He left the Priest alone. Father Luke placed his hat upon a table, and seated himself in a chair. In a moment, resting his cheek upon his hand, and turning his eyes to the light, (which shone through the curtained window,) he was buried in thought again. His singular and remarkable face stood forth from the back-ground of shadow like a portrait of another age. His crown was bald, but his forehead was encircled by dark hair, streaked with silver. As the light shone over that broad brow, and upon the great eyes, dilating in their sunken sockets, he seemed not like a practical man of the nineteenth century, but like one of those penitents or enthusiasts, who, in a dark age, shut up the fires of their agony, of trampled hope or undying remorse, within the shadows of a cloister. "This way, sir,"--it was the voice of the servant, who touched him respectfully on the shoulder as he spoke. Father Luke arose and followed him from the room, and up a broad stairway, and along a corridor: "At the end of this passage you will find a door. Open it and enter. You are expected there." Passing from the corridor, lighted by the window at its extremity, the Priest entered a narrow passage where all was dark, and pursued his way until his progress was terminated by a door. He opened the door and crossed the threshold--but, upon the very threshold, stood spell-bound in surprise. It was a large apartment, with lofty walls, and, instead of the cheerful rays of the declining sun, it was illuminated by a lamp with a clouded shade, which, suspended from the center of the ceiling, shed around a soft and mysterious light. The walls were not papered nor panneled, but covered with hangings of a dark color. One part of the spacious chamber was occupied by a couch with a high canopy, and curtains whose snowy whiteness stood out distinctly from the dark back-ground. A wood fire was burning under the arch of the old-fashioned fire-place; and a mirror, in a frame of dark walnut, reflected the couch with its white canopy, and a table covered with a white cloth, which stood directly underneath the hanging lamp. Upon the white cloth was placed a crucifix, a book, a wreath of flowers. The place was perfectly still, and the soft rays of the lamp, investing all its details with mingled light and shadow, gave an atmosphere of mystery to the scene. Father Luke stood on the threshold, hesitating whether to advance or retreat, when a low voice broke the stillness: "Come in, sir. I have waited for you." And for the first time Father Luke took notice of the presence of the speaker. It was a woman, who, attired in black, sat in a rocking-chair, near the table, her hands folded over her breast. Her head and face were covered by a thick vail of white lace, which fell to her shoulders, contrasting strongly with her somber attire.