Hilarie, for her part, saw in a vision, but with a clearness and distinctness most marvellous, her ancestor Robert with Hilarie his wife. They were both well-stricken in years; they were standing in the porch with their eldest son, his wife and children, to receive their visitors. And first, across the drawbridge, rode the great Lord Archbishop and Lord Chancellor, followed by his retinue. When the Archbishop dismounted, the old man and his wife, and the son, and his wife, and his children went on their knees; but the Archbishop bade them rise, and kissed his parents lovingly. Meantime, the pages and the varlets were unloading pack-horses and pack-mules, because the Archbishop would not lay upon his father so great a charge as the entertainment of his following. And she saw next how the Lord Mayor and the Sheriff, his brother, rode up side by side, the Sheriff a little behind the Mayor, and how they dismounted and knelt for their father's blessing; and so all into the hall together, to take counsel for the great things they were minded to do for their native village. Hilarie turned to her cousin on the right. "Cousin," she said, still in her dream, "we must think of our forefathers, and of what they did. We must ask what the Archbishop would have done in our place." But her cousin made no reply. He was looking with a kind of wonder at Molly. Had the man never seen an attractive girl before? He had; but out of a thousand attractive girls a man may be attracted by one only. And the music went on. What was it that the musician played? Indeed, I know not; things that awakened the imagination and touched the heart. "No one knows," said Molly, "what he plays; only he makes one lost to everything." As for herself, she had a delicious dream of going on the tramp with Dick, he and she alone--he to play, and she---- But when she was about to tell this dream, she would not confess her part in the tramp. The music was over; the fiddle was replaced in its case; the musician was going away. In the porch stood Hilarie. "Cousin," she said, "do you go on tramp for pleasure or for necessity?" "For both. I must needs go on tramp from time to time. There is a restlessness in me. I suppose it is in the blood. Perhaps there was a gipsy once among my ancestors." "But do you really--live--by playing to people?" "He needn't," said Molly; "but he must. He leaves his money at home, and carries his fiddle. Oh, heavenly!" "Why not? I fiddle on village greens and in rustic inns. I camp among the gipsies; I walk with the tramps and casuals. There is no more pleasant life, believe me!" He began to sing in a light, musical tenor--