It was indeed a vast and gloomy garret. It traversed the entire extent of the southern wing. The windows at either end were carefully darkened. The ceiling was formed by the huge rafters and bare shingles of the steep roof. To one of these rafters a human skeleton was suspended, its white bones glaring amid the darkness. In the center was a large table, upon which was placed the burden which the ruffians had that night stolen from the grave. The place was silent, lonely,--the wind howled dismally among the chimneys,--and Arthur could not repress a slight shudder as his footsteps echoed from the naked floor. Arthur placed the lamp upon the table, and began to uncover the subject. Removing the coarse canvas he disclosed the corpse. An ejaculation burst from his lips,--a cry half of terror, half of surprise. The light shone upon the body of a beautiful woman. From those faultless limbs and that snowy bosom the grave-clothes had been carefully stripped. A single fragment of the shroud fluttered around the right arm. Save this fragment the body was completely bare, and the dark hair of the dead fell loosely on her shoulders. The face was very beautiful and calm, as though sealed only for an hour in a quiet sleep,--the fringes of the eyelashes rested darkly upon the cheeks. Never had the light shone upon a shape of more surpassing loveliness, upon limbs more like ivory in their snowy whiteness, upon a face more like a dreamless slumber, in its calm, beautiful expression. Dead, and yet very beautiful! A proud soul dwelt in this casket once,--the soul has fled, and now the casket must be surrendered to the scalpel,--must be cut and rent, shred by shred, by the dissector's hand. "But the limbs are not rigid with death," soliloquized Arthur,--"Decay has not yet commenced its work. As I live, there is a glow upon the cheek." With his scalpel he inflicted a gash near the right temple, and at the same instant--imagining he heard a footstep,--he turned his face over his shoulder. It was only imagination, and he turned again to trace the result of the incision. The dead woman was in a sitting posture, her eyes were wide open, she was gazing calmly into his face. Arthur fell back with a cry of horror. "Nay, do not be frightened," said a low, although tremulous voice,--"I have simply been the victim of an attack of catalepsy." And while he stood spell-bound, his eyes riveted to her face, and his ears drinking in the rich music of her voice, she continued,--