It was now midnight.
No sound within the room reached Antonina's ear but the quick rattling of the door-latch, shaken in its socket by the wind.

As one by one the moments journeyed slowly onward, it made its harsh music with as monotonous a regularity as though it were moved by their progress, and kept pace with their eternal march.

Gradually the girl found herself listening to this sharp, discordant sound, with all the attention she could have bestowed at other times on the ripple of a distant rivulet or the soothing harmony of a lute, when, just as it seemed adapting itself most easily to her senses, it suddenly ceased, and the next instant a gust of wind, like that which had rushed through the open door on the breaking of the rotten bar, waved her hair about her face and fluttered the folds of her light, loose dress.

She raised her head and whispered tremulously to Hermanric-- 'The door is open again--the latch has given way!' The Goth started from his reverie and looked up hastily.

At that instant the rattling of the latch recommenced as suddenly as it had ceased, and the air of the room recovered its former tranquillity.
'Calm yourself, beloved one,' said Hermanric gently; 'your fancy has misled you--the door is safe.' He parted back her dishevelled hair caressingly as he spoke.