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On the island in the Lake, beside the little chapel, sat Lavender.
It was evening, but Lavender could not go to sleep because of the hurly-burly in the Mountain. Lavender heard the Votaresses howling and shrieking and Bruineen growling. She heard the Dragon come snorting up from his lair, and saw him spout fire all over the Mountain.
And now she saw the blazing flames shooting upwards to the skies.
But then she heard something—good gracious! what was it she heard? A laugh, like a little silver bell. Lavender’s heart throbbed within her.
The tiny voice laughed again.
Then Lavender could bear it no longer, but called from the Island:
“Who is that laughing in the Mountain?” asked Lavender gently, and all a-tremble at the thought of who might answer.
“Who is that calling me from the Island?” answered little Primrose.
And Lavender recognised Primrose’s baby-talk.
“Primrose! my own only Brother!” cried Lavender, and stood up white in the moonlight.
“Lavender, little sister!” cried Primrose; and, light as a moth, he stepped over the reeds and the rushes and the water-weeds to the Island. They hugged and they kissed; they sat down side by side in the moonlight by the little chapel. A little did they talk, but they were not clever at making a long story. They clasped each other’s little hands and went to sleep.