m to me.
I could explain many matters by a science which is not altogether
unknown to me, though I prefer not to call it by its name, for fear of
being misunderstood. However, I had rather avoid all those subjects,
to-day at all events."

"Oh, pray avoid them for ever," cried Madame von G----. "No more
reference to the dark, unknown realm, the abode of fear and horror. I
thank the Eternal Power, which has rescued my beloved child, and freed
us from the uncanny guest who brought us such terrible trouble."

It was arranged that they should go back to town the following day,
except the Colonel and Dagobert, who stayed behind to see to the burial
of the Count's remains.

When Angelica had long been Moritz's happy wife, it chanced that one
stormy November evening the family, and Dagobert, were sitting round
the fire in the very room into which Count S---- had made his entry in
such a spectral fashion. Just as then, mysterious voices were piping,
awakened by the storm-wind in the chimney.

"Do you remember?" said Madame von G----.

"Come, come," cried the Colonel; "no ghost stories, I beg." But
Angelica and Moritz spoke of what their feelings had been on that
evening long ago; of their having been so devotedly in love with each
other, and unable to help attaching the most overweening importance to
every little incident which occurred: how the pure beam of that love of
theirs had been reflected by everything, and even the sweet bond of
alarm wove itself out of loving, longing hearts--and how the Uncanny
Guest, heralded by all the spectral voices of ill-omen, had brought
terror upon them. "Does it not seem to you, dearest Moritz," said
Angelica, "that the strange tones of the storm-wind, as we hear them
now, are speaking to us, only of our love, in the kindliest possible
tones?"

"Yes! yes!" said Dagobert, "and the singing of the kettle sounds
to-night to _me_ much more like a little cradle song than anything
eerie."

Angelica hid her blushing face on Moritz's breast. And _he_--for his
part--clasped his arm round his beautiful wife, and softly whispered,
"Is there, here below, a higher bliss than this?"

"I see very plainly," said Ottmar, when he had finished, and the
friends still sat in gloomy silence, "that my little story has not
pleased you particularly, so we had better not say much more about it,
but consign it to oblivion."

"The very best thing we could do," said Lothair.

"And yet," Cyprian said, "I mu