So much time had been occupied in replying to Sir Walter Raleigh’s letter, and walking to Lantwell, that it was past noon when he had arrived at Bernard’s lodging, and, the season being winter, it was now quite dark. He still hoped, however, to arrive at the Grange while the night was early; and having taken leave of Bernard, he set out with more than his average speed, and bent his steps straight homewards. Though he had just heard so much to exhilarate him, he was not, on the whole, free from melancholy. As he began to calculate with more confidence on ultimately winning Evaline, his thoughts would, in spite of himself, turn to other images, and involuntarily remind him of Donna Inez. Had he nothing to reproach himself with in his acquaintance with that lady? On putting the question to his conscience, he sought, though almost without his own perception, to evade it, and to laugh at the compunctious qualms which it excited. What cavalier of the age would treat such a gallantry seriously but himself? Regarded in its very worst light, it was no more than a momentary peccadillo; and Inez, no doubt, had by this time quite forgotten it herself, and him also. Such was the conclusion he came to as he stepped hastily into Lantwell churchyard. The night was yet early; but all around, as far as the ear could reach, was still as death, and, though it was cold, the frosty air scarcely stirred. The moon, which was in its first quarter, and had been up for some time, was behind a cloud at the moment, but the darkness was not dense; and, as he passed along, he could plainly distinguish the white tops of the several grave-posts, scattered here and there over the area. A few rapid strides brought him abreast of the church vestry, in front of which, in the angle between it and the transept, was the grave of his parents. Full of filial feelings, he was about to turn a glance on that quarter, when a low, broken sound, like a half-suppressed sob, broke on his ear. The sound came from his parental grave, and, though not without some trepidation, he hastily turned his eyes thitherwards. The figure of a female was standing by the grave-post, with her back towards him, arrayed in deep black. As Hildebrand observed it, a feeling of awe, which the superstitions prevalent among mariners were well calculated to induce, rose in his bosom; and something whispered him, in a tone that thrilled through his soul, that the figure was the spirit of his mother.