Edward could not but think there was something almost unearthly in
those dark looks and that towering form.

"Where is my wife?" was D'Effernay's first question.

"She is gone to fulfill some household duty," replied the other.

"And leaves you here alone in this miserable darkness! Most
extraordinary!--indeed, most unaccountable!" and as he spoke he
approached the table and snuffed the candles, with a movement of
impatience.

"She left me here with old friends," said Edward, with a forced smile.
"I have been reading."

"What, in the dark?" inquired D'Effernay, with a look of mistrust.
"It was so dark when I came in, that you could not possibly have
distinguished a letter."

"I read for some time, and then I fell into a train of thought, which
is usually the result of reading Young's 'Night Thoughts.'"

"Young! I cannot bear that author. He is so gloomy."

"But you are fortunately so happy, that the lamentations of the lonely
mourner can find no echo in your breast."

"You think so!" said D'Effernay, in a churlish tone, and he pressed
his lips together tightly, as Emily came into the room: he went to