A single form walked slowly up and down the silent hall,--a woman, whose noble person was attired in black velvet, her dark hair falling to her shoulders, and a white cross clustering on her brow. Her hands dropped listlessly by her side, and her dark eyes dilating in their sockets, were fixed in a vacant stare. "Frank, I must speak with you at once, and on a subject of life and death," cried the judge, suddenly confronting her. Even as he spoke, he was startled at the unnatural pallor of her face. "To-night a young man, in whose history I am fearfully interested, entered this house, and saw you in your chamber. He is now here," he continued impetuously,--"I must see him." "You mean the lost son of Gulian Van Huyden?" she calmly said, pausing in her walk, and folding her arms over her breast. "He _was_ here then," cried the judge, evidently wild with agitation, "nay he is here now." "He was here half an hour ago," returned Frank, who, pre-occupied with her own thoughts, did not seem to notice the agitation of the Judge,--"half an hour ago he left the house." "Left the house? Whither has he gone?" "I know not." "Child, child, you mock me," in his agitation he seized her wrist,--"I must see this boy, it is upon a matter of life and death. For God's sake do not trifle with me." "I tell you, that he left the house half an hour ago," returned Frank, "and as I hope to have peace in the hour of my death, I do not know whither he has gone." The solemnity of her tone impressed the judge. "But will he return?" "He will never return,--never!" she answered, and it seemed to the judge, as though there was a hidden meaning in her words. "O, do not drive me to despair. I must see this youth, before to-morrow,--yes, to-day,--this hour!" "You will never see him in this house again." "Did he leave this house alone, or was he accompanied,--and by whom?" A strange smile passed over her face as she replied in a whisper-- "He was accompanied by Mary Berman, who arisen from the grave, came here to claim her husband." The Judge uttered a wild ejaculation, and sank half fainting in a chair,--his hat fell from his brow, and his face was revealed. That face, remarkable in every outline, was bathed in cold moisture, and distorted by contending emotions. CHAPTER VIII. BEVERLY AND JOANNA. In the Temple, near the hour of dawn, on the morning of the 24th of December, 1844. "Fallen!" Yes, fallen! nevermore to press the kiss of a pure mother upon the lips of her innocent child. Fallen! never more to meet her husband's gaze, with the look of a chaste and faithful wife. Fallen!--from wifely purity, from all that makes the past holy, or the future hopeful--fallen, from all that makes life worth the having,--fallen! and forever! "Fallen!" Oh, how this word, trembling from her lips--wrung from her heart--echoed through the stillness of the dimly-lighted chamber.