E'en now within her room she kneels And wings to Heaven her dear appeals, All lonely by the pale lamp's ray, For one she loves that's far away. But if my danger haunt thy breast, Yet dry thy tears, and be at rest; I stand in God's own armour clad, He loves an honest soldier lad. The clocks ring out, the round is near. My hour of rest will soon be here; Sleep rock thy brain, and set it free To dream, and only dream of me. Midnight! and is she dreaming of me? It always seems to me as if at this mysterious hour the earth gave a little tremble, and the dead who sleep in her bosom turned in their heavy slumber as if to mutter a prayer of _Domine quousque_? That distant bell is borne to me very differently from the 'twelve great shocks of shameless noon.' Hark! did not a door shut in one of the further vaults? Strange, if I didn't _know_ that I was perfectly alone here I should believe that I heard footsteps. Yes, there are footsteps, and now they are at my door too. Never mind, the door's well locked; no mortal can disturb me. _No mortal_; yet the door flies open!... Two men stood there, making fantastic compliment of yielding the _pas_ to each other. One was tall and haggard, with a long black wig, a dark red coat made by some old French tailor, and covered with gold tassels and gilt buttons. His immensely long thin legs were clad in tight trousers of black velvet, with gold knee-buckles; he had stuck his sword with its porcelain handle through his breeches pocket; when he bowed he flourished a three-cornered hat, and the curls of his peruke rustled down his shoulders like a waterfall. He had a pale face, sunken eyes, and a fiery red nose. The little fellow to whom he wished to yield precedence was quite different. His hair was plastered down with white of egg and then twisted into two long rolls like pistol holsters at the sides--and a plait about a yard long hung down his back. He wore a little steel-grey coat faced with red, and, beneath that, great riding boots, and a richly embroidered waistcoat which covered his plump figure to the knee, and a huge sword was fastened to his side. There was something good-tempered in his face, especially the eyes. He too performed wondrous evolutions with a huge beaver hat. I recovered a little from my terror while their courtesy proceeded to the verge of absurdity: at last they settled it by opening the other half of the door and marching in arm-in-arm. They hung their hats on the wall, unfastened their swords, and sat down silently without noticing me: I think I disliked their silence even more than anything else. Before however I had mustered courage to break it, more steps were heard, and four other gentlemen entered, dressed in somewhat similar fashion: one of them for the chase apparently. 'Greeting, gentlemen of the Rhine! it's long since we met,' said the pale-faced man with the red nose. 'Greeting, greeting, Mr. James, Mr.