mind. Seraphina only nodded her assent, but, at the same time, made a sign, that, even on this point, I must not venture any farther questions. My father, she added, had given her his promise, that, when the proper time came, he would himself afford me the needful explanations.—‘When the proper time comes!’ I repeated in a half reproachful tone,—for after I had been told so much, and must undergo, in consequence, such grief and agitation, it seemed to me already full time that I should hear all the rest. I begged an interview with my father that same evening, and acquainted him with what had past, but to my request for more information, he remained inexorable. He said also that Seraphina’s adventure might, after all, have been but the natural effect of a highly excited and disordered imagination. But, as on the third day afterwards, my sister was indeed taken ill, and was confined to bed, his disbelief seemed nearly quite overcome, and though I had not yet learned that her dying day had been prophesied, I perceived too well from her deadly paleness, and the looks with which she regarded us, that her last moments were fast approaching. In the evening we were sitting be-
