ne.

The expression in the woman's eyes did not change, but she still looked
steadily at Matilde for three or four seconds.

"Yes," she said. "I thought so. I am glad that you have come, for I have
suffered much on your account."

She looked as though she were suffering, Matilde thought. Then she placed
the chairs, made the countess sit down, and drew the curtains, just as
she had done for Bosio.

Then, in the dark, there was silence. It seemed to Matilde a long time,
and she grew nervous, and moved uneasily. Then, without warning, she
heard that other voice, clear, deep, and bell-like, which Bosio had
heard, and she trembled.

"I see a name written on your breast,--Bosio Macomer."

The darkness, the voice, the shiver of anticipation, unnerved the strong
woman.

"What does he say to me?" she asked unsteadily.

Again there was a long silence, longer than the first, and by many
degrees more disturbing to Matilda, as she waited for the answer.

"Bosio loves you," said the voice. "He is watching over you. He tells
you to remember what you promised each other in the room that is all
yellow, long ago,--that the one that should die first would visit the
other. He tells you that it is possible, and that he has kept his
promise. He loves you always, and you will be spirits together."

Matilde felt that in the darkness she was horribly pale, but she was no
longer frightened.

"Will he come to me when I am alone?" she asked, and her voice did not
shake.

"I will ask him," answered the clear voice, and again there was silence,
but only for a few seconds. "This is his answer," continued the voice.
"He cannot come to you when you are alone, as yet. By and by he will
come. But he watches over you. For the present he can only speak with
you through Giuditta Astarita, who is now asleep."

"Is she asleep?" asked Matilde.

"She is in a trance," the voice replied. "I speak through her, but when
she awakes, she will not know what I have said. The spirits come to her
directly sometimes, when she is awake, and they torment her. Bosio has
been coming to her often, and has made her suffer, until she wrote to
you. The spirits themselves suffer when they wish to communicate with
the living, and cannot."

"What are you?" inquired Matilda.

"I am Giuditta's familiar. The spirits generally speak, through me, to
her, when she is in the trance."

"And she knows nothing of what you say?"

"Nothing, after she is awake."

"Is Bo