“Oh, Heaven, have mercy upon me—Heaven, have mercy upon me, and save me from that dreadful form.” “There is no one here, Flora,” said Mr. Marchdale, “but those who love you, and who, in defence of you, if needs were would lay down their lives.” “Oh, God! Oh, God!” “You have been terrified. But tell us distinctly what has happened? You are quite safe now.” She trembled so violently that Mr. Marchdale recommended that some stimulant should be given to her, and she was persuaded, although not without considerable difficulty, to swallow a small portion of some wine from a cup. There could be no doubt but that the stimulating effect of the wine was beneficial, for a slight accession of colour visited her cheeks, and she spoke in a firmer tone as she said,— “Do not leave me. Oh, do not leave me, any of you. I shall die if left alone now. Oh, save me—save me. That horrible form! That fearful face!” “Tell us how it happened, dear Flora?” said Henry. “Or would you rather endeavour to get some sleep first?” suggested Mr. Marchdale. “No—no—no,” she said, “I do not think I shall ever sleep again.” “Say not so; you will be more composed in a few hours, and then you can tell us what has occurred.” “I will tell you now. I will tell you now.” She placed her hands over her face for a moment, as if to collect her scattered, thoughts, and then she added,— “I was awakened by the storm, and I saw that terrible apparition at the window. I think I screamed, but I could not fly. Oh, God! I could not fly. It came—it seized me by the hair. I know no more. I know no more.” She passed her hand across her neck several times, and Mr. Marchdale said, in an anxious voice,— “You seem, Flora, to have hurt your neck—there is a wound.” “A wound!” said the mother, and she brought a light close to the bed, where all saw on the side of Flora’s neck a small punctured wound; or, rather two, for there was one a little distance from the other. It was from these wounds the blood had come which was observable upon her night clothing. “How came these wounds?” said Henry. “I do not know,” she replied. “I feel very faint and weak, as if I had almost bled to death.” “You cannot have done so, dear Flora, for there are not above half-a-dozen spots of blood to be seen at all.” Mr. Marchdale leaned against the carved head of the bed for support, and he uttered a deep groan. All eyes were turned upon him, and Henry said, in a voice of the most anxious inquiry,— “You have something to say, Mr. Marchdale, which will throw some light upon this affair.” “No, no, no, nothing!” cried Mr. Marchdale, rousing himself at once from the appearance of depression that had come over him. “I have nothing to say, but that I think Flora had better get some sleep if she can.” “No sleep—no sleep for me,” again screamed Flora. “Dare I be alone to sleep?” “But you shall not be alone, dear Flora,” said Henry. “I will sit by your bedside and watch you.”