But, When The World Was At Rest, She Would Rise In Her Sleep, And Wander To The Trysting Tree, And Pluck Off The Green Oak Leaves, And Throw Them Into The Foaming Water.

The knight was all this time faithful, but was not able to send word to his lady love.

At last, he returned to England, and hastened towards the castle where she lived.

It was late at night when he came to the Ara Force; and he sat him down under the trysting tree to wait for the morning. When he had been there a long time, he saw a figure approach, all in white, and pluck off the oak leaves, and fling them into the stream. Angry to see the sacred tree thus injured, he rose to prevent it. The figure started and awoke. In a moment he knew his beloved lady. She was now on the frail bridge. The sudden shock, and the roar of the Force below, had made her giddy. He leaped forward to embrace and save her. Alas! too late. Her foot slipped, and she fell. It was all over. The water tumbling far down into the rocky chasm beneath told the story of death.

The knight was inconsolable. He retired from the world forever, and built a monastery near by, on the borders of the lake, where he died.

The frail bridge is now gone, and a strong plank, with a railing, supplies its place. But the water still roars down the rock as on the fatal night; and the foam and spray look as if the white garments of the fair lady were still fluttering over the deep below.

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