beautiful light, when sun or moon shines into the apartment. There is
but one portrait in that room, although the walls seem panelled for the
express purpose of containing a series of pictures. That portrait is of
a young man, with a pale face, a stately brow, and a strange expression
about the eyes, which no one cared to look on twice.

There is a stately bed in that chamber, of carved walnut-wood is it
made, rich in design and elaborate in execution; one of those works of
art which owe their existence to the Elizabethan era. It is hung with
heavy silken and damask furnishing; nodding feathers are at its
corners--covered with dust are they, and they lend a funereal aspect to
the room. The floor is of polished oak.

God! how the hail dashes on the old bay window! Like an occasional
discharge of mimic musketry, it comes clashing, beating, and cracking
upon the small panes; but they resist it--their small size saves them;
the wind, the hail, the rain, expend their fury in vain.

The bed in that old chamber is occupied. A creature formed in all
fashions of loveliness lies in a half sleep upon that ancient couch--a
girl young and beautiful as a spring morning. Her long hair has escaped
from its confinement and streams over the blackened coverings of the
bedstead; she has been restless in her sleep, for the clothing of the
bed is in much confusion. One arm is over her head, the other hangs
nearly off the side of the bed near to which she lies. A neck and bosom
that would have formed a study for the rarest sculptor that ever
Providence gave genius to, were half disclosed. She moaned slightly in
her sleep, and once or twice the lips moved as if in prayer--at least
one might judge so, for the name of Him who suffered for all came once
faintly from them.