I imagined that I was walking through a long corridor, opening into a sumptuous apartment, its interior partly concealed by rich folds of damask curtains. I lifted the heavy drapery and essayed to enter, but a cold hand grasped mine and prevented me. A woman’s figure, slight and youthful, with white face, great sad eyes, and long yellow hair, stood in the arched doorway and pressed me back with her clammy hand. I started up from my pillow in alarm to find myself alone; the pale moonbeams streaming through the looped curtains of the window and glancing upon my forehead, I thought, probably accounted for the cold hand of my dream. I slept, and dreamed again. The scene was changed: a field of stubble lay before me; through it I must make my way; the rough ground hurt my feet; I stumbled and fell; attempting to rise, I saw painted in clear relief against the horizon the same female figure. Her pale, golden hair hung long and loose over her shoulders. As she caught my eye she lifted her finger as if in warning, and disappeared from sight. CHAPTER II. From these dreams I awakened in the morning perplexed, disturbed, and unrefreshed. After dressing, I was summoned to breakfast by the person who had received me the previous night. She led me down the stairway and through the hall into the breakfast room. It was a long, narrow apartment, with wainscots and floor of polished oak. A bright fire blazed upon the hearth. A small round stand was set forth, upon which was placed my solitary repast. I seated myself and partook, with a relish, of the nice cakes, fragrant coffee, and sweet clover butter. Having finished my meal, I arose and walked to one of the deep-set windows which lighted the apartment. Lifting the curtain, I looked out. A grassy lawn overhung with trees; clear gravel paths and well-trimmed shrubbery; beyond, rocks relieved by a patch of blue sky; a thin line of light, neutral tinted, winding through the distant meadows, indicating a streamlet; these constituted the landscape. Having spent a full quarter of an hour in abstractedly gazing at this scene, I was called to reality by the opening of the room door, and a strange voice repeating my name. The person presenting herself appeared to be an upper servant--a tall, thin woman, with dark hair sprinkled with gray, and an amiable, weak face. “If you have finished your breakfast, Miss, I will show you to Mr. Bristed’s room.” I assured her it was completed, and, following her. I crossed the hall and entered a door at the left. A pleasant odor of flowers met my grateful senses. The room was spacious, wide and deep, and handsomely carpeted. The walls were ornamented with paintings and engravings. An ample arm-chair, which the owner had evidently just vacated, and a table containing books and papers, gave a tone of both comfort and elegance to the room, which was decidedly congenial to my taste.