his head spinning, and everything about him seemed to whirl.

What was that dark object dangling down, as from a huge gallows?

Whither was he to go?—back across the wide morass, where the earth, soft and miry, sank under his feet, where the unhallowed lights lead the wanderers into bottomless quagmires?

He opened his eyes widely, and began to stare around. He saw strange shapes flit through the fog, figures darker than the fog itself rise, mist-like, from the earth. Were they night-birds or human beings? He could not tell.

All at once he bethought himself that they were witches and wizards, carovnitsi and viestitche, the morine or nightmares, and all the creatures of hell gathering together for their nightly frolic.

Fear prompted him to run off as fast as he possibly could, but huge pits were yawning all around him; moreover, curiosity held him back, for he would have liked to see where the damned store away their gold; so, between these two feelings, he stood there rooted to the earth.

At last, when fear prevailed over covetousness, he was about to flee; he felt the ground shiver under his feet, a grave slowly opened on the spot where he stood, for—as you surely must have understood—he was in the very midst of a burying-ground. At midnight in a burying-ground, when the tombs gape and give out their dead! His hair stood on end, his blood was curdling within his veins, his very heart stopped beating.

Can you fancy his terror in seeing a voukoudlak, a horrid vampire all bloated with the blood it nightly sucks. Slowly he saw them rise one after the other, each one looking like a drowsy man awaking from deep slumbers. Soon they began to shake off their sluggishness, and leap and jump and frolic around, and as the mist cleared he could see all the other uncouth figures whirl about in a mazy dance, like midges on a rainy day.

It was too late to run away now, for as soon as these blood-suckers saw him, they surrounded him, capering and yelling, twisting their boneless and leech-like bodies, grinning at him with delight, at the thought of the good cheer awaiting them, telling him that it was by no means a painful kind of death, and that afterwards he himself would become a vampire and have a jolly time of it.

At the sight of these dead-and-alive kind of ghosts, the poor man wished he had either a pentacle, a bit of consecrated candle, or even a medal of the Virgin; but he had nothing, he was at the mercy of the fiends; therefore, overpowered by fear, he fell down in a fainting-fit.

That night, and the whole of the following day, Jella and her mother waited for the old man to come back; but they waited in vain. When the evening came on, her mother persuaded her to go to the dancing-party and see if the young stranger would come again.

"Perhaps," said she, "he might tell you something about your father; if not, ask no questions. Anyhow, take this ball of thread, which I have spun myself, and on bidding him good-bye, manage to cast this loop on one of his buttons, drop the ball on the ground, and leave everything to me. Very likely your father has lost the scent of the musk, and is still wandering about the country. This thread, which is as strong as wire, is a much surer guide to go by."

Jella did as she was bid. She went to the house where the Kolo was being danced; she spent the whole evening with the young stranger, who never said a word about her father, and when the moment of parting on the threshold of the door arrived, she deftly fastened the end of the thread to one of his buttons, and then stood watching him go off.

The ball having slowly unwound itself, the old woman darted out and caught hold of the other end of the string. Then she followed the youth in the darkness, through thorns and thickets, through brambles and briars, as well as her tottering legs could carry her, much in the same way her husband had done the evening before.

That night and the day afterwards, Jella waited for her father and mother, but neither of them returned. When evening came on, afraid of remaining alone, she again went to dance the Kolo.

The evening passed very quickly, and the rustic ball came to an end. The youth accompanied her home as he had done the evening before, and on their way he whispered words of love in her ear, that made her heart beat faster, and her head grow quite giddy, words that made her forget her father and mother, and the dreaded night she was to pass quite alone. Still, as they got in sight of the house, Jella, who was very frightened, grew all at once quite thoughtful and gloomy. Seeing her so sorrowful, the young stranger put again his arm round her waist, and looking deep into her dark blue eyes, he asked her why she was so sad.

She thereupon told him the cause of all her troubles.

"Never mind, my darling," said the youth, "come along with me."

"But," faltered Jella, hesitatingly, "do you go far?"

"No, not so very far either."

"Still, where do you go?"

"Come and see, dear."

Jella did not exactly know what to do. She fain would go with him, and yet she was afraid of what people might say about her, and again she shuddered at the thought of having to remain at home quite alone.

"You are not afraid to come with me," he asked; "are you?"

"Afraid? No, why should I be? you surely would take care of me?"

"Of course; why do you not come, then?"

"Because the old women might say that it is improper."

"Oh," quoth he, laughing, "only old women who have daughters of their own to marry, say such things!"

Thereupon he offered her his arm, and off they went.

Soon leaving the village behind them, they were in the open fields, beyond the vineyards and the orchards, in the untilled land where the agaves shoot their gaunt stalks up towards the sky, where the air is redolent with the scent of thyme, sage and the flowering Agnus castus bushes; then again they went through leafy lanes of myrtle and pomegranate-trees and meadows where orchis bloomed and sparkling brooks were babbling in their pebbly beds.

Though they had been walking for hours, Jella did not feel in the least tired; it seemed as if she had been borne on the wings of the wind. Moreover, all sense of gloom and sadness was over, and she was as blithe and as merry as she had ever been.

At last—towards dawn—they reached a dense wood, where stately oaks and fine beech-trees formed fretted domes high up in the air. There nightingales warbled erotic songs, and the merle's throat burst with love; there the crickets chirped with such glee that you could hardly help feeling how pleasant life was. The moon on its wane cast a mellow, silvery light through the shivering leaves, whilst in the east the sky was of the pale saffron tint of early dawn.

"Stop!" said the young girl, laying her hand on the stranger's arm. "Do you not see there some beautiful ladies dancing under the trees, swinging on the long pendant branches and combing the pearly drops of dew from their black locks?"

"I see them quite well."

"They must be Vile?"

"I am sure they are."

"Fairies should not be seen by mortal eyes against their wish. Then do not let us seek their wrath."

"Do not be afraid, sweet child; we are no ordinary mortals, you and
I."

"You, perhaps, are not; but as for me, I am only a poor peasant girl."

"No, my love, you are much better than you