cause of her outcry. The woman, in turning to
meet her, displayed a human countenance, but
devoid of eyes.

The neighbouring residence, Jervis House, is
a building some two centuries old, and stands in
rather extensive grounds, having, moreover, a
large ornamental lake, in the centre of which is
a small island, without trees. A gentleman who
was on a visit for the first time at Jervis House, a
year or two ago, observed to his host at breakfast:
"I see there is no bridge-communication
with your little island."

"None."

"I thought, too, you told me you had at
present no boat on the lake?"

"Nor have I," replied his friend. "Why?"

"How then do ladies effect the passage?"

The host hesitated.

"Ladies!" he repeated. "Do you mean——"

"I mean, my good friend, that I noticed a
lady walking on the island, this morning, so
early, that I wondered at her fancy. She passed
entirely round, and crossed it twice, so that I
could not possibly be mistaken."

"You have seen the Jervis ghost," said his
friend, curtly. And the subject was dismissed.

The following has been authenticated: Mr.
L. L., one of the best and boldest members of the
famous Midlandshire hunt, was killed by his horse
falling with him at a leap. He left a widow and
one daughter, a very lovely girl. Mr. L.'s estate,
however, passed to a male heir—a distant cousin
—and Mrs. L. and her daughter determined to
take up their abode on the Continent.

After a short sojourn at Paris, they
proceeded to Tours, travelling, from preference, by
the posting-road, until, one evening, the
picturesque aspect of a little hamlet, overlooked by
a fine old château, induced them to halt there for
the night. They were informed by the landlord of
the rustic inn, that the grey-walled mansion, to
the south, was the property of Monsieur
Gaspard, a widower, who desired to dispose of it,
and, meanwhile, resided about a league from the
house. Next morning, Mrs. L. and her daughter
passed some hours exploring the venerable
mansion, and roaming in its noble but neglected
gardens, until they arrived at the conclusion
that nothing could possibly please them better.
A proposal was forthwith addressed to the
proprietor. No difficulties ensued—and the
ladies were quickly installed in their new
possession—as well as, it would seem, in the good
graces of Monsieur Gaspard himself, for he paid
them frequent visits, and speedily established
himself on the footing of an intimate friend.

He was a man of more than ordinary talents,
having moreover the art to turn them to advantage,
and it was not very long before Monsieur
Gaspard became the declared suitor of Ada L.

One peculiarity he possessed, which had
soon attracted Mrs. L.'s notice—a liability to
sudden fits of gloom and abstraction, against
which he manifestly strove in vain. These,
however, it is true, were not of frequent
occurrence; and, with this single exception, all went
merrily as that marriage-bell which, in about a
fortnight, was to celebrate the union of the
affianced pair. For Monsieur Gaspard was an
ardent lover, and gave his mistress no peace until
he had secured an early day. One night Ada,
fatigued with a walk somewhat longer than
common, withdrew early to her chamber, a lofty
spacious apartment, with furniture of oak and
ebony, and having a large old wardrobe directly
facing the bed. She was awakened by sounds like
the rustling of a silk dress; and, to her amazement,
saw a young lady, richly attired in the
fashion of a past period, cross the room, and
disappear, as it seemed, into the closed wardrobe.

The vision had passed so suddenly, that the
young lady had no difficulty in persuading
herself that it was nothing more than a dream, or
one of those impressions, so real in appearance,
that frequently visit us on the confines of actual
sleep. When, however, on the next night, a
precisely similar incident recurred, and, still
more, when the third night presented the same
image, Miss L.'s alarm and dismay were fully
aroused. On this last occasion she had taken
her maid to sleep with her, and it was the loud
scream of the latter that awakened her, in time
to notice the retreating figure.

Cautioning the servant to be silent on the
matter, Miss L. communicated the circumstance
to her mother. Workmen were sent for to
examine and remove the wardrobe, when, at the
back, was found a small door. This, being
forced open, revealed a narrow flight of stairs,
which conducted the searchers to a little vault-
like chamber. In one corner lay a heap of
moth-eaten clothes, and other objects, which a
nearer scrutiny proved to be the remains of a
human being, of which little more than the
skeleton was left. A ring and a locket were also
found, and these, at the police inquiry which
succeeded, tended to the identification of the
remains as those of a beautiful girl of the
village, who, five years before, had, as it was
supposed, quitted her home with a young soldier
who had been seen in the neighbourhood.

Monsieur Gaspard was placed under surveillance;
but even this cautious step sufficed. His
conscience had long tormented him. He
acknowledged that he had seduced and
murdered the girl; but under what precise
circumstances was never revealed, except to his
confessor. He was found guilty, but not
executed—passing the remainder of his miserable
life in the condition, worse than death, of a
prisoner in the galleys, without hope of pardon.

THE DEAR GIRL.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "BELLA DONNA," "NEVER
FORGOTTEN," &c.

CHAPTER XXXIII. ENMITY.

IN a place like the colony, small figures and
small offices would magnify into a surprising
importance. The affair of the unhappy Doctor
Macan, and his rivalry with, or rather defeat by,
the new and more popular doctor, was, to use
Captain Filby's favourite expression, "as good
as a play." That last unhappy practitioner was
every day falling; he soon " wouldn't have bread