steady and too profound a felicity--or whether it were that great
overthrows and calamities have some mysterious power to send forward a
dim misgiving of their advancing footsteps, and really and indeed,

'That in to-day already walks to-morrow;'

or whether it were partly, as I have already put the case in my first
supposition, a natural instinct of distrust, but irritated and
enlivened by a particular shock of superstitious alarm; which, or
whether any of these causes it were that kept me apprehensive, and on
the watch for disastrous change, I will not here undertake to
determine. Too certain it is that I was so. I never ridded myself of an
over-mastering and brooding sense, shadowy and vague, a dim abiding
feeling (that sometimes was and sometimes was not exalted into a
conscious presentiment) of some great calamity travelling towards me;
not perhaps immediately impending--perhaps even at a great distance;
but already--dating from some secret hour--already in motion upon some
remote line of approach. This feeling I could not assuage by sharing it
with Agnes. No motive could be strong enough for persuading me to
communicate so gloomy a thought with one who, considering her extreme
healthiness, was but too remarkably prone to pensive, if not to
sorrowful, contemplations. And thus the obligation which I felt to
silence and reserve, strengthened the morbid impression I had received;
whilst the remarkable incident I have adverted to served powerfully to
rivet the superstitious chain which was continually gathering round me.
The incident was this--and before I repeat it, let me pledge my word of
honor, that I report to you the bare facts of the case, without
exaggeration, and in the simplicity of truth:--There was at that time
resident in the great city, which is the scene of my narrative, a
woman, from some part of Hungary, who pretended to the gift of looking