It was now midnight.
No sound within the room reached Antonina's ear but the quick rattling
of the door-latch, shaken in its socket by the wind. As one by one the
moments journeyed slowly onward, it made its harsh music with as
monotonous a regularity as though it were moved by their progress, and
kept pace with their eternal march. Gradually the girl found herself
listening to this sharp, discordant sound, with all the attention she
could have bestowed at other times on the ripple of a distant rivulet or
the soothing harmony of a lute, when, just as it seemed adapting itself
most easily to her senses, it suddenly ceased, and the next instant a
gust of wind, like that which had rushed through the open door on the
breaking of the rotten bar, waved her hair about her face and fluttered
the folds of her light, loose dress. She raised her head and whispered
tremulously to Hermanric--
'The door is open again--the latch has given way!'
The Goth started from his reverie and looked up hastily. At that
instant the rattling of the latch recommenced as suddenly as it had
ceased, and the air of the room recovered its former tranquillity.
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