her mistress
to the bed, where she commenced chafing her temples and pouring reviving
cordials down her throat. At length the frightened lady opened her eyes
and stared wildly around.

"Secure that casement," said she, pointing to the still open window;
"and shut all the doors and lock them."

"You will stifle without a breath of fresh air this oppressive night,"
grumbled Hannah, as she proceeded to execute the orders of her mistress.

"Better I should stifle," answered the excited and still trembling lady,
"than ever behold again the monster I have seen to-night."

"Heavens! what do you mean?" exclaimed the attendant, appearing to
experience the greatest emotion.

"I have seen _him_, Hannah Doliver," said the invalid, shuddering as she
spoke.

"Who?" asked the hypocritical woman, breathlessly.

"The destroyer of my happiness and your good fame," answered the lady.

"Impossible!" said Hannah, glaring on the excited features of the
prostrate form before her.

"I tell you I have seen him!" returned the invalid, shaking like an
aspen on her couch. "I cannot be mistaken. 'Twas his face; the high,
colorless brow, surrounded by thick, short auburn curls. He stood at
that casement, and gazed fiercely on me from his large, dark eyes."

"Pshaw!" said Hannah, "'twas but a hideous dream, or a sudden attack of
apoplexy. The man you fancy you have seen to-night, has not been heard
of these fifteen years, and is probably in his grave."

"Then it was his ghost that I saw," said the lady.

"May be it was," returned Hannah, smiling strangely; "though I don't
know why it should have honored you with a visit. I am glad I was not
deemed worthy his ghostship's regards."

The affrighted lady after a while grew calmer, and Hannah retired to her
own apartment, which joined that of her mistress.

In a few days, a letter was despatched to Major Howard by the invalid,
informing him of the strange appearance which had alarmed her, and
urging his immediate return.

The letter never reached its destination.

CHAPTER XXXI.

"Ask why the holy starlight, or the blush
Of summer blossoms, or the balm that floats
From yonder lily like an angel's breath,
Is lavished on such men! God gives them all
For some high end; and thus the seeming waste
Of her rich soul--its starlight purity,
Its every feeling delicate as a flower,