said Falk; “and I am sure all present are desirous to know what Elisa then concealed from us.”
“It is no secret,” said Cecilia; “yet I presume the baron is not aware of it, therefore I request you will use the information discreetly. There exists in the family of our friend an old tradition, whose original meaning, like many other things of the kind, has been obscured in the lapse of time. The legend declares, that the death of every member of that family shall be announced by the sound of a bell, and that the last of them should ring his own knell. I have never been able to ascertain the origin of this singular prediction, yet the village church books can prove that the different members of the family have died while the hour was striking. It is said that one of them having lain for some days in the last agonies, commanded the bells to be tolled, which being done, he closed his eyes, and slept in peace. It is not for me to decide whether this be truth or fable; I will only show you how singularly the tradition has been verified in the case of Elisa’s father. The major was, as you know, the last of his line, and this circumstance awakened the remembrance of the prediction which had been for many years almost forgotten. Without being exactly superstitious, the major always disliked the subject of the tradition to be reverted to, and gave orders, through an indirect channel, that a large house-bell used for assembling the domestics at dinner, should be taken from its place. When he was attacked with his last illness, the doctors gave up all hope of saving him—not so the peasantry; they maintained that so long as their lord was not a bell-ringer, there could be no fear of his life. Their hope was strengthened by an accident which seemed to promise a removal of every bell from the vicinity of the invalid. It happened that on a Saint’s-day one of the bells became injured, and in order to improve the chime, the old set was taken down to be re-cast. This was no sooner done, than the major’s health began daily to improve; only a visionary dread that he suffered from, amounting sometimes almost to mental aberration, caused his medical attendants still some anxiety. One fancy tormented him in particular, namely, that the castle might take fire, and from the want of an alarm-bell, assistance would come too late. In this respect, his fears were certainly not groundless; accordingly the old house-bell was again restored to its place: upon this, the major appeared calmer; but on the following night experienced so violent a relapse, that he quite overcame his attendants; he ran madly through the castle, shrieking ‘Fire! fire!’ Fate led him to the newly-suspended bell, and seizing the rope with both hands, he rang an alarum that set the whole household in commotion, and at last fell exhausted and lifeless upon the ground. You will agree with me,” continued Cecilia, “that Elisa’s emotion was caused more by the connexion with the death-bell than the apparition of Angelica?”
“Undoubtedly,” answered Falk; “and I doubly regret that I was persuaded to read the poem after our previous conversation. The remembrance of it will always be painful to me.”
“True,” observed Cecilia; “but these circumstances cannot be foreseen. Who knows but accident may again frustrate your best intentions?”
“Never fear; I am now on my guard.”
“Who can tell? Surely you anticipated no such result last year?”
“Experience makes us wise,” said Falk.
“It is my opinion,” rejoined Cecilia, “that you will not have the opportunity of paying compliments, for I’ll wager anything Elisa does not arrive before to-morrow.”
“And I,” said Falk, “will wager what you will that she returns to-day. I know Elisa, and know how strictly she keeps her word.”
Cecilia purposely turned the conversation to the huntsmen, who might shortly be expected. She then went to the piano, and proposed they should amuse themselves with a little music. Time, aided by the fascination of song, flew rapidly by, and it was late before the hunting party returned from the
