middle they danced, hand in hand, his face full
of tenderness, hers beaming with joy, right and
left bowing and curtseying, parted and meeting
again, smiling and whispering; but over
the heads of smaller women there were the
fierce eyes of the magnificent beauty scowling
at them. Then again the crowd shifted around
me, and this scene was lost.

For some time I could see no trace of the
golden-haired girl in any of the rooms. I
looked for her in vain, till at last I caught a
glimpse of her standing smiling in a doorway
with her finger lifted, beckoning. At whom?
Could it be at me? Her eyes were fixed on
mine. I hastened into the hall, and caught
sight of her white dress passing up the wide
black staircase from which I had shrunk some
hours earlier. I followed her, she keeping some
steps in advance. It was intensely dark, but
by the gleaming of her gown I was able to
trace her flying figure. Where we went, I
knew not, up how many stairs, down how many
passages, till we arrived at a low-roofed large
room with sloping roof and queer windows
where there was a dim light, like the sanctuary
light in a deserted church. Here, when I
entered, the golden head was glimmering over
something which I presently discerned to be a
cradle wrapped round with white curtains, and
with a few fresh flowers fastened up on the
hood of it, as if to catch a baby's eye. The
fair sweet face looked up at me with a glow of
pride on it, smiling with happy dimples. The
white hands unfolded the curtains, and stripped
back the coverlet. Then, suddenly there went
a rushing moan all round the weird room,
that seemed like a gust of wind forcing in through
the crannies, and shaking the jingling old
windows in their sockets. The cradle was an
empty one. The girl fell back with a look of
horror on her pale face that I shall never forget,
then flinging her arms above her head, she
dashed from the room.

I followed her as fast as I was able, but the
wild white figure was too swift for me. I had
lost her before I reached the bottom of the
staircase. I searched for her, first in one room,
then in another, neither could I see her foe (as
I already believed to be), the lady of the silver
train. At length I found myself in a small
ante-room, where a lamp was expiring on the
table. A window was open, close by it the
golden-haired girl was lying sobbing in a chair,
while the magnificent lady was bending over
her as if soothingly, and offering her something
to drink in a goblet. The moon was rising
behind the two figures. The shuddering light
of the lamp was flickering over the girl's bright
head, the rich embossing of the golden cup, the
lady's silver robes, and, I thought, the jewelled
eyes of the serpent looked out from her bending
head. As I watched, the girl raised her face
and drank, then suddenly dashed the goblet
away; while a cry such as I never heard but
once, and shiver to remember, rose to the very
roof of the old house, and the clear sharp word
"Poisoned !" rang and reverberated from hall
and chamber in a thousand echoes, like the
clash of a peal of bells. The girl dashed herself
from the open window, leaving the cry
clamouring behind her. I heard the violent opening
of doors and running of feet, but I waited
for nothing more. Maddened by what I had
witnessed, I would have felled the murderess,
but she glided unhurt from under my vain blow.
I sprang from the window after the wretched
white figure. I saw it flying on before me with
a speed I could not overtake. I ran till I was
dizzy. I called like a madman, and heard the
owls croaking back to me. The moon grew
huge and bright, the trees grew out before it
like the bushy heads of giants, the river lay
keen and shining like a long unsheathed sword,
couching for deadly work among the rushes.
The white figure shimmered and vanished,
glittered brightly on before me, shimmered and
vanished again, shimmered, staggered, fell, and
disappeared in the river. Of what she was,
phantom or reality, I thought not at the moment:
she had the semblance of a human being
going to destruction, and I had the frenzied
impulse to save her. I rushed forward with
one last effort, struck my foot against the root
of a tree, and was dashed to the ground. I
remember a crash, momentary pain and
confusion; then nothing more.

When my senses returned, the red clouds of
the dawn were shining in the river beside me.
I arose to my feet, and found that, though much
bruised, I was otherwise unhurt. I busied my
mind in recalling the strange circumstances
which had brought me to that place in the dead
of the night. The recollection of all I had
witnessed was vividly present to my mind. I took
my way slowly to the house, almost expecting
to see the marks of wheels and other indications
of last night's revel, but the rank grass that
covered the gravel was uncrushed, not a blade
disturbed, not a stone displaced. I shook one
of the drawing-room windows till I shook off
the old rusty hasp inside, flung up the creaking
sash, and entered. Where were the brilliant
draperies and carpets, the soft gilding, the vases
teeming with flowers, the thousand sweet odours
of the night before? Not a trace of them; no,
nor even a ragged cobweb swept away, nor a
stiff chair moved an inch from its melancholy
place, nor the face of a mirror relieved from one
speck of its obscuring dust!

Coming back into the open air, I met the old
man from the gate walking up one of the weedy
paths. He eyed me meaningly from head to
foot, but I gave him good morrow cheerfully.

"You see I am poking about early," I said.

"I' faith, sir," said he, " an' ye look like a
man that had been pokin' about all night."

"How so?" said I.

"Why, ye see, sir," said he, " I'm used to 't,
an' I can read it in yer face like prent. Some
sees one thing an' some another, an' some only
feels an' hears. The poor jintleman inside, he
says nothin', but he has beautyful dhrames.
An' for the Lord's sake, sir, take him out o'
this, for I've seen him wandherin' about like a