I dreamed that I heard a sound of singing on the hill-- But now I awoke from this vision of the past and of a long lost dream, for as I stood the sweet voice of a woman began to sing yonder on the brow of the slope; I was not mad, I heard it clearly, and the sound grew ever nearer as the singer drew down the steep hillside.

It was so near now that I could catch the very words of that sad song which to this day I remember.
Now I could see the woman's shape in the moonlight; it was tall and stately and clad in a white robe.

Presently she lifted her head to watch the flitter of a bat and the moonlight lit upon her face.

It was the face of Lily Bozard, my lost love, beautiful as of yore, though grown older and stamped with the seal of some great sorrow.

I saw, and so deeply was I stirred at the sight, that had it not been for the low paling to which I clung, I must have fallen to the earth, and a deep groan broke from my lips.
She heard the groan and ceased her song, then catching sight of the figure of a man, she stopped and turned as though to fly.