morning, and had been, for the last two or three
days, considerably better, and our happiness seemed to grow less selfish
in our increasing hope of his recovery.

When we returned from church, our intention was to set off immediately
to--Hall, a seat which I had hired for our reception. On re-entering the
house, Glanville called me aside--I followed his infirm and tremulous
steps into a private apartment.

"Pelham," said he, "we shall never meet again! no matter--you are now
happy, and I shall shortly be so. But there is one office I have yet to
request from your friendship; when I am dead, let me be buried by her
side, and let one tombstone cover both."

I pressed his hand, and, with tears in my eyes, made him the promise he
required.

"It is enough," said he; "I have no farther business with life. God
bless you, my friend--my brother; do not let a thought of me cloud your
happiness."

He rose, and we turned to quit the room; Glanville was leaning on
my arm; when we had moved a few paces towards the door, he stopped
abruptly. Imagining that the pause proceeded from pain or debility, I
turned my eyes upon his countenance--a fearful and convulsive change was
rapidly passing over it--his eyes stared wildly upon vacancy.

"Merciful God--is it--can it be?" he said, in a low inward tone. At that
moment, I solemnly declare, whether from my sympathy with his feelings,
or from some more mysterious and undefinable cause, my whole frame
shuddered from limb to limb. I saw nothing--I heard nothing; but I felt,
as it were, within me some awful and ghostly presence, which had power
to curdle my blood into ice, and cramp my sinews into impotence; it was
as if some preternatural and shadowy object darkened across the mirror
of my soul--as if, without the medium of the corporeal senses, a spirit
spake to, and was answered by, a spirit.

The moment was over. I felt Glanville's hand relax its grasp upon my
arm--he fell upon the floor--I raised him--a smile of ineffable serenity
and peace was upon his lips; his face was as the face of an angel, but
the spirit had passed away!

CHAPTER LXXXVI.

Now haveth good day, good men all, Haveth good day, young and old;
Haveth good day, both great and small, And graunt merci a thousand fold!
Gif ever I might full fain I wold, Don ought that were unto your leve
Christ keep you out of cares cold, For now 'tis time to take my leave.
--Old Song.

Several months have now elapsed since m