In those strange old times when fantastic dreams andmadmen’s reveries were realized among the actualcircumstances of life， two persons met together at anappointed hour and place. One was a lady graceful in formand fair of feature， though pale and troubled and smittenwith an untimely blight in what should have been thefullest bloom of her years； the other was an ancient andmeanly-dressed woman of ill-favored aspect， and sowithered， shrunken and decrepit that even the space sinceshe began to decay must have exceeded the ordinary termof human existence. In the spot where they encounteredno mortal could observe them. Three little hills stoodnear each other， and down in the midst of them sunk ahollow basin almost mathematically circular， two or threehundred feet in breadth and of such depth that a statelycedar might but just be visible above the sides. Dwarfpines were numerous upon the hills and partly fringed theouter verge of the intermediate hollow， within which therewas nothing but the brown grass of October and hereand there a tree-trunk that had fallen long ago and laymouldering with no green successor from its roots. Oneof these masses of decaying wood， formerly a majesticoak， rested close beside a pool of green and sluggishwater at the bottom of the basin. Such scenes as this （sogray tradition tells） were once the resort of a power ofevil and his plighted subjects， and here at midnight or onthe dim verge of evening they were said to stand roundthe mantling pool disturbing its putrid waters in theperformance of an impious baptismal rite. The chill beautyof an autumnal sunset was now gilding the three hill-tops，whence a paler tint stole down their sides into the hollow.
“Here is our pleasant meeting come to pass，” said theaged crone， “according as thou hast desired. Say quicklywhat thou wouldst have of me， for there is but a shorthour that we may tarry here.”
As the old withered woman spoke a smile glimmered onher countenance like lamplight on the wall of a sepulchre.
The lady trembled and cast her eyes upward to the vergeof the basin， as if meditating to return with her purposeunaccomplished. But it was not so ordained.
“I am stranger in this land， as you know，” said she， atlength. “Whence I come it matters not， but I have leftthose behind me with whom my fate was intimatelybound， and from whom I am cut off for ever. There is aweight in my bosom that I cannot away with， and I havecome hither to inquire of their welfare.”
“And who is there by this green pool that can bring theenews from the ends of the earth？” cried the old woman，peering into the lady’s face. “Not from my lips mayst thouhear these tidings； yet be thou bold， and the daylight shallnot pass away from yonder hilltop before thy wish begranted.”
“I will do your bidding though I die，” replied the lady，desperately.
The old woman seated herself on the trunk of the fallentree， threw aside the hood that shrouded her gray locksand beckoned her companion to draw near.
“Kneel down，” she said， “and lay your forehead on myknees.”
She hesitated a moment， but the anxiety that had longbeen kindling burned fiercely up within her. As she kneltdown the border of her garment was dipped into the pool；she laid her forehead on the old woman’s knees， and thelatter drew a cloak about the lady’s face， so that she was indarkness. Then she heard the muttered words of prayer， inthe midst of which she started and would have arisen.
“Let me flee！ Let me flee and hide myself， that theymay not look upon me！” she cried. But， with returningrecollection， she hushed herself and was still as death，for it seemed as if other voices， familiar in infancy andunforgotten through many wanderings and in all thevicissitudes of her heart and fortune， were mingling withthe accents of the prayer. At first the words were faintand indistinct—not rendered so by distance， but ratherresembling the dim pages of a book which we strive toread by an imperfect and gradually brightening light. Insuch a manner， as the prayer proceeded， did those voicesstrengthen upon the ear， till at length the petition ended，and the conversation of an aged man and of a womanbroken and decayed like himself became distinctly audibleto the lady as she knelt. But those strangers appearednot to stand in the hollow depth between the three hills.
