“Nothing, nothing!” said Zuleime; “let us hurry on.” “But you are trembling like an aspen leaf! You have walked too far—you are not strong enough for this evening’s work; let me take you home again.” “No, no, no, no! let’s go on!” “Why, Zuleime—” “Oh, it is nothing—nothing when you hear it! I—I felt the presence of one long dead! It was weak nerves, or fancy, or perhaps the prescience of one on the confines of the unseen world. Let us hasten on.” They hurried along. In the meantime, he who had passed them, the slight man in the military cloak, walked on down the square, suddenly stopped, muttered to himself, “Absurd! impossible!” then went on again, again stopped, as by an irresistible impulse, turned and rapidly retraced his steps, after the two ladies in black, overtook them, was close behind them, but not placing any confidence in what he termed his own wild thoughts, he dared not accost or peep under the bonnets of two reserved and closely veiled women. But he kept them in sight until he saw them enter the side door of the theatre. Then he asked a door-keeper— “Who are those?” “Two of the ladies attached to the theatre,” replied the man. “Fool that I was!” exclaimed Frank Fairfax, as he turned away. Captain Fairfax had reached Richmond that day at noon—too late, by half a day, for the stage to L——, whither he would have gone, if possible, on the wings of the wind. His mother, warned by the newspapers, had been daily expecting his arrival, and was prepared to receive him when he presented himself. He had spent the whole afternoon with her at Fairview House, and in the evening had walked out to book his place in the next day’s stage for L——. It was when hurrying along on that errand, that he passed so near his wife, electrifying her with his unknown presence, and being himself drawn to follow, and to hover near her all the evening. For when he had turned from the theatre, and hurried on and reached the stage office and secured his place, finding out that the coach did not start till three o’clock the next morning, he said to himself— “How on earth shall I contrive to forget some of these miserable hours that must intervene before I can fly to my wife? My mother’s ill-health obliges her to retire early to bed. If I go back to Fairview House, I shall have the whole mansion to myself. I will even go to the theatre, and see if I can find out among the women there the particular one whose air and gait reminded me so strongly of my Zuleime.”