One summer evening, I had lingered longer than usual in my rocky retreat: I had lain halfdreaming in the mouth of my cave, till the shadows of evening had fallen, and the gloaming haddeepened half-way towards the night. But the night had no more terrors for me than the day.Indeed, in such regions there is a solitariness for which there seems a peculiar sense, and uponwhich the shadows of night sink with a strange relief, hiding from the eye the wide space which yetthey throw more open to the imagination. When I lifted my head, only a star here and there caughtmy eye; but, looking intently into the depths of blue-grey, I saw that they were crowded withtwinkles. The mountain rose before me, a huge mass of gloom; but its several peaks stood outagainst the sky with a clear, pure, sharp outline, and looked nearer to me than the bulk from whichthey rose heaven-wards. One star trembled and throbbed upon the very tip of the loftiest, thecentral peak, which seemed the spire of a mighty temple where the light was worshipped-crowned, therefore, in the darkness, with the emblem of the day. I was lying, as I have said, with this fancy stillin my thought, when suddenly I heard, clear, though faint and far away, the sound as of the ironshod hoofs of a horse, in furious gallop along an uneven rocky surface. It was more like a distantecho than an original sound. It seemed to come from the face of the mountain, where no horse, Iknew, could go at that speed, even if its rider courted certain destruction. There was a peculiarity, too, in the sound-a certain tinkle, or clank, which I fancied myself able, by auricular analysis, todistinguish from the body of the sound. Supposing the sound to be caused by the feet of a horse, the peculiarity was just such as would result from one of the shoes being loose. A terror-strangeeven to my experience-seized me, and I hastened home. The sounds gradually died away as Idescended the hill. Could they have been an echo from some precipice of the mountain? I knew ofno road lying so that, if a horse were galloping upon it, the sounds would be reflected from themountain to me.The next day, in one of my rambles, I found myself near the cottage of my old foster-mother, who was distantly related to us, and was a trusted servant in the family at the time I was born. Onthe death of my mother, which took place almost immediately after my birth, she had taken theentire charge of me, and had brought me up, though with difficulty; for she used to tell me, I shouldnever be either folk or fairy. For some years she had lived alone in a cottage, at the bottom of a deepgreen circular hollow, upon which, in walking over a healthy table-land, one came with a suddensurprise. I was her frequent visitor. She was a tall, thin, aged woman, with eager eyes, and welldefined clear-cut features. Her voice was harsh, but with an undertone of great tenderness. She wasscrupulously careful in her attire, which was rather above her station. Altogether, she had much thebearing of a gentle-woman. Her devotion to me was quite motherly. Never having had any family ofher own, although she had been the wife of one of my father's shepherds, she expended the wholematernity of her nature upon me. She was always my first resource in any perplexity, for I was sureof all the help she could give me. And as she had much influence with my father, who was rathersevere in his notions, I had had occasion to beg her interference. No necessity of this sort, however, had led to my visit on the present occa