He slept again at intervals; and at length, though long after midnight, reached Innsbruck between sleeping and waking; his mind filled with dim recollections of the unspeakably dismal night-journey;—­the climbing of hills, and plunging into dark ravines;—­the momentary rattling of the wheels over paved streets of towns, and the succeeding hollow rolling and tramping on the wetearth;—­the blackness of the night;—­the thunder and lightning and rain; the roar of waters, leaping through deep chasms by the road-side, and the wind through the mountain-passes, sounding loud and long, like the irrepressible laughter of the gods.

The travellers on the morrow lingered not long in Innsbruck.  They did not fail, however, to visit the tomb of Maximilian in the Franciscan Church of the Holy Cross, and gaze with some admiration upon the twenty-eight gigantic bronze statues of Godfrey of Bouillon, and King Arthur and Ernest the Iron-man, and Frederick of the Empty Pockets, kings and heroes, and others, which stand leaning on their swords between the columns of the church, as if guarding the tomb of the dead.  These statues reminded Flemming of the bronze giants, which strike the hours on the belfry of San Basso, in Venice, and of the flail-armed monsters, that guarded the gateway of Angulaffer’s castle in Oberon.  After gazing awhile at these motionless sentinels, they went forth, and strolled throughthe public gardens, with the jagged mountains right over their heads, and all around them tall, melancholy pines, like Tyrolese peasants, with shaggy hair; and at their feet the mad torrent of the Inn, sweeping with turbid waves through the midst of the town.  In the afternoon they drove on towards Salzburg through the magnificent mountain-passes of Waidering and Unken.

CHAPTER III.  SHADOWS ON THE WALL.

On the following morning Flemming awoke in a chamber of the Golden Ship at Salzburg, just as the clock in the Dome-church opposite was striking ten.  The window-shutters were closed, and the room nearly dark.  He was lying on his back, with his hands crossed upon his breast, and his eyes looking up at the white curtains overhead.  He thought them the white marble canopy of a tomb, and himself the marble statue, lying beneath.  When the clock ceased striking, the eight and twenty gigantic bronze statues from the Church of Holy Rood in Innsbruck stalked into the chamber, and arranged themselves along the walls, which spread into dimly-lighted aisles and arches.  On the painted windows he saw Interlachen, withits Franciscan cloister, and the Square Tower of the ruins.  In a pendent, overhead, stood the German student, as Saint Vitus; and on a lavatory, or basin of holy-water, below, sat a cherub, with the form and features of Berkley.  Then the organ-pipes began to blow, and he heard the voices of an invisible choir chanting.  And anon the gilded gates in the bronze screen before the chancel opened, and a