I was very frightened, for I feared that when he had done his narrative we were to walk on through the wood into that place of wonders and of shadows where the dead were visible.

He leaned his elbow on his knee, and his forehead on his hand, which shaded his downcast eyes.  In that attitude he described to me a beautiful landscape, radiant with a wondrous light, in which, rejoicing, my mother moved along an airy path, ascending among mountains of fantastic height, and peaks, melting in celestial colouring into the air, and peopled with human beings translated into the same image, beauty, and splendour.  And when he had ended his relation, he rose, took my hand, and smiling gently down on my pale, wondering face, he said the same words he had spoken before—­

‘Come, dear, let us go.’

‘Oh! no, no, no—­not now,’ I said, resisting, and very much frightened.

’Home, I mean, dear.  We cannot walk to the place I have described.  We can only reach it through the gate of death, to which we are all tending, young and old, with sure steps.’

‘And where is the gate of death?’ I asked in a sort of whisper, as we walked together, holding his hand, and looking stealthily.  He smiled sadly and said—­

’When, sooner or later, the time comes, as Hagar’s eyes were opened in the wilderness, and she beheld the fountain of water, so shall each of us see the door open before us, and enter in and be refreshed.’

For a long time following this walk I was very nervous; more so for the awful manner in which Mrs. Rusk received my statement—­with stern lips and upturned hands and eyes, and an angry expostulation:  ’I do wonder at you, Mary Quince, letting the child walk into the wood with that limb of darkness.  It is a mercy he did not show her the devil, or frighten her out of her senses, in that lonely place!’

Of these Swedenborgians, indeed, I know no more than I might learn from good Mrs. Rusk’s very inaccurate talk.  Two or three of them crossed in the course of my early life, like magic-lantern figures, the disk of my very circumscribed observation.  All outside was and is darkness.  I once tried to read one of their books upon the future state—­heaven and hell; but I grew after a day or two so nervous that I laid it aside.  It is enough for me to know that their founder either saw or fancied he saw amazing visions, which, so far from superseding, confirmed and interpreted the language of the Bible; and as dear papa accepted their ideas, I am happy in thinking that they did not conflict with the supreme authority of holy writ.

Leaning on my hand, I was now looking upon that solemn wood, white and shadowy in the moonlight, where, for a long time after that ramble with the visionary, I fancied the gate of death, hidden only by a strange glamour, and the dazzling land of ghosts, were situate; and I suppose these earlier associations gave to my reverie about my father’s coming visitor a wilder and a sadder tinge.