He told of nothing that might not be recorded in the history of almost every household , and yet his hearers felt as if no sunshine ought to fall upon a spot where human grief had left so deep a stain -- or , at least , that no joyous temple should be built there . `` This is very sad , '' said the Lily , sighing . `` Well , there are lovelier spots than this , '' said Adam Forrester , soothingly -- `` spots which sorrow has not blighted . '' So they hastened away , and the melancholy Gascoigne followed them , looking as if he had gathered up all the gloom of the deserted spot and was bearing it as a burden of inestimable treasure . But still they rambled on , and soon found themselves in a rocky dell through the midst of which ran a streamlet with ripple and foam and a continual voice of inarticulate joy . It was a wild retreat walled on either side with gray precipices which would have frowned somewhat too sternly had not a profusion of green shrubbery rooted itself into their crevices and wreathed gladsome foliage around their solemn brows . But the chief joy of the dell was in the little stream which seemed like the presence of a blissful child with nothing earthly to do save to babble merrily and disport itself , and make every living soul its playfellow , and throw the sunny gleams of its spirit upon all . `` Here , here is the spot ! '' cried the two lovers , with one voice , as they reached a level space on the brink of a small cascade . `` This glen was made on purpose for our temple . '' `` And the glad song of the brook will be always in our ears , '' said Lilias Fay . `` And its long melody shall sing the bliss of our lifetime , '' said Adam Forrester . `` Ye must build no temple here , '' murmured their dismal companion . And there again was the old lunatic standing just on the spot where they meant to rear their lightsome dome , and looking like the embodied symbol of some great woe that in forgotten days had happened there . And , alas ! there had been woe , nor that alone . A young man more than a hundred years before had lured hither a girl that loved him , and on this spot had murdered her and washed his bloody hands in the stream which sang so merrily , and ever since the victim 's death-shrieks were often heard to echo between the cliffs . `` And see ! '' cried old Gascoigne ; `` is the stream yet pure from the stain of the murderer 's hands ? '' `` Methinks it has a tinge of blood , '' faintly answered the Lily ; and , being as slight as the gossamer , she trembled and clung to her lover 's arm , whispering , `` Let us flee from this dreadful vale . ''
`` Come , then , '' said Adam XXXXX as cheerily as he could ; `` we shall soon find a happier spot . ''
Fay Forrester days death-shrieks gleams left murdered playfellow tinge years