What could this mean?" I asked myself. "Why had all the work of man
perished, crumbled into dust, and this lovely image not suffered the
inevitable decay? Who was she, that she could stand here untouched
amid this ruin--defying time? Was it the semblance of the mistress of
this once rich abode? Had she loved with more ardor than reason? Was
she waiting for some one to enter this doomed edifice that we might
tell her story and fulfill her destiny?" I asked myself all these
questions over again, as I stood spell-bound, gazing at this beautiful
vision. She was symmetry itself; her hair was golden-hued, and flowed
in sunny profusion down over her beauteous neck and shoulders; the
painter's art had not exaggerated her natural grace and dignity--she
was beauty unadorned. The dress was of white satin, with the puffed
sleeves and short waist of the last century. A broad pink sash,
fastened in front at the waist, reached down to a pair of tiny feet,
clothed in rich embroidered slippers. I felt as if I was in the
presence of a living human being, and that she might at any moment
chide me for breaking the silence of this desolate place--for
disturbing its quiet.

With that feeling of superstition which runneth in the blood of man, I
shuddered, grew weak and faint; great drops of cold perspiration
started out from my forehead, and I turned to see if some supernatural
mechanism had not closed the door and entombed me with the lovely
phantom. It was still open; its rust-eaten hinges had long since
ceased to act. I was free to go, but, with the infatuation of
curiosity, I could not move; I stood in my tracks and ventured to look
again.

A sound of rustling drapery startled me. Great heavens! this image,
which seemed a moment before but a part of the solid wall, had moved
and stood in the centre of the room. Slowly she raised her right arm,
and with extended finger pointed to the old and faded escritoire.
Mechanically my eyes took the direction toward which she pointed. I
saw the doors of the cabinet tumble from their fastenings and fall to
the floor with a startling crash, while her attitude commanded me,
imperatively, to examine the recesses of this sepulchre of a long
buried secret. I did so. In it was nothing except a small time-stained
memorandum-book, the edges fastened by a silver clasp. I took it up.
It contained the following strange story of the Haunted Island. Here
it is:

"MARRIED.--On the 27th of May, 1794, at Roc