Page 32 - The English Carnival 7

wet wall of jagged stone, excluding all view but a strip of sky; the perspective one way
only a crooked prolongation of this great dungeon; the shorter perspective in the other

direction terminating in a gloomy red light, and the gloomier entrance to a black tunnel,
in whose massive architecture there was a barbarous, depressing, and forbidding air. So
little sunlight ever found its way to this spot, that it had an earthy, deadly smell; and so
much cold wind rushed through it, that it struck chill to me, as if I had left the natural
world. Before he stirred, I was near enough to him to have touched him. Not even then
removing his eyes from mine, he stepped back one step , and lifted his hand. This was

a lonesome post to occupy (I said), and it had riveted my attention when I looked down
from up yonder. A visitor was a rarity, I should suppose; not an unwelcome rarity, I
hoped? In me, he merely saw a man who had been shut up within narrow limits all
his life, and who, being at last set free, had a newly awakened interest in these great

works. To such purpose I spoke to him; but I am far from sure of the terms I used; for,
besides that I am not happy in opening any conversation, there was something in the
man that daunted me. He directed a most curious look towards the red light near the
tunnel’s mouth, and looked all about it, as if something were missing from it, and then
looked at me.

That light was part of his charge? Was it not?

He answered in a low voice,—“Don’t you know it is?”

The monstrous thought came into my mind, as I perused the fixed eyes and the saturnine
face, that this was a spirit, not a man. I have speculated since, whether there may have

been an infection in his mind. In my turn, I stepped back. But in making the action, I
detected in his eyes some latent fear of me. This put the monstrous thought to flight.

“You look at me,” I said, forcing a smile, “as if you had a dread of me.”

“I was doubtful,” he returned, “whether I had seen you before.”
“Where?”

He pointed to the red light he had looked at.

“There?” I said.

Intently watchful of me, he replied (but without sound), “Yes.”

“My good fellow, what should I do there? However, be that as it may, I never was
there, you may swear.”

“I think I may,” he rejoined. “Yes; I am sure I may.”

His manner cleared, like my own. He replied to my remarks with readiness, and in
well-chosen words. Had he much to do there? Yes; that was to say, he had enough

responsibility to bear; but exactness and watchfulness were what was required of him,

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