with the
blaze, and slumber closed his lids to make its memory brighter.

The next morning was clear and sparkling; the first rays of the sun
were like fiery rubies on the walls of the studio.

The painter sprang to his feet. "The dream!" he cried. "My heart did
not deceive me. The spirits are at work for its accomplishment."

He went forth to take his daily walk. There were times when an
appalling dread of insanity smote his heart, and once the expression
of a friend at the recital of one of his wildest fantasies led him
into a train of reflection and self-examination which shook his very
soul. For a time he forsook his studio, and went abroad into the gay
world and formed fashionable acquaintances; but he went back to his
lonely room and his hermit life at the expiration of a few weeks,
convinced that the madness of art was preferable to the madness of
society. And it was a painful thing for him to go abroad, for no one
sympathized with him. His mind dwelt either on the shadowy past, or
the yet more shadowy future. He held no communion with the present.
So, on the occasion we have referred to, after a hurried walk, he
returned to his room, the door of which he had left unlocked. A veiled
lady sat before his easel. She rose upon his entrance. His heart beat
high with anticipations. The lady thus addressed him:--

"Malise Grey, we have known each other in the land of dreams!" and
removing her veil, she pointed with her left hand to the picture,
while she extended her right to the painter. The ideal and the actual
stood before him. A strange light gleamed upon the painter's mind, and
he spoke as if prompted by some unseen power.

"Esther Vaughan, by this token do I know you." He took her hand, and
added, "By the mystic spell that drew us to each other, I conjure you
here to plight your troth to me for weal and woe."

"My father died shortly after that picture was painted," replied the
maiden, "and my mother--my poor mother--soon followed him. The spirit
summons commanded me to seek you out. I have obeyed."

* * * * *

A strange marriage was solemnized in the Old King's Chapel. The bride
wore no rose or orange flower in her braided hair, and a long, black
veil enveloped her from head to foot. In fact, her entire raiment, and
that of the bridegroom, was of the same ghastly hue; and the ceremony
was performed beneath the light of torches, which threw their funeral
glare upon the mortu