It sounds along the cloisters!

BERNARD.--As on I hastened, bearing thus my light,
Across my path, not fifty paces off,
I saw a murdered corse, stretched on its back,
Smeared with new blood, as though but freshly slain.

JOANNA BAILLIE.


The apartment adjoining the council-room of the castle, and selected
this night as the scene of King Ferdinand's banquet, was at the
commencement of the storm filled with the expected guests. From forty
to fifty were there assembled, chosen indiscriminately from the
Castilians and Arragonese, the first statesmen and bravest warriors
of the age. But the usual animated discussion, the easy converse, and
eager council, had strangely, and almost unconsciously, sunk into a
gloomy depression, so universal and profound, that every effort
to break from it, and resume the general topics of interest, was
fruitless. The King himself was grave almost to melancholy, though
more than once he endeavored to shake it off, and speak as usual. Men
found themselves whispering to each other as if they feared to speak
aloud--as if some impalpable and invisible horror were hovering round
them. It might have been that the raging storm without affected all
within, with a species of awe, to which even the wisest and the
bravest are liable when the Almighty utters His voice in the tempest,
and the utter nothingness of men comes home to the proudest heart.
But there was another cause. One was missing from the council and the
board; the seat of Don Ferdinand Morales was vacant, and unuttered but
absorbing anxiety occupied every mind. It was full two hours, rather