The night came; and as the hour approached
when Vivenzio imagined he might expect
the signs, he stood fixed and silent as a statue.
He feared to breathe, almost, lest he might
lose any sound which would warn him of their
coming. While thus listening, with every faculty
of mind and body strained to an agony
of attention, it occured to him he should be
more sensible of the motion, probably, if he
stretched himself along the iron floor. He
accordingly laid himself softly down, and
had not been long in that position when—yes
—he was certain of it—the floor moved under
him! He sprang up, and in a voice suffocated
nearly with emotion called, aloud. He paused
—the motion ceased—he felt no stream of air
all was hushed—no voice answered to his—he
burst into tears; and as he sunk to the ground,
in renewed anguish, exclamed,—“ Oh, my
God! my God! You alone have power to save
me now, or strengthen me for the trial you
permit.”
Another morning dawned upon the wretched
captive, and the fatal index of his doom met
his eyes. Two windows! and two days, and all
would be over! Fresh food, fresh water! The
mysterious visit had been paid, though he had
implored it in vain. But how awfully was his
prayer answered in what he now saw ! The roof
of the dungeon was within a foot his head. The
two ends were so near, that in six paces he trod
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