His eyes rested on the shining roots, and he remembered what had
been told him of the legend of Caddam, how once on a time it was a
mighty wood, and a maiden most beautiful stood on its confines,
panting and afraid, for a wicked man pursued her; how he drew
near, and she ran a little way into the wood, and he followed her,
and she still ran, and still he followed, until both were for ever
lost, and the bones of her pursuer lie beneath a beech, but the
lady may still be heard singing in the woods if the night be fine,
for then she is a glad spirit, but weeping when there is wild
wind, for then she is but a mortal seeking a way out of the wood.

The squirrel slid down the fir and was gone. The axe's blows
ceased. Nothing that moved was in sight. The wind that has its
nest in trees was circling around with many voices, that never
rose above a whisper, and were often but the echo of a sigh. Gavin
was in the Caddam of past days, where the beautiful maiden wanders
ever, waiting for him who is so pure that he may find her. He will
wander over the tree-tops looking for her, with the moon for his
lamp, and some night he will hear her singing. The little minister
drew a deep breath, and his foot snapped a brittle twig. Then he
remembered who and where he was, and stooped to pick up his staff.
But he did not pick it up, for as his fingers were closing on it
the lady began to sing.

For perhaps a minute Gavin stood stock still, like an intruder.
Then he ran towards the singing, which seemed to come from Windy
ghoul, a straight road through Caddam that farmers use in summer,
but leave in the back end of the year to leaves and pools. In
Windyghoul there is either no wind or so much that it rushes down
the sieve like an army, entering with a shriek of terror, and