CHAPTER XVII.

It was quite dark in Sirona's cavern, fearfully dark, and the blacker
grew the night which shrouded her, the more her terror increased. From
time to time she shut her eyes as tightly as she could, for she fancied
she could see a crimson glare, and she longed for light in that hour as a
drowning man longs for the shore. Dark forebodings of every kind
oppressed her soul.

What if Paulus had abandoned her, and had left her to her fate? Or if
Polykarp should have been searching for her on the mountain in this
storm, and in the darkness should have fallen into some abyss, or have
been struck by the lightning? Suppose the mass of rock that overhung the
entrance to the cave should have been loosened in the storm, and should
fall, and bar her exit to the open air? Then she would be buried alive,
and she must perish alone, without seeing him whom she loved once more,
or telling him that she had not been unworthy of his trust in her.

Cruelly tormented by such thoughts as these, she dragged herself up and
felt her way out into the air and wind, for she could no longer hold out
in the gloomy solitude and fearful darkness. She had hardly reached the
mouth of the cave, when she heard steps approaching her lurking place,
and again she shrank back. Who was it that could venture in this pitch-
dark night to climb from rock to rock? Was it Paulus returning? Was it
he--was it Polykarp seeking her? She felt intoxicated; she pressed her
hands to her heart, and longed to cry out, but she dared not, and her