Thy wits are weak, thy thoughts are green,
Time hath not given thee leave as yet,
For to commit so great a sin."

"Margery!" called Patricia softly.

The woman came towards them with a peculiar gliding step, swift and
stealthy. Within a pace or two of them she stopped, and asked, "Who
called me?" in a voice that seemed to come from far away. She was not
old, and might once have been beautiful.

"I called you, Margery," said Patricia gently. "Sit down beside us, and
tell us what you have been doing."

The woman came and sat herself down at Patricia's feet. She carried a
stick, or light pole, wound with thick strings of wild hops, which she
laid on the ground. Taking one of the wreaths from around it, she
dropped the pale green mass into Patricia's lap.

"Take it," she said. "They are flowers I gathered in Paradise, long ago.
They wither in this air; but if you fan them with your sighs, and water
them with your tears, they will revive.... Paradise is a long way from
here. I have been seeking the road all day; but I have not found it yet.
I think it must lie near Bristol Town, Bristol Town, Bristol Town."

Her voice died away in a long sigh, and she sat plucking at the fragrant
blooms.

Patricia said softly, "She talks much of Bristol Town, and she is always
seeking the road to Paradise. I think that once some one must have said
to her, 'We will meet in Paradise.'"

"I know little of Paradise, Margery," said Sir Charles, good-naturedly;
"but Bristol Town is many leagues from here, across the great ocean."

"Yes, I know. It lieth in the rising of the sun. I have never seen it
except in my dreams. But it is a beautiful place--not like this world of
trees. The church bells are ever ringing there, ... and the children
sing in the streets. It is all fair, and smiling and beautiful, all but
one spot, one black, black, black spot. I will tell you." She sunk her
voice to a whisper and looked fearfully around. "The mouth of the Pit is
there, the Bottomless Pit that the Preacher tells about. It is a small
room, dark, dark, ... and there is a heavy smell in the air, ... and
there are fiends with black cloth over their faces. They hold a draught
of hell to your mouth, and they make you drink it; ... it burns, burns.
And then you go down, down, down, into everlasting blackness." She broke
off, and shuddered violently, then burst into eldritch laughter.

"Shall I tell you what I