spirit, and acted through her. So strange did
all appear to her, so strange the impassiveness of her own will, of her
habits and affections, that should have rebelled and warred against her
purpose that she sometimes thought herself not herself, or insane, or
the subject of a monomania, or some strange hallucination, a dreamer, a
somnambulist, perhaps. And yet with matchless tact and discretion, she
went about her deadly work. She had prepared her plan of action, and now
waited only for a day very near at hand, the fourth of April, the
anniversary of Marian's assassination, to put Thurston to a final test
before proceeding further.

The day came at last--it was cold and wintry for the season. Toward
evening the sky became overcast with leaden clouds, and the chill
dampness penetrated into all the rooms of the old mansion. Poor Fanny
was muttering and moaning to herself and her "spirits" over the wood
fire in her distant room.

Mr. Willcoxen had not appeared since breakfast time. Miriam remained in
her own chamber; and Paul wandered restlessly from place to place
through all the rooms of the house, or threw himself wearily into his
chair before the parlor fire. Inclement as the weather was, he would
have gone forth, but that he too remembered the anniversary, and a
nameless anxiety connected with Miriam confined him to the house.

In the kitchen, the colored folk gathered around the fire, grumbling at
the unseasonable coldness of the weather, and predicting a hail-storm,
and telling each other that they never "'sperienced" such weather this
time o' year, 'cept 'twas that spring Old Marse died--when no wonder,
"'siderin' how he lived long o' Sam all his life."

Only old Jenny went in and out from house to kitchen, Old Jenny had
enough to do to carry wood to the various fires. She had never "seed it
so cold for de season nyther, 'cept 'twas de spring Miss Marian went to
hebben, and not a bit o' wonder de yeth was cole arter she war gone--de
dear, lovin' heart warm angel; 'deed I wondered how it ever come summer
again, an' thought it was right down onsensible in her morning-glories
to bloom out jest de same as ever, arter she was gone! An' what minds me
to speak o' Miss Marian now, it war jes' seven years this night, since
she 'parted dis life," said Jenny, as she stood leaning her head upon
the mantel-piece, and toasting her toes at the kitchen fire, previous to
carrying another armful of wood into the parlor.

Night