after a key rattled
in the lock, and he saw two muffled figures enter the enclosure, which
was lighted by the moonbeams--female figures wrapped in long black
cloaks with hoods--who, after securing the gate behind them, turned
toward the little bathing house.

He fairly gasped for breath, and began to consider whether he should
have time and opportunity to retreat unobserved through the opening in
the fence. But this seemed to be a dangerous venture. From the spot
where he stood, to the low bushes that grew along the enclosure,
there was not a tree or shrub to conceal him. And if he should be
discovered--in what a light would his nocturnal entrance into this
carefully guarded precinct appear!

But before he could think of any other expedient, all time for
reflection was over. The door of the bathing house was opened and a
slender white figure, whose unbound hair fell over her arms and
shoulders, appeared on the upper step of the little flight of stairs
that led into the lake. She raised her head and looked up for a moment
toward the night sky, which had become slightly overcast, then let the
bathing cloak wrapped around her fall, and stooped to the water to wet
her forehead and breast, the next instant she sprang down the steps,
disappeared a few seconds and then, shaking her dripping locks, rose to
the surface.

Her companion appeared at the doorway and called out to her, Edwin
could not distinguish her words but the bather replied in a smothered
voice. Then both were silent. The swimmer divided the water with long,
steady strokes, at intervals raising her head and shoulders above the
surface to shake back the thick hair from her brow. Her face looked
dazzling white in the dim light of the setting moon, but the middle of
the pond, to which she had swum, was too far from the trees on the
meadow, for any one standing there to obtain a distinct view of her
features. Thus the mysterious nixie swam up and down the lake ten or
twelve times, in the profoundest silence. Her companion had retired to
the little house, and none but she seemed to be breathing in the forest
solitude. Not a zephyr stirred the surface of the pond, not a leaf fell
from the trees; the croaking of the frog had ceased; only at intervals,
when the swimmer made a quick turn the water rippled audibly and the
rushes along the shore swayed to and fro.

At last she seemed to grow weary, and lying on her back, floated for a
time in a circle, so that only a