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 Rock Creek church,
in the territory of Columbia, by the Rev. Mr. Rolf, John
Othard to Marie Othard."

"John Othard and myself were cousins; we had been brought up beneath
the same roof, and been schoolmates and constant companions from
childhood. He was my boyish lover and protector. He had grown to
manhood, I was a few years younger, and we had vowed eternal constancy
to each other. When, however, too late, our parents discovered our
fondness for each other, and knew that we were betrothed, they
interposed objections; and after exhausting all mild means, they
threatened us with their displeasure, said they would disown and
disinherit us; that if we persevered, we must be outcast and
wanderers--go out from under the paternal roof forever; that the union
would be unlawful and wicked. The tie of blood, they said, was too
close, and could be fruitful only of misery and ruin--an unhappy,
sinful match. We had been walking, John and I, and talking as usual
over our doleful fate and prospects, and what seemed to us the absurd
notions of our parents. He had been trying to persuade me to disregard
what he termed the obstinacy of the old folks, and said impatiently:

"'Come, Marie, when will you consent to be mine? We are old enough to
judge of our own affairs. If our families are determined on driving us