s hapless being also the same
sight was exhibited--the heart surrounded by a devouring flame, but
still remaining fresh and unconsumed under its operation. Once more
the monk turned away and addressed the aged man in the centre.

"_Pax vobis, in nomine Domini_," he proceeded.

At these words the being to whom they were addressed raised his head,
put forward his hand, and closing the book with a loud clap, said--

"Speak on. It is yours to ask, and mine to answer."

The monk felt reassured, and his courage rose with the occasion.

"Who are ye?" he inquired; "who may ye be?"

"We know not!" was the answer, "alas! we know not!"

"We know not, we know not!" echoed in melancholy tones the denizens of
the vault.

"What do ye here?" pursued the querist.

"We await the last day, the day of the last judgment! Alas for us!
woe! woe!"

"Woe! woe!" resounded on all sides.

The monk was appalled, but still he proceeded.

"What did ye to deserve such doom as this? What may your crime be that
deserves such dole and sorrow?"

As he asked the question the earth shook under him, and a crowd of
skeletons uprose from a range of graves which yawned suddenly at his
feet.

"These are our victims," answered the old monk. "They suffered at our
hands. We suffer now, while they are at peace; and we shall suffer."

"For how long?" asked the monk.

"For ever and ever!" was the answer.

"For ever and ever, for ever and ever!" died along the vault.

"May God have mercy on us!" was all the monk could exclaim.

The skeletons vanished, the graves closing over them. The aged men
disappeared from his view, the bodies fell back in their coffins, the
light fled, and the den of death was once more enveloped in its usual
darkness.

On the monk's revival he found himself lying at the foot of the altar.
The grey dawn of a spring morning was visible, and he was fain to
retire to his cell as secretly as he could, for fear he should be
discovered.

From thenceforth he eschewed vain philosophy, says the legend, and,
devoting his time to the pursuit of true knowledge, and the extension
of the power, greatness, and glory of the Church, died in the odour of
sanctity, and was buried in that holy vault, where his body is still
visible.

_Requiescat in pace!_

LEGENDS OF RUBEZAHL, OR NUMBER-NIP.

Once upon a time a glazier who was travelling across the mountains,
feeling very tired from the heavy load of glass which he was carrying