cell. Curious steely lights played upon him. Then the candle ignited. The glow widened out. Tristan peered about cautiously. The door of his cell had been left unfastened by Maraglia. He had no fear of his prisoner escaping. No one had ever escaped from these vaults, except to certain death. He crept out into the corridor. It was dark as in the realms of the underworld. The silence of the tomb prevailed. After a time the passage made a sharp turn at right angles. A cooler air blew upon his face, wafted through an unbarred embrasure, beyond which showed a star-lit night without a moon, but not wholly dark.