Rapidly sinking, Frank was borne by his friends on a litter to Boscean, but he died as he reached the town-place.  His parents, overwhelmed in their own sorrows, thought nothing of Nancy, and without her knowing that Lenine had returned, the poor fellow was laid in his last bed, in Burian Churchyard.

On the night of the funeral, Nancy went, as was her custom, to lock the door of the house, and as was her custom too, she looked out into the night.  At this instant a horseman rode up in hot haste, called her by name, and hailed her in a voice that chilled her blood.

The voice was the voice of Lenine.  She could never forget that; and the horse she now saw was her sweetheart’s favourite colt, on which he had often ridden at night to Alsia.

The rider was imperfectly seen; but he looked very sorrowful, and deathly pale, still Nancy knew him to be Frank Lenine.

He told her that he had just arrived home, and that the first moment he was at liberty he had taken horse to fetch his loved one, and to make her his bride.

Nancy’s excitement was so great, that she was easily persuaded to spring on the horse behind him, that they might reach his home before the morning.

When she took Lenine’s hand a cold shiver passed through her, and as she grasped his waist to secure herself in her seat, her arm became as stiff as ice.  She lost all power of speech, and suffered deep fear, yet she knew not why.  The moon had arisen, and now burst out in a full flood of light, through the heavy clouds which had obscured it.  The horse pursued its journey with great rapidity, and whenever in weariness it slackened its speed, the peculiar voice of the rider aroused its drooping energies.  Beyond this no word was spoken since Nancy had mounted behind her lover.  They now came to Trove Bottom, where there was no bridge at that time; they dashed into the river.  The moon shone full in their faces.  Nancy looked into the stream, and saw that the rider was in a shroud and other grave-clothes.  She now knew that she was being carried away by a spirit, yet she had no power to save herself; indeed, the inclination to do so did not exist.

On went the horse at a furious pace, until they came to the blacksmith’s shop, near Burian Church-town, when she knew by the light from the forge fire thrown across the road that the smith was still at his labours.  She now recovered speech.  “Save me! save me! save me!” she cried with all her might.  The smith sprang from the door of the smithy, with a red-hot iron in his hand, and as the horse rushed by, caught the woman’s dress, and pulled her to the ground.  The spirit, however, also seized Nancy’s dress in one hand, and his grasp was like that of a vice.  The horse passed like the wind, and Nancy and the smith were pulled down as far as the old Alms-houses, near the churchyard.  Here the horse for a moment stopped.  The smith seized that moment, and with his hot iron burned off the dress from the rider’s hand, thus saving Nancy, more dead than alive; while the rider passed over the wall of the churchyard, and vanished on the grave in which Lenine had been laid but a few hours before.