the deck there stood a man of great height and size, habited in the apparel of a friar. His cowl concealed his face; but his crossed hands and uplifted attitude announced his profession. He was in prayer:—he prayed much, and earnestly—it was for the souls of his crew. Minute guns were fired at every pause; after which a slow solemn chaunt began; and the smoke of incense ascended till it partially concealed the dark figures of the men. Glenarvon watched the motions of that vessel in speechless horror; and now before his wondering eyes new forms arose, as if created by delirium’s power to augment the strangeness of the scene. At the feet of the friar there knelt a form so beautiful—so young, that, but for the foreign garb and well remembered look, he had thought her like the vision of his sleep, a pitying angel sent to watch and save him.—“O fiora bella,” he cried; “first, dearest, and sole object of my devoted love, why now appear to wake the sleeping dæmons in my breast—to madden me with many a bitter recollection?” The friar at that moment, with relentless hand, dashed the fair fragile being, yet clinging round him for mercy, into the deep dark waters. “Monster,” exclaimed Glenarvon, “I will revenge that deed even in thy blood.” There was no need:—the monk drew slowly from his bosom the black covering that enshrouded his form. Horrible to behold!—that bosom was gored with deadly wounds, and the black spouting streams of blood, fresh from the heart, uncoloured by the air, gushed into the wave. “Cursed be the murderer in his last hour!—Hell waits its victim.”—Such was the chaunt which the sable crew ever and anon sung in low solemn tones. Well was it understood by Glenarvon, though sung in a foreign dialect. “Comrades,” he exclaimed, “do you behold that vessel? Am I waking, or do my eyes, distempered by some strange malady, deceive me? Bear on. It is the last command of Glenarvon. Set full the sails. Bear on,—bear on: to death or to victory!—It is the enemy of our souls you see before you. Bear on—to death, to vengeance; for all the fiends of hell have conspired our ruin.” They sailed from coast to coast—They sailed from sea to sea, till lost in the immensity of ocean. Gazing fixedly upon one object, all maddening with superstitious terror, Lord Glenarvon tasted not of food or refreshment. His brain was burning. His eye, darting forward, lost not for one breathing moment sight of that terrific vision.