the waxen looking red and yellow berries of the wild guelder rose, when suddenly the rear of the darkness dim which over-shadowed her spirits was scattered by the lively din of a long loud whistle from Rupert, who was concealed from her by some trees, a little in advance of her.  She hastened forwards, and found him and all the others just emerged from the wood, and standing on an open bare common where neither castle nor cottage was to be seen, nothing but a carpet of purple heath, dwarf furze, and short soft grass upon which a few cows, a colt, and a donkey, were browsing.  The party were standing together, laughing, some moderately, others immoderately.

‘What is the matter?’ asked Helen.

‘I do not know,’ said Elizabeth, ’unless Rupert is hallooing because he is out of the wood.’

‘Wait till you have heard my reasons unfolded,’ said Rupert; ’did you never hear how this celebrated fortress came by its name?’

‘Never,’ said several voices.

‘Then listen, listen, ladies all,’ said Rupert.  ’You must know that once upon a time there was a most beautiful princess, who lived in a splendid castle, where she received all kinds of company.  Well, one day, there arrived an old grim palmer, just like the picture of Hopeful, in the Pilgrim’s Progress, with a fine striped cockle-shell sticking upright in his hat-band.  Well, the cockle-shell tickled the Princess’s fancy very much, and she made her pet knight (for she had as many suitors as Penelope) promise that he would steal it from him that very night.  So at the witching hour of midnight, the knight approached the palmer’s couch, and gently abstracted the cockle hat and staff, placing in their stead, the jester’s cap and bells, and bauble.  Next morning when it was pitch dark, for it was the shortest day, up jumped the palmer, and prepared to resume his journey.  Now it chanced that the day before, the lady had ordered that the fool should be whipped, for mocking her, when she could not get the marrow neatly out of a bone with her fingers, and peeped into it like a hungry magpie; so that the moment the poor palmer appeared in the court-yard, all the squires and pages set upon him, taking him for the fool, and whipped him round and round like any peg-top.  Suddenly, down fell the cap and bells, and he saw what had been done; upon which he immediately turned into an enchanter, and commanded the Princess and all her train to fall into a deep sleep, all excepting the knight who had committed the offence, who is for ever riding up and down the castle court, repenting of his discourtesy, with his face towards the tail of a cream-coloured donkey, wearing a cap and bells for a helmet, with a rod for a lance, and a cockle-shell for a shield, and star-fishes for spurs, and the Princess can only be disenchanted by her devoted champion doing battle with him.  All, however, has vanished away from vulgar eyes, and can only be brought to light by being thrice whistled for.  A slight tradition has remained, and the place has ever since been known by the mysterious name of Whistlefar.’