On a mellow evening in September, I was coming from the garden with a heavy basket of apples which I had been gathering.

It had got dusk, and the moon looked over the high wall of the court, causing undefined shadows to lurk in the corners of the numerous projecting portions of the building.

I set my burden on the house-steps by the kitchen-door, and lingered to rest, and drew in a few more breaths of the soft, sweet air; my eyes were on the moon, and my back to the entrance, when I heard a voice behind me say,--'Nelly, is that you ?' It was a deep voice, and foreign in tone; yet there was something in the manner of pronouncing my name which made it sound familiar.

I turned about to discover who spoke, fearfully; for the doors were shut, and I had seen nobody on approaching the steps.

Something stirred in the porch; and, moving nearer, I distinguished a tall man dressed in dark clothes, with dark face and hair.