"'But why did you not get up, under such circumstances, all of you, and escape from the room?' is a very natural and perhaps not unreasonable question, that may without impropriety be asked just here, and I reply: For several reasons; among which a few shall be named. First, the doors were all securely locked, and although we had seen Mai mount a chair, and hang the keys to one of the glass pendants, yet upon looking there, we found that they, as well as the two rolls of paper, had disappeared. Secondly, the windows were fastened down, besides being many feet from the ground--at least fifteen--and to leap that distance was altogether out of the question, even had we thought of it, which we did not. Thirdly, the earnest and solemn warning given by Vatterale before anything took place; his assurance that if we obeyed his injunctions not to stir--that, although we might be frightened, yet no harm could or would befall us--acted, amidst all our terror, as a sort of stopper upon any precipitate movement, after the first shock was over.
"We could not quit the room provided even all the doors had been flung wide open. Hast never heard tell of the _fascination_ of Danger? If so, then know that it was upon us in all its terrible force and power. We were bound, chained, rooted, riveted to the spot, by a potentiality never to be questioned, never to be despised, for its might, when once it fastens upon its victim, is merciless, gripping, stern and unrelenting. We felt that to stir, was to incur the hazard of an unknown, unguessed-at danger. ALL were fascinated by terror; to move was to add ten-fold to its power! It was a feeling akin to that experienced by the native of Ind, who roused from his mid-day slumber, wakes to feel the clammy folds of the cobra-capello, the dreadful hooded serpent of his clime, slowly writhing and winding beneath his garments about his naked flesh; and who realizes, as his heart stops beating and his blood runs icily with agony, and as the great big beaded drops of cold sweat ooze out from every pore, that to stir, to breathe, to even quiver under the pressure of his mortal fear, is certain, irrevocable, positive death--knowing as he does, that nor man nor beast hath ever yet lived a single hour after the fangs of the hooded snake have once opened a passage for the entrance of the King of Terrors!