Apollonius knew that no physician could cure his illness.  The councilman had only partly divined the cause.  Overwork had merely watered the soil for the parasite growth which was gnawing at Apollonius’ inmost being.  The first symptoms seemed of a physical nature.  As his brother had plunged to death before him, the clock below had struck the hour of two.  Since then every sound of a bell frightened him.  What aroused more serious apprehension was an attack of dizziness.  All the horrors of that day did not obliterate the feeling of uneasiness which had taken possession of him when he discovered the inexactitude in his work.  Every time a bell sounded it seemed to him a warning.  Early the next morning he went to the roof-door with his ladder in his hand.  He had already noticed how insecure his step was as he climbed the tower stairs; now, when through the open door the distant mountains began to nod so curiously to him and the firm tower to rock beneath him, he became frightened.  That was dizziness, the slater’s worst, most malicious enemy when it takes sudden hold of him on a swaying ladder between heaven and earth.  In vain Apollonius strove to overcome it; he had to give up his purpose for the day.  No way had ever been so hard for Apollonius as the tower stairs down from St. George’s.  What would happen?  How could he fulfil his vow if this dizziness did not leave him?  On the same day he had some work to do on the tower of St. Nicholas.  There he had to venture into more dangerous places than at St. George’s; the bells rang at the most critical instant; he felt no trace of dizziness.  Joyfully he hastened back to St. George’s, but again the ladder trembled under his feet, the mountains nodded, the tower rocked.  He was on the lowest rung of the ladder when the clock began to strike the hour.  The sound penetrated every nerve of his body; he had to hold fast to the railing until the last echo had died away.  He made attempt after attempt, and climbed all ladders and towers with his old sureness of foot; only at St. George’s did dizziness return.  There he had hammered his sinful thoughts into his work; he had felt at the time that he was forging an evil charm, a coming disaster.  Day and night the picture followed him of the place where he had forgotten to insert the sheet of lead and to rivet the decoration.  The flaw was like an evil spot, a spot where a crime had been begun or completed and where no grass grows, no shadow falls; like an open wound which does not heal until it has been avenged, like an empty grave which does not close until it has received its denizen.  If only the gap were closed the charm would lose its potency.  He might authorize a workman to do the job, but the thought of leaving his neglected work to another brought a flush of shame to his pale cheeks.  The sheet of lead nailed by another would be certain to fall; the gap cried out for him, and he alone could close it.  Or the destruction which he had forged there would seize hold of the workman, dizziness would overtake him and he would plunge into the depths.