“I would not feel as I do,” she replied, “but the truth is--now do not scold me, Frank--in fact I had an omen of calamity last night!” “An omen! how is that?” he asked. “On bidding my papa and John goodnight, as I was going to bed, about eleven o'clock, I saw them both standing below me at the foot of the stairs, in the hall. I started, and turning again into the drawing-room, where I had just left them, saw that there they certainly stood, without scarcely having had time to change their position.” “A mere physical illusion, my dear Julia; nothing else.” “But is it not said,” she added, “that to see the likeness of an individual late at night is an omen of almost immediate death?” “It has been said so, I admit, my dear Julia, as have fifty thousand follies equally nonsensical. But to hear you, Julia, talk in this manner! upon my word, I'm surprised at it.” “You will not think of leaving us, dear Frank, until we get to a place of safety?” “Unquestionably not; but you are alarming yourself unnecessarily.” “Well, perhaps I am,” she said, gaining confidence from his firmness of manner; “but I assure you, Frank, I am not timid, nor a coward. I can load a gun, pistol, or blunderbuss, and what is better still, can discharge them without shrinking; so can my sister; but with respect to anything of a supernatural character--” “You are a great coward. I perceive that; but, my dear Julia, to pass to a subject of the deepest interest to my happiness:--why is it that there has been an appearance of gloom and distrust about you for such a length of time? I think there should be nothing but the most unbounded confidence between us.” “Have you been perfectly candid with me, Frank?” “If you remember, dear Julia, you did not afford me an opportunity. You looked as if you felt offended, and I could perceive that you had withdrawn your confidence.” “My mind is too much distracted now,” she replied, “to speak on this subject; but, if you wish it, I shall tell you, on Monday next, why I have appeared so.” “Wish it! alas! my dear Julia, I can only say that my affection for you knows no bounds. Julia, you know I have loved you; and, happen what may, I shall carry that affection for you to my grave. Only say that the affection which you have already confessed for me is not cooled or diminished; only say it, dearest life, and you will relieve my heart of a heavy load.” She fixed her beautiful dark eyes upon him, as if she were in the act of scrutinizing his very spirit; at length, she seemed to have arrived at a fixed conclusion; two or three tears slowly followed each other down her cheeks, and she replied, “I fear, Frank, I have been led to do you injustice; that is, to doubt your truth or your honor; yes,” she added, in a low confiding voice, “I feel that I love you as I ever did. But I am depressed, and my heart is full of an unaccountable sorrow.”