And, even then, my mortal terrors would listen to no reason —­ would accept no consolation.  I entered into a series of elaborate precautions.  Among other things, I had the family vault so remodelled as to admit of being readily opened from within.  The slightest pressure upon a long lever that extended far into the tomb would cause the iron portal to fly back.  There were arrangements also for the free admission of air and light, and convenient receptacles for food and water, within immediate reach of the coffin intended for my reception.  This coffin was warmly and softly padded, and was provided with a lid, fashioned upon the principle of the vault-door, with the addition of springs so contrived that the feeblest movement of the body would be sufficient to set it at liberty.  Besides all this, there was suspended from the roof of the tomb, a large bell, the rope of which, it was designed, should extend through a hole in the coffin, and so be fastened to one of the hands of the corpse.  But, alas? what avails the vigilance against the Destiny of man?  Not even these well-contrived securities sufficed to save from the uttermost agonies of living inhumation, a wretch to these agonies foredoomed!

There arrived an epoch —­ as often before there had arrived —­ in which I found myself emerging from total unconsciousness into the first feeble and indefinite sense of existence.  Slowly —­ with a tortoise gradation —­ approached the faint gray dawn of the psychal day.  A torpid uneasiness.  An apathetic endurance of dull pain.  No care —­ no hope —­ no effort.  Then, after a long interval, a ringing in the ears; then, after a lapse still longer, a prickling or tingling sensation in the extremities; then a seemingly eternal period of pleasurable quiescence, during which the awakening feelings are struggling into thought; then a brief re-sinking into non-entity; then a sudden recovery.  At length the slight quivering of an eyelid, and immediately thereupon, an electric shock of a terror, deadly and indefinite, which sends the blood in torrents from the temples to the heart.  And now the first positive effort to think.  And now the first endeavor to remember.  And now a partial and evanescent success.  And now the memory has so far regained its dominion, that, in some measure, I am cognizant of my state.  I feel that I am not awaking from ordinary sleep.  I recollect that I have been subject to catalepsy.  And now, at last, as if by the rush of an ocean, my shuddering spirit is overwhelmed by the one grim Danger —­ by the one spectral and ever-prevalent idea.

For some minutes after this fancy possessed me, I remained without motion.  And why?  I could not summon courage to move.  I dared not make the effort which was to satisfy me of my fate —­ and yet there was something at my heart which whispered me it was sure.  Despair —­ such as no other species of wretchedness ever calls into being —­ despair alone urged me, after long irresolution, to uplift the heavy lids of my eyes.  I uplifted them.  It was dark —­ all dark.  I knew that the fit was over.  I knew that the crisis of my disorder had long passed.  I knew that I had now fully recovered the use of my visual faculties —­ and yet it was dark —­ all dark —­ the intense and utter raylessness of the Night that endureth for evermore.