Suddenly the clock chimes of the belfry rang forth with startling resonance, and twelve o’clock struck upon the stillness. Then followed upon the bells a solemn and funereal melody.

“How comes that?” I asked the priest, without stopping to consider whether I had the right to speak during my vigil.

“It is the carilloneur,” my fellow watcher said, interrupting his whispered and sibilant devotions, and turning to me, as it seemed, unwillingly. “Have you not heard it before? Every evening since the death he has played it at midnight in memory of Alresca.” Then he resumed his office.

The minutes passed, or rather crawled by, and, if anything, my uneasiness increased. I suffered all the anxieties and tremors which