“Well, boys,” said Bart, “shall we go up again?”
“I suppose we may as well.”
“O, it’s no use,” said Arthur. “There’s nothing more. Still, this knock ought to be investigated.”
“Let’s go, then.”
“O, no,” groaned Solomon. “No—don’t—doo-on’t go; don’t go an leab dis pore ’stracted nigga ’posed to sich clamties. Don’t leab a ’flicted ole darky to de powers of darkness.”
“Nonsense! Solomon. Don’t be afraid. You wait here till we come back.”
“Couldn’t! Darsn’t!” cried Solomon. “Neb-ber, nebber lib troo dat ar speriment. No, Mas’r Bart, you won’t leab a ole fool; you’ll stan by a ole man.”
“All right,” said Bart. “I’ll see you down stairs, if you like. Come.”
At that instant there sounded out a deep toll from the great bell in the cupola. It was one single toll, but so profound, so awful, and so solemn, did that solitary knell peal forth through the still night air, that even those who felt no fear could not avoid an involuntary sensation of awe.
Solomon clutched at Bart’s arm, and looked as though he had no life left in him.