oyed
they would all be to see me again--to know that I was not dead after
all! What a welcome I should receive! How Nina would nestle into my
arms; how my little child would cling to me; how Guido would clasp me
by the hand! I smiled as I pictured the scene of rejoicing at the dear
old villa--the happy home sanctified by perfect friendship and faithful
love!

A deep hollow sound booming suddenly on my ears startled me--one! two!
three! I counted the strokes up to twelve. It was some church bell
tolling the hour. My pleasing fancies dispersed--I again faced the
drear reality of my position. Twelve o'clock! Midday or midnight? I
could not tell. I began to calculate. It was early morning when I had
been taken ill--not much past eight when I had met the monk and sought
his assistance for the poor little fruit-seller who had after all
perished alone in his sufferings. Now supposing my illness had lasted
some hours, I might have fallen into a trance--died--as those around me
had thought, somewhere about noon. In that case they would certainly
have buried me with as little delay as possible--before sunset at all
events. Thinking these points over one by one, I came to the conclusion
that the bell I had just heard must have struck midnight--the midnight
of the very day of my burial. I shivered; a kind of nervous dread stole
over me. I have always been physically courageous, but at the same
time, in spite of my education, I am somewhat superstitious--what
Neapolitan is not? it runs in the southern blood. And there was
something unutterably fearful in the sound of that midnight bell
clanging harshly on the ears of a man pent up alive in a funeral vault
with the decaying bodies of his ancestors close within reach of his
hand! I tried to conquer my feelings--to summon up my fortitude. I
endeavored to reason out the best method of escape. I resolved to feel
my way, if possible, to the steps of the vault, and with this idea in
my mind I put out my hands and began to move along slowly and with the
utmost care. What was that? I stopped; I listened; the blood curdled in
my veins! A shrill cry, piercing, prolonged, and melancholy, echoed
through the hollow arches of my tomb. A cold perspiration broke out all
over my body--my heart beat so loudly that I could hear it thumping
against my ribs. Again--again--that weird shriek, followed by a whir
and flap of wings. I breathed again.

"It is an owl," I said to myself, ashamed of my fears; "