ant stroke of a tolling bell.

Dong!--dong!--dong! it sounded, with long intervals between the notes.
Straight across the vacant ground, from the shrouded walls of Alan's
dungeon, and into the contracting fibres of her own tortured heart; it
smote with sudden terror, turning her blood to ice and her cheeks to
livid whiteness.

Great heaven, it was a death-knell. Could it be Alan who was dead!

For a moment she felt as if she must needs rush into the street and
break open those prison gates, must ascertain at once that Alan was
still alive. She went out into the hall and stood for a moment
hesitating. Should she go? and would they tell her at the gates if Alan
was alive or dead?

The landlady heard her moving, and came out of a little apartment at the
back of the house, to see what was going on.

"Were you going out, ma'am?" she asked, curiously.

"I? no; at least," said Lettice, with somewhat difficult utterance, "I
was only wondering what that bell was, and----"

"Oh, that's a bell from the church close by. Sounds exactly like a
passing-bell, don't it, ma'am? And appropriate too. For my son, who is
one of the warders, as I think I've mentioned to you, was here this
afternoon, and tells me that one of the prisoners is dead. A gentleman,
too: the one that there was so much talk about a little while ago."

Lettice leaned against the passage wall, glad that in the gathering
darkness her face could not be seen.

"Was his name--Walcott?" she asked.

"Yes, that was it. At least I think so. I know it was Wal--something. He
was in for assault, I believe, and a nicer, quieter-spoken gentleman, my
son says he never saw. But he died this afternoon, I understand, between
five and six o'clock--just as his time was nearly out, too, poor man."

Lettice made no answer. She stole back into her sitting-room and shut
the door.

So this was the end. The prisoner was released, indeed; but no mortal
voice had told him he was free, no earthly friend had met him at the
door.

She fell on her knees, and prayed that the soul which had been
persecuted might have rest. Then, when the last stroke of the bell had
died away, she sat down in mute despair, and felt that she had lost the
best thing life had to give her.

Outside upon the pavement men and women were passing to and fro. There
was no forecourt to the house; passers-by walked close to the windows;
they could look in if they tried. Lettice had not lighted a candle, and
had