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- 2026-01-30T07:57:55.413Z
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- 8284
- text
- you; one would have almost sworn that she picked you out from among us
three.”
“If she did, possibly, it might have been her finer apprehension,
Excellenza.”
“How, Bannadonna? I do not understand you.”
“No consequence, no consequence, Excellenza—but the shifted wind is
blowing through the slit. Suffer me to escort you on; and then, pardon,
but the toiler must to his tools.”
“It may be foolish, Signor,” said the milder magistrate, as, from the
third landing, the two now went down unescorted, “but, somehow, our
great mechanician moves me strangely. Why, just now, when he so
superciliously replied, his walk seemed Sisera’s, God’s vain foe, in
Del Fonca’s painting. And that young, sculptured Deborah, too. Ay, and
that—.”
“Tush, tush, Signor!” returned the chief. “A passing whim.
Deborah?—Where’s Jael, pray?”
“Ah,” said the other, as they now stepped upon the sod, “Ah, Signor, I
see you leave your fears behind you with the chill and gloom; but mine,
even in this sunny air, remain. Hark!”
It was a sound from just within the tower door, whence they had
emerged. Turning, they saw it closed.
“He has slipped down and barred us out,” smiled the chief; “but it is
his custom.”
Proclamation was now made, that the next day, at one hour after
meridian, the clock would strike, and—thanks to the mechanician’s
powerful art—with unusual accompaniments. But what those should be,
none as yet could say. The announcement was received with cheers.
By the looser sort, who encamped about the tower all night, lights were
seen gleaming through the topmost blind-work, only disappearing with
the morning sun. Strange sounds, too, were heard, or were thought to
be, by those whom anxious watching might not have left mentally
undisturbed—sounds, not only of some ringing implement, but also—so
they said—half-suppressed screams and plainings, such as might have
issued from some ghostly engine, overplied.
Slowly the day drew on; part of the concourse chasing the weary time
with songs and games, till, at last, the great blurred sun rolled, like
a football, against the plain.
At noon, the nobility and principal citizens came from the town in
cavalcade, a guard of soldiers, also, with music, the more to honor the
occasion.
Only one hour more. Impatience grew. Watches were held in hands of
feverish men, who stood, now scrutinizing their small dial-plates, and
then, with neck thrown back, gazing toward the belfry, as if the eye
might foretell that which could only be made sensible to the ear; for,
as yet, there was no dial to the tower-clock.
The hour hands of a thousand watches now verged within a hair’s breadth
of the figure 1. A silence, as of the expectation of some Shiloh,
pervaded the swarming plain. Suddenly a dull, mangled sound—naught
ringing in it; scarcely audible, indeed, to the outer circles of the
people—that dull sound dropped heavily from the belfry. At the same
moment, each man stared at his neighbor blankly. All watches were
upheld. All hour-hands were at—had passed—the figure 1. No bell-stroke
from the tower. The multitude became tumultuous.
Waiting a few moments, the chief magistrate, commanding silence, hailed
the belfry, to know what thing unforeseen had happened there.
No response.
He hailed again and yet again.
All continued hushed.
By his order, the soldiers burst in the tower-door; when, stationing
guards to defend it from the now surging mob, the chief, accompanied by
his former associate, climbed the winding stairs. Half-way up, they
stopped to listen. No sound. Mounting faster, they reached the belfry;
but, at the threshold, started at the spectacle disclosed. A spaniel,
which, unbeknown to them, had followed them thus far, stood shivering
as before some unknown monster in a brake: or, rather, as if it snuffed
footsteps leading to some other world.
- title
- Chunk 6