There was in the neighbourhood a footpath through a thick grove of trees which ran up a long, high hill, and, midway in the ascent, crossed a railway cutting by a rustic bridge.
"That was my favourite walk, though I always entered by the swing-gate in fear, and trembled at every movement of the branches, and continually expected an attack.

I would hang over that railway bridge, especially on moonlit nights, and compose poems and thoughts--you know--great, short thoughts." Hillyard laughed.

"I was going to be a poet, you understand--a clear, full voice such as had seldom been heard; my poems were all about the moon sailing in the Empyrean and Death.

Death was my strong suit.

I sent some of my poems to the local Press, signed 'Lethe,' but I could never hear that they were published." Stella Croyle laughed, and Hillyard went on.