Sir Guy was humming this gruesome ballad as the train neared Denfield Station, where news of their arrival had already preceded them, and the Errington tenantry, in a state of high excitement, were waiting to welcome the young couple home. Blithe and happy, with a faint roseate tinge in her pale cheeks, arising from a natural feeling of anticipation, Alizon sat opposite to her husband, who was gazing fondly at her, and the glint of her golden hair and the whiteness of her skin set him thinking of that weird old ballad, sung to him in childish days by an old Scotch nurse full of the haunting superstitions of the North. "What on earth are you muttering about, Guy?" asked Alizon, in a puzzled tone, as she heard him crooning this melancholy strain. "Only an old song about a bride's home-coming," he replied gaily, and thereupon repeated to her all he remembered of the legend, the foreboding strain of which made his wife, sensitive in a great measure to supernatural hintings, shudder nervously. "Don't, Guy, don't tell me any more," she said apprehensively, putting her gloved hand over his mouth. "It's a bad omen." "What, are you so superstitious as that?" he replied, kissing her hand. "Do you think you are the witch-woman of the ballad, destined to bring woe to Errington?" "No! No! I hope not! I trust not!" cried Lady Errington, shrinking back with a vague dread in her eyes, "but I am a little superstitious. I think everyone is more or less, and my family has been so terribly unfortunate that I am afraid of bringing you bad luck." "Nonsense! I don't mind the bad luck a bit, as long as you come along with it," said her husband, soothingly. "I wish I hadn't put these ideas into your foolish little head. You must have nothing but bright thoughts to-day, my dearest, for this is your home-coming, and I hear we are to have a great reception." "Tell me all about it," asked Lady Errington, recovering herself with an effort. "Oh, that would take too long, besides I'm as ignorant as you are; but there are to be banners and flowers and music and all that sort of thing, you know, and I expect old Welstarler the Rector will read us an address. Then, of course, everyone will have a tuck-out at the Hall, and there is to be a dance in the evening down the village. All Denfield's going to have a high old time, so, for once in your life you'll be received like a royal personage." "Don't make me nervous." "Pooh! there's nothing to be nervous about. Just smile and look sweet, I'll do all the patter." "The what?" "Patter! talk you know. I'm afraid it is slangy, but very expressive all the same. By Jove, the train's slowing down, we'll soon be home now. There's the square tower of Denfield Church, and yonder, Alizon!--here, quick--on the right--that white wing of a house. That's our place."