Then, like a flashing of intense light, it came upon Sir Richard that this was the voice which he had heard steal out upon the night at the moment when Tyrrell, Zenas, and he were burying the dead hound. Cautiously getting to his feet, and dodging warily from tree to tree, he made his way in the direction whence the voice seemed to be coming. As he ever after regarded it, all of the adventures through which he had passed, and which are here set down, were but the prelude to the vision of fair loveliness which suddenly presented itself to his dazzled eyes. With her arm linked within that of the silvery-haired old lady, she was walking slowly along the forest road, her head uplifted in song. It seemed to Sir Richard that the soft moonlight enveloped her lovingly, imparting to her wondrous beauty an essence of unreality. The golden nimbus encompassing her head added immeasurably to the impression that he was but gazing upon an ephemeral picture,--fairy-painted--the which must become soon a floating radiance above the roadway and then blend insensibly with the air before his captive eyes. Silently the young knight stood there, with the better part of him going out to vie with the silvery moonbeams in tenderly caressing her. That grosser portion of him stationed beneath the tree remained, as though hewn in stone and clutching deep into the rough bark, till the maiden turned to retrace her way into the tavern. When she had gone he rushed madly back, stealing furtively to the rear of the building, and tremblingly tore open the covering of Isabel's packet. In it was the cutting of saffron velvet. Then, impatiently biding his time till they should again draw nigh, he sauntered around the corner of the building with his gaze fastened upon the moon. He could have made oath that he saw, first, a dozen of them, and then none at all. "Give thee a fair good-night, dame Sutherland," Sir Richard said in an agitated voice, "art thou, too, enjoying the moon?" The grandam dropped him a pretty curtsy, the while the other stood with drooping and averted head. "Thank thee much, sire; I am," the old lady gave him answer. "'Tis a bonnie night, i' faith." "Yes, sire, 'tis," curtsying again. "And the moon--'tis extraordinary bright?" "Yes, sire, 'tis," curtsying once more. "I trust the ... young lady--may not suffer an indisposition from the dank airs?" "We have grown accustomed, sire," with another curtsy. Sir Richard noted for the first time that the aged grandam's head, as well as that of her beautiful young companion, was uncovered. "Yet ... 'tis parlous dank," said he, edging between them and the door. "I have the honor to present to thy august notice, sire, my beloved granddaughter--Rocelia Tyrrell," dame Sutherland yielded. Sir Richard knew not what he answered. He took her hand, he remembered afterward, turned instantly light-headed, and made out to salute it rather awkwardly with his lips.