ll one heard the chimes of the clock of the fortress.
It struck seven, it struck eight, it struck nine. Never did the metal
voice vibrate more forcibly through the heart of any man than did the
last stroke, marking the ninth hour, through the heart of Cornelius.

All was then silent again. Cornelius put his hand on his heart, to
repress as it were its violent palpitation, and listened.

The noise of her footstep, the rustling of her gown on the staircase,
were so familiar to his ear, that she had no sooner mounted one step
than he used to say to himself,--

"Here comes Rosa."

This evening none of those little noises broke the silence of the lobby,
the clock struck nine, and a quarter; the half-hour, then a quarter to
ten, and at last its deep tone announced, not only to the inmates of
the fortress, but also to all the inhabitants of Loewestein, that it was
ten.

This was the hour at which Rosa generally used to leave Cornelius. The
hour had struck, but Rosa had not come.

Thus then his foreboding had not deceived him; Rosa, being vexed, shut
herself up in her room and left him to himself.

"Alas!" he thought, "I have deserved all this. She will come no more,
and she is right in staying away; in her place I should do just the
same."

Yet notwithstanding all this, Cornelius listened, waited, and hoped
until midnight, then he threw himself upon the bed, with his clothes on.

It was a long and sad night for him, and the day brought no hope to the
prisoner.

At eight in the morning, the door of his cell opened; but Cornelius did
not even turn his head; he had heard the heavy step of Gryphus in the
lobby, but this step had perfectly satisfied the prisoner that his
jailer was coming alone.

Thus Cornelius did not even look at Gryphus.

And yet he would have been so glad to draw him out, and to inquire about
Rosa. He even very nearly made this inquiry, strange as it would needs
have appeared to her father. To tell the truth, there was in all this
some selfish hope to hear from Gryphus that his daughter was ill.

Except on extraordinary occasions, Rosa never came during the day.
Cornelius therefore did not really expect her as long as the day lasted.
Yet his sudden starts, his listening at the door, his rapid glances at
every little noise towards the grated window, showed clearly that the
prisoner entertained some latent hope that Rosa would, somehow or other,
break her rule.

At the second visit of Gryphus, C