And pressing his hands again upon the organ he struck out a passage of chords like the surging of waves upon the shore or storm-winds in the forest, and began to sing,

   “Confutatis maledictis
    Flammis acribus addictis
    Voci me cum benedictis!”

Infuriated to madness but too physically weak to struggle with one who, though wandering in brain, was sound in body, Varillo tried to drag him from his seat,—­but the attempt was useless.  Ambrosio seemed possessed by a thousand electric currents of force and resolution combined.  He threw off Varillo as though he were a mere child, and went on singing—­

   “Oro supplex et acclinis
    Cor contritum quasi cinis: 
    Gere curam mei finis.
     . . . . 
    Lacrymosa dies illa,—­”

Driven to utter desperation, Varillo stood for a moment inert,—­ then, suddenly catching sight of a rope hanging from one of the windows close at hand, he rushed to it and pulled it furiously.  The top of the window yielded, and fell open on its hinge—­the smoke rushed up to the aperture, and Florian, still clinging to the rope, shouted, “Help!—­Help!” with all the force he could muster.  But the air blowing strongly against the smoke fanned the flames in the body of the chapel,—­they leaped higher and higher,—­and—­seeing the red glow deepening about him, Ambrosio smiled.—­“Cry your loudest, you will never be heard!” he said—­“Those who are busy with graves have done with life!  You had best pray while you have time—­let God take you with His name on your lips!”

And as the smoke and flame climbed higher and higher and began to wreathe itself about the music gallery, he resumed his solemn singing.

   “Lacrymosa dies illa,
    Qua resurgat ex favilla
    Judicandus homo reus
    Huic ergo parce, Deus: 
    Pie Jesu Domine
    Dona eis requiem!”

But Varillo still shrieked “Help!” and his frenzied cries were at last answered.  The great bell overhead ceased ringing suddenly,—­and its cessation created an effect of silence even amid the noise of the crackling fire and the continued grave music of the organ.  Then came a quick tramp of many feet—­a hubbub of voices—­and loud battering knocks at the chapel door.  Ambrosio laughed triumphantly.

“We are at prayers!” he cried—­“We admit no one!  The devil and I are at prayers!”

Varillo sprang at him once more.

“Madman!  Show me the way!” he screamed.  “Show me the way down from this place or I will strangle you!”

“Find your own way!” answered Ambrosio—­“Make it—­as you have always made it!—­and follow it—­to Hell!”

As he spoke the gallery rocked to and fro, and a tall flame leaped at the organ like a living thing ready to seize and devour.  Still the knocking and hammering continued, and still Ambrosio played wild music—­till all at once the chapel door was broken open and a group of pale spectral faces in monk’s cowls peered through the smoke, and then retreated again.