ly a
quick-witted gentleman, and I forgave him from my heart all his chaff
in the matter of teaching me manners. It took him not a great while to
comprehend, and taking note of the situation of my window, he sauntered
off. Thence forward only three men passed by the house, at much longer
intervals. He had taken one with him, and I was left to surmise in
what method they purposed to effect my deliverance. I made myself
almost merry. The long labor at the window had cramped my limbs to
such a degree it pained me to move. I clambered down and took a few
turns about the room as if I had naught to do but exercise. But at
every turn the hideous face and whitened eyes of Broussard dogged my
footsteps as a spectre. Look where I would, it was only that I saw.
Hour after hour crawled by. Jerome would wait for night. Night!

Did he but know what lurking horrors filled the dismal hours for me, he
would come soon. By some fatality I had drawn the body directly to the
spot where the last fading shafts of light would hover about its face.
Not for a paradise of peace would I touch the loathsome thing again to
hide it in the shadows. I could neither take my eyes from it nor put
my hands upon it. Like the basilisk of fable it held my gaze charmed,
fixed it, bound it fast. Crouch as I might in the remotest corner,
cover my face in my mantle, still that searching, penetrating thing
pierced all obstacles, glared grisly and distinct before me.

I tried to throw off the thought which now constantly recurred. What
if Jerome did not come? Would I starve here in company with this
corrupting flesh? No, there was the window; a headlong dash from that
would bring death and release. So I determined. Then came on the
night. To me it brought no rest, no sweet surcease of the labors
through the day.

Somewhere, afar off in the city, there rang a tremulous bell, launching
its vibrations upon the infinite silence as a sinner's guilty soul
might trembling stand in the presence of Almighty condemnation. The
melancholy howl of a dog at first cleft through every nerve and fibre
of my being, thrilling with a creeping chill of horror. So regular did
it come, so unvaried, I grew to count the seconds under my breath, and
to note its monotonous precision. Somehow this occupation in a measure
relieved me, and when the howls came more infrequently and at less well
defined intervals, I mentally resented the change. Time had ceased to
be.