Mary: A Fragment - from Gothic Stories, published anonymously in 1800.

The castle clock struck one; the night was dark, drear, and tempestuous. Henry set in an antique chamber of it, over a wood fire, which, in the stupor of contemplation, he had suffered to decrease into a few half lifless embers; on the table by him lay the portrait of Mary; the features of which were not very perfectly disclosed by the taper that just glimmered in the socket.

He took up the portrait, however, and gazed intensely upon it, till the taper, suddenly burned brighter, discovered to him a phenomenon, he was no less terrified than surprised at. The eyes of the portrait moved; the feature, from an angelic smile, changed to a look of solemn sadness; a tear stole down each cheek, and the bosom palpitated as with sighing.

Again the clock struck one - it had struck the same hour ten minutes before. Henry heard the castle gate grate on its hinges - it slammed to - the clock struck one again; and a deadly groan echoed through the castle. Henry was not subject to superstitious fears, neither was he a coward; yet a hero of romance might have been justified in a case like this, should he have betrayed fear.

Henry's heart sunk within him; his knees smote together, and, upon the chamber door being opened, and his name uttered in a hollow voice, he dropped the portrait to the floor; and sat, as if riveted to the chair, without daring to lift up his eyes, when - my blood freezes to relate it - before him stood the figure of Mary in a shroud; her beamless eye fixed upon him with a vacant stare; and her bare bosom exposing a most deadly gash.

"Henry! Henry! Henry!" she repeated in a hollow tone - "Henry! I am come for thee! Thou hast often said that death with me was preferable to life without me; come, then, and enjoy all the ecstasies of love these ghastly features, added to the contemplation of a charnel house, can inspire; then, grasping his hand with her icy fingers, he swooned; and instantly found himself stretched on the hearth of his master's kitchen; a romance in his hand, and the house dog at his side, whose cold nose touching his hand, had awakened him.