"'Fear not,' cam a voice, clear and strong like the sound o' a trumpet—'fear not to leap across this gulf. Faith an' a brave heart will carry thee safely to this side. Come.' And she beckoned wi' her hand.
"The lad set his horse to the leap. One moment an' he was i' the air, anither an' he was safe upo' the ither side. Then the voice said, 'Whither awa sae swiftly?' An' the boy replied, 'I'm gaun to revenge the murder o' my feyther an' my brither. I'm seekin' a black horse an' its rider. Can ye tell me which way he went?'
"'He is gane where thy vengeance canna follow him,' replied the voice; an' then the figure raised its airm, pointin' to the heavens, an' the voice went on, 'I am Fate, a messenger o' Justice, to whom vengeance belongs. I ca'd yon coward to the leap as I ca'd thee. He leaped to his death, an' thou hast leaped to safety, but no to revenge; that is for wiser hands than thine. Gang where his body lies, an' pluck the oak an' the scarlet ribbon frae him to show thy mither.' The lad did as he was bid, an' then the woman cam close to him an' laid her hand upo' his brow, sayin', 'Thou art a brave lad, an' I, Fate, do promise thee that thou shalt gang fearless a' thy days, an' they shall be mony.' I' a moment she was gane, an' there was naething to be seen o' her, nor o' the body o' the wicked man, nor the wide gulf; an' Lord Malcolm found himsel' upo' the road to the Abbey o' Glendown, but he still carried the sprig o' oak an' the scarlet ribbon. An' upo' the very spot whaur the gulf had been there grew a wonderfu' grove o' hawthorn trees, the finest i' the countryside. Folks ca' it the 'Leddy's Grove,' an' it is there till this day for a' to see, an' on the coat o' airms o' the Glendown family ye'll see the sprig o' oak an' the scarlet ribbon. Young Malcolm galloped hame an' telt his tale to his mither just as I hae telt it to you, young misses."
With appropriate looks and gestures the old man had told his story, his listeners sitting as if spellbound, motionless except for a whispered word of explanation here and there from Marjory. Both gave sighs of regret as his last words died away, and Marjory cried,—
"O Peter, that is one of the best you've ever told; it is simply splendid!"
"Do you think it's really true?" questioned Blanche eagerly. "Did such things as these really happen long ago?"
"I'm tellin' ye the story as my mither telt it to me. Her feyther telt it to her, an' wha's to ken whether it's true or whether it's no true." And, as if to dismiss the subject, Peter got up from his basket and resumed his sawing.