dently connected with the vast treeless moor
rising southward to where the ancient menhir of King Taramis crowned
its summit. The good man yielded, as usual. For the present there
were Madame Lavigne's small savings. Suzanne's wants were but few.
The rare shopping necessary Father Jean could see to himself. With the
coming of winter he would broach the subject again, and then be quite
firm. Just these were the summer nights when Suzanne loved to roam;
and as for danger! there was not a lad for ten leagues round who would
not have run a mile to avoid passing, even in daylight, that cottage
standing where the moor dips down to the sealands.

But one surmises that even a fairy may feel lonesome. Especially a
banished fairy, hanging as it were between earth and air, knowing
mortal maidens kissed and courted, while one's own companions kept away
from one in hiding. Maybe the fancy came to her that, after all these
years, they might forgive her. Still, it was their meeting place, so
legend ran, especially of midsummer nights. Rare it was now for human
eye to catch a glimpse of the shimmering robes, but high on the
treeless moor to the music of the Lady of the Fountain, one might still
hear, were one brave enough to venture, the rhythm of their dancing
feet. If she sought them, softly calling, might they not reveal
themselves to her, make room for her once again in the whirling circle?
One has the idea that the moonlight frock may have added to her hopes.
Philosophy admits that feeling oneself well dressed gives confidence.

If all of them had not disappeared--been kissed three times upon the
lips by mortal man and so become a woman? It seems to have been a
possibility for which your White Lady had to be prepared. That is, if
she chose to suffer it. If not, it was unfortunate for the too daring
mortal. But if he gained favour in her eyes! That he was brave, his
wooing proved. If, added thereto, he were comely, with kind strong
ways, and eyes that drew you? History proves that such dreams must
have come even to White Ladies. Maybe more especially on midsummer
nights when the moon is at its full. It was on such a night that Sir
Gerylon had woke Malvina's sister Sighile with a kiss. A true White
Lady must always dare to face her fate.

It seems to have befallen Malvina. Some told Father Jean how he had
arrived in a chariot drawn by winged horses, the thunder of his passing
waking many in the sleeping vill