The
match spurted, and now the tiny yellow flame sprang up and shed a faint
light on the immediate space around her. It only made the outer darkness
seem more intense. But no matter, she could see two steps in front of
her; and holding the lantern steadily before her, she stepped carefully
down and down, until she stood on the firm greensward of the glen. Ah!
how different everything was now from its usual aspect. The green and
gold were turned into black upon black. The laughing, dimpling,
sun-kissed water was now a black, gloomy pool, beyond which the fall
shimmered white like a water-spirit (Undine,--or was it Kuehleborn, the
malignant and vengeful sprite?). The firs stood tall and gaunt, closing
like a spectral guard about the ruined mill, and pointing their long,
dark fingers in silent menace at the intruder upon their evening repose.
Hildegarde shivered again, and held her lantern tighter, remembering how
Bubble had said that the glen was "a tormentin' spooky place after
dark." She looked fearfully about her as a low wind rustled the
branches. They bent towards her as if to clutch her; an angry whisper
seemed to pass from one to the other; and an utterly unreasoning terror
fell upon the girl. She stood for a moment as if paralyzed with fear,
when suddenly the little dog gave a sharp yelp, and leaped up on her
impatiently. The sound startled her into new terror; but in a moment the
revulsion came, and she almost laughed aloud.
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