“Faith, good hostess, you describe a strange character, whose acquaintance I would not lose this chance of making.”
“His acquaintance, young man, is soon made, sooner ended. If your evil spirit urge you to seek it, go kill some living man, or profane the dead.”
“Profane the dead!” repeated the old man, in a faltering voice, hiding himself in his companion’s shadow.
“I scarcely comprehend,” the latter said, “your suggestions, which seem somewhat indirect; it is shorter to stay here. No one but a madman would continue his journey in such weather.”
“Unhappy man!” exclaimed the woman, “do not knock at the door of one who can open no door save that of the tomb.”
“And if the door of the tomb should indeed open for me with that of your abode, woman, it shall not be said that I shrank from an ill-omened word. My sword is my safeguard. Come, close the door, for the wind is cold, and take this money.”
“Bah! what is your money to me!” rejoined their hostess; “precious in your hands, in mine it would become more vile than pewter. Well, stay if you will, and give me the gold. It may protect you from the storms of Heaven; it cannot save me from the scorn of men. Nay; you pay a higher price for hospitality than others pay for murder. Wait here an instant, and give me your gold. Yes, it is the first time that a man’s hands have entered here filled with gold, without being stained with blood.”
So saying, after putting down her lamp and barricading the door, she disappeared beneath the arch of a dark staircase built at the back of the room.
While the old man shuddered, and, invoking the glorious Saint Hospitius under every name, cordially, but in an undertone, cursed his young companion’s imprudence, the latter took the light and surveyed the large circular apartment in which they had been left. What he saw as he approached the wall, startled him; and the old man, who had watched him closely, exclaimed,--
A tall gallows, in fact, rested against the wall, reaching to the keystone of the damp, high, arched roof.
“Yes,” said the young man, “and here are saws of wood and iron, chains and iron collars; here is a rack, and huge pincers hanging over it.”
“Holy saints of Paradise!” cried the old man; “where are we?”