ず

just as if by that act he could also have annulled the evil which it boded!

He searched for it in that part of the room from which the sound seemed to proceed: it was in vain. It appeared to shun him. If he looked for it in one spot, he heard it creaking in another. Did he follow it there?-the insect had already moved off, and was pouring forth its dismal notes in some distant corner, and defied him.

After a long and fruitless search he was obliged to return to bed, where, from fatigue both of mind and body, he at last composed himself to sleep; but that sleep was not rest. Dreams haunted him throughout the night. The Death-watch had skaken his nerves, and aroused feelings which would not be allayed. He fancied he beheld his eldest son, now about ten years of age, lying upon a couch, pale, speechless, and inanimate: his mother, whose cheeks, blanched with watching as her child's were by sickness, was standing by his side wringing her hands in an agony of grief, the more appalling as it was mute.

At the foot of the couch appeared another figure, it was that of a female, clothed in the weeds of mourning; her years were those of childhood, but the calm dignity of her countenance bespoke an intellect beyond her age, and Robert had no difficulty in recognising, by her dark blue eyes and by the near resemblance she bore to the Countess, the daughter he had lost some few years ago.

He would have rushed towards the group, but that his feet were rivetted to the spot whereon he stood. He would have given utterance to grief in words, but his tongue refused its duty; and he remained, in mute trembling expectation of the sequel.

The female-whose joyously placid mien assured the absence of all gross earthly passions; whose air, gait and minutest gesture breathed forth, if so it may be said, benevolence and love, and told of Heaven and immortality, — looked mildly round, upon her mother first, as though she would have said, "farewell!" then glanced at her father the same soft pitying look; and lastly, turning

her

eyes upon her brother, she fixed them on his countenance, whilst raising up her hand she beckoned him.

66

Haste, brother-come with me-the sun breaks on us!"

With that D'Artois thought he could perceive the spirit of his son spring gladly forth to leave its mortal coil, and cling in holy fellowship around his sister, who, leaping lightly from the earth, arose with him, and cleft a passage through the chamber's ancient roof, which, closing on their egress, clipped them from their parents' view.

On the instant-through the deep gloom which had succeeded to an unusual brightness -D'Artois perceived a human form glide swiftly through the chamber to the doorway, when the massive gate itself, swung back upon its noiseless hinges, clapped to again with a loud fearful crash, which shook the building to its base." But hark!" A screech of wild derisive laughter follows, and its loud fearful peals ring mockingly throughout the chambers of the vaulted palace." What Demon uttered

that!-Tis Louis-Louis of Flanders-'tis his voice-'tis his-I know it!"

The delusion was at an end-the scene had roused the sleeper.-He started from his bed, and going to the lattice, leaned his head against the pillar, and-let it not be thought to derogate from the dignity of his character, -he wept.

The sun was just sending his first morning rays through the coarse and much worn curtains, which hung around the window. Robert dressed himself, and composed his mind as much as it was in his power to do, and strove to convince his heart,-his head was already convinced, and needed no counselthat neither the Death-watch, nor the dream, could possibly be a prognostic of evil.

In reflecting on the scene which had been presented to his imagination, that part of it which filled him with the greatest horror was, the shrill laugh of scorn, uttered by the Count of Flanders-all which he had ever heard of the viciousness of his character, and all which the Countess had ever told him of his hatred

to himself, now occurred to him; and it was, without doubt, the many admonitions she had given respecting that Seigneur, which had caused his thinking of him in sleep, as indulging a fiendish joy at beholding him bereaved of one of those objects which he most affectioned.

The monk's injunctions were, that he should not stir forth during the day. He did not, therefore, attempt doing so. Yet remaining at home was irksome. He had no society, not even that of a dog.-What a friend, what a companion a dog is!—he plays with us when we are gay, is mournful when we grieve, and loves his master always. Not that of a page or groom. He counted the hours as they passed wearily, by the shade cast upon a dial in the garden, just before his windows.

In doing this, and in pacing up and down the length of his long, but narrow apartment, he occupied himself the whole day, waiting impatiently till it had passed, and another come and gone: when he would have to obey the monk's summons.