fixed upon any particular object. Her features appeared convulsed, but their contortions were not momentary, and pale as death, a hideous grin seemed chiselled on her idiot countenance.
Vivian scarcely knew whether to stay or to retire. Desirous not to disturb her, he determined not even to breathe; and, as is generally the case, his very exertions to be silent made him nervous; and to save himself from being stifled, he coughed.
Mrs. Lorraine immediately started, and stared wildly around her; and when her eye caught Vivian's, there was a sound in her throat something like the death rattle.
"Who are you?" she eagerly asked.
"A friend, and Vivian Grey."
"Grey! how came you here?" and she rushed forward and wildly seized his hand—and then she muttered to herself, "'tis flesh—'tis flesh."
"I have been playing, I fear, the mooncalf
