The mystery of woods by moonlight thrilled the little minister.  His eyes rested on the shining roots, and he remembered what had been told him of the legend of Caddam, how once on a time it was a mighty wood, and a maiden most beautiful stood on its confines, panting and afraid, for a wicked man pursued her; how he drew near, and she ran a little way into the wood, and he followed her, and she still ran, and still he followed, until both were for ever lost, and the bones of her pursuer lie beneath a beech, but the lady may still be heard singing in the woods if the night be fine, for then she is a glad spirit, but weeping when there is wild wind, for then she is but a mortal seeking a way out of the wood.

The squirrel slid down the fir and was gone.  The axe’s blows ceased.  Nothing that moved was in sight.  The wind that has its nest in trees was circling around with many voices, that never rose above a whisper, and were often but the echo of a sigh.  Gavin was in the Caddam of past days, where the beautiful maiden wanders ever, waiting for him who is so pure that he may find her.  He will wander over the tree-tops looking for her, with the moon for his lamp, and some night he will hear her singing.  The little minister drew a deep breath, and his foot snapped a brittle twig.  Then he remembered who and where he was, and stooped to pick up his staff.  But he did not pick it up, for as his fingers were closing on it the lady began to sing.

For perhaps a minute Gavin stood stock still, like an intruder.  Then he ran towards the singing, which seemed to come from Windy ghoul, a straight road through Caddam that farmers use in summer, but leave in the back end of the year to leaves and pools.  In Windyghoul there is either no wind or so much that it rushes down the sieve like an army, entering with a shriek of terror, and escaping with a derisive howl.  The moon was crossing the avenue.  But Gavin only saw the singer.

She was still fifty yards away, sometimes singing gleefully, and again letting her body sway lightly as she came dancing up Windyghoul.  Soon she was within a few feet of the little minister, to whom singing, except when out of tune, was a suspicious thing, and dancing a device of the devil.  His arm went out wrathfully, and his intention was to pronounce sentence on this woman.

But she passed, unconscious of his presence, and he had not moved nor spoken.  Though really of the average height, she was a little thing to the eyes of Gavin, who always felt tall and stout except when he looked down.  The grace of her swaying figure was a new

CHAPTER V.

A warlike chapter, culminating in the flouting of the minister by the woman.

“Mr. Dishart!”

Jean had clutched at Gavin in Bank Street.  Her hair was streaming, and her wrapper but half buttoned.