, what blessed
hopes!--we reckoned on casualties, on what might possibly occur to
assist us. Neither of us could endure to dwell on the idea of
separation; and yet--yet since--Oh, my God!" she cried, overcome by
sorrow, and she hid her face between her hands. Edward was lost in
confused thought. For a time both again were silent; at length Emily
started up--

"Forgive me, M. de Wensleben. What you have related to me, what you have
asked of me, has produced so much excitement, so much agitation, that it
is necessary that I should be alone for a few moments, to recover my
composure."

"I am gone," cried Edward, springing from his chair.

"No! no!" she replied, "you are my guest; remain here. I have a
household duty which calls me away." She laid a stress on these words.

She leant forward, and with a sad, sweet smile, she gave her hand to the
friend of her lost Ferdinand, pressing his gently, and disappeared
through the inner door.

Edward stood stunned, bewildered; then he paced the room with hasty
steps, threw himself on the sofa, and took up one of the books that lay
on the table, rather to have something in his hand, than to read. It
proved to be Young's "Night Thoughts." He looked through it, and was
attracted by many passages, which seemed, in his present frame of mind,
fraught with peculiar meaning; yet his thoughts wandered constantly from
the page to his dead friend. The candles, unheeded both by Emily and
him, burned on with long wicks, giving little light in the silent room,
over which the red glare from the hearth shed a lurid glow. Hurried
footsteps sounded in the ante-room; the door was thrown open. Edward
looked up, and saw D'Effernay staring at him, and round the room, in an
angry, restless manner.

Edward could not but think there was something almost unearthly in those
dark looks and that towering form.

"Where is my wife?" was D'Effernay's first question.

"She is gone to fulfill some household duty," replied the other.

"And leaves you here alone in this miserable darkness? Most
extraordinary!--indeed, most unaccountable!" and, as he spoke, he
approached the table and snuffed the candles, with a movement of
impatience.

"She left me here with old friends," said Edward, with a forced smile.
"I have been reading."

"What, in the dark?" inquired D'Effernay, with a look of distrust. "It
was so dark when I came in, that you could not possibly have
distinguished a letter."

"I read for some