THE DANCE OF DEATH.
at his usual hour; but my hours. were numbered. After promising, at the old man’s request, that I would pay him a second visit at home, along with his son—for he had heard afterwards of our short nocturnal visit—and addressing to the charming girl some expressions of interest and affection, which flowed involuntarily from my heart, and tinged her cheek with blushes, I hastened to the residence. of my friend, whom I was fortunate enough to find at home. “His lively joy at seeing me soon dispelled the depression, which, like a dark veil, overshadow- ed his features, and dissipated at the same time all.my reproaches.I found no difficulty in-open- ing to him the nature of the commission with which I had to intrust him, and which he,at once undertook; he displayed all his former wild gaie- sty 28 he congratulated me on the fortunate influ- ence.of my journey; but he relapsed at once.into his habitual seriousness the moment he learned I had seen his father, and renewed my acquaint- ance with his sisters, especially, as I added, with the charming Jacoba. “The charming Jacoba,’ he repeated with a bitter sarcastic smile. “ What—still charming,
beside her fairer sister, whose beauties almost
eclipse those of your portrait!’
“How so?’ said I, confused— I. cannot have mistaken the name. heard the name of Jacoba pronounced—no other found an echo in my heart! Have I not,as before, seen Regina and Jacoba?’
- “Regina, my friend,’ replied he, “ has long
been at rest.
Lucia.’
“What!’ said 1, with increasing confusion, “ can that pale and slender creature whom I then saw, have since come to resemble poor Regina so closely?’
“Again, continued he,“ you mistake. It is Lucia with whom you are captivated. Poor Ja- coba is fast sinking into her grave.’
“This last reply utterly confounded me.— “How?’ said I—“ 1 would think you were in jest, were this a time for jesting. Is the.portrait then that of Lucia?—lIncredible!’
- “Have 1 not already said to you,’ said he,
with a sorrowful tone, “ love the picture—be en- amoured of it as you will—but have nothing,to do with the living!’
“II came to you,’ I resumed, still more bewil- dered, “with love in my heart——’
“For Lucia—’ he interrupted me hastily— “Beware! She is betrothed already.’
“Betrothed! To whom?’ cried I, with im- petuosity.’
“To Death!’ repeated he, slowly. “ You yourself was present at the betrothal. Remem- ber the Dance of Death at Liubeck. Fool that I was, to think that 1 could tear her from him?’
“«“Explain this enigma to me, 1 beseech you!’ cried I, while my cheek grew pale, and an inde- scribable feeling of terror shot through my heart.
- “Can I?’ said he— and if I could—this is not
the time. No more of my family! You cannot doubt that I would give her to you willingly— and perhaps—it may be possible’—continued he,
To-day you have seen Jacoba and
musingly—t Keep the picture—love it still—but ask me no questions.. You have seen enough to perceive lam novisionary!’
“He ceased—and, notwithstanding .all- my questions, continued-obstinately silent.. 1 knew him of old, and was aware that any farther im- portunity on my part would only serve to annoy and embitter him; and, besides, I must confess I felt myself oppressed with an undefinable, but irresistible sensation of terror.. As soon as I re- turned home, I laid:the picture, which I had been accustomed.to wear, in the most secret-recess of my writing-desk, and determined never to look upon it again.
“Before leaving my- friend, I had enquired —
’ how his Studies were proceeding. He burst into
a loud and sneering laugh. “ All studies,’ said he,
“ and particularly medicine, have become loath-
some to me. I will learn nothing, since I cannot
learn that which I vainly long for! What have
I to do with knowledge, who have lost all relish
for life itself? To me the earth is but a yawning
grave—its inhabitants but living carcasses.—
Even in the midst of gaiety, I am in death!’
“I saw at once that the sinking energies of my friend could only be restored by active employ- ment; and, in truth, nothing but the activity which I myself was called on to exert, prevented me from giving way to the influence of that feel- ing of terror which seemed to oppress me when
- in his presence, or when I thought of his family.
I felt that travel was necessary, and I set out;
my thoughts, however, often reverted back to
him, and pondered long how } might withdraw
him from a situation which seemed to be preying
more and more upon his mind. I saw plainly
that some singular,;and to me inconceivable des-
tiny, exercised a melancholy power over this
family, te which ignorance, timidity, or supersti-
tion, had lent a degree of strength, which it never
could have possessed over persons of a more
sober and decided mind; and as soon as 1 had
reached the place of my destination, I wrote to
him, fully laid before him all my ideas, and beg-
ged of -him to answer me with the same candour
and openness. For nearly a year I received no
«answer. When it arrived, I saw immediately from its contents that some internal change had taken place in his mind, though what its nature might be, I could but imperfectly gather.. The letter was a calm and business-like answer to mine; it exhibited no traces either of depression of spirit, or of that factitious gaiety by which he had laboured to cloak his despair.. He confessed that it was his belief that a full disclosure to me might tend to ease his mind;~but he added, that when that disclosure should be made, I would see at once why it had not been made sooner. Such matters, however, he continued, could not be discussed in writing. He spoke of the picture, (to which I had not alluded,) and added—
“1s it still dear to you? I know well that our connexion and my confusion of mind may have inspired you with a feeling of terror connected with it; but, believe me, you.may love it without fear. Yes, Joye it. I have built a fabric of hope
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