Their voices were encompassed and re-echoed by the wallsof a chamber the windows of which were rattling in thebreeze； the regular vibration of a clock， the crackling of afire and the tinkling of the embers as they fell among theashes rendered the scene almost as vivid as if painted tothe eye. By a melancholy hearth sat these two old people，the man calmly despondent， the woman querulous andtearful， and their words were all of sorrow. They spokeof a daughter， a wanderer they knew not where， bearingdishonor along with her and leaving shame and afflictionto bring their gray heads to the grave. They alluded also toother and more recent woe， but in the midst of their talktheir voices seemed to melt into the sound of the windsweeping mournfully among the autumn leaves； and whenthe lady lifted her eyes， there was she kneeling in thehollow between three hills.
“A weary and lonesome time yonder old couple have ofit，” remarked the old woman， smiling in the lady’s face.
“And did you also hear them？” exclaimed she， a senseof intolerable humiliation triumphing over her agony andfear.
“Yea， and we have yet more to hear，” replied the oldwoman， “wherefore cover thy face quickly.”
Again the withered hag poured forth the monotonouswords of a prayer that was not meant to be acceptablein heaven， and soon in the pauses of her breath strangemurmurings began to thicken， gradually increasing， so asto drown and overpower the charm by which they grew.
Shrieks pierced through the obscurity of sound and weresucceeded by the singing of sweet female voices， whichin their turn gave way to a wild roar of laughter brokensuddenly by groanings and sobs， forming altogether aghastly confusion of terror and mourning and mirth.
Chains were rattling， fierce and stern voices utteredthreats and the scourge resounded at their command.
All these noises deepened and became substantial to thelistener’s ear， till she could distinguish every soft anddreamy accent of the love-songs that died causelesslyinto funeral-hymns. She shuddered at the unprovokedwrath which blazed up like the spontaneous kindling offlume， and she grew faint at the fearful merriment ragingmiserably around her. In the midst of this wild scene，where unbound passions jostled each other in a drunkencareer， there was one solemn voice of a man， and a manlyand melodious voice it might once have been. He went toand fro continually， and his feet sounded upon the floor.
In each member of that frenzied company whose ownburning thoughts had become their exclusive world hesought an auditor for the story of his individual wrong，and interpreted their laughter and tears as his rewardof scorn or pity. He spoke of woman’s perfidy， of a wifewho had broken her holiest vows， of a home and heartmade desolate. Even as he went on， the shout， the laugh，the shriek， the sob， rose up in unison， till they changedinto the hollow， fitful and uneven sound of the wind as itfought among the pine trees on those three lonely hills.
The lady looked up， and there was the withered womansmiling in her face.
“Couldst thou have thought there were such merrytimes in a mad-house？” inquired the latter.
“True， true！” said the lady to herself； “there is mirthwithin its walls， but misery， misery without.”
“Wouldst thou hear more？” demanded the old woman.
“There is one other voice I would fain listen to again，”
replied the lady， faintly.
“Then lay down thy head speedily upon my knees， thatthou mayst get thee hence before the hour be past.”
The golden skirts of day were yet lingering upon thehills， but deep shades obscured the hollow and the pool，as if sombre night wore rising thence to overspread theworld. Again that evil woman began to weave her spell.
Long did it proceed unanswered， till the knolling of abell stole in among the intervals of her words like a clangthat had travelled far over valley and rising ground andwas just ready to die in the air. The lady shook uponher companion’s knees as she heard that boding sound.
Stronger it grew， and sadder， and deepened into the toneof a death-bell， knolling dolefully from some ivy-mantledtower and bearing tidings of mortality and woe to thecottage， to the hall and to the solitary wayfarer， that allmight weep for the doom appointed in turn to them.
Then came a measured tread， passing slowly， slowly on，as of mourners with a coffin， their garments trailing onthe ground， so that the ear could measure the lengthof their melancholy array. Before them went the priest，reading the burial-service， while the leaves of his bookwere rustling in the breeze. And though no voice but hiswas heard to speak aloud， still there were revilings andanathemas， whispered but distinct， from women and frommen， breathed against the daughter who had wrung theaged hearts of her parents， the wife who had betrayed thetrusting fondness of her husband， the mother who hadsinned against natural affection and left her child to die.
The sweeping sound of the funeral train faded away likea thin vapor， and the wind， that just before had seemedto shake the coffin-pall， moaned sadly round the verge ofthe hollow between three hills. But when the old womanstirred the kneeling lady， she lifted not her head.
“Here has been a sweet hour’s sport！” said the witheredcrone， chuckling to herself.
