and heavily,
and its rays were tinged as though with blood; the fire flung out its
tiny coffin; the wind sobbed aloud at every cranny, and wailed
piteously about the dwelling.

"Would that I might read my destiny," thought she. Her natural
inclination to forbidden practices was too powerful to withstand.

Now there was formerly an ancient superstition, that if, on the night
before marriage, a taper were burned, made from the fat of a young
sow, and anointed with the blood of the inquirer, after sundry
diabolical and cabalistical rites at midnight, a spirit would appear,
and pronounce the good or evil destiny of the querent.

Eleanor had prepared the incantation ere she laid her throbbing head
on the pillow. Whether or not she slept, is more than we can divulge.
Such, in all probability, was the case; dreams being the echo only of
our waking anticipations.

She thought there came a rushing wind. The door flapped to and fro,
the curtains shook, and the pictures glared horribly from the wall.
Suddenly--starting from the panel, with eyes lighted up like
bale-fires, and a malignant scowl on her visage--stalked down one of
the family portraits. It was that of a female--a maiden aunt of the
house of Byron, painted by one of the court artists, whom the king had
brought from France, and patronised at a heavy cost. This venerable
dame appeared to gaze at the spectator from whatsoever situation she
was beholden. The eyes even seemed to follow you when passing across
the chamber. A natural consequence though, and only marvelled at by
the ignorant and illiterate.

This ancient personage now advanced from her hanging-place, and
standing at the foot of the bed, opened out a fiery scroll with these
ominous words:--

"Maid, wife, and widow, in one day,
This shall be thy destiny."

Eleanor struggled hard, but was unable to move. She laboured for
utterance, but could not speak. At length, with one desperate effort,
a loud cry escaped her, and the vision disappeared. She slept no more,
but morning disclosed her haggard cheek and sunken eye, intimating
that neither hope nor enjoyment could have been the companion of her
slumbers.

It was a bright morning in June. The sun rode high and clear in the
blue heavens. The birds had "sung their matins blythe" ere the
bridegroom arrived with his attendants. Merrily did the village
choristers acquit themselves in their vocation, while those that were
appointed strewed flowers in