“Be cautious not to utter a syllable!” whispered the stranger; “Step not out of the circle, and as you love yourself, dare not to look upon my face!”

Holding the crucifix in one hand, the Bible in the other, he seemed to read with profound attention. The clock struck one! As usual I heard the spectre’s steps upon the staircase: but I was not seized with the accustomed shivering. I waited her approach with confidence. She entered the room, drew near the circle, and stopped. The stranger muttered some words, to me unintelligible. Then raising his head from the book, and extending the crucifix towards the ghost, he pronounced in a voice distinct and solemn,

“Beatrice! Beatrice! Beatrice!”

“What wouldst thou?” replied the apparition in a hollow faltering tone.

“What disturbs thy sleep? Why dost thou afflict and torture this youth? How can rest be restored to thy unquiet spirit?”