“‘Was she in earnest? Did she mean it? Is it possible that she might learn to love me through these baubles she prizes so much?’ he questioned of his better nature, which replied: “‘Try her, and see. Don’t leave her here in this dreary place Don’t shut out all the gladness and sunshine from her young life. Give her a chance. Remember Agatha.’ “Just then, through the casement he had thrown open, there came a gust of the night-wind, which lifted the muslin drapery of the tall bed in the corner and swept it toward him, making him start, it was so like the white, tossing, billowy figure he had seen there once, begging him for the love of God to set her free, and let her go back to ‘_la belle Normandie_,’ where the father was watching for her, and would welcome her home again. “Was Agatha, the wild rose of Normandy, pleading for Anna, the singing bird from New England? Possibly; and if so, she pleaded well, and might have gained her cause if the wicked spirit had not interposed, and sneeringly repeated: ‘Do not love him—shrink from his caresses—can’t endure to have him touch me—married him for money—can wind him round my little finger.’ And that last turned the scale. No man likes to be wound round any finger, however small it may be, and Ernest Haverleigh was not an exception. “‘She shall pay for that,’ he said—‘shall suffer until the demon within me is satisfied, and I rather think I am possessed of the devil. Eugenie says I am, in her last interesting document,’ and he laughed bitterly, as he took from his pocket a dainty little epistle, bearing the London post-mark, and stepping to the window, through which the early morning light was streaming, glanced again at the letter which had been forwarded to him from Paris, and a part of which had reference to Anna. “‘Who was the doll-faced little girl I saw with you in the carriage, and why didn’t you call upon me after that day? Were you afraid to meet me, and what new fancy is this so soon after that other affair? Ernest Haverleigh, I believe you are possessed with a demon, which makes you at times a maniac.’ ‘Yes, I believe I am mad. I wonder if it is in the family far back, working itself out in me?’ Haverleigh said, as he stood with his eyes riveted upon the last two lines. ‘Curse this woman with that spell she holds over me. If it were not for her Agatha might have been living, and I might forgive Anna, for I do believe I am nearer loving her than any woman I ever saw, and that is why I feel so bitter, so unrelenting, so determined upon revenge.’ “There were signs of waking life in and around the chateau now. The servants were astir, and so Haverleigh left the room where he had passed the night, and which since Agatha’s death had borne the cognomen of ‘the haunted chamber.’ On the stairs he met with Madame Verwest, who stood with hands folded and eyes bent down, her usual attitude while receiving his orders.