F。MARIONCRAWFORD1854-
　　BytheWatersofParadiseMARYE。WILKINSFREEMAN1862-
　　TheShadowsontheWallMELVILLED。POST1871-
　　TheCorpusDelictiAMBROSEBIERCE1842-
　　AnHeiressfromRedhorseTheManandtheSnakeEDGARALLANPOE1809-49
　　TheOblongBoxTheGold-BugWASHINGTONIRVING1783-1859
　　WolfertWebber，orGoldenDreamsAdventureoftheBlackFishermanCHARLESBROCKDENBROWN1771-1810
　　Wieland”sMadnessFITZJAMESO”BRIEN1828-1862
　　TheGoldenIngotMyWife”sTempterNATHANIELHAWTHORNE1804-1864
　　TheMinister”sBlackVeilANONYMOUS
　　Horror：ATrueTaleTHEMOSTINTERESTINGSTORIESOFALLNATIONS
　　EditedbyJulianHawthorneAMERICAN
　　TableofContentsINTRODUCTIONBYJULIANHAWTHORNE
　　“RiddleStories“
　　F。MARIONCRAWFORD1854-
　　BytheWatersofParadiseMARYE。WILKINSFREEMAN1862-
　　TheShadowsontheWallMELVILLED。POST1871-
　　TheCorpusDelictiAMBROSEBIERCE1842-
　　AnHeiressfromRedhorseTheManandtheSnakeEDGARALLANPOE1809-49
　　TheOblongBoxTheGold-BugWASHINGTONIRVING1783-1859
　　WolfertWebber，orGoldenDreamsAdventureoftheBlackFishermanCHARLESBROCKDENBROWN1771-1810
　　Wieland”sMadnessFITZJAMESO”BRIEN1828-1862
　　TheGoldenIngotMyWife”sTempterNATHANIELHAWTHORNE1804-1864
　　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。Themanorwomanwhocandoitcanalsowriteagoodplayaccordingtomodernideasofplays，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。