In one corner of this hut stood a fireplace with a chimney artfully built of clay, and on the fire of turfs boiled an earthen pot.
Hanging from the roof by a string of twisted grass was a fish, fresh caught, a splendid pike, and near to it a bunch of smoked eels.

Over her also was thrown a magnificent rug of otter skins.

Noting these things, she gathered that she must be in the hovel of some fisherman.
Now by degrees the past came back to Lysbeth, and she remembered her parting with the man who called himself her husband; remembered also her moonlight flight and how she had waded out into the waters of the great mere to pluck the white flowers, and how, as they closed above her head a hand had been stretched out to save her.

Lysbeth remembered, and remembering, she sighed aloud.

The sound of her sighing seemed to attract the attention of some one who was listening outside the hut; at any rate a rough door was opened or pushed aside and a figure entered.
"Are you awake, lady ?" asked a hoarse voice.
"Yes," answered Lysbeth, "but tell me, how did I come here, and who are you ?" The figure stepped back so that the light from the open door fell full upon it.