speeches brought me here," said Civil, "and fair speeches may help
me back, but be sure I will not go without you."

This promise cheered the lady's heart, and she and Civil spent that
Christmas time seeing the wonders of the sea country. They wandered
through caves like that of the great merman. The feast that had been
left was spread in every hall; the tables were covered with the most
costly vessels; and heaps of jewels lay on the floors of unlocked
rooms. But for the lady's warning, Civil would have liked to put away
some of them for his mother.

The poor woman was sad of heart by this time, believing her son to be
drowned. On the first night when he did not come home, she had gone to
the sea and watched till morning. Then the fishermen steered out again,
and Sour having found the skiff floating about, brought it home, saying
the foolish young man was no doubt lost; but what better could be
expected when he had no discreet person to take care of him?

This vexed Dame Civil sore. She never expected to see her son again;
but, feeling lonely in her cottage at the evening hour when he used to
come home, the good woman got into the habit of going down at sunset and
sitting beside the sea. That winter happened to be mild on the coast of
the west country, and one evening when the Christmas time was near, and
the rest of the village preparing to make merry, Dame Civil sat, as
usual, on the sands.

The tide was ebbing and the sun going down, when from the eastward came
a lady clad in black, mounted on a black horse, and followed by a squire
in the same sad clothing.

As the lady came near, she said: "Woe is me for my daughter, and for all
that I have lost by the sea!"

"You say well, noble lady," said Dame Civil. "Woe is me also for my son,
for I have none beside him."

When the lady heard that, she alighted from her horse, and sat down by
the fisherman's mother, saying: "Listen to my story. I was the widow of
a great lord in the heart of the east country. He left me a fair castle,
and an only daughter, who was the joy of my heart. Her name was Faith
Feignless. But, while she was yet a child, a great fortune-teller told
me that my daughter would marry a fisherman. I thought this would be a
great disgrace to my noble family, and therefore sent my daughter with
her nurse in a good ship, bound for a far-away city where my relations
live, intending to follow myself as soon as I could get my lands and
castles sold.

"B