A spirit that floats on a gossamer's wing!"

Such was Fatima's heart. In a word, the preceding events had a powerful
effect upon her nervous system, and she was ordered much quiet and
sal-volatile by her skilful medical attendant, Dr. Glauber.

To be so ardently, passionately loved as she was, to know that Frederick
had twice plunged into death from attachment to her, was to awaken in
her bosom "a thrilling string," indeed! Could she witness such
attachment and not be touched by it? She _was_ touched by it,--she was
influenced by the virtues, by the passion, by the misfortunes, of
Frederick: but then he was so abominably ugly that she could not--she
could not consent to become his bride!

She told Dr. Sly so. "I respect and esteem your nephew," said she; "but
my resolve is made. I will continue faithful to that blessed saint whose
monument is ever before my eyes" (she pointed to the churchyard as she
spoke). "Leave this poor tortured heart in quiet. It has already
suffered more than most hearts could bear. I will repose under the
shadow of that tomb until I am called to rest within it,--to rest by the
side of my Bluebeard!"

The ranunculuses, rhododendra, and polyanthuses, which ornamented that
mausoleum, had somehow been suffered to run greatly to seed during the
last few months, and it was with no slight self-accusation that she
acknowledged this fact on visiting "the garden of the grave," as she
called it; and she scolded the beadle soundly for neglecting his duty
towards it. He promised obedience for the future, dug out all the weeds
that were creeping round the family vault, and (having charge of the
key) entered that awful place, and swept and dusted the melancholy
contents of the tomb.

Next morning, the widow came down to breakfast looking very pale. She
had passed a bad night; she had had awful dreams; she had heard a voice
call her thrice at midnight. "Pooh! my dear, it's only nervousness,"
said sceptical Sister Anne.

Here John Thomas, the footman, entered, and said the beadle was in the
hall, looking in a very strange way. He had been about the house since
daybreak, and insisted on seeing Mrs. Bluebeard. "Let him enter," said
that lady, prepared for some great mystery. The beadle came; he was pale
as death; his hair was dishevelled, and his cocked hat out of order.
"What have you to say?" said the lady, trembling.

Before beginning, he fell down on his knees.

"Yesterday," said he, "according