oonlight fell upon heavy blocks of marble lying about.
There was an erection that looked for all the world like a gibbet, and
we almost expected to see a ghostly skeleton dangling from its
cross-beam.

Quasimodo moved on and opened a small south door. He entered and we
waited whilst he took a lantern from the hands of the Shadow. It was
lighted in a moment, and we found it to be a powerful electric lamp.
Then we too passed in, and the door closed upon us. If we were to be
murdered, it would not be in utter darkness. The lantern was brilliant,
and threw around its ghostly lights and shadows. We are compelled to
repeat the adjective, for everything was ghostly and weird.

The vast interior was lost in profoundest silence and gloom. No single
light could reach the depths and spaces, but round about us the lantern
lighted up the outlines of aisles and arches and pillars.

The effect was inexpressibly solemn. There seemed no limit to the space.
We paced the aisles and thought them endless. Our footsteps awoke
ghostly echoes. As far as could be discerned, we were surrounded by the
loveliest, most refined outlines. Gothic aisles and arches were dimly
visible. And still the Shadow followed Quasimodo, and still his
footsteps made no sound.

Quasimodo walked in silence for a time, evidently enjoying our own
silent delight and experience. His long arms and legs, his large head,
his long-drawn, backward shadow, all suggested gnome-land. He swung the
lantern about as though charmed and allured by all the fantastic effects
it produced.

At last we felt we must break the silence.

"Why are you here?" we said. "May we ask? It seems so strange to be
walking with you in this midnight space and darkness."

"Can you not guess?" he returned. "What object could I have in coming
here at this dark hour? Look."

Then we noticed for the first time that the Shadow carried a music-book.
The enigma was solved. Quasimodo had come to practise.

"But what a strange hour!" we exclaimed. "You turn night into day. Is it
that these ghostly shadows inspire you as nothing else can?"

[Illustration: EAST END OF CATHEDRAL, SHOWING NORMAN APSE: TARRAGONA.]

"No," replied Quasimodo; "I have no inspiration. I possess the souls of
others, I have no soul of my own. It is given to me to interpret the
thoughts of all musicians with a wonderful interpretation, but not a
single thought of my own do I possess. Not a single line can I
extemporise. I am like