erceived this change, and, fearful that
they had taken offence, as soon as they had retired demanded of his
wife whether any harsh expression had escaped her lips during the day.
She replied that she had uttered nothing to give the least offence.
The hunter tried to compose himself to sleep, but he felt restive and
uneasy, for he could hear the sighs and lamentations of the two
strangers. Every moment added to his conviction that his guests had
taken some deep offence; and, as he could not banish this idea from
his mind, he arose, and, going to the strangers, thus addressed them--

"Tell me, ye women, what is it that causes you pain of mind, and makes
you utter these unceasing sighs? Has my wife given you any cause of
offence during the day while I was absent in the chase? My fears
persuade me that, in some unguarded moment, she has forgotten what is
due to the rights of hospitality, and used expressions ill-befitting
the mysterious character you sustain. Tell me, ye strangers from a
strange country, ye women who appear not to be of this world, what it
is that causes you pain of mind, and makes you utter these unceasing
sighs."

They replied that no unkind expression had ever been used towards them
during their residence in the lodge, that they had received all the
affectionate attention they could reasonably expect.

"It is not for ourselves," they continued, "it is not for ourselves
that we weep. We are weeping for the fate of mankind; we are weeping
for the fate of mortals whom Death awaits at every stage of their
existence. Proud mortals, whom disease attacks in youth and in age.
Vain men, whom hunger pinches, cold benumbs, and poverty emaciates.
Weak beings, who are born in tears, who are nurtured in tears, and
whose whole course is marked upon the thirsty sands of life in a broad
line of tears. It is for these we weep.

"You have spoken truly, brother; we are not of this world. We are
spirits from the land of the dead, sent upon the earth to try the
sincerity of the living. It is not for the dead but for the living
that we mourn. It was by no means necessary that your wife should
express her thoughts to us. We knew them as soon as they were formed.
We saw that for once displeasure had arisen in her heart. It is
enough. Our mission is ended. We came but to try you, and we knew
before we came that you were a kind husband, an affectionate father,
and a good friend. Still, you have the weaknesses of a mortal, and