At times , the fire threw out a brief and dusky gleam , which twinkled on the old man 's glasses , and hovered doubtfully round our circle , but was far too faint to portray the individuals who composed it . Were we not like ghosts ? Dreamy as the scene was , might it not be a type of the mode in which departed people , who had known and loved each other here , would hold communion in eternity ? We were aware of each other 's presence , not by sight , nor sound , nor touch , but by an inward consciousness . Would it not be so among the dead ? The silence was interrupted by the consumptive daughter , addressing a remark to some one in the circle , whom she called Rachel . Her tremulous and decayed accents were answered by a single word , but in a voice that made me start , and bend towards the spot whence it had proceeded . Had I ever heard that sweet , low tone ? If not , why did it rouse up so many old recollections , or mockeries of such , the shadows of things familiar , yet unknown , and fill my mind with confused images of her features who had spoken , though buried in the gloom of the parlor ? Whom had my heart recognized , that it throbbed so ? I listened , to catch her gentle breathing , and strove , by the intensity of my gaze , to picture forth a shape where none was visible . Suddenly , the dry pine caught ; the fire blazed up with a ruddy glow ; and where the darkness had been , there was she , -- the Vision of the Fountain ! A spirit of radiance only , she had vanished with the rainbow , and appeared again in the firelight , perhaps to flicker with the blaze , and be gone . Yet , her cheek was rosy and life-like , and her features , in the bright warmth of the room , were even sweeter and tenderer than my recollection of them . She knew me ! The mirthful expression that had laughed in her eyes and dimpled over her countenance , when I beheld her faint beauty in the fountain , was laughing and dimpling there now . One moment our glance mingled , -- the next , down rolled the heap of tan upon the kindled wood , -- and darkness snatched away that Daughter of the Light , and gave her back to me no more ! Fair ladies , there is nothing more to tell . Must the simple mystery be revealed , then , that Rachel was the daughter of the village squire , and had left home for a boarding-school , the morning after I arrived , and returned the day before my departure ? If I transformed her to an angel , it is what every youthful lover does for his mistress .
Therein consists the essence XXXXX my story .
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