"_Hic nulla pax_," replied an aged monk, in a hollow, tremulous tone, baring his breast the while--"Here is no peace." He pointed to his bosom as he spoke, and the monk, casting his eye upon it, beheld his heart within surrounded by living fire, which seemed to feed on it but not consume it. He turned away in affright, but ceased not to prosecute his inquiries. "_Pax vobis, in nomine Domini_," he spake again--"Peace be to ye, in the name of the Lord." "_Hic non pax_," the hollow and heartrending tones of the ancient monk who sat at the right of the table were heard to answer. On glancing at the bared bosom of this hapless being also the same sight was exhibited--the heart surrounded by a devouring flame, but still remaining fresh and unconsumed under its operation. Once more the monk turned away and addressed the aged man in the centre. "_Pax vobis, in nomine Domini_," he proceeded. At these words the being to whom they were addressed raised his head, put forward his hand, and closing the book with a loud clap, said-- "Speak on. It is yours to ask, and mine to answer." The monk felt reassured, and his courage rose with the occasion. "Who are ye?" he inquired; "who may ye be?" "We know not!" was the answer, "alas! we know not!" "We know not, we know not!" echoed in melancholy tones the denizens of the vault. "What do ye here?" pursued the querist. "We await the last day, the day of the last judgment! Alas for us! woe! woe!" "Woe! woe!" resounded on all sides. The monk was appalled, but still he proceeded. "What did ye to deserve such doom as this? What may your crime be that deserves such dole and sorrow?" As he asked the question the earth shook under him, and a crowd of skeletons uprose from a range of graves which yawned suddenly at his feet. "These are our victims," answered the old monk. "They suffered at our hands. We suffer now, while they are at peace; and we shall suffer." "For how long?" asked the monk. "For ever and ever!" was the answer. "For ever and ever, for ever and ever!" died along the vault. "May God have mercy on us!" was all the monk could exclaim. The skeletons vanished, the graves closing over them. The aged men disappeared from his view, the bodies fell back in their coffins, the light fled, and the den of death was once more enveloped in its usual darkness. On the monk's revival he found himself lying at the foot of the altar. The grey dawn of a spring morning was visible, and he was fain to retire to his cell as secretly as he could, for fear he should be discovered. From thenceforth he eschewed vain philosophy, says the legend, and, devoting his time to the pursuit of true knowledge, and the extension of the power, greatness, and glory of the Church, died in the odour of sanctity, and was buried in that holy vault, where his body is still visible. _Requiescat in pace!_ LEGENDS OF RUBEZAHL, OR NUMBER-NIP.