صفحة 141 من 439

Therefore she did not call yet, thinking she must come on them at

any moment, unaware that every step was taking her farther from

the gallery into which they had turned. When at last she cried

out it was too late. The walls hemmed in her cry and flung it

back tauntingly to her--the damp walls against which she crouched

in terror of the subterranean vault in which she was buried. She

was alone with the powers of darkness, with the imprisoned

spirits of the underworld that fought inarticulately against the

audacity of the puny humans who dared venture here. So her vivid

imagination conceived it, terrorizing her against both will and

reason.