But all this precaution availed nothing.  Three months in succession, at the same moment, the report was heard; the charge entered at the same pane of glass without making the least alteration in its appearance; and what is remarkable, it invariably took place precisely one hour before midnight; although the Neapolitans have the Italian way of keeping time according to which midnight forms no remarkable division.  At length the shooting grew as familiar as the voice had formerly been, and this innocent malice of the spirit was forgiven him.  The report often took place without disturbing the company, or even interrupting their conversation.

One evening, after a very sultry day, Antonelli, without thinking of the approaching hour, opened the window, and stepped with the Marquess on the balcony.  But a few moments had elapsed, when the invisible gun was discharged, and both were thrown back into the room with a violent shock.  On recovering, the Marquess felt the pain of a smart blow on his right check; and the singer, on her left.  But no other injury being received, this event gave rise to a number of merry observations.  This was the last time she was alarmed in her house, and she had hopes of being at last entirely rid of her unrelenting persecutor, when one evening, riding out with a friend, she was once more greatly terrified.  They drove through the Chiaja, where the once-favoured Genoese had resided.  The moon shone bright.  The lady with her demanded, “Is not that the house where Mr. ——­ died?” “It is one of those two, if I am not mistaken,” replied Antonelli.  That instant the report burst upon their ears louder than ever; the flash issuing from one of the houses, seemed to pass through the carriage.  The coachman supposing they were attacked by robbers, drove off in great haste.  On arriving at the place of destination, the two ladies were taken out in a state of insensibility.

This was, however, the last scene of terror.  The invisible tormentor now changed his manner, and used more gentle means.  One evening, soon after, a loud clapping of hands was heard under her window.  Antonelli, as a favourite actress and singer, was no stranger to these sounds; they carried in them nothing terrifying, and they might be ascribed to one of her admirers.  She paid little attention to it; her friends, however, were more vigilant, they sent out spies as formerly.  The clapping was heard, but no one was to be seen; and it was hoped that these mysterious doings would soon entirely cease.

After some evenings the clapping was no longer heard, and more agreeable sounds succeeded.  They were not properly melodious, but unspeakably delightful and agreeable; they seemed to issue from the corner of an opposite street, approach the window, and die gently away.  It seemed as if some aerial spirit intended them as a prelude to some piece of music that he was about to perform.  These tones soon became weaker, and at last were heard no more.