inlaid with brass and porcelain, supporting ornamental sets of sea crackle vases.  The window was hung with heavy deep-fringed damask curtains, surmounted by scalloped drapery, with silk tassels, directly opposite the chimney-piece of dark-gray marble, adorned with carved brass-work.  Rich chandeliers, and a clock in the same style as the furniture, were reflected in a large Venice glass, with basiled edges.  A round table, covered with a cloth of crimson velvet, was placed in the centre of this saloon.

As he approached this table, Samuel perceived a piece of white vellum, on which were inscribed these words:  “My testament is to be opened in this saloon.  The other apartments are to remain closed, until after the reading of my last will—­M.  De R.”

“Yes,” said the Jew, as he perused with emotion these lines traced so long ago; “this is the same recommendation as that which I received from my father; for it would seem that the other apartments of this house are filled with objects, on which M. de Rennepont set a high value, not for their intrinsic worth, but because of their origin.  The Hall of Mourning must be a strange and mysterious chamber.  Well,” added Samuel, as he drew from his pocket a register bound in black shagreen, with a brass lock, from which he drew the key, after placing it upon the table, “here is the statement of the property in hand, which I have been ordered to bring hither, before the arrival of the heirs.”

The deepest silence reigned in the room, at the moment when Samuel placed the register on the table.  Suddenly a simple and yet most startling occurrence roused him from his reverie.  In the next apartment was heard the clear, silvery tone of a clock, striking slowly ten.  And the hour was ten!  Samuel had too much sense to believe in perpetual motion, or in the possibility of constructing a clock to go far one hundred and fifty years.  He asked himself, therefore, with surprise and alarm, how this clock could still be going, and how it could mark so exactly the hour of the day.  Urged with restless curiosity, the old man was about to enter the room; but recollecting the recommendation of his father, which had now been confirmed by the few lines he had just read from De Rennepont’s pen, he stopped at the door, and listened with extreme attention.

He heard nothing—­absolutely nothing, but the last dying vibration of the clock.  After having long reflected upon this strange fact, Samuel, comparing it with the no less extraordinary circumstance of the light perceived that morning through the apertures in the belvedere, concluded that there must be some connection between these two incidents.  If the old man could not penetrate the true cause of these extraordinary appearances, he at least explained them to himself, by remembering the subterraneous communications, which, according to tradition, were said to exist between the cellars of this house and distant places; and he conjectured that unknown and mysterious personages