“Eh, Dragon! where did she go?” cried Katie Calder under her breath; but Violet only cast timid looks round her, and almost thought she could perceive, in the half-light of this other gloaming, glimmerings of the white garments through the close foliage of the trees.
“I tell ye, Missie, nae mortal on this earth kens that,” said the Dragon of Allenders; “but, bairns, ye’ll be getting cauld—and I’ll tell ye the rest at hame.”
“Oh, Dragon, tell us the rest,” pleaded Violet; but she looked behind her and before, and almost believed she felt the cold hand of the weird-lady laid upon her shoulder.
“They sought her up and down through the whole country, but the wise and auld among them, kent full well that they would never get her; and from that day to this, nae man has ever seen her, nor kens if she is dead, and away to heaven, or if she’s living aye a charmed life in the fairy-land. It’s my hope she’s in heaven this hundred years—but ane can never tell.”
“And, Dragon, what about Sir Harry?” asked Katie Calder, timidly.
“Sir Hairy was like to gang distraught. He came here and sat upon that stane, day after day for a whole year; and it was him caused bring the stane bowl, and pit the carved wark ower the spring; and at the end of the year he died.
That’s a’ the story, bairns; but, Missie, you that’s fond of ballants, there’s ane the leddy made, and that her woman heard her rhyming ower the day she ga’ed away. I have been trying to mind it a’ this time. It used to have a tune in the country-side. I could ance sing it grand mysel—and if you’ll be awfu’ quiet, I’ll try—
The night wind rose amang the hills,
But the glen was lown and gray,
When she drew her veil about her head