ker outlines of the houses stood out mysteriously. We turned into a
narrow street where opposite neighbours might almost have shaken hands
with each other from the upper windows. Wonderful gabled roofs succeeded
each other in a long procession. There seemed not a vestige of anything
modern in the whole thoroughfare. We were in a scene of the Middle Ages,
back in those far-off days.

Here and there a light shining in a room revealed a large latticed
window, running the whole width of the house. In spite of Andre's
fatigue and burden, we could only stand and gaze. No human power could
mesmerise us, but the window did so.

What could be more startlingly weird and picturesque than the bright
reflection of these latticed panes, surrounded by this intense darkness,
these mysterious outlines? Almost we expected to see a ghostly vision
advance from the interior, and, opening the lattice with a skeleton
hand, ask our pleasure at thus invading their solitude at the witching
hour--for the vibration of the bells tolling midnight was still upon the
air, travelling into space, perhaps announcing to other worlds that to
us another day was dead, another day was born.

But no ghost appeared. A very human figure, however, did so. It looked
down upon us for a moment, and mistaking our rapt gaze at the
antiquities--of which it did not form a part--for mere vulgar curiosity,
held up a reproving hand. Then, catching sight of H.C., it darted
forward, looked breathlessly into the night, and seemed also mesmerised
as by a revelation.

We quietly went our way, leaving the spell to work itself out. Our
footsteps echoed in the silent night, with the running accompaniment of
a double-shuffle from Misery. No other sound broke the stillness; we
were absolutely alone with the ancient houses, the stars and the sky. It
might have been a Mediaeval City of the Dead, unpeopled since the days of
its youth. Our candle burned on in the hand of Andre; our reflections
danced and played about us: one hears of the Dance of Death--this was
the Dance of Ghosts--a natural sequence; ghostly shadows flitted out of
every doorway, down every turning.

At last we emerged on to an open space, partly filled by a modern
building with a hideous roof, evidently the market place. Here we
ascended to a higher level. Ancient outlines still surrounded us, but
were interrupted by modern ones also. Square roofs and straight lines
broke the continuity of the picturesque gabled