The hand of her tormentor's unhappy wife had probably worked these words; all the dark and mysterious stories concerning her misfortunes and her fate came crowding upon the mind of Lilian, and filled her with melancholy forebodings. Perhaps, thought she, this was her chamber, and that her bed, where often she had wept away the dreary night in unseen and unregarded sorrow. Full of mournful interest, she unclasped and opened the volume. It was the "Bentivolio and Urania" of Nathaniel Ingelo, one of the prosy and metaphorical romances of the seventeenth century. The first words arrested her, and she read on. "He was no sooner entered within the borders of the forlorn kingdom of Ate, than the unhealthfulness of the air had almost choked his vital spirits; and being removed from the gladsome sun by a chain of hills, that lifted up their heads so high that they intercepted the least glance of his comfortable beams: it was dark and rueful. He chanced to light upon a path that led to Ate's house, which was encompassed with the pitchy shade of cypresse and ebon trees, so that it looked like the region of death. As he walked, he perceived the hollow pavement made with the skulls of murdered wretches. At the further end of this dismal walk he espied a court, whose gates stand open day and night; in the midst whereof was placed the image of cruelty, with a cup of poyson in one hand, and a dagger wet with reeking bloode in the other. Her hairs crawled up and down her neck, and sometimes wreathed about her head in knots of snakes; fire all the while sparkling from her mouth and eyes......" This dismal passage in no way tended to alleviate the perturbation of her spirits; and, hastily closing the volume, she prepared to retire. Aware that proper repose was absolutely necessary to enable her to sustain all she might have to encounter or endure from Clermistonlee, remembering the apparent security of her apartment, and somewhat reassured by the cheerful blaze thrown by the fire upon the dark brown panelling and high old-fashioned bed, she slowly and reluctantly began to undress, often pausing to re-examine her room; but, perceiving nothing more to alarm her, gathering up the bright tresses of her hair into a caul, she unrobed and sprang into bed. The sleep and the heaviness that preyed upon her now completely evaporated; and, more awake than ever, she felt only the keenest sensations of fear, and her prevailing horror was Clermistonlee. By the light of the wood fire, that poured its broad blaze up the massive stone chimney, she surveyed the room with watchful eyes, that ached from the very intensity of their gaze, and the shadows of the carved posts seemed like those of giants thrown against the panelled wall.