WYLDER'S HAJVD. 87 just passed under the brilliant lights, together with an unpleasant sense of apprehension. I suspect that Wylder and Lake, too, felt something of the same ominous qualm, for I thought their faces looked gloomy in the light, as they stood together buttoning their loose wrappers and lighting their cigars. With a "good night, good night,'' we parted, and I heard their retreating steps crunching along the walk that led to Redman's Hollow, and by Miss Rachel's quiet hab- itation. I heard no talking, such as comes between whiffs with friendly smokers, side by side; and, silent as mutes at a funeral, they walked on, and soon the fall of their footsteps was heard no more, and I re-entered the hall and shut the door. The level moonlight was shining through the stained heraldic window, and fell bright on the por- trait of Uncle Lome, at the other end, throwing a patch of red, like a stain, on one side of its pale forehead. I had forgot, at the moment, that the ill-omened portrait hung there, and a sudden horror smote me. I thought of what my vision said of the " blood upon my forehead," and, by Jove ! there it was! At this moment the large white Marseilles waistcoat of grave Mr. Larcom appeared, followed by a tall powdered footman, and their candles and business-like proceedings frightened away the phantoms. So I withdrew to my chamber, where, I am glad to say, I saw nothing of Uncle Lome. Miss Lake, as she drove that night, toward Gylingden, said little to the Vicar's wife, whose good husband had been away to Friars, making a sick-call, and she prattled on very merrily about his frugal little tea awaiting his late return, and asked her twice on the way home wheth- er it was half-past nine, for she did not boast a watch; and in the midst of her prattle was peeping at the land- marks of their progress.