; yet when next day and
the day after the invisible singer was in the orchard again, I could not
be satisfied with such mere matter-of-fact explanation.

_"A la claire fontaine,"_

went the voice to and fro through the thick orchard boughs,

_"M'en allant promener,
J'ai trouve l'eau si belle
Que je m'y suis baigne,
Lui y a longtemps que je t'aime,
Jamais je ne t'oubliai."_

It was certainly uncanny to hear that voice going to and fro the
orchard, there somewhere amid the bright sun-dazzled boughs--yet not a
human creature to be seen--not another house even within half a mile.
The most materialistic mind could hardly but conclude that here was
something "not dreamed of in our philosophy." It seemed to me that the
only reasonable explanation was the entirely irrational one--that my
orchard was haunted: haunted by some beautiful young spirit, with some
sorrow of lost joy that would not let her sleep quietly in her grave.

And next day I had a curious confirmation of my theory. Once more I was
lying under my favorite apple-tree, half reading and half watching the
Sound, lulled into a dream by the whir of insects and the spices called
up from the earth by the hot sun. As I bent over the page, I suddenly
had the startling impression that someone was leaning over my shoulder
and reading with me, and that a girl's long hair was falling over me
down on to the page. The book was the Ronsard I had found in the little
bedroom. I turned, but again there was nothing there. Yet this time I
knew that I had not been dreaming, and I cried out:

"Poor child! tell me of your grief--that I may help your sorrowing heart
to rest."

But, of course, there was no answer; yet that night I dreamed a strange
dream. I thought I was in the orchard again in the afternoon and once
again heard the strange singing--but this time, as I looked up, the
singer was no longer invisible. Coming toward me was a young girl with
wonderful blue eyes filled with tears and gold hair that fell to her
waist. She wore a straight, white robe that might have been a shroud or
a bridal dress. She appeared not to see me, though she came directly to
the tree where I was sitting. And there she knelt and buried her face in
the grass and sobbed as if her heart would break. Her long hair fell
over her like a mantle, and in my dream I stroked it pityingly and
murmured words of comfort for a sorrow I did not understand.... Then I
woke suddenly as o