There was an open doorway, on each side of which lay a heap of
fallen stones. This was the entrance into a square room, dark and
yawning as a cavern. It was traversed by one streak of moonshine,
which struggled through a grated window set in the thick wall.
La Corriveau stood for a few moments looking intently into the
gloomy ruin; then, casting a sharp glance behind her, she entered.
Tired with her long walk through the forest, she flung herself upon
a stone seat to rest, and to collect her thoughts for the execution
of her terrible mission.
The dogs of the Chateau barked vehemently, as if the very air bore
some ominous taint; but La Corriveau knew she was safe: they were
shut up in the courtyard, and could not trace her to the tower. A
harsh voice or two and the sound of whips presently silenced the
barking dogs, and all was still again.
She had got into the tower unseen and unheard. "They say there is
an eye that sees everything," muttered she, "and an ear that hears
our very thoughts. If God sees and hears, he does nothing to
prevent me from accomplishing my end; and he will not interfere to-
night! No, not for all the prayers she may utter, which will not be
many more! God if there be one--lets La Corriveau live, and will
let the lady of Beaumanoir die!"
There was a winding stair of stone, narrow and tortuous, in one
corner of the tower.
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