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By the time the story was ended,
they had ended their chant; and, extinguishing their lights, glided one by
one, like shadows, through a small door in the side of the choir. A deeper
gloom prevailed over the church; the figure opposite me on horseback grew
more and more spectral; and I almost expected to see it bow its head.
"It is time to be off," said my companion, "unless we intend to sup with
the statue."
"I have no relish for such fare or such company," replied I; and, following
my companion, we groped our way through the mouldering cloisters. As we
passed by the ruined cemetery, keeping up a casual conversation, by way of
dispelling the loneliness of the scene, I called to mind the words of the
poet:
"--The tombs
And monumental caves of death look cold,
And shoot a chillness to my trembling heart!
Give me thy hand, and let me hear thy voice;
Nay, speak--and let me hear thy voice;
My own affrights me with its echoes."
There wanted nothing but the marble statue of the commander striding along
the echoing cloisters to complete the haunted scene.


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