Goblin, looking back as I have described, went softly on, into a vaulted
chamber, now used as a store-room; once the Chapel of the Holy Office. The
place where the tribunal sat, was plain. The platform might have been
removed but yesterday. Conceive the parable of the Good Samaritan having
been painted on the wall of one of these Inquisition chambers! But it was,
and may be traced there yet.
High up in the wall, are niches where the faltering replies of the accused
were heard and noted down. Many of them had been brought out of the very
cell we had just looked into, so awfully; along the same stone passage. We
had trodden in their very footsteps.
I am gazing round me, with the horror that the place inspires, when Goblin
clutches me by the wrist, and lays, not her skinny finger, but the handle
of a key, upon her lip. She invites me, with a jerk, to follow her. I do
so. She leads me out into a room adjoining--a rugged room, with a funnel-
shaped, contracting roof, open at the top, to the bright day, I ask her
what it is. She folds her arms,, leers hideously, and stares.
Pages:
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171