afflicted the poor Lady Ophelia that she fell into a nervous fever, of which she died."
"Say no more—tell me nothing farther," said the poor sufferer; "I can listen no longer—good night—good night—leave me alone."
The young men renewed the fire, and were about to depart, when he called them back.
"Excuse this emotion—but my son—tell me of him; did he perish?"
"No—he lived to see his great grandchildren all married: I think he was upwards of ninety when he died."
"And what relation are you to him?"
"I am the great grandson of your great grandson," said Edgar Hastings the younger; "and this young man is the eighth in descent from your brother, James Harley. We both feel respect and tenderness for you, and it shall be the business of our lives to make you forget your griefs. Be comforted, therefore, for we are your children. In the morning you shall see my wife and children. Meantime, as we have not much more to say, let us finish our account of meeting you, and then we trust you will be able to get a few hours' rest."
"Rest!" said the man who had slept three hundred years, "I think I have had enough of sleep; but proceed."
"When the thought struck us that your bones might lie under the ruins, we did not wish any common eye to see them; we therefore dismissed the workmen, and entered the door by ourselves. We came immediately into a square hall, at the end of which was the opening to what is called in all the papers the middle room; the door had crumbled away. The only light in the room proceeded from a hole which had been recently made by the removal of the ice on the roof, but it was sufficient to show the contents of the room. We saw the boxes,
