Cruel As The Grave

Sybil replied with a deep yawn.

And in a few minutes they laid down to rest, and in a very few more they

fell asleep.

How long they had slept Sybil had no means of knowing, when she was

awakened by an impression that some cold damp creature had laid down on

the front of the mattress close beside her. She opened her eyes and

strained them around in a vague dread, but the inside of the chapel was

dark as pitch. The fire had gone entirely out; she could not even see

the outlines of the Gothic windows; all was black as Tartarus. But

still--oh, horror!--she felt the cold damp form pressing close beside

her.

A speechless, breathless awe possessed her. She could not scream, but

she cautiously put out her hand to make sure whether she was dreaming,

when--horror upon horror!--it touched a clammy face!

Still she did not cry out, for some potent spell seemed to bind her

which at once tied her tongue and moved her hand; for that hand passed

down over the slender form and straight limbs, and then up again, until

it reached the still bosom, when--climax of horror!--it was caught and

clasped in the clay-cold hand of the--WHAT?