ble gentleness, softly as if wafted from
the angelic chorus came the rich, low notes from the forest, like the
humming of bees, the sighing of hemlocks, or that sweet, strange sound
we ever hear in the ocean shell. The voices came nearer and I could hear
the wild, free words long before the singers were in the court.

"We are coming from the forest,
All laden with flowers,
With bright, crimson flowers
All sparkling with dew."

Then from the river rose the song:

"We come from the water
With bright, polished pebbles,
With white, glittering pebbles,
Our love-gift to you."

The singing now was in the very garden, but I could not see the singers,
though I knew that they were there, for the strange creature-image
whirled about the court, laughing and nodding on every side, while the
music grew each moment louder and wilder, when suddenly all was still,
and the image pausing in the middle of the court began with many odd
gestures this weird song:

"What am I? Who am I? Where did I come from?
What, who and where--well, no human knows;
Ye though my loved ones know what to answer,
My pale face ye follow wherever it goes.
My home's in the forest, my home's in the city,
Wherever the terror of loneliness lies,
And woe be to him who when out in the moonlight
Catches the glance of my soul-piercing eyes.
By day I am stone
By night I have breath,
And those whom I meet, know the sister of Death."

"Curse you!" I shrieked, leaning from the window, and all was gone; the
statue was in its niche again, the Maria Virgo Sancta. I staggered back
from the window and was received almost breathless from excitement in
the arms of Brother Andreas who entered the room just then.

"My child, you should not sit by an open window; I fear that you have
done yourself an injury already." He laid me down on the bed and when I
awoke he was gone, and now I am writing off this scrap of a letter for
you my dear friend. How I long to see you, and oh, why can I not have
you here! Would to God that I had not met the woman on the bridge. My
friend, my Jose, I dare not tell you what I fear; those eyes were upon
me, those fatal eyes. No, no I will not keep it from you, I will tell
you all and leave you the terrible duty of telling Benicia.

My dear boy, I am growing colder each moment; my hand trembles as I
write this,