es; and at that moment the moon rose above
the dark margin of the rocks which surrounded the castle, and shed her
full light into Edward's room. Every object stood out in relief from the
darkness. Edward gazed, and thought, and speculated. It seemed to him as
if something moved in the furthest corner of the room. The movement was
evident--it assumed a form--the form of a man, which appeared to
advance, or rather to float forward. Here Edward lost all sense of
surrounding objects, and he found himself once more sitting at the foot
of the monument, in the garden of the academy, where he had contracted
the bond with his friend. As formerly, the moon streamed through the
dark branches of the fir-trees, and shed its cold, pale light on the
cold, white marble of the monument. Then the floating form which had
appeared in the room of the castle became clearer, more substantial,
more earthly-looking; it issued from behind the tombstone, and stood in
the full moonlight. It was Ferdinand, in the uniform of his regiment,
earnest and pale, but with a kind smile on his features.

"Ferdinand, Ferdinand!" cried Edward, overcome by joy and surprise, and
he strove to embrace the well-loved form, but it waved him aside with a
melancholy look.

"Ah! you are dead," continued the speaker; "and why then do I see you
just as you looked when living?"

"Edward," answered the apparition, in a voice that sounded as if it came
from afar, "I am dead, but my spirit has no peace."

"You are not with the blest?" cried Edward, in a voice of terror.

"God is merciful," it replied; "but we are frail and sinful creatures;
inquire no more, but pray for me."

"With all my heart," cried Edward, in a tone of anguish, while he gazed
with affection on the familiar features; "but speak, what can I do for
thee?"

"An unholy tie still binds me to earth. I have sinned. I was cut off in
the midst of my sinful projects. This ring burns." He slipped a small
gold ring from his left hand. "Only when every token of this unholy
compact is destroyed, and when I recover the ring which I exchanged for
this, only then can my spirit be at rest. Oh, Edward, dear Edward, bring
me back my ring!"

"With joy--but where, where am I to seek it?"

"Emily Varnier will give it thee herself; our engagement was contrary to
holy duties, to prior engagements, to earlier vows. God denied his
blessing to the guilty project, and my course was arrested in a fearful
manner. Pray for me