distress by the way! Which knight of them all would the Primrose choose for her liege servant?" "Sir Galahad," answered Primrose softly. "Methinks, Master Rhys, no mortal man could e'er have been so like our dear Lord Himself as he, and he alone was worthy to go in quest of the Holy Grail. The knight I would choose should be like him." "It is a worthy choice," said the old vicar, smiling, "yet I fear me the world doth boast but few Sir Galahads." "Are men for the most part wicked, then?" asked Primrose, lifting her large grey eyes to his face wonderingly. "That would be a hard saying," he answered; "yet out of the many there are but few I would see you choose for your knight, sweet Primrose. Dream of your Sir Galahad, an you will, my child, and let all living knights alone yet awhile. You do not crave to leave this lonely country-side, and see the gay world yet?" "No," she answered, shaking her head. "I love these wild hills and the lonely river and gloomy old castle more than I could ever love the court where the earl loves to spend his time. I wish for nothing, only sometimes for my mother, and for her I only wish with a certain dread, for who can tell whether she will love me, and what my life may then be?" And musing deeply upon her unknown and mysterious parents, Primrose walked slowly homewards along the silent roadway, heeding nothing around her, until, passing the dark lane which led to the castle entrance, she started violently at finding herself confronted by the old vagrant gipsy, who suddenly appeared from the hedgerow, and addressed her in shrill tones. Years had not improved the appearance of the old woman, whose withered face now looked like parchment, and whose ragged garments hung loosely about her tottering, shrivelled limbs. But Primrose was too well accustomed to the apparition to feel any actual fear, for once at least in every year she was wont to reappear and wander about the valley, singing her rude rhymes, yet never harming any one, nor noticing the golden-haired girl, save to eye her with wild glances as she passed, which Primrose from her babyhood had returned quite fearlessly. The suddenness of her present appearance, however, was somewhat startling, especially as the old crone, holding up a skinny forefinger, placed herself in the middle of the young girl's path, and pointing to the castle, said in a shrill whisper: "It is there again!" "What is there?" asked Primrose, a little awestruck, but speaking fearlessly. "The ghost," answered the old hag hoarsely; "the ghost that walks and wrings its hands, up and down, up and down. Yester eve, in the dark, the earl came, and he brought the ghost with him--in the dark, child, but I saw him!" And she laughed a shrill, horrible laugh. "He ever comes and goes in the dark, but the gipsy sees him! Go not near the castle, child; there's a curse on it--a curse, do you hear?" And she brought her withered face so close to Primrose that the girl recoiled.