suddenly awoke from hearing herself called by a shrill clear voice. Opening her heavy eyelids, she was surprised to observe a singularly-dressed female figure, of great beauty but diminutive stature, standing by the side of her couch, and who said, in a sweet small voice, ‘Arise, noble lady, and lend a sufferer your assistance; the Queen of the Mountain will die without your aid.’ The countess rose, though utterly unable to understand the speaker, who waited upon her toilette, and officiated as her waiting-maid, and with as much readiness and zeal as if it had been the habit of years; and the countess herself, who was no very keen observer, could not help remarking, that the several articles of her dress seemed to be instinct with life, or to possess some very extraordinary deference to her attendant, the motion of whose little finger they instantaneously obeyed, placing themselves upon their owner’s person at the first signal given by the stranger. The Countess Ursula had never been so well attended before, and in pure gratitude for the honour done her (howbeit not loving moonlight walks, having seven children), quietly followed wherever her singular visitor thought fit to lead her. Away they went (not flying, but soberly walking) from the castle, unseen of the guards, through whom, however, they passed, over ramparts and drawbridges, through doors and gates, over fields and water, without even wetting their feet, till they arrived at a high mountain, at the foot of which her guide knocked upon a square tablet for admission. The stony doors gave way, and immediately a magnificent glittering arch
