was afraid of the long, silvery beard; and yet it does not look like
icicles now, but is soft and flowing. It made me think of a picture
father has of a wise old man named Eli, and I shall always call him
Eli now, for I like that people should have names. I think the lady's
name must be Intelletta, because I saw it written in a book that was
unclasped, one day. It is a pretty name--do you not think so? But I do
not like it half so well as Mary.

One day I saw a strange sight. I was sitting on the lower step of the
wooden staircase that leads to the narrow turret door, when the lady
passed me by, without noticing me, however. She carried a dazzling
sword erect in her hand, so that the point gleamed above her head. It
was very splendid, to see her thus mounting the stairs. She stood
before the door, but it would not open, although the sword flashed as
if it would flash its way through. She waited very long, and then came
slowly down, with her lips pressed together. I thought she gave one
little glance at me. I arose and followed her, for whenever I see her
move I always follow her. She seated herself by the fire, but did not
look into it. The sword fell from her hand, and she leaned her head
against one of the jewel-clasped books. The old man soon entered,
unclasped the book, and read to her. She rose from her chair, and sat
on a cushion at his feet--a little cushion near mine; and yet she did
not see me.

I will draw you a picture of the lady ascending the stairs with the
shining sword, and yet I can hardly venture to do so. It will not look
like her, for I cannot draw the glittering light in her face, and that
marble flower in her hair; that is too handsome for me to draw. But
there is no fragrance in it, and I would rather have the smallest
violet that blooms in my own dear garden. Good night.