Ralph assented, with a hideous grimace, glad upon any terms to escape. The whole company disappeared, but a faint, sulphur-like flame hovered for a while over the spot they had left. Soon he heard the following words, in a voice of ravishing sweetness:-- "Mortal I must cease to be, If no maiden, honestly, Plight her virgin troth to me, By yon cold moon's silver shower, In the chill and mystic hour, When the arrowy moonbeams fall In the fairies' festive hall. Twice her light shall o'er me pass, Then I am what once I was, Should no maid, betrothed, but free, Plight her virgin vow to me." The music ceased for a short space; then a voice, like the soft whisper of the summer winds, chanted the following lines in a sort of monotonous recitation:-- "Mortal, take this unstained token, Unpledged vows were never broken; Lay it where a Byron's hand This message finds from fairy-land,-- Fair Eleanor, the love-sick maid, Who sighs unto her own soft shade:-- Bid her on this tablet write What lover's wish would e'er indite; Then give it to the faithful stream (As bright and pure as love's first dream) That murmurs by,--'twill bring to me The messenger I give to thee. "But the maiden thou must bring Hither, to our elfin king, Ere three days are come and gone, When the moon hath kissed the stone By our fairy monarch's throne. Shouldst thou fail, or she refuse, Death is thine; or thou may'st choose With us to chase the moonbeams bright, Around the busy world. Good night!" He now felt something slipped into his hand. "Remember," said the voice, "when that shadow is on the pillar, thou must return." Immediately his bodily organs resumed their office, and the astonished miller was not long in regaining his own threshold. But he was a moody and an altered man. The dame could not help shuddering as she saw his ashen visage, and his eyes fixed and almost starting from their sockets. His cheeks were sunken, his head was bare, and his locks covered with rime, and with fragments from the boughs that intercepted his path. "Mercy on me!" cried she, lifting up her hands, "what terrible thing has happened? O Ralph, Ralph, thy silly gostering speeches, I do fear me, have had a sting in their tail thou hast little dreamed of!" Here she crossed herself with much fervour and solemnity. She then turned to gaze on the doomed wretch, who, groaning heavily, seated himself on the old settle without speaking. "He has seen the fairies or the black dog!" said the dame in great terror. "I will not upbraid thee with thy foolish speeches, yet would I thou hadst not spoken so lightly of the good people. But take courage, goodman; thou art never the worse yet for thy mishap, I trow; so tell me what has befallen thee, and ha' done snoring there, like an owl in a barn riggin'."