THE DANCE OF DEATH. 17
mystery which seemed to rest over the situation of the family, I felt an internal conviction how short a space of time would be sufficient to fan those feelings of admiration into a glowing pas- sion; particularly now that my suspicions as to the nature of Emanuel’s attachment had disap- peared. True, he had received her with emo- tion, and embraced her; but his embrace was passionless, nay, almost cold and strange. “Phere was no appearance of delight in his look, but on the contrary, I could not but feel, an air of hor- ror. Absorbed in the contemplation of this dark enigma, I drew near to the window.
“The mist had dispersed; the moon had risen calm and cloudless. The window of my room looked directly out upon the churchyard, which lay bright beneath me in the moonshine, while the broad walls of the church and its,pointed tower threw out a long dark shadow that seemed to lose itself in the distance. Between the win- dow at which I stood and the (not far distant) church, was a large burial-place, surrounded by a low iron railing; my eyes accidentally rested upon it, and I drew back with involuntary terror on perceiving some object move near it, half hid in the shadow projected from a monument be- yond. Mastering my first sensation, however, I thought, upon a second glance, that I recognised the figure of Emanuel in that of the being thus leaning against the monument, and dwelling, as it were, among the tombs. I opened my door; I perceived that the little passage which separated our rooms had a door at the further end, which stood half open, and led into the churchyard. I could no longer doubt; and_knowing how de- structively these gloomy meditations, to which my friend was but too prone, must operate upon his already excited fancy, I stept out, and hastily advanced towards him.
“My friend,’ said I,“ it is late and cold. Re- member that with day-break we must be gone. Come in with me, and go to rest.’
“What would you with me?’ he replied. “It is long since I have seen my home. Let me re- main 2 while with mine own.’
“That,’ said I,“ you will do better witia; pointing to the house. “ Enjoy the'society of the living—let the dead rest.’
“The living!’ repeated he, in a tone of bit- terness. “Here is my home, the home of my fathers—here moulder the ashes of my mother,
soon to be mingled with those of one and all of”
us. Not without a deep meaning has my father
placed this last resting-place so near to our man-
sion, but to remind’us that it is but a step from
our home to the grave; and with the affection of.
a father he wishes that he may be able, even
when we are gone, to have all his children in his
view. An irresistible feeling impelled me hither;
a longing as it were, to prepare another grave.
To-morrow you will see!—
“Dear friend,’ I replied, “away with evil dreams! It was not for this that 1 brought you to your home: you are creating anxiety and vexation, not only to yourself and to me, but to all whom your presence onght to cheer.’
c
““You are right. It must have been a dream,’ said he briefly, and with an effort at calmness. “Come, we will to bed.’ We re-entered the house.
“TI slept not, however; partly because my thoughts were busied with my friend, whose con- duct appeared to me more and more extraordi- nary, and partly, perhaps, from the very fear.of over-sleeping myself. A half slumber only at times sunk upon my eyes; with the first dawn of morning I sprang up; I saw by the weathercock that the wind was fairpand I knew that if we detained the vessel under such circumstances, we should be made to pay dearly enough for our passage. I stept into my friend’s room, who was fast asleep, but roused himself the moment I awakened him. Soon after, we heard the ser- vant bustling about with the breakfast things in the parlour, and walked in. Her master, she told us, had passed a very restless night. Mam- selle Jacoba had never stirred a°"moment from his side. But she had gently wakened he? sisters, had told Regina of her brother’s visit and his arrangements, and they would be with us imme- diately.
“She had scarcely in fact finished her infor- mation, when the three young ladies entered with a joyful, but noiseless step, lest the unwonted sound of conversation at that early hour might reach the ears of their father. The first look showed me that my yesterday’s conjecture must be right; the picture could represent no one but Jacoba. Regina, the eldest, was much about the same height, but almost as different from her blooming sister, as the pallid and fading autumn from the vigorous maturity of summer; the same family features appeared in both faces, but in the pale, if not sallow complexion, hollow eyes, and wasted form of Regina, scarcely could you have recognised the sister of Jacoba. Lucia, though pretty well grown, was at that period of life when she was not likely to attract much attention; and of both, indeed, 1 had but a hasty glance. The third sister, a child of twelve years old, pale, de- licate, and little of her age, seemed still over- come with sleep, while joy, regret, and surprise seemed mingled in the sweet expression of her childish face. All three were immediately hushed into silence at the sight of a stranger.
“¢ Sweet blossom of my heart,’ cried my friend, who had extended his hands to the two elder sisters almost without looking at them, but gazed with the deepest affection upon the youngest, embraced her with the greatest tenderness, and occupied himself exclusively with her, leaving me to entertain the others as I best could. Mean- time I could not but perceive that, while he was caressing the youngest, and rapidly swallowing his coffee, he frequently stole a glance at the two elder, with an expression of grief—nay, almost of aversion, which must haye deeply wounded their feelings, had not the brevity of our interview, and the numerous enquiries relative to his father with which it was filled up, prevented the singu- larity of his demeanour from being observed by them. Though the eyes of all of them, especially
