“Is he now at our cousin Talbot’s?” inquired the maiden, with a look of more than ordinary interest.

“If he be not on the way back again,” returned the dame, as though wishful to repress inquiry.

“The woods are not safe so late and alone.  Comes he alone, mother?”

“Alone!  Ay,—­and why spierest thou?” The dame looked wistfully, though but for a moment, on her daughter; then changing her tone, as if to recommend a change of subject, she cried—­

“Come, ha’ done, Elspet; we will wait no longer than grace be said.  Now to thy song.”

The maiden began as follows:—­

    1. 
    “There sits three ravens on yon tree,
        Heigho! 
    There sits three ravens on yon tree,
    As black, as black, as they can be. 
      Heigho, the derry, derry, down, heigho.

    2. 
    “Says the first raven to the other,
        Heigho! 
    Says the first raven to the other,
    ‘We’ll go and eat our feast together.’ 
      Heigho, &c.

    3. 
    “’It’s down in yonder grass-grown field,
        Heigho! 
    It’s down in yonder grass-grown field,
    There lies a dead knight just new killed.’ 
      Heigho, &c.

    4. 
    “There came a lady full of woe,
        Heigho! 
    There came a lady full of woe,
    And her hands she wrung, and her tears did flow. 
      Heigho, &c.

    5. 
    “She saw the red blood from his side,
        Heigho! 
    She saw the red blood from his side,—­
    ‘And it was for me my true love died!’
      Heigho, &c.

    6. 
    “’Oh, cruel was my brother’s sword,
        Heigho! 
    Oh, cruel, cruel, was his sword,
    But sharper the edge of one scornful word.’ 
      Heigho, &c.

    7. 
    She laid her on his bosom cold,
        Heigho! 
    She laid her on his bosom cold,
    While adown his cheek her tears they rolled. 
      Heigho, &c.

    8. 
    “No word she spake, but one sob gave she,
        Heigho! 
    No word she spake, but one sob gave she: 
    Said the ravens, ’Another feast have we,
    And long shall thy rest and thy slumbers be.’ 
      Heigho, the derry, derry, down, heigho!”

At the concluding stanza in walked Oliver Tempest, who, as if to avoid notice, sat down, without uttering a word, in a dark corner at the opposite side of the hall.  He looked moody, and wishful to be alone.  Joan, for a while, forbore to interrupt his reverie, and the females finished their evening repast in silence.

“Is Sir Thomas Talbot yet returned from the Harringtons?” inquired the dame soon after, with an air of assumed carelessness.

“He returned an hour only ere I departed.”

Another pause ensued.

“And his son Thomas, comes he back from the Pudsays of Bolton?  Does the gentle Florence[59] look on him kindly, or is the wedding yet delayed?”