After the lapse of a quarter of an hour, this beautiful woman took the light and passed into the bed chamber. She cast a glance toward her bed, which had been consecrated by her marriage, and by the birth of her first and only child. Then advancing toward a wardrobe of rosewood, which stood in a recess opposite the bed, she took from thence a dress, with which she proceeded to encase her form. A white robe, loose and flowing, with a hood resembling the cowl of a nun. This robe was of the softest satin. She enveloped her form in its folds, threw the hood over her head, and looking in the mirror, surveyed her beautiful face, which, glowing with warmth, was framed in her golden hair, and in the folds of the satin cowl. She drew slippers of delicate satin, white as her robe, upon her naked feet. Then, taking from the wardrobe a heavy cloak, lined throughout with fur, as soft as the satin which clad her shape, she wound it about her from head to foot, and stood completely buried in its voluminous folds. Once more she listened: all was still throughout that mansion, the home of aristocratic wealth. Thus clad in the silken robe and cowl, covered in its turn by the shapeless black cloak, this young wife, whose limbs were glowing with the warmth of the bath, whose person was invested with a delicate perfume, turned once more and gazed upon her marriage bed, and a deep sigh swelled her bosom. She next extinguished the light, and passing from the chamber, descended the marble staircase. All was dark. She entered the suite of apartments on the first floor, which, adorned with pillars, communicated with each other by folding-doors. The chandelier had been extinguished, and the scene was wrapt in impenetrable darkness. Standing in the darkness,--her only apparel the silken robe, and the thick, warm cloak which covered it,--the young wife trembled like a leaf. She attempted to utter a word, but her voice failed her. "Joanna!" breathed a voice, speaking near her. "Beverly!" answered the young wife, breathing the name in a whisper. A faint sound like a step, whose echo is muffled by thick carpets, and the hand of a man, clasps the hand of Joanna. "How long have you been here?" she whispered. "I just entered," was the answer. "How?" "By the front door, and the key which you gave me." "O, I tremble so,--I am afraid--" An arm encircled the cloak which covered her, and girded it tightly about her form. "Has _he_ gone, Joanna?" "Yes, Beverly,--half an hour ago." "Come, then, let us go. The carriage is waiting at the next corner; and the street-lamp near the front door is extinguished. All is dark without; no one can see us." "Are you sure, Beverly--I tremble so." "Come, Joanna," and through the thick darkness he led her toward the hall, supporting her form upon his arm. "O, whither are you leading me," she whispered in a broken voice. "Can you ask? Don't you remember my note of to-day? To the TEMPLE, Joanna."