or behind her. Then she uncovers her head,
nervously. The white, jewelled fingers of her right hand, so delicate
and tapering, wander over and smooth her silky black hair, that falls in
waves over her Ion-like brow. How exquisite those features just
revealed; how full of soul those flashing black eyes; her dress, how
chaste! "They call me Anna Bonard," she speaks, timorously, "you may
know me?--"

"Oh, I know you well," interrupts the old man, "your beauty has made you
known. What more would you have?"

"Something that will make me happy. Old man, I am unhappy. Tell me, if
you have the power, who I am. Am I an orphan, as has been told me; or
have I parents yet living, affluent, and high in society? Do they seek
me and cannot find me? Oh! let the fates speak, old man, for this world
has given me nothing but pain and shame. Am I--" she pauses, her eyes
wander to the floor, her cheeks crimson, she seizes the old man by the
hand, and her bosom heaves as if a fierce passion had just been kindled
within it.

The old man preserves his equanimity, says he has a fortune to tell her.
Fortunes are best told at midnight. The stars, too, let out their
secrets more willingly when the night-king rules. He bids her follow
him, and totters back to the little parlor. With a wise air, he bids her
be seated on the sofa, saying he never mistakes maidens when they call
at this hour.

Maria, who rose from the table at the entrance of the stranger, bows,
shuts her book mechanically, and retires. Can there be another face so
lovely? she questions within herself, as she pauses to contemplate the
stranger ere she disappears. The antiquary draws a chair and seats
himself beside Anna. "Thy life and destiny," he says, fretting his bony
fingers over the crown of his wig. "Blessed is the will of providence
that permits us to know the secrets of destiny. Give me your hand, fair
lady." Like a philosopher in deep study, he wipes and adjusts his
spectacles, then takes her right hand and commences reading its lines.
"Your history is an uncommon one--"

"Yes," interrupts the girl, "mine has been a chequered life."

"You have seen sorrow enough, but will see more. You come of good
parents; but, ah!--there is a mystery shrouding your birth." ("And that
mystery," interposes the girl, "I want to have explained.") "There will
come a woman to reclaim you--a woman in high life; but she will come too
late--" (The girl pales and trembles.) "Yes," pursues the