upported by a staff, and a
short gray mantle covered its bended shoulders.

"Things of the moonbeam!" said the form, in a shrill and ghastly voice,
"what want ye here; and why charm ye this spot from the coming of me and
mine?"

"Dark witch of the blight and blast," answered the fairy, "THOU that
nippest the herb in its tender youth, and eatest up the core of the
soft bud; behold, it is but a small spot that the fairies claim from
thy demesnes, and on which, through frost and heat, they will keep the
herbage green and the air gentle in its sighs!"

"And, wherefore, O dweller in the crevices of the earth, wherefore
wouldst thou guard this spot from the curses of the seasons?"

"We know by our instinct," answered the fairy, "that this spot will
become the grave of one whom the fairies love; hither, by an unfelt
influence, shall we guide her yet living steps; and in gazing upon this
spot shall the desire of quiet and the resignation to death steal upon
her soul. Behold, throughout the universe, all things are at war with
one another,--the lion with the lamb; the serpent with the bird; and
even the gentlest bird itself with the moth of the air; or the worm of
the humble earth! What then to men, and to the spirits transcending
men, is so lovely and so sacred as a being that harmeth none; what so
beautiful as Innocence; what so mournful as its untimely tomb? And shall
not that tomb be sacred; shall it not be our peculiar care? May we not
mourn over it as at the passing away of some fair miracle in Nature,
too tender to endure, too rare to be forgotten? It is for this, O dread
waker of the blast, that the fairies would consecrate this little spot;
for this they would charm away from its tranquil turf the wandering
ghoul and the evil children of the night. Here, not the ill-omened owl,
nor the blind bat, nor the unclean worm shall come. And thou shouldst
have neither will nor power to nip the flowers of spring, nor sear the
green herbs of summer. Is it not, dark mother of the evil winds,--is
it not _our_ immemorial office to tend the grave of Innocence, and keep
fresh the flowers round the resting-place of Virgin Love?"

Then the witch drew her cloak round her, and muttered to herself, and
without further answer turned away among the trees and vanished, as the
breath of the east wind, which goeth with her as her comrade, scattered
the melancholy leaves along her path!

CHAPTER XXXI. GERTRUDE AND TREVYLYAN, WHEN THE FO