should reveal its existence to us by means of
sounds and sights, I should still have to say that I am unable to
comprehend why that mysterious realm, and its denizens, should stand in
such a relation to us that they bring merely paralyzing fear and horror
upon us."

"Perhaps," Dagobert said, "it is the punishment inflicted on us by that
mother from whose care and discipline we have run away. I mean, that in
that golden age when our race was living in the most perfect union with
all nature, no dread or terror disturbed us, for the simple reason that
in the profound peace and perfect harmony of all created things, there
was nothing hostile that could cause us any such emotion. I was
mentioning strange spirit-sounds; but why is it that all the real
_nature_-tones--of whose origin and causes we can give the most
complete account--sound to us like the most piercing sorrow, and fill
our hearts with the profoundest dread? The most remarkable of those
nature-tones is the air-music, or, as it is called, the 'devil-voice,'
heard in Ceylon and the neighbouring countries, spoken of by Schubert
in his 'Glances at the Night-side of Natural Science.' This nature-tone
is heard on calm and bright nights, sounding like the wail of some
human creature lamenting in the deepest distress. It seems to come
sometimes from the most remote distance, and then again to be quite
close at hand. It affects the human intelligence so powerfully that the
most self-controlled cannot help feeling the deepest terror when they
hear it."

"Yes," said Moritz, "it is so. I have never been in Ceylon, certainly,
or in any of the neighbouring countries; but I have heard that terrible
nature-sound; and not only I, but every one else who heard it, felt
just that precise effect which Dagobert alludes to."

"I should be extremely obliged to you," said Dagobert, "and you would
probably convince Madame von G. also, if you would not mind telling us
what happened."

"You know," Moritz said, "that I served the campaign in Spain under
Wellington, with a mixed force of English and Spanish cavalry against
the French. The night before the battle of Vittoria I was bivouacking
in the open country. Being wearied to death by the long march we had
made during the day, I had fallen into a deep sleep of exhaustion, when
I was awakened by a piercing cry of distress. I naturally thought--and
it was the only idea that came into my mind--that what I heard was the
death-cry of some