ir velvet skin, and they knew
her of old, and they called her by what name she was known to them,
"Persis! Persis!" over and over again, and there was great wailing
among the seal-folk for a mighty space; and the seal-folk danced never
at all that night, but wailed about the wife of Harold, and called
"Persis! Persis!" over and over again, and made great moan. And at
last all was still once more, for the seal-folk, weeping and clamoring
grievously, went back into the sea, and the sea sobbed itself to sleep.

Mindful of the oath he swore, Harold dared not go down to that shore,
but he besought Membril, the queen of Fay, to fetch him tidings from
his beloved, whether she still lay upon the holm, or whether the
seal-folk had borne her away with them into the waters of the deep.
But Membril might not go, nor any of her host, for already the dawn was
in the east and the kine were lowing on yonder slope. So Harold was
left alone a tedious time, until the sun looked upon the earth, and
then, with clamoring heart, Harold came from the Stennis stones and
leapt downward to the holm where his beloved had lain that weary while.
Then he saw that the fair velvet skin was still there, and presently he
saw that within the skin his beloved still reposed. He called to her,
but she made no answer; with exceeding haste he kneeled down and did
off the fair velvet skin, and folded his beloved to his breast. The
sun shone full upon her glorious face and kissed away the dew that
clung to her white cheeks.

"Thou art redeemed, O my beloved!" cried Harold; but her lips spake
not, and her eyes opened not upon him. Yet on the dead wife's face was
such a smile as angels wear, and it told him that they should meet
again in a love that knoweth no fear of parting. And as Harold held
her to his bosom and wailed, there fell down from her hand what she had
kept with her to the last, and it lay upon the fair green holm,--the
little alabaster cross which she had snatched from Theodoric's neck
that day the Death-Angel bore the child away.

It was to tell of Harold, the son of Egbert, the son of Ib, and of
Persis, his wife, daughter of the Pagan king; and it hath been told.
And there is no more to tell, for the tale is ended.

[1] Orkney Folk-Lore.

FLAIL, TRASK, AND BISLAND

My quondam friends, Flail, Trask, and Bisland, are no more; they are
dead, and with them has gone out of existence as gross an imposition as
the moral cowardice