Her return was more warmly greeted by Lord Greville than she had expected. There was something of “long syne,” in his manner of welcoming her to her sitting apartment, which rejoiced her warm and affectionate heart. She did not, however, approach it without trembling; for it was the lady's chamber. Her feelings were fortunately too much occupied by the unusual kindness displayed by Lord Greville, and as she silently and gratefully pressed the hand which led her to her seat, she was thankful that he made no inquiries into the particular cause of her illness. She knew that he treated all supernatural terrors with especial contempt, and considered them as fit subjects for the discussion of the low-minded and ignorant. She had formerly heard him reason soundly, and express himself strongly, on the subject, and her own scepticism on the possibility of spectral visitation, was principally owing to the arguments she had heard from his lips. Frequently had he praised her in former times, for her composure of mind in peril, and for her unfeminine superiority to all ideal terrors; and she did not now dare provoke his surprise and contempt by a revocation of her principles, or by a relation of the mysterious event which had befallen her. As soon as he left her, she descended into the court enclosed by the quadrangle of the mansion; and as long as daylight lasted she continued to walk there, in order to avoid the solitude of her own dreaded apartment. As she traversed the pavement with hurried steps, she gazed on the huge iron cross, and no longer regarded with indifference the terrific legends attached to it. But at length the closing evening, accompanied by tempestuous winds, compelled her to retire to the house. Once more she found herself installed for the evening in the abhorred chamber. All was as before--her husband was seated opposite to her in the same chair, by the same lamp-light--the ticking of the time-piece was again painfully audible from the wearisome stillness of the apartment; and her own trembling hands were again lingering over the embroidery-frame from which she dared not lift her eyes. Her heart beat painfully, her breath became oppressed, and she ventured to steal a look at her husband, who to her surprise was regarding her with an air of affectionate interest. Relieved for a moment, she returned to her occupation; but her former terrors soon overcame her. She would have given worlds to escape from that room, from that dwelling, and wandered she cared not how, she knew not wither, so she might be rescued from the sight of that awful figure, from the sound of that dreaded voice. The conflict in her mind became at length too strong for endurance; and suddenly flinging down her work, she threw herself at her husband's feet, and burying her face in his knees she sobbed aloud; “save me from myself--save me, save me from _her_!” He raised her gently, and folded her in his arms. “Save thee from whom, my beloved Helen?”