Her reflections were interrupted by a noise at the door scarcely audible: it seemed as if somebody was whispering. Antonia’s alarm increased: yet the bolt she knew to be fastened, and this idea in some degree reassured her. Presently the latch was lifted up softly, and the door moved with caution backwards and forwards. Excess of terror now supplied Antonia with that strength, of which she had till then been deprived. She started from her place and made towards the closet door, whence she might soon have reached the chamber where she expected to find Flora and dame Jacintha. Scarcely had she reached the middle of the room when the latch was lifted up a second time. An involuntary movement obliged her to turn her head. Slowly and gradually the door turned upon its hinges, and standing upon the threshold she beheld a tall thin figure, wrapped in a white shroud which covered it from head to foot.

This vision arrested her feet: she remained as if petrified in the middle of the apartment. The stranger with measured and solemn steps drew near the table. The dying taper darted a blue and melancholy flame as the figure advanced towards it. Over the table was fixed a small clock; the hand of it was upon the stroke of three. The figure stopped opposite to the clock: it raised its right arm, and pointed to the hour, at the same time looking earnestly upon Antonia, who waited for the conclusion of this scene, motionless and silent.

The figure remained in this posture for some moments. The clock struck. When the sound had ceased, the stranger advanced yet a few steps nearer Antonia.

“Yet three days,” said a voice faint, hollow, and sepulchral; “Yet three days, and we meet again!”

Antonia shuddered at the words.

“We meet again?” she pronounced at length with difficulty: “Where shall we meet? Whom shall I meet?”