The White Old Maid

The moonbeams came through two deep and narrow windows, and showed a
spacious chamber, richly furnished in an antique fashion. From one
lattice, the shadow of the diamond panes was thrown upon the floor;
the ghostly light, through the other, slept upon a bed, falling
between the heavy silken curtains, and illuminating the face of a
young man. But, how quietly the slumberer lay! how pale his features!
and how like a shroud the sheet was wound about his frame! Yes; it
was a corpse, in its burial-clothes.

Suddenly, the fixed features seemed to move, with dark emotion.
Strange fantasy! It was but the shadow of the fringed curtain, waving
betwixt the dead face and the moonlight, as the door of the chamber
opened, and a girl stole softly to the bedside. Was there delusion in
the moonbeams, or did her gesture and her eye betray a gleam of
triumph, as she bent over the pale corpse-pale as itself--and pressed
her living lips to the cold ones of the dead? As she drew back from
that long kiss, her features writhed, as if a proud heart were
fighting with its anguish. Again it seemed that the features of the
corpse had moved responsive to her own. Still an illusion! The
silken curtain had waved, a second time, betwixt the dead face and the
moonlight, as another fair young girl unclosed the door, and glided,
ghost-like, to the bedside. There the two maidens stood, both
beautiful, with the pale beauty of the dead between them. But she, who
had first entered, was proud and stately; and the other, a soft and
fragile thing.

"Away!" cried the lofty one. "Thou hadst him living! The dead is
mine!"

"Thine!" returned the other, shuddering. "Well hast thou spoken!
The dead is thine!"

The proud girl started, and stared into her face, with a ghastly look.
But a wild and mournful expression passed across the features of the
gentle one; and, weak and helpless, she sank down on the bed, her head
pillowed beside that of the corpse, and her hair mingling with his
dark locks. A creature of hope and joy, the first draught of sorrow
had bewildered her.

"Edith!" cried her rival.

Edith groaned, as with a sudden compression of the heart; and removing
her cheek from the dead youth's pillow, she stood upright, fearfully
encountering the eyes of the lofty girl.

"Wilt thou betray me?" said the latter, calmly.

"Till the dead bid me speak, I will be silent," answered Edith. "Leave
us alone together! Go, and live many years, and then return, and tell
me of thy life. He, too, will be here! Then, if thou tellest of
sufferings more than death, we will both forgive thee."

"And what shall be the token?"