The period of this tale is in the heat of the _killing-time_; the scene laid for the most part in solitary hills and morasses, haunted only by the so-called Mountain Wanderers, the dragoons that came in chase of them, the women that wept on their dead bodies, and the wild birds of the moorland that have cried there since the beginning.

It is a land of many rain-clouds; a land of much mute history, written there in prehistoric symbols.

Strange green raths are to be seen commonly in the country, above all by the kirkyards; barrows of the dead, standing stones; beside these, the faint, durable footprints and handmarks of the Roman; and an antiquity older perhaps than any, and still living and active--a complete Celtic nomenclature and a scarce-mingled Celtic population.

These rugged and grey hills were once included in the boundaries of the Caledonian Forest.

Merlin sat here below his apple-tree and lamented Gwendolen; here spoke with Kentigern; here fell into his enchanted trance.