too late! Spountus seized her arm, and forced her to follow him through long, endlessly long and dismal passages. Her heart died within her, and, trembling and sorrowful, she leaned on the one who had become master of her soul and body.
"'Listen, Spountus,' whispered she, 'does it not seem as if all around us—here, there, and everywhere—there came the sounds of weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth?'
"'It is nothing, Genossa, my sweet soul, but the workmen who are boring the rock above us, and singing their songs the while.'
"'Seems it not, Spountus, as though bitter tears were trickling on us down the rocks?'
"'It is only the water of the springs that oozes through the rock, Genossa, my sweet soul.'
"'Lord of my life, the air that surrounds us is like the breath of a furnace!'
"'Genossa, joy of my heart, look there! Fire, fire, everywhere fire! this is hell, heathen maiden, and thou art mine for ever!'"
This is the Guerz of Genossa, which must of course lose indescribably by translation, and by the absence of all the circumstances under which I heard it.
We rowed once more in silence round the devil's altar, and by way of dispelling the oppressive and shuddering mood into which the old song had unconsciously plunged me, I inquired