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 “What, my dearest madam, do you say?” replied Emily affectionately—“The terrors of the night are over, the thunder appears retiring, and the lightning is less vivid; and see in the west (added she, as she went to the window) there are still some remains of the summer twilight. Do not any longer, then, suffer the apprehension of the storm which has passed over us, to disturb the repose which you will, I hope, so shortly enjoy.”

“Talk you of repose!” said Madame de Nunez, in a voice almost choked with agitation—“Know you not, then, that on the anniversary of this horrid night?but what am I saying!—to you, at present, all this is mystery; too soon your own feelings will add conviction to the terrible experience which six revolving years have afforded me, and which, even now but to think on, harrows up my soul.—But no more—.”

Then darting suddenly towards the door, which had hitherto remained a-jar, she closed it with violence; and locking it, withdrew the key, which she placed in her own pocket.—Emily had scarcely time to express her surprise at this action and the apparent distraction which accompanied it, ere Madame de Nunez seized both her hands with more than female strength, and with a maddened voice and eye straining on vacancy, exclaimed:—

“Bear witness, ye powers of terror! that I im-