ess of
delight in this taste of fruition--such, perhaps, as many a human being
passes through life without ever knowing. The poor English teacher in
the frosty garret, reading by a dim candle guttering in the wintry air,
a letter simply good-natured--nothing more; though that good-nature
then seemed to me godlike--was happier than most queens in palaces.

Of course, happiness of such shallow origin could be but brief; yet,
while it lasted it was genuine and exquisite: a bubble--but a sweet
bubble--of real honey-dew. Dr. John had written to me at length; he had
written to me with pleasure; he had written with benignant mood,
dwelling with sunny satisfaction on scenes that had passed before his
eyes and mine,--on places we had visited together--on conversations we
had held--on all the little subject-matter, in short, of the last few
halcyon weeks. But the cordial core of the delight was, a conviction
the blithe, genial language generously imparted, that it had been
poured out not merely to content _me_--but to gratify _himself_. A
gratification he might never more desire, never more seek--an
hypothesis in every point of view approaching the certain; but _that_
concerned the future. This present moment had no pain, no blot, no
want; full, pure, perfect, it deeply blessed me. A passing seraph
seemed to have rested beside me, leaned towards my heart, and reposed
on its throb a softening, cooling, healing, hallowing wing. Dr. John,
you pained me afterwards: forgiven be every ill--freely forgiven--for
the sake of that one dear remembered good!

Are there wicked things, not human, which envy human bliss? Are there
evil influences haunting the air, and poisoning it for man? What was
near me?

Something in that vast solitary garret sounded strangely. Most surely
and certainly I heard, as it seemed, a stealthy foot on that floor: a
sort of gliding out from the direction of the black recess haunted by
the malefactor cloaks. I turned: my light was dim; the room was
long--but as I live! I saw in the middle of that ghostly chamber a
figure all black and white; the skirts straight, narrow, black; the
head bandaged, veiled, white.

Say what you will, reader--tell me I was nervous or mad; affirm that I
was unsettled by the excitement of that letter; declare that I dreamed;
this I vow--I saw there--in that room--on that night--an image like--a
NUN.

I cried out; I sickened. Had the shape approached me I might have
swooned. It reced