"In the meantime the monk approached a sideboard; he took a glass of
wine and carried to his lips. 'To the memory of our dear Jeronymo!'
said he. 'Let every one who loved the deceased follow my example.'

"'Be you who you may, reverend father!' exclaimed the old marquis, 'you
have pronounced a name dear to us all, and you are heartily welcome
here;' then turning to us, he offered us full glasses. 'Come, my
friends!' continued he, 'let us not be surpassed by a stranger. The
memory of my son Jeronymo!

"Never, I believe, was any toast less heartily received.

"'There is one glass still unemptied," said the marquis. 'Why does my
son Lorenzo refuse to drink this friendly toast?'

"Lorenzo, trembling, received the glass from the hands of the monk;
tremblingly he put it to his lips. 'To my dearly-beloved brother
Jeronymo!' he stammered out, and replaced the glass with a shudder.

"'That was my murderer's voice!' exclaimed a terrible figure, which
appeared suddenly in the midst of us, covered with blood, and disfigured
with horrible wounds.

"Do not ask me the rest," added the Sicilian, with every symptom of
horror in his countenance. "I lost my senses the moment I looked at
this apparition. The same happened to every one present. When we
recovered the monk and the ghost had disappeared; Lorenzo was writhing
in the agonies of death. He was carried to bed in the most dreadful
convulsions. No person attended him but his confessor and the sorrowful