The Press., 1886-11-18
(Continued frem laet week THE HAUNTED CHAMBER.


 CHAPTER V.
 Florence. after Bora has left her, sits mOtionless at her window. She has thrown open the easement, and now the sleeves of her dressing-goWn fall ing back from her bare rounded arms leans out so that the descending night dews fall like a beniSon upon her burn ing brow.
 She is wrapped in melancholy; her whole soul is burdened with thoughts and regrets almost too heavy for her to shppOEf. She is khaFassed and per plexed- on all sides, and her heart IS sore for the loss of the love she once had deemed her own.
 The mOonbeamS cling like halo round her lovely head, her hair falls in 8 luxuriant shower about her should CTS; her plaintive face is raised from earth, her eyes look heavenWard, as though seeking hope and comfort there.
 ' The night is still, almost to oppres- sivenesS. The birds. have long since stirs the foliage of the stately trees. The perfume waited upward from the sleeping garden floats past her and mingleS with her scented dresses. No sound comes to mar the serenity of the night all isEcalm and silent as the grave.
 Yet, hark, what is thisp A footstep on the gravel path below arOuseS her attention. For the first time since Do ra's departure she moves, and, turning fss heT ,6ad, 6ead, glapfeses fs n the direction or
 Bareheaded, and walking with his hands claSped behind him as though absorbed in deep thought, Sir Adrian comes slowly over the sWard until he stands beneath her window. Here he pauses, as though almost unconscious 1y his spirit had led him thither, and brought him to standstill where he would most desire to be.
 The moon, spreading it's brilliance ! all around, permits Florence to see that his face is grave and thoughtful, and-yeS, as she gaZes even closer, she can see that it is full of) f)paiqnl and vain
 What is rendering him unhappy on this night of all others, when the wo- willing compahi lon for SO many hours, when doubtless she has given him ,prpofs of her preference fpr.Rim above SalImen2 s5EEIASEE aSs gsl s Suddenly lifting his head, Sir Adrian becomes conscious of the face in the window above, and thrill rushes through him as he recognizes the form of the woman he loves.
 N The scene is so calm, 50 hallOwed, so beat madly for awhile. They are alone; any one still awake within the house is far distant.
 Never, has she appeared so. spiritual, so true and tender; so full of sweetness that is almost unearthly. All pride seems to have gone from her, and in it's place only a-gentle melancholy, reigns; she looks so far removed from him, sit- ting there in the purity of her white dress her. To the excited imagination, she is like an angel resting on it's way to the realms above @se
 Atlast, hoWeYer ,ihis heart compell- ing him, he speaks aloud.
 Florence, you still awake, when all the world is sleepingp"
 4 His name falling from his lips touch es chord in her breast, and wakes her to passionate life.
 "You toO," she says in 8 whisper that reaches his strained ears. There seems to her, subtle joy in the thought that they two of all the household are awake, are here talking together alone in the pale light of the moon.
 Yet she is wrong in imagining that no others are up in sthe house, as his 7 next wordste her.
 9It is notsa matter of wonder in my case" he responds; "a few fellows are still in the smOking-room. It is early, you knoW-not yet three. But you why are you keeping a lonely vigil like this?"
 'The moon tempted me.to the win dow," answers Florence. see how calm she looks riding majestically up there. See"- stretching out her bare White arm until the beams fall full up- on it, and seem to change it to purest marble-"does it not make one feel as if all the world were being bathed in its subdued gloW?
 { A pale tremulous smile widens her Dips. Sir Adrian, pluckfng tall pale with such an eager aim that it alights upon her window sill. She 1seesiita Her. fingers close upon it.
 Fit emblem of it's possessor," says FAdriSn SOft1ys and rather unSteadily. .k"Do you know Of what you remind me, sitting there in your white robes? A medieval saint cut in stone-a pure an- gel, too good, toOfara aaboNe all earthly passion to enter into it, or understand 1t, and the grief that must ever attend
 8 H5 Speaks tI, bitterly. t 1t seems ssan to him that she, is indeed cold nOtsto have guessed before this the intensity of his love for her. HOWeYera much she may have given her affection to another, it still seems to him inexpressibly hard that she can have no pity for his suffer ing. He gazeS at her intently. Do the mystic mOOnheams deceive him, or are there tears in her great dark eyes? His heart beats quickly. Once again he re- members her emotion of the past even- ing. He hears again her passionate sobs. Is she unhappy? Are there thorns in her path that are difficult to Florence, once again I entreat you to confide in me" he saFss after&aS pause. y
 firmly. @But there is one thing I must say to yOu-think of me as you may for saying It-zI am nOte01d as you seemed to imply moment since; am not made of stone; and, alas, the grief you think me incapable of understanding IS mine alreadyl You have wrOuged me in your thoughts. have here" she explains with some vehemence, laying the hand in which she still holds Efhe droeplng lily upon her breast, what I would gladly be .withOut-a heart" ' Nay" says Adrian hastily; you for get. 1t is no longer yours, you have given it away"
 For an instant she Mauceg at him keenly, while her breath comes and goes with painful thickness.
 You have no right to say SC" ," she murmurs at last. so ssass6sSS1 stI zI @No, of course not; I beg your par don," he says iapologetically It. is your own secret. There is no secret she declares