so solemnly strange."

I turned my face away, and her voice grew firmer as, after a brief
pause, she resumed,--

"As far back as I can remember in my infancy, there have been moments
when there seems to fall a soft hazy veil between my sight and the
things around it, thickening and deepening till it has the likeness
of one of those white fleecy clouds which gather on the verge of the
horizon when the air is yet still, but the winds are about to rise; and
then this vapour or veil will suddenly open, as clouds open, and let in
the blue sky."

"Go on," I said gently, for here she came to a stop. She continued,
speaking somewhat more hurriedly,--

"Then, in that opening, strange appearances present them selves to
me, as in a vision. In my childhood these were chiefly landscapes of
wonderful beauty. I could but faintly describe them then; I could not
attempt to describe them now, for they are almost gone from my memory.
My dear mother chid me for telling her what I saw, so I did not impress
it on my mind by repeating it. As I grew up, this kind of vision--if
I may so call it--became much less frequent, or much less distinct; I
still saw the soft veil fall, the pale cloud form and open, but often
what may then have appeared was entirely forgotten when I recovered
myself, waking as from a sleep. Sometimes, however, the recollection
would be vivid and complete; sometimes I saw the face of my lost father;
sometimes I heard his very voice, as I had seen and heard him in my
early childhood, when he would let me rest for hours beside him as he
mused or studied, happy to be so quietly near him, for I loved him, oh,
so dearly! and I remember him so distinctly, though I was only in my
sixth year when he died. Much more recently--indeed, within the last few
months--the images of things to come are reflected on the space that
I gaze into as clearly as in a glass. Thus, for weeks before I came
hither, or knew that such a place existed, I saw distinctly the old
House, yon trees, this sward, this moss-grown Gothic fount; and, with
the sight, an impression was conveyed to me that in the scene before me
my old childlike life would pass into some solemn change. So that when I
came here, and recognized the picture in my vision, I took an affection
for the spot,--an affection not without awe, a powerful, perplexing
interest, as one who feels under the influence of a fate of which a
prophetic glimpse has been vouchsafed. And in that evening