It was on the sixth night, and the two inmates of the gloomy cell were preparing to retire to their humble pallet, after offering their prayers to the Virgin, for adversity had already taught the countess to pray, and to pray devoutly, too, when they were startled and alarmed by the sudden clang of a large bell fixed in some part of the subterrane.
The echoes which it raised, and the monotonous vibration of the air which it produced, struck terror to their souls.
A minute elapsed, and again the bell struck.
Flora and the countess exchanged glances of terror and mysterious doubt, so ominous was that sound.
Again a minute passed, and a third time clanged that heavy iron tongue.
Then commenced a funeral hymn, chanted by several female voices, and emanating as yet from a distance, sounding, too, as if the mournful melody was made within the very bowels of the earth.
But by degrees the strain became louder, as those who sang approached nearer; and in a short time the sound of many light steps on the stone pavement of the chamber of penitence were heard by Giulia and her companion in their cell.
Again did they exchange terrified glances, as if demanding of each other what this strange interruption of night’s silence could mean. But at that instant the hymn ceased—and again the loud bell clanged, as if in some far-off gallery hollowed out of the earth.
Oh! in that convent where all was mysterious, and where a terrific despotism obeyed the dictates of its own wild will, such sounds as that funeral chant, and that deafening bell, were but too fairly calculated to inspire the souls of the innocent Flora and the guilty Giulia with the wildest apprehension!
Suddenly the door opened, and Sister Alba, who presided over the chamber of penitence, appeared on the threshold.