Then all was still again. Silence resumed its reign, and if there had been a mortal ear to drink in that sudden sound, the mind might well have doubted if fancy had not more to do with the matter than reality. From out a portion of the ruins that was enveloped in the deepest gloom, there now glides a figure. It is of gigantic height, and it moves along with a slow and measured tread. An ample mantle envelopes the form, which might well have been taken for the spirit of one of the monks who, centuries since, had made that place their home. It walked the whole length of the ample hall we have alluded to, and then, at the window from which had streamed the long flood of many coloured light, it paused. For more than ten minutes this mysterious looking figure there stood. At length there passed something on the outside of the window, that looked like the shadow of a human form. Then the tall, mysterious, apparition-looking man turned, and sought a side entrance to the hall. Then he paused, and, in about a minute, he was joined by another who must have been he who had so recently passed the stained glass window on the outer side. There was a friendly salutation between these two beings, and they walked to the centre of the hall, where they remained for some time in animated conversation. From the gestures they used, it was evident that the subject of their discourse was one of deep and absorbing interest to both. It was one, too, upon which, after a time, they seemed a little to differ, and more than once they each assumed attitudes of mutual defiance. This continued until the sun had so completely sunk, that twilight was beginning sensibly to wane, and then gradually the two men appeared to have come to a better understanding, and whatever might be the subject of their discourse, there was some positive result evidently arrived at now. They spoke in lower tones. They used less animated gestures than before; and, after a time, they both walked slowly down the hall towards the dark spot from whence the first tall figure had so mysteriously emerged. • • • • • There is a dungeon—damp and full of the most unwholesome exhalations—deep under ground it seems, and, in its excavations, it would appear as if some small land springs had been liberated, for the earthen floor was one continued extent of moisture. From the roof, too, came perpetually the dripping of water, which fell with sullen, startling splashes in the pool below. At one end, and near to the roof,—so near that to reach it, without the most efficient means from the inside, was a matter of positive impossibility—is a small iron grating, and not much larger than might be entirely obscured by any human face that might be close to it from the outside of the dungeon. That dreadful abode is tenanted. In one corner, on a heap of straw, which appears freshly to have been cast into the place, lies a hopeless prisoner.