arted, and I called upon him about a week after, when I found he was
making grand preparations for his marriage. He informed me that he had
got his eye upon some appointment, but that he should have to wait.
There was a certain air of sadness about his face still. He did not look
like a man about to be married.

"Doctor," said he, "do you know what I have been thinking of late?"

"No," I replied.

"I have been thinking that this marriage of mine will never come off,"
he said.

"Why?" I asked. "Have you had some lovers' quarrel?"

"No," he replied.

"Why, then? Has the squire changed his mind, after having given his
consent?" I demanded.

"No; nor that either," he replied. "I cannot myself give you my reason
for the fancy--it is a presentiment. You know, 'the course of true love
never _did_ run smooth.'"

"Oh!" said I, soothingly, "that is your fancy; you are nervous and
impatient--it is natural."

"No, no!" he said; "I am sure of it--I feel it."

"What! Have you been dreaming that it would not?"

"No; I never dream now," he replied.

"I am glad to hear it," I observed; "it is a good sign. When does the
wedding take place?"

"To-morrow was the day appointed, but it won't take place, I say. Mark
my word."

"So soon! But what can have put it into your head that it will not take
place to-morrow? Do you know of any impediment likely to occur between
this and then?"

"No," he replied; "none for certain, but I tell you, once for all, it
will not take place."

I did not know exactly what to make of this strange monomania. My
suspicions were again aroused as to the brain being affected. I did not
see what could happen to hinder the marriage, so I left him, after
cheering him as much as I possibly could, determining within myself to
call upon him as soon after his marriage as was convenient, to triumph
over him and laugh at his presentiments; but this was the last time I
ever saw Charles.

Shortly after this, my last, visit I was glancing rapidly over the paper
at breakfast when I was shocked to see among the list of deaths the name
of Charles ----, aged twenty-four. Strange enough; I had been dreaming
of him much the night previous. What was my surprise and dismay when,
looking lower down the column, I saw also the death of Edith L----. I
looked at the date of both deaths. To my still further surprise, both
lovers had departed this life at exactly the same hour--at midnight,
October 12th, 17--.

"What a