hink, lying on
the table, or in my work-box, when I quitted the room. There is a
letter on the table--at least I think so. It is sealed. Let not the
seal be broken but by my son, and not by him unless he knows the secret.
Let it be burnt by the priest,--for it is cursed;--and even should my
son know all that I do, oh, let him pause,--let him reflect well before
he breaks the seal,--for 'twere better he should know NO MORE!"

"Not know more!" thought Philip, as his eyes were still fixed upon the
paper. "Yes, but I must and will know more, so forgive me dearest
mother, if I waste no time in reflection. It would be but time thrown
away, when one is resolved as I am."

Philip pressed his lips to his mother's signature, folded up the paper
and put it into his pocket; then taking the key, he proceeded
downstairs.

It was about noon when Philip descended to open the chamber; the sun
shone bright, the sky was clear, and all without was cheerful and
joyous. The front door of the cottage being closed, there was not much
light in the passage when Philip put the key into the lock of the
long-closed door, and with some difficulty turned it round. To say that
when he pushed open the door he felt no alarm would not be correct; he
did feel alarm, and his heart palpitated; but he felt more than was
requisite of determination to conquer that alarm, and to conquer more,
should more be created by what he should behold. He opened the door,
but did not immediately enter the room: he paused where he stood, for he
felt as if he was about to intrude into the retreat of a disembodied
spirit, and that that spirit might reappear. He waited a minute, for
the effort of opening the door had taken away his breath, and, as he
recovered himself, he looked within.

He could but imperfectly distinguish the objects in the chamber, but
through the joints of the shutters there were three brilliant beams of
sunshine forcing their way across the room, which at first induced him
to recoil as if from something supernatural; but a little reflection
reassured him. After about a minute's pause, Philip went into the
kitchen, lighted a candle, and, sighing deeply two or three times as if
to relieve his heart, he summoned his resolution, and walked towards the
fatal room. He first stopped at the threshold, and, by the light of the
candle, took a hasty survey. All was still: and the table on which the
letter had been left, being behind the door, was con