sometimes to haunt sepulchres, sometimes to
foretel doom. It is the spectre of a human body
seen in a phosphoric light. And so exactly did
this phantom correspond to the description of
such an apparition in Scandinavian fable that I
know not how to give it a better name than that
of Scin-Læca—the shining corpse.

There it was before me, corpse-like, yet not
dead; there, as in the haunted study of the
wizard Forman!—-the form and the face of
Margrave. Constitutionally, my nerves are
strong, and my temper hardy, and now I was
resolved to battle against any impression which
my senses might receive from my own deluding
fancies. Things that witnessed for the first time
daunt us, witnessed for the second time lose
their terror. I rose from my bed with a bold
aspect, I approached the phantom with a firm step;
but when within two paces of it, and my hand
outstretched to touch it, my arm became fixed
in air, my feet locked to the ground. I did
not experience fear; I felt that my heart beat
regularly, but an invincible something opposed
itself to me. I stood as if turned to stone, and
then from the lips of this phantom there came
a voice, but a voice which, seemed borne from
a great distance—-very low, muffled, and yet
distinct: I could not even be sure that my ear
heard it, or whether the sound was not conveyed
to me by an inner sense.

"I, and I alone, can save and deliver you,"
said the voice. "I will do so, and the conditions
I ask, in return, are simple and easy."

"Fiend or spectre, or mere delusion of my
own brain," cried I, "there can be no compact
between thee and me. I despise thy malice, I
reject thy services; I accept no conditions to
escape from the one or to obtain the other."

"You may give a different answer when I
ask again."

The Scin-Læca slowly waned, and, fading first
into a wan shadow, then vanished. I rejoiced
at the reply I had given. Two days elapsed
before Mr. Stanton again came to me; in the
interval the Scin-Læca did not reappear. I had
mustered all my courage, all my common sense,
noted down all the weak points of the false
evidence against me, and felt calm and
supported by the strength of my innocence.

The first few words of the solicitor dashed all
my courage to the ground. For I was anxious
to hear news of Lilian, anxious to have some
message from her that might cheer and
strengthen me, and my first question was this:

"Mr. Stanton, you are aware that I am
engaged in marriage to Miss Ashleigh. Your
family are not unacquainted with her. What
says, what thinks she of this monstrous charge
against her betrothed?"

"I was for two hours at Mrs. Ashleigh's house
last evening," replied the lawyer; "she was
naturally anxious to see me as employed in your
defence. Who do you think was there? Who,
eager to defend you, to express his persuasion
of your innocence, to declare his conviction that
the real criminal would be soon discovered—-
who but that same Mr. Margrave, whom, pardon
me my frankness, you so rashly and
groundlessly suspected."

"Heavens! Do you say that he is received
in that house? that he—-he is familiarly
admitted to her presence?"

"My good sir, why these unjust prepossessions
against a true friend. It was as your
friend that, as soon as the charge against you
amazed and shocked the town of L——, Mr.
Margrave called on Mrs. Ashleigh—-presented
to her by Miss Brabazon—-and was so cheering
and hopeful that——"

"Enough!" I exclaimed—-"enough!"

I paced the room in a state of excitement
and rage, which the lawyer in vain endeavoured
to calm, until at length I halted abruptly:
"Well,—and you saw Miss Ashleigh? What
message does she send to me her—betrothed?"

Mr. Stanton looked confused. "Message!
Consider, sir—Miss Ashleigh's situation—the
delicacy—and—and——"

"I understand! no message, no word, from,
a young lady so respectable to a man accused
of murder."

Mr. Stanton was silent for some moments;
and then said quietly, "Let us change this
subject; let us think of what more immediately
presses. I see you have been making some
notes; may I look at them——"

I composed myself and sat down. "This
accuser! have inquiries really been made as to
himself, and his statement of his own proceedings?
He comes, he says, from America—in
what ship? At what port did he land? Is
there any evidence to corroborate his story of
the relations he tried to discover—of the inn at
which he first put up, and to which he could
not find his way?"

"Your suggestions are sensible, Dr. Fenwick.
I have forestalled them. It is true that the man
lodged at a small inn—the Rising Sun—true
that he made inquiries about some relations of
the name of Walls, who formerly resided at
L——, and afterwards removed to a village
ten miles distant—two brothers—tradesmen of
small means but respectable character. He at
first refused to say at what seaport he landed,
in what ship he sailed. I suspect that he has
now told a falsehood as to these matters. I have
sent my clerk to Southampton—for it is there
he said that he was put on shore; we shall see—
the man himself is detained in close custody.
I hear that his manner is strange and excitable;
but that he preserves silence as much as
possible. It is generally believed that he is a bad
character, perhaps a returned convict, and that
this is the true reason why he so long delayed
giving evidence, and has been since so reluctant
to account for himself. But even if his testimony
should be impugned, should break down, still
we should have to account for the fact that the
casket and the case-knife were found in your
bureau. For, granting that a person could, in
your absence, have entered your study and
placed the articles in your bureau, it is clear
that such a person must have been well
acquainted with, your house, and this stranger to