The Lost Lady of Lone. Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte Southworth

dream!"

      "Ay, a dream."

      "But a dream cannot be a sin!"

      "Hear it, and then judge. But first—tell me—were you in the castle late last night?" she gravely inquired.

      He paused and gazed at her before he replied:

      "I in the castle late last night? Why, most certainly not! Why ever should you ask me such a question, my love?"

      "Because if you were not in the castle last night—"

      "Well?"

      "I met your 'fetch,' as the country people would call it."

      "My—I beg your pardon."

      "Your 'fetch,' your double, your spectre, your spirit, whatever you may call it."

      "Whatever do you mean, Salome?"

      "Shall I tell you all about it?"

      "Of course—yes, do."

      Miss Levison began and related all the circumstances in detail of her night visit to her father's room, and her meeting with an appearance which she took to be that of her betrothed husband, but which, on being called by her, instantly vanished.

      Lord Arondelle mused for awhile. Miss Levison gazed on him in anxious suspense for a few minutes, and then inquired:

      "What do you think of it?"

      "My love, if I were a transcendental visionary, I might say, that at the hour you saw my image before you, my thoughts, my mind, my spirit, whatever you choose to call my inner self, was actually with you, and so became visible to you; but—" he paused.

      "But—what?" she inquired.

      "Not being a transcendentalist or a visionary, I am forced to the conclusion that what you thought you saw, was, really nothing but an optical illusion!"

      "You think that?"

      "Indeed I do!"

      "I assure you, that the image seemed as real, as substantial, and as solid to me then as you do now."

      "No doubt of it! Optical illusions always seem very real—perfectly real."

      "It was an optical illusion then! That is settled! And now!" exclaimed Salome. Then she paused.

      "Yes, and now! About the sinful dream! What did you dream of? Throwing me over at the last moment and marrying a handsomer man?" gayly inquired the young marquis.

      "I will tell you presently what I dreamed; but first tell me, were you in our grounds last night?" she gravely inquired.

      "Yes, my little lady; but how did you know of it?" inquired the young marquis in surprise.

      "I did not know it. Were you under my window?" she asked, in a low, tremulous tone.

      "Yes, love. How came you to suspect me?" he inquired, more than ever astonished.

      "I did not suspect you. Had you a companion with you?" she murmured.

      "No, Salome. Certainly not. Why, sweet, do you ask me?"

      "I thought I heard your voice speaking to some one who answered you under my window."

      "But, love, there was no one with me. I was quite alone. And I did not speak at all—not even to myself. I am not in the habit of soliloquizing."

      "Please tell me, if you can, at what hour you were under my window."

      "It was between ten and eleven o'clock. I was walking in the grounds, and I went under your wall and looked up. I saw three shadows pass the lighted windows, which I took to be those of yourself and your attendants, and then suddenly the lights were turned off and all was dark. I knew then that you had retired to rest, and of course I turned away and walked back to the hamlet. But, love, instead of telling the little story you promised, it seems that you have put me through a very sharp examination," said his lordship, laughing. "Now, what do you mean by it? There is something behind all this," he added, gravely.

      "Of course there is something behind. Did I not tell you that I had a confession to make concerning a wicked dream? Listen, Lord Arondelle. At the time you stood under my window and saw the light turned off, and supposing that I had gone to rest, you turned away and left the grounds, at that time I had not gone to rest, but had gone to my father's room, in returning from which I experienced that strange optical illusion. My nerves must have been strangely disordered, for when I reached my own chamber again, and finding it quite dark, opened the window and sat down to look out upon the moonlit lake, I immediately fell asleep, and had a terrible, and a terribly real and distinct dream—a dream, dear, that nearly overturned my reason, I do believe."

      "What was it, love?" he inquired.

      She told him without the least reserve.

      He listened to her with interest, and then laughed aloud.

      "The idea of your having such a dream about me as that! I do not wonder it weighed upon your mind. Yes, it was very wicked of you, my sinful child—very. But since you sincerely repent, I freely absolve you. Benedicite!"

      Salome looked and listened to him with surprise; for as she spoke of dreaming that he called Rose Cameron his wife, he not only laughed at that idea, but really appeared as if the very existence of the girl was unknown to him.

      Then Salome ventured another question:

      "Do you know any one of the name of Rose Cameron?"

      "No, not personally. I believe one of our shepherds, up at Ben Lone, has a very handsome daughter of that name, but I have never seen her," said the young marquis, with an open sincerity that carried conviction with it.

      Salome was amazed, but convinced. What could have started the false reports concerning the young marquis and the handsome shepherdess? Clearly Rose's own hallucination. She had seen the marquis somewhere, without having been seen by him; she had fallen in love with him, and had partly lost her reason and imagined all the rest, she thought.

      "And so you have never even looked upon the beauty of that dream?" she said, with a smile.

      "Never even looked upon her," assented the marquis.

      "Then I do, in downright earnest, beg your pardon for my dream," said Salome, gravely.

      "But I have already given you absolution, my erring daughter? Benedicite! Benedicite!" replied the marquis still laughing.

      At that moment there was a light rap at the library door, followed by the entrance of a footman who placed a small, twisted note in the hands of Miss Levison. She opened it and read:

      My Dear Child: It is after ten o'clock. We go to church at eleven. Sir Lemuel has not yet rung his bell. His valet having received his orders last night not to call him this morning, has declined to do so. What is to be done under these circumstances? Send me a verbal message by the bearer. Your loving Aunt,

      Sophie Belgrade.

      "My father not yet risen!" exclaimed Salome in surprise. "He must have overslept himself with fatigue. Tell Lady Belgrade, with my thanks, that I will go to my father's room and waken him," she added, turning to the footman, who bowed and went to deliver his message.

      "I hope Sir Lemuel is quite well?" said the young marquis, earnestly.

      "He is quite well. My father regulates his habits so well as to live in perfect harmony with the laws of life and health. If he fatigues himself over night, he always takes a compensating rest in the morning. That is what he is doing now. But I think he is sleeping even longer than he intended to do, so I really must arouse him now, if we are to keep our appointment with the minister. Good-by, until we meet at the church, Lord Arondelle," she said, as she floated from the room in her bridal robe, and vail.

      "Who says that she is not beautiful, belies her? She is lovely in person and in spirit," murmured the young marquis,