lighted wreath!"

Beware my bridal day!
Dying lips my doom have spoken;
Deep tones call me away;
From the grave is sent a token.
Cold, cold fingers bring
That ill-omen'd ring;
Soon will a _second_ heart be broken;
_This_ is my bridal day.

There was a deep, profound silence as the last melancholy cadence died
away, and many a rugged heart was melted, even to tears. Eleanor,
meanwhile, remained in a state of passive stupefaction, vacantly gazing
at Sybil, upon whom alone her eyes were fixed, and appearing
indistinctly to apprehend the meaning of her song.

"This is my bridal day," murmured she, in a low tone, when Sybil had
finished. "Said not that sweet voice so? I know 'tis my bridal day. What
a church you have chosen, mother! A tomb--a sepulchre--but 'tis meet for
such nuptials as mine--and what wedding guests! Was that pale woman in
her shroud-like dress invited here by you? Tell me that, mother."

"My God, her senses are gone!" cried Mrs. Mowbray. "Why did I venture
into this horrible place?"

"Ask not _why_ now, madam," rejoined the priest. "The hour for
consideration is past. We must act. Let the marriage proceed, at all
hazards; we will then take means to extricate ourselves from this
accursed place."

"Remove that horrible object," said Mrs. Mowbray; "it fascinates the
vision of my child."

"Lend me your hand, Richard Checkley," said Peter, sternly regarding the
priest.

"No, no," replied the priest, shuddering; "I will not, cannot touch it.
Do you alone remove it."

Peter approached Luke. The latter now offered no further opposition, and
the body was taken away. The eyes of Eleanor followed it into the dark
recesses of the vault; and when she could no longer distinguish the
white flutter of the cereclothes, her laboring bosom seemed torn asunder
with the profound sigh that burst from it, and her head declined upon
her shoulder.

"Let me see that ring," said the priest, addressing Luke, who still held
the wedding-ring between his fingers.

"I am not naturally superstitious," said Mrs. Mowbray; "whether my mind
be affected with the horrors of this place, I know not; but I have a
dread of that ring. She shall not use it."

"Where no other can be found," said the priest, with a significant and
peculiar look at Mrs. Mowbray, "I see no reason why this should be
rejected. I should not have suspected you, madam, of such weakness.
Grant ther