There was no merry
making or story telling that night.
The next day, Powell sat again on the mound and once more the golden
lady came near.
This time, Powell himself left his seat on the mound, leaped on his
fleetest horse, and pursued the maiden, robed in gold, on the white
horse.
But she flitted away, as she had done before from the knights. Again
and again, though he could get nearer and nearer to her, he failed.
Then the baffled king cried out, in despair, "O maiden fair, for the
sake of him whom thou lovest, stay for me."
Evidently the lady, who lived in the time of castles and courts, did
not care to be wooed in the style of the cave men. Such manners did
not suit her, but with a change of method of making love, her heart
melted. Besides, she was a kind woman. She took pity on horses, as
well as on men.
Sweet was her voice, as she answered most graciously:
"I will stay gladly, and it were better for thy horses, hadst thou
asked me properly, long ago."
To his questions, as to how and why she came to him, she told her
story, as follows:
"I am Rhiannon, descended from the August and Venerable One of old.
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