The week dragged slowly, for both the old boatman and his foster-child felt that their hearts would be lighter when the matter was once settled, and Primrose too awaited with much interest and curiosity the new knowledge of her hitherto unknown baptismal name. Her heart beat fast when, once more as she stood upon the bridge one fair evening, she heard the well-known horse-hoofs clattering in the distance, and ran forward to greet the Black Horseman as he drew up beside the cottage. "Nay, I will not dismount," he said, "for I sleep to-night at Caer Caradoc, where it is my business to acquaint the Lady Rosamond with her charge concerning you. She has herself offered to conduct you safely to London, whither, as you will find, your lady mother bids you repair to join the Lady Bryn Afon early in the month of October." "Does Lady Rosamond then know my mother?" asked Primrose in surprise, "I know the Lady Rosamond," answered the Black Horseman, "and have been so fortunate as to learn her purpose of travelling to town, and her willingness to take you in charge. Doth this my knowledge so surprise you, fair Shanno? Perchance the Black Horseman, though himself unknown to this neighbourhood, may, notwithstanding, know more of some of its occupants than they wot of." "Shanno!"[1] exclaimed Primrose, forgetting her first surprise in a second. "Dear Black Horseman, is that my new name--my real name, that my mother gave me at my baptism?" "Like you its sound?" asked the mysterious physician with a smile. "Shanno!" the girl repeated to herself as if in a dream. "Shanno!" and her voice lingered lovingly over the last syllable in the sweet, musical fashion of her Welsh countrywomen; "yes, it is a name I have ever loved, and I am well content. Dad, what think you of my new name? Is it not one full of music and sweetness? Or is it but my vanity which gives it any beauty? For, like a child with a new toy, I am like to be vain of my new possession!" "Nay, I like it well," said Jack fondly; "but 'Primrose' thou wilt ever be to thy old foster-father. A pale winter Primrose wast thou put into my arms, and the little bud I have cherished in my bosom can have no new name for me, now that I watch it day by day opening into a full-blown flower." "I would not have you call me aught but my own dear, childish name, dad," she answered eagerly; "your Primrose I will ever be, nor think of myself as 'Shanno' save only on high days and holidays!" "That is well," said the Black Horseman, and again that rare smile lit up his austere countenance as he looked at the girl's sparkling face. "Now, fair child, and you, good Jack, I must bid you farewell, for the evening groweth apace, and the road to Caer Caradoc is long." And so saying he put spurs to his gallant steed, and galloped away down the narrow roadway alongside the river, and Primrose, entering the cottage, sat down at the boatman's feet to read her mother's letter. It ran as follows:--"My beloved