that finally took possession of Claude, and,
with every passing moment, deepened into conviction. Midnight had
passed; the sentry had come, and there he paced mechanically, with no
thought of him. Either the ex-commandant or the sentinel had betrayed
them. Too many had been in the secret. Better never to have heard of
this plan than, having heard of it, to find it thus dashed away on
the very eve of its accomplishment. Time passed, and every moment
only added to Claude's bitterness; time passed, and every moment only
served to show him that all was over. A vague thought came of
speaking to the sentinel; but that was dismissed. Then another
thought came, of trying to tear away the iron grating; but the
impossibility of that soon showed itself. He sank down upon his
litter of straw in one corner, and bade adieu to hope. Then he
started up, and paced up and down wildly, unable to yield so calmly
to despair. Then once more he sank down upon the straw.

Thus he was lying, crouched down, his head in his hands, overwhelmed
utterly, when suddenly a deep sound came to his ears, which in an
instant made him start to his feet, and drove away every despairing
thought, bringing in place of these a new wave of hope, and joy, and
amazement. It was the single toll of the great bell, which, as he
knew, always sounded at midnight.

Midnight! Was it possible? Midnight had not passed, then. The change
of sentry had been at nine o'clock, which he, deceived by the slow
progress of the hours, had supposed to be midnight. He had been
mistaken. There was yet hope. He rushed to the grating, and listened.
There were footsteps approaching--the tramp of the relieving guard.
He listened till the guard was relieved, and the departing footsteps
died away. Then began the pace of the new sentry.

What now? Was there to be a repetition of his former experience? Was
he again to be dashed down from this fresh hope into a fresh despair?
He nerved himself for this new ordeal, and waited with a painfully
throbbing heart. At the grating he stood, motionless, listening, with
all his soul wrapped and absorbed in his single sense of hearing.
There were an inner grating and an outer one, and between the two a
sash with two panes of glass. He could hear the sentry as he paced up
and down; he could also hear, far away, the long, shrill note of
innumerable frogs; and the one seemed as monotonous, as unchangeable,
and as interminable as the other.

But at length