于是，我給孩子們講道，在追求那個精靈般的女子七年的時間里，我時而充滿希望，時而又失望不已，然而始終不渝。我盡量以孩子們能理解的程度，向他們解釋少女身上的羞怯、敏感與回絕——當我突然轉向艾麗絲時，第一個艾麗絲的靈魂在小艾麗絲的眼里活生生地出現了，以至于我有些懷疑是？站在我的面前。而當我定睛看去時，兩個孩子在我的視野中漸漸地變得模糊，越來越遠，直到消失，只在最遠的地方剩下哀傷的面孔。盡管她們什么也沒說，但我仿佛聽到了他們的話：“我們不是艾麗絲的孩子，不是你的孩子，我們也不是孩子。艾麗絲的孩子叫巴爾曼爸爸。我們什么也不是，連夢幻都不是。我們只是可能存在的人物，在真實存在之前，我們必須要遺忘河邊苦苦等上數百萬年，然后才有一個名字。”——我突然驚醒，發現自己靜靜地坐在我的輪椅上。原來，我在那里睡著了，忠誠的布里吉特還守在我身邊，但是約翰（或者詹姆斯）永遠失去了蹤影。

Children love to listen to stories about their elders， when they were children； to stretch their imagination to the conception of a traditionary great-uncle or great-aunt， whom they never saw. It was in this spirit that my little ones crept about me the other evening to hear about their great-grandmother Field， who lived in a great house in Norfolk (a hundred times bigger than that in which they and papa lived) which had been the scene—so at least it was generally believed in that part of the country—of the tragic incidents which they had lately become familiar with from the ballad of the Children in the Wood. Certain it is that the whole story of the children and their cruel uncle was to be seen fairly carved out in wood upon the chimney-piece of the great hall， the whole story down to the Robin Redbreasts； till a foolish rich person pulled it down to set up a marble one of modern invention in its stead， with no story upon it. Here Alice put out one of her dear mother’s looks， too tender to be called upbraiding.

Then I went on to say， how religious and how good their great-grandmother Field was， how beloved and respected by everybody， though she was not indeed the mistress of this greenhouse， but had only the charge of it (and yet in some respects she might be said to be the mistress of it too) committed to her by the owner， who preferred living in a newer and more fashionable mansion which he had purchased somewhere in the adjoining county； but still she lived in it in a manner as if it had been her own， and kept up the dignity of the great house in a sort while she lived， which afterwards came to decay， and was nearly pulled down， and all its old ornaments stripped and carried away to the owner’s other house， where they were set up， and looked as awkward as if some one were to carry away the old tombs they had seen lately at the Abbey， and stick them up in Lady C.’s tawdry gilt drawing-room. Here John smiled， as much as to say， “that would be foolish indeed.” And then I told how， when she came to die， her funeral was attended by a concourse of all the poor， and some of the gentry too， of the neighborhood for many miles round， to show their respect for her memory， because she had been such a good and religious woman’s good indeed that she knew all the Psaltery by heart， aye， and a great part of the Testament besides. Here little Alice spread her hands.

Then I told what a tall， upright， graceful person their great-grandmother Field once was； and how in her youth she was esteemed the best dancer—here Alice’s little right foot played an involuntary movement， till upon my looking grave， it desisted—the best dancer， I was saying， in the county， till a cruel disease， called a cancer， came， and bowed her down with pain； but it could never bend her good spirits， or make them stoop， but they were still upright， because she was so good and religious. Then I told how she was used to sleep by herself in a lone chamber of the great lone house； and how she believed that an apparition of two infants was to be seen at midnight gliding up and down the great staircase near where she slept， but she said “hose innocents would do her no harm；” and how frightened used to be， though in those days I had my maid to sleep with me， because I was never half so good or religious as she—and yet I never saw the infants. Here John expanded all his eyebrows and tried to look courageous.

Then I told how good she was to all her grand-children， having us to the great house in the holidays， where I in particular used to spend many hours by myself， in gazing upon the old busts of the Twelve Caesars， that had been Emperors of Rome， till the old marble heads would seem to live again， or I to be turned into marble with them， how I never could be fired with roaming about that huge mansion， with its vast empty moms， with their worn-out hangings， fluttering tapestry and carved oaken panicle， with the gilding almost rubbed out—sometimes in the spacious old—fashioned gardens， which I had almost to myself， unless when now and then a solitary gardening man would cross me—and how the nectarines and peaches hung upon the walls， without my ever offering to pluck them， because they were forbidden fruit， unless now and then，—and because I had more pleasure in strolling about among the old melancholy-looking yew trees， or the firs， and picking up the red berries， and the firapples， which were good for nothing but to look at—or in lying about upon the fresh grass， with all the fine garden smells around me—or basking in the orangery， till I could almost fancy myself ripening， too； along with the oranges and the limes in that grateful warmth—or in watching the dace that darted to and fro in the fish pond， at the bottom of the graven， with here and there a great sulky pike hanging midway down the water in slient state， as if it mocked at their impertinent frisking， —I had more pleasure in these busy-idle diversions than in all the sweet flavors of peaches， nectarines， oranges， and such like common baits of children. Here John slyly deposited back upon the plate a bunch of grapes， which， not unobserved by Alice， he had meditated dividing with her， and both seemed willing to relinquish them for the present as irrelevant.