One evening, in the full glare of a dazzling sunset, the light streaming like a shower through the dark foliage of the valley, she had loitered, along with her old nurse, in the dell to which we have before alluded.  The glowing atmosphere was just fading into the dewy tint which betokens a fair morrow.  To enjoy a more extended gaze upon the clouds, those gorgeous vestures of the sun, Constance had ascended, by a winding path, to the edge of a steep cliff overhanging the river.  She stood for some minutes looking towards the west, unconscious of the loose and slippery nature of the materials beneath her feet, and of her near approach to the brink.  On a sudden the ground gave way, and she was precipitated headlong into the river!  Nurse Agnes, who stood below, watching her young mistress, not without apprehension as to the consequences of her temerity, was stricken motionless with horror.  There seemed to be no help.  Fast receding from all hope of succour, Constance was borne rapidly down the stream.  Suddenly, with the swiftness of a deer from the brake, a figure bounded from an opposite thicket.  He seemed scarcely to leave his footmarks on the long herbage ere he gained the river’s brink.  Plunging into the current he succeeded in rescuing the maiden from her perilous condition.  He laid her gently on the bank, beckoning to her attendant, and was speedily out of sight.  The aged Agnes, with trembling hands, relieved Constance by loosening the folds from her throat; and almost ere she had wrung out the water from the raven locks of her inanimate mistress, the stranger returned.  He carried a cordial, with which he moistened her lips; the old woman chafed her temples, resorting to the usual modes of resuscitation then in practice; and in the end, Constance opened her eyes.  A heavy sob accompanied this effort.  She looked wildly round, when she met the deep gaze of the stranger.  With a faint shriek, she hid her face in the bosom of her attendant, who, overjoyed at her recovery, could scarcely refrain from falling at the feet of her deliverer.  She turned to express her thanks, but he was gone.

It was not long ere several domestics, alarmed at their absence, came in search; and Constance, borne gently along, was soon restored to her anxious parent.  But he looked thoughtful and disturbed when the stranger’s person was described, evidently averse to hold any communication on the subject.  Nurse Agnes grew eloquent in his praise, until the following conversation that same evening in the kitchen turned aside the current of her opinions.

“A rough grey cloak, gossip, thou sayest?” again inquired a hard-featured hind from the chimney-corner.

“I tell thee a cloak, and a cap turned up in front.  He doused it off nobly, and took to the water like a spaniel!”

“Why, ’tis the wild man of the woods!” said another listener, who had hitherto been silent, but whose remark seemed to strike terror into the whole group.  They looked round as if anticipating a visit from this fearful personage.  Dame Agnes crossed herself, and muttered her prayers with great despatch; something was at length audible and articulate, as follows:—­