t, white faces and the wails of
widow and orphan. The days drew in and this began to happen often--so
often that a tale grew with it and spread, until it had reached all
ears but those of King Graul and Queen Motte.

One black noon in November a company of men crossed the sands at
low-water and demanded to speak with the King.

"Speak, my children," said Graul. He knew that they loved him and
might count on his sharing the last crust with them.

"We are come," said the spokesman, "not for ourselves, but for our
wives and children. For us life is none too pleasant; but they need
men's hands to find food for them, and at this rate there will soon be
no men of our nation left."

"But how can I help you?" asked the King.

"That we know not; but it is your daughter Gwennolar who undoes us.
She lies out yonder beneath the waters, and through the night she
calls to men, luring them down to their death. I myself--all of us
here--have heard her; and the younger men it maddens. With singing and
witch fires she lures our boats to the reefs and takes toll of us,
lulling even the elders to dream, cheating them with the firelight and
voices of their homes."

Now the thoughts of Graul and Niotte were with their daughter
continually. That she should have been lost and they saved, who cared
so little for life and nothing for life without her--that was their
abiding sorrow and wonder and self-reproach. Why had Graul not turned
Rubh's head perforce and ridden back to die with her, since help her
he could not? Many times a day he asked himself this; and though
Niotte's lips had never spoken it, her eyes asked it too. At night he
would hear her breath pause at his side, and knew she was thinking of
their child out yonder in the cold waters.

"She calls to us also," he answered, and checked himself.

"So it is plain her spirit is alive yet, and she must be a witch,"
said the spokesman, readily.

The King rent his clothes. "My daughter is no witch!" he cried. "But I
left her to die, and she suffers."

"Our lads follow her. She calls to them and they perish."

"It is not Gwennolar who calls, but some evil thing which counterfeits
her. She was innocent as the day. Nevertheless your sons shall not
perish, nor you accuse her. From this day your boats shall have a
lantern on this rock to guide them, and I and my wife will tend it
with our own hands."

Thenceforward at sunset with their own hands Graul and Niotte lit and
hung out a