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308 chamber. She looked at her mourning dress, and for an instant felt tempted to change it. "What folly!" exclaimed she; "what matters the outward sign? The custom is but a chance;—no colour was predestined by nature to be type of mourning."

She retrimmed the lamp, which was to be her companion, and, drawing her cloak round her, prepared to set forth. The outer door of her chamber was fastened; but from her oratory was a winding staircase which communicated with the chapel, and she had in her possession the key of the small side-door which opened into the garden. Through that she meant to pass. It was in vain that she called all her resolution to her aid on entering the chapel. The cold damp air sent a chill through her whole frame. The dark vaults below had given to the heavy atmosphere the frozen breath of the sepulchre. The sculptured figures glared strangely upon her—she almost fancied that the rigid features frowned on this intrusion into their still domain. Her lamp could not penetrate the darkness around, and one by one those pale statues came within its little circle of light, and each wore a more ghastly hue, and a more lowering brow, than its predecessor. The wan countenance of Albert, as she