liverer, fervently embraced his knees, and would have poured out his thanks, but that joy deprived him of utterance. The excellent monk raised him up, gave him a roll and a long sausage to eat by the way, and pushed him out at the door. Just freed from his gyves, Benedict crossed the threshold of his prison with but a tottering step, trembling, moreover, lest he should be recognised. But his monk’s frock effectually covered all delinquencies, real and alleged, and he received, on passing out, every bit as much respect as Brother Graurock himself.
Clara meantime sat alone and full of suspense, in her little bed-room, listening to every breath of wind, earnestly following each passing footstep. Ever and anon she was certain some one had tapped at the window-shutter or rung the bell, and would run out with a beating heart, but only to encounter a succession of disappointments. Already the cocks in the neighbourhood had announced, by their “lively din,” the approach of day; already the convent bell had rung for matins, to Clara it had a funeral sound; already the watchman had blown his horn for the last time, to rouse the bread-bakers to their labour. The lamp of Clara was just going out for want of oil; nor, a prey to her anxiety, did she observe the bright circlet of happy omen, which shone around the extremity of the expiring wick. Seated on her bed-side, she wept bitterly, repeating gloomily: “Ah!
