comfort, and console. And Florence was soon soothed! And there, while
over their heads the grim skeleton was holding the funeral pall, they
again exchanged their vows, and again, with feelings fonder than of old,
spoke of love.



CHAPTER V.

"Erichtho, then,
Breathes her dire murmurs, which enforce him bear
Her baneful secrets to the spirits of horror."--MARLOWE.

WITH a heavy step Maltravers ascended the stairs of his lonely house
that night, and heavily, with a suppressed groan, did he sink upon the
first chair that proffered rest.

It was intensely cold. During his long interview with Lady Florence,
his servant had taken the precaution to go to Seamore Place, and make
some hasty preparations for the owner's return. But the bedroom looked
comfortless and bare, the curtains were taken down, the carpets were
taken up (a single man's housekeeper is wonderfully provident in these
matters; the moment his back is turned, she bustles, she displaces, she
exults; "things can be put a little to rights!"). Even the fire would
not burn clear, but gleamed sullen and fitful from the smothering fuel.
It was a large chamber, and the lights imperfectly filled it. On the
table lay parliamentary papers, and pamphlets, and bills and
presentation-books from younger authors--evidences of the teeming
business of that restless machine the world. But of all this Maltravers
was not sensible: the winter frost numbed not his feverish veins. His