thought upon the coming day of separation his heart sank more and more within him, and vague feelings of unrest and sad anticipation disturbed his mind. It was a gay summer in the valley, for the weather being unusually warm and bright, many guests tarried in the castles in the neighbourhood, and constant pleasure-parties went up and down the river, and Jack plied a thriving trade with his boats and his ancient coracle, and greatly did his heart rejoice to see the admiration with which all beheld his foster-child, and likewise the ease and modest grace with which she bore herself among them. And more than all others came the boat of Sir Tristram Ap Rhys, a gay young knight from the old grey-turreted mansion which crowned the wooded heights of Craig Arthur, who, chancing to spend the summer, contrary to his usual custom, in his Welsh castle, heard much of the wonderful beauty of the river-maiden, and must needs pass continually up and down the river, to gain one glimpse of her golden hair and radiant eyes, making some pretext, too, as he grew bolder, to draw up his boat under the bridge, and call at the boatman's cottage for a drink of water, or to borrow a fishing-rod, or make some other sorry device, until at length Primrose grew weary of his gallant speeches and the bold glance of his merry blue eyes, which no coldness on her part could check; and would run, at the first distant glimpse of his boat, into safe hiding in the lanes or copses, feeling a sort of foolish anger, poor child, in her heart, that any one should dare look with love into the eyes that were ever filled with Sir Galahad's image, or press with soft gallantry the hand round which his fingers had more than once closed with a tightness for which he was wont afterwards too late to bring himself to task. And when Sir Tristram, catching her one day unawares beneath the willows, drew up swiftly to land, and beneath their shade, in sudden transport and triumph, vowed such love and constancy as he avowed had never before been felt by mortal man for maiden, she wept tears of sorrow at the thought that her beauty should be such a snare to mankind, that even against her will she should cause them such pain and sorrow of heart as she now saw depicted in Sir Tristram's boyish countenance, when he tore his long curls for misery at her cruel rejection of his love, and avowed she had broken his heart. But she did not know, in her girlish innocence, that he had already torn out many a curl for many a maiden, and must needs to the end of time break his heart afresh for every fair face that refused to smile upon him. So with tears she sorrowfully bade him depart--tears shed half in anger at his presumption, half in sorrow for his grief, and Sir Tristram rowed away down the stream with heart-rending sighs, and many languishing glances back at the spot where she stood, and soon growing weary of fishing in the fair Gwynnon, returned to town, to drown his sorrows amid the gaieties of the Court.