F。MARIONCRAWFORD(1854-)
BytheWatersofParadiseMARYE。WILKINSFREEMAN(1862-)
TheShadowsontheWallMELVILLED。POST(1871-)
TheCorpusDelictiAMBROSEBIERCE(1842-)
AnHeiressfromRedhorseTheManandtheSnakeEDGARALLANPOE(1809-49)
TheOblongBoxTheGold-BugWASHINGTONIRVING(1783-1859)
WolfertWebber，orGoldenDreamsAdventureoftheBlackFishermanCHARLESBROCKDENBROWN(1771-1810)
Wieland”sMadnessFITZJAMESO”BRIEN(1828-1862)
TheGoldenIngotMyWife”sTempterNATHANIELHAWTHORNE(1804-1864)
TheMinister”sBlackVeilANONYMOUS
Horror：ATrueTaleTHEMOSTINTERESTINGSTORIESOFALLNATIONS
EditedbyJulianHawthorneAMERICAN
TableofContentsINTRODUCTIONBYJULIANHAWTHORNE
“RiddleStories“
F。MARIONCRAWFORD(1854-)
BytheWatersofParadiseMARYE。WILKINSFREEMAN(1862-)
TheShadowsontheWallMELVILLED。POST(1871-)
TheCorpusDelictiAMBROSEBIERCE(1842-)
AnHeiressfromRedhorseTheManandtheSnakeEDGARALLANPOE(1809-49)
TheOblongBoxTheGold-BugWASHINGTONIRVING(1783-1859)
WolfertWebber，orGoldenDreamsAdventureoftheBlackFishermanCHARLESBROCKDENBROWN(1771-1810)
Wieland”sMadnessFITZJAMESO”BRIEN(1828-1862)
TheGoldenIngotMyWife”sTempterNATHANIELHAWTHORNE(1804-1864)
TheMinister”sBlackVeilANONYMOUS
Horror：ATrueTale“RiddleStories“
IntroductionbyJulianHawthorneWhenPoewrotehisimmortalDupintales，thename“Detective“
storieshadnotbeeninvented；thedetectiveoffictionnothavingbeenasyetdiscovered。Andthetitleisstillsomethingofamisnomer，formanynarrativesinvolvingapuzzleofsomesort，thoughbelongingtothecategorywhichIwishtodiscuss，arehandledbythewriterwithoutexpertdetectiveaid。Sometimesthepuzzlesolvesitselfthroughoperationofcircumstance；sometimessomebodywhoprofessesnospecialdetectiveskillhappensuponthesecretofitsmystery；onceinawhilesomeventuresomegeniushasthecouragetoleavehisenigmaunexplained。ButeversinceGaboriaucreatedhisLecoq，thetranscendentdetectivehasbeeninfavor；andConanDoyle”sfamousgentlemananalysthasgivenhimafreshleaseoflife，andreanimatedthestagebyrevertingtothemethodofPoe。SherlockHolmesisDupinredivivus，andmutatusmutandis；personallyheisamorestirringandengagingcompanion，butsofaraskinshiptoprobabilitiesorevenpossibilitiesisconcerned，perhapstheolderversionofhimisthemorepresentable。Butinthisageofmarvelsweseemlessdifficulttosuitinthisrespectthanourforefatherswere。
Thefactis，meanwhile，that，intheriddlestory，thedetectivewasanafterthought，or，moreaccurately，adeusexmachinatomakethestorygo。Theriddlehadtobeunriddled；andwhocoulddoitsonaturallyandreadilyasadetective？Thedetective，asPoesawhim，wasameanstothisend；anditwasonlyafterwardsthatwritersperceivedhisavailabilityasacharacter。Lecoqaccordinglybecomesafigureinfiction，andSherlock，whilehewasasyetanovelty，wasnearlyasattractiveasthecomplicationsinwhichheinvolvedhimself。Riddle-storywritersingeneral，however，encountertheobviousembarrassmentthattheirdetectiveisobligedtolavishsomuchattentionontheprofessionalserviceswhichtheexigenciesofthetaledemandofhim，thathehasverylittleleisuretoexpoundhisownpersonalequation——therathersincetheattitudeofpeeringintoamillstoneisnot，ofitself，conducivetoelucidationsofoneself；theprofessionalendowmentobscuresalltheothers。Weordinarilyfind，therefore，ourauthordismissingtheindividualityofhisdetectivewithafewstrongblack-chalkoutlines，anddevotinghismainlaboruponwhathefeelsthereaderwillchieflyoccupyhisowningenuitywith，——
namely，theelaborationoftheriddleitself。Readerandwritersitdowntoagame，asitwere，withtheodds，ofcourse，altogetheronthelatter”sside，——apartfromthefactthatawritersometimespermitshimselfalittlecheating。Itmoreoftenhappensthatthedetectiveappearstobeinthewriter”spay，andaidsthedeceptionbyleadingthereaderoffonfalsescents。Bethatasitmay，theprofessionalsleuthisinninecasesoutoftenadummybymaliceprepense；anditmightbeplausiblyarguedthat，intheinterestsofpureart，thatiswhatheoughttobe。Butgeniusalwaysfindsawaythatisbetterthantherules，andIthinkitwillbefoundthattheverybestriddlestoriescontrivetodrivecharacterandriddlesidebyside，andtomakeeachsomehowenhancetheeffectoftheother——TheintentionoftheaboveparagraphwillbemorepreciselyconveyedifIincludeunderthenameofdetectivenotonlythemanfromthecentraloffice，butalsoanybodywhomthewritermay，forendsofhisown，considerbetterqualifiedforthatfunction。Thelatterisaprofessionaldetectivesofarastheexigenciesofthetaleareconcerned，andwhatbecomesofhimafterthatnobodyneedcare，——thereisnolongeranythingtopreventhisbecoming，inhisownright，themostfascinatingofmankind。
Butinadditiontothedummyshipofthedetective，ortothecasesinwhichthemereslipofcircumstancetakeshisplace，thereisanotherreasonagainstnarrowingourconceptionoftheriddlestorytothedegreewhichthealternativeappellationwouldimply。Andthatis，thatitwouldexcludenotafewofthemostcaptivatingriddlestoriesinexistence；forinDeQuincey”s“Avenger，“forexample，theinterestisnotintheunravelingoftheweb，butintheweavingofit。ThesameremarkappliestoBulwer”s“StrangeStory“；itisthestrangenessthatisthething。Thereis，inshort，aninalienablecharminthemerecontemplationofmysteryandthehazardoffortunes；anditwouldbeapitytoshutthemoutfromourconsiderationonlybecausethereisnosecond-sightedconjureronhandtoturnthemintoplainmatteroffact。
Yetwemustnotbetooliberal；andaghoststorycanbebroughtintoourcharmedandcharmingcircleonlyifwehavemadeupourmindstobelieveintheghosts；otherwisetheirintroductionwouldnotbeasquaredeal。Itwouldnotbefair，inotherwords，toproposeaconundrumonabasisofostensiblematerialism，andthen，whennootherkeywouldfit，topalmoffadisembodiedspiritonus。Tellmebeforehandthatyourscenarioistoincludebothworlds，andIhavenoobjectiontomake；Isimplyattunemymindtothemoreextensivescope。ButIrebelatanunheraldedghostland，anddeclarefranklythatyourtaleisincredible。AndImustconfessthatIwouldasliefhaveghostskeptoutaltogether；theirstoriesmakeaverygoodlibraryinthemselves，andhavenoneedtotagthemselvesontowhatisreallyanotherdepartmentoffiction。
Nevertheless，whenaghoststoryistoldwiththeconsummateartofaMissWilkins，andofoneortwoothersonourlist，consistencyinthisregardceasestobeajewel；artprovesirresistible。Asforadventurestories，thereisafringeofthemthatcomesundertheriddle-storyhead；butforthemostparttheriddlestorybeginsaftertheadventureshavefinished。Wearetocontemplateacondition，nottowatchtheeventsthatultimateinit。Ourdetective，oranyoneelse，mayofcoursemeetwithhapsandmishapsonhiswaytothesolutionofhispuzzle；butanastutewriterwillnotcolorsuchincidentstoovividly，lestheriskforfeitingourpreoccupationwiththeproblemthatwecameforthfortostudy。Inaword，Onethingatatime！
Theforegoingdisquisitionmayseemuncalledforbysuchrigidmoralistsashavemadeuptheirmindsnottoregarddetective，orriddlestories，asanypartofrespectableliteratureatall。Withthatsect，IannounceattheoutsetthatIamentirelyoutofsympathy。Itisnotneededtocompare“TheGoldBug“with“ParadiseLost“；nobodydeniesthesuperiorliterarystatureofthelatter，although，astheOxfordSeniorWranglerobjected，“Whatdoesitprove？“ButIappealtoEmerson，who，inhispoemof“TheMountainandtheSquirrel，“statesthenuboftheargument，withincomparablefelicity，asfollows：——youwillrecallthatthetwoprotagonistshadadifference，originatinginthefactthattheformercalledthelatter“LittlePrig。”Bunmadeaverysprightlyretort，summinguptothiseffect：——
“Talentsdiffer；alliswellandwiselyput；
IfIcannotcarryforestsonmyback，Neithercanyoucrackanut。”
AndesandParadisesLostareexpedientandperhapsnecessaryintheirproperatmosphereandfunction；butSquirrelsandGoldBugsareindispensableinourdailywalk。ThereisasfineandastrueliteratureinPoe”sTalesasinMilton”sepics；onlytheelevationanddimensionsdiffer。ButIwouldratherliveinaworldthatpossessedonlyliteratureofthePoecaliber，thanshiverinoneechoingsolelythestrainsoftheMiltonianmuse。Merehumanbeingsarenotconstructedtostandalldaya-tiptoeonthemistymountaintops；theyliketowalkthestreetsmostofthetimeandsitineasychairs。Andwritingsthatpicturethehumanmindandnature，intruecolorsandinartisticproportions，areliterature，andnobodyhasanybusinesstopooh-poohthem。Infact，IfeelasifIwereknockingdownamanofstraw。Ilookinvainforanygenuineresistance。Ofcourse“TheGoldBug“isliterature；ofcourseanyotherstoryofmysteryandpuzzleisalsoliterature，provideditisasgoodas“TheGoldBug，“——orIwillsay，sincethatstandardhasneversincebeenquiteattained，provideditisahalforatenthasgood。Itisgoldsmith”swork；itisChinesecarving；itisDaedalian；itisfine。Itistheproductoftheingenuitylobeofthehumanbrainworkingandexpatiatinginfreedom。Itisart；notspiritualortranscendentalart，butsolidart，tobefeltandexperienced。Youmayexamineitatyourleisure，itwillbealwaysreadyforyou；youneednotfastorwatchyourarmsovernightinordertounderstandit。Lookatthenicesettingofthemortises；markhowthecoverfits；howsmoothistheworkingofthatspringdrawer。Observethatthisbitofcarving，whichseemedmereornament，isreallyavitalpartofthemechanism。Note，moreover，howbalancedandsymmetricalthewholedesignis，withwhateconomyandforesighteverypartisfashioned。
Itisnotonlyaningeniousstructure，itisahandsomebitoffurniture，andwillmateriallyimprovethelooksoftheemptychambers，ordisorderlyorungainlychambersthatyoucarryunderyourcrown。Orifithappenthattheseapartmentsarenobleindecorationandproportions，thenthiscaptivatinglittleobjectwillfindasuitableplaceinsomesparenookorother，andwillrestorentertaineyestoolongfocusedontheseverelysublimeandbeautiful。Ineednot，however，relyuponabstractargumenttosupportmycontention。Manyofthebestwritersofalltimehaveusedtheirskillintheinvertedformofstorytelling，asaglanceatourtableofcontentswillshow；andmanyoftheirtalesdependfortheireffectasmuchoncharacterandatmosphereasontheplayandcomplicationofevents。
Thestatementthatagooddetectiveorriddlestoryisgoodinartissupportedbythefactthatthesupplyofreallygoodonesisrelativelysmall，whilethenumberofwriterswhowouldwritegoodonesiftheycould，andwhohavetriedandfailedtowritethem，ispastcomputation。Andonereasonprobablyisthatsuchstories，fortheirsuccess，mustdependprimarilyuponstructure——asoundandperfectplot——whichisoneoftherarethingsinourcontemporaryfiction。Ourwritersgetholdofanincident，orasentiment，oracharacter，oramoralprinciple，orahitoftechnicalknowledge，orasplotchoflocalcolor，orevenofanewversionofdialect，andtheywilldosomethingintwototenthousandwordsoutofthatandcallitashortstory。Magazinesmaybefoundtoprintit——forthereareallmannerofmagazines；
butnothingofthatsortwillserveforariddlestory。Youcannotmakeariddlestorybybeginningitandthentrustingtolucktobringittoanend。Youmustknowallabouttheendandthemiddlebeforethinking，even，ofthebeginning；thebeginningofariddlestory，unlikethoseofotherstoriesandofotherenterprises，isnothalfthebattle；itisnexttobeingquiteunimportant，and，moreover，itisalwayseasy。Theunexplainedcorpselieswelteringinitsgoreinthefirstparagraph；theinexplicablecipherpresentsitsenigmaattheturningoftheopeningpage。Thewriterwhoissecureintheknowledgethathehasgotagoodthingcoming，andhasarrangedthemanneranddetailsofitscoming，cannotgofarwrongwithhisexordium；hewantstogetintoactionatonce，andthatishisbestassurancethathewilldoitintherightway。
ButO！whatalaborandsweatitis；whataplanningandtrimming；
whataremodeling，curtailing，interlining；whatdespairssucceededbynewlights，whatheroicexpedientstriedatthelastmoment，anddismissedthemomentafter；whatwastepaperbasketsfulloffutilities，andwhatgallantcommencementsalloveragain！Didthereaderknow，orremotelysuspect，whatterrificstrugglesthewriterofareallygooddetectivestoryhadsustained，hewouldregardthefinalproductwithanewwonderandrespect，andreaditalloveroncemoretofindouthowthetroublesoccurred。Buthewillsearchinvain；therearenosignsofthemleft；no，notsomuchasascar。Thetalemovesalongassmoothlyandinevitablyasoiledmachinery；obviously，itcouldnothavebeenarrangedotherwisethanitis；andthewisereaderisconvincedthathecouldhavedonethethinghimselfwithouthalftrying。Atthat，thewearywritersmilesabittersmile；butitisoneofthespurnsthatpatientmeritoftheunworthytakes。Nobody，excepthimwhohastriedit，willeverknowhowharditistowriteareallygooddetectivestory。Themanorwomanwhocandoitcanalsowriteagoodplay(accordingtomodernideasofplays)，andpossessesforceofcharacter，individuality，andmentalability。Heorshemustcombinetheintuitionoftheartistwiththetalentofthemastermechanic，butwillseldombeapoet，andwillgenerallycaremoreforthingsandeventsthanforfellowcreatures。For，althoughthestoryisoftenconcernedwithrightingsomewrong，oravengingsomemurder，yetitmustbeconfessedthattheauthorcommonlysucceedsbetterinthemeasureofhisruthlessnessindevisingcrimesandgivinghisportraitsofdevilsanextratouchofblack。Mercyisnothisstrongpoint，howeverhemayaboundinjustice；andhewillnotstickleatpilinguptheagony，iftherebyheprovidesopportunityforenhancingthepicturesquenessandcompletenessoftheevildoer”sdue。
Butthisleadsmetotheadmissionthatonecharge，atleast，doeslieagainstthedooroftheriddle-storywriter；andthatis，thatheisnotsincere；hemakeshismysteriesbackward，andknowstheanswertohisriddlebeforehestatesitsterms。Hedeliberatelysupplieshisreader，also，withallmanneroffalsescents，wellknowingthemtobesuch；andconcoctsvariousseemingartlessandinnocentremarksandallusions，whichinrealityarediabolicallyartful，andwoulddeceivetheveryelect。Allthis，Isay，mustbeconceded；butitisnotunfair；theveryobject，ostensibly，oftheriddlestoryistopromptyoutosharpenyourwits；andasyouareyourselftherealdetectiveinthecase，soyoumustregardyourauthorastherealcriminalwhomyouaretodetect。Creditnostatementofhissaveassupportedbytheclearestevidence；becontinuallyrepeatingtoyourself，“TimeoDanaosetdonaferentes，“——nay，neversomuchasthen。But，asIsaidbefore，whenthegameiswellset，youhavenochancewhateveragainstthedealer；andformyownpart，InevertrytobecleverwhenIgoupagainstthesethimble-riggers；Ibelievealltheytellme，andacceptthemostinsolentgoldbricks；andinthatwayI
occasionallycatchsomeoftheveryablestofthemnapping；fortheyaresosubtlethattheywillsometimestellyouthetruthbecausetheythinkyouwillsupposeittobealie。Idonotwishtocatchthemnapping，however；Iclingtothewisdomofignorance，andchildishlyenjoythewayinwhichthingsworkthemselvesout——
thecul-de-sacresolvingitselfattheverylastmomentintoapromisingcorridortowardtheouterair。Ateveryrebuffitismyhappinesstobehopelesslybewildered；andIgapewithadmirationwhentheGordianknotisuntied。Iftheauthorbeold-fashionedenoughtoapostrophizetheGentleReader，Iknowhemustmeanme，anddocilelygiveear，andpresentlytumblehead-foremostintothetreacherouspithehasdiggedforme。Inbrief，Iamtheretobesold，andIgetmymoney”sworth。Noonecanthoroughlyenjoyriddlestoriesunlessheisoldenough，oryoungenough，or，atanyrate，wiseenoughtoappreciatethevalueofthefacultyofbeingsurprised。Thosesardonicandomniscientpersonswhoknoweverythingbeforehand，andsmilecompassionatelyorscornfullyattheartlessoutcriesofastonishmentofthosewhoareuninformed，maygetanill-naturedsatisfactionoutofthepersuasionthattheyaresuperiorbeings；butthereisverylittlemeatinthatsortofhappiness，andtheuninformedhavethebetterlotafterall。
Ineedhardlypointoutthatthereisadistinctionandadifferencebetweenshortriddlestoriesandlongones——novels。Theformerrequirefarmoretechnicalartfortheirproperdevelopment；
theenigmacannotbeposedinsomanyways，butmustbestatedonceforall；therecannotbefalsescents，orbutafewofthem；therecanbesmallopportunityforcharacterdrawing，andallkindsofornamentandcommentmustbereducedtotheirverylowestterms。
Here，indeed，aseverywhere，geniuswillhaveitsway；andwhileamerelytalentedwriterwoulddeemitimpossibletotellthestoryof“TheGoldBug“inlessthanavolume，Poecoulddoitinafewthousandwords，andyetappeartohavesaideverythingworthsaying。InthecaseoftheSherlockHolmestales，theyformaseries，andourpreviousknowledgeoftheheroenablesthewritertodispensewithmuchdescriptionandaccompanimentthatwouldbenecessaryhadthateminentpersonagebeenpresentedinonlyasinglecomplicationofevents。Eachspecialepisodeofthegreatanalyst”scareercanthereforebehandledwiththeutmosteconomy，andyetfillalltherequirementsofintelligentinterestandcomprehension。But，asarule，theriddlenovelapproachesitsthemeinaspiritessentiallyotherthanthatwhichinspirestheshorttale。Wearegiven，asitwere，awidelandscapeinsteadofadetailedgenrepicture。Thenumberofthedramatispersonaeismuchlarger，andthepartsgiventomanyofthemmaybeverysmall，thougheachshouldhavehisorhernecessaryfunctioninthegeneralplan。Itismucheasiertocreateperplexityontheseterms；butontheotherhand，theriddlenoveldemandsapowerofvividcharacterportrayalandoftellingdescriptionwhicharenotindispensableinthebriefernarrative。Afamoustale，publishedperhapsfortyyearsago，butwhichcannotbeincludedinourseries，tellsthestoryofamurderthesecretofwhichisadmirablyconcealedtillthelast；andmuchofthefascinationofthebookisduetotheabilitywithwhichtheleadingcharacter，andsomeofthesubordinateones，aredrawn。Theauthorwasawoman，andIhaveoftenmarveledthatwomensoseldomattemptthisformofliterature；manyofthempossessagoodconstructivefaculty，andtheirloveofdetailandofmysteryisnotorious。
Perhapstheyaretoofondofsentiment；andsentimentmustbehandledwithcautioninriddlestories。Thefaultofallriddlenovelsisthattheyinevitablyinvolvetwokindsofinterest，andcanseldombalancethesesoperfectlythatoneortheotherofthemshallnotsuffer。Themindofthereaderbecomeswearyinitsfrequentjourneysbetweenhumancharactersononesidethemysteriouseventsontheother，andwouldpreferthemoresingle-
eyedtreatmentoftheshorttale。Wonder，too，isaverytenderandshort-livedemotion，andsometimesperishesafterafewpages。
Curiosityistougher；butthattoomaybebaffledtoolong，andendbytiringofthepursuitwhileitisyetinitsearlystages。Manyexcellentplots，admirablefromtheconstructivepointofview，havebeenwastedbystringingthemouttoofar；thereaderrecognizestheirmerit，butloseshisenthusiasmonaccountofasortofmonotonyofstrain；hewickedlyturnstotheconcludingchapter，andthegameisup。“TheWomaninWhite，“byWilkieCollins，waspublishedabout1860，Ithink，inweeklyinstallments，andcertainlytheyweredevouredwithinsatiableappetitebymanythousandsofreaders。ButIdoubtwhetherabookofsimilarmeritcouldcommandsuchafollowingto-day；andIwillevenconfessthatIhavemyselfneverreadtheconcludingparts，anddonotknowtothisdaywhothewomanwasorwhatwerethewrongsfromwhichshesopoignantlysuffered。
Thetalescontainedinthevolumesherewithofferedarethebestriddleordetectivestoriesintheworld，accordingtothebestjudgmentoftheeditors。Theyaretheproductofwritersofallnations；andtranslation，inthiscase，islessapttobemisleadingthanwithmostotherformsofliterature，foramysteryorariddleisequallycaptivatinginalllanguages。Manyofthegoodones——perhapssomeofthebestones——havebeenleftout，eitherbecausewemissedtheminoursearch，orbecausewehadtochoosebetweenthemandothersseeminglyofequalexcellence，andwereobligedtoconsiderspacelimitationswhich，howevergenerouslylaidout，musthavesomeendatlast。Bethatasitmay，webelievethatthereareenoughgoodstoriesheretosatisfythemostGargantuanhunger，andwefeelsurethatourvolumeswillneverbecrowdedofftheshelfwhichhasoncemaderoomforthem。
Ifwehave，nowandthen，alittletranscendedthestrictdefinitionoftheclassoffictionwhichourtitlewouldpromise，weshallneverthelessnotanticipateanyseriousquarrelwithourreaders；ifthereberoomtoquestiontherightofanygivenstorytoappearinthiscompany，therewillbeallthemorereasonforacceptingitonitsownmerits；forithadtobeverygoodindeedinordertoovercomeitstechnicaldisqualification。Andifitdidnotrightfullybelonghere，therewouldprobablybeobjectionsasstrongtoadmittingitinanyothercollection。Betweentwoormorestools，itwouldbeapitytoletitfalltotheground；soletitbeforgiven，andpleaseuswithwhatevergiftithas。
Inmanycaseswherecopyrightswerestillunexpired，wehavetoexpressouracknowledgmentstowritersandpublisherswhohaveaccordedusthecourtesyoftheirleavetoreproducewhattheirgeniusorenterprisehascreatedandputforth。Toourreaderswetakepleasureinpresentingwhatweknowcannotfailtogivethempleasure——acollectionofthefruitsofthefinestliteraryingenuityandnicestartaccessibletothehumanmind。Gaudeat，noncaveatemptor！
JULIANHAWTHORNE。
AmericanMysteryStoriesF。MarionCrawfordBytheWatersofParadiseI
Iremembermychildhoodverydistinctly。Idonotthinkthatthefactarguesagoodmemory，forIhaveneverbeencleveratlearningwordsbyheart，inproseorrhyme；sothatIbelievemyremembranceofeventsdependsmuchmoreupontheeventsthemselvesthanuponmypossessinganyspecialfacilityforrecallingthem。PerhapsIamtooimaginative，andtheearliestimpressionsIreceivedwereofakindtostimulatetheimaginationabnormally。Alongseriesoflittlemisfortunes，soconnectedwitheachotherastosuggestasortofweirdfatality，soworkeduponmymelancholytemperamentwhenIwasaboythat，beforeIwasofage，Isincerelybelievedmyselftobeunderacurse，andnotonlymyself，butmywholefamilyandeveryindividualwhoboremyname。
Iwasbornintheoldplacewheremyfather，andhisfather，andallhispredecessorshadbeenborn，beyondthememoryofman。Itisaveryoldhouse，andthegreaterpartofitwasoriginallyacastle，stronglyfortified，andsurroundedbyadeepmoatsuppliedwithabundantwaterfromthehillsbyahiddenaqueduct。Manyofthefortificationshavebeendestroyed，andthemoathasbeenfilledup。Thewaterfromtheaqueductsuppliesgreatfountains，andrunsdownintohugeoblongbasinsintheterracedgardens，onebelowtheother，eachsurroundedbyabroadpavementofmarblebetweenthewaterandtheflower-beds。Thewastesurplusfinallyescapesthroughanartificialgrotto，somethirtyyardslong，intoastream，flowingdownthroughtheparktothemeadowsbeyond，andthencetothedistantriver。Thebuildingswereextendedalittleandgreatlyalteredmorethantwohundredyearsago，inthetimeofCharlesII。，butsincethenlittlehasbeendonetoimprovethem，thoughtheyhavebeenkeptinfairlygoodrepair，accordingtoourfortunes。
Inthegardensthereareterracesandhugehedgesofboxandevergreen，someofwhichusedtobeclippedintoshapesofanimals，intheItalianstyle。IcanrememberwhenIwasaladhowIusedtotrytomakeoutwhatthetreeswerecuttorepresent，andhowI
usedtoappealforexplanationstoJudith，myWelshnurse。Shedealtinastrangemythologyofherown，andpeopledthegardenswithgriffins，dragons，goodgeniiandbad，andfilledmymindwiththematthesametime。Mynurserywindowaffordedaviewofthegreatfountainsattheheadoftheupperbasin，andonmoonlightnightstheWelshwomanwouldholdmeuptotheglassandbidmelookatthemistandsprayrisingintomysteriousshapes，movingmysticallyinthewhitelightlikelivingthings。
“It”stheWomanoftheWater，“sheusedtosay；andsometimesshewouldthreatenthatifIdidnotgotosleeptheWomanoftheWaterwouldstealuptothehighwindowandcarrymeawayinherwetarms。
Theplacewasgloomy。Thebroadbasinsofwaterandthetallevergreenhedgesgaveitafunereallook，andthedamp-stainedmarblecausewaysbythepoolsmighthavebeenmadeoftombstones。
Thegrayandweather-beatenwallsandtowerswithout，thedarkandmassivelyfurnishedroomswithin，thedeep，mysteriousrecessesandtheheavycurtains，allaffectedmyspirits。Iwassilentandsadfrommychildhood。Therewasagreatclocktowerabove，fromwhichthehoursrangdismallyduringtheday，andtolledlikeaknellinthedeadofnight。Therewasnolightnorlifeinthehouse，formymotherwasahelplessinvalid，andmyfatherhadgrownmelancholyinhislongtaskofcaringforher。Hewasathin，darkman，withsadeyes；kind，Ithink，butsilentandunhappy。Nexttomymother，Ibelievehelovedmebetterthananythingonearth，forhetookimmensepainsandtroubleinteachingme，andwhathetaughtmeIhaveneverforgotten。Perhapsitwashisonlyamusement，andthatmaybethereasonwhyIhadnonurserygovernessorteacherofanykindwhilehelived。
Iusedtobetakentoseemymothereveryday，andsometimestwiceaday，foranhouratatime。ThenIsatuponalittlestoolnearherfeet，andshewouldaskmewhatIhadbeendoing，andwhatI
wantedtodo。Idaresayshesawalreadytheseedsofaprofoundmelancholyinmynature，forshelookedatmealwayswithasadsmile，andkissedmewithasighwhenIwastakenaway。
Onenight，whenIwasjustsixyearsold，Ilayawakeinthenursery。Thedoorwasnotquiteshut，andtheWelshnursewassittingsewinginthenextroom。SuddenlyIheardhergroan，andsayinastrangevoice，“One——two——one——two！“Iwasfrightened，andIjumpedupandrantothedoor，barefootedasIwas。
“Whatisit，Judith？“Icried，clingingtoherskirts。Icanrememberthelookinherstrangedarkeyesassheanswered：
“One——twoleadencoffins，fallenfromtheceiling！“shecrooned，workingherselfinherchair。“One——two——alightcoffinandaheavycoffin，fallingtothefloor！“
Thensheseemedtonoticeme，andshetookmebacktobedandsangmetosleepwithaqueeroldWelshsong。
Idonotknowhowitwas，buttheimpressiongotholdofmethatshehadmeantthatmyfatherandmotherweregoingtodieverysoon。Theydiedintheveryroomwhereshehadbeensittingthatnight。Itwasagreatroom，mydaynursery，fullofsunwhentherewasany；andwhenthedaysweredarkitwasthemostcheerfulplaceinthehouse。Mymothergrewrapidlyworse，andIwastransferredtoanotherpartofthebuildingtomakeplaceforher。Theythoughtmynurserywasgayerforher，Isuppose；butshecouldnotlive。Shewasbeautifulwhenshewasdead，andIcriedbitterly。
Thelightone，thelightone——theheavyonetocome，“croonedtheWelshwoman。Andshewasright。Myfathertooktheroomaftermymotherwasgone，anddaybydayhegrewthinnerandpalerandsadder。
“Theheavyone，theheavyone——alloflead，“moanedmynurse，onenightinDecember，standingstill，justasshewasgoingtotakeawaythelightafterputtingmetobed。Thenshetookmeupagainandwrappedmeinalittlegown，andledmeawaytomyfather”sroom。Sheknocked，butnooneanswered。Sheopenedthedoor，andwefoundhiminhiseasychairbeforethefire，verywhite，quitedead。
SoIwasalonewiththeWelshwomantillstrangepeoplecame，andrelationswhomIhadneverseen；andthenIheardthemsayingthatImustbetakenawaytosomemorecheerfulplace。Theywerekindpeople，andIwillnotbelievethattheywerekindonlybecauseI
wastobeveryrichwhenIgrewtobeaman。Theworldneverseemedtobeaverybadplacetome，norallthepeopletobemiserablesinners，evenwhenIwasmostmelancholy。Idonotrememberthatanyoneeverdidmeanygreatinjustice，northatI
waseveroppressedorilltreatedinanyway，evenbytheboysatschool。Iwassad，Isuppose，becausemychildhoodwassogloomy，and，later，becauseIwasunluckyineverythingIundertook，tillI
finallybelievedIwaspursuedbyfate，andIusedtodreamthattheoldWelshnurseandtheWomanoftheWaterbetweenthemhadvowedtopursuemetomyend。Butmynaturaldispositionshouldhavebeencheerful，asIhaveoftenthought。
AmongtheladsofmyageIwasneverlast，orevenamongthelast，inanything；butIwasneverfirst。IfItrainedforarace，IwassuretosprainmyankleonthedaywhenIwastorun。IfIpulledanoarwithothers，myoarwassuretobreak。IfIcompetedforaprize，someunforeseenaccidentpreventedmywinningitatthelastmoment。NothingtowhichIputmyhandsucceeded，andIgotthereputationofbeingunlucky，untilmycompanionsfeltitwasalwayssafetobetagainstme，nomatterwhattheappearancesmightbe。I
becamediscouragedandlistlessineverything。IgaveuptheideaofcompetingforanydistinctionattheUniversity，comfortingmyselfwiththethoughtthatIcouldnotfailintheexaminationfortheordinarydegree。ThedaybeforetheexaminationbeganI
fellill；andwhenatlastIrecovered，afteranarrowescapefromdeath，IturnedmybackuponOxford，andwentdownalonetovisittheoldplacewhereIhadbeenborn，feebleinhealthandprofoundlydisgustedanddiscouraged。Iwastwenty-oneyearsofage，masterofmyselfandofmyfortune；butsodeeplyhadthelongchainofsmallunluckycircumstancesaffectedmethatIthoughtseriouslyofshuttingmyselfupfromtheworldtolivethelifeofahermitandtodieassoonaspossible。Deathseemedtheonlycheerfulpossibilityinmyexistence，andmythoughtssoondweltuponitaltogether。
IhadnevershownanywishtoreturntomyownhomesinceIhadbeentakenawayasalittleboy，andnoonehadeverpressedmetodoso。Theplacehadbeenkeptinorderafterafashion，anddidnotseemtohavesufferedduringthefifteenyearsormoreofmyabsence。Nothingearthlycouldaffectthoseoldgraywallsthathadfoughttheelementsforsomanycenturies。ThegardenwasmorewildthanIrememberedit；themarblecausewaysaboutthepoolslookedmoreyellowanddampthanofold，andthewholeplaceatfirstlookedsmaller。ItwasnotuntilIhadwanderedaboutthehouseandgroundsformanyhoursthatIrealizedthehugesizeofthehomewhereIwastoliveinsolitude。ThenIbegantodelightinit，andmyresolutiontolivealonegrewstronger。
Thepeoplehadturnedouttowelcomeme，ofcourse，andItriedtorecognizethechangedfacesoftheoldgardenerandtheoldhousekeeper，andtocallthembyname。MyoldnurseIknewatonce。Shehadgrownverygraysincesheheardthecoffinsfallinthenurseryfifteenyearsbefore，butherstrangeeyeswerethesame，andthelookinthemwokeallmyoldmemories。Shewentoverthehousewithme。
“AndhowistheWomanoftheWater？“Iasked，tryingtolaughalittle。“Doesshestillplayinthemoonlight？“
“Sheishungry，“answeredtheWelshwoman，inalowvoice。
“Hungry？Thenwewillfeedher。”Ilaughed。ButoldJudithturnedverypale，andlookedatmestrangely。
“Feedher？Aye——youwillfeedherwell，“shemuttered，glancingbehindherattheancienthousekeeper，whototteredafteruswithfeeblestepsthroughthehallsandpassages。
Ididnotthinkmuchofherwords。Shehadalwaystalkedoddly，asWelshwomenwill，andthoughIwasverymelancholyIamsureIwasnotsuperstitious，andIwascertainlynottimid。Only，asinafar-offdream，Iseemedtoseeherstandingwiththelightinherhandandmuttering，“Theheavyone——alloflead，“andthenleadingalittleboythroughthelongcorridorstoseehisfatherlyingdeadinagreateasychairbeforeasmolderingfire。Sowewentoverthehouse，andIchosetheroomswhereIwouldlive；andtheservantsIhadbroughtwithmeorderedandarrangedeverything，andIhadnomoretrouble。IdidnotcarewhattheydidprovidedIwasleftinpeaceandwasnotexpectedtogivedirections；forIwasmorelistlessthanever，owingtotheeffectsofmyillnessatcollege。
Idinedinsolitarystate，andthemelancholygrandeurofthevastolddining-roompleasedme。ThenIwenttotheroomIhadselectedformystudy，andsatdowninadeepchair，underabrightlight，tothink，ortoletmythoughtsmeanderthroughlabyrinthsoftheirownchoosing，utterlyindifferenttothecoursetheymighttake。
Thetallwindowsoftheroomopenedtothelevelofthegroundupontheterraceattheheadofthegarden。ItwasintheendofJuly，andeverythingwasopen，fortheweatherwaswarm。AsIsataloneIheardtheunceasingsplashofthegreatfountains，andIfelltothinkingoftheWomanoftheWater。Iroseandwentoutintothestillnight，andsatdownuponaseatontheterrace，betweentwogiganticItalianflowerpots。Theairwasdeliciouslysoftandsweetwiththesmelloftheflowers，andthegardenwasmorecongenialtomethanthehouse。Sadpeoplealwayslikerunningwaterandthesoundofitatnight，thoughIcannottellwhy。I
satandlistenedinthegloom，foritwasdarkbelow，andthepalemoonhadnotyetclimbedoverthehillsinfrontofme，thoughalltheairabovewaslightwithherrisingbeams。Slowlythewhitehalointheeasternskyascendedinanarchabovethewoodedcrests，makingtheoutlinesofthemountainsmoreintenselyblackbycontrast，asthoughtheheadofsomegreatwhitesaintwererisingfrombehindascreeninavastcathedral，throwingmistygloriesfrombelow。Ilongedtoseethemoonherself，andItriedtoreckonthesecondsbeforeshemustappear。Thenshesprangupquickly，andinamomentmorehungroundandperfectinthesky。I
gazedather，andthenatthefloatingsprayofthetallfountains，anddownatthepools，wherethewaterlilieswererockingsoftlyintheirsleeponthevelvetsurfaceofthemoonlitwater。Justthenagreatswanfloatedoutsilentlyintothemidstofthebasin，andwreathedhislongneck，catchingthewaterinhisbroadbill，andscatteringshowersofdiamondsaroundhim。
Suddenly，asIgazed，somethingcamebetweenmeandthelight。I
lookedupinstantly。Betweenmeandtherounddiskofthemoonrosealuminousfaceofawoman，withgreatstrangeeyes，andawoman”smouth，fullandsoft，butnotsmiling，hoodedinblack，staringatmeasIsatstilluponmybench。Shewasclosetome——
soclosethatIcouldhavetouchedherwithmyhand。ButIwastransfixedandhelpless。Shestoodstillforamoment，butherexpressiondidnotchange。Thenshepassedswiftlyaway，andmyhairstooduponmyhead，whilethecoldbreezefromherwhitedresswaswaftedtomytemplesasshemoved。Themoonlight，shiningthroughthetossingsprayofthefountain，madetraceriesofshadowonthegleamingfoldsofhergarments。InaninstantshewasgoneandIwasalone。
Iwasstrangelyshakenbythevision，andsometimepassedbeforeI
couldrisetomyfeet，forIwasstillweakfrommyillness，andthesightIhadseenwouldhavestartledanyone。Ididnotreasonwithmyself，forIwascertainthatIhadlookedontheunearthly，andnoargumentcouldhavedestroyedthatbelief。AtlastIgotupandstoodunsteadily，gazinginthedirectioninwhichIthoughtthefacehadgone；buttherewasnothingtobeseen——nothingbutthebroadpaths，thetall，darkevergreenhedges，thetossingwaterofthefountainsandthesmoothpoolbelow。IfellbackupontheseatandrecalledthefaceIhadseen。Strangetosay，nowthatthefirstimpressionhadpassed，therewasnothingstartlingintherecollection；onthecontrary，IfeltthatIwasfascinatedbytheface，andwouldgiveanythingtoseeitagain。Icouldretracethebeautifulstraightfeatures，thelongdarkeyes，andthewonderfulmouthmostexactlyinmymind，andwhenIhadreconstructedeverydetailfrommemoryIknewthatthewholewasbeautiful，andthatI
shouldloveawomanwithsuchaface。
“IwonderwhethersheistheWomanoftheWater！“Isaidtomyself。
Thenrisingoncemore，Iwandereddownthegarden，descendingoneshortflightofstepsafteranotherfromterracetoterracebytheedgeofthemarblebasins，throughtheshadowandthroughthemoonlight；andIcrossedthewaterbytherusticbridgeabovetheartificialgrotto，andclimbedslowlyupagaintothehighestterracebytheotherside。Theairseemedsweeter，andIwasverycalm，sothatIthinkIsmiledtomyselfasIwalked，asthoughanewhappinesshadcometome。Thewoman”sfaceseemedalwaysbeforeme，andthethoughtofitgavemeanunwontedthrillofpleasure，unlikeanythingIhadeverfeltbefore。
IturnedasIreachedthehouse，andlookedbackuponthescene。
IthadcertainlychangedintheshorthoursinceIhadcomeout，andmymoodhadchangedwithit。Justlikemyluck，Ithought，tofallinlovewithaghost！ButinoldtimesIwouldhavesighed，andgonetobedmoresadthanever，atsuchamelancholyconclusion。To-nightIfelthappy，almostforthefirsttimeinmylife。ThegloomyoldstudyseemedcheerfulwhenIwentin。Theoldpicturesonthewallssmiledatme，andIsatdowninmydeepchairwithanewanddelightfulsensationthatIwasnotalone。
Theideaofhavingseenaghost，andoffeelingmuchthebetterforit，wassoabsurdthatIlaughedsoftly，asItookuponeofthebooksIhadbroughtwithmeandbegantoread。
Thatimpressiondidnotwearoff。Isleptpeacefully，andinthemorningIthrewopenmywindowstothesummerairandlookeddownatthegarden，atthestretchesofgreenandatthecoloredflower-
beds，atthecirclingswallowsandatthebrightwater。
“Amanmightmakeaparadiseofthisplace，“Iexclaimed。“Amanandawomantogether！“
FromthatdaytheoldCastlenolongerseemedgloomy，andIthinkI
ceasedtobesad；forsometime，too，Ibegantotakeaninterestintheplace，andtotryandmakeitmorealive。IavoidedmyoldWelshnurse，lestsheshoulddampmyhumorwithsomedismalprophecy，andrecallmyoldselfbybringingbackmemoriesofmydismalchildhood。ButwhatIthoughtofmostwastheghostlyfigureIhadseeninthegardenthatfirstnightaftermyarrival。
Iwentouteveryeveningandwanderedthroughthewalksandpaths；
but，tryasImight，Ididnotseemyvisionagain。Atlast，aftermanydays，thememorygrewmorefaint，andmyoldmoodynaturegraduallyovercamethetemporarysenseoflightnessIhadexperienced。Thesummerturnedtoautumn，andIgrewrestless。Itbegantorain。Thedampnesspervadedthegardens，andtheouterhallssmelledmusty，liketombs；thegrayskyoppressedmeintolerably。Ilefttheplaceasitwasandwentabroad，determinedtotryanythingwhichmightpossiblymakeasecondbreakinthemonotonousmelancholyfromwhichIsuffered。
II
Mostpeoplewouldbestruckbytheutterinsignificanceofthesmalleventswhich，afterthedeathofmyparents，influencedmylifeandmademeunhappy。ThegrewsomeforebodingsofaWelshnurse，whichchancedtoberealizedbyanoddcoincidenceofevents，shouldnotseemenoughtochangethenatureofachildandtodirectthebentofhischaracterinafteryears。Thelittledisappointmentsofschoolboylife，andthesomewhatlesschildishonesofanuneventfulandundistinguishedacademiccareer，shouldnothavesufficedtoturnmeoutatone-and-twentyyearsofageamelancholic，listlessidler。Someweaknessofmyowncharactermayhavecontributedtotheresult，butinagreaterdegreeitwasduetomyhavingareputationforbadluck。However，Iwillnottrytoanalyzethecausesofmystate，forIshouldsatisfynobody，leastofallmyself。StilllesswillIattempttoexplainwhyIfeltatemporaryrevivalofmyspiritsaftermyadventureinthegarden。
ItiscertainthatIwasinlovewiththefaceIhadseen，andthatIlongedtoseeitagain；thatIgaveupallhopeofasecondvisitation，grewmoresadthanever，packedupmytraps，andfinallywentabroad。ButinmydreamsIwentbacktomyhome，anditalwaysappearedtomesunnyandbright，asithadlookedonthatsummer”smorningafterIhadseenthewomanbythefountain。
IwenttoParis。Iwentfarther，andwanderedaboutGermany。I
triedtoamusemyself，andIfailedmiserably。Withtheaimlesswhimsofanidleanduselessmancomeallsortsofsuggestionsforgoodresolutions。OnedayImadeupmymindthatIwouldgoandburymyselfinaGermanuniversityforatime，andlivesimplylikeapoorstudent。IstartedwiththeintentionofgoingtoLeipzig，determinedtostaythereuntilsomeeventshoulddirectmylifeorchangemyhumor，ormakeanendofmealtogether。TheexpresstrainstoppedatsomestationofwhichIdidnotknowthename。Itwasduskonawinter”safternoon，andIpeeredthroughthethickglassfrommyseat。Suddenlyanothertraincameglidinginfromtheoppositedirection，andstoppedalongsideofours。Ilookedatthecarriagewhichchancedtobeabreastofmine，andidlyreadtheblackletterspaintedonawhiteboardswingingfromthebrasshandrail：BERLIN——COLOGNE——PARIS。ThenIlookedupatthewindowabove。Istartedviolently，andthecoldperspirationbrokeoutuponmyforehead。Inthedimlight，notsixfeetfromwhereIsat，Isawthefaceofawoman，thefaceIloved，thestraight，finefeatures，thestrangeeyes，thewonderfulmouth，thepaleskin。
Herhead-dresswasadarkveilwhichseemedtobetiedaboutherheadandpassedovertheshouldersunderherchin。AsIthrewdownthewindowandkneltonthecushionedseat，leaningfarouttogetabetterview，alongwhistlescreamedthroughthestation，followedbyaquickseriesofdull，clankingsounds；thentherewasaslightjerk，andmytrainmovedon。Luckilythewindowwasnarrow，beingtheoneovertheseat，besidethedoor，orIbelieveIwouldhavejumpedoutofitthenandthere。Inaninstantthespeedincreased，andIwasbeingcarriedswiftlyawayintheoppositedirectionfromthethingIloved。
ForaquarterofanhourIlaybackinmyplace，stunnedbythesuddennessoftheapparition。Atlastoneofthetwootherpassengers，alargeandgorgeouscaptainoftheWhiteKonigsbergCuirassiers，civillybutfirmlysuggestedthatImightshutmywindow，astheeveningwascold。Ididso，withanapology，andrelapsedintosilence。Thetrainranswiftlyonforalongtime，anditwasalreadybeginningtoslackenspeedbeforeenteringanotherstation，whenIrousedmyselfandmadeasuddenresolution。
Asthecarriagestoppedbeforethebrilliantlylightedplatform，I
seizedmybelongings，salutedmyfellow-passengers，andgotout，determinedtotakethefirstexpressbacktoParis。
Thistimethecircumstancesofthevisionhadbeensonaturalthatitdidnotstrikemethattherewasanythingunrealabouttheface，oraboutthewomantowhomitbelonged。Ididnottrytoexplaintomyselfhowtheface，andthewoman，couldbetravelingbyafasttrainfromBerlintoParisonawinter”safternoon，whenbothwereinmymindindeliblyassociatedwiththemoonlightandthefountainsinmyownEnglishhome。IcertainlywouldnothaveadmittedthatIhadbeenmistakeninthedusk，attributingtowhatIhadseenaresemblancetomyformervisionwhichdidnotreallyexist。Therewasnottheslightestdoubtinmymind，andIwaspositivelysurethatIhadagainseenthefaceIloved。Ididnothesitate，andinafewhoursIwasonmywaybacktoParis。I
couldnothelpreflectingonmyillluck。WanderingasIhadbeenformanymonths，itmightaseasilyhavechancedthatIshouldbetravelinginthesametrainwiththatwoman，insteadofgoingtheotherway。Butmyluckwasdestinedtoturnforatime。
IsearchedParisforseveraldays。Idinedattheprincipalhotels；Iwenttothetheaters；IrodeintheBoisdeBoulogneinthemorning，andpickedupanacquaintance，whomIforcedtodrivewithmeintheafternoon。IwenttomassattheMadeleine，andI
attendedtheservicesattheEnglishChurch。IhungabouttheLouvreandNotreDame。IwenttoVersailles。IspenthoursinparadingtheRuedeRivoli，intheneighborhoodofMeurice”scorner，whereforeignerspassandrepassfrommorningtillnight。
AtlastIreceivedaninvitationtoareceptionattheEnglishEmbassy。Iwent，andIfoundwhatIhadsoughtsolong。
Thereshewas，sittingbyanoldladyingraysatinanddiamonds，whohadawrinkledbutkindlyfaceandkeengrayeyesthatseemedtotakeineverythingtheysaw，withverylittleinclinationtogivemuchinreturn。ButIdidnotnoticethechaperon。Isawonlythefacethathadhauntedmeformonths，andintheexcitementofthemomentIwalkedquicklytowardthepair，forgettingsuchatrifleasthenecessityforanintroduction。
ShewasfarmorebeautifulthanIhadthought，butIneverdoubtedthatitwassheherselfandnoother。Visionornovisionbefore，thiswasthereality，andIknewit。Twiceherhairhadbeencovered，nowatlastIsawit，andtheaddedbeautyofitsmagnificenceglorifiedthewholewoman。Itwasrichhair，fineandabundant，golden，withdeepruddytintsinitlikeredbronzespunfine。Therewasnoornamentinit，notarose，notathreadofgold，andIfeltthatitneedednothingtoenhanceitssplendor；
nothingbutherpaleface，herdarkstrangeeyes，andherheavyeyebrows。Icouldseethatshewasslendertoo，butstrongwithal，asshesattherequietlygazingatthemovingsceneinthemidstofthebrilliantlightsandthehumofperpetualconversation。
Irecollectedthedetailofintroductionintime，andturnedasidetolookformyhost。Ifoundhimatlast。Ibeggedhimtopresentmetothetwoladies，pointingthemouttohimatthesametime。
“Yes——uh——byallmeans——uh，“repliedhisExcellencywithapleasantsmile。Heevidentlyhadnoideaofmyname，whichwasnottobewonderedat。
“IamLordCairngorm，“Iobserved。
“Oh——byallmeans，“answeredtheAmbassadorwiththesamehospitablesmile。“Yes——uh——thefactis，Imusttryandfindoutwhotheyare；suchlotsofpeople，youknow。”
“Oh，ifyouwillpresentme，Iwilltryandfindoutforyou，“saidI，laughing。
“Ah，yes——sokindofyou——comealong，“saidmyhost。Wethreadedthecrowd，andinafewminuteswestoodbeforethetwoladies。
“”LowmintrduceL”dCairngorm，“hesaid；then，addingquicklytome，“Comeanddineto-morrow，won”tyou？“heglidedawaywithhispleasantsmileanddisappearedinthecrowd。
Isatdownbesidethebeautifulgirl，consciousthattheeyesoftheduennawereuponme。
“Ithinkwehavebeenverynearmeetingbefore，“Iremarked，bywayofopeningtheconversation。
Mycompanionturnedhereyesfulluponmewithanairofinquiry。
Sheevidentlydidnotrecallmyface，ifshehadeverseenme。
“Really——Icannotremember，“sheobserved，inalowandmusicalvoice。“When？“
“Inthefirstplace，youcamedownfromBerlinbytheexpresstendaysago。Iwasgoingtheotherway，andourcarriagesstoppedoppositeeachother。Isawyouatthewindow。”
“Yes——wecamethatway，butIdonotremember”Shehesitated。
“Secondly，“Icontinued，“Iwassittingaloneinmygardenlastsummer——neartheendofJuly——doyouremember？Youmusthavewanderedintherethroughthepark；youcameuptothehouseandlookedatme”
“Wasthatyou？“sheasked，inevidentsurprise。Thenshebrokeintoalaugh。“ItoldeverybodyIhadseenaghost；therehadneverbeenanyCairngormsintheplacesincethememoryofman。Weleftthenextday，andneverheardthatyouhadcomethere；indeed，Ididnotknowthecastlebelongedtoyou。”
“Wherewereyoustaying？“Iasked。
“Where？Why，withmyaunt，whereIalwaysstay。Sheisyourneighbor，sinceitISyou。”
“I——begyourpardon——butthen——isyourauntLadyBluebell？Ididnotquitecatch”
“Don”tbeafraid。Sheisamazinglydeaf。Yes。Sheistherelictofmybeloveduncle，thesixteenthorseventeenthBaronBluebell——I
forgetexactlyhowmanyofthemtherehavebeen。AndI——doyouknowwhoIam？“Shelaughed，wellknowingthatIdidnot。
“No，“Iansweredfrankly。“Ihavenottheleastidea。IaskedtobeintroducedbecauseIrecognizedyou。Perhaps——perhapsyouareaMissBluebell？“
“Consideringthatyouareaneighbor，IwilltellyouwhoIam，“
sheanswered。“No；IamofthetribeofBluebells，butmynameisLammas，andIhavebeengiventounderstandthatIwaschristenedMargaret。Beingafloralfamily，theycallmeDaisy。AdreadfulAmericanmanoncetoldmethatmyauntwasaBluebellandthatI
wasaHarebell——withtwol”sandane——becausemyhairissothick。
Iwarnyou，sothatyoumayavoidmakingsuchabadpun。”
“DoIlooklikeamanwhomakespuns？“Iasked，beingveryconsciousofmymelancholyfaceandsadlooks。
MissLammaseyedmecritically。
“No；youhaveamournfultemperament。IthinkIcantrustyou，“
sheanswered。“DoyouthinkyoucouldcommunicatetomyauntthefactthatyouareaCairngormandaneighbor？Iamsureshewouldliketoknow。”
Ileanedtowardtheoldlady，inflatingmylungsforayell。ButMissLammasstoppedme。
“Thatisnotoftheslightestuse，“sheremarked。“Youcanwriteitonabitofpaper。Sheisutterlydeaf。”
“Ihaveapencil，“Ianswered；“butIhavenopaper。Wouldmycuffdo，doyouthink？“
“Oh，yes！“repliedMissLammas，withalacrity；“menoftendothat。”
Iwroteonmycuff：“MissLammaswishesmetoexplainthatIamyourneighbor，Cairngorm。”ThenIheldoutmyarmbeforetheoldlady”snose。Sheseemedperfectlyaccustomedtotheproceeding，putupherglasses，readthewords，smiled，nodded，andaddressedmeintheunearthlyvoicepeculiartopeoplewhohearnothing。
“Iknewyourgrandfatherverywell，“shesaid。Thenshesmiledandnoddedtomeagain，andtoherniece，andrelapsedintosilence。
“Itisallright，“remarkedMissLammas。“AuntBluebellknowssheisdeaf，anddoesnotsaymuch，liketheparrot。Yousee，sheknewyourgrandfather。Howoddthatweshouldbeneighbors！Whyhavewenevermetbefore？“
“Ifyouhadtoldmeyouknewmygrandfatherwhenyouappearedinthegarden，Ishouldnothavebeenintheleastsurprised，“I
answeredratherirrelevantly。“Ireallythoughtyouweretheghostoftheoldfountain。Howintheworlddidyoucomethereatthathour？“
“Wewerealargepartyandwewentoutforawalk。Thenwethoughtweshouldliketoseewhatyourparkwaslikeinthemoonlight，andsowetrespassed。Igotseparatedfromtherest，andcameuponyoubyaccident，justasIwasadmiringtheextremelyghostlylookofyourhouse，andwonderingwhetheranybodywouldevercomeandlivethereagain。ItlookslikethecastleofMacbeth，orascenefromtheopera。Doyouknowanybodyhere？“
“Hardlyasoul！Doyou？“
“No。AuntBluebellsaiditwasourdutytocome。Itiseasyforhertogoout；shedoesnotbeartheburdenoftheconversation。”
“Iamsorryyoufinditaburden，“saidI。“ShallIgoaway？“
MissLammaslookedatmewithasuddengravityinherbeautifuleyes，andtherewasasortofhesitationaboutthelinesofherfull，softmouth。
“No，“shesaidatlast，quitesimply，“don”tgoaway。Wemaylikeeachother，ifyoustayalittlelonger——andweoughtto，becauseweareneighborsinthecountry。”
IsupposeIoughttohavethoughtMissLammasaveryoddgirl。
Thereis，indeed，asortoffreemasonrybetweenpeoplewhodiscoverthattheyliveneareachotherandthattheyoughttohaveknowneachotherbefore。Buttherewasasortofunexpectedfranknessandsimplicityinthegirl”samusingmannerwhichwouldhavestruckanyoneelseasbeingsingular，tosaytheleastofit。Tome，however，itallseemednaturalenough。IhaddreamedofherfacetoolongnottobeutterlyhappywhenImetheratlastandcouldtalktoherasmuchasIpleased。Tome，themanofillluckineverything，thewholemeetingseemedtoogoodtobetrue。IfeltagainthatstrangesensationoflightnesswhichIhadexperiencedafterIhadseenherfaceinthegarden。Thegreatroomsseemedbrighter，lifeseemedworthliving；mysluggish，melancholybloodranfaster，andfilledmewithanewsenseofstrength。IsaidtomyselfthatwithoutthiswomanIwasbutanimperfectbeing，butthatwithherIcouldaccomplisheverythingtowhichIshouldsetmyhand。LikethegreatDoctor，whenhethoughthehadcheatedMephistophelesatlast，Icouldhavecriedaloudtothefleetingmoment，Verweiledoch，dubistsoschon！
“Areyoualwaysgay？“Iasked，suddenly。“Howhappyyoumustbe！“
“ThedayswouldsometimesseemverylongifIweregloomy，“sheanswered，thoughtfully。“Yes，IthinkIfindlifeverypleasant，andItellitso。”
“Howcanyou”telllife”anything？“Iinquired。“IfIcouldcatchmylifeandtalktoit，Iwouldabuseitprodigiously，Iassureyou。”
“Idaresay。Youhaveamelancholytemper。Yououghttoliveout-
of-doors，digpotatoes，makehay，shoot，hunt，tumbleintoditches，andcomehomemuddyandhungryfordinner。Itwouldbemuchbetterforyouthanmopinginyourrooktowerandhatingeverything。”
“Itisratherlonelydownthere，“Imurmured，apologetically，feelingthatMissLammaswasquiteright。
“Thenmarry，andquarrelwithyourwife，“shelaughed。“Anythingisbetterthanbeingalone。”
“Iamaverypeaceableperson。Ineverquarrelwithanybody。Youcantryit。Youwillfinditquiteimpossible。”
“Willyouletmetry？“sheasked，stillsmiling。
“Byallmeans——especiallyifitistobeonlyapreliminarycanter，“Ianswered，rashly。
“Whatdoyoumean？“sheinquired，turningquicklyuponme。
“Oh——nothing。Youmighttrymypaceswithaviewtoquarrelinginthefuture。Icannotimaginehowyouaregoingtodoit。Youwillhavetoresorttoimmediateanddirectabuse。”
“No。Iwillonlysaythatifyoudonotlikeyourlife，itisyourownfault。Howcanamanofyouragetalkofbeingmelancholy，orofthehollownessofexistence？Areyouconsumptive？Areyousubjecttohereditaryinsanity？Areyoudeaf，likeAuntBluebell？
Areyoupoor，like——lotsofpeople？Haveyoubeencrossedinlove？
Haveyoulosttheworldforawoman，oranyparticularwomanforthesakeoftheworld？Areyoufeeble-minded，acripple，anoutcast？Areyou——repulsivelyugly？“Shelaughedagain。“Isthereanyreasonintheworldwhyyoushouldnotenjoyallyouhavegotinlife？“
“No。Thereisnoreasonwhatever，exceptthatIamdreadfullyunlucky，especiallyinsmallthings。”
“Thentrybigthings，justforachange，“suggestedMissLammas。
“Tryandgetmarried，forinstance，andseehowitturnsout。”
“Ifitturnedoutbadlyitwouldberatherserious。”
“Nothalfsoseriousasitistoabuseeverythingunreasonably。Ifabuseisyourparticulartalent，abusesomethingthatoughttobeabused。AbusetheConservatives——ortheLiberals——itdoesnotmatterwhich，sincetheyarealwaysabusingeachother。Makeyourselffeltbyotherpeople。Youwilllikeit，iftheydon”t。
Itwillmakeamanofyou。Fillyourmouthwithpebbles，andhowlatthesea，ifyoucannotdoanythingelse。ItdidDemosthenesnoendofgood，youknow。Youwillhavethesatisfactionofimitatingagreatman。”
“Really，MissLammas，Ithinkthelistofinnocentexercisesyoupropose”
“Verywell——ifyoudon”tcareforthatsortofthing，careforsomeothersortofthing。Careforsomething，orhatesomething。Don”tbeidle。Lifeisshort，andthoughartmaybelong，plentyofnoiseanswersnearlyaswell。”
“Idocareforsomething——Imean，somebody，“Isaid。
“Awoman？Thenmarryher。Don”thesitate。”
“Idonotknowwhethershewouldmarryme，“Ireplied。“Ihaveneveraskedher。”
“Thenaskheratonce，“answeredMissLammas。“IshalldiehappyifIfeelIhavepersuadedamelancholyfellowcreaturetorousehimselftoaction。Askher，byallmeans，andseewhatshesays。
Ifshedoesnotacceptyouatonce，shemaytakeyouthenexttime。
Meanwhile，youwillhaveenteredfortherace。Ifyoulose，therearethe”All-agedTrialStakes”andthe”ConsolationRace。”“
“Andplentyofsellingracesintothebargain。ShallItakeyouatyourword，MissLammas？“
“Ihopeyouwill，“sheanswered。
“Sinceyouyourselfadviseme，Iwill。MissLammas，willyoudomethehonortomarryme？“
Forthefirsttimeinmylifethebloodrushedtomyheadandmysightswam。IcannottellwhyIsaidit。Itwouldbeuselesstotrytoexplaintheextraordinaryfascinationthegirlexercisedoverme，orthestillmoreextraordinaryfeelingofintimacywithherwhichhadgrowninmeduringthathalfhour。Lonely，sad，unluckyasIhadbeenallmylife，Iwascertainlynottimid，norevenshy。Buttoproposetomarryawomanafterhalfanhour”sacquaintancewasapieceofmadnessofwhichIneverbelievedmyselfcapable，andofwhichIshouldneverbecapableagain，couldIbeplacedinthesamesituation。Itwasasthoughmywholebeinghadbeenchangedinamomentbymagic——bythewhitemagicofhernaturebroughtintocontactwithmine。Thebloodsankbacktomyheart，andamomentlaterIfoundmyselfstaringatherwithanxiouseyes。Tomyamazementshewasascalmasever，butherbeautifulmouthsmiled，andtherewasamischievouslightinherdark-browneyes。
“Fairlycaught，“sheanswered。“Foranindividualwhopretendstobelistlessandsadyouarenotlackinginhumor。Ihadreallynottheleastideawhatyouweregoingtosay。Wouldn”titbesingularlyawkwardforyouifIhadsaid”Yes”？Ineversawanybodybegintopracticesosharplywhatwaspreachedtohim——withsoverylittlelossoftime！“
“Youprobablynevermetamanwhohaddreamedofyouforsevenmonthsbeforebeingintroduced。”
“No，Ineverdid，“sheansweredgayly。“Itsmacksoftheromantic。
Perhapsyouarearomanticcharacter，afterall。IshouldthinkyouwereifIbelievedyou。Verywell；youhavetakenmyadvice，enteredforaStranger”sRaceandlostit。TrytheAll-agedTrialStakes。Youhaveanothercuff，andapencil。ProposetoAuntBluebell；shewoulddancewithastonishment，andshemightrecoverherhearing。”
III
ThatwashowIfirstaskedMargaretLammastobemywife，andI
willagreewithanyonewhosaysIbehavedveryfoolishly。ButI
havenotrepentedofit，andInevershall。IhavelongagounderstoodthatIwasoutofmymindthatevening，butIthinkmytemporaryinsanityonthatoccasionhashadtheeffectofmakingmeasanermaneversince。Hermannerturnedmyhead，foritwassodifferentfromwhatIhadexpected。Tohearthislovelycreature，who，inmyimagination，wasaheroineofromance，ifnotoftragedy，talkingfamiliarlyandlaughingreadilywasmorethanmyequanimitycouldbear，andIlostmyheadaswellasmyheart。ButwhenIwentbacktoEnglandinthespring，IwenttomakecertainarrangementsattheCastle——certainchangesandimprovementswhichwouldbeabsolutelynecessary。IhadwontheraceforwhichIhadenteredmyselfsorashly，andweweretobemarriedinJune。
WhetherthechangewasduetotheordersIhadleftwiththegardenerandtherestoftheservants，ortomyownstateofmind，Icannottell。Atallevents，theoldplacedidnotlookthesametomewhenIopenedmywindowonthemorningaftermyarrival。
Therewerethegraywallsbelowmeandthegrayturretsflankingthehugebuilding；therewerethefountains，themarblecauseways，thesmoothbasins，thetallboxhedges，thewaterliliesandtheswans，justasofold。Buttherewassomethingelsethere，too——
somethingintheair，inthewater，andinthegreennessthatIdidnotrecognize——alightovereverythingbywhicheverythingwastransfigured。Theclockinthetowerstruckseven，andthestrokesoftheancientbellsoundedlikeaweddingchime。Theairsangwiththethrillingtrebleofthesong-birds，withthesilverymusicoftheplashingwaterandthesofterharmonyoftheleavesstirredbythefreshmorningwind。Therewasasmellofnew-mownhayfromthedistantmeadows，andofbloomingrosesfromthebedsbelow，wafteduptogethertomywindow。Istoodinthepuresunshineanddranktheairandallthesoundsandtheodorsthatwereinit；andIlookeddownatmygardenandsaid：“ItisParadise，afterall。”
Ithinkthemenofoldwererightwhentheycalledheavenagarden，andEdenagardeninhabitedbyonemanandonewoman，theEarthlyParadise。
Iturnedaway，wonderingwhathadbecomeofthegloomymemoriesI
hadalwaysassociatedwithmyhome。Itriedtorecalltheimpressionofmynurse”shorribleprophecybeforethedeathofmyparents——animpressionwhichhithertohadbeenvividenough。I
triedtoremembermyoldself，mydejection，mylistlessness，mybadluck，mypettydisappointments。IendeavoredtoforcemyselftothinkasIusedtothink，ifonlytosatisfymyselfthatIhadnotlostmyindividuality。ButIsucceededinnoneoftheseefforts。Iwasadifferentman，achangedbeing，incapableofsorrow，ofillluck，orofsadness。Mylifehadbeenadream，notevil，butinfinitelygloomyandhopeless。Itwasnowareality，fullofhope，gladness，andallmannerofgood。Myhomehadbeenlikeatomb；to-dayitwasParadise。Myhearthadbeenasthoughithadnotexisted；to-dayitbeatwithstrengthandyouthandthecertaintyofrealizedhappiness。Ireveledinthebeautyoftheworld，andcalledlovelinessoutofthefuturetoenjoyitbeforetimeshouldbringittome，asatravelerintheplainslooksuptothemountains，andalreadytastesthecoolairthroughthedustoftheroad。
Here，Ithought，wewillliveandliveforyears。Therewewillsitbythefountaintowardeveningandinthedeepmoonlight。Downthosepathswewillwandertogether。Onthosebencheswewillrestandtalk。Amongthoseeasternhillswewillridethroughthesofttwilight，andintheoldhousewewilltelltalesonwinternights，whenthelogsburnhigh，andthehollyberriesarered，andtheoldclocktollsoutthedyingyear。Ontheseoldsteps，inthesedarkpassagesandstatelyrooms，therewillonedaybethesoundoflittlepatteringfeet，andlaughingchildvoiceswillringuptothevaultsoftheancienthall。Thosetinyfootstepsshallnotbeslowandsadasminewere，norshallthechildishwordsbespokeninanawedwhisper。NogloomyWelshwomanshallpeopletheduskycornerswithweirdhorrors，norutterhorridpropheciesofdeathandghastlythings。Allshallbeyoung，andfresh，andjoyful，andhappy，andwewillturntheoldluckagain，andforgetthattherewaseveranysadness。
SoIthought，asIlookedoutofmywindowthatmorningandformanymorningsafterthat，andeverydayitallseemedmorerealthaneverbefore，andmuchnearer。Buttheoldnurselookedatmeaskance，andmutteredoddsayingsabouttheWomanoftheWater。I
caredlittlewhatshesaid，forIwasfartoohappy。
Atlastthetimecamenearforthewedding。LadyBluebellandallthetribeofBluebells，asMargaretcalledthem，wereatBluebellGrange，forwehaddeterminedtobemarriedinthecountry，andtocomestraighttotheCastleafterwards。Wecaredlittlefortraveling，andnotatallforacrowdedceremonyatSt。George”sinHanoverSquare，withallthetiresomeformalitiesafterwards。I
usedtorideovertotheGrangeeveryday，andveryoftenMargaretwouldcomewithherauntandsomeofhercousinstotheCastle。I
wassuspiciousofmyowntaste，andwasonlytoogladtoletherhaveherwayaboutthealterationsandimprovementsinourhome。
WeweretobemarriedonthethirtiethofJuly，andontheeveningofthetwenty-eighthMargaretdroveoverwithsomeoftheBluebellparty。Inthelongsummertwilightweallwentoutintothegarden。Naturallyenough，MargaretandIwerelefttoourselves，andwewandereddownbythemarblebasins。
“Itisanoddcoincidence，“Isaid；“itwasonthisverynightlastyearthatIfirstsawyou。”
“ConsideringthatitisthemonthofJuly，“answeredMargaretwithalaugh，“andthatwehavebeenherealmosteveryday，Idon”tthinkthecoincidenceissoextraordinary，afterall。”
“No，dear，“saidI，“Isupposenot。Idon”tknowwhyitstruckme。
Weshallverylikelybehereayearfromtoday，andayearfromthat。Theoddthing，whenIthinkofit，isthatyoushouldbehereatall。Butmyluckhasturned。IoughtnottothinkanythingoddthathappensnowthatIhaveyou。Itisallsuretobegood。”
“AslightchangeinyourideassincethatremarkableperformanceofyoursinParis，“saidMargaret。“Doyouknow，IthoughtyouwerethemostextraordinarymanIhadevermet。”
“IthoughtyouwerethemostcharmingwomanIhadeverseen。I
naturallydidnotwanttoloseanytimeinfrivolities。Itookyouatyourword，Ifollowedyouradvice，Iaskedyoutomarryme，andthisisthedelightfulresult——what”sthematter？“
Margarethadstartedsuddenly，andherhandtightenedonmyarm。
Anoldwomanwascomingupthepath，andwasclosetousbeforewesawher，forthemoonhadrisen，andwasshiningfullinourfaces。
Thewomanturnedouttobemyoldnurse。
“It”sonlyJudith，dear——don”tbefrightened，“Isaid。ThenI
spoketotheWelshwoman：“Whatareyouabout，Judith？HaveyoubeenfeedingtheWomanoftheWater？“
“Aye——whentheclockstrikes，Willie——myLord，Imean，“mutteredtheoldcreature，drawingasidetoletuspass，andfixingherstrangeeyesonMargaret”sface。
“Whatdoesshemean？“askedMargaret，whenwehadgoneby。
“Nothing，darling。Theoldthingismildlycrazy，butsheisagoodsoul。”
Wewentoninsilenceforafewmoments，andcametotherusticbridgejustabovetheartificialgrottothroughwhichthewaterranoutintothepark，darkandswiftinitsnarrowchannel。Westopped，andleanedonthewoodenrail。Themoonwasnowbehindus，andshonefulluponthelongvistaofbasinsandonthehugewallsandtowersoftheCastleabove。
“Howproudyououghttobeofsuchagrandoldplace！“saidMargaret，softly。
“Itisyoursnow，darling，“Ianswered。“YouhaveasgoodarighttoloveitasI——butIonlyloveitbecauseyouaretoliveinit，dear。”
Herhandstoleoutandlayonmine，andwewerebothsilent。Justthentheclockbegantostrikefaroffinthetower。Icounted——
eight——nine——ten——eleven——Ilookedatmywatch——twelve——thirteen——I
laughed。Thebellwentonstriking。
“Theoldclockhasgonecrazy，likeJudith，“Iexclaimed。Stillitwenton，noteafternoteringingoutmonotonouslythroughthestillair。Weleanedovertherail，instinctivelylookinginthedirectionwhencethesoundcame。Onandonitwent。Icountednearlyahundred，outofsheercuriosity，forIunderstoodthatsomethinghadbrokenandthatthethingwasrunningitselfdown。
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