When Aleema was gone, Yillah went forth into the glen, and wandered among the trees, and reposed by the banks of the stream.  And ever as she strolled, looked down upon her the grim old cliffs, bearded with trailing moss.

Toward the lower end of the vale, its lofty walls advancing and overhanging their base, almost met in mid air.  And a great rock, hurled from an adjacent height, and falling into the space intercepted, there remained fixed.  Aerial trees shot up from its surface; birds nested in its clefts; and strange vines roved abroad, overrunning the tops of the trees, lying thereon in coils and undulations, like anacondas basking in the light.  Beneath this rock, was a lofty wall of ponderous stones.  Between its crevices, peeps were had of a long and leafy arcade, quivering far away to where the sea rolled in the sun.  Lower down, these crevices gave an outlet to the waters of the brook, which, in a long cascade, poured over sloping green ledges near the foot of the wall, into a deep shady pool; whose rocky sides, by the perpetual eddying of the water, had been worn into a grotesque resemblance to a group of giants, with heads submerged, indolently reclining about the basin.

In this pool, Yillah would bathe.  And once, emerging, she heard the echoes of a voice, and called aloud.  But the only reply, was the rustling of branches, as some one, invisible, fled down the valley beyond.  Soon after, a stone rolled inward, and Aleema the priest stood before her; saying that the voice she had heard was his.  But it was not.

At last the weary days grew, longer and longer, and the maiden pined for companionship.  When the breeze blew not, but slept in the caves of the mountains, and all the leaves of the trees stood motionless as tears in the eye, Yillah would sadden, and call upon the spirits in her soul to awaken.  She sang low airs, she thought she had heard in Oroolia; but started affrighted, as from dingles and dells, came back to her strains more wild than hers.  And ever, when sad, Aleema would seek to cheer her soil, by calling to mind the bright scenes of Oroolia the Blest, to which place, he averred, she was shortly to return, never more to depart.

Now, at the head of the vale of Ardair, rose a tall, dark peak, presenting at the top the grim profile of a human face; whose shadow, every afternoon, crept down the verdant side of the mountain:  a silent phantom, stealing all over the bosom of the glen.

At times, when the phantom drew near, Aleema would take Yillah forth, and waiting its approach, lay her down by the shadow, disposing her arms in a caress; saying, “Oh, Apo! dost accept thy bride?” And at last, when it crept beyond the place where he stood, and buried the whole valley in gloom; Aleema would say, “Arise Yillah; Apo hath stretched himself to sleep in Ardair.  Go, slumber where thou wilt; for thou wilt slumber in his arms.”

And so, every night, slept the maiden in the arms of grim Apo.