"Rachel, dear, don't sit directly in front of the fire; it is injurious to the eyes." She moved to one side and began to unfasten her dress preparatory to going to bed. We were now ready. But before lying down, Rachel asked me: "Is the door secure?" "Yes, my dear." "And the windows?" "Yes." Not quite content with my answer, Rachel went slyly around to all the windows, and then to the door, to ascertain their security; then she searched the closets, and finally got into bed. I soon followed her example, but found myself more sleepless than upon the preceding evening. I know not exactly how long I had lain awake, thinking of the dead proprietors, of Madeleine Van Der Vaughan, and her sad history and tragic fate (whatever they might have been), and of the stern, dark woman of my dream, and of the blood-stained floor, and trying to combine these materials into some coherent whole, when suddenly I heard the lock click back, the door swing slowly open, and a rustle, as of silken drapery, and I opened my eyes to behold the awful woman of my dream standing in the middle of the room, and pointing sternly to the blood-stained floor! And in the very same instant that I heard and saw this, Rachel had also been awakened, and was even now asking in frightened tones: "Who is that?" But there was no answer. "Who is that?" again asked the girl. And still there was no answer. "Who--is--that?" she reiterated, emphatically. No answer. "Aunt Legare!--Mathilde!--Jet!--Who is it?" No reply. But the tall, black-robed woman standing motionless, and pointing with spectral finger to the spot on the floor! "Oh! dear me! Agnes, Agnes!" I answered: "What, my dear?" "Have you opened the door?" "No, love." "Have you been up at all since you laid down?" "No, Rachel." "Who opened the door?" "I do not know." "Didn't you hear it open?" "Yes." "And it is open now!" "I see it is." "But how came it open?" "I do not know; perhaps it was not quite locked, and the catch flew back." "Oh, perhaps that was it," said Rachel; and, though her teeth were chattering with a nervous tremor, she got out of bed, and went to the door, to close and lock it, And, reader, the black-robed woman passed out before her, and she saw her not. I fell back upon my pillow, nearer swooning than ever I had been in my life; for now I knew that this was no dream, but a vision--an apparition to me, and to me only. I slept no more that night. And in the morning when I arose, and looked into the glass, I was startled at the haggardness of my own face. When we appeared at the breakfast-table, some of the young people remarked my paleness, and said that I had been frolicking more than was good for me. Then one of the company inquired of Rachel Noales how she had rested. "Not very well," Rachel answered; "I was frightened by the door flying open in the middle of the night." I noticed a quick, intelligent look pass between Mathilde and her mother, while Rachel continued: