Again she refused; but at length they induced her to comply, her husband promising to watch over the child, and to let her know if there should be the slightest change in him. He passed his arms round his wife to lead her from the chamber, for she was painfully weak; but they had scarcely gone ten steps from the door, when a prolonged, shrill scream, as of one in unutterable terror, reached their ears. They rushed back again. The nurse sat, still supporting the child, but with her eyes dilating and fixed on one corner of the room, and her face rigid with horror. It was she who had screamed. "My child! my child!" groaned the Lady Adelaide. "Nurse, what in the name of the Holy Virgin is the matter?" exclaimed the count, perceiving no alteration in the infant. "You look as if you had seen a spectre!" "I have seen one," shuddered the nurse. "What _have_ you been dreaming of?" he returned, angrily. "As true as that we are all assembled here, my lord," continued the nurse, solemnly, "I saw the spirit of Gina Montani!" A change came over the Lord of Visinara’s countenance, but he spoke not; whilst the Lady Adelaide clung to her husband in fear, and Lucrezia darted into the midst of the group, and laid hold of the nurse’s chair. "What absurdity!" uttered the count, recovering himself. "How could such an idea enter your head?" "Were it the last word I had to speak, my lord," continued the woman, "and to my dying day, I will maintain what I assert. I saw but now the ghost of Gina Montani. It was in a night-dress, and stood _there_, far away, where the lamp casts its shade." "Nonsense!" said the count abstractedly. "Pray did you see anything?" he continued, banteringly, to Lucrezia, and to another attendant who was in the room. They answered that they had not: but Lucrezia was white, and shook convulsively. A wild, frantic sob, burst from the Lady Adelaide. The child was dead! V. Many months again slipped by, with little to distinguish them save the decreasing strength of the Lady Adelaide. She had been wasting slowly since the shock given her heart at discovering her husband’s love for Gina Montani. She loved him passionately, and she _knew_ her love was unrequited; for affections once bestowed, as his had been, can never be recalled and given to another. The illness of the mind had its effect upon the body; she became worse and worse, and, after the birth of a second child, it was evident that she was sinking rapidly. She lay upon the stately bed in her magnificent chamber, about which were scattered many articles consecrated to her girlhood, or to her happy bridal, and, as such, precious. Seated by the bedside was her husband; one hand clasping hers, in the other he held a cambric handkerchief, with which he occasionally wiped her languid brow. "Bear with me a little longer," my husband—but a short time." "Bear with you, Adelaide!" he repeated; "would to the Blessed Virgin you might be spared to me!"