ith fear in her
companion's face.

"Yes, influence us; for it seems as if Philip were ever present with me,
drawing me, as it were, to him, and reproaching me for my want of faith.
Shall I always feel this?--always be haunted by his spirit, unseen but
by myself? Ada, do you believe in foresight--in a knowledge of what is
to be?"

"No, certainly not, you foolish, childish creature!" exclaimed Ada,
making an effort to overcome the strange thrill of dread her cousin's
words engendered. "How can you be so weak? It's cruel of you--unjust."

"I shall not live long, Ada. I feel it--I am sure of it. If there is
such a thing as a broken heart, mine is that heart. But I will do my
duty to all, hard as it may be. And now, kiss me, dear, and go to your
own room; for I am going to pray for strength to carry me through the
trial, and that Heaven will make me to my husband a good and earnest
wife."

What could she say?--how whisper peace to this troubled breast? Ada Lee
felt that peace must come from another source, and, kissing tenderly the
cold pale cheek, she went softly, tearfully to her own room.

Book 1, Chapter III.

A GLANCE AT THE SUBSTANCE.

The moon shone brightly through the window of Ada Lee's bedroom as she
seated herself thoughtfully by her dressing-table. She had extinguished
her light, and, attracted by the soft sea of silvery mist spread before
her sight over the marsh, she gazed dreamily out, watching the play of
the moonbeams upon the wreathing vapour, now musing upon the past, now
upon the present, and at last letting her eyes fall upon the green lawn
beneath the window--one of about half-a-dozen, looking out upon that
side of the old ivy-covered rectory. The trees cast dark,
massive-looking shadows here and there, while patches of the grass, and
now and then a flower-bed stood out, bathed in the soft light.

How long she sat there musing she could not tell, but her reverie was
rudely broken by the sight of a dark figure coming forth from amidst the
shrubs upon her left, to stand for a moment gazing up at the house.

Her heart beat violently, and a strange swimming sensation made blurred
and indistinct the moonlit scene; but when, approaching more nearly to
the window-pane, she gazed anxiously out, the dark figure had
disappeared; there was nothing visible but the shadows cast by tree and
shrub, and, hastily casting aside her fears, she smiled, telling herself
that it was but fancy.

What co