tiful is Vissarion. It stands at the ultimate
point of the promontory--I mean the little, or, rather, lesser
promontory--that continues on the spur of the mountain range. For
the lesser promontory or extension of the mountain is in reality
vast; the lowest bit of cliff along the sea-front is not less than a
couple of hundred feet high. That point of rock is really very
peculiar. I think Dame Nature must, in the early days of her
housekeeping--or, rather, house-_building_--have intended to give her
little child, man, a rudimentary lesson in self-protection. It is
just a natural bastion such as a titanic Vauban might have designed
in primeval times. So far as the Castle is concerned, it is alone
visible from the sea. Any enemy approaching could see only that
frowning wall of black rock, of vast height and perpendicular
steepness. Even the old fortifications which crown it are not built,
but cut in the solid rock. A long narrow creek of very deep water,
walled in by high, steep cliffs, runs in behind the Castle, bending
north and west, making safe and secret anchorage. Into the creek
falls over a precipice a mountain-stream, which never fails in volume
of water. On the western shore of that creek is the Castle, a huge
pile of buildings of every style of architecture, from the Twelfth
century to where such things seemed to stop in this dear old-world
land--about the time of Queen Elizabeth. So it is pretty
picturesque. I can tell you. When we got the first glimpse of the
place from the steamer the officer, with whom I was on the bridge,
pointed towards it and said:

"That is where we saw the dead woman floating in a coffin." That was
rather interesting, so I asked him all about it. He took from his
pocket-book a cutting from an Italian paper, which he handed to me.
As I can read and speak Italian fairly well, it was all right; but as
you, my dear Aunt Janet, are not skilled in languages, and as I doubt
if there is any assistance of the kind to be had at Croom, I do not
send it. But as I have heard that the item has been produced in the
last number of _The Journal of Occultism_, you will be easily able to
get it. As he handed me the cutting he said: "I am Destilia!" His
story was so strange that I asked him a good many questions about it.
He answered me quite frankly on