The Hollow of the Three Hills

Nathaniel Hawthorne

In those strange old times, when fantastic dreams and madmen's reveries were realized

among the actual circumstances of life, two persons met together at an appointed hour and

place. One was a lady, graceful in form and fair of feature, though pale and troubled, and

smitten with an untimely blight in what should have been the fullest bloom of her years; the

other was an ancient and meanly-dressed woman, of ill-favored aspect, and so withered,

shrunken, and decrepit, that even the space since she began to decay must have exceeded

the ordinary term of human existence. In the spot where they encountered, no mortal could

observe them. Three little hills stood near each other, and down in the midst of them sunk a

of green and sluggish water at the bottom of the basin. Such scenes as this (so gray tradition

tells) were once the resort of the Power of Evil and his plighted subjects; and here, at

midnight or on the dim verge of evening, they were said to stand round the mantling pool,

disturbing its putrid waters in the performance of an impious baptismal rite. The chill

beauty of an autumnal sunset was now gilding the three hill-tops, whence a paler tint stole

down their sides into the hollow.

"Here is our pleasant meeting come to pass," said the aged crone, "according as thou hast

desired. Say quickly what thou wouldst have of me, for there is but a short hour that we

may tarry here."

As the old withered woman spoke, a smile glimmered on her countenance, like lamplight

have come hither to inquire of their welfare."

"And who is there by this green pool that can bring thee news from the ends of the earth?"

cried the old woman, peering into the lady's face. "Not from my lips mayst thou hear these

tidings; yet, be thou bold, and the daylight shall not pass away from yonder hill-top before

thy wish be granted."

"I will do your bidding though I die," replied the lady desperately.

The old woman seated herself on the trunk of the fallen tree, threw aside the hood that

shrouded her gray locks, and beckoned her companion to draw near.

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"Kneel down," she said, "and lay your forehead on my knees."

She hesitated a moment, but the anxiety that had long been kindling burned fiercely up

within her. As she knelt down, the border of her garment was dipped into the pool; she laid

her forehead on the old woman's knees, and the latter drew a cloak about the lady's face, so

that she was in darkness. Then she heard the muttered words of prayer, in the midst of

which she started, and would have arisen.

imperfect and gradually brightening light. In such a manner, as the prayer proceeded, did

those voices strengthen upon the ear; till at length the petition ended, and the conversation

of an aged man, and of a woman broken and decayed like himself, became distinctly

audible to the lady as she knelt. But those strangers appeared not to stand in the hollow

depth between the three hills. Their voices were encompassed and reechoed by the walls of

a chamber, the windows of which were rattling in the breeze; the regular vibration of a

clock, the crackling of a fire, and the tinkling of the embers as they fell among the ashes,

rendered the scene almost as vivid as if painted to the eye. By a melancholy hearth sat these

two old people, the man calmly despondent, the woman querulous and tearful, and their

words were all of sorrow. They spoke of a daughter, a wanderer they knew not where,

smiling in the lady's face.

"And did you also hear them?" exclaimed she, a sense of intolerable humiliation triumphing

over her agony and fear.

"Yea; and we have yet more to hear," replied the old woman. "Wherefore, cover thy face

quickly."

Again the withered hag poured forth the monotonous words of a prayer that was not meant

to be acceptable in heaven; and soon, in the pauses of her breath, strange murmurings began

to thicken, gradually increasing so as to drown and overpower the charm by which they

grew. Shrieks pierced through the obscurity of sound, and were succeeded by the singing of

sweet female voices, which, in their turn, gave way to a wild roar of laughter, broken

that died causelessly into funeral hymns. She shuddered at the unprovoked wrath which

passions jostled each other in a drunken career, there was one solemn voice of a man, and a

manly and melodious voice it might once have been. He went to and fro continually, and

his feet sounded upon the floor. In each member of that frenzied company, whose own

burning thoughts had become their exclusive world, he sought an auditor for the story of his

individual wrong, and interpreted their laughter and tears as his reward of scorn or pity. He

spoke of woman's perfidy, of a wife who had broken her holiest vows, of a home and heart

made desolate. Even as he went on, the shout, the laugh, the shriek the sob, rose up in

unison, till they changed into the hollow, fitful, and uneven sound of the wind, as it fought

among the pine-trees on those three lonely hills. The lady looked up, and there was the

withered woman smiling in her face.

"Wouldst thou hear more?" demanded the old woman.

the hour be past."

The golden skirts of day were yet lingering upon the hills, but deep shades obscured the

hollow and the pool, as if sombre night were rising thence to overspread the world. Again

that evil woman began to weave her spell. Long did it proceed unanswered, till the knolling

of a bell stole in among the intervals of her words, like a clang that had travelled far over

valley and rising ground, and was just ready to die in the air. The lady shook upon her

companion's knees as she heard that boding sound. Stronger it grew and sadder, and

deepened into the tone of a death bell, knolling dolefully from some ivy-mantled tower, and

bearing tidings of mortality and woe to the cottage, to the hall, and to the solitary wayfarer

that all might weep for the doom appointed in turn to them. Then came a measured tread,

ground, so that the ear could measure the length of their melancholy array. Before them

went the priest, reading the burial service, while the leaves of his book were rustling in the

and the wind, that just before had seemed to shake the coffin pall, moaned sadly round the

verge of the Hollow between three Hills. But when the old woman stirred the kneeling lady,

she lifted not her head.

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