im as he comes forth," he muttered, drawing his sword, and
hiding it beneath his mantle.

Parravicin, meanwhile, having let himself into the house, marched boldly
forward, though the passage was buried in darkness, and he was utterly
unacquainted with it. Feeling against the wall, he presently discovered
a door, and opening it, entered a room lighted by a small silver lamp
placed on a marble slab. The room was empty, but its furniture and
arrangements proclaimed it the favourite retreat of the fair mistress of
the abode. Parravicin gazed curiously round, as if anxious to gather
from what he saw some idea of the person he so soon expected to
encounter. Everything betokened a refined and luxurious taste. A few
French romances, the last plays of Etherege, Dryden, and Shadwell, a
volume of Cowley, and some amorous songs, lay on the table; and not far
from them were a loomask, pulvil purse, a pair of scented gloves, a
richly-laced mouchoir, a manteau girdle, palatine tags, and a golden
bodkin for the hair.

Examining all these things, and drawing his own conclusions as to the
character of their owner, Parravicin turned to a couch on which a
cittern was thrown, while beside it, on a cushion, were a pair of tiny
embroidered velvet slippers. A pocket-mirror, or sprunking-glass, as it
was then termed, lay on a side-table, and near it stood an embossed
silver chocolate-pot, and a small porcelain cup with a golden spoon
inside it, showing what the lady's last repast had been. On another
small table, covered with an exquisitely white napkin, stood a flask of
wine, a tall-stemmed glass, and a few cakes on a China dish, evidently
placed there for Disbrowe's return.

As Parravicin drew near this table, a slip of paper, on which a few
lines were traced, attracted his attention, and taking it up, he read as
follows:

"It is now midnight, and you promised to return early. I have felt your
absence severely, and have been suffering from a violent headache, which
has almost distracted me. I have also been troubled with strange and
unaccountable misgivings respecting you. I am a little easier now, but
still far from well, and about to retire to rest. At what hour will this
meet your eye?"

"MARGARET."

"Charming creature!" exclaimed Parravicin, as the paper dropped from his
hand; "she little dreamed, when she wrote it, who would read her billet.
Disbrowe does not deserve such a treasure. I am sorry she is unwell. I
hope she has not