Then it was lowered into the grave.

There was something in this which was so horrible to Hawbury that an involuntary shudder passed through every nerve, and all the terror of the grave and the bitterness of death in that one moment seemed to descend upon him.  He had not thought of this, and consequently was not prepared for it.  He had expected that he would be put down somewhere on the ground, and that the priest would be able to get rid of the men, and effect his liberation before it had gone so far.

It required an effort to prevent himself from crying out; and longer efforts were needed and more time before he could regain any portion of his self-control.  He now heard the priest performing the burial rites; these seemed to him to be protracted to an amazing length; and so, indeed, they were; but to the inmate of that grave the time seemed longer far than it did to those who were outside.  A thousand thoughts swept through his mind, and a thousand fears swelled within his heart.  At last the suspicion came to him that the priest himself was unable to do any better, and this suspicion was confirmed as he detected the efforts which he made to get the men to leave the grave.  This was particularly evident when he pretended to hear an alarm, by which he hoped to get rid of the brigands.  It failed, however, and with this failure the hopes of Hawbury sank lower than ever.

But the climax of his horror was attained as the first clod fell upon his narrow abode.  It seemed like a death-blow.  He felt it as if it had struck himself, and for a moment it was as though he had been stunned.  The dull, heavy sound which those heard who stood above, to his ears became transformed and enlarged, and extended to something like a thunder-peal, with long reverberations through his now fevered and distempered brain.  Other clods fell, and still others, and the work went on till his brain reeled, and under the mighty emotions of the hour his reason began to give way.  Then all his fortitude and courage sank.  All thought left him save the consciousness of the one horror that had now fixed itself upon his soul.  It was intolerable.  In another moment his despair would have overmastered him, and under its impulse he would have burst through all restraint, and turned all his energies toward forcing himself from his awful prison house.

He turned himself over.  He gathered himself up as well as he could.  Already he was bracing himself for a mighty effort to burst up the lid, when suddenly the voice of Girasole struck upon his ear, and a wild fear for Ethel came to his heart, and the anguish of that fear checked at once all further thought of himself.

He lay still and listened.  He did this the more patiently as the men also stopped from their work, and as the hideous earth-clods no longer fell down.  He listened.  From the conversation he gathered pretty accurately the state of affairs.  He knew that Ethel was there; that she had been discovered and dragged forth; that she was in danger.  He listened in the anguish of a new suspense.  He heard the words of the priest, his calm denial of treachery, his quiet appeal to Girasole’s good sense.  Then he heard the decision of Girasole, and the party walked away with their prisoners, and he was left alone.