"It is a verse from the hymn of thanksgiving sung often in church," I said. "Did you ever hear it?"
Winifred shook her head.
"They don't sing much in the chapel down below," she said, "except simple little hymns. It isn't like the grand days when the castle was full of people and the abbey church was close by."
Then she paused, as if she did not care to say more; and as we were now within sight of the hill she suddenly left me, waving her hand in farewell, and swinging herself by the tree-bridge across the mountain-stream.
"Good-by!" she called back to me. "And don't forget next time that granny is blind."
CHAPTER III. WINIFRED ASKS QUESTIONS.
The morning after my visit to the castle I set out early to enjoy the beauties of the Glen, having first partaken of breakfast and enjoyed a little chat with my landlord, who was growing accustomed to my American inquisitiveness.
"Sure she's a fine woman is Granny Meehan!" he said, in answer to some opinion I had given concerning her; "an' a religious woman, too, and very knowledgeable for her station. But her head is full of queer consates. I think it's most turned by livin' up beyant alone so long."