“Now, Miss Em., my honey, if you don’t mind walking up to de house by yourself, I think I’ll jes’ set here in de boat and smoke my pipe and think o’ King David and Abishey till you come back,” said old ’Sias as he steadied the boat to let his passenger step out. “Very well, Uncle ’Sias, I will not keep you long.” “Never mind ’bout de ‘long,’ honey. I could stay here all day, willin’! It’s so quiet like here, and clean out’n de reach o’ Sereny,” replied the old man as he settled himself in his seat and took out his pipe and began to fill it. Em. walked on through the belt of silver maples that had now turned in their autumn tints so that they formed a golden girdle around the shores of the beautiful island. Passing through and out of them she walked up the ornate terraces where the clumps of trees in their fall dress of crimson, orange, and purple, looked like gigantic posies, and the parterres of flowers were rich in late roses, dahlias, chrysanthemums, and other autumn blooms. Up, past arbors, statues, and fountains, to the white, colonnaded piazza that surrounded the white palace. “This might be the ‘Island of Calm Delights,’ and the fairy palace of the Princess Blandina, for its beauty and its solitude,” said Em. to herself as she went up the marble steps that led to the main entrance. She had intended to walk around the piazza to the rear of the house to get the key from the solitary housekeeper; but as soon as she stepped upon the porch she saw that the front door was open. It was not an unusual circumstance—Em. had twice, on former visits, found the door open when other sightseers happened to be present. Therefore, without the least surprise or hesitation, she entered the beautiful hall and passed directly to the saloon, where that wondrous portrait of the “White Spirit” hung, which had, for her, so powerful a fascination. To her slight surprise now she saw no one present. The room was vacant. She went and opened one of the windows to throw a better light upon the lovely portrait, and then she turned and stood before it. How perfectly proportioned was the slender, elegant form! How stately and graceful the attitude! How soft and flowing the drapery! How fair and delicate, how refined and spirituelle the lovely face, seen through the misty tissue of the falling veil, which seemed so real that Em. felt tempted to lift her hand and draw it aside that she might get a clearer view of the beautiful vision. As she gazed a new light broke upon her. “Why, this is a bridal dress!” she said to herself. “Strange it never struck me so before, but I suppose it was because I had heard the lady always appeared veiled. But here she must have been painted in her bridal dress, for that is certainly a bridal veil.” “Yes, she was painted in her bridal dress,” murmured a voice, soft, sweet and low as the notes of an eolian harp.