graveyard is far away, an' the dead man is hard
to raise——"

"Silence!" cried Coll Dhu; "not a word
more. I will have your hideous charm, but
what it is, or where you get it, I will not
know."

Then, promising to come back in twelve days,
he took his departure. Turning to look back
when a little way across the heath, he saw Pexie
gazing after him, standing on her black hill in
relief against the lurid flames of the dawn, seeming
to his dark imagination like a fury with all
hell at her back.

At the appointed time Coll Dhu got the promised
charm. He sewed it with perfumes into
a cover of cloth of gold, and slung it to a
fine-wrought chain. Lying in a casket which had once
held the jewels of Coil's broken-hearted mother,
it looked a glittering bauble enough. Meantime
the people of the mountains were cursing
over their cabin fires, because there had been
another unholy raid upon their graveyard, and
were banding themselves to hunt the criminal
down.

A fortnight passed. How or where could
Coll Dhu find an opportunity to put the charm
round the neck of the colonel's proud daughter?
More gold was dropped into Pexie's greedy
claw, and then she promised to assist him in his
dilemma.

Next morning the witch dressed herself in
decent garb, smoothed her elf-locks under a
snowy cap, smoothed the evil wrinkles out of her
face, and with a basket on her arm locked the
door of the hovel, and took her way to the lowlands.
Pexie seemed to have given up her
disreputable calling for that of a simple
mushroom-gatherer. The housekeeper at the
grey house bought poor Muireade's mushrooms
of her every morning. Every morning she left
unfailingly a nosegay of wild flowers for Miss
Evleen Blake, "God bless her! She had never
seen the darling young lady with her own two
longing eyes, but sure hadn't she heard tell of
her sweet purty face, miles away!" And at last,
one morning, whom should she meet but Miss
Evleen herself returning alone from a ramble.
Whereupon poor Muireade "made bold" to
present her flowers in person.

"Ah," said Evleen, "it is you who leave me
the flowers every morning? They are very
sweet."

Muireade had sought her only for a look at
her beautiful face. And now that she had seen
it, as bright as the sun, and as fair as the lily,
she would take up her basket and go away
contented. Yet she lingered a little longer.

"My lady never walk up big mountain?" said
Pexie.

"No," Evleen said, laughing; she feared she
could not walk up a mountain.

"Ah yes; my lady ought to go, with more
gran' ladies an' gentlemen, ridin' on purty little
donkeys, up the big mountain. Oh, gran' things
up big mountain for my lady to see!"

Thus she set to work, and kept her listener
enchained for an hour, while she related
wonderful stories of those upper regions. And as
Evleen looked up to the burly crowns of the
hills, perhaps she thought there might be sense
in this wild old woman's suggestion. It ought
to be a grand world up yonder.

Be that as it may, it was not long after this
when Coll Dhu got notice that a party from
the grey house would explore the mountains
next day; that Evleen Blake would be of the
number; and that he, Coll, must prepare to
house and refresh a crowd of weary people, who
in the evening should be brought, hungry and
faint, to his door. The simple mushroom
gatherer should be discovered laying in her humble
stock among the green places between the hills,
should volunteer to act as guide to the party,
should lead them far out of their way through
the mountains and up and down the most toilsome
ascents and across dangerous places; to
escape safely from which, the servants should
be told to throw away the baskets of provisions
which they carried.

Coll Dhu was not idle. Such a feast was set
forth, as had never been spread so near the clouds
before. We are told of wonderful dishes furnished
by unwholesome agency, and from a place
believed much hotter than is necessary for
purposes of cookery. We are told also how Coll
Dhu's barren chambers were suddenly hung with
curtains of velvet, and with fringes of gold;
how the blank white walls glowed with delicate
colours and gilding; how gems of pictures sprang
into sight between the panels; how the tables
blazed with plate and gold, and glittered with
the rarest glass; how such wines flowed, as the
guests had never tasted; how servants in the
richest livery, amongst whom the wizen-faced
old man was a mere nonentity, appeared, and
stood ready to carry in the wonderful dishes,
at whose extraordinary fragrance the eagles
came pecking to the windows, and the foxes
drew near the walls, snuffing. Sure enough, in
all good time, the weary party came within sight
of the Devil's Inn, and Coll Dhu sallied forth to
invite them across his lonely threshold. Colonel
Blake (to whom Evleen, in her delicacy, had
said no word of the solitary's strange behaviour
to herself) hailed his appearance with delight,
and the whole party sat down to Coil's banquet
in high good humour. Also, it is said, in much
amazement at the magnificence of the mountain
recluse.

All went in to Coll's feast, save Evleen Blake,
who remained standing on the threshold of the
outer door; weary, but unwilling to rest there;
hungry, but unwilling to eat there. Her white
cambric dress was gathered on her arms, crushed
and sullied with the toils of the day; her bright
cheek was a little sun-burned; her small dark
head with its braids a little tossed, was bared
to the mountain air and the glory of the sinking
sun; her hands were loosely tangled in the strings
of her hat; and her foot sometimes tapped the
threshold stone. So she was seen.

The peasants tell that Coll Dhu and her father
came praying her to enter, and that the