All afternoon Isabel sat spellbound, listening to one long-buried tragedy after another, living back into the lives of her remote ancestors, when feeling was less restrained, love more ardent, hate and vengeance more swift and sure; when, also, the world was inhabited by more picturesque beings--lords, ladies, kings and queens. Often Isabel had sighed for the days of romance and chivalry; believed she had been born out of time into a world prosaic, spiritless, commercial-minded; felt an impatience with the men she knew--Thomas Vance, for instance, who could be content to spend nine or ten hours of every day in his cashier's cage at the bank. She knew now that the old world of the ballads was the one to which she truly belonged. Many times during the afternoon she glanced at Fult's face, impassive always, save for the smouldering eyes. Only once, when news of the cruel killing of a Douglas is brought to his castle, and his "baby son, on the nourice's knee," miraculously speaks up: "Gin I live to be a man, revenged I'll be," did she see a spasm of feeling pass over it. Frequently, between ballads, Aunt Ailsie opened her closed eyes and sent Fult to the top of the rocks. During one of his absences on sentinel duty in the late afternoon, she surprised Isabel by saying: "But there's jest as good song-ballats made nowadays as there was in them old ancient times." "What do you mean?" "Why, there's men that follers making song-ballats about things that happens now, and does naught but set in chimley-corners and sing 'em, and nobody is welcomer wherever they go. There's two blind Beverly boys--but they hain't boys now no longer--that never did nothing else. They are kindly kin to the Fallons. I'll sing you some of theirn some day, about the wars in this country. After Fulty kilt Rafe Kent and was sont down to Frankfort, they made up one about the Fallon-Kent war and him." Isabel was thrilled. "I must hear it," she said. "I'd never dairst to sing hit in his hearing," replied Aunt Ailsie; "the onliest chanct would be to get him away a while." "Oh, please do!" entreated Isabel, as Fult stepped back into the rock-house. After another old ballad, Aunt Ailsie said:-- "Fulty, your grandpaw's been ailing a right smart with the rheumatiz in his j'ints, like you know, and I been a-wishing for some yaller-root to bile down for him. In the days when we follered digging sang through these hills, there was a sight of hit growed on this here mountain--beyand that next spur was a good place. There's time a-plenty yet,--Lot he won't never get back afore dark,--and if you feel to, you might go down and dig a few roots." Fult rose with alacrity. "I will," he said, "if Miss Isabel will go with me." He turned his handsome eyes upon her. "She hain't hardly equal to sech a ja'nt yet a while. You go down-along by yourself, and me'n' her'll set and wait for you." "Oh, come," pleaded Fult, insistently, with both voice and eyes.