thought you was dying, just now.'

'But the Count--you are sure, is not come?'

'O yes, quite sure of that, ma'amselle. Why, I was looking out through
the grate in the north turret, when the carriages drove into the
court-yard, and I never expected to see such a goodly sight in this
dismal old castle! but here are masters and servants, too, enough to
make the place ring again. O! I was ready to leap through the rusty old
bars for joy!--O! who would ever have thought of seeing a christian
face in this huge dreary house? I could have kissed the very horses that
brought them.'

'Well, Annette, well, I am better now.'

'Yes, ma'amselle, I see you are. O! all the servants will lead merry
lives here, now; we shall have singing and dancing in the little hall,
for the Signor cannot hear us there--and droll stories--Ludovico's come,
ma'am; yes, there is Ludovico come with them! You remember Ludovico,
ma'am--a tall, handsome young man--Signor Cavigni's lacquey--who always
wears his cloak with such a grace, thrown round his left arm, and his
hat set on so smartly, all on one side, and--'

'No,' said Emily, who was wearied by her loquacity.

'What, ma'amselle, don't you remember Ludovico--who rowed the
Cavaliero's gondola, at the last regatta, and won the prize? And
who used to sing such sweet verses about Orlandos and about the
Black-a-moors, too; and Charly--Charly--magne, yes, that was the name,
all under my lattice, in the west portico, on the moon-light nights at
Venice? O! I have listened to him!'---

'I fear, to thy peril, my good Annette,' said Emily; 'for it seems his
verses have stolen thy heart. But let me advise you; if it is so, keep
the secret; never let him know it.'

'Ah--ma'amselle!--how can one keep such a secret as that?'

'Well, Annette, I am now so much better, that you may leave me.'

'O, but, ma'amselle, I forgot to ask--how did you sleep in this
dreary old chamber last night?'--'As well as usual.'--'Did you hear
no noises?'--'None.'--'Nor see anything?'--'Nothing.'--'Well, that is
surprising!'--'Not in the least: and now tell me, why you ask these
questions.'

'O, ma'amselle! I would not tell you for the world, nor all I have heard
about this chamber, either; it would frighten you so.'

'If that is all, you have frightened me already, and may therefore tell
me what you know, without hurting your conscience.'

'O Lord! they say the room is haunted, and has been so these many
years.'

'It i