The clock ticked, the people sighed, but nothing happened. Like children afraid of the dark, the congregation lay with their faces towards the ground, and dared not look up. A cold sweat of anxiety dropped from many brows, knees which had gone to sleep caused pain, or were numb, and felt as though they had been amputated. Then the clock suddenly ceased ticking. Had the works run down? Was it an omen? Was everything going to stand still, time to be at an end, and eternity begin? From the congregation rose some stifled cries, and, lifeless with terror, some bodies dropped on the stone pavement. Then the clock began to strike--One, Two, Three, Four.... The twelfth stroke sounded, and the echoes died away. A fresh death-like silence ensued. Then Silvester turned round, and, with the proud smile of a victor, he extended his hands in blessing. At the same moment all the bells in the tower rang out joyfully, and from the organ-loft a choir of voices began to sing, somewhat unsteadily at first, but soon firmly and clearly, “Te Deum Laudamus!” The congregation joined in, but it was some time before they could straighten their stiffened backs, and recover from the spectacle of those who had died of fright. When the hymn was over, the people fell in each other’s arms, weeping and laughing like lunatics, as they gave each other the kiss of peace. So ended the first Millennium after the birth of Christ. In the little castle Paterno on Mount Soracte, the Emperor had spent the Christmas week and New Year’s Eve in the strictest fast and penance. But when New Year’s Day was come, and nothing had happened, he returned to Rome to meet Silvester and take measures for the future. The Emperor’s friend and teacher received him with a smile which was easy to interpret. But the monarch was still so much under the effect of his fit of alarm that he did not venture to be angry. “Will you now return to earth, my son, and look after your mundane affairs?” said Silvester. “I will, but I must first fulfil two vows which I made in the hour of need.” “Fulfil them certainly.” “I go to the grave of my friend Adalbert in Gnesen, and I must visit the funeral vault of Charles the Great in Aachen.” “Do so, but you must at the same time fulfil some commissions which I give you for the journey.” So they parted. * * * * * Two years had passed, when, one day in January, Pope Silvester was summoned to Paterno, the little castle on Soracte, where the Roman-German Emperor dwelt, and now lay ill. When Silvester entered the sick-room, the Emperor sat upright, but looked troubled. “You are ill,” said Silvester: “is it the soul or body?” “I am tired.” “Already, at twenty-two years of age.” “I am despondent.”