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Do you know that gruesome old ballad, with its sombre refrain of "Down! Down! Down among the dead men? " A friend of mine with a deep bass voice, used to sing it in order to display his lower notes, upon which -- and not without reason -- he flattered himself greatly; but in after years, I never heard it sung without a shudder, so vividly did it recall to my mind the grotesque horror of that midnight visit to the Tomb of the Morone, in that old burial-ground of Verona. Of late I had been so much mixed up with ghosts, vaults, ghouls and crimes, that I was by no means anxious to continue the category, and would have infinitely preferred to have let Beltrami, who liked such uncomfortable things, go alone; but being an Englishman, I had to uphold the honour of my country, so never thought for a moment of showing the white feather.
Besides, the only chance of saving Pallanza was by obtaining possession of the antidote, and in spite of my repugnance to the errand, I fully made up my mind to be on the Ponte Aleardi at the appointed time.