The twin streamlets of the fair river Gwynnon were rushing merrily down the hillside out of their solitary birthplaces in the deep mountain caverns, hurrying with eager jest to their glad marriage union in the grassy slopes below, and Primrose, in the mysterious stillness reigning ever around the Robbers' Cavern, stood watching them with fascinated eye, seeing in the glad meeting of the rippling waters and their onward joyful journey together, a picture, as Percival Vere had seen two summers agone, of their own two lives, as yet divided like the tiny streamlets, but so soon to be united for all eternity in a glad bond of union, which, like the broad and shining river below, should, in God's great mercy, overflow with love to Him and His creatures, and fill the dark valleys of life with the sunshine running over from their own cup of pure and holy wedded bliss. Accompanied by the two farm maidens, Shanno had wandered hither one bright afternoon over miles of hill and dale, which seemed in the fresh mountain air to have no power of wearying her glad young feet, and in the gathering spring twilight she paused for a last look at the wild, weird spot ere rejoining her maidens and turning homeward. As she watched the bubbling streamlets, lost in her own happy thoughts, a moan suddenly struck on her ear, and with swift recollection she pushed aside the brambles which concealed the entrance to the Robbers' Cavern, and, penetrating within, found, lying upon her wretched bed of straw, the withered form of the ancient gipsy whom Percival had endeavoured to befriend two years before, but who had eluded his grasp after their first strange meeting. Now at last the lonely wanderings of the poor worn-out, restless frame had ceased, and, withered almost to a skeleton, she lay prostrate, the shadows of death fast gathering on her wasted brow, and her skinny hands clutching convulsively at the ragged coverings which were her only bed-clothes. Primrose shuddered at the sight, but, fearing to terrify the superstitious mountain maidens, forbore to call them to her side, as her first impulse prompted, and crept fearfully to the old woman's bedside, longing impotently that Percival had been at hand, to commend this poor benighted soul at its last hour into the hands of One who might still have mercy.