er imaginings was held with one whom he had supplanted but in name. At
the end of her dream the Countess of Uplandtowers awoke and arose, and
then the enactment of former nights was repeated. Her husband remained
still and listened. Two strokes sounded from the clock in the pediment
without, when, leaving the chamber-door ajar, she passed along the
corridor to the other end, where, as usual, she obtained a light. So
deep was the silence that he could even from his bed hear her softly
blowing the tinder to a glow after striking the steel. She moved on into
the boudoir, and he heard, or fancied he heard, the turning of the key in
the closet-door. The next moment there came from that direction a loud
and prolonged shriek, which resounded to the farthest corners of the
house. It was repeated, and there was the noise of a heavy fall.

Lord Uplandtowers sprang out of bed. He hastened along the dark corridor
to the door of the boudoir, which stood ajar, and, by the light of the
candle within, saw his poor young Countess lying in a heap in her
nightdress on the floor of the closet. When he reached her side he found
that she had fainted, much to the relief of his fears that matters were
worse. He quickly shut up and locked in the hated image which had done
the mischief; and lifted his wife in his arms, where in a few instants
she opened her eyes. Pressing her face to his without saying a word, he
carried her back to her room, endeavouring as he went to disperse her
terrors by a laugh in her ear, oddly compounded of causticity,
predilection, and brutality.

'Ho--ho--ho!' says he. 'Frightened, dear one, hey? What a baby 'tis!
Only a joke, sure, Barbara--a splendid joke! But a baby should not go to
closets at midnight to look for the ghost of the dear departed! If it do
it must expect to be terrified at his aspect--ho--ho--ho!'

When she was in her bed-chamber, and had quite come to herself; though
her nerves were still much shaken, he spoke to her more sternly. 'Now,
my lady, answer me: do you love him--eh?'

'No--no!' she faltered, shuddering, with her expanded eyes fixed on her
husband. 'He is too terrible--no, no!'

'You are sure?'

'Quite sure!' replied the poor broken-spirited Countess. But her natural
elasticity asserted itself. Next morning he again inquired of her: 'Do
you love him now?'

She quailed under his gaze, but did not reply.

'That means that you do still, by G---!' he continued.

'It