“Amalia, forget these wild fancies; estrange yourself from the wild belief which has exercised so baneful an influence, not only over your mind, but over the very soul of the land from which you come. Recognise in me only your friend, and leave the other world to those who value it more, or more deserve it. Does not this fair earth contain sufficient of interest and enjoyment?” “O Vivian! you speak with a sweet voice, but with a sceptic’s spirit. You know not what I know.” “Tell me, then, my Amalia; let me share your secrets, provided they be your sorrows.” “Almost within this hour, and in this park, there has happened that which--” and here her voice died, and she looked fearfully round her. “Nay, fear not; no one can harm you here, no one shall harm you. Rest upon me, and tell me all thy grief.” “I dare not, I cannot tell you.” “Nay, thou shalt.” “I cannot speak; your eye scares me. Are you mocking me? I cannot speak if you look so at me.” “I will not look on you; I will gaze on yonder star. Now speak on.” “O Vivian, there is a custom in my native land: the world calls it an unhallowed one; you, in your proud spirit, will call it a vain one. But you would not deem it vain if you were the woman now resting on your bosom. At certain hours of particular nights, and with peculiar ceremonies, which I need not here mention, we do believe that in a lake or other standing water fate reveals itself to the solitary votary. O Vivian, I have been too long a searcher after this fearful science; and this very night, agitated in spirit, I sought yon water. The wind was in the right direction, and everything concurred in favouring a propitious divination. I knelt down to gaze on the lake. I had always been accustomed to view my own figure performing some future action, or engaged in some future scene of my life. I gazed, but I saw nothing but a brilliant star. I looked up into the heavens, but the star was not there, and the clouds were driving quick across the sky. More than usually agitated by this singular occurrence, I gazed once more; and just at the moment when with breathless and fearful expectation I waited the revelation of my immediate destiny there flitted a figure across the water. It was there only for the breathing of a second, and as it passed it mocked me.” Here Mrs. Lorraine writhed in Vivian’s arms; her features were moulded in the same unnatural expression as when he first entered the gallery, and the hideous grin was again sculptured on her countenance. Her whole frame was in such a state of agitation that she rose up and down in Vivian’s arms, and it was only with the exertions of his whole strength that he could retain her. “Why, Amalia, this, this was nothing; your own figure.” “No, not my own; it was yours!” Uttering a piercing shriek, which echoed through the winding gallery, she swooned.