to his gratitude and to his daughter's hand.

Whilst he was dwelling on such pleasing, though imaginary prospects, he
could not help exclaiming aloud--"Yes, Alice, I will win thee nobly!"
The words had scarce escaped his lips, when he heard at the door of his
apartment, which the servant had left ajar, a sound like a deep sigh,
which was instantly succeeded by a gentle tap--"Come in," replied
Julian, somewhat ashamed of his exclamation, and not a little afraid
that it had been caught up by some eavesdropper--"Come in," he again
repeated; but his command was not obeyed; on the contrary, the knock was
repeated somewhat louder. He opened the door, and Fenella stood before
him.

With eyes that seemed red with recent tears, and with a look of the
deepest dejection, the little mute, first touching her bosom, and
beckoning with her finger, made to him the usual sign that the Countess
desired to see him--then turned, as if to usher him to her apartment. As
he followed her through the long gloomy vaulted passages which afforded
communication betwixt the various apartments of the castle, he could
not but observe that her usual light trip was exchanged for a tardy
and mournful step, which she accompanied with low inarticulate moaning
(which she was probably the less able to suppress, because she could not
judge how far it was audible), and also with wringing of the hands, and
other marks of extreme affliction.

At this moment a thought came across Peveril's mind, which, in spite of
his better reason, made him shudder involuntarily. As a Peaksman, and
a long resident in the Isle of Man, he was well acquainted with many a
superstitious legend, and particularly with a belief, which attached
to the powerful family of the Stanleys, for their peculiar demon, a
Banshie, or female spirit, who was wont to shriek "foreboding evil
times;" and who was generally seen weeping and bemoaning herself before
the death of any person of distinction belonging to the family. For an
instant, Julian could scarcely divest himself of the belief that the
wailing, jibbering form, which glided before him, with a lamp in her
hand, was a genius of his mother's race, come to announce to him as an
analogous reflection, that if the suspicion which had crossed his mind
concerning Fenella was a just one, her ill-fated attachment to him,
like that of the prophetic spirit to his family, could bode nothing but
disaster, and lamentation, and woe.

CHAPTER XIX