"Why then may the fiends seize the fancy, and my fool's head along with it! Hark'e, good dame Bell, did you ever hear of the old heathen _Lamiæ_? the _Lemures_, as they were sometimes called?" "I have heard of some such beasts of Peru," said the complaisant hostess; "and I believe they are a kind of camels." "Oh, that's the _llama_, the pretty little llama," said the young man, with the good-humour that became an instructor. "The Lamiæ were monsters and sorceresses of Africa, with the face and bust of women, and the body of a serpent,--a sort of land mermaids. (By the by, do you know, I saw a mermaid once? Some time, I will tell you all about her; but, just now, all I can say is, that she was monstrous ugly.) These Lamiæ often bewitched men, who looked them in the face: if you looked there first, you were so blinded, you could not perceive their true deformity, until assisted by the counter-spell of some benevolent magician. Now, Elsie, this is my thought: I hold Miss Falconer to be a Lamia; and the sound of her father's name was the spell that opened my eyes to her true ugliness. Pho!" continued the youth, observing the incredulity and wonder of his auditor; "the image is a bad one after all, for it conveys an improper impression. I should say, that _I_ am like the Lamia's lover, not Miss Falconer like the Lamia. To tell you the truth, I have heard so many ill things said of the father, that I feel myself heartily inclined to hate the daughter. A vixen, I warrant me!" The old woman regarded him earnestly, and then replied, "Little cause have I to love Colonel Falconer, or to speak well of him and his; yet why should a stranger like you, assume the post of the judge, and visit the father's faults upon the head of his offspring? But you do not speak seriously. I know no evil of Miss Falconer, and I have heard none. This is the first time I have ever seen her so near to my threshold: and I know not what strange fancy could have brought her hither. As for Miss Catherine, the Captain's daughter, she often comes to inquire about me. Poor child! she fears not the 'old witch,' for she has done no harm to me nor to any other mortal; she does not hate 'wicked old Elsie,' for hatred dwells not in her nature; but she looks with respect and pity upon the miseries of age and penury. And many a good deed she has done me, when others passed me by with scorn and hate. Would that I might go down to the grave in her place! were it but in memory of her goodness. But when the bolt is aimed at the little willow, even the withered old oak cannot arrest it."