CONTENTS

The stories marked with an asterisk (*) are now
published for the first time.

I am alone; it is the dead of night;
I am not gone to rest, because my mind
Is too much raised for sleep. The silent light
Of the dim taper streams its unseen wind,
And quite as voiceless, on the hearth, burns bright
The ruddy ember: now no ear can find
A sound, however faint, to break the lull
Of which the shadowy realm of dreams is full.

Charlotte Brontë