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 following the river as it wound itself out of the glen into the open plain. Mary forgot her grief, and carolled like a bird, hoping to make her father smile. She darted ahead at full speed, and then returned showering roses in her path, and bound the head of her father’s horse with a gay chaplet. Hugo smiled at the fooleries of the girl, for he bethought himself of her mother, and restrained his moodiness.

When they came out where the country spread itself into a broad meadow, with the river rolling onward and the silent forest, and the high mountains lay against the sky, the girl drew with feelings of awe to the side of her father, and rode on in silence. Ever and anon the clear sound of a bugle swelled out, and then died away in the distance&mdash;while the baying of hounds told of courtly sport. Mary looked on every side, but neither dwelling nor human being was to be seen, but jangling the bells of her harness she caught the spirit of life which the bugle implied, and rode gayly onward.

Reaching a lovely glade where the birches trembled lightly over a stream, Hugo dismounted, and they sat down upon the bank. The girl feared to disturb the silence of her father, so she nestled to his side and pulled the violets for lack of something to do. At length he said:

“Mary, what is the word which the spirit keeps up in the mountain? I have tried to speak it, and am not able.”

“It is an ill word, dear father, that removes the soul from God.”

“Nevertheless, speak it,” said Hugo.

“I dare not speak a word, that will mix my nature with earth-spirits, dear father.”

“Thou art but a cowardly girl,” cried Hugo; “did I not see wealth such as the greatest monarch might envy, and did I not see thrones and power within my grasp, save that this palsied tongue could not seize the word?”

While her father spoke in this wise, Mary grew pale, and knelt with her hands folded in silence. At length she spoke:

“It is a fearful word, dear father, which causes the crystal gates