"Dad," she said suddenly one evening, as, strolling slowly towards Cwmfelin, they passed from the river-bank along the narrow road beneath the castle, leaving on their right, as they reached the hamlet, the dark, wooded lane which led to the front entrance to the castle, where the great iron gates opened into a yet deeper and darker avenue of grim old oaks and elms, between which the carriage-drive to the building itself wound in dim mysterious shadow--"Dad, the story they tell of the lady who walks in the avenue, crying and wringing her hands, is true, for I have seen her." "How so then, my pretty?" asked Jack incredulously. "Surely, I fear me then, you must needs have forgotten your mother's orders, not to speak of mine whatever!" "Nay, I did not forget them," answered Primrose frankly, her eyes filling with sudden tears; "I disobeyed them, dad. It was in the summer of last year, in September, when the earl was here. You know how I have ever longed and teased to be allowed just once to peep within yon great iron gates? Well, dear dad, I longed very much to do so one evening when I was on my way alone from the rectory towards home, and I had, oh, such a great wish to see the earl's beautiful face again, and I thought perchance he might be taking the air in the dark avenue, so I crept through the lane to the gates, and looked through them. It was the day after the earl had found me up the river, and had talked with us so long at the cottage. While I looked, feeling very much frightened at the strange black shadows the great trees made across the coach-drive, and wishing the road did not turn so much about, that I might have had just one peep at the castle itself, a tall lady, wrapped in a long black cloak, and wearing a veil over her face, so that I could not see her countenance, came walking slowly down the avenue, wringing her hands and sobbing as she came, moaning too once and again as if she were in great pain or wretchedness. And when she came close to the gates and saw me, for I was too fearsome to hide myself or move, she threw up her hands and shrieked, and turning round, fled back to the castle, as though I were the ghost and not she! For me, I ran home to you, dad, as though I verily had wings, but I dared not tell you lest you should chide me for my disobedience! But indeed, dear dad, I am sorry for my naughtiness. Think you she was really a ghost, as people say, or the poor lady of the castle, weeping over the curse?" "I doubt not it was the unfortunate Lady Bryn Afon herself you saw, sweetheart," answered the boatman musingly. "And was she then so veiled that you could see nought indeed of her features?" "Nought, dear dad," she answered; "if she were truly the Lady Bryn Afon, none who so saw her could ever know her again. Will you then truly forgive my disobedience? Yet," she added musingly, "I know not that I am so sorry as I fain would be, for in my heart there