AND after some days my friend Annabel Lee wrote me this upon a square of rice paper:

Dear Mary MacLane:—Don’t you know a gorgon is the knowingest thing in the land?

You may believe what your friend says of fair lilies.

But have I ever said that I am a fair lily?

As for my eyes—they are good chiefly to see with. And they are bad for many things.

Yes—get thee home soon, child.

I miss you when I come to deck me mornings with my lavender slip and my scarlet frock. And the gold marguerites have not been brushed since you went away.

Naught have I to bear me company except Ellen, the faithful little tan deer—and she can not wait upon me, and she cannot worship me.

What hast done with Martha Goneril the cat?

I would fain you had left her here.

But Mary MacLane—you. Do you know about it?