‘Nay,’ cried the little brother; ‘I hear naught save the laughing stream that comes from the lake where my water-nymph lieth.’
‘Hush!’ said the Black Earl again, ‘for hearest thou not the voice of my mistress making a lamentation?’
‘Nay,’ saith the little brother; ‘I hear naught save the moving of the reeds in the pushing waters, and thou wilt not listen to my story.’
Now went the little brother away in his anger, and found himself a play amongst the heather.
But the Black Earl bent above the stream and gazed long into its shallow turbulence with wonder and fear, for the words the stream said to him in its whisperings were as though spoken in the voice of his young bride.
He laid his hand in the flowing waters.
‘Why art thou troubled, little stream?’ quoth he.
But the little stream stayed not its whispering.
