"De fire is burnin' fus-rate now, Miss Agnes, so you can get up an' dress, if you likes, as break'as' is mos' ready," said my little attendant. And taking her hint, I arose and hastened my toilet, in order to be punctual at the morning meal of my hostess. As I descended the stairs, I heard Mrs. Legare speaking to her daughter in the parlor, where a fire was kindled every morning while there were visitors in the house. She was saying: "I tell you, Mathilde, it is all a delusion. Those who have never heard the story, never see, or hear, or fancy anything unusual. You know now Agnes has not been disturbed, and it is because she has heard nothing. Whereas, if you had told her this history, she would have imagined, Heaven knows what! all sorts of horrors! that is the reason I wished her to hear nothing of it. She has slept undisturbed in that room. Let that be known. Others will then not object to do so, and the report will die out." She spoke in a quick, low tone, and, seeing me coming, instantly changed the subject. But my sense of hearing, always acute, was quickened by intense interest, and I had heard more than she could have wished me to know. She turned to me with a smile, and said: "I hope that you have rested well, my dear Agnes." I said, "As well as usual," and receiving Mathilde's morning kiss, took her arm, and accompanied them into the breakfast-room. It was some hours after breakfast, that day, when I went up into my chamber to write letters. While thus engaged, I heard Mathilde coming up, singing, and enter a chamber corresponding to mine, but separated from it by the front hall. "Are you there, Agnes?" she asked. "Yes, dear. Shall I come to you?" "_Si vous plait, mademoiselle_," she answered, gayly. I went into the room, where I found Mathilde directing Jet in her work of preparing the chamber for guests. "I shall have to put your brother and his friend here together to sleep, my dear Agnes, as we are so full. But, by the way, who is his friend?" "That is just what I cannot tell you. John, in his wild, careless way, simply said that he had a friend with him, as a reason why he could not at once accept your father's invitation, and Mr. Legare as carelessly and frankly wrote back for him to bring his 'friend' along with him." "_Eh bien! cette l'ami inconnu_ must be content to lodge with John; we can do no better." "Since your house is not so large as your heart, _chere_ Mathilde." Little Jet was engaged in removing the firescreen, preparatory to lighting the fire to air the room. As she set this board down before my eyes, I could scarcely repress the cry that arose to my lips. It was an old, faded family portrait that had been put to this use. That was not much; but--it was the portrait of the dark woman of my dream. The same midnight eyes and hair, the same proud, stern, sad brow! "Whose likeness is that, Mathilde?" I asked, when I had in some degree recovered my composure.