as wondering to find herself in
such an unforeseen position as that of a night guest in the mysterious
Hidden House--wondering whether this was the guest chamber in which the
ghost appeared to the officer and these were the very curtains that the
pale lady drew at night. While her thoughts were thus running over the
whole range of circumstances around her singular position, sleep
overtook Capitola and speculation was lost in brighter visions.

How long she had slept and dreamed she did not know, when something
gently awakened her. She opened her eyes calmly--to meet a vision that
brave as she was, nearly froze the blood in her warm veins.

Her chamber was illumined with an intense blue flame that lighted up
every portion of the apartment with a radiance bright as day, and in
the midst of this effulgence moved a figure clothed in white--a
beautiful, pale, spectral woman, whose large, motionless black eyes,
deeply set in her death-like face, and whose long unbound black hair,
fallen upon her white raiment, were the only marks of color about her
marble form.

Paralyzed with wonder, Capitola watched this figure as it glided about
the chamber. The apparition approached the dressing-table, seemed to
take something thence, and then gliding toward the bed, to Capitola's
inexpressible horror drew back the curtains and bent down and gazed
upon her! Capitola had no power to scream, to move or to avert her gaze
from those awful eyes that met her own, until at length, as the
spectral head bent lower, she felt the pressure of a pair of icy lips
upon her brow and closed her eyes!

When she opened them again the vision had departed and the room was
dark and quiet.

There was no more sleep for Capitola. She heard the clock strike four,
and was pleased to find that it was so near day. Still the time seemed
very long to her, who lay there wondering, conjecturing and speculating
on the strange adventure of the night.

When the sun arose she left her restless bed, bathed her excited head
and proceeded to dress herself. When she had finished her toilet, with
the exception of putting on her trinkets, she suddenly missed a ring
that she prized more than she did all her possessions put together--it
was a plain gold band, bearing the inscription Capitola-Eugene, and
which she had been enjoined by her old nurse never to part from but
with life. She had, in her days of destitution suffered the extremes of
cold and hunger; had been upon the