I said "Adam More." She repeated this, and it sounded like "A-tam-or." But as she spoke this slowly her smile died away.

She looked anxious and troubled, and once more that expression of wondering sadness came over her face.

She repeated my name over and over in this way with a mournful intonation that thrilled through me, and excited forebodings of evil.

"Atamor, Atamor!" And always after that she called me "Atamor." But now she sat for some time, looking at me with a face full of pity and distress.

At this I was greatly astonished; for but a moment before she had been full of smiles, and it was as though something in my name had excited sorrowful thoughts.