in the opposite wing might
trace our progress towards the part of the castle unused by any one
except my husband. Somehow, I had always the feeling that all the
domestics, except Amante, were spies upon me, and that I was trammelled
in a web of observation and unspoken limitation extending over all my
actions.

There was a light in the upper room; we paused, and Amante would have
again retreated, but I was chafing under the delays. What was the harm
of my seeking my father's unopened letter to me in my husband's study?
I, generally the coward, now blamed Amante for her unusual timidity.
But the truth was, she had far more reason for suspicion as to the
proceedings of that terrible household than I had ever known of. I urged
her on, I pressed on myself; we came to the door, locked, but with the
key in it; we turned it, we entered; the letters lay on the table, their
white oblongs catching the light in an instant, and revealing themselves
to my eager eyes, hungering after the words of love from my peaceful,
distant home. But just as I pressed forward to examine the letters, the
candle which Amante held, caught in some draught, went out, and we were
in darkness. Amante proposed that we should carry the letters back to
my salon, collecting them as well as we could in the dark, and returning
all but the expected one for me; but I begged her to return to my room,
where I kept tinder and flint, and to strike a fresh light; and so she
went, and I remained alone in the room, of which I could only just
distinguish the size, and the principal articles of furniture: a large
table, with a deep, overhanging cloth, in the middle, escritoires and
other heavy articles against the walls; all this I could see as I stood
there, my hand on the table close by the letters, my face towards the
window, which, both from the darkness of the wood growing high up the
mountain-side and the faint light of the declining moon, seemed only
like an oblong of paler purpler black than the shadowy room. How much I
remembered from my one instantaneous glance before the candle went out,
how much I saw as my eyes became accustomed to the darkness, I do not
know, but even now, in my dreams, comes up that room of horror, distinct
in its profound shadow. Amante could hardly have been gone a minute
before I felt an additional gloom before the window, and heard soft
movements outside--soft, but resolute, and continued until the end was
accomplished, and the window