parliament while we turn our attention to lighter matters." Primrose found that time by no means hung heavily upon her hands in the society of her cheerful hostess, and the days passed gaily enough within the grim old castle walls. Each day she rode out with Lady Rosamond and Sir Ivor, exploring the beautiful country in many directions hitherto unknown to her, visiting with them other ancient castles and venerable mansions, which vied with Caer Caradoc in rugged stateliness and historic interest; and even penetrating one day far up into the wild Craig Aran range, where hill after hill rolled away in soft shadow or purple darkness, and green valleys broke away on every side, clothed with woods in all the soft freshness of their mid-summer beauty, while far ahead loomed the rocky Peak, which formed the summit of the ridge, towering giant-like above the softer and more rounded hills below, and shelving steeply down to the mysterious Pool at its base--a silent sheet of black water, shut in on three sides by the steep walls of the mountain-top, where there ever reigned a wonderful silence, broken only by some distant sheep-bell, or call of shepherd-boy or cowherd on the plain. "About a mile or so from yon Peak," said Lady Rosamond, "there stands a lone farmstead, which the Lady Bryn Afon loves to frequent in the summer-time. It is a desolate spot, far removed from the nearest village, and even from other farms or cottages, but it charmed her long since by its romantic situation and the beautiful scenery around, and she loves to pass some quiet weeks now and again within its walls, at such times as her lord is detained unusually long about the Court. For my part, I should mope my life away in such a region, with none but a curious old farm-woman and her family, who speak not one word of English, for my company! But the Lady Bryn Afon has so great a love for this barbarous tongue of ours, and is moreover so solitary a spirit, that, as I say, it is her delight to bury herself there when she may. There is a marvellous legend of some fair maiden, who appears on Midsummer Eve from out the lake, and wanders round its shores. I know not the precise story, but Master Rhys Prichard, at whose house we shall tarry awhile on our way homewards for refreshment and an hour's pleasant converse, will repeat it for you, for he is learned in all our mystic lore beyond most men. Ah, Primrose, I have a thought! We will come and watch for her, you and I, next Midsummer Eve, an we are alive! I have longed many a time to prove for myself the truth of the tale, and you must perforce behold the enchanted spot ere many more years roll over your head, else your education as a good Welsh maiden will scarce be completed. Alas, that the thought did not come to me a week since! then could we have cajoled my lord into a charming midnight excursion this Midsummer Eve just passed." "I would dearly love to go!" said Primrose, her eyes shining with excitement.