"Sir, I believe that for years, I have possessed the priceless heart of this dear maiden, but her fair hand, I would prefer to owe to her father's approval and good-will, rather than to a mere accident." "Sir, there are no such things as accidents! I am sixty years old who say it! And as for the rest, sir, 'her father's approval and good-will' always follows his esteem and respect, and now goes with his consent! God bless you! Be true to Mathilde!" "May Heaven deal with me as I with her!" said Frank Howard, earnestly. While this important little family aside was going on the other guests were wishing each other a "Happy New Year," and chatting and laughing too merrily and noisily to hear what was there passing. And now they asked for their cloaks and hoods, which Rachel Noales and I flew to bring; and in less than half an hour all the evening visitors had departed, and the returning sound of their sleighbells died away in the distance. We that were left separated and retired. When we reached our chamber Rachel and I locked the door and went to bed. We were sufficiently wearied out to go fast asleep, and sleep until late in the morning, when the loud knocking of little Jet at our chamber door aroused us. I jumped up and went and opened it. "De doors do stay shet fas' 'nuff now!" exclaimed my little maid, with a broad grin, as she entered. "Yes, Jet; thanks to Mr. Howard." "Ain't him a smart gemlan, dough? Wunner if him's a wizard?" "I really do not know, Jet. You must ask your Miss Mathilde." "Law! Do she know?" "Yes, indeed." "Den I ax her, sure." And so my little maid proceeded to light the fire. This was a New Year's day, and a large company was expected to dinner. And it was upon this occasion that the engagement of the Hon. Frank Howard, of Massachusetts, and Miss Mathilde Legare, was announced. But little is left to be told. For the remainder of my stay I rested in undisturbed peace, suffering no recurrence of opening doors and midnight visitors. I was almost sorry that my ghostly mysteries had found so commonplace a solution--a mechanical defect taking the place of the phantom key, and an optical illusion explaining my midnight vision!--all was accounted for except the spot of blood upon the floor! Upon the morning of my departure, I called Mathilde into the room, and striking an attitude like that of the woman of my vision, I silently pointed to the hidden spot, and gazed at Mathilde, to discover consciousness in her countenance. But Mathilde first looked back in innocent surprise, and then recollecting herself, said: "Oh! you allude to a stain there; yes, it is a pity! The men who were painting red lines on the doors over-turned the paint-pot and made a deep, ugly, crimson stain; and, like the spot of blood on Bluebeard's key, 'the more we scrub it the brighter it grows!' The next time a carpenter happens to be at work here, mamma intends to have it planed out."