the niche a low laugh that erected the hairs
upon my head. It was succeeded by a sad voice, which I had
difficulty in recognizing as that of the noble Fortunato. The
voice said--
"Ha! ha! ha!--he! he! he!--a very good joke indeed--an
excellent jest. We shall have many a rich laugh about it at the
palazzo--he! he! he!--over our wine--he! he! he!"
"The Amontillado!" I said.
"He! he! he!--he! he! he!--yes, the Amontillado. But is it
not getting late? Will not they be awaiting us at the palazzo, the
Lady Fortunato and the rest? Let us be gone."
"Yes," I said, "let us be gone."
" For the love of God, Montresor!"
"Yes," I said, "for the love of God!"
But to these words I hearkened in vain for a reply. I grew impatient.
I called aloud--
"Fortunato!"
No answer. I called again--
"Fortunato--"
No answer still. I thrust a torch through the remaining aperture
and let it fall within. There came forth in reply only a jingling
of the bells. My heart grew sick on account of the dampness of
the catacombs. I hastened to make an end of my labour. I forced
the last stone into its position; I plastered it up. Against the
new masonry I re-erected the old rampart of bones. For the half
of a century no mortal has disturbed them. In pace requiescat!
End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of
The Raven,
The Masque of the Red Death,
and The Cask of Amontillado,
by Edgar Allan Poe
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