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The sequel by Walter Scott's story sobered
on the instant the padlock had clicked when

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Montessor passed the chain about my waist, and thus fastened me to the wall.

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I stood upright in the little dungeon, the blood running cold in my

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veins. With a maniacal laughter,
he withdrew from the niche, whipping a

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towel from under his robe, he
began to wall up the narrow opening.

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I knew it was not a joke, a drunken chest. I saw that

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his drunkenness had fallen from him.
The dying flambeaux fell from my nerveless hand

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and cast a fitful, bloody glow
against the whitened tripping walls. I shook

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the chain frenzily. For God's sake, Matossor, I cried. He replied

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with a horrible, mocking laugh,
and, like a devil from hell,

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lifted his voice with mine to show
that it was idle to call for help.

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I always distrusted Montasor. I knew
him to be a serpent. He

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feared me and was jealous of my
person and attachments. In spite of all

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his fawnings and smiles, I knew
he hated me deeply, for the injuries

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I had heaped upon him, and
for the open insults I had added to

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them. And yet I swear he
had never, in the slightest suspected that

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it was not Giovanna, the tenor
who was successful with his wife, but

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I Fortunado. He called, and
his hoarse tone echoed in a ghastly way

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through the gloomy catacombs of his ancestors, and re echoed along the winding crypt.

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I made no reply. Cold beads
of fear started from my brow as

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I strained against the chain and listened
to the soft thudding of the stones he

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was building into the opening to make
my tomb, and the accompanying tinkle of

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his trowel. Even then I admired
perforce the cleverness with which he had secured

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his revenge. It was the night
of the carnival. He had found me

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in the streets, dazed with wine, and pretended that he wanted my judgment

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on a cask of sherry, had
lured my staggering feet into the gloomy passages

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under his palazzo, and he had
brought me to this narrow niche in the

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castle wall, to entomb me alive
where no one would ever find me.

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It was very clever. My memory
fails me now, but I doubt not

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that I cried out many times for
pity and mercy. And I take no

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shame in thinking that this may have
been so. I recall his words,

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his horrible mouthings, as he worked
with more haste and zeal than skill.

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But I was a brave man,
and always I did not yield myself to

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fate. It was unthinkable I Fortunato
to die walled up by Motusor. I

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cursed him and his line. I
wrenched at the chain with ferocious strength,

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more eager to have him by the
throat than to be free to live.

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I called upon all the saints,
and particularly to my patron Saint. You

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shall see that I was not unheard. The wall grew high to his breast,

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and in the light of his flambeaux
sat somewhere in the wall outside.

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I could see Matussor's sweating face as
he labored with the stones. Suddenly he

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thrust his torch through the opening no
larger than his head, And to deceive

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him, I prostrated myself upon the
door and laughed the laugh of a dying

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man. I heard the thud of
another stone, and looked up quickly.

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My flambeau had died out, monosaurs
had disappeared, and there was no opening.

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I was in a tomb of stone. Absolute darkness surrounded me. The

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walls seemed to press upon me like
icy blankets. The silence was absolute.

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As the darkness reigned, I leaped
to my feet. Silence, silence,

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absolute silence, save for my own
laboring breath. Maria supposed the mortar hardened

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ere I could throw my weight against
the poor wall he had built. Then

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I were lost. I called out
loud for my holy saint Lucky. It

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was that I had the bodily strength
of two. I strained upon the chain

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wildly. I seized it in my
hands and tore it with savage determination.

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I would not die. Thus,
in desperation, frantic, with rage and

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fear, I made one last,
violent, prodigious effort to free myself with

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strength enough to make the palazzo tremble. And in that last great effort,

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the staples of the chain tore loose
from the half rotted stone in which they

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were fastened. Hot tears of joy
welled in my eyes. I vowed a

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hundred candles to the virgin, but
I could not take the time to give

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thanks. Throwing myself upon the wall
Montesor had just reared my feet desperately braced

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on the rough stone, I fought
for liberty like a tiger. Heavens it

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gave. The wall gave it yielded
like a stiff canvas against the push of

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a hand, gave slowly but surely, bulging outward, then went rumbling down.

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I thrust myself through the jagged opening
into the catacombs. I was free.

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What a joy if Montessor had been
there, even though he wore his

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rapier and I had but my pointuard. It was very dark, and yet

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I could see a gleam of light
in the direction from which we had come.

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Montor, crazed with the thought of
sweet revenge, I drunk with wine.

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I paused and thought, should I
find him in the street this gay

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time and slay him? No,
there was a better thing to do.

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With haste and no mean skill.
I built up the wall anew, closing

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the opening of what might have been
my tomb had I been a weak man.

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And against this new wall erected a
rampart of old bones, then thrusting

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the dangling end of the chain within
my doublet began to retrace my feet toward

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freedom. I struck my foot against
some small soft object and halted with a

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start. I leaned over. I
had kicked against Motossor's mask, and I

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put it over my face. I
knew that all his servants were away to

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enjoy the carnival, but it would
do no harm to wear this mask,

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and it served my purpose. I
passed through the crypt and walked back,

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swiftly and steadily through the range of
low arches through which I had come staggering

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to the awful doom. Soon I
was above in my false friend's rich sweets,

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in the cheerful glow of many lights. But all was quiet, no

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one stirred. I was alone safe. I went light footed through the deserted

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house. I could hear the shouts
and laughter of merry people in the street

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until I came to the passage leading
to the plaza. There I stopped,

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with the blood jumping in my veins
like wildfire. In this hall. In

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the corner, upon a low settee
lay Montessor, sprawling in a heavy stupor,

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as drunk with wine as I had
been when I trustfully entered within his

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doors. I paused over his body. Within my bosom was the dagger with

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which I never part, and yet
I let him lie there unharmed. When

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I elbowed my way masked through the
square, it was twelve o'clock. I

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was in time to keep my appointment
with my wife. I laughed, what

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a chest and Montesor's wife was waiting
for me in the usual place. Such

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a beautiful woman. I really loved
her, and I hope he did.

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I was as clever as I was
brave. I was indeed an exceedingly clever

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man. I had seen my creditors
pressing, and all things turned towards ruin,

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and that is why I had converted
everything possible into gold and precious stones.

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That night I crept unseen into my
own house, from which my servants,

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like Montossurs, had stolen away to
enjoy the carnival, and securing all

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the wealth I had secreted was up
and away, my chain stricken off by

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an obscure armor. I have no
doubt that my body servant was executed for

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the theft of my fortune, as
indeed he should have been for watching my

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belonging so poorly. But I know
not then we left the city while the

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streets were still crowded, and gay
Montissor's wife and I and went to England,

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where we have lived a long life
and very happy. Years ago I

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heard a vague rumor that Montessor believed
his beautiful wife had gone away with Giovanna

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the tenor, who disappeared at about
that time. But it was not so.

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As for Lady Fortunado, she may
have guessed the truth, and Montessor

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will believe until he dies that my
bones lay crumbling in the little wolled in

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Dungeon below his palazzo. The end
of the sequel