Her　triumph　was　short…lived。
  Unfortunately　for　her；　King　Heremon　had　always　been　a　patron　of　the
  arts　and　science　of　his　period。　　Among　his　friends　were　to　be
  reckoned　magicians；　genii；　the　Nine　Korrigans　or　Fays　of　Brittany
  all　sorts　of　parties　capable　of　exerting　influence；　and；　as　events
  proved；　only　too　willing。　　Ambassadors　waited　upon　Queen　Harbundia；
  and　Harbundia；　even　had　she　wished；　as　on　many　previous　occasions；
  to　stand　by　her　favourite；　had　no　alternative。　　The　fairy　Malvina
  was　called　upon　to　return　to　Prince　Gerbot　his　proper　body　and　all
  therein　contained。
  She　flatly　refused。　　A　self…willed；　obstinate　fairy；　suffering　from
  swelled　head。　　And　then　there　was　that　personal　note。　　Merely　that
  he　should　marry　the　Princess　Berchta！　　She　would　see　King　Heremon；
  and　Anniamus；　in　his　silly　old　wizard's　robe；　and　the　Fays　of
  Brittany；　and　all　the　rest　of　them！　　A　really　nice　White　Lady　may
  not　have　cared　to　finish　the　sentence；　even　to　herself。　　One
  imagines　the　flash　of　the　fairy　eye；　the　stamp　of　the　fairy　foot。
  What　could　they　do　to　her；　any　of　them；　with　all　their　clacking　of
  tongues　and　their　wagging　of　heads？　　She；　an　immortal　fairy！　　She
  would　change　Prince　Gerbot　back　at　a　time　of　her　own　choosing。　　Let
  them　attend　to　their　own　tricks　and　leave　her　to　mind　hers。　　One
  pictures　long　walks　and　talks　between　the　distracted　Harbundia　and
  her　refractory　favouriteappeals　to　reason；　to　sentiment：　　〃For　my
  sake。〃　　〃Don't　you　see？〃　　〃After　all；　dear；　and　even　if　he　did。〃
  It　seems　to　have　ended　by　Harbundia　losing　all　patience。　　One　thing
  there　was　she　could　do　that　Malvina　seems　either　not　to　have　known
  of　or　not　to　have　anticipated。　　A　solemn　meeting　of　the　White　Ladies
  was　convened　for　the　night　of　the　midsummer　moon。　　The　place　of
  meeting　is　described　by　the　ancient　chroniclers　with　more　than　their
  usual　exactitude。　　It　was　on　the　land　that　the　magician　Kalyb　had；
  ages　ago；　raised　up　above　all　Brittany　to　form　the　grave　of　King
  Taramis。　　The　〃Sea　of　the　Seven　Islands〃　lay　to　the　north。　　One
  guesses　it　to　be　the　ridge　formed　by　the　Arree　Mountains。　　〃The　Lady
  of　the　Fountain〃　appears　to　have　been　present；　suggesting　the　deep
  green　pool　from　which　the　river　D'Argent　takes　its　source。　　Roughly
  speaking；　one　would　place　it　halfway　between　the　modern　towns　of
  Morlaix　and　Callac。　　Pedestrians；　even　of　the　present　day；　speak　of
  the　still　loneliness　of　that　high　plateau；　treeless；　houseless；　with
  no　sign　of　human　hand　there　but　that　high；　towering　monolith　round
  which　the　shrill　winds　moan　incessantly。　　There；　possibly　on　some
  broken　fragment　of　those　great　grey　stones；　Queen　Harbundia　sat　in
  judgment。　　And　the　judgment　wasand　from　it　there　was　no　appeal…
  …that　the　fairy　Malvina　should　be　cast　out　from　among　the　community
  of　the　White　Ladies　of　Brittany。　　Over　the　face　of　the　earth　she
  should　wander；　alone　and　unforgiven。　　Solemnly　from　the　book　of　the
  roll…call　of　the　White　Ladies　the　name　of　Malvina　was　struck　out　for
  ever。
  The　blow　must　have　fallen　upon　Malvina　as　heavily　as　it　was
  unexpected。　　Without　a　word；　without　one　backward　look；　she　seems　to
  have　departed。　　One　pictures　the　white；　frozen　face；　the　wide…open；
  unseeing　eyes；　the　trembling；　uncertain　steps；　the　groping　hands；
  the　deathlike　silence　clinging　like　grave…clothes　round　about　her。
  From　that　night　the　fairy　Malvina　disappears　from　the　book　of　the
  chroniclers　of　the　White　Ladies　of　Brittany；　from　legend　and　from
  folklore　whatsoever。　　She　does　not　appear　again　in　history　till　the
  year　A。D。　1914。
  II。　　HOW　IT　CAME　ABOUT。
  It　was　on　an　evening　towards　the　end　of　June；　1914；　that　Flight
  Commander　Raffleton；　temporarily　attached　to　the　French　Squadron
  then　harboured　at　Brest；　received　instructions　by　wireless　to　return
  at　once　to　the　British　Air　Service　Headquarters　at　Farnborough；　in
  Hampshire。　　The　night；　thanks　to　a　glorious　full　moon；　would　afford
  all　the　light　he　required；　and　young　Raffleton　determined　to　set　out
  at　once。　　He　appears　to　have　left　the　flying　ground　just　outside　the
  arsenal　at　Brest　about　nine　o'clock。　　A　little　beyond　Huelgoat　he
  began　to　experience　trouble　with　the　carburettor。　　His　idea　at　first
  was　to　push　on　to　Lannion；　where　he　would　be　able　to　secure　expert
  assistance；　but　matters　only　getting　worse；　and　noticing　beneath　him
  a　convenient　stretch　of　level　ground；　he　decided　to　descend　and
  attend　to　it　himself。　　He　alighted　without　difficulty　and　proceeded
  to　investigate。　　The　job　took　him；　unaided；　longer　than　he　had
  anticipated。　　It　was　a　warm；　close　night；　with　hardly　a　breath　of
  wind；　and　when　he　had　finished　he　was　feeling　hot　and　tired。　　He　had
  drawn　on　his　helmet　and　was　on　the　point　of　stepping　into　his　seat；
  when　the　beauty　of　the　night　suggested　to　him　that　it　would　be
  pleasant；　before　starting　off　again；　to　stretch　his　legs　and　cool
  himself　a　little。　　He　lit　a　cigar　and　looked　round　about　him。
  The　plateau　on　which　he　had　alighted　was　a　table…land　standing　high
  above　the　surrounding　country。　　It　stretched　around　him；　treeless；
  houseless。　　There　was　nothing　to　break　the　lines　of　the　horizon　but
  a　group　of　gaunt　grey　stones；　the　remains；　so　he　told　himself；　of
  some　ancient　menhir；　common　enough　to　the　lonely　desert　lands　of
  Brittany。　　In　general　the　stones　lie　overthrown　and　scattered；　but
  this　particular　specimen　had　by　some　strange　chance　remained
  undisturbed　through　all　the　centuries。　　Mildly　interested；　Flight
  Commander　Raffleton　strolled　leisurely　towards　it。　　The　moon　was　at
  its　zenith。　　How　still　the　quiet　night　must　have　been　was　impressed
  upon　him　by　the　fact　that　he　distinctly　heard；　and　counted；　the
  strokes　of　a　church　clock　which　must　have　been　at　least　six　miles
  away。　　He　remembers　looking　at　his　watch　and　noting　that　there　was　a
  slight　difference　between　his　own　and　the　church　time。　　He　made　it
  eight　minutes　past　twelve。　　With　the　dying　away　of　the　last
  vibrations　of　the　distant　bell　the　silence　and　the　solitude　of　the
  place　seemed　to　return　and　settle　down　upon　it　with　increased
  insistence。　　While　he　was　working　it　had　not　troubled　him；　but
  beside　the　black　shadows　thrown　by　those　hoary　stones　it　had　the
  effect　almost　of　a　presence。　　It　was　with　a　sense　of　relief　that　he
  contemplated　returning　to　his　machine　and　starting　up　his　engine。
  It　would　whir　and　buzz　and　give　back　to　him　a　comfortable　feeling　of
  life　and　security。　　He　would　walk　round　the　stones　just　once　and
  then　be　off。　　It　was　wonderful　how　they　had　defied　old　Time。　　As
  they　had　been　placed　there；　quite　possibly　ten　thousand　years　ago；
  so　they　still　stood；　the　altar　of　that　vast；　empty　sky…roofed
  temple。　　And　while　he　was　gazing　at　them；　his　cigar　between　his
  lips；　struggling　with　a　strange　forgotten　impulse　that　was　tugging
  at　his　knees；　there　came　from　the　very　heart　of　the　great　grey
  stones　the　measured　rise　and　fall　of　a　soft；　even　breathing。
  Young　Raffleton　frankly　confesses　that　his　first　impulse　was　to　cut
  and　run。　　Only　his　soldier's　training　kept　his　feet　firm　on　the
  heather。　　Of　course；　the　explanation　was　simple。　　Some　animal　had
  made　the　place　its　nest。　　But　then　what　animal　was　ever　known　to
  sleep　so　soundly　as　not　to　be　disturbed　by　human　footsteps？　　If
  wounded；　and　so　unable　to　escape；　it　would　not　be　breathing　with
  that　quiet；　soft　regularity；　contrasting　so　strangely　with　the
  stillness　and　the　silence　all　round。　　Possibly　an　owl's　nest。　　Young
  owlets　make　that　sort　of　noisethe　〃snorers；〃　so　country　people
  call　them。　　Young　Raffleton　threw　away　his　cigar　and　went　down　upon
  his　knees　to　grope　among　the　shadows；　and；　doing　so；　he　touched
  something　warm　and　soft　and　yielding。
  But　it　wasn't　an　owl。　　He　must　have　touched　her　very　lightly；　for
  even　then　she　did　not　wake。　　She　lay　there　with　her　head　upon　her
  arm。　　And　now　close　to　her；　his　eyes　growing　used　to　the　shadows；　he
  saw　her　quite　plainly；　the　wonder　of　the　parted　lips；　the　gleam　of
  the　white　limbs　beneath　their　flimsy　covering。
  Of　course；　what　he　ought　to　have　done　was　to　have　risen　gently　and
  moved　away。　　Then　he　could　have　coughed。　　And　if　that　did　not　wake
  her　he　might　have　touched　her　lightly；　say；　on　the　shoulder；　and
  have　called　to　her；　first　softly；　then　a　little　louder；
  〃Mademoiselle；〃　or　〃Mon　enfant。〃　　Even　better；　he　might　have　stolen
  away　on　tiptoe　and　left　her　there　sleeping。
  This　idea　does　not　seem　to　have　occurred　to　him。　　One　makes　the
  excuse　for　him　that　he　was　but　three…and…twenty；　that；　framed　in　the
  purple　moonlight；　she　seemed　to　him　the　most　beautiful　creature　his
  eyes　had　ever　seen。　　And　then　there　was　the　brooding　mystery　of　it
  all；　that　atmosphere　of　far…off　primeval　times　from　which　the　roots
  of　life　still　draw　their　sap。　　One　takes　it　he　forgot　that　he　was
  Flight　Commander　Raffleton；　officer　and　gentleman；　forgot　the　proper
  etiquette　applying　to　the　case　of　ladies　found　sleeping　upon　lonely
  moors　without　a　chaperon。　　Greater　still；　the　possibility　that　he
  never　thought　of　anything　at　all；　but；　just　impelled　by　a　power
  beyond　himself；　bent　down　and　kissed　her。
  Not　a　platonic　kiss　upon　the　brow；　not　a　brotherly　kiss　upon　the
  cheek；　but　a　kiss　full　upon　the　parted　lips；　a　kiss　of　worship　and
  amazement；　su