In the effort he fell, and falling grasped at aught that might save him. His fall seemed perpendicular--there was nought to save him--the rock was as smooth as ice--the ocean of fire broke at its foot! Suddenly a groupe of figures appeared, ascending as he fell. He grasped at them successively;--first Stanton--then Walberg--Elinor Mortimer--Isidora--Monçada--all passed him,--to each he seemed in his slumber to cling in order to break his fall--all ascended the precipice. He caught at each in his downward flight, but all forsook him and ascended. His last despairing reverted glance was fixed on the clock of eternity--the upraised black arm seemed to push forward the hand--it arrived at its period--he fell--he sunk--he blazed--he shrieked! The burning waves boomed over his sinking head, and the clock of eternity rung out its awful chime--“Room for the soul of the Wanderer!”--and the waves of the burning ocean answered, as they lashed the adamantine rock--“There is room for more!”----The Wanderer awoke. CHAPTER XXXIX. And in he came with eyes of flame, The fiend to fetch the dead. SOUTHEY’S _Old Woman of Berkeley_. Melmoth and Monçada did not dare to approach the door till about noon. They then knocked gently at the door, and finding the summons unanswered, they entered slowly and irresolutely. The apartment was in the same state in which they had left it the preceding night, or rather morning; it was dusky and silent, the shutters had not been opened, and the Wanderer still seemed sleeping in his chair. At the sound of their approach he half-started up, and demanded what was the hour. They told him. “My hour is come,” said the Wanderer, “it is an hour you must neither partake or witness--the clock of eternity is about to strike, but its knell must be unheard by mortal ears!” As he spoke they approached nearer, and saw with horror the change the last few hours had wrought on him. The fearful lustre of his eyes had been deadened before their late interview, but now the lines of extreme age were visible in every feature. His hairs were as white as snow, his mouth had fallen in, the muscles of his face were relaxed and withered--he was the very image of hoary decrepid debility. He started himself at the impression which his appearance visibly made on the intruders. “You see what I feel,” he exclaimed, “the hour then is come. I am summoned, and I must obey the summons--my master has other work for me! When a meteor blazes in your atmosphere--when a comet pursues its burning path towards the sun--look up, and perhaps you may think of the spirit condemned to guide the blazing and erratic orb.”