“In dreams I sigh for those dark eyes
That ever lit with love for me;
But they are veiled, their light is gone,
And sorrow’s night shades gather fast,
As through the vale I’m borne along—
An autumn leaf upon the blast.”
Suddenly the man’s gaze became fixed upon a form that appeared upon a rocky shelf overhanging the tree beneath which was the new-made grave of Ben Talbot. It was a woman’s form, clad in a garb of white, and down her back hung heavy masses of golden hair.
The moon had risen above the eastern hills, and poured a full flood of light directly upon her. Distinctly Red Hand beheld the beautiful, sad face, the large eyes glancing down into the gloom of the gorge beneath, as if to penetrate the dark secret buried there.
Then the song ceased, and the clear voice called out in tones that again startled the silent depths:
“Ben! Ben Talbot! Come!”