Can it be, that the spirits of departed friends hover near us while on earth, and draw closer in hours of woe?
If so, why is it denied to the suffering one to hear again the dear accents of the "loved and lost ?" Why may not their silver pinions fan the burning brow of sorrowing mortality, and the echo of Heaven's own melody murmur gently, "Peace, peace and joy for evermore ?" Florence stood up before her cousin; all trace of emotion had passed away, and left her calm.

The bright moon shone full on her face.

Oh! how changed since the morning she stood in Madame -- --'s schoolroom.
The large dark eyes were sunken; the broad brow marked with lines of mental anguish; the cheeks colorless, and her long raven hair tossed back, and hanging like a veil below her slender waist.

There was a hollow, wasted look in every feature; the expression was one of hopeless misery, and a something there was which made the heart ache, yet the haughty glance of other days might still be seen.
"Mary, look at me!" "Well, Florry, I have looked at you, and sad enough it makes me feel." "I am changed Mary, strangely changed, am I not?
Answer me truly." "Yes, you look weary and ill; but why do you ask me such a question?
You have had cause to look pale." "Ah! you say truly; but, Mary, have you never suspected that a secret grief was freezing the life-blood in my cheeks ?" "Florry, what do you mean?
I am afraid you are feverish!" and Mary laid her hand anxiously on her cousin's.

It was flung contemptuously off.
"Mary, listen to what I have to say.