Having been advised without hesitation by Master Rhys to make inquiry through the Black Horseman as to the baptismal name of Little Miss Primrose, with a view to her much-desired confirmation at the next opportunity, the boatman awaited, with almost as much impatience as his foster-child herself, the arrival of the coal-black steed and his mysterious rider, whose usual half-yearly visit was now drawing near. In the meantime, to divert her thoughts from the matter, he gladly agreed to a proposal made one day by the kind-hearted old vicar, to take her with him some fine morning on horseback to Caer Caradoc, that grim old castle perched on a lonely precipitous crag some twelve miles distant, which had long ago been the abode of her favourite King Arthur and his knights, and where also, in its mysterious subterranean passage, the boatman's lost daughter had met her tragic fate. So one afternoon, when reading by herself in the library at Cwmfelin Parsonage, as was her frequent custom, she jumped for joy when Master Rhys entered the room, and holding aloft a letter in his hand, said gaily: "A summons to our little British Queen from my Lady Rosamond of Caer Caradoc, to spend the morrow in her company, an she will trust herself to the care of her white-haired friend, and a pillion on the back of his good old grey mare. What say you, child?" "Does she indeed bid you bring me with you?" exclaimed Primrose, her eyes sparkling. "Why indeed, dear master, there is nothing I would like so well! I have long wished I might see my dear King Arthur's castle, yet I could not see how it might ever be, since I dare not ask my father to take me to a place which is to his mind so full of sorrow. Methought the castle had been these many years left desolate?" "And so it has been," answered Master Rhys; "a caretaker only has dwelt there for several years past, Sir Ivor Meredith having resided some while abroad ere his marriage. Some lingering love for his old home has at length drawn him hither with his young wife, and I rejoice much thereat, for I like not to see these fine old castles, the glory of our country-side, left to the bats and owls. Lady Rosamond is the daughter of a dear friend of mine, who honoured me with much pleasant company and friendship at Oxford in our youthful days, but who, alas, has some while since passed away from this world. She is but young, thirty or thereabouts, whereas her husband, Sir Ivor, must by now number some forty years or more. Ere her marriage some three years since she was, as I well recollect, as wild and tricksy a maiden as might be found, yet withal of so good a heart and warm affection that one could but love her and pardon her faults. I have but now parted from your foster-father, who is willing and glad that you should accompany me, so now away with King Arthur, for it groweth dusk, and the road is lonely, and there are now no knights of the Round Table to afford succour to a fair-haired damsel in