ace--upon the
same night as that in which the events just detailed took place, and it
might be about the same time, sat Eleanor, and her new attendant, the
gipsy Handassah. The eyes of the former were fixed, with a mixture of
tenderness and pity, upon the lineaments of another lovely female
countenance, bearing a striking resemblance to her own, though
evidently, from its attire, and bygone costume, not intended for her,
depicted upon a tablet, and placed upon a raised frame. It was nigh the
witching hour of night. The room was sombre and dusky, partially
dismantled of its once flowing arras, and the lights set upon the table
feebly illumined its dreary extent. Tradition marked it out as the
chamber in which many of the hapless dames of Rookwood had expired; and
hence Superstition claimed it as her peculiar domain. The room was
reputed to be haunted, and had for a long space shared the fate of
haunted rooms--complete desertion. It was now tenanted by one too young,
too pure, to fear aught unearthly. Eleanor seemed, nevertheless,
affected by the profound melancholy of the picture upon which she gazed.
At length, Handassah observed her start, and avert her eye shudderingly
from the picture.

"Take it hence," exclaimed Eleanor; "I have looked at that image of my
ancestors, till it has seemed endowed with life--till its eyes have
appeared to return my gaze, and weep. Remove it, Handassah."

Handassah silently withdrew the tablet, placing it against the wall of
the chamber.

"Not there--not there," cried Eleanor; "turn it with its face to the
wall. I cannot bear those eyes. And now come hither, girl--draw
nearer--for I know not what of sudden dread has crossed me. This was
_her_ room, Handassah--the chamber of my ancestress--of all the Ladies
Rookwood--where they say----Ha! did you not hear a noise?--a rustle in
the tapestry--a footstep near the wall? Why, you look as startled as I
look, wench; stay by me--I will not have you stir from my side--'twas
mere fancy."

"No doubt, lady," said Handassah, with her eyes fixed upon the arras.

"Hist!" exclaimed Eleanor, "there 'tis again."

"'Tis nothing," replied Handassah. But her looks belied her words.

"Well, I will command myself," said Eleanor, endeavoring to regain her
calmness; "but the thoughts of the Lady Eleanor--for _she_ was an
Eleanor like to me, Handassah--and ah! even more ill-fated and
unhappy--have brought a whole train of melancholy fancies into my mind.
I