a degree of momentary repugnance, she made a desperate effort to shake off this weakness, and advanced along the aisle, now half-shrouded in gloom, when she heard distinct sounds of persons talking and whispering, and even thought she felt lips breathing on her, and the near presence of invisible speakers. Struck with nameless, irresistible terror, her brow became chilled-her head swam roundshe could proceed no farther. Closing her eyes, and applying her hand firmly to her throbbing temples, Geraldine leaned against a pillar, and became the trembling and unwilling auditor of the following whispered conversation:-" Comfort! no comfort for me! "Twas here she fell, and I could have prevented it! stabbed to the heart by the husband she adored! and look-look at those spots of blood all along the passage! 'twas there-there-oh, God! Can you forgive me, Isabel? he cried.Forgive you! she said, and gave one look at her destroyer. Oh, 'twas a fearful tragedy !"

gedy" The breath of Geraldine came tumultuously and thick-her heart died within her; yet she bent in agonizing curiosity to hear the remainder." And the child," asked a second voice," does she live? does she know"" The child," replied the first speaker, " Geraldine, has grown up to maturity, under the care of her natural protector-of Southwell."

A piercing shriek, which burst from the unhappy Geraldine, rung through the vaults and arches. She sprung forward, agitated with convulsive strength, from the operation of contending emotions-a dread of encountering the speaker, yet an ardent desire to force from him a clear elucidation of his mysterious tale. At this moment a face glared from amidst the ruins, a hand waved her away, and the apparition vanished; the countenance was such as to rob her of all power of recollection-it was wild, fiendish, and unearthly, and yet it was human-a face so

horrid and fantastic, as nothing but the combination of feverish dreams had ever presented to mortal eye before. Powerless she sunk against the wall: a faint groan alone bespoke her sensible of existence, when she was roused again to full consciousness, by shouts of laughter that sounded discordantly in her ears.

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Mrs. Stratford Gore was first in sight, followed by Moreville the poet; while Mr. O'Carolan, not of all men the thinnest, panting, blowing, and his face of a pompadour colour, brought up the rear.Ha, ha, ha! Mr. Moreville, you will make me die of laughing!" cried the lady. "What upon earth made you tempt our venerable antiquary to such a scramble up the spiral staircase of that tower, when you knew we should see nothing for our pains ?"

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Upon my honour, madam," replied the poet, demurely, "there was an Irish inscription which I could plainly decipher with the naked eye, and which, if

my

my friend's optics were not quite so clear, he might easily have made out with the help of your quizzing-glass."

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'Why, how now, Geraldine!" exclaimed Mrs. Gore, her attention directed to a new object, by the pale and affrighted countenance of her young friend; one would swear you had been holding a ghostly colloquy with the phantom of your namesake, the white knight of Kilmallock. This expedition was planned rather too late in the day. Pray Heaven we have not all caught colds with it; and as the bel notturno gelo can do us no manner of good, I move that we return with all convenient speed."

Mr. Moreville took Geraldine's passive hand to conduct her to the carriage. He perceived how ill she looked, and how she trembled; but she persisted in refusing to assign any cause for her apparent dejection, although the agitation of her spirits was but too visible during the whole drive home. Neither the unwearied loquacity

of

of Mrs. Stratford, nor the soft attentions of Mrs. Arthur Gore, nor the inexhaustible store of anecdote possessed by Moreville, and the charm with which every subject became invested, when viewed through the prismatic medium of his enchanting imagination, could divert her mind from the tale of grief and horror that occupied her thoughts. As the shades of evening gathered in, the face was still before her; it glanced at the carriage windows-it met her at the portal as she alighted that face, which was far from being ugly, though the whole semblance, taken together, was frightful-a countenance of which guilt constituted the mysterious horror-such a one as fancy would give to an embodied evil spirit.

Of all the travellers, Pendennis and the antiquary seemed best pleased with their excursion. During the course of the day, they found so many points of agreement, that they quite forgot their first dispute, and did not part without a cordial invita