She kindled another taper, when a larger coffin seemed to be placed before her by invisible hands. The lid was raised; and there Morden beheld his Emily, as beautiful now, amidst all the horrors of witchery and death, as when that face was revealed in the moonlight, on their nuptial night, slumbering so happily, to gaze upon which he had kept himself awake. But soon the features became clouded and black; aye, and blood--blood was seen upon them, and horrible gashes. “Embrace her!” exclaimed the witch, “embrace her. How beautiful! What a sweet crimson! Fool! thy wife blushes! fly to her!” He started forward, and fell upon the coffin, but the lid was closed. A long fit of insensibility was over him. Dreams still more revolting than the realities he had now beheld, kept him bound. He awoke--but far different was the scene. A sigh which had been nursed in the dream, now found expression, and instantly a movement was heard, in a distant part of the cave; and a female bent over him, and perfumed his burning brow. Wild was the beauty beaming from her eyes; but soft and earthly was the hand which took his. He gazed silently upon her. She seemed scarcely to have entered upon girlhood, and yet Morden thought that she never could have been younger, and never, for the future, could be older. She spoke not; but her lips uttered strange sounds of the most thrilling music. She gently raised and led him to a couch, as soft as dreams. The air around breathed fragrance, and vibrated song. Invisible roses seemed to fall upon his brow and hands. So brilliant, and yet shadowy, was the light, that he could not gaze far around. Light seemed to be a boundary to itself, and no walls intercepted the vision. “Who art thou?” was the exclamation of Morden, “and where am I? How have I been brought here? This is not the cave to which I came;--and where is the foul witch who so tormented me with her dark spells?” “There cometh light after darkness,” replied his beautiful companion, “and joy after sorrow. What makes the love of one being so pleasant? Because it is nursed amidst the storms of hate. Love cares not for a palace; to sit, travel, and sleep, amidst gold and diamonds. The tomb is the home where it is most beautiful; and were two mortals, who cling to each other, to dwell there, it would be love’s paradise. As they sat beneath the shade of the cypress, how rapturous would their thoughts and words be; and oh! how true! At eve, as they walked together over graves, how confiding would they be! And at the midnight hour, when the wind howled, and ghosts flitted around them, how sweet the sleep of the two lovers, with a tomb-stone for their pillow!” Each word thrilled through the soul of Morden. “Mysterious angel!” he cried, “tell me thy name and abode!”