After a time, not hearing him move, he looked in and to his surprise the stranger had disappeared.

On the desk lay a sheet of paper on which was written three verses of a poem.

It was his 'Bells.' The judge has had them framed, so I hear.

There was enough snow on the ground to bring out the cutters, and Poe had the rhythm of the bells ringing in his head and being afraid he would forget it he pulled the judge's doorbell.

I wish he'd rung mine.