She drew him to the lake's steep side,
Where the red heath fringed the shore;
She plunged with him beneath the tide,
And they were seen no more.

Their true blood mingled in Kingslea Mere,
That to mingle on earth was fain:
And the trout that swims in that crystal clear
Is tinged with the crimson stain.


"Thus you see how good comes of evil, and how a holy friar may fare
better on fast-day for the violent death of two lovers two hundred
years ago. The inference is most consecutive, that wherever you
catch a red-fleshed trout, love lies bleeding under the water:
an occult quality, which can only act in the stationary waters of a lake,
being neutralised by the rapid transition of those of a stream."

"And why is the trout shyer for that?" asked Sir Ralph.

"Do you not see?" said brother Michael. "The virtues of both
lovers diffuse themselves through the lake. The infusion
of masculine valour makes the fish active and sanguineous:
the infusion of maiden modesty makes him coy and hard to win:
and you shall find through life, the fish which is most
easily hooked is not the best worth dishing. But yonder are
the towers of Arlingford."

The little friar stopped. He seemed suddenly struck with an awful thought,
which caused a momentary pallescence in his rosy complexion; and after