event, whilst the object of his now almost painful anxiety, dropping gently the tapestry behind her, advanced into the room. She appeared to be of middle age, her person tall and finely formed, and her features beautiful, but stamped with an air of settled melancholy. She had closely folded round her a robe of the deepest black; her hair, long and golden in its tint, hung wild and disheveled on her neck and shoulders, whilst the pearly whiteness of her complexion, approaching almost to a death-like hue, formed a striking contrast with the character of her dress.

Having reached the foot of the bed, she paused for a few moments, and then cautiously withdrawing the curtains, she held up the light. There was at this instant a wildness in her countenance that assumed the appearance of insanity, mingled, at the same time, with traces of the deepest anguish. She sighed heavily and repeatedly, and then, reclosing the curtains, she looked around her with a seeming emotion of surprise and disappointment. A shuddering, as if from fear or terror, in a moment after agitated her frame, and returning with a rapid step to

that part of the room where she had entered, she again raised the arras, and disappeared.

Shakspeare, who during this singular scene had remained apparently unnoticed, and indeed almost rivetted to the spot with astonishment, now determined, the moment after his extraordinary visitor had left him, to pursue her footsteps, anxious not only to ascertain who she was, and whence she came, but apprehensive also of danger either to herself or to what was around her from the light she carried; yet he was greatly relieved by perceiving that with the fortunate peculiarity of those who walk in their sleep, and who see and recollect objects once familiar with a morbid distinctness and vividity, she carefully avoided every thing with her taper that was likely to suffer injury from fire.

Scarcely then had the tapestry returned to its place, ere it was again uplifted by our poet, who found himself in a large and lofty chamber, just time enough to perceive as he entered it, by the gleaming of her taper, his late visitant quitting it by a door at the opposite extremity. He pursued with quick and noiseless stealth, and followed into a gallery of considerable extent,

hung on both sides, as far as he could judge from the scanty light which preceded him, and the partial glimpses of the moon through its numerous windows, with a series of family portraits.

It was here that the object of his anxious pursuit began to slacken in the speed with which she had hitherto retired; and, as soon as she had reached the centre of the gallery, she stopped, holding up her taper so as to throw its full illumination on a large picture, which Shakspeare, who had cautiously stolen behind her through the shade, immediately recognised as a portrait of his friend Eustace Montchensey.

The agitation with which she seemed to contemplate this resemblance of his kind host, and which was indeed a strong and faithful likeness, instantly brought to the recollection of Shakspeare the information which he had received from Roland as to the existence of the wife of his friend; she was "amiable but unhappy," he had said, and he could not but believe that the being thus described was now before him. A very few moments, indeed, sufficed to place the matter beyond all doubt, for she soon began to

give utterance to the feelings which were kindling in her bosom; and conceiving herself again present at a scene which the picture before her had reproduced with all the strength and vividity of reality, she knelt down as if imploring mercy, calling out in extreme agony of mind, as she fixed her eyes upon the portrait, "Montchensey, O my husband, spare, spare my beloved brother, O spare the life of Raymond Neville! He bleeds! he dies!" and she uttered a faint shriek, throwing herself, as she imagined, on the body of her murdered brother. In a few minutes, however, she again arose: " Hush! hush!" she exclaimed, in a whispering tone of voice, "tell them not where I have buried him! the moon sleeps sweetly there, and the flowers shed perfume on his grave; we will and beside him!" Then, after a momentary pause, she added, gliding softly and quickly over the floor as she spoke, “Come, come, let us go; the nightingale is gone before us, and shall sing us to our rest!" and immediately passing through a door that stood open at the further end of the gallery, and

go

pray

which, either by accident or design, closed instantly upon her, she was seen no more.

The faculty indeed of pursuit was no longer in the possession of our poet; for he stood thunderstruck, as it were, by the discovery that, in the person of the wife of Montchensey, he beheld the sister of his friend! The marriage had, in fact, taken place at a period when Raymond Neville, being deeply involved in the vortex of political tumult in Ireland, where his incautious conduct had given rise to accusations of disloyalty which, though unfounded, he could not satisfactorily disprove, all communication. between himself and Shakspeare had been, from the disturbed state of the sister-kingdom, entirely cut off; and as he was obliged to fly to the continent, the result of his unfortunate machinations, soon after, the latter had possessed no opportunity of acquiring any subsequent knowledge of his family or connections; indeed, for the last eighteen years, he had heard from Neville himself but once; and previous to the singular occurrence of this night, knew not, in fact, that either he or his sister remained in existence.