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Hark escuta!, ouvir, escutar! Once more there was a gentle tapping at the window. I rushed over to it and drew the curtain. There, out on the rain-beaten terrace, stood the white shrouded figure, more desolate-appearing than ever. Ghastly pale she looked, as before, but her eyes had an eager ansioso, impaciente look which was new. I took it that she was attracted by the fire, which was by now well ablaze, and was throwing up jets of flame as the dry logs crackled. The leaping flames threw fitful incerto, irregular light across the room, and every gleam threw the

white-clad figure into prominence, showing the gleam of the black

eyes, and fixing the stars that lay in them.

Without a word I threw open the window, and, taking the white hand

extended to me, drew into the room the Lady of the Shroud.

As she entered and felt the warmth of the blazing fire, a glad look

spread over her face. She made a movement as if to run to it. But she drew back an instant after, looking round with instinctive caution. She closed the window and bolted it, touched the lever alavanca which spread the grille gradeamento across the opening, and pulled close the curtain behind it. Then she went swiftly to the door and tried if it

was locked. Satisfied as to this, she came quickly over to the fire, and, kneeling before it, stretched out her numbed entorpecido, tolhido hands to the blaze.

Almost on the instant her wet shroud began to steam. I stood wondering. The precautions of secrecy in the midst of her suffering--for that she did suffer was only too painfully manifest--must have presupposed some danger. Then and there my mind was made up that there should no harm assail her that I by any means could fend off.

Still, the present must be attended to; pneumonia and other ills stalked behind such a chill as must infallibly come on her unless precautions were taken. I took again the dressing-gown which she had worn before and handed it to her, motioning as I did so towards the screen which had made a dressing-room for her on the former occasion.

To my surprise she hesitated. I waited. She waited, too, and then

laid down the dressing-gown on the edge of the stone fender resguardo, guarda-fogo. So I spoke:

"Won't you change as you did before? Your--your frock vestido can then be dried. Do! It will be so much safer for you to be dry clad when you

resume your own dress."

"How can I whilst you are here?"

Her words made me stare, so different were they from her acts of the

other visit. I simply bowed--speech on such a subject would be at

least inadequate--and walked over to the window. Passing behind the curtain, I opened the window. Before stepping out on to the terrace,

I looked into the room and said: "Take your own time. There is no hurry. I dare say you will find there all you may want. I shall remain on the terrace until you

summon me." With that I went out on the terrace, drawing close the

glass door behind me.

I stood looking out on the dreary triste, desolador scene for what seemed a very short time, my mind in a whirl. There came a rustle from within, and I saw a dark brown figure steal round the edge of the curtain. A white hand was raised, and beckoned me to come in. I entered, bolting the window behind me. She had passed across the room, and was again kneeling before the fire with her hands outstretched. The shroud was laid in partially opened folds on one side of the hearth, and was steaming heavily. I brought over some cushions and pillows, and made a little pile of them beside her.

"Sit there," I said, "and rest quietly in the heat." It may have been the effect of the glowing heat, but there was a rich colour in her face as she looked at me with shining eyes. Without a word, but with a courteous little bow, she sat down at once. I put a thick rug across her shoulders, and sat down myself on a stool banco, banquinho, tamborete a couple of feet away.

For fully five or six minutes we sat in silence. At last, turning

her head towards me she said in a sweet, low voice:

"I had intended coming earlier on purpose to thank you for your very

sweet and gracious courtesy to me, but circumstances were such that I could not leave my--my"--she hesitated before saying--"my abode residência, domicílio. I

am not free, as you and others are, to do what I will. My existence is sadly cold and stern implacável, inflexível, severo, and full of horrors that appal horrorizar, chocar. But I DO thank you. For myself I am not sorry for the delay, for every hour shows me more clearly how good and understanding and sympathetic you have been to me. I only hope that some day you may realize how kind you have been, and how much I appreciate it."

"I am only too glad to be of any service," I said, feebly debilmente I felt, as

I held out my hand. She did not seem to see it. Her eyes were now

on the fire, and a warm blush dyed dar cor, «pintar, tingir» forehead and cheek and neck. The reproof reprovação, censura was so gentle that no one could have been offended. It was evident that she was something coy tímido, reservado and reticent prudente, reservado, hesitante, and would not allow me to come at present more close to her, even to the touching of her hand. But that her heart was not in the denial recusa, rejeição was also evident in

the glance from her glorious dark starry eyes. These glances--

veritable lightning flashes coming through her pronounced vincado, nítido reserve--finished entirely any wavering hesitação, irresolução there might be in my own purpose. I was aware now to the full that my heart was quite subjugated. I knew

that I was in love--veritably so much in love as to feel that without this woman, be she what she might, by my side my future must be

absolutely barren árido, infértil.

It was presently apparent evidente, manifesto that she did not mean to stay as long on

this occasion as on the last. When the castle clock struck midnight

she suddenly sprang to her feet with a bound salto, saying:

"I must go! There is midnight!" I rose at once, the intensity of her speech having instantly obliterated the sleep which, under the

influence of rest and warmth, was creeping upon me. Once more she was in a frenzy of haste, so I hurried towards the window, but as I looked back saw her, despite her haste, still standing. I motioned towards the screen, and slipping behind the curtain, opened the window and went out on the terrace. As I was disappearing behind the curtain I saw her with the tail of my eye lifting the shroud, now dry, from the hearth.

She was out through the window in an incredibly short time, now clothed once more in that dreadful wrapping. As she sped past me barefooted on the wet, chilly marble which made her shudder, she whispered: "Thank you again. You ARE good to me. You can understand."

Once again I stood on the terrace, saw her melt like a shadow down the steps, and disappear behind the nearest shrub. Thence daí she flitted away from point to point with exceeding haste. The moonlight

had now disappeared behind heavy banks of cloud, so there was little

light to see by. I could just distinguish a pale gleam here and there as she wended dirigir-se, ir her secret way.

For a long time I stood there alone thinking, as I watched the course she had taken, and wondering where might be her ultimate destination.

As she had spoken of her "abode," I knew there was some definitive objective of her flight.

It was no use wondering. I was so entirely ignorant of her surroundings that I had not even a starting-place for speculation.

So I went in, leaving the window open. It seemed that this being so made one barrier the less between us. I gathered the cushions and

rugs from before the fire, which was no longer leaping, but burning

with a steady glow, and put them back in their places. Aunt Janet might come in the morning, as she had done before, and I did not wish to set her thinking. She is much too clever a person to have treading on the heels of a mystery--especially one in which my own affections are engaged. I wonder what she would have said had she seen me kiss the cushion on which my beautiful guest's head had rested?

When I was in bed, and in the dark save for the fading glow of the fire, my thoughts became fixed that whether she came from Earth or

Heaven or Hell, my lovely visitor was already more to me than aught qualquer coisa, coisa alguma else in the world. This time she had, on going, said no word of returning. I had been so much taken up ligar-se, associar-se, começar a andar com with her presence, and so upset by her abrupt departure, that I had omitted to ask her. And so I am driven, as before, to accept the chance of her returning—a chance which I fear I am or may be unable to control.

Surely enough Aunt Janet did come in the morning, early. I was still asleep when she knocked at my door. With that purely physical subconsciousness which comes with habit I must have realized the

cause of the sound, for I woke fully conscious of the fact that Aunt Janet had knocked and was waiting to come in. I jumped from bed, and back again when I had unlocked the door. When Aunt Janet came in she

noticed the cold of the room.

"Save us, laddie, but ye'll get your death o' cold in this room."

Then, as she looked round and noticed the ashes of the extinct fire in the grate:

"Eh, but ye're no that daft pateta, tolo after a'; ye've you have had the sense to light yer a ti fire. Glad I am that we had the fire laid and a wheen o' dry logs ready to yer hand." She evidently felt the cold air coming from the window, for she went over and drew the curtain. When she saw the open window, she raised her hands in a sort of dismay, which to me,

knowing how little base for concern could be within her knowledge, was comic. Hurriedly she shut the window, and then, coming close over to my bed, said:

"Yon has been a fearsome nicht again, laddie, for yer poor auld aunty."

"Dreaming again, Aunt Janet?" I asked--rather flippantly irreverentemente, com algum atrevimento as it seemed to me. She shook her head: "Not so, Rupert, unless it be that the Lord gies us in dreams what we in our spiritual darkness think are veesions." I roused up at this.

When Aunt Janet calls me Rupert, as she always used to do in my dear mother's time, things are serious with her. As I was back in childhood now, recalled by her word, I thought the best thing I could do to cheer her would be to bring her back there too--if I could. So I patted the edge of the bed as I used to do when I was a wee de fazer chichi, chichi, pequenino, muito pequenino kiddie and wanted her to comfort me, and said:

"Sit down, Aunt Janet, and tell me." She yielded consentir, render-se, submeter-se at once, and the look of the happy old days grew over her face as though there had come a gleam of sunshine. She sat down, and I put out my hands as I used to do, and took her hand between them. There was a tear in her eye as she raised my hand and kissed it as in old times. But for the infinite pathos emoção of it, it would have been comic: Aunt Janet, old and grey-haired, but still retaining her girlish

slimness elegância of figure, petite mulher delicada, dainty refinado, gracioso as a Dresden figure, her face lined with the care of years, but softened and ennobled by the unselfishness of those years, holding up my big hand, which would outweigh ultrapassar em peso her whole arm; sitting dainty as a pretty old fairy fada (fair-loiro, belo, formoso, justo, correcto) beside a recumbent reclinado, deitado giant--for my bulk never seems so great as when I am near this real little good fairy of my life--seven feet beside four feet seven.

So she began as of old, as though she were about to soothe acalmar a frightened child with a fairy tale:

"'Twas a veesion, I think, though a dream it may hae been. But whichever or whatever it was, it concerned my little boy, who has grown to be a big giant, so much that I woke all of a tremble.

Laddie dear, I thought that I saw ye being married." This gave me an opening, though a small one, for comforting her, so I took it at once: "Why, dear, there isn't anything to alarm you in that, is there? It was only the other day when you spoke to me about the need of my getting married, if it was only that you might have children of your boy playing around your knees as their father used to do when he was a helpless wee child himself."

"That is so, laddie," she answered gravely. "But your weddin' was none so merry as I fain de bom grado would see. True, you seemed to lo'e her wi' all yer hairt. Yer teu eyes shone that bright that ye might ha' set her afire ardente, inflamado, for all her black locks anel ou madeixa de cabelo and her winsome face. But, laddie, that was not all--no, not though her black een eye, that had the licht o' all the stars o' nicht in them, shone in yours as though a hairt o'

love an' passion, too, dwelt viver, habitar in them. I saw ye join hands, an' heard a strange voice that talked stranger still, but I saw none ither.

Your eyes an' her eyes, an' your hand an' hers, were all I saw. For all else was dim indistinto, vago (obscuro), and the darkness was close around ye twa. And when the benison benção was spoken--I knew that by the voices that sang, and by the gladness of her een, as well as by the pride and glory of yours--

the licht began to glow a wee bocadinho more, an' I could see yer bride. She was in a veil o' wondrous fine lace renda. And there were orange-flowers in her hair, though there were twigs, too, and there was a crown o'

flowers on head wi' a golden band faixa, tira round it. And the heathen candles

that stood on the table wi' the Book had some strange effect, for the reflex o' it hung in the air o'er her head like the shadow of a

crown. There was a gold ring on her finger and a silver one on yours." Here she paused and trembled, so that, hoping to dispel dissipar, afastar, dispersar her fears, I said, as like as I could to the way I used to when I was a

child:

"Go on, Aunt Janet."

She did not seem to recognize consciously the likeness between past and present; but the effect was there, for she went on more like her old self, though there was a prophetic gravity in her voice, more

marked than I had ever heard from her:

"All this I've told ye was well; but, oh, laddie, there was a dreadful lack o' livin' joy such as I should expect from the woman whom my boy had chosen for his wife--and at the marriage coupling união (casal, dois), too! And no wonder, when all is said; for though the marriage veil

o' love was fine, an' the garland o' flowers was fresh-gathered,

underneath them a' was nane ither than a ghastly shroud. As I looked in my veesion--or maybe dream--I expectit to see the worms crawl round the flagstane laje at her feet. If 'twas not Death, laddie dear, that stood by ye, it was the shadow o' Death that made the darkness round ye, that neither the light o' candles nor the smoke o' heathen

incense could pierce. Oh, laddie, laddie, wae is me that I hae seen sic a veesion--waking or sleeping, it matters not! I was sair distressed--so sair that I woke wi' a shriek on my lips and bathed in

cold sweat. I would hae come doon to ye to see if you were hearty or

no--or even to listen at your door for any sound o' yer being quick, but that I feared to alarm ye till morn should come. I've counted the hours and the minutes since midnight, when I saw the veesion, till I came hither just the now."

"Quite right, Aunt Janet," I said, "and I thank you for your kind thought for me in the matter, now and always." Then I went on, for I wanted to take precautions against the possibility of her discovery of my secret. I could not bear to think that she might run my precious secret to earth in any well-meant piece of bungling atabalhoamento, trapalhada. That would be to me disaster unbearable. She might frighten away altogether my beautiful visitor, even whose name or origin I did not know, and I might never see her again: "You must never do that, Aunt Janet. You and I are too good friends to have sense sentimento of distrust desconfiança, suspeição or annoyance aborrecimento come between us--which would

surely happen if I had to keep thinking that you or anyone else might be watching me."

RUPERT'S JOURNAL--Continued.

April 27, 1907.

After a spell of loneliness which has seemed endless I have something to write. When the void vazio in my heart was becoming the receptacle for many devils of suspicion and distrust I set myself a task which

might, I thought, keep my thoughts in part, at any rate pelo menos, ao menos, occupied--to

explore minutely the neighbourhood round the Castle. This might, I

hoped, serve as an anodyne calmante to my pain of loneliness, which grew more acute as the days, the hours, wore on, even if it should not ultimately afford me some clue to the whereabouts of the woman whom I had now grown to love so madly.

My exploration soon took a systematic form, as I intended that it should be exhaustive. I would take every day a separate line of

advance from the Castle, beginning at the south and working round by the east to the north. The first day only took me to the edge of the

creek, which I crossed in a boat, and landed at the base of the cliff opposite. I found the cliffs alone worth a visit. Here and there were openings to caves which I made up my mind to explore later. I managed to climb up the cliff at a spot less beetling saliente than the rest, and continued my journey. It was, though very beautiful, not a specially interesting place. I explored that spoke raio of the wheel of

which Vissarion was the hub centro, eixo, and got back just in time for dinner.

The next day I took a course rumo, direcção, curso slightly more to the eastward. I had no difficulty in keeping a straight path, for, once I had rowed remar across the creek, the old church of St. Sava rose before me in stately imponente, grandioso, majestoso gloom. This was the spot where many generations of the noblest of the Land of the Blue Mountains had from time immemorial been laid to

rest, amongst them the Vissarions. Again, I found the opposite cliffs pierced here and there with caves, some with wide openings,--

others the openings of which were partly above and partly below water. I could, however, find no means of climbing the cliff at this part, and had to make a long detour, following up the line of the

creek till further on I found a piece of beach from which ascent was possible. Here I ascended, and found that I was on a line between the Castle and the southern side of the mountains. I saw the church of St. Sava away to my right, and not far from the edge of the cliff. I made my way to it at once, for as yet I had never been near it.

Hitherto até agora my excursions had been limited to the Castle and its many gardens and surroundings. It was of a style with which I was not familiar--with four wings to the points of the compass. The great doorway, set in a magnificent frontage fachada of carved stone of manifestly

ancient date, faced west, so that, when one entered, he went east.

To my surprise—for somehow I expected the contrary--I found the door

open. Not wide open, but what is called ajar entreaberto--manifestly not locked or barred, but not sufficiently open for one to look in. I entered, and after passing through a wide vestibule, more like a section of a

corridor than an ostensible entrance, made my way through a spacious

doorway into the body of the church. The church itself was almost circular, the openings of the four naves being spacious enough to

give the appearance of the interior as a whole, being a huge cross.

It was strangely dim, for the window openings were small and highset, and were, moreover alé, disso, filled with green or blue glass, each window having a colour to itself. The glass was very old, being of the

thirteenth or fourteenth century. Such appointments mobília, instalação, equipamento as there were--for it had a general air of desolation--were of great beauty and richness,--especially so to be in a place--even a church--where the door lay open, and no one was to be seen. It was strangely silent even for an old church on a lonesome headland cabo, promontório, pequena península. There reigned a dismal triste, carregado, horrível solemnity which seemed to chill me, accustomed as I have been

to strange and weird places. It seemed abandoned, though it had not that air of having been neglected which is so often to be noticed in old 'churches. There was none of the everlasting etérno, perpétuo accumulation of dust which prevails in places of higher cultivation cultura and larger and more strenuous enérgico, vigoroso work.

In the church itself or its appending chambers I could find no clue or suggestion which could guide me in any way in my search for the

Lady of the Shroud. Monuments pedra tumular (monumento) there were in profusion--statues, tablets placa, tabuleta, and all the customary memorials of the dead. The families

and dates represented were simply bewildering desconcertante. Often the name of Vissarion was given, and the inscription which it held I read through carefully, looking to find some enlightenment of any kind. But all in vain: there was nothing to see in the church itself. So I determined to visit the crypt. I had no lantern or candle with me,

so had to go back to the Castle to secure one.

It was strange, coming in from the sunlight, here overwhelming to one

so recently accustomed to northern skies, to note the slender gleam of the lantern which I carried, and which I had lit inside the door.

At my first entry to the church my mind had been so much taken up with ligar-se a, associar-se a the strangeness of the place, together with the intensity of  wish for some sort of clue, that I had really no opportunity of examining detail. But now detail became necessary, as I had to find the entrance to the crypt. My puny light could not dissipate the semi-Cimmerian tenebroso, obscuro gloom of the vast edifice; I had to throw the feeble gleam into one after another of the dark corners.

At last I found, behind the great screen divisória, grade, grelha, a narrow stone staircase

which seemed to wind down into the rock. It was not in any way secret, but being in the narrow space behind the great screen, was

not visible except when close to it. I knew I was now close to my objective, and began to descend. Accustomed though I have been to all sorts of mysteries and dangers, I felt awed and almost overwhelmed by a sense of loneliness and desolation as I descended the ancient winding steps. These were many in number, roughly hewn talhar, desbastar, cortar of old in the solid rock on which the church was built.

I met a fresh surprise in finding that the door of the crypt was open. After all, this was different from the church-door being open;

for in many places it is a custom to allow all comers pessoa que chega ou vem at all times to

find rest and comfort in the sacred place. But I did expect that at least the final resting-place of the historic dead would be held safe

against casual intrusion. Even I, on a quest procura, busca which was very near my

heart, paused with an almost overwhelming sense of decorum compostura, decoro before

passing through that open door. The crypt was a huge place, strangely lofty for a vault. From its formation, however, I soon came to the conclusion that it was originally a natural cavern

altered to its present purpose by the hand of man. I could hear somewhere near the sound of running water, but I could not locate it.

Now and again at irregular intervals there was a prolonged booming, which could only come from a wave breaking in a confined place. The recollection then came to me of the proximity of the church to the top of the beetling saliente cliff, and of the half-sunk cavern entrances which pierced furar, penetrar it.

With the gleam of my lamp to guide me, I went through and round the whole place. There were many massive tombs, mostly rough-hewn from great slabs or blocks of stone. Some of them were marble, and the

cutting of all was ancient. So large and heavy were some of them that it was a wonder to me how they could ever have been brought to

this place, to which the only entrance was seemingly the narrow, tortuous stairway by which I had come. At last I saw near one end of the crypt a great chain hanging. Turning the light upward, I found that it depended from a ring set over a wide opening, evidently made

artificially. It must have been through this opening that the great sarcophagi had been lowered.

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