Lilith

"There is no hurt in the air," she returned; "but the creatures that roam the night in these parts are not such as
a man would willingly have about him while he sleeps."
"I have not been disturbed," I said.
"No; I have been sitting by you ever since you lay down."
"That is very kind of you! How came you to know I was here? Why do you show me such favour?"
"I saw you," she answered, still with her back to me, "in the light of the moon, just as she went down. I see
badly in the day, but at night perfectly. The shadow of my house would have hidden you, but both its doors
were open. I was out on the waste, and saw you go into this hollow. You were asleep, however, before I
could reach you, and I was not willing to disturb you. People are frightened if I come on them suddenly. They
call me the Cat−woman. It is not my name."
I remembered what the children had told me−−that she was very ugly, and scratched. But her voice was
gentle, and its tone a little apologetic: she could not be a bad giantess!
"You shall not hear it from me," I answered, "Please tell me what I MAY call you!"
"When you know me, call me by the name that seems to you to fit me," she replied: "that will tell me what
sort you are. People do not often give me the right one. It is well when they do."
"I suppose, madam, you live in the cottage I saw in the heart of the moon?"
"I do. I live there alone, except when I have visitors. It is a poor place, but I do what I can for my guests, and
sometimes their sleep is sweet to them."
Her voice entered into me, and made me feel strangely still.
"I will go with you, madam," I said, rising.
She rose at once, and without a glance behind her led the way. I could see her just well enough to follow. She
was taller than myself, but not so tall as I had thought her. That she never turned her face to me made me
curious−−nowise apprehensive, her voice rang so true. But how was I to fit her with a name who could not
see her? I strove to get alongside of her, but failed: when I quickened my pace she quickened hers, and kept
easily ahead of me. At length I did begin to grow a little afraid. Why was she so careful not to be seen?
Extraordinary ugliness would account for it: she might fear terrifying me! Horror of an inconceivable
monstrosity began to assail me: was I following through the dark an unheard of hideousness? Almost I
repented of having accepted her hospitality.
Neither spoke, and the silence grew unbearable. I MUST break it!
"I want to find my way," I said, "to a place I have heard of, but whose name I have not yet learned. Perhaps
you can tell it me!"
"Describe it, then, and I will direct you. The stupid Bags know nothing, and the careless little Lovers forget
almost everything."
"Where do those live?"
Lilith
Lilith 47