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the moor. I kissed my hand to him over and over again, as he shone far

into my little room; and he, for his part, promised me that every

evening, when he came abroad, he would look in upon me for a few

moments. This promise he has faithfully kept. It is a pity that he can

only stay such a short time when he comes. Whenever he appears, he

tells me of one thing or another that he has seen on the previous

night, or on that same evening. “Just paint the scenes I describe to

you”- this is what he said to me- “and you will have a very pretty

picture-book.” I have followed his injunction for many evenings. I

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