bows; around her tapering waist was a
narrow belt of jewels; the front of her corsage was also
trimmed with jewels. But the most distinctive feature of her
costume consisted in a floating scarf of old-rose, worn like
the frontispiece lady in some volume of 'Keepsake' or
'Token.' Imagine meeting such a being as this unexpectedly in
the long-closed tower-room of a castle after a week of Swiss
rain! I forgot time, weather, locality, individuality; I
began to think, in fact, that I myself might be the young
Austrian officer who was murdered. Presently I noticed that
my haughty young woman had a chaperon--a lady wearing a light
green picturesquely shaped hood; a kerchief of the same shade
bordered with golden tassels; a necklace of dark beads, from
which hung a crucifix. She was not pretty, but had very plump
red cheeks, and held a little dog. I learned, on nearer
acquaintance, that this was the Countess Maria Regina, and
as she then appeared so she had looked in the year 1695.

"We sat for a while silently regarding each other, Maria
Regina's cheek seeming all the time to grow deeper in color,
the point in which the green hood terminated more and more
distinct, the little dog making ready to bark, the daughter
with the floating scarf prouder and prouder, and I, as the
Austrian officer, hardly daring to move, lest the sister with
the rose should join the group, and that perhaps be the end
of me, when I had the happy thought of going in search of
her, and thus breaking the spell, and preventing the mischief
which might occur should she come uninvited. I left the sofa
and peered about, and could scarcely believe my eyes as I
came upon her standing by the tower window, pearls, black
gown, lace frills, and rose in hand, all there, although very
indistinct and shadowy, the Mona Lisa face looking discreetly
towards the wall.

"Now, my dear Miss Valentine, having related this remarkable
adventure, I am about to relate one even more remarkable. It
occurred this very evening, between seven and eight o'clock.
I had been off for the day with the village goat-boy and his
flock--the dear creatures, who have never had their bells
removed to be painted over with Swiss landscapes and offered
for sale as souvenir bric-a-brac. I had patted the goats
good-night and good-by, and going up