ssed the matron's hand, and felt almost as if he were in his
father's house. The Baron offered to show his guest to his room, and
the servant preceded them with lights. The way led past the staircase,
and then on one side into a long gallery, which communicated with
another wing of the castle.

The high-vaulted ceilings, the curious carving on the ponderous
doorways, the pointed gothic windows, through many broken panes of
which a sharp nightwind whistled, proved to Edward that he was in the
old part of the castle, and that the famous chamber could not be far
off.

"Would it be possible for me to be quartered there," he began, rather
timidly; "I should like it of all things."

"Really!" inquired the Baron, rather surprised; "have not our ghost
stories alarmed you?"

"On the contrary," was the reply, "they have excited the most earnest
wish--"

"Then, if that be the case," said the Baron, "we will return. The room
was already prepared for you, being the most comfortable and the best
in the whole wing; only I fancied, after our conversation--"

"Oh, certainly not," exclaimed Edward; "I could only long for such
dreams."

During this discourse they had arrived at the door of the famous room.
They went in. They found themselves in a lofty and spacious apartment,
so large that the two candles which the servant carried only shed a
glimmering twilight over it, which did not penetrate to the furthest
corner. A high-canopied bed, hung with costly but old-fashioned
damask, of dark green, in which were swelling pillows of snowy
whiteness, tied with green bows, and a silk coverlet of the same
color, looked very inviting to the tired traveler. Sofa and chairs
of faded needlework, a carved oak commode and table, a looking-glass
in heavy framework, a prie-dieu and crucifix above it, constituted
the furniture of the room, where, above all things, cleanliness and
comfort preponderated, while a good deal of silver plate was spread
out on the toilet-table.

Edward looked round. "A beautiful room!" he said. "Answer me one
question, Baron, if you please. Did he ever sleep here?"

"Certainly," replied Friedenberg; "it was his usual room when he
was here, and he had a most curious dream in that bed, which, as he
assured us, made a great impression on him."

"And what was it?" inquired Edward.

"He never told us, for, as you well know, he was reserved by nature;
but we gathered from some words that he let slip, that an early and