"What am I? Who am I? Where did I come from?
What, who and where--well, no human knows;
Ye though my loved ones know what to answer,
My pale face ye follow wherever it goes.
My home's in the forest, my home's in the city,
Wherever the terror of loneliness lies,
And woe be to him who when out in the moonlight
Catches the glance of my soul-piercing eyes.
By day I am stone
By night I have breath,
And those whom I meet, know the sister of Death."


"Curse you!" I shrieked, leaning from the window, and all was gone; the
statue was in its niche again, the Maria Virgo Sancta. I staggered back
from the window and was received almost breathless from excitement in
the arms of Brother Andreas who entered the room just then.

"My child, you should not sit by an open window; I fear that you have
done yourself an injury already." He laid me down on the bed and when I
awoke he was gone, and now I am writing off this scrap of a letter for
you my dear friend. How I long to see you, and oh, why can I not have
you here! Would to God that I had not met the woman on the bridge. My
friend, my José, I dare not tell you what I fear; those eyes were upon
me, those fatal eyes. No, no I will not keep it from you, I will tell
you all and leave you the terrible duty of telling Benicia.

My dear boy, I am growing colder each moment; my hand trembles as I
write this, my last letter; I pray that I may have strength to finish