and find me in another's arms; thy look would kill me. If thou art
detained by enemies, by savage people, or by foreign love, no matter
what thy errors, I will still be true! Give me some token by the God
that has thee in his keeping, whether thou liest on the ocean's floor or
lookest from the stars. If thou art dead, love of my youth, assure me,
oh, I pray thee!"

The wail and hacking cough seemed to be repeated very near. A footstep
seemed to come.

The door flew open, and in the moonlight stood a man, pale as a ghost,
of bandit look, with Spanish-looking garments, and head and neck tied up
with cerements, like wounded people in the cockpits of ships of war.

He bent upon her the eyes of the portrait above the door. How changed!
how like! There seemed upon his throat the stain of blood.

The widow, fascinated, frozen still, let fall her arms of ivory, and, as
she gazed, her beautiful neck, strained in horror and astonishment,
received upon its snow the rapture of Diana's shine.

The effigy, so like her husband, yet so altered, reached towards her his
hand, on which a diamond caught the moon, and seemed to drink it. A
wail, like the others she had heard, broke from his lips, and said the
words:

"To lose those charms! To lose that heart! O God!"

As thus he stood, ghastly and supplicating, as if he would fall and die
upon her threshold, another hand came forward in the moonlight, and drew
the door between them. A voice she had not heard tenderly exclaimed:

"I love him as I never loved A male!"

"It is my husband's spirit," the widow breathed. "I cannot marry."

She swooned upon her floor, before the dying fire.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

VIRGIE'S FLIGHT.

Snow Hill, when Virgie looked forth upon it, almost seemed built on
snow, a white sand composing the streets, gardens, and fields, though
the humid air brought vegetation even from this, and vines clambered,
willows drooped, flowers blossomed, on winter's brink, and great
speckled sycamores, like freckled giants, and noble oaks, rose to
heights betokening rich nutrition at their roots.

Heat and moisture and salt had made the land habitable, and the wind
from a receded sea had piled up the sand long ago into mounds now
covered with verdure, which the freak or fondness of the manor owner had
called a hill, and put his own name thereto, perhaps with memories of
old Snow Hill in London.

Upon this apparent bank or hill two venerable churches stood, bot