my power is vanity, and I am the helpless creature thou wouldst believe
me!"

Despite her reason and her firm sense, Constance half shuddered at these
mysterious words, as she recalled what Percy had told her of his dreams
the preceding evening, and the emotions she herself had witnessed in his
slumbers when she watched beside his bed. She remained silent, and
Lucilla regarded her countenance with a sort of triumph.

"My art, then, is not so idle as thou wouldst hold it. But--hush!--last
night I beheld him, not in spirit, but visibly, face to face: for I wander
at times before his home (his home was once mine!) and he saw me, and was
smitten with fear; in these worn features he could recognise not the
living Lucilla he had known. But go to him!--thou, his wife, his own--go
to him; tell him--no, tell him not of me. He must not seek me; we must
not held parley together: for oh, lady" (and Lucilla's face became settled
into an expression so sad, so unearthly sad, that no word can paint, no
heart conceive, its utter and solemn sorrow), "when we two meet again to
commune,--to converse,--when once more I touch that band, when once more I
feel that beloved, that balmy breath;--my last hour is at hand--and
danger--imminent, dark, and deadly danger, clings fast to him!"

As she spoke, Lucilla closed her eyes, as it to shut some horrid vision
from her gaze; and Constance looked fearfully round, almost expecting some
apparition at hand. Presently Lucilla, moving silently across the room,
beckoned to the countess to follow: she did so: they entered another
apartment: before a recess there hung a black curtain: Lucilla drew it
slowly aside, and Constance turned her eyes from a dazzling light that
broke upon them; when she again looked, she beheld a sort of glass dial
marked with various quaint hieroglyphics and the figures of angels,