In a few days Alice became somewhat relieved from the influence of these tumultuous and spectral phantasms which had run riot in her terrified fancy; and this was principally owing to the circumstance of her having prevailed upon one of the maid-servants, a girl named Bessy Mangan, Barney Casey’s sweetheart, to sleep privately in her room.  The attack had reduced and enfeebled her very much, but still she was slightly improved and somewhat relieved in her spirits.  The shock, and the nervous paroxysm that accompanied it, had nearly passed away, and she was now anxious, for the sake of her health, to take as much exercise as she could.  Still—­still—­the two leading thoughts would recur to her—­that of Charles’s treachery, and the terrible gift of curse possessed by his brother Henry; and once more her heart would sink to the uttermost depths of distress and terror.  The supernatural, however, in the course of a little time, prevailed, as it was only reasonable to suppose it would in such a temperament as hers; and as her mind proceeded to struggle with the two impressions, she felt that her dread of Woodward was gradually gaining upon and absorbing the other.  Her fear of him, consequently, was deadly; that terrible and malignant eye—­notwithstanding its dark brilliancy and awful beauty, alas! too, significant of its power—­was constantly before her imagination, gazing upon her with a fixed, determined, and mysterious look, accompanied by a smile of triumph, which deepened its satanity, if we may be allowed to coin a word, at every glance.  It was not mere antipathy she felt for him now, but dread and horror.  How, then, was she to act?  She had pledged herself to receive his visits upon one condition, and to permit him to continue a friendly intimacy altogether apart from love.  How, then, could she violate her word, or treat him with rudeness, who had always not only treated her with courtesy, but expressed an interest in her happiness which she had every reason to believe sincere?  Thus was the poor girl entangled with difficulties on every side without possessing any means of releasing herself from them.

In a few days after this she was sitting in the drawing-room when Woodward unexpectedly entered it, and saluted her with great apparent good feeling and politeness.  The surprise caused her to become as pale as death; she felt her very limbs relax with weakness, and her breath for a few moments taken away from her; she looked upon him with an expression of alarm and fear which she could not conceal, and it was with some difficulty that she was at length enabled to speak.

“You will excuse me, sir,” she said, “for not rising; I am very nervous, and have not been at all well for the last week or upwards.”

“Indeed, Miss Goodwin, I am very sorry to hear this; I trust it is only a mere passing indisposition; I think the complaint is general, for my sister has also been ailing much the same way for the last few days.  Don’t be alarmed, Miss Goodwin, it is nothing, and won’t signify.  You should mingle more in society; you keep too much alone.”