her!"

Master Zacharius was no longer there. He was pursuing the phantom
of Pittonaccio across the rickety corridors. Scholastique,
Gerande, and Aubert remained, speechless and fainting, in the
large gloomy hall. The young girl had fallen upon a stone seat;
the old servant knelt beside her, and prayed; Aubert remained
erect, watching his betrothed. Pale lights wandered in the
darkness, and the silence was only broken by the movements of the
little animals which live in old wood, and the noise of which
marks the hours of "death watch."

When daylight came, they ventured upon the endless staircase
which wound beneath these ruined masses; for two hours they
wandered thus without meeting a living soul, and hearing only a
far-off echo responding to their cries. Sometimes they found
themselves buried a hundred feet below the ground, and sometimes
they reached places whence they could overlook the wild
mountains.

Chance brought them at last back again to the vast hall, which
had sheltered them during this night of anguish. It was no longer
empty. Master Zacharius and Pittonaccio were talking there
together, the one upright and rigid as a corpse, the other
crouching over a marble table.

Master Zacharius, when he perceived Gerande, went forward and
took her by the hand, and led her towards Pittonaccio, saying,
"Behold your lord and master, my daughter. Gerande, behold your
husband!"

Gerande shuddered from head to foot.

"Never!" cried Aubert, "for she is my betrothed."

"Never!" responded Gerande, like a plaintive echo.

Pittonaccio began to laugh.

"You wish me to die, then!" exclaimed the old man. "There, in
that clock, the last which goes of all which have gone from my
hands, my life is shut up; and this man tells me, 'When I have
thy daughter, this clock shall belong to thee.' And this man will
not rewind it. He can break it, and plunge me into chaos. Ah, my
daughter, you no longer love me!"

"My father!" murmured Gerande, recovering consciousness.

"If you knew what I have suffered, far away from this principle
of my existence!" resumed the old man. "Perhaps no one looked
after this timepiece. Perhaps its springs were left to wear out,
its wheels to get clogged. But now, in my own hands, I can
nourish this health so dear, for I must not die,--I, the great
watchmaker of Geneva. Look, my daughter, how these hands advance
with certain step. See, five o'clock is about to strike. Listen
well, and look at the