THE LILAC SUNBONNET

A LOVE STORY

BY S. R. CROCKETT

AUTHOR OF THE STICKIT MINISTER, THE RAIDERS, ETC. 

CONTENTS. 

PROLOGUE. --BY THE WAYSIDE I. --THE BLANKET-WASHING II. --THE MOTHER OF KING LEMUEL III. --A TREASURE-TROVE IV. --A CAVALIER PURITAN V. --A LESSON IN BOTANY VI. --CURLED EYELASHES VII. --CONCERNING TAKING EXERCISE VIII. --THE MINISTER'S MAN ARMS FOR CONQUEST IX. --THE ADVENT OF THE CUIF X. --THE LOVE-SONG OF THE MAVIS XI. --ANDREW KISSOCK GOES TO SCHOOL XII. --MIDSUMMER DAWN XIII. --A STRING OF THE LILAC SUNBONNET XIV. --CAPTAIN AGNEW GREATORIX XV. --ON THE EDGE OF THE ORCHARD XVI. --THE CUIF BEFORE THE SESSION XVII. --WHEN THE KYE COMES HAME XVIII. --A DAUGHTER OF THE PlCTS XIX. --AT THE BARN END XX. -"DARK-BROWED EGYPT" XXI. --THE RETURN OF EBIE FARRISH XXII. --A SCARLET POPPY XXIII. --CONCERNING JOHN BAIRDIESON XXIV. --LEGITIMATE SPORT XXV. --BARRIERS BREAKING XXVI. --SUCH SWEET PERIL XXVII. --THE OPINIONS OF SAUNDERS MOWDIEWORT UPON BESOM-SHANKS XXVIII. --THAT GIPSY JESS XXIX. --THE DARK OF THE MOON AT THE GRANNOCH BRIDGE XXX. --THE HILL GATE XXXI. --THE STUDY OF THE MANSE OF DULLARG XXXII. --OUTCAST AND ALIEN FROM THE COMMONWEALTH XXXIII. --JOCK GORDON TAKES A HAND XXXIV. --THE DEW OF THEIR YOUTH XXXV. --SUCH SWEET SORROW XXXVI. --OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY XXXVII. --UNDER THE RED HEATHER XXXVIII. --BEFORE THE REFORMER'S CHAIR XXXIX. --JEMIMA, KEZIA, AND LITTLE KEREN-HAPPUCH XL. --A TRIANGULAR CONVERSATION XLI. --THE MEETING OF THE SYNOD XLII. --PURGING AND RESTORATION XLIII. --THREADS DRAWN TOGETHER XLIV. --WINSOME'S LAST TRYST XLV. --THE LAST OF THE LILAC SUNBONNET

PROLOGUE. 

BY THE WAYSIDE

As Ralph Peden came along the dusty Cairn Edward road from thecoach which had set him down there on its way to the Ferry town, he paused to rest in the evening light at the head of the LongWood of Larbrax. Here, under boughs that arched the way, he tookfrom his shoulders his knapsack, filled with Hebrew and Greekbooks, and rested his head on the larger bag of roughly tannedWestland leather, in which were all his other belongings. Theywere not numerous. He might, indeed, have left both his bags forthe Dullarg carrier on Saturday, but to lack his beloved books forfour days was not to be thought of for a moment by Ralph Peden. Hewould rather have carried them up the eight long miles to themanse of the Dullarg one by one. 

As he sat by the tipsy milestone, which had swayed sidelong andlay half buried amid the grass and dock leaves, a tall, dark girlcame by--half turning to look at the young man as he rested. Itwas Jess Kissock, from the Herd's House at Craig Ronald, on herway home from buying trimmings for a new hat. This happened justtwice a year, and was a solemn occasion. 

"Is this the way to the manse of Dullarg?" asked the young man, standing up with his hat in his hand, the brim just beneath hischin. He was a handsome young man when he stood up straight. 

Jess looked at him attentively. They did not speak in that way inher country, nor did they take their hats in their hands when theyhad occasion to speak to young women. 

"I am myself going past the Dullarg, " she said, and paused with ahiatus like an invitation. 

Ralph Peden was a simple young man, but he rose and shouldered hisknapsack without a word. The slim, dark-haired girl with thebright, quick eyes like a bird, put out her hand to take a shareof the burden of Ralph's bag. 

"Thank you, but I am quite able to manage it myself, " he said, "Icould not think of letting you put your hand to it. "

"I am not a fine lady, " said the girl, with a little impatientmovement of her brows, as if she had stamped her foot. "I amnothing but a cottar's lassie. "

"But then, how comes it that you speak as you do?" asked Ralph. 

"I have been long in England--as a lady's maid, " she answered witha strange, disquieting look at him. She had taken one side of thebag of books in spite of his protest, and now walked by Ralph'sside through the evening coolness. 

"This is the first time you have been hereaway?" his companionasked. 

Ralph nodded a quick affirmative and smiled. 

"Then, " said Jess Kissock, the rich blood mantling her darkcheeks, "I am the first from the Dullarg you have spoken to!"

"The very first!" said Ralph. 

"Then I am glad, " said Jess Kissock. But in the young man's heartthere was no answering gladness, though in very sooth she was anexceeding handsome maid. 

CHAPTER I. 

THE BLANKET-WASHING. 

Ralph Peden lay well content under a thorn bush above the Grannochwater. It was the second day of his sojourning in Galloway--thefirst of his breathing the heather scent on which the bees grewtipsy, and of listening to the grasshoppers CHIRRING in the longbent by the loch side. Yesterday his father's friend, Allan Welsh, minister of the Marrow kirk in the parish of Dullarg, had heldhigh discourse with him as to his soul's health, and made manyinquiries as to how it sped in the great city with the precarioushandful of pious folk, who gathered to listen to the precious andsavoury truths of the pure Marrow teaching. Ralph Peden wascharged with many messages from his father, the metropolitanMarrow minister, to Allan Welsh--dear to his soul as the onlyminister who had upheld the essentials on that great day, whenamong the assembled Presbyters so many had gone backward andwalked no more with him. 

"Be faithful with the young man, my son, " Allan Welsh read in thequaintly sealed and delicately written letter which his brotherminister in Edinburgh had sent to him, and which Ralph had dulydelivered in the square, grim manse of Dullarg, with a sedate andold-fashioned reverence which sat strangely on one of his years. "Be faithful with the young man, " continued the letter; "he iswell grounded on the fundamentals; his head is filled with godlylear, and he has sound views on the Headship; but he has alwaysbeen a little cold and distant even to me, his father according tothe flesh. With his companions he is apt to be distant andreserved. I am to blame for the solitude of our life here inJames's Court, but to you I do not need to tell the reason ofthat. The Lord give you his guidance in leading the young man inthe right way. "

So far Gilbert Peden's letter had run staidly and in characterlike the spoken words of the writer. But here it broke off. Thewriting, hitherto fine as a hair, thickened; and from this pointbecame crowded and difficult, as though the floods of feeling hadbroken some dam. "O man Allan, for my sake, if at all you haveloved me, or owe me anything, dig deep and see if the lad has aheart. He shews it not to me. "

So that is why Ralph Peden lies couched in the sparce bells of theling, just where the dry, twisted timothy grasses are beginning toovercrown the purple bells of the heather. Tall and clean-limbed, with a student's pallor of clear-cut face, a slightly asceticstoop, dark brown curls clustering over a white forehead, and eyeswhich looked steadfast and true, the young man was sufficient of ahero. He wore a broad straw hat, which he had a pleasant habit ofpushing back, so that his clustering locks fell over his browafter a fashion which all women thought becoming. But Ralph Pedenheeded not what women thought, said, or did, for he was trysted tothe kirk of the Marrow, the sole repertory of orthodox truth inScotland, which is as good as saying in the wide world--perhapseven in the universe. 

Ralph Peden had dwelt all his life with his father in an old housein James's Court, Edinburgh, overlooking the great bounding circleof the northern horizon and the eastern sea. He had been trainedby his father to think more of a professor's opinion on his Hebrewexercise than of a woman's opinion on any subject whatever. He hadbeen told that women were an indispensable part of the economy ofcreation; but, though he accepted word by word the WestminsterConfession, and as an inexorable addition the confessions andprotests of the remnant of the true kirk in Scotland (known as theMarrow kirk), he could not but consider woman a poor makeshift, even as providing for the continuity of the race. Surely she hadnot been created when God looked upon all that he had made andfound it very good. The thought preserved Ralph's orthodoxy. 

Ralph Peden had come out into the morning air, with his note-bookand a volume which he had been studying all the way fromEdinburgh. As he lay at length among the grass he conned it overand over. He referred to passages here and there. He set out verycalmly with that kind of determination with which a day's work inthe open air with a book is often begun. Not for a moment did hebreak the monotony of his study. The marshalled columns of strangeletters were mowed down before him. 

A great humble-bee, barred with tawny orange, worked his way upfrom his hole in the bank, buzzing shrilly in an impatient, stifled manner at finding his dwelling blocked as to its exit by amountainous bulk. Ralph Peden rose in a hurry. The beast seemed tobe inside his coat. He had instinctively hated bees and everythingthat buzzed ever since as a child he had made experiments with thepaper nest of a tree-building wasp. The humble-bee buzzed a littlemore, discontentedly, thought of going back, crept out at lastfrom beneath the Hebrew Lexicon, and appeared to comb his hairwith his feeler. Then he slowly mounted along the broad blade of ameadow fox-tail grass, which bent under him as if to afford him anelastic send-off upon his flight. With a spring he lumbered up, taking his way over the single field which separated his housefrom the edge of the Grannoch water--where on the other side, above the glistening sickle-sweep of sand which looked soinviting, yet untouched under the pines by the morning sun, thehyacinths lay like a blue wreath of peat smoke in the hollows ofthe wood. 

But there was a whiff of real peat smoke somewhere in the air, andRalph Peden, before he returned to his book, was aware of themurmur of voices. He moved away from the humble-bee's dwelling andestablished himself on a quieter slope under a bush of broom. Awhin-chat said "check, check" above him, and flirted a brillianttail; but Ralph Peden was not afraid of whin-chats. Here hesettled himself to study, knitting his brows and drumming on theground with the toe of one foot to concentrate his attention. Thewhin-chat could hear him murmuring to himself at intervals, "Surely that is the sense--it must be taken this way. " Sometimes, on the contrary, he shook his head at Luther's Commentary, whichlay on the short, warm turf before him, as if in reproof. Ralphwas of opinion that Luther, but for his great protectivereputation, and the fact that he had been dead some time, mighthave been served with a libel for heresy--at least if he hadministered to the Marrow kirk. 

Then after a little he pulled his hat over his eyes to think, andlay back till he could just see one little bit of Loch Grannochgleaming through the trees, and the farm of Nether Crae set on thehillside high above it. He counted the sheep on the green fieldover the loch, numbering the lambs twice because they friskedirresponsibly about, being full of frivolity and having noopinions upon Luther to sober them. 

Gradually a haze spun itself over the landscape, and Ralph Peden'shead slowly fell back till it rested somewhat sharply upon aspikelet of prickly whin. His whole body sat up instantly, with anexclamation which was quite in Luther's manner. He had not beensleeping. He rejected the thought; yet he acknowledged that it wasnevertheless passing strange that, just where the old single-arched bridge takes a long stride over the Grannoch lane, therewas now a great black pot a-swing above a blinking pale fire ofpeats and fir-branches, and a couple of great tubs set closetogether on stones which he had not seen before. There was, too, aripple of girls' laughter, which sent a strange stirring ofexcitement along the nerves of the young man. He gathered hisbooks to move away; but on second thoughts, looking through thelong, swaying tendrils of the broom under which he sat, heresolved to remain. After all, the girls might be as harmless ashis helper of yesterday. 

"Yet it is most annoying, " he said; "I had been quieter in James'sCourt. "

Still he smiled a little to himself, for the broom did not grow inJames's Court, nor the blackbirds flute their mellow whistlethere. 

Loch Grannoch stretched away three miles to the south, basking inalternate blue and white, as cloud and sky mirrored themselvesupon it. The first broad rush of the ling [Footnote: Common heath(Erica tetralix). ] was climbing the slopes of the Crae Hill above--a pale lavender near the loch-side, deepening to crimson on thedryer slopes where the heath-bells grew shorter and thickertogether. The wimpling lane slid as silently away from thesleeping loch as though it were eloping and feared to awake anangry parent. The whole range of hill and wood and water wasdrenched in sunshine. Silence clothed it like a garment--save onlyfor the dark of the shadow under the bridge, from whence had comethat ring of girlish laughter which had jarred upon the nerves ofRalph Peden. 

Suddenly there emerged from the indigo shade where the bluespruces overarched the bridge a girl carrying two shining pails ofwater. Her arms were bare, her sleeves being rolled high above herelbow; and her figure, tall and shapely, swayed gracefully to themovement of the pails. Ralph did not know before that there is anart in carrying water. He was ignorant of many things, but evenwith his views on woman's place in the economy of the universe, hecould not but be satisfied with the fitness and the beauty of thegirl who came up the path, swinging her pails with thecompensatory sway of lissom body, and that strong outward flex ofthe elbow which kept the brimming cans swinging in safety by herside. 

Ralph Peden never took his eyes off her as she came, the theoriesof James's Court notwithstanding. Nor indeed need we for a little. For this is Winifred, better known as Winsome Charteris, a veryimportant young person indeed, to whose beauty and wit the poetsof three parishes did vain reverence; and, what she might wellvalue more, whose butter was the best (and commanded the highestprice) of any that went into Dumfries market on Wednesdays. 

Fair hair, crisping and tendrilling over her brow, swept back inloose and flossy circlets till caught close behind her head by atiny ribbon of blue--then again escaping it went scattering andwavering over her shoulders wonderingly, like nothing on earth butWinsome Charteris's hair. It was small wonder that the local poetsgrew grey before their time in trying to find a rhyme for"sunshine, " a substantive which, for the first time, they hadapplied to a girl's hair. For the rest, a face rather oval thanlong, a nose which the schoolmaster declared was "statuesque"(used in a good sense, he explained to the village folk, who couldnever be brought to see the difference between a statue and anidol--the second commandment being of literal interpretation alongthe Loch Grannoch side), and eyes which, emulating the parishpoet, we can only describe as like two blue waves when they risejust far enough to catch a sparkle of light on their crests. Thesubject of her mouth, though tempting, we refuse to touch. Itsdescription has already wrecked three promising reputations. 

But withal Winsome Charteris set her pails as frankly and plumplyon the ground, as though she were plain as a pike-staff, and benta moment over to look into the gypsy-pot swung on its birchentriangle. Then she made an impatient movement of her hand, as ifto push the biting fir-wood smoke aside. This angered Ralph, whoconsidered it ridiculous and ill-ordered that a gesture whichshowed only a hasty temper and ill-regulated mind should beundeniably pretty and pleasant to look upon, just because it wasmade by a girl's hand. He was angry with himself, yet he hoped shewould do it again. Instead, she took up one pail of water afterthe other, swung them upward with a single dexterous movement, andpoured the water into the pot, from which the steam was rising. Ralph Peden could see the sunlight sparkle in the water as itarched itself solidly out of the pails. He was not near enough tosee the lilac sprig on her light summer gown; but the lilacsunbonnet which she wore, principally it seemed in order that itmight hang by the strings upon her shoulders, was to Ralph asingularly attractive piece of colour in the landscape. This hedid not resent, because it is always safe to admire colour. 

Ralph would have been glad to have been able to slip off quietlyto the manse. He told himself so over and over again, till hebelieved it. This process is easy. But he saw very well that hecould not rise from the lee of the whin bush without being in fullview of this eminently practical and absurdly attractive youngwoman. So he turned to his Hebrew Lexicon with a sigh, and a grimcontraction of determined brows which recalled his father. Acountry girl was nothing to the hunter after curious roots and theamateur of finely shaded significances in Piel and Pual. 

"I WILL not be distracted!" Ralph said doggedly, though a Scot, correct for once in his grammar; and he pursued a recalcitrantparticle through the dictionary like a sleuthhound. 

A clear shrill whistle rang through the slumberous summer air. 

"Bless me, " said Ralph, startled, "this is most discomposing!"

He raised himself cautiously on his elbow, and beheld the girl ofthe water-pails standing in the full sunshine with her lilacsunbonnet in her hand. She wared it high above her head, then shepaused a moment to look right in his direction under her hand heldlevel with her brows. Suddenly she dropped the sunbonnet, put acouple of fingers into her mouth in a manner which, if Ralph hadonly known it, was much admired of all the young men in theparish, and whistled clear and loud, so that the stone-chatfluttered up indignant and scurried to a shelter deeper among thegorse. A most revolutionary young person this. He regretted thatthe humble-bee had moved him nearer the bridge. 

Ralph was deeply shocked that a girl should whistle, and stillmore that she should use two fingers to do it, for all the worldlike a shepherd on the hill. He bethought him that not one of hiscousins, Professor Habakkuk Thriepneuk's daughters (who studiedChaldaeic with their father), would ever have dreamed of doingthat. He imagined their horror at the thought, and a picture, compound of Jemima, Kezia, and Kerenhappuch, rose before him. 

Down the hill, out from beneath the dark green solid foliagedelder bushes, there came a rush of dogs. 

"Save us, " said Ralph, who saw himself discovered, "the deil's inthe lassie; she'll have the dogs on me!"--an expression he hadlearned from John Bairdison, his father's "man, " [Footnote: Churchofficer and minister's servant. ] who in an unhallowed youth hadfollowed the sea. 

Then he would have reproved himself for the unlicensed exclamationas savouring of the "minced oath, " had he not been taken up withwatching the dogs. There were two of them. One was a large, roughdeerhound, clean cut about the muzzle, shaggy everywhere else, which ran first, taking the hedges in his stride. The other was asmall, short-haired collie, which, with his ears laid back and anair of grim determination not to be left behind, followed grimlyafter. The collie went under the hedges, diving instinctively forthe holes which the hares had made as they went down to the waterfor their evening drink. Both dogs crossed to windward of him, racing for their mistress. When they reached the green level wherethe great tubs stood they leaped upon her with short sharp barksof gladness. She fended them off again with gracefully impatienthand; then bending low, she pointed to the loch-side a quarter ofa mile below, where a herd of half a dozen black Galloway cows, necked with the red and white of the smaller Ayrshires, could beseen pushing its way through the lush heavy grass of the watermeadow. 

"Away by there! Fetch them, Roger!" she cried. "Haud at them--thekye's in the meadow!"

The dogs darted away level. The cows continued their slow advance, browsing as they went, but in a little while their dark frontswere turned towards the dogs as after a momentary indecision theyrecognized an enemy. With a startled rush the herd drove throughthe meadow and poured across the unfenced road up to the hillpasture which they had left, whose scanty grasses had doubtlessturned slow bovine thoughts to the coolness of the meadow grass, and the pleasure of standing ruminant knee-deep in the river, withwavy tail nicking the flies in the shade. 

For a little while Ralph Peden breathed freely again, but hissatisfaction was short-lived. One girl was discomposing enough, but here were two. Moreover the new-comer, having arranged someblankets in a tub to her satisfaction, calmly tucked up her skirtsin a professional manner and got bare-foot into the tub besidethem. Then it dawned upon Ralph, who was not very instructed onmatters of household economy, that he had chanced upon a Gallowayblanket-washing; and that, like the gentleman who spied uponMusidora's toilet, of whom he had read in Mr. James Thomson'sSeasons, he might possibly see more than he had come out to see. 

Yet it was impossible to rise composedly and take his waymanseward. Ralph wished now that he had gone at the first alarm. It had become so much more difficult now, as indeed it always doesin such cases. Moreover, he was certain that these two vagabondsof curs would return. And they would be sure to find him out. Dogswere unnecessary and inconvenient beasts, always sniffing andnosing about. He decided to wait. The new-comer of the kilts wasafter all no Naiad or Hebe. Her outlines did not resemble to anymarked degree the plates in his excellent classical dictionary. She was not short in stature, but so strong and of a complexion soruddily beaming above the reaming white which filled the blankettub, that her mirthful face shone like the sun through an eveningmist. 

But Ralph did not notice that, in so far as she could, she hadrelieved the taller maiden of the heavier share of the work; andthat her laugh was hung on a hair trigger, to go off at every jestand fancy of Winsome Charteris. All this is to introduce Miss MegKissock, chief and favoured maidservant at the Dullarg farm, anddevoted worshipper of Winsome, the young mistress thereof. Megindeed, would have thanked no one for an introduction, being atall times well able (and willing) to introduce herself. 

It had been a shock to Ralph Peden when Meg Kissock walked up fromthe lane-side barefoot, and when she cleared the decks for theblanket tramping. But he had seen something like it before on thebanks of the water of Leith, then running clear and limpid overits pebbles, save for a flour-mill or two on the lower reaches. But it was altogether another thing when, plain as print, he sawhis first goddess of the shining water-pails sit calmly down onthe great granite boulder in the shadow of the bridge, and takeone small foot in her hand with the evident intention of removingher foot-gear and occupying the second tub. 

The hot blood surged in responsive shame to Ralph Peden's cheeksand temples. He started up. Meg Kissock was tramping the blanketsrhythmically, holding her green kirtle well up with both hands, and singing with all her might. The goddess of the shining pailswas also happily unconscious, with her face to the running water. Ralph bent low and hastened through a gap in the fence towards theshade of the elder bushes on the slope. He did not run--he hasnever acknowledged that; but he certainly came almostindistinguishably near it. As soon, however, as he was really outof sight, he actually did take to his heels and run in thedirection of the manse, disconcerted and demoralized. 

The dogs completed his discomfiture, for they caught sight of hisflying figure and gave chase--contenting themselves, however, withpausing on the hillside where Ralph had been lying, with indignantbarkings and militant tails high crested in air. 

Winsome Charteris went up to the broom bushes which fringed theslope to find out what was the matter with Tyke and Roger. Whenshe got there, a slim black figure was just vanishing round thewhite bend of the Far Away Turn. Winsome whistled low this time, and without putting even one finger into her mouth. 

CHAPTER II. 

THE MOTHER OF KING LEMUEL. 

It was not till Ralph Peden had returned to the study of the manseof the Marrow kirk of Dullarg, and the colour induced by exercisehad had time to die out of his naturally pale cheeks, that heremembered that he had left his Hebrew Bible and Lexicon, as wellas a half-written exegesis on an important subject, underneath thefatal whin bush above the bridge over the Grannoch water. He wouldhave been glad to rise and seek it immediately--a task which, indeed, no longer presented itself in such terrible colours tohim. He found himself even anxious to go. It would be a seriousthing were he to lose his father's Lexicon and Mr. Welsh's HebrewBible. Moreover, he could not bear the thought of leaving thesheets of his exposition of the last chapter of Proverbs to be thesport of the gamesome Galloway winds--or, worse thought, thelaughing-stock of gamesome young women who whistled with twofingers in their mouths. 

Yet the picture of the maid of the loch which rose before himstruck him as no unpleasant one. He remembered for one thing howthe sun shone through the tangle of her hair. But he had quiteforgotten, on the other hand, at what part of his exegesis he hadleft off. It was, however, a manifest impossibility for him toslip out again. Besides, he was in mortal terror lest Mr. Welshshould ask for his Hebrew Bible, or offer to revise his chapter ofthe day with him. All the afternoon he was uneasy, finding noexcuse to take himself away to the loch-side in order to find hisBible and Lexicon. 

"I understand you have been studying, with a view to license, thelast chapter of the Proverbs of Solomon?" said Gilbert Welsh, interrogatively, bending his shaggy brows and pouting his underlipat the student. 

The Marrow minister was a small man, with a body so dried andtwisted ("shauchelt" was the local word) that all the nerve stuffof a strong nature had run up to his brain, so that when he walkedhe seemed always on the point of falling forward, overbalanced bythe weight of his cliff-like brow. 

"Ralph, will you ground the argument of the mother of King Lemuelin this chapter? But perhaps you would like to refer to theoriginal Hebrew?" said the minister. 

"Oh, no, " interrupted Ralph, aghast at the latter suggestion, "Ido not need the text--thank you, sir. "

But, in spite of his disclaimer, he devoutly desired to be wherethe original text and his written comment upon it were at thatmoment--which, indeed, was a consummation even more devoutly to bewished than he had any suspicion of. The Marrow minister leanedhis head on his hand and looked waitingly at the young man. 

Ralph recalled himself with an effort. He had to repeat to himselfthat he was in the manse study, and almost to pinch his knee toconvince himself of the reality of his experiences. But this wasnot necessary a second time, for, as he sat hastily down on one ofAllen Welsh's hard-wood chairs, a prickle from the gorse bushwhich he had brought back with him from Loch Grannoch side wasargument sharp enough to convince Bishop Berkeley. 

"Compose yourself to answer my question, " said the minister, withsome slight severity. Ralph wondered silently if even a ministerof the Marrow kirk in good standing, could compose himself on onewhin prickle for certain, and the probability of several othersdeveloping themselves at various angles hereafter. 

Ralph "grounded" himself as best as he could, explaining the viewsof the mother of King Lemuel as to the woman of virtue andfaithfulness. He seemed to himself to have a fluency and a fervourin exposition to which he had been a stranger. He began to havenew views about the necessity for the creation of Eve. Woman mightpossibly, after all, be less purely gratuitous than he hadsupposed. 

"The woman who is above rubies, " said he, "is one who rises earlyto care for the house, who oversees the handmaids as they cleansethe household stuffs--in a" (he just saved himself from saying "ina black pot")--"in a fitting vessel by the rivers of water. "

"Well put and correctly mandated, " said Mr. Welsh, very muchpleased. There was unction about this young man. Though a bachelorby profession, he loved to hear the praises of good women; for hehad once known one. 

"She openeth her mouth with wisdom; and--"

Here Ralph paused, biting his tongue to keep from describing thepicture which rose before him. 

"And what, " said the minister, tentatively, leaning forward tolook into the open face of the young man, "what is the distinctionor badge of true beauty and favour of countenance, as so wellexpressed by the mother of King Lemuel?"

"A LILAC SUNBONNET!" said Ralph Peden, student in divinity. 

CHAPTER III. 

A TREASURE-TROVE. 

Winsome CHARTERIS was a self-possessed maid, but undeniably herheart beat faster when she found on the brae face, beneath thebush of broom, two books the like of which she had never seenbefore, as well as an open notebook with writing upon it in theneatest and delicatest of hands. First, as became a prudent womanof experience, she went up to the top of the hill to assureherself that the owner of this strange treasure was not about toreturn. Then she carefully let down her high-kilted print dresstill only her white feet "like little mice" stole in and out. Itdid not strike her that this sacrifice to the conventions was justa trifle belated. 

As she returned she said "Shoo!" at every tangled bush, andflapped her apron as if to scare whatever curious wild fowl mighthave left behind it in its nest under the broom such curious nest-eggs as two great books full of strange, bewitched-lookingprinting, and a note-book of curious and interesting writings. Then, with a half sigh of disappointment, Winsome Charteris satherself down to look into this matter. Meg Kissock from the bridgeend showed signs of coming up to see what she was about; butWinsome imperiously checked the movement. 

"Bide where you are, Meg; I'll be down with you presently. "

She turned over the great Hebrew Bible reverently. "A. Welsh" waswritten on the fly-leaf. She had a strange idea that she had seenit before. It seemed somehow thrillingly familiar. 

"That's the minister's Hebrew Bible book, no doubt, " she said. "For that's the same kind of printing as between the double versesof the hundred-and-nineteenth Psalm in my grandfather's bigBible, " she continued, sapiently shaking her head till the crispyringlets tumbled about her eyes, and she had impatiently to tossthem aside. 

She laid the Bible down and peeped into the other strange-lookingbook. There were single words here of the same kind as in theother, but the most part was in ordinary type, though in alanguage of which she could make nothing. The note-book was aresource. It was at least readable, and Winsome Charteris beganexpectantly to turn it over. But something stirred reprovingly inher heart. It seemed as if she were listening to a conversationnot meant for her. So she kept her finger on the leaf, but did notturn it. 

"No, " she said, "I will not read it. It is not meant for me. "Then, after a pause, "At least I will only read this page which isopen, and then look at the beginning to see whose it is; for, youknow, I may need to send it back to him. " The back she had seenvanish round the Far Away Turn demanded the masculine pronoun. 

She lifted the book and read:

"Alas!" (so ran the writing, fluent and clear, small as printer'stype, Ralph Peden's beautiful Hellenic script), "alas, that thegood qualities of the housewives of Solomon's days are out of dateand forgotten in these degenerate times! Women, especially theyounger of them, are become gadabouts, chatterers in the publicways, idle, adorners of their vain selves, pamperers of theirfrail tabernacles--"

Winsome threw down the book and almost trod upon it as upon asnake. 

"'Tis some city fop, " she said, stamping her foot, "who is tiredof the idle town dames. I wonder if he has ever seen the sun riseor done a day's work in his life? If only I had the wretch! But Iwill read no more!"

In token of the sincerity of the last assertion, she picked up thenote-book again. There was little more to read. It was at thispoint that the humble-bee had startled the writer. 

But underneath there were woids faintly scrawled in pencil: "Mustconcentrate attention"--"The proper study of mankind is"--thislast written twice, as if the writer were practising copy-linesabsently. Then at the very bottom was written, so faintly thathardly any eyes but Winsome's could have read the words:

"Of all colours I do love the lilac. I wonder all maids do notwear gear of that hue!"

"Oh!" said Winsome Charteris quickly. 

Then she gathered up the books very gently, and taking a kerchieffrom her neck, she folded the two great books within it, fasteningthem with a cunning knot. She was carrying them slowly up towardsthe farm town of Craig Ronald in her bare arms when Ralph Pedensat answering his catechism in the study at the manse. She enteredthe dreaming courtyard, and walked sedately across its silent sun-flooded spaces without a sound. She passed the door of the coolparlour where her grandfather and grandmother sat, the latter withher hands folded and her great tortoiseshell spectacles on hernose, taking her afternoon nap. A volume of Waverley lay besideher. Into her own white little room Winsome went, and laid thebundle of books in the bottom of the wall-press, which was linedwith sheets of the Cairn Edward Miscellany. She looked at it sometime before she shut the door. 

"His name is Ralph, " she said. "I wonder how old he is--I shallknow tomorrow, because he will come back; but--I would like toknow tonight. "

She sighed a little--so light a breath that it was only the dreamof a sigh. Then she looked at the lilac sunbonnet, as if it oughtto have known. 

"At any rate he has very good taste, " she said. 

But the lilac sunbonnet said never a word. 

CHAPTER IV. 

A CAVALIER PURITAN. 

The farm town of Craig Ronald drowsed in the quiet of noon. In theopen court the sunshine triumphed, and only the purple-grey marshmallows along the side of the house under the windows gave anysign of life. In them the bees had begun to hum at earliest dawn, an hour and a half before the sun looked over the crest of BenGairn. They were humming busily still. In all the chambers of thehouse there was the same reposeful stillness. Through them WinsomeCharteris moved with free, light step. She glanced in to see thather grandfather and grandmother were wanting for nothing in theircool and wide sitting-room, where the brown mahogany-cased eight-day clock kept up an unequal ticking, like a man walking upon twowooden legs of which one is shorter than the other. 

It said something for Winsome Charteris and her high-heartedcourage, that what she was accustomed to see in that sitting-roomhad no effect upon her spirits. It was a pleasant room enough, with two windows looking to the south--little round-budded, pale-petalled monthly roses nodding and peeping within the openedwindow-frames. Sweet it was with a great peace, every chaircovered with old sprigged chintz, flowers of the wood and heatherfrom the hill set in china vases about it. The room where the oldfolk dwelt at Craig Ronald was fresh within as is the dew onsweetbrier. Fresh, too, was the apparel of her grandmother, theflush of youth yet on her delicate cheek, though the Psalmist'slimit had long been passed for her. 

As Winsome looked within, "Are ye not sleeping, grandmother?" she said. 

The old lady looked up with a resentful air. 

"Sleepin'! The lassie's gane gyte! [out of her senses]. What forwad I be sleepin' in the afternune? An' me wi' the care o' yergran'faither--sic a handling, him nae better nor a bairn, an' youa bit feckless hempie wi' yer hair fleeing like the tail o' a twa-year-auld cowt! [colt]. Sleepin' indeed! Na, sleepin's nane forme!"

The young girl came up and put her arms about her grandmother. 

"That's rale unceevil o' ye, noo, Granny Whitemutch!" she said, speaking in the coaxing tones to which the Scots' language lendsitself so easily, "an' it's just because I hae been sae lang atthe blanket-washin', seein' till that hizzy Meg. An' ken ye what Isaw!-ane o' the black dragoons in full retreat, grannie; but heleft his camp equipage ahint him, as the sergeant said when--Yeken the story, grannie. Ye maun hae been terrible bonny in thaedays!"

"'Deed I'm nane sae unbonny yet, for a' yer helicatflichtmafleathers, sprigget goons, an' laylac bonnets, " said theold lady, shaking her head till the white silk top-knots trembled. "No, nor I'm nane sae auld nayther. The gudeman in the cornerthere, he's auld and dune gin'ye like, but no me--no me! Gin hewarna spared to me, I could even get a man yet, " continued thelively old lady, "an' whaur wad ye be then, my lass, I wad like token?"

"Perhaps I could get one too, grannie, " she said. And she shookher head with an air of triumph. Winsome kissed her grandmothergently on the brow. 

"Nane o' yer Englishy tricks an' trokin's, " said she, settling thewhite muslin band which she wore across her brow wrinkleless andstraight, where it had been disarrayed by the onslaught of herimpulsive granddaughter. 

"Aye, " she went on, stretching out a hand which would have donecredit to a great dame, so white and slender was it in spite ofthe hollows which ran into a triangle at the wrist, and the pale-blue veins which the slight wrinkles have thrown into relief. 

"An' I mind the time when three o' his Majesty's officers--naneo' yer militia wi' horses that rin awa' wi' them ilka time theygang oot till exerceese, but rale sodgers wi' sabre-tashies totheir heels and spurs like pitawtie dreels. Aye, sirs, but thatwas before I married an elder in the Kirk o' the Marrow. I wasnatwenty-three when I had dune wi' the gawds an' vanities o' thiswicked world. "

"I saw a minister lad the day--a stranger, " said Winsome, veryquietly. 

"Sirce me, " returned her grandmother briskly; "kenned I e'er thelike o' ye, Winifred Chayrteris, for licht-heedit-ness an' lack o'a' common sense! Saw a minister an' ne'er thocht, belike, o'sayin' cheep ony mair nor if he had been a wutterick [weasel]. An'what like was he, na? Was he young, or auld--or no sae verra auld, like mysel'? Did he look like an Establisher by the consequence o'the body, or--"

"But, grannie dear, how is it possible that I should ken, when allthat I saw of him was but his coat-tails? It was him that wasrunning away. "

"My certes, " said grannie, "but the times are changed since myday! When I was as young as ye are the day it wasna sodger orminister ayther that wad hae run frae the sicht o' me. But aminister, and a fine, young-looking man, I think ye said, "continued Mistress Walter Skirving anxiously. 

"Indeed, grandmother, I said nothing--" began Winsome. 

"Haud yer tongue, Deil's i' the lassie, he'll be comin' here. Maybes he's comin' up the loan this verra meenit. Get me my bestkep [cap], the French yin o' Flanders lawn trimmed wi' Valenceeneslace that Captain Wildfeather, of his Majesty's--But na, I'll nothink o' thae times, I canna bear to think o' them wi' onycomplaisance ava. But bring me my kep--haste ye fast, lassie!"

Obediently Winsome went to her grandmother's bedroom and drew fromunder the bed the "mutch" box lined with pale green paper, patterned with faded pink roses. She did not smile when she drewit out. She was accustomed to her grandmother's ways. She toooften felt the cavalier looking out from under her Puritanteaching; for the wild strain of the Gordon blood held true to itskind, and Winsome's grandmother had been a Gordon at Lochenkit, whose father had ridden with Kenmure in the great rebellion. 

When she brought the white goffered mutch with its plaits andpuckers, granny tried it on in various ways, Winsome meanwhileholding a small mirror before her. 

"As I was sayin', I renounced thinkin' aboot the vanities o' youthlangsyne. Aye, it'll be forty years sin'--for ye maun mind that Iwas marriet whan but a lassie. Aye me, it's forty-five years sinceAilie Gordon, as I was then, wed wi' Walter Skirving o' CraigRonald (noo o' his ain chammer neuk, puir man, for he'll neverleave it mair), " added she with a brisk kind of acknowledgmenttowards the chair of the semi-paralytic in the corner. 

There silent and unregarding Walter Skirving sat--a man stillsplendid in frame and build, erect in his chair, a shawl over hisknees even in this day of fervent heat, looking out dumbly on thedrowsing, humming world of broad, shadowless noonshine, and oftenalso on the equable silences of the night. 

"No that I regret it the day, when he is but the name o' the manhe yince was. For fifty years since there was nae lad like WalterSkirving cam into Dumfries High Street frae Stewartry or fraeShire. No a fit in buckled shune sae licht as his, his weel-shapitleg covered wi' the bonny 'rig-an'-fur' stockin' that I knittedmysel' frae the cast on o' the ower-fauld [over-fold] to the bonnywhite forefit that sets aff the blue sae weel. Walter Skirvingcould button his knee-breeks withoot bendin' his back--that nanecould do but the king's son himsel'; an' sic a dancer as he wasafore guid an' godly Maister Cauldsowans took hand o' him at thetent, wi' preachin' a sermon on booin' the knee to Baal. Aye, aye, its a' awa'--an' its mony the year I thocht on it, let alanethocht on wantin' back thae days o' vanity an' the pride o' sinfu'youth!"

"Tell me about the officer men, granny, " said Winsome. 

"'Deed wull I no. It wad be mair tellin' ye gin ye were learnin'yer Caritches" [Westminster Catechism]. 

"But, grandmammy dear, I thought that you said that the officermen ran away from you--"

"Hear till her! Rin frae me? Certes, ye're no blate. They cam'frae far an' near to get a word wi' me. Na, there was nae rinnin'frae a bonny lass in thae days. Weel, there was three o' them; an'they cam' ower the hill to see the lasses, graund in their reedbreeks slashed wi' yellow. An' what for no, they war his Majesty'stroopers; an' though nae doot they had been on the wrang side o'the dyke, they were braw chiels for a' that!"

"An' they cam' to see you, granny?" asked Winsome, who approved ofthe subject. 

"What else--but they got an unco begunk [cheat]. Ye see, myfaither had bocht an awfu' thrawn young bull at the Dumfries fair, an' he had been gaun gilravagin' aboot; an' whaur should thecontrary beast betak' himsel' to but into the Roman camp on CraigRonald bank, where the big ditch used to be? There we heard himroutin' for three days till the cotmen fand him i' the hinderend, an' poo'ed him oot wi' cart-rapes. But when he got oot--certes, but he was a wild beast! He got at Jock Hinderlands afore he couldclimb up a tree; an', fegs, he gaed up a tree withoot clim'in', I'se warrant, an' there he hung, hanket by the waistband o' hisbreeks, baa-haain' for his minnie to come and lift him doon, an'him as muckle a clampersome [awkward] hobbledehoy as ever ye saw!

"Then what did Carlaverock Jock do but set his heid to a yett[gate] and ding it in flinders; fair fire-wood he made o't; an'sae, rampagin' into the meadow across whilk, " continued the oldlady, with a rising delight in her eye, "the three cavalry menwere comin' to see me, wi' the spurs on them jangling clear. Reedbreeks did na suit Jock's taste at the best o' times, and he hadno been brocht up to countenance yellow facin's. So the three brawKing George's sodgers that had dune sic graund things at Waterlootook the quickest road through the meadow. Captain St. Clair, hetrippit on his sword, an' was understood to cry oot that he hadnever eaten beef in his life. Ensign Withershins threw his shakoower his shoother and jumpit intil the water, whaur he expressedhis opinion o' Carlaverock Jock stan'in' up to his neck in LuckieMowatt's pool--the words I dinna juist call to mind at thispresent time, which, indeed, is maybe as weel; but it wasLieutenant Lichtbody, o' his Majesty's Heavy Dragoons, that cam'aff at the waurst. He made for the stane dyke, the sven-fite marchdyke that rins up the hill, ye ken. Weel, he made as if he wadmak' ower it, but Boreland'a big Heelant bull had heard theroutin' o' his friend Carlaverock Jock, an' was there wi' hishorns spread like a man keppin' yowes [catching sheep]. Aye, mycertes!" here the old lady paused, overcome by the humour of herrecollections, laughing in her glee a delightfully catching andmellow laugh, in which Winsome joined. 

"Sae there was my braw beau, Lieutenant Lichtbody, sittin' on hishunkers on the dyke tap girnin' at Carlaverock Jock an' theBoreland Hielantman on baith sides o' him, an' tryin' tae hit themower the nose wi' the scabbard o' his sword, for the whingeritsel' had drappit oot in what ye micht ca' the forced retreat. Itwas bonny, bonny to see; an' whan the three cam' up the loanin'the neist day, 'Sirs, ' I said, 'I'm thinkin' ye had better begaun. I saw Carlaverock Jock the noo, fair tearin' up thegreensward. It wudna be bonny gin his Majesty's officers had twiceto mak' sae rapid a march to the rear--an' you, LieutenantLichtbody, canna hae a'thegither gotten the better o' yer langsederunt on the tap o' the hill dyke. It's a bonny view that yehad. It was a peety that ye had forgotten yer perspectiveglasses. '

"And wad ye believe it, lassie, the threesome turned on the braido'their fit an' marched doon the road withoot as muckle as Fair-guid-e'en or Fair-guid-day!"

"And what said ye, grannie dear?" said Winsome, who sat on a lowseat looking up at her granny. 

"O lassie, I juist set my braid hat ower my lug wi' the bonnywhite cockade intil't an' gied them 'The Wee, Wee German Lairdie'as they gaed doon the road, an' syne on the back o't:

 "'Awa, Whigs, awa'! Ye're but a pack----'"

But the great plaid-swathed figure of Winsome's grandfather turnedat the words of the long-forgotten song as though waking from adeep sleep. A slumberous fire gleamed momentarily in his eye. 

"Woman, " he said, "hold your peace; let not these words be heardin the house of Walter Skirving!"

Having thus delivered himself, the fire faded out of his eyes deadas black ashes; he turned to the window, and lost himself again inmeditation, looking with steady eyes across the ocean of sunshinewhich flooded the valley beneath. 

His wife gave him no answer. She seemed scarce to have heard theinterruption. But Winsome went across and pulled the heavy plaidgently off her grandfather's shoulder. Then she stood quietly byhim with one hand upon his head and with the other she gentlystroked his brow. A milder light grew in his dull eye, and he putup his hand uncertainly as if to take hers. 

"But what for should I be takin' delicht in speakin' o' thae auldunsanctified regardless days, " said her grandmother, "that 'tismony a year since I hae ta'en ony pleesure in thinkin' on? Gaewa', ye hempie that ye are!" she cried, turning with a sudden anduncalled-for sparkle of temper on her granddaughter; "There's naetime an' little inclination in this hoose for yer flichtyconversation. I wonder muckle that yer thouchts are sae set on thevanities o' young men. And such are all that delight in them. " Shewent on somewhat irrelevantly, "Did not godly Maister Cauldsowansredd up [settle] the doom o' such--'all desirable young men ridingupon horses--'"

"An' I'll gae redd up the dairy, an' kirn the butter, grannie!"said Winsome Charteris, breaking in on the flow of hergrandmother's reproaches. 

CHAPTER V. 

A LESSON IN BOTANY. 

No lassie in all the hill country went forth more heart-wholeinto the June morning than Winsome Charteris. She was not, indeed, wholly a girl of the south uplands. Her grandmother was never donereminding her of her "Englishy" ways, which, according to thatauthority, she had contracted during those early years she hadspent in Cumberland. From thence she had been brought to the farmtown of Craig Ronald, soon after the death of her only uncle, AdamSkirving--whose death, coming after the loss of her own mother, had taken such an effect upon her grandfather that for years hehad seldom spoken, and now took little interest in the ongoings ofthe farm. 

Walter Skirving was one of a class far commoner in Galloway sixtyyears ago than now. He was a "bonnet laird" of the best type, andhis farm, which included all kinds of soil--arable and pasture, meadow and moor, hill pasture and wood--was of the value of aboutL300 a year, a sum sufficient in those days to make him a man ofsubstance and consideration in the country. 

He had been all his life, except for a single year in his youthwhen he broke bounds, a Marrow man of the strictest type; and ithad been the wonder and puzzle of his life (to others, not tohimself) how he came to make up to Ailie Gordon, the daughter ofthe old moss-trooping Lochenkit Gordons, that had ridden with thelaird of Redgauntlet in the killing time, and more recently hadbeen out with Maxwell of Nithsdale, and Gordon of Kenmure, tostrike a blow for the "King-over-the-Water. " And to this very day, though touched with a stroke which prevented her from moving farout of her chair, Ailie Skirving showed the good blood and high-hearted lightsomeness that had won the young laird of Craig Ronaldupon the Loch Grannoch side nearly fifty years before. 

It was far more of a wonder how Ailie Gordon came to take WalterSkirving. It may be that she felt in her heart the accent of atrue man in the unbending, nonjuring elder of the Marrow kirk. Twogreat heart-breaks had crossed their lives: the shadow of the lifestory of Winsome's mother, that earlier Winsome whose name had notbeen heard for twenty years in the house of Craig Ronald; and themore recent death of Adam, the strong, silent, chivalrous-naturedson who had sixteen years ago been killed, falling from his horseas he rode home alone one winter's night from Dumfries. 

It was a natural thing to be in love with Winsome Charteris. Itseemed natural to Winsome herself. Ever since she was a littlelass running to school in Keswick, with a touse of lint-whitelocks blowing out in the gusts that came swirling off Skiddaw, Winsome had always been conscious of a train of admirers. The boysliked to carry her books, and were not so ashamed to walk homewith her, as even at six years of age young Cumbrians are wont tobe in the company of maids. Since she came to Galloway, and openedout with each succeeding year, like the bud of a moss rose growingin a moist place, Winsome had thought no more of masculineadmiration than of the dull cattle that "goved" [stared stupidly]upon her as she picked her deft way among the stalls in the byre. In all Craig Ronald there was nothing between the hill and thebest room that did not bear the mark of Winsome's method andadministrative capacity. In perfect dependence upon Winsome, hergranny had gradually abandoned all the management of the house toher, so that at twenty that young woman was a veritable Napoleonof finance and capacity. Only old Richard Clelland of theBoreland, grave and wise pillar of the kirk by law established, still transacted her market business and banked her siller--being, as he often said, proud to act as "doer" for so fair a principal. So it happened that all the reins of government about this tinylairdship of one farm were in the strong and capable hands of agirl of twenty. 

And Meg Kissock was her true admirer and faithful slave--Winsome'sheavy hand, too, upon occasion; for all the men on the farm stoodin awe of Meg's prowess, and very especially of Meg's tongue. Soalso the work fell mostly upon these two, and in less measure upona sister of Meg's, Jess Kissock, lately returned from England, ayoung lady whom we have already met. 

During the night and morning Winsome had studied with someattention the Hebrew Bible, in which the name Allan Welshappeared, as well as the Latin Luther Commentary, and the HebrewLexicon, on the first page of which the name of Ralph Peden waswritten in the same neat print hand as in the note-book. 

This was the second day of the blanket-washing, and Winsome, having in her mind a presentiment that the proprietor of theselearned quartos would appear to claim his own, carried them downto the bridge, where Meg and her sister were already deep in themysteries of frothing tubs and boiling pots. Winsome from thebroomy ridge could hear the shrill "giff-gaff" [give and take] oftheir colloquy. She sat down under Ralph's very broom bush, andabsently turned over the leaves of the note-book, catchingsentences here and there. 

"I wonder how old he is?" she said, meditatively; "his coat-tailslooked old, but the legs went too lively for an old man; besides, he likes maids to be dressed in lilac--" She paused still morethoughtfully. "Well, we shall see. " She bent over and pulled themilky-stalked, white-seeded head of a dandelion. Taking it betweenthe finger and thumb of her left hand she looked critically at itas though it were a glass of wine. "He is tall, and he is fair, and his age is--"

Here she pouted her pretty lips and blew. 

"One--ha, ha!--he was an active infant when he ran from theblanket-tramping--two, three, four--"

Some tiny feather-headed spikelets disengaged themselvesunwillingly from the round and venerable downpolled dandelion. They floated lazily up between the tassels of the broom upon thelight breeze. 

"Five, six, seven, eight--faith, he was a clean-heeled laddie yon. Ye couldna see his legs or coat-tails for stour as he gaed roon'the Far Away Turn. "

Winsome was revelling in her broad Scots. She had learned it fromher grandmother. 

"Nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen--I'll nocan set the dogs on him then--sixteen, seventeen, eighteen--dearme, this is becoming interesting. "

The plumules were blowing off freely now, like snow from the eaveson a windy day in winter. 

"Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one--I must reverence my elders. If Idon't blow stronger he'll turn out to be fifty--twenty-three, twenty-f--"

A shadow fell across the daintily-held dandelion and lay a bluepatch on the grass. Only one pale grey star stood erect on thestem, the vacant green sheathing of the calyx turning suddenlydown. 

"TWENTY-FOUR!--" said Ralph Peden quietly, standing with his hatin his hand and an eager flush on his cheek. The last plumulefloated away. 

Winsome Charteris had risen instinctively, and stood looking withcrimson cheeks and quicker-coming breath at this young man whocame upon her in the nick of time. 

He was startled and a little indignant. So they stood facing oneanother while one might count a score--silent and drinking eachthe other in, with that flashing transference of electric sympathypossible only to the young and the innocent. 

It was the young man who spoke first. Winsome was a littleindignant that he should dare to come upon her while so engaged. Not, of course, that she cared for a moment what he thought ofher, but he ought to have known better than to have stolen uponher while she was behaving in such a ridiculous, childish way. Itshowed what he was capable of. 

"My name is Ralph Peden, " he said humbly. "I came from Edinburghthe day before yesterday. I am staying with Mr. Welsh at themanse. "

Winsome Charteris glanced down at the books and blushed still moredeeply. The Hebrew Bible and Lexicon lay harmlessly enough on thegrass, and the Luther was swinging in a frivolous anduntheological way on the strong, bent twigs of broom. But wherewas the note-book? Like a surge of Solway tide the remembrancecame over her that, when she had plucked the dandelion for hersoothsaying, she had thrust it carelessly into the bosom of herlilac-sprigged gown. Indeed, a corner of it peeped out at thismoment. Had he seen it?--monstrous thought! She knew young men andthe interpretations that they put upon nothings! This, in spite ofhis solemn looks and mantling bashfulness, was a young man. 

"Then I suppose these are yours, " said Winsome, turning sidewaystowards the indicated articles so as to conceal the note-book. Theyoung man removed his eyes momentarily from her face and looked inthe direction of the books. He seemed to have entirely forgottenwhat it was that had brought him to Loch Grannoch bridge so earlythis June morning. Winsome took advantage of his glance to feelthat her sunbonnet sat straight, and as her hand was on its way toher clustering curls she took this opportunity of thrustingRalph's note-book into more complete concealment. Then her handswent up to her head only to discover that her sunbonnet hadslipped backward, and was now hanging down her back by thestrings. 

Ralph Peden looked up at her, apparently entirely satisfied. Whatwas a note-book to him now? He saw the sunbonnet resting upon thewavy distraction of the pale gold hair. He had a luxurious eye forcolour. That lilac and gold went well together, was his thought. 

Trammelled by the fallen head-gear, Winsome threw her head back, shaking out her tresses in a way that Ralph Peden never forgot. Then she caught at the strings of the errant bonnet. 

"Oh, let it alone!" he suddenly exclaimed. 

"Sir?" said Winsome Charteris--interrogatively, not imperatively. Ralph Peden, who had taken a step forward in the instancy of hisappeal, came to himself again in a moment. 

"I beg your pardon, " he said very humbly, "I had no right--"

He paused, uncertain what to say. 

Winsome Charteris looked up quickly, saw the simplicity of theyoung man, in one full eye-blink read his heart, then dropped hereyes again and said:

"But I thought you liked lilac sunbonnets!"

Ralph Peden had now his turn to blush. Hardly in the secret of hisown heart had he said this thing. Only to Mr. Welsh had hisforgetful tongue uttered the word that was in his mind, and whichhad covered since yesterday morn all the precepts of that mostsuperfluous wise woman, the mother of King Lemuel. 

"Are you a witch?" asked Ralph, blundering as an honest andbashful man may in times of distress into the boldest speech. 

"You want to go up and see my grandmother, do you not?" saidWinsome, gravely, for such conversation was not to be continued onany conditions. 

"Yes, " said the young man, perjuring himself with a readiness andfacility most unbecoming in a student desiring letters ofprobation from the Protesting and Covenant-keeping Kirk of theMarrow. 

Ralph Peden lightly picked up the books, which, as Winsome knew, were some considerable weight to carry. 

"Do you find them quite safe?" she asked. 

"There was a heavy dew last night, " he answered, "but in spite ofit they seem quite dry. 

"We often notice the same thing on Loch Grannoch side, " saidWinsome. 

"I thought--that is, I was under the impression--that I had left asmall book with some manuscript notes!" said the young man, tentatively. 

"It may have dropped among the broom, " replied the simple maid. 

Whereupon the two set to seeking, both bareheaded, brown croppedhead and golden wilderness of tresses not far from one another, while the "book of manuscript notes" rose and fell to thequickened heart-beating of that wicked and deceitful girl, WinsomeCharteris. 

CHAPTER VI. 

CURLED EYELASHES. 

Now Meg Kissock could stand a great deal, and she would put upwith a great deal to pleasure her mistress; but half an hour ofloneliness down by the washing was overly much for her, and thestruggle between loyalty and curiosity ended, after the manner ofher sex, in the victory of the latter. 

As Ralph and Winsome continued to seek, they came time and againclose together and the propinquity of flushed cheek and mazyringlet stirred something in the lad's heart which had never beentouched by the Mistresses Thriepneuk, who lived where the newhouses of the Plainstones look over the level meadows of theBorough Muir. His father had often said within himself, as hewalked the Edinburgh streets to visit some sick kirk member, as hehad written to his friend Adam Welsh, "Has the lad a heart?" Hadhe seen him on that broomy knowe over the Grannoch water, he hadnot doubted, though he might well have been fearful enough of thatheart's too sudden awakening. 

Never before had the youth come within that delicate AURA of charmwhich radiates from the bursting bud of the finest womanhood. Ralph Peden had kept his affections ascetically virgin. Hisnature's finest juices had gone to feed the brain, yet all thetime his heart had waited expectant of the revealing of a mystery. Winsome Charteris had come so suddenly into his life that theuniverse seemed newborn in a day. He sprang at once from thethought of woman as only an unexplained part of the creation, tothe conception of her (meaning thereby Winsome Charteris) as anangel who had not lost her first estate. 

It was a strange thing for Ralph Peden, as indeed it is to everytrue man, to come for the first time within the scope of theunconscious charms of a good girl. There is, indeed, no bettersolvent of a cold nature, no better antidote to a narroweducation, no better bulwark of defence against frittering awaythe strength and solemnity of first love, than a sudden, strongplunge into its deep waters. 

Like timid bathers, who run a little way into the tide and thenrun out again with ankles wet, fearful of the first chill, manymen accustom themselves to love by degrees. So they never tastethe sweetness and strength of it as did Ralph Peden in these days, when, never having looked upon a maid with the level summerlightning of mutual interest flashing in his eyes, he plunged intolove's fathomless mysteries as one may dive upon a still day fromsome craggy platform among the westernmost isles into Atlanticdepths. 

Winsome's light summer dress touched his hand and thrilled the ladto his remotest nerve centres. He stood light-headed, taking in asonly they twain looked over the loch with far-away eyes, thatsubtle fragrance, delicate and free, which like a garment clothedthe maid of the Grannoch lochside. 

"The water's on the boil, " cried Meg Kissock, setting her ruddyshock of hair and blooming, amplified, buxom form above the knoll, wringing at the same time the suds from her hands, "an' I cannalift it aff mysel'. "

Her mistress looked at her with a sudden suspicion. Since when hadMeg grown so feeble?

"We had better go down, " she said simply, turning to Ralph, whowould have cheerfully assented had she suggested that theyshould together walk into the loch among the lily beds. It was the"we" that overcame him. His father had used the pronoun in quite adifferent sense. "WE will take the twenty-ninth chapter of secondChronicles this morning, Ralph--what do WE understand by thispeculiar use of VAV CONVERSIVE?"

But it was quite another thing when Winsome Charteris said simply, as though he had been her brother:

"We had better go down!"

So they went down, taking the little stile at which Winsome hadmeditated over the remarks of Ralph Peden concerning the creationof Eve upon their way. Meg Kissock led the van, and took the dykevigorously without troubling the steps, her kirtle fitting her forsuch exercises. Winsome came next, and Ralph stood aside to lether pass. She sprang up the low steps light as a feather, restedher fingertips for an appreciable fraction of a second on the handwhich he instinctively held out, and was over before he realizedthat anything had happened. Yet it seemed that in that contact, light as a rose-leaf blown by the winds of late July against hischeek, his past life had been shorn clean away from all the futureas with a sharp sword. 

Ralph Peden had dutifully kissed his cousins Jemima, Kezia, andKerenhappuch; but, on the whole, he had felt more pleasure when hehad partaken of the excellent bannocks prepared for him by thefair hands of Kerenhappuch herself. But this was wholly a newthing. His breath came suddenly short. He breathed rapidly asthough to give his lungs more air. The atmosphere seemed to havegrown rarer and colder. Indeed, it was a different world, and theblanket-washing itself was transferred to some deliciously homelyoutlying annex of paradise. 

Yet it seemed the most natural thing in the world that he shouldbe helping this girl, and he went forward with the greatestassurance to lift the black pot off the fire for her. The keen, acrid swirls of wood-smoke blew into his eyes, and the rank steamof yellow home-made soap, manufactured with bracken ash for lye, rose to his nostrils. Now, Ralph Peden was well made and strong. Spare in body but accurately compacted, if he had ever struggledwith anything more formidable than the folio hide-hound Calvinsand Turretins on his father's lower shelf in James's Court, he hadbeen no mean antagonist. 

But, though he managed with a great effort to lift the black potoff its gypsy tripod, he would have let the boiling contents swingdangerously against his legs had not Winsome caught sharply at hisother hand and leaned over, so balancing the weight of the boilingwater. So they walked down the path to where the tubs stood underthe shade of the great ash-trees, with their sky-tossing, dry-rustling leaves. There Ralph set his burden down. Meg Kissock hadbeen watching him keenly. She saw that he had severely burned hishand, and also that he said nothing whatever about it. He was aman. This gained for the young man Meg's hearty approval almost asmuch as his bashfulness and native good looks. What Meg Kissockdid not know was that Ralph was altogether unconscious of thewound in his hand. It was a deeper wound which was at that timemonopolising his thoughts. But this little incident was more thana thousand certificates in the eyes of Meg Kissock, and Meg'sfriendship was decidedly worth cultivating. Even for its own sakeshe did not give it lightly. 

Before Winsome Charteris could release her hand, Ralph turned andsaid:

"Do you know you have not yet told me your name?"

Winsome did know it very well, but she only said, "My name isWinsome Charteris, and this is Meg Kissock. "

"Winsome Charteris, Winsome Charteris, " said Ralph's heart overand over again, and he had not even the grace to say "Thank you";but Meg stepped up to shake him by the hand. 

"I'm braw an' prood to ken ye, sir, " said Meg. "That muckle sumph[stupid], Saunders Mowdiewort, telled me a' aboot ye comin' an'the terrible store o' lear [learning] ye hae. He's the minister'sman, ye ken, an' howks the graves ower by at the parish kirk-yard, for the auld betheral there winna gang ablow three fit deep, andthem that haes ill-tongued wives to haud doon disna want onymistake--"

"Meg, " said her mistress, "do not forget yourself. "

"Deil a fear, " said Meg; "it was auld Sim o' Glower-ower-'em, thewizened auld hurcheon [hedgehog], that set a big thruch stane owerhis first wife; and when he buried his second in the neist grave, he just turned the broad flat stone. 'Guid be thankit!' he says, 'I had the forethocth to order a stane heavy eneuch to hand thembaith doon!'"

"Get to the washing, Meg, " said Winsome. 

"Fegs!" returned Meg, "ye waur in nae great hurry yersel' doon affthe broomy knowe! What's a' the steer sae sudden like?"

Winsome disdained an answer, but stood to her own tub, where someof the lighter articles--pillow-slips, and fair sheets of"seventeen-hundred" linen were waiting her daintier hand. 

As Winsome and Meg washed, Ralph Peden carried water, learning thewondrous science of carrying two cans over a wooden hoop; and inthe frankest tutelage Winsome put her hand over his to teach him, and the relation of master and pupil asserted its ancient danger. 

It had not happened to Winsome Charteris to meet any one to whomshe was attracted with such frank liking. She had never known whatit was to have a brother, and she thought that this clear-eyedyoung man might be a brother to her. It is a fallacy common amonggirls that young men desire them as sisters. Ralph himself wasunder no such illusion, or at least would not have been, had hehad the firmness of mind to sit down half a mile from his emotionsand coolly look them over. But in the meanwhile he was onlyconscious of a great and rising delight in his heart. 

As Winsome Charteris bent above the wash-tub he was at liberty toobserve how the blood mantled on the clear oval of her cheek. Hehad time to note--of course entirely as a philosopher--the palepurple shadow under the eyes, over which the dark, curling lashescame down like the fringe of the curtain of night. 

"Why--I wonder why?" he said, and stopped aghast at his utterancealoud of his inmost thought. 

"What do you wonder?" said Winsome, glancing up with a frank dewyfreshness in her eyes. 

"I wonder why--I wonder that you are able to do all this work, " hesaid, with an attempt to turn the corner of his blunder. 

Winsome shook her head. 

"Now you are trying to be like other people, " she said; "I do notthink you will succeed. That was not what you were going to say. If you are to be my friend, you must speak all the truth to me andspeak it always. " A thing which, indeed, no man does to a woman. And, besides, nobody had spoken of Ralph Peden being a friend toher. The meaning was that their hearts had been talking whiletheir tongues had spoken of other things; and though there was nothought of love in the breast of Winsome Charteris, already in theintercourse of a single morning she had given this young Edinburghstudent of divinity a place which no other had ever attained to. Had she had a brother, she thought, what would he not have been toher? She felt specially fitted to have a brother. It did not occurto her to ask whether she would have carried her brother's collegenote-book, even by accident, where it could be stirred by thebeating of her heart. 

"Well, " Ralph said at last, "I will tell you what I was wondering. You have asked me, and you shall know: I only wondered why youreyelashes were so much darker than your hair. "

Winsome Charteris was not in the least disturbed. 

"Ministers should occupy their minds with something else, " shesaid, demurely. "What would Mr. Welsh say? I am sure he has nevertroubled his head about such things. It is not fitting, " Winsomesaid severely. 

"But I want to know, " said this persistent young man, wondering athimself. 

"Well, " said Winsome, glancing up with mischief in her eye, "Isuppose because I am a very lazy sort of person, and dark window-blinds keep out the light. "

"But why are they curled up at the end?" asked unblushingly theauthor of the remarks upon Eve formerly quoted. 

"It is time that you went up and saw my grandmother!" saidWinsome, with great composure. 

"Juist what I was on the point o' remarkin' mysel'!" said MegKissock. 

CHAPTER VII. 

CONCERNING TAKING EXERCISE. 

Winsome and Ralph walked silently and composedly side by side upthe loaning under the elder-trees, over the brook at the watering-place to which in her hoydenish girlhood Winsome had often riddenthe horses when the ploughmen loosed Bell and Jess from theplough. In these days she rode without a side-saddle. Sometimesshe did it yet when the spring gloamings were gathering fast, butno one knew this except Jock Forrest, the ploughman, who nevertold any more than he could help. 

Silence deep as that of yesterday wrapped about the farmhouse ofCraig Ronald. The hens were all down under the lee of the greatorchard hedge, chuckling low to themselves, and nestling withtheir feathers spread balloon-wise, while they flirted the hotsummer dust over them. Down where the grass was in shadow a mowerwas sharpening his blade. The clear metallic sound of the "strake"or sharpening strop, covered with pure white Loch Skerrow sand setin grease, which scythemen universally use in Galloway, cutthrough the slumberous hum of the noonday air like the bladeitself through the grass. The bees in the purple flowers beneaththe window boomed a mellow bass, and the grasshoppers made love bymillions in the couch grass, chirring in a thousand fleetingraptures. 

"Wait here while I go in, " commanded Winsome, indicating a chairin the cool, blue-flagged kitchen, which Meg Kissock had markedout in white, with whorls and crosses of immemorial antiquity--thesame that her Pictish forefathers had cut deep in the hardSilurian rocks of the southern uplands. 

It was a little while before, in the dusk of the doorway Winsomeappeared, looking paler and fairer and more infinitely removedfrom him than before. Instinctively he wished himself out with heragain on the broomy knowe. He seemed somehow nearer to her there. Yet he followed obediently enough. 

Within the shadowed "ben"-room of Craig Ronald all the morningthis oddly assorted pair of old people had been sitting--as indeedevery morning they sat, one busily reading and often looking up totalk; while the other, the master of the house himself, satsilent, a majestic and altogether pathetic figure, lookingsolemnly out with wide-open, dreamy eyes, waking to the actualworld of speech and purposeful life only at rare intervals. 

But Walter Skirving was keenly awake when Ralph Peden entered. Itwas in fact he, and not his partner, who spoke first--for WalterSkirving's wife had among other things learned when to be silent--which was, when she must. 

"You honour my hoose, " he said; "though it grieves me indeed thatI canna rise to receive yin o' your family an' name! But what Ihave is at your service, for it was your noble faither that ledthe faithful into the wilderness on the day o' the GreatApostasy!"

The young man shook him by the hand. He had no bashfulness here. He was on his own ground. This was the very accent of the societyin which he moved in Edinburgh. 

"I thank you, " he said, quietly and courteously, stepping back atonce into the student of divinity; "I have often heard my fatherspeak of you. You were the elder from the south who stood by himon that day. He has ever retained a great respect for you. "

"It WAS a great day, " Walter Skirving muttered, letting his armrest on the little square deal table which stood beside him withhis great Bible open upon it--"a great day--aye, Maister Peden'sladdie i' my hoose! He's welcome, he's mair nor welcome. "

So saying, he turned his eyes once more on the blue mist thatfilled the wide Grannoch Valley, and the bees hummed again in thehoney-scented marshmallows so that all heard them. 

"This is my grandmother, " said Winsome, who stood quite quietbehind her chair, swinging the sunbonnet in her hand. From herflower-set corner the old lady held out her band. With a touch ofhis father's old-fashioned courtesy he stooped and kissed it. Winsome instinctively put her hand quickly behind her as though hehad kissed that. Once such practices have a beginning, who knowswhere they may end? She had not expected it of him, though, curiously, she thought no worse of him for his gallantry. 

But the lady of Craig Ronald was obviously greatly pleased. 

"The lad has guid bluid in him. That's the minnie [mother] o' him, nae doot. She was a Gilchrist o' Linwood on Nithsdale. What shesaw in your faither to tak' him I dinna ken ony mair than I kenhoo it cam' to pass that I am the mistress o' Walter Skirving'shoose the day. --Come oot ahint my chair, lassie; dinna be lauchin'ahint folks's backs. D'ye think I'm no mistress o' my ain hooseyet, for a' that ye are sic a grand hoosekeeper wi' your way o't. "

The accusation was wholly gratuitous. Winsome had been grave witha great gravity. But she came obediently out, and seated herselfon a low stool by her grandmother's side. There she sat, holdingher hand, and leaning her elbow on her knee. Ralph thought he hadnever seen anything so lovely in his life--an observation entirelycorrect. The old lady was clad in a dress of some dark stiffmaterial, softer than brocade, which, like herself, was morebeautiful in its age than even in youth. Folds of snowy lawncovered her breast and fell softly about her neck, fastened thereby a plain black pin. Her face was like a portrait by HenryRaeburn, so beautifully venerable and sweet. The twinkle in herbrown eyes alone told of the forceful and restless spirit whichwas imprisoned within. She had been reading a new volume of theGreat Unknown which the Lady Elizabeth had sent her over from theBig House of Greatorix. She had laid it down on the entry of theyoung man. Now she turned sharp upon him. 

"Let me look at ye, Maister Ralph Peden. Whaur gat ye the 'Ralph'?That's nae westland Whig name. Aye, aye, I mind--what's comin' o'my memory? Yer grandfaither was auld Ralph Gilchrist; but ye dinnatak' after the Gilchrists--na, na, there was no ane o' them weelfaured--muckle moo'd [large-mouthed] Gilchrists they ca'ed them. It'll be your faither that you favour. "

And she turned him about for inspection with her hand. 

"Grandmother--" began Winsome, anxious lest she should saysomething to offend the guest of the house. But the lady did notheed her gentle monition. 

"Was't you that ran awa' frae a bonny lass yestreen?" she queried, sudden as a flash of summer lightning. 

It was now the turn of both the younger folk to blush. Winsomereddened with vexation at the thought that he should think thatshe had seen him run and gone about telling of it. Ralph grewredder and redder, and remained speechless. He did not think ofanything at all. 

"I am fond of exercise, " he said falteringly. 

The gay old lady rippled into a delicious silver stream oflaughter, a little thin, but charmingly provocative. Winsome didnot join, but she looked up imploringly at her grandmother, leaning her head back till her tresses swept the ground. 

When Mistress Skirving recovered herself, "Exerceese, quo' he, heard ye ever the like o' that? In theiryoung days lads o' speerit took their exerceese in comin' to see abonny lass--juist as I was sayin' to Winifred yestreen nae faurergane. Hoot awa', twa young folk! The simmer days are no lang. Waesme, but I had my share o' them! Tak' them while they shine, bankside an' burnside an' the bonny heather. Aince they bloomedfor Ailie Gordon. Once she gaed hand in hand alang the braes, where noo she'll gang nae mair. Awa' wi' ye, ye're young an'honest. Twa auld cankered carles are no fit company for twa youngfolks like you. Awa' wi' ye; dinna be strange wi' his mither'sbairn, say I--an' the guid man hae's spoken for the daddy o' him. "

Thus was Ralph Peden made free of the Big Hoose of Craig Ronald. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

THE MINISTER'S MAN ARMS EOR CONQUEST. 

Saunders Mowdiewort, minister's man and grave-digger, was going asweethearting. He took off slowly the leathern "breeks" of hiscraft, sloughing them as an adder casts his skin. They collapsedupon the floor with a hideous suggestion of distorted human limbs, as Saunders went about his further preparations. Saunders was agreat, soft-bodied, fair man, of the chuby flaxen type so rare inScotland--the type which looks at home nowhere but along the southcoast of England. Saunders was about thirty-five. He was a widowerin search of a wife, and made no secret of his devotion toMargaret Kissock, the "lass" of the farm town of Craig Ronald. 

Saunders was slow of speech when in company, and bashful to adegree. He was accustomed to make up his mind what he would saybefore venturing within the range of the sharp tongue of his well-beloved--an excellent plan, but one which requires for successboth self-possession and a good memory. But for lack of theseSaunders had made an excellent courtier. 

Saunders made his toilet in the little stable of the manse abovewhich he slept. As he scrubbed himself he kept up a constantsibilant hissing, as though he were an equine of doubtfulsteadiness with whom the hostler behooved to be careful. First hecarefully removed the dirt down to a kind of Plimsoll load-linemidway his neck; then he frothed the soap-suds into his redrectangular ears, which stood out like speaking trumpets; there helet it remain. Soap is for putting on the face, grease on thehair. It is folly then to wash either off. Besides being wasteful. His flaxen hair stood out in wet strands and clammy tags andtails. All the while Saunders kept muttering to himself:

"An' says I to her: 'Meg Kissock, ye're a bonny woman, ' says I. 'My certie, but ye hae e'en like spunkies [will-o'-the-wisps] ormaybes, " said Saunders in a meditative tone. "I had better say'like whurlies in a sky-licht. ' It micht be considered mair lovin'like!"

"Then she'll up an' say: 'Saunders, ye mak' me fair ashamed tolisten to ye. Be mensefu' [polite], can ye no?'"

This pleased Saunders so much that he slapped his thigh so thatthe pony started and clattered to the other side of his stall. 

"Then I'll up an' tak' her roun' the waist, an' I'll look at herlike this--" (here Saunders practised the effect of hisfascinations in the glass, a panorama which was to some extentmarred by the necessary opening of his mouth to enable the razorhe was using to excavate the bristles out of the professionalcreases in his lower jaw. Saunders pulled down his mouth toexpress extra grief when a five-foot grave had been ordered. Hisseven-foot manifestations of respect for the deceased were a sightto see. He held the opinion that anybody that had no more 'conceito' themsel'' [were so much left to themselves] than to be buriedin a three-foot grave, did not deserve to be mourned at all. Thiscrease, then, was one of Saunders's assets, and had therefore tobe carefully attended to. Even love must not interfere with it. )

"Sae after that, I shall tak' her roun' the waist, juist likethis--" said he, insinuating his left arm circumferentially. Itwas an ill-judged movement, for, instead of circling Meg Kissock'swaist, he extended his arm round the off hindleg of Birsie, theminister's pony, who had become a trifle short tempered in his oldage. Now it was upon that very leg and at that very place that, earlier in the day, a large buzzing horse-fly had temporarilysettled. Birsie was in no condition, therefore, for argument uponthe subject. So with the greatest readiness he struck straight outbehind and took Saunders what he himself called a "dinnle on theelbuck. " Nor was this all, for the razor suddenly levered upwardsby Birsie's hoof added another and entirely unprofessional wrinkleto his face. 

Saunders uprose in wrath, for the soap was stinging furiously inthe cut, and expostulated with Birsie with a handful of reinswhich he lifted off the lid of the corn-chest. 

"Ye ill-natured, thrawn, upsettin' blastie, ye donnart aulddeevil!" he cried. 

"Alexander Mowdiewort, gin ye desire to use minced oaths and braidoaths indiscriminately, ye shall not use them in my stable. Thoughye be but a mere Erastian and uncertain in yer kirk membership, yeare at least an occasional hearer, whilk is better than naething, at the kirk o' the Marrow; and what is more to the point, ye aremy own hired servant, and I desire that ye cease from makin' useo' any such expressions upon my premises. "

"Weel, minister, " said Saunders, penitently, "I ken brawly I'm i'the wrang; but ye ken yersel', gin ye had gotten a dinnle i' theelbuck that garred ye loup like a troot i' Luckie Mowatt's pool, or gin ye had cuttit yersel' wi' yer ain razor, wad 'EffectualCallin', ' think ye, hae been the first word i' yer mooth? Noo, minister, fair Hornie!"

"At any rate, " said the minister, "what I would have said or doneis no excuse for you, as ye well know. But how did it happen?"

"Weel, sir, ye see the way o't was this: I was thinkin' to mysel', 'There's twa or three ways o' takin' the buiks intil the pulpit--There's the way consequential--that's Gilbert Prettiman o' theKirkland's way. Did ever ye notice the body? He hauds the Biblesafore him as if he war Moses an' Aaron gaun afore Pharaoh, wi' thecoat-taillies o' him fleein' oot ahint, an' his chin pointin' tothe soon'in'-board o' the pulpit. "

"Speak respectfully of the patriarchs, " said Mr. Welshsententiously. Saunders looked at him with some wonder expressedin his eyes. 

"Far be it frae me, " he said, "to speak lichtly o' ony ane o' them(though, to tell the truth, some o' them war gye boys). I hae beenower lang connectit wi' them, for I hae carriet the buiks forfifteen year, ever since my faither racket himsel' howkin' thegrave o' yer predecessor, honest man, an' I hae leeved a' my daysjuist ower the wa' frae the kirk. "

"But then they say, Saunders, " said the minister, smilingly, "'thenearer the kirk the farther frae grace. '"

"'Deed, minister, " said Saunders, "Grace Kissock is a nice bitlassie, but an' Jess will be no that ill in a year or twa, but o'a' the Kissocks commend me till Meg. She wad mak' a graund wife. What think ye, minister?"

Mr. Welsh relaxed his habitual severe sadness of expression andlaughed a little. He was accustomed to the sudden jumps which hisman's conversation was wont to take. 

"Nay, " he said, "but that is a question for you, Saunders. It isnot I that think of marrying her. "

"The Lord be thankit for that! for gin the minister gaed speerin', what chance wad there be for the betheral?"

"Have you spoken to Meg herself yet?" asked Mr. Welsh. 

"Na, " said Saunders; "I haena that, though I hae made up my mindto hae it oot wi' her this verra nicht--if sae it micht be that yewarna needin' me, that is--" he added, doubtfully, "but I hae guidreason to hope that Meg--"

"What reason have you, Saunders? Has Margaret expressed apreference for you in any way?"

"Preference!" said Saunders; "'deed she has that, minister; amaist marked preference. It was only the last Tuesday aforeWhussanday [Whitsunday] that she gied me a clour [knock] i' thelug that fair dang me stupid. Caa that ye nocht?"

"Well, Saunders, " said the minister, going out, "certainly I wishyou good speed in your wooing; but see that you fall no more outwith Birsie, lest you be more bruised than you are now; and forthe rest, learn wisely to restrain your unruly member. "

"Thank ye, minister, " said Saunders; "I'll do my best endeavoursto obleege ye. Meg's clours are to be borne wi' a' complaisancy, but Birsie's dunts are, so to speak, gratuitous!"

CHAPTER IX. 

THE ADVENT OF THE CUIF. 

"Here's the Cuif!" said Meg Kissock, who with her company gown on, and her face glowing from a brisk wash, sat knitting a stocking inthe rich gloaming light at the gable end of the house of CraigRonald. Winsome usually read a book, sitting by the window whichlooked up the long green croft to the fir-woods and down to thequiet levels of Loch Grannoch, on which the evening mist wasgathering a pale translucent blue. It was a common thing for Megand Jessie Kissock to bring their knitting and darning there, andon their milking-stools sit below the window. If Winsome were in amood for talk she did not read much, but listened instead to thebrisk chatter of the maids. Sometimes the ploughmen, Jock Forrestand Ebie Farrish, came to "ca' the crack, " and it was Winsome'sdelight on these occasions to listen to the flashing claymore ofMeg Kissock's rustic wit. Before she settled down, Meg had takenin the three tall candles "ben the hoose, " where the old peoplesat--Walter Skirving, as ever, silent and far away, his wife deepin some lively book lent her by the Lady Elizabeth out of thelibrary of Greatorix Castle. 

A bank of wild thyme lay just beneath Winsome's window, and overit the cows were feeding, blowing softly through their nostrilsamong the grass and clover till the air was fragrant with theirbalmy breath. 

"Guid e'en to ye, 'Cuif, '" cried Meg Kissock as soon as SaundersMowdiewort came within earshot. He came stolidly forward trampingthrough the bog with his boots newly greased with what remained ofthe smooth candle "dowp" with which he had sleeked his flaxenlocks. He wore a broad blue Kilmarnock bonnet, checked red andwhite in a "dam-brod" [draught-board] pattern round the edge, anda blue-buttoned coat with broad pearl buttons. It may be well toexplain that there is a latent meaning, apparent only to Gallowayfolk of the ancient time, in the word "cuif. " It conveys at oncethe ideas of inefficiency and folly, of simplicity and theignorance of it. The cuif is a feckless person of the male sex, who is a recognized butt for a whole neighbourhood to sharpen itswits upon. 

The particular cuif so addressed by Meg came slowly over theknoll. 

"Guid e'en to ye, " he said, with his best visiting manners. 

"Can ye no see me as weel, Saunders?" said Jess, archly, for allwas grist that came to her mill. 

Saunders rose like a trout to the fly. 

"Ow aye, Jess, lass, I saw ye brawly, but it disna do to comeseekin' twa lasses at ae time. "'

"Dinna ye be thinkin' to put awa' Meg, an' then come coortin' me!"said Jess, sharply. 

Saunders was hurt for the moment at this pointed allusion both tohis profession and also to his condition as a "seekin'" widower. 

"Wha seeks you, Jess, 'ill be sair ill-aff!" he replied verybriskly for a cuif. 

The sound of Meg's voice in round altercation with Jock Gordon, the privileged "natural" or innocent fool of the parish, interrupted this interchange of amenities, which was indeed asfriendly and as much looked for between lads and lasses as theordinary greeting of "Weel, hoo's a' wi' ye the nicht?" whichbegan every conversation between responsible folks. 

"Jock Gordon, ye lazy ne'er-do-weel, ye hinna carried in a singlepeat, an' it comin' on for parritch-time. D'ye think my maistercan let the like o' you sorn on him, week in, week oot, like amawk on a sheep's hurdie? Gae wa' oot o' that, lyin' sumphin'[sulking] an' sleepin' i' the middle o' the forenicht, an' carrythe water for the boiler an' bring in the peats frae the stack. "

Then there arose a strange elricht quavering voice--the voice ofthose to whom has not been granted their due share of wits. JockGordon was famed all over the country for his shrewd replies tothose who set their wits in contest with his. Jock is rememberedon all Deeside, and even to Nithsdale. He was a man well on inyears at this time, certainly not less than forty-five. But on hisface there was no wrinkle set, not a fleck of gray upon hisbonnetless fox-red shock of hair, weather-rusted and usually stuckfull of feathers and short pieces of hay. Jock Gordon waspermitted to wander as a privileged visitor through the length andbreadth of the south hill country. He paid long visits to CraigRonald, where he had a great admiration and reverence for theyoung mistress, and a hearty detestation for Meg Kissock, who, ashe at all times asserted, "was the warst maister to serve atweenthe Cairnsmuirs. "

"Richt weel I'll do yer biddin', Meg Kissock, " he answered in hisshrill falsetto, "but no for your sake or the sake o' onybelangin' to you. But there's yae bonny doo [dove], wi' her hairlike gowd, an' a fit that she micht set on Jock Gordon's neck, an'it wad please him weel. An' said she, 'Do the wark Meg Kissockbids ye, ' so Jock Gordon, Lord o' Kelton Hill an' Earl o'Clairbrand, will perform a' yer wull. Otherwise it's no in anydochter o' Hurkle-backit [bent-backed] Kissock to gar Jock Gordonmove haund or fit. "

So saying, Jock clattered away with his water-pails, muttering tohimself. 

Meg Kissock came out again to sit down on her milking-stool underthe westward window, within which was Winsome Charteris, readingher book unseen by the last glow of the red west. 

Jess and Saunders Mowdiewort had fallen silent. Jess had said hersay, and did not intend to exert herself to entertain her sister'sadmirer. Jess was said to look not unkindly on Ebie Farrish, theyounger ploughman who had recently come to Craig Ronald from oneof the farms at the "laigh" end of the parish. Ebie had also, itwas said, with better authority, a hanging eye to Jess, who hadthe greater reason to be kind to him, that he was the first sinceher return from England who had escaped the more BRAVURAattractions of her sister. 

"Can ye no find a seat guid eneuch to sit doon on, cuif?" inquiredMeg with quite as polite an intention as though she had said, "Beso kind as to take a seat. " The cuif, who had been uneasilybalancing himself first on one foot and then on the other, andapologetically passing his hand over the sleek side of his headwhich was not covered by the bonnet, replied gratefully:

"'Deed I wull that, Meg, since ye are sae pressin'. "

He went to the end of the milk-house, selected a small tub usedfor washing the dishes of red earthenware and other domestic smalldeer, turned it upside down, and seated himself as near to Meg ashe dared. Then he tried to think what it was he had intended tosay to her, but the words somehow would not now come at call. Before long he hitched his seat a little nearer, as though hispresent position was not quite comfortable. 

But Meg checked him sharply. 

"Keep yer distance, cuif, " she said; "ye smell o' the muils"[churchyard earth]. 

"Na, na, Meg, ye ken brawly I haena been howkin' [digging] sinceSetterday fortnicht, when I burriet Tarn Rogerson's wife's guid-brither's auntie, that leeved grainin' an' deein' a' her life wi'the rheumatics an' wame disease, an' died at the last o' eatin'swine's cheek an' guid Cheddar cheese thegither at SandyMulquharchar's pig-killin'. "

"Noo, cuif, " said Meg, with an accent of warning in her voice, "gin ye dinna let alane deevin' [deafening] us wi' yer kirkyairdclavers, ye'll no sit lang on my byne" [tub]. 

From the end of the peat-stack, out of the dark hole made by theexcavation of last winter's stock of fuel, came the voice of JockGordon, singing:

 "The deil he sat on the high lumtap, HECH HOW, BLACK AN' REEKY! Gang yer ways and drink yer drap, Ye'll need it a' whan ye come to stap IN MY HOLE SAE BLACK AN' REEKY, O! HECH HOW, BLACK AN' REEKY!

 "Hieland kilt an' Lawland hose, Parritch-fed an' reared on brose, Ye'll drink nae drap whan ye come tae stap IN MY HOLE SAE BLACK AN' REEKY, O! HECH HOW, BLACK AN' REEKY!"

Meg Kissock and her sweetheart stopped to listen. SaundersMowdiewort smiled an unprofessional smile when he heard the songof the natural. "That's a step ayont the kirkyaird, Meg, " he said. "Gin ye hae sic objections to hear aboot honest men in theirhonest graves, what say ye to that elricht craitur scraichin'aboot the verra deil an' his hearth-stane?"

Certainly it sounded more than a trifle uncanny in the gloaming, coming out of that dark place where even in the daytime the blackGalloway rats cheeped and scurried, to hear the high, quaveringvoice of Jock Gordon singing his unearthly rhymes. 

By-and-bye those at the house gable could see that the innocenthad climbed to the top of the peat-stack in some elvish freak, andsat there cracking his thumbs and singing with all his might:

 "HECH HOW, BLACK AN' REEKY! IN MY HOLE SAE BLACK AN' REEKY, O!"

"Come doon oot o' that this meenit, Jock Gordon, ye gomeral!"cried Meg, shaking her fist at the uncouth shape twisting andsinging against the sunset sky like one demented. 

The song stopped, and Jock Gordon slowly turned his head in theirdirection. All were looking towards him, except Ebie Farrish, thenew ploughman, who was wondering what Jess Kissock would do if heput his arm around her waist. 

"What said ye?" Jock asked from his perch on the top of the peat-stack. 

"Hae ye fetched in the peats an' the water, as I bade ye?" askedMeg, with great asperity in her voice. "D'ye think that ye'll winaff ony the easier in the hinnerend, by sittin' up there like yino' his ain bairns, takkin' the deil's name in vain?"

"Gin ye dinna tak' tent to [care of] yersel', Meg Kissock, "retorted Jock, "wi' yer eternal yammer o' 'Peats, Jock Gordon, an''Water, Jock Gordon, ' ye'll maybes find yersel' whaur JockGordon'll no be there to serve ye; but the Ill Auld Boy'll keep yein routh o' peats, never ye fret, Meg Kissock, wi' that reed-heed[red head] o' yours to set them a-lunt [on fire]. Faith an' ye maycry 'Water! water!' till ye crack yer jaws, but nae Jock Gordonthere--na, na--nae Jock Gordon there. Jock kens better. "

But at this moment there was a prolonged rumble, and the wholeparty sitting by the gable end (the "gavel, " as it was locallyexpressed) rose to their feet from tub and hag-clog and milking-stool. There had been a great land-slip. The whole side of thepeat-stack had tumbled bodily into the great "black peat-hole"from which the winter's peats had come, and which was a favouritelair of Jock's own, being ankle-deep in fragrant dry peat "coom"--which is, strange to say, a perfectly clean and even a luxuriousbedding, far to be preferred as a couch to "flock" or its kindredabominations. 

All the party ran forward to see what had become of Jock, whosesong had come to so swift a close. 

Out of the black mass of down-fallen peat there came a strange, pleading voice. 

"O guid deil, O kind deil, dinna yirk awa' puir Jock to that illbit--puir Jock, that never yet did ye ony hairm, but aye wished yeweel! Lat me aff this time, braw deil, an' I'll sing nae mair illgangs aboot ye!"

"Save us!" exclaimed Meg Kissock, "the craitur's prayin' to theIll Body himsel'. "

Ebbie Farrish began to clear away the peat, which was, indeed, nodifficult task. As he did so, the voice of Jock Gordon mountedhigher and higher:

"O mercy me, I hear them clawin' and skrauchelin'! Dinna let thewee yins wi' the lang riven taes and the nebs like gleds [beakslike kites] get haud o' me! I wad rayther hae yersel', Maister o'Sawtan, for ye are a big mensefu' deil. Ouch! I'm dune for noo, althegither; he haes gotten puir Jock! Sirce me, I smell thereekit rags o' him!"

But it was only Ebie Farrish that had him by the roll of ancientcloth which served as a collar for Jock's coat. When he was pulledfrom under the peats and set upon his feet, he gazed around with abewildered look. 

"O man, Ebie Farrish, " he said solemnly, "If I didna think ye warthe deil himsel'--ye see what it is to be misled by ootwardappearances!"

There was a shout of laughter at the expense of Ebie, in which Megthought that she heard an answering ripple from within Winsome'sroom. 

"Surely, Jock, ye were never prayin' to the deil?" asked Meg fromthe window, very seriously. "Ye ken far better than that. "

"An' what for should I no pray to the deil? He's a desperateonsonsy chiel yon. It's as weel to be in wi' him as oot wi' himony day. Wha' kens what's afore them, or wha they may be behaudin'to afore the morrow's morn?" answered Jock stoutly. 

"But d'ye ken, " said John Scott, the theological herd, who hadquietly "daundered doon" as he said, from his cot-house up on thehill, where his bare-legged bairns played on the heather and shortgrass all day, to set his shoulder against the gable end for anhour with the rest. 

"D'ye ken what Maister Welsh was sayin' was the new doctrine amangthae New Licht Moderates--'hireling shepherds, ' he ca'd them? NooI'm no on mysel' wi' sae muckle speakin' aboot the deil. But theminister was sayin' that the New Moderates threep [assert] thatthere's nae deil at a'. He dee'd some time since!"

"Gae wa' wi' ye, John Scott! wha's gaun aboot doin' sae muckle illthen, I wad like to ken?" said Meg Kissock. 

"Dinna tell me, " said Jock Gordon, "that the puir deil's deed, andthat we'll hae to pit up wi' Ebie Farrish. Na, na, Jock's maybedaft, but he kens better than that!"

"They say, " said John Scott, pulling meditatively at his cutty, "that the pooer is vested noo in a kind o' comy-tee [committee]!"

"I dinna haud wi' comy-tees mysel', " replied Meg; "it's juisthaein' mony maisters, ilka yin mair cankersome and thrawn thananither!"

"Weel, gin this news be true, there's a heep o' fowk in thisparish should be mentioned in his wull, " said Jock Gordon, significantly. "They're near kin till him--forby a heep o' bairnsthat he has i' the laich-side o' the loch. They're that hardthere, they'll no gie a puir body a meal o' meat or the shelter o'a barn. "

"But, " said Ebie Farrish, who had been thinking that, after all, the new plan might have its conveniences, "gin there's nae deil totempt, there'll be nae deil to punish. "

But the herd was a staunch Marrow man. He was not led away by anyhuman criticism, nor yet by the new theology. 

"New Licht here, New Licht there, " he said; "I canna' pairt wi' madeil. Na, na, that's ower muckle to expect o' a man o' my age!"

Having thus defined his theological position, without a word morehe threw his soft checked plaid of Galloway wool over hisshoulders, and fell into the herd's long swinging heather step, mounting the steep brae up to his cot on the hillside as easily asif he were walking along a level road. 

There was a long silence; then a ringing sound, sudden and sharp, and Ebie Farrish fell inexplicably from the axe-chipped hag-clog, which he had rolled up to sit upon. Ebie had been wondering formore than an hour what would happen if he put his arm round JessKissock's waist. He knew now. 

Then, after a little Saunders Mowdiewort, who was not unmindful ofhis prearranged programme nor yet oblivious of the flight of time, saw the stars come out, he knew that if he were to make anyprogress, he must make haste; so he leaned over towards hissweetheart and whispered, "Meg, my lass, ye're terrible bonny. "

"D'ye think ye are the first man that has telled me that, cuif?"said Meg, with point and emphasis. 

Jock Forrest, the senior ploughman--a very quiet, sedate man witha seldom stirred but pretty wit, laughed a short laugh, as thoughhe knew something about that. Again there was a silence, and asthe night wind began to draw southward in cool gulps of air offthe hills, Winsome Charteris's window was softly closed. 

"Hae ye nocht better than that to tell us, cuif?" said Meg, briskly, "nocht fresh-like?"

"Weel, " said Saunders Mowdiewort, groping round for a subject ofgeneral interest, his profession and his affection being alikedebarred, "there's that young Enbra' lad that's come till themanse. He's a queer root, him. "

"What's queer aboot him?" asked Meg, in a semi-belligerent manner. A young man who had burned his fingers for her mistress's sakemust not be lightly spoken of. 

"Oh, nocht to his discredit ava, only Manse Bell heard him arguin'wi' the minister aboot the weemen-folk the day that he cam'. Hecanna' bide them, she says. "

"He has but puir taste, " said Ebie Farrish; "a snod bit lass isthe bonniest work o' Natur'. Noo for mysel'--"

"D'ye want anither?" asked Jess, without apparent connection. 

"He'll maybe mend o' that opeenion, as mony a wise man has duneafore him, " said Meg, sententiously. "Gae on, cuif; what elseaboot the young man?"

"Oh, he's a lad o' great lear. He can read ony language back orforrit, up or doon, as easy as suppin' sowens. He can speakbyordinar' graund. They say he'll beat the daddy o' him forpreachin' when he's leecensed. He rade Birsie this mornin' too, after the kickin' randie had cuist me aff his back like a draffsack. "

"Then what's queer aboot him?" said Jess. 

Meg said nothing. She felt a draft of air suck into Winsome'sroom, so that she knew that the subject was of such interest thather mistress had again opened her window. Meg leaned back so farthat she could discern a glint of yellow hair in the darkness. 

The cuif was about to light his pipe. Meg stopped him. 

"Nane o' yer lichts here, cuif, " she said; "it's time ye werethinkin' aboot gaun ower the hill. But ye haena' telled us yetwhat's queer aboot the lad. "

"Weel, woman, he's aye write--writin', whiles on sheets o' paper, and whiles on buiks. "

"There's nocht queer aboot that, " says Meg; "so does ilkaminister. "

"But Manse Bell gied me ane o' his writings, that she had gottenaboot his bedroom somewhere. She said that the wun' had blawn'taff his table, but I misdoot her. "

"Yer ower great wi' Manse Bell an' the like o' her, for a man thatcomes to see me!" said Meg, who was a very particular young womanindeed. 

"It was cuttit intil lengths like the metre psalms, but it luikitgye an' daft like, sae I didna' read it, " said the cuif hastily. "Here it's to ye, Meg. I was e'en gaun to licht my cutty wi't. "Something shone gray-white in Saunders's hand as he held it out toMeg, It passed into Meg's palm, and then was seen no more. 

The session at the house end was breaking up. Jess had vanishedsilently. Ebie Farrish was not. Jock Forrest had folded his tentand stolen away. Meg and Saunders were left alone. It was hissupreme opportunity. 

He leaned over towards his sweetheart. His blue bonnet had fallento the ground, and there was a distinct odour of warm candle-grease in the air. 

"Meg, " he said, "yer maist amazin' bonny, an' I'm that fond o' yethat I am faain' awa' frae my meat! O Meg, woman, I think o' ye i'the mornin' afore the Lord's Prayer, I sair misdoot! Guid forgieme! I find mysel' whiles wonderin' gin I'll see ye the day afore Ican gang ower in my mind the graves that's to howk, or ginBirsie's oats are dune. O Meg, Meg, I'm that fell fond o' ye thatI gruppit that thrawn speldron Birsie's hint leg juist i' thefervour o' thinkin' o' ye. "

"Hoo muckle hae ye i' the week?" said Meg, practically, to bringthe matter to a point. 

"A pound a week, " said Saunders Mowdiewort, promptly, who though acuif was a business man, "an' a cottage o' three rooms wi' agraun' view baith back an' front!"

"Ow aye, " said Meg, sardonically, "I ken yer graund view. It's o'yer last wife's tombstane, wi' the inscriptions the length o' myairm aboot Betty Mowdiewort an' a' her virtues, that RobertPaterson cuttit till ye a year past in Aprile. Na, na, ye'll noget me to leeve a' my life lookin' oot on that ilk' time I wash mydishes. It wad mak' yin be wantin' to dee afore their time to getsic-like. Gang an' speer [ask] Manse Bell. She's mair nor halfblind onyway, an' she's fair girnin' fain for a man, she michteven tak' you. "

With these cruel words Meg lifted her milking-stool and vanishedwithin. The cuif sat for a long time on his byne lost in thought. Then he arose, struck his flint and steel together, and stoodlooking at the tinder burning till it went out, without havingremembered to put it to the pipe which he held in his other hand. After the last sparks ran every way and flickered, he threw theglowing red embers on the ground, kicked the pail on which he hadbeen sitting as solemnly as if he had been performing a duty tothe end of the yard, and then stepped stolidly into the darkness. 

The hag-clog was now left alone against the wall beneath Winsome'swindow, within which there was now the light of a candle and awaxing and waning shadow on the blind as some one went to and fro. Then there was a sharp noise as of one clicking in the "steeple"or brace of the front door (which opened in two halves), and thenthe metallic grit of the key in the lock, for Craig Ronald was abig house, and not a mere farm which might be left all night withunbarred portals. 

Winsome stepped lightly to her own door, which opened withoutnoise. She looked out and said, in a compromise between a coaxingwhisper and a voice of soft command:

"Meg, I want ye. "

Meg Kissock came along the passage with the healthy glow of thenight air on her cheeks, and her candle in her hand. She seemed asif she would pause at the door, but Winsome motioned herimperiously within. So Meg came within, and Winsome shut to thedoor. Then she simply held out her hand, at which Meg gazed assilently. 

"Meg!" said Winsome, warningly. 

A queer, faint smile passed momentarily over the face of Winsome'shandmaid, as though she had been long trying to solve some problemand had suddenly and unexpectedly found the answer. Slowly shelifted up her dark-green druggit skirt, and out of a pocket ofenormous size, which was swung about her waist like a capturedleviathan heaving inanimate on a ship's cable, she extracted asheet of crumpled paper. 

Winsome took it without a word. Her eye said "Good-night" to Megas plain as the minister's text. 

Meg Kissock waited till she was at the door, and then, just as shewas making her silent exit, she said:

"Ye'll tak' as guid care o't as the ither yin ye fand. Ye can pitthem baith thegither. "

Winsome took a step towards her as if with some purpose ofindignant chastisement. But the red head and twinkling eyes ofmischief vanished, and Winsome stood with the paper in her hand. Just as she had begun to smooth out the crinkles produced by thehands of Manse Bell who could not read it, Saunders who would not, and Meg Kissock who had not time to read it, the head of the lastnamed was once more projected into the room, looking round theedge of the rose-papered door. 

"Ye'll mak' a braw mistress o' the manse, Mistress--Ralph--Peden!" she said, nodding her head after each proper name. 

CHAPTER X. 

THE LOVE-SONG OF THE MAVIS. 

Winsome stamped her little foot in real anger now, and crumplingthe paper in her hand she threw it indignantly on the floor. Shewas about to say something to Meg, but that erratic and privilegeddomestic was in her own room by this time at the top of the house, with the door barred. 

But something like tears stood in Winsome's eyes. She was veryangry indeed. She would speak to Meg in the morning. She wasmistress of the house, and not to be treated as a child. Megshould have her warning to leave at the term. It was ridiculousthe way that she had taken to speaking to her lately. It was clearthat she had been allowing her far too great liberties. It did notoccur to Winsome Charteris that Meg had been accustomed to teaseher in something like this manner about every man under forty whohad come to Craig Ronald on any pretext whatever--from youngJohnnie Dusticoat, the son of the wholesale meal-miller fromDumfries, to Agnew Greatorix, eldest son of the Lady Elizabeth, who came over from the castle with books for her grandmotherrather oftener than might be absolutely necessary, and who, thougha papist, had waited for Winsome three Sabbath days at the door ofthe Marrow kirk, a building which he had never previously enteredduring his life. 

Winsome went indignant to bed. It was altogether too aggravatingthat Meg should take on so, she said to herself. 

"Of course I do not care a button, " she said as she turned her hotcheek upon the pillow and looked towards the pale gray-blue of thewindow-panes, in which there was already the promise of themorning; though yet it was hardly midnight of the short midsummerof the north. 

"It would be too ridiculous to suppose that I should care foranybody whom I have only seen twice. Why, it was more than a yearbefore I really cared for dear old grannie! Meg might know better, and it is very silly of her to say things like that. I shall sendback his book and paper to-morrow morning by Andrew Kissock whenhe goes to school. " Still even after this resolution she laysleepless. 

"Now I will go to sleep, " said Winsome, resolutely shutting hereyes. "I will not think about him any more. " Which was assuredly anoble and fitting resolve. But Winsome had yet to discover inrestless nights and troubled morrows that sleep and thought aretwo gifts of God which do not come or go at man's bidding. In hersilent chamber there seemed to be a kind of hushed yet palpablelife. It seemed to Winsome as if there were about her a thousandlittle whispering voices. Unseen presences flitted everywhere. Shecould hear them laughing such wicked, mocking laughs. They wereclustering round the crumpled piece of paper in the corner. Well, it might lie there forever for her. 

"I would not read it even if it were light. I shall send it backto him to-morrow without reading it. Very likely it is a Greekexercise, at any rate. "

Yet, for all these brave sayings, neither sleep nor dawn had come, when, clad in shadowy white and the more manifest golden glimmerof her hair, she glided to the windowseat, and drawing a greatknitted shawl about her, she sat, a slender figure enveloped fromhead to foot in sheeny white. The shawl imprisoned the pillowtossed masses of her rippling hair, throwing them forward abouther face, which, in the half light, seemed to be encircled with anaureole of pale Florentine gold. 

In her hand Winsome held Ralph Peden's poem, and in spite of herdetermination not to read it, she sat waiting till the dawn shouldcome. It might be something of great importance. It might only bea Greek exercise. It was, at all events, necessary to find out, inorder that she might send it back. 

It was a marvellous dawning, this one that Winsome waited for. Dawn is the secret of the universe. It thrills us somehow with afar-off prophecy of that eternal dawning when the God That Isshall reveal himself--the dawning which shall brighten into themore perfect day. 

It was just the slack water--the water-shed of the night. So clearit was this June night that the lingering gold behind the westernridge of the Orchar Hill, where the sun went down, was neitherbrighter nor yet darker than the faint tinge of lucent green, likethe colour of the inner curve of the sea-wave just as it bends tobreak, which had begun to glow behind the fir woods to the east. 

The birds were waking sleepily. Chaffinches began their clear, short, natural bursts of song. "CHURR!" said the last barn owl ashe betook himself to bed. The first rook sailed slowly overheadfrom Hensol wood. He was seeking the early worm. The green lake inthe east was spreading and taking a roseate tinge just where ittouched the pines on the rugged hillside. 

Beneath Winsome's window a blackbird hopped down upon the grassand took a tentative dab or two at the first slug he came across;but it was really too early for breakfast for a good hour yet, sohe flew up again into a bush and preened his feathers, which hadbeen discomposed by the limited accommodation of the night. Now hewas on the topmost twig, and Winsome saw him against the crimsonpool which was fast deepening in the east. 

Suddenly his mellow pipe fluted out over the grove. Winsomelistened as she had never listened before. Why had it become sostrangely sweet to listen to the simple sounds? Why did the richTyrian dye of the dawn touch her cheek and flush the floweringfloss of her silken hair? A thrush from the single laurel at thegate told her:

 "There--there--there--" he sang, "Can't you see, can't you see, can't you see it? Love is the secret, the secret! Could you but know it, did you but show it! Hear me! hear me! hear me! Down in the forest I loved her! Sweet, sweet, sweet! Would you but listen, I would love you! All is sweet and pure and good! Twilight and morning dew, I love it, I love it, Do you, do you, do you?"

This was the thrush's love-song. Now it was light enough forWinsome to read hers by the red light of the midsummer's dawn. This was Ralph's Greek exercise:

 "Sweet mouth, red lips, broad unwrinkled brow, Sworn troth, woven hands, holy marriage vow, Unto us make answer, what is wanting now? Love, love, love, the whiteness of the snow; Love, love, love, and the days of long ago. 

 "Broad lands, bright sun, as it was of old; Red wine, loud mirth, gleaming of the gold; Something yet a-wanting--how shall it be told? Love, love, love, the whiteness of the snow; Love, love, love, and the days of long ago. 

 "Large heart, true love, service void of sound, Life-trust, death-trust, here on Scottish ground, As in olden story, surely I have found-- Love, love, love, the whiteness of the snow, Love, love, love, and the days of long ago. "

The thrush had ceased singing while Winsome read. It was anothervoice which she heard--the first authentic call of the springtimefor her. It coursed through her blood. It quickened her pulse. Itenlarged the pupil of her eye till the clear germander blue of theiris grew moist and dark. It was a song for her heart, and hersalone. She felt it, though no more than a leaf blown to her bychance winds. It might have been written for any other, only sheknew that it was not. Ralph Peden had said nothing. The poemcertainly did not suggest a student of divinity in the Kirk of theMarrow. There were a thousand objections--a thousand reasons--every one valid, against such a thing. But love that laughs atlocksmiths is equally contemptuous of logic. It was hers, hers, and hers alone. A breath from Love's wing as he passed came againto Winsome. The blackbird was silent, but a thrush this time brokein with his jubilant love-song, while Winsome, with her love-songlaid against a dewy cheek, paused to listen with a beating heartand a new comprehension:

 "Hear! hear! hear! Dear! dear! dear! Far away, far away, far away, I saw him pass this way, Tirrieoo, tirrieoo! so tender and true, Chippiwee, chippiwee, oh, try him and see! Cheer up! cheer up! cheer up! He'll come and he'll kiss you, He'll kiss you and kiss you, And I'll see him do it, do it, do it!"

"Go away, you wicked bird!" said Winsome, when the master singerin speckled grey came to this part of his song. So saying, shethrew, with such exact aim that it went in an entirely oppositedirection, a quaint, pink seashell at the bird, a shell which hadbeen given her by a lad who was going away again to sea threeyears ago. She was glad now, when she thought of it, that she hadkissed him because he had no mother, for he never came back anymore. 

"Keck, keck!" said the mavis indignantly, and went away. 

Then Winsome lay down on her white bed well content, and pillowedher cheek on a crumpled piece of paper. 

CHAPTER XI

ANDREW KISSOCK GOES TO SCHOOL. 

Love is, at least in maidens' hearts, of the nature of anintermittent fever. The tide of Solway flows, but the more rapidhis flow the swifter his ebb. The higher it brings the wrack upthe beach, the deeper, six hours after, are laid bare the roots ofthe seaweed upon the shingle. Now Winsome Charteris, however herheart might conspire against her peace, was not at all the girl tobe won before she was asked. Also there was that delicious spiritof contrariness that makes a woman even when won, by no means seemwon. 

Besides, in the broad daylight of common day she was less attunedand touched to earnest issues than in the red dawn. She had eventaken the poem and the exercise book out of the sacred enclosure, where they had been hid so long. She did not really know that shecould make good any claim to either. Indeed, she was well awarethat to one of them at least she had no claim whatever. Thereforeshe had placed both the note-book and the poem within the sameband as her precious housekeeping account-book, which shereverenced next her Bible--which very practical proceeding pleasedher, and quite showed that she was above all foolish sentiment. Then she went to churn for an hour and a half, pouring in a littlehot water critically from time to time in order to make the buttercome. This exercise may be recommended as an admirable correctiveto foolish flights of imagination. There is something concreteabout butter-making which counteracts an overplus of sentiment--especially when the butter will not come. And hot water may beoverdone. 

Now Winsome Charteris was a hard-hearted young woman--a fact thatmay not as yet have appeared; at least so she told herself. Shehad come to the conclusion that she had been foolish to think atall of Ralph Peden, so she resolved to put him at once andaltogether out of her mind, which, as every one knows, is quite asimple matter. Yet during the morning she went three times intoher little room to look at her housekeeping book, which byaccident lay within the same band as Ralph Peden's lostmanuscripts. First, she wanted to see how much she got for butterat Cairn Edward the Monday before last; then to discover what theprice was on that very same day last year. It is an interestingthing to follow the fluctuations of the produce market, especiallywhen you churn the butter yourself. The exact quotation ofdocuments is a valuable thing to learn. Nothing is so likely togrow upon one as a habit of inaccuracy. This was what hergrandmother was always telling her, and it behooved Winsome toimprove. Each time as she strapped the documents together shesaid, "And these go back to-day by Andra Kissock when he goes toschool. " Then she took another look, in order to assure herselfthat no forgeries had been introduced within the band while shewas churning the butter. They were still quite genuine. 

Winsome went out to relieve Jess Kissock in the dairy, and as shewent she communed with herself: "It is right that I should sendthem back. The verses may belong to somebody else--somebody inEdinburgh--and, besides, I know them by heart. "

A good memory is a fine thing. 

The Kissocks lived in one of the Craig Ronald cot-houses. Theirfather had in his time been one of the herds, and upon his death, many years ago, Walter Skirving had allowed the widow and childrento remain in the house in which Andrew Kissock, senior, had died. Mistress Kissock was a large-boned, soft-voiced woman, who hadsupplied what dash of tenderness there was in her daughters. Shehad reared them according to good traditions, but as she said, when all her brood were talking at the same time, she alonequietly silent:

"The Kissocks tak' efter their faither, they're great hands totalk--a' bena [except] An'ra'. "

Andrew was her youngest, a growing lump of a boy of twelve, whowas exceeding silent in the house. Every day Andra betook himselfto school, along the side of Loch Grannoch, by the path whichlooked down on the cloud-flecked mirror of the loch. Some days hegot there, but very occasionally. 

His mother had got him ready early this June morning. He hadbrought in the kye for Jess. He had helped Jock Gordon to carrywater for Meg's kitchen mysteries. He had listened to a briskconversation proceeding from the "room" where his very capablesister was engaged in getting the old people settled for the day. All this was part of the ordinary routine. As soon as the wholeestablishment knew that Walter Skirving was again at the windowover the marshmallows, and his wife at her latest book, a sigh ofsatisfaction went up and the wheels of the day's work revolved. Sothis morning it came time for Andra to go to school all too soon. Andra did not want to stay at home from school, but it was againstthe boy's principle to appear glad to go to school, so Andra madeit a point of honour to make a feint of wanting to stay everymorning. 

"Can I no bide an' help ye wi' the butter-kirnin' the day, Jess?"said Andra, rubbing himself briskly all over as he had seen theploughmen do with their horses. When he got to his bare red legshe reared and kicked out violently, calling out at the same time:

"Wad ye then, ye tairger, tuts--stan' still there, ye kickin'beast!" as though he were some fiery untamed from the desert. 

Jess made a dart at him with a wet towel. 

"Gang oot o' my back kitchen wi' yer nonsense!" she said. Andrapassaged like a strongly bitted charger to the back door, andthere ran away with himself, flourishing in the air a pair of verydirty heels. Ebie Farrish was employed over a tin basin at thestable door, making his breakfast toilet, which he alwaysundertook, not when he shook himself out of bed in the stable loftat five o'clock, but before he went in to devour Jess with hiseyes and his porridge in the ordinary way. It was at this pointthat Andra Kissock, that prancing Galloway barb, breaking awayfrom all restrictions, charged between Ebie's legs, and oversethim into his own horse-trough. The yellow soap was in Ebie's eyes, and before he got it out the small boy was far enough away. Themost irritating thing was that from the back kitchen came peal onpeal of laughter. 

"It's surely fashionable at the sea-bathin' to tak' a dook [swim]in the stable-trough, nae less!"

Ebie gathered himself up savagely. His temperature was somethingconsiderably above summer heat, yet he dared not give expressionto his feelings, for his experiences in former courtships had ledhim to the conclusion that you cannot safely, having regard toaverage family prejudice, abuse the brothers of your sweetheart. After marriage the case is believed to be different. 

Winsome Charteris stood at the green gate which led out of thecourt-yard into the croft, as Andra was making his schoolwardexit. She had a parcel for him. This occasioned no surprise, nordid the very particular directions as to delivery, and the direthreatenings against forgetfulness or failure in the least dismayAndra. He was entirely accustomed to them. From his earliest yearshe had heard nothing else. He never had been reckoned as a "surehand, " and it was only in default of a better messenger thatWinsome employed him. Then these directions were so explicit thatthere did not appear to be any possibility of mistake. He had onlyto go to the manse and leave the parcel for Mr. Ralph Pedenwithout a message. 

So Andrew Kissock, nothing loath, promised faithfully. He neverobjected to promising; that was easy. He carried the small, neatlywrapped parcel in his hand, walking most sedately so long asWinsome's eyes were upon him. He was not yet old enough to beunder the spell of the witchery of those eyes; but then Winsome'seye controlled his sister Meg's hand, and for that latter organ hehad a most profound respect. 

Now we must take the trouble to follow in some detail the courseof this small boy going to school, for though it may be of nointerest in itself save as a study in scientific procrastination, a good deal of our history directly depends upon it. 

As soon as Andrew was out of sight he pulled his leather satchelround so that he could open it with ease, and, having taken ahandful of broken and very stale crumbs out of it for immediateuse, he dropped Winsome's parcel within. There it kept companywith a tin flask of milk which his mother filled for him everymorning, having previously scalded it well to restore itsfreshness. This was specially carefully done after a sad occasionupon which his mother, having poured in the fine milk for Andra'sdinner fresh from Crummie the cow, out of the flask mouth therecrawled a number of healthy worms which that enterprising youthhad collected from various quarters which it is best not tospecify. Not that Andra objected in the least. Milk was a goodthing, worms were good things, and he was above the paltrysuperstition that one good thing could spoil another. He willalways consider to his dying day that the very sound licking whichhis mother administered to him, for spoiling at once the familybreakfast and his own dinner, was one of the most uncalled-for andgratuitous, which, even in his wide experience, it had been hislot to recollect. 

So Andra took his way to school. He gambolled along, smelling androoting among the ragged robin and starwort in the hedges like anunbroken collie. It is safe to say that no further thought ofschool or message crossed his mind from the moment that thehighest white steading of Craig Ronald sank out of view, until hiscompulsory return. Andra had shut out from his view so commonplaceand ignominious facts as home and school. 

At the first loaning end, where the road to the Nether Crae camedown to cross the bridge, just at the point where the Grannochlane leaves the narrows of the loch, Andra betook himself to theside of the road, with a certain affectation of superabundantsecrecy. 

With prodigious exactness he examined the stones at a particularpart of the dyke, hunted about for one of remarkable size andcolour, said "Hist! hist!" in a mysterious way, and ran across theroad to see that no one was coming. 

As we have seen, Andra was the reader of the family. His eldestbrother had gone to America, where he was working in New York as ajoiner. This youth was in the habit of sending across books andpapers describing the terrible encounters with Indians in theBoone country--the "dark and bloody land" of the early romancers. Not one in the family looked at the insides of these relations ofmarvels except Andra, who, when he read the story of the Indianscout trailing the murderers of his squaw across a continent inorder to annihilate them just before they entered New York city, felt that he had found his vocation--which was to be at least anIndian scout, if indeed it was too late for him to think of beinga full-blooded Indian. 

The impressive pantomime at the bridge was in order to ascertainwhether his bosom companion, Dick Little, had passed on beforehim. He knew, as soon as he was within a hundred yards of thestone, that he had NOT passed. Indeed, he could see him at thatvery moment threading his way down through the tangle of heatherand bog myrtle, or, as he would have said, "gall busses opposite. "But what of that?--For mighty is the power of make-believe, and inAndra, repressed as he was at home, there was concentrated thevery energy and power of some imaginative ancestry. He had a fullshare of the quality which ran in the family, and was exceededonly by his brother Jock in New York, who had been "the biggestleer in the country side" before he emigrated to a land where atthat time this quality was not specially marked among so manywielders of the long bow. Jock, in his letters, used to frightenhis mother with dark tales of his hair-breadth escapes fromsavages and desperadoes on the frontier, yet, strangely enough, his address remained steadily New York. 

Now it is not often that a Galloway boy takes to lying; but whenhe does, a mere Nithsdale man has no chance with him, still less aman from the simple-minded levels of the "Shire. "[Footnote:Wigtonshire is invariably spoken of in Galloway as the Shire, Kirkcudbrightshire as the Stewardry. ] But Andra Kissock alwayslied from the highest motives. He elevated the saying of the thingthat was not to the height of a principle. He often lied, knowingthat he would be thrashed for it--even though he was aware that hewould be rewarded for telling the truth. He lied because he wouldnot demean himself to tell the truth. 

It need not therefore surprise us in the least that when DickLittle came across the bridge he was greeted by Andra Kissock withthe information that he was in the clutches of The Avenger ofBlood, who, mounted upon a mettle steed with remarkably dirtyfeet, curveted across the road and held the pass. He was requiredto give up a "soda scone or his life. " The bold Dick, who hadcaught the infection, stoutly refused to yield either. His lifewas dear to him, but a soda scone considerably dearer. He hadrather be dead than hungry. 

"Then die, traitor!" said Andra, throwing down his bag, allforgetful of Winsome Charteris's precious parcel and his promisesthereanent. So these two brave champions had at one another withmost surprising valour. 

They were armed with wooden swords as long as themselves, whichthey manoeuvred with both hands in a marvellously savage manner. When a blow did happen to get home, the dust flew out of theirjackets. But still the champions fought on. They were in the actof finishing the quarrel by the submission of Dick in due form, when Allan Welsh, passing across the bridge on one of his pastoralvisitations, came upon them suddenly. Dick was on his knees at thetime, his hands on the ground, and Andra was forcing his headdeterminedly down toward the surface of the king's highway. Meanwhile Dick was objecting in the most vigorous way. 

"Boys, " said the stern, quiet voice of the minister, "what are youdoing to each other? Are you aware it is against both the law ofGod and man to fight in this way? It is only from the beasts thatperish that we expect such conduct. "

"If ye please, sir, " answered Andra in a shamefaced way, yet withthe assurance of one who knows that he has the authorities on hisside, "Dick Little wull no bite the dust. "

"Bite the dust!--what do you mean, laddie?" asked the minister, frowning. 

"Weel sir, if ye please, sir, the Buik says that the yin that gothis licks fell down and bit the dust. Noo, Dick's doon fairaneuch. Ye micht speak till him to bite the dust!"

And Andra, clothed in the garments of conscious rectitude, stoodback to give the minister room to deliver his rebuke. 

The stern face of the minister relaxed. 

"Be off with you to school, " he said; "I'll look in to see if youhave got there in the afternoon. "

Andra and Dick scampered down the road, snatching their satchelsas they ran. In half an hour they were making momentary musicunder the avenging birch rod of Duncan Duncanson, the learnedDullarg schoolmaster. Their explanations were excellent. Dick saidthat he had been stopped to gather the eggs, and Andra that he hadbeen detained conversing with the minister. The result was thesame in both cases--Andra getting double for sticking to hisstatement. Yet both stories were true, though quite accidentallyso, of course. This is what it is to have a bad character. Neitherboy, however, felt any ill-will whatever at the schoolmaster. Theyconsidered that he was there in order to lick them. For this hewas paid by their parents' money, and it would have been a fraudif he had not duly earned his money by dusting their jacketsdaily. Let it be said at once that he did most conscientiouslyearn his money, and seldom overlooked any of his pupils even for aday. 

Back at the Grannoch bridge, under the parapet, Allan Welsh, theminister of the Kirk of the Marrow, found the white packet lyingwhich Winsome had tied with such care. He looked all round to seewhence it had come. Then taking it in his hand, he looked at it along time silently, and with a strange and not unkindly expressionon his face. He lifted it to his lips and kissed the handwritingwhich addressed it to Master Ralph Peden. As he paced away hecarefully put it in the inner pocket of his coat. Then, with hishead farther forward than ever, and the immanence of his greatbrow overshadowing his ascetic face, he set himself slowly toclimb the brae. 

CHAPTER XII. 

MIDSUMMER DAWN. 

True love is at once chart and compass. It led Ralph Peden outinto a cloudy June dawning. It was soft, amorphous, uncolourednight when he went out. Slate-coloured clouds were racing alongthe tops of the hills from the south. The wind blew in fitfulgusts and veering flaws among the moorlands, making eddies andback-waters of the air, which twirled the fallen petals of thepear and cherry blossoms in the little manse orchard. 

As he stepped out upon the moor and the chill of dawn struckinward, he did not know that Allan Welsh was watching him from hisblindless bedroom. Dawn is the testing-time of the universe. Itscool, solvent atmosphere dissolves social amenities. It isdifficult to be courteous, impossible to be polite, in that hourbefore the heart has realized that its easy task of throwing theblood horizontally to brain and feet has to be exchanged for theharder one of throwing it vertically to the extremities. 

Ralph walked slowly and in deep thought through the long avenuesof glimmering beeches and under the dry rustle of the quiveringpoplars. Then, as the first red of dawn touched his face, helooked about him. He was clear of the trees now, and the broadopen expanse of the green fields and shining water meadows thatring in Loch Grannoch widened out before him. The winds sighed andrumbled about the hill-tops of the Orchar and the Black Laggan, but in the valley only the cool moist wind of dawn drew largelyand statedly to and fro. 

Ralph loved Nature instinctively, and saw it as a townbred ladrarely does. He was deeply read in the more scientific literatureof the subject, and had spent many days in his Majesty's botanicgardens, which lie above the broad breast of the Forth. He nowproved his learning, and with quick, sure eye made it real on theGalloway hills. Every leaf spoke to him. He could lie for half aday and learn wisdom from the ant. He took in the bird's song andthe moth's flight. The keepers sometimes wondered at the lightswhich flashed here and there about the plantations, when in thecoolness of a moist evening he went out to entrap the sidelong-dashing flutterers with his sugar-pots. 

But since he came to Galloway, and especially since he smelled thesmell of the wood-fire set for the blanket-washing above the CraeWater bridge, there were new secrets open to him. He possessed avoice that could wile a bird off a bought. His inner sympathy withwild and tame beasts alike was such that as he moved quietly amonga drowsing, cud-chewing herd on the braes of Urioch not a beastmoved. 

Among them a wild, untamed colt stood at bay, its tail arched withapprehension, yet sweeping the ground, and watched him withflashing eyes of suspicion. Ralph held out his hand slowly, moreas if it were growing out of his side by some rapid naturalprocess than as if he were extending it. He uttered a low"sussurrus" of coaxing and invitation, all the while imperceptiblydecreasing his distance from the colt. The animal threw back itshead, tossed its mane in act to flee, thought better of it anddropped its nose to take a bite or two of the long coarse grass. Then again it looked up and continued to gaze, fascinated at thebeckoning and caressing fingers. At last, with a little whinny ofpleasure, the colt, wholly reassured, came up and nestled a wetnose against Ralph's coat. He took the wild thing's neck withinthe arch of his arm, and the two new friends stood awhile in graveconverse. 

A moment afterwards Ralph bent to lay a hand upon the head of oneof the placid queys [Footnote: Young--cows. ] that had watched thecourtship with full, dewy eyes of bovine unconcern. Instantly thecolt charged into the still group with a wild flourish of hoofsand viciously snapping teeth, scattering the black-polledGalloways like smoke. Then, as if to reproach Ralph for hisunfaithfulness, he made a circle of the field at a full, swinginggallop, sending the short turf flying from his unshod hoofs atevery stride. Back he came again, a vision of floating mane andstreaming tail, and stopped dead three yards from Ralph, hisforelegs strained and taut, ploughing furrows in the grass. AsRalph moved quietly across the field the colt followed, pushing acool moist nose over the young man's shoulder. When at last Ralphset a foot on the projecting stone which stood out from the sideof the grey, lichen-clad stone dyke, the colt stood stretching aneager head over as though desirous of following him; then, with awhinny of disappointment, he rushed round the field, charging atthe vaguely wondering and listlessly grazing cattle with headarched between his forelegs and a flourish of widely distributedheels. 

Over the hill, Craig Ronald was still wrapped in the lucidimpermanence of earliest dawn, when Winsome Charteris set her footover the blue flag-stones of the threshold. The high tide ofdarkness, which, in these northern summer mornings never rose veryhigh or lasted very long, had ebbed long ago. The indigo grey ofthe sky was receding, and tinging towards the east with animperceptibly graded lavender which merged behind the long shaggyoutline of the piny ridge into a wash of pale lemon yellow. 

The world paused, finger on lip, saying "Hush!" to Winsome as shestepped over the threshold from the serenely breathing morningair, from the illimitable sky which ran farther and farther backas the angels drew the blinds from the windows of heaven. 

"Hush!" said the cows over the hedge, blowing fragrant breaths ofapproval from their wide, comma-shaped nostrils upon the lushgrass and upon the short heads of white clover, as they stood faceto the brae, all with their heads upward, eating their way like anarmy on the march. 

"Hush! hush!" said the sheep who were straggling over the shortergrass of the High Park, feeding fitfully in their short, uneasyway--crop, crop, crop--and then a pause, to move forward their ownlength and begin all over again. 

But the sheep and the kine, the dewy grass and the brighteningsky, might every one have spared their pains, for it was in nowise in the heart of Winsome Charteris to make a noise amid thesilences of dawn. Meg Kissock, who still lay snug by Jess in aplump-cheeked country sleep, made noise enough to stir the countryside when, rising, she set briskly about to get the house on itsmorning legs. But Winsome was one of the few people in this world--few but happy--to whom a sunrise is more precious than a sun set--rarer and more calming, instinct with message and sign from acovenant-keeping God. Also, Winsome betook her self early to bed, and so awoke attuned to the sun's rising. 

What drew her forth so early this June day was no thought or hopeor plan except the desire to read the heart of Nature, and perhapsthat she might not be left too long alone with the parable of herown heart. A girl's heart is full of thought which it dares notexpress to herself--of fluttering and trembling possibilities, chrysalis-like, set aside to await the warmth of an unrevealedsummer. In Winsome's soul the first flushing glory of the May ofyouth was waking the prisoned life. But there were throbs andthrillings too piercingly sweet to last undeveloped in her soul. The bursting bud of her healthful beauty, quickened by the shyradiance of her soul, shook the centres of her life, even as alaburnum-tree mysteriously quivers when the golden rain is in actto break from the close-clustered dependent budlets. 

Thus it was that, at the stile which helps the paths be tween theDullarg and Craig Ronald to overleap the high hill dyke, Ralph metWinsome. As they looked into one another's eyes, they saw Naturesuddenly dissolve into confused meaninglessness. There was noclear message for either of them there, save the message that theold world of their hopes and fears had wholly passed away. Yet nonew world had come when over the hill dyke their hands met. Theysaid no word. There is no form of greeting for such. Eve did notgreet Adam in polite phrase when he awoke to find her in the dawnof one Eden day, a helpmeet meet for him. Neither did Eve replythat "it was a fine morn ing. " It is always a fine morning inEden. They were silent, and so were these two. Their hands laywithin one another a single instant. Then, with a sense ofsomething wanting, Ralph sprang lightly over the dyke as an Edinburgh High-School boy ought who had often played hares and houndsin the Hunter's Bog, and been duly thrashed therefor by Dr. Adam[Footnote: The Aery famous master of the High School ofEdinburgh. ] on the following morning. 

When Ralph stood beside her upon the sunny side of the stile heinstinctively resumed Winsome's hand. For this he had no reason, certainly no excuse. Still, it may be urged in excuse that it wasas much as an hour or an hour and a half before Winsome rememberedthat he needed any. Our most correct and ordered thoughts have away of coming to us belated, as the passenger who strolls inconfidently ten minutes after the platform is clear. But, likehim, they are at least ready for the next train. 

As Winsome and Ralph turned towards the east, the sun set his faceover the great Scotch firs on the ridge, whose tops stood out likepoised irregular blots on the fire centred ocean of light. 

It was the new day, and if the new world had not come with it, ofa surety it was well on the way. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

A STRING OF THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 

For a long time they were silent, though it was not long beforeWinsome drew away her hand, which, however, continued to burnconsciously for an hour afterwards. Silence settled around them. The constraint of speech fell first upon Ralph, being town-bredand accustomed to the convenances at Professor Thriepneuk's. 

"You rise early, " he said, glancing shyly down at Winsome, whoseemed to have forgotten his presence. He did not wish her toforget. He had no objection to her dreaming, if only she woulddream about him. 

Winsome turned the bewildering calmness of her eyes upon him. Agentleman, they say, is calm-eyed. So is a cow. But in the eye ofa good woman there is a peace which comes from many generations ofmothers--who, every one Christs in their way, have suffered theirheavier share of the Eden curse. 

Ralph would have given all that he possessed--which, by the way, was not a great deal--to be able to assure himself that there wasany hesitancy or bashfulness in the glance which met his own. ButWinsome's eyes were as clearly and frankly blue as if God had madethem new that morning. At least Ralph looked upon their Sabbathpeace and gave thanks, finding them very good. 

A sparkle of laughter, at first silent and far away, sprang intothem, like a breeze coming down Loch Grannoch when it lies asleepin the sun, sending shining sparkles winking shoreward, andcausing the wavering golden lights on the shallow sand of the baysto scatter tremulously. So in the depths of Winsome's eyesglimmered the coming smile. Winsome could be divinely serious, butbehind there lay the possibility and certainty of very frankearthly laughter. If, as Ralph thought, not for the first time inthis rough island story, this girl were an angel, surely she wasone to whom her Maker had given that rarest gift given to woman--a well-balanced sense of humour. 

So when Ralph said, hardly knowing what he said, "You rise early, "it was with that far-away intention of a smile that Winsomereplied:

"And you, sir, have surely not lagged in bed, or else you havecome here in a great hurry. "

"I rose, " returned Ralph, "certainly betimes--in fact, a greatwhile before day; it is the time when one can best know one'sself. "

The sententiousness, natural to his years and education, to someextent rebuked Winsome, who said more soberly:

"Perhaps you have again lost your books of study?"

"I do not always study in books, " answered Ralph. 

Winsome continued to look at him as though waiting hisexplanation. 

"I mean, " said Ralph, quickly, his pale cheek touched with red, "that though I am town-bred I love the things that wander amongthe flowers and in the wood. There are the birds, too, and thelittle green plants that have no flow ers, and they all have amessage, if I could only hear it and understand it. "

The sparkle in Winsome's eyes quieted into calm. 

"I too--" she began, and paused as if startled at what she wasabout to say. She went on: "I never heard any one say things likethese. I did not know that any one else had thoughts like theseexcept myself. "

"And have you thought these things?" said Ralph, with a quick joyin his heart. 

"Yes, " replied Winsome, looking down on the ground and playingwith the loose string of the lilac sunbonnet. "I used often towonder how it was that I could not look on the loch on Sabbathmorning without feeling like crying. It was often better to lookupon it than to go to Maister Welsh's kirk. But I ought not to saythese things to you, " she said, with a quick thought of hisprofession. 

Ralph smiled. There were few things that Winsome Charteris mightnot say to him. He too had his experiences to collate. 

"Have you ever stood on a hill-top as though you were suspended inthe air, and when you seem to feel the earth whirling away frombeneath you, rushing swiftly eastward towards the sunrise?"

"I have heard it, " said Winsome unexpectedly. 

"Heard it?" queried Ralph, with doubt in his voice. 

"Yes, " said Winsome calmly, "I have often heard the earth wheelinground on still nights out on the top of the Craigs, where therewas no sound, and all the house was asleep. It is as if some GreatOne were saying 'Hush!' to the angels--I think God himself!"

These were not the opinions of the kirk of the Marrow; neitherwere they expressed in the Acts Declaratory or the protests orclaims of right made by the faithful contending remnant. But Ralphwould not at that moment have hesitated to add them to theWestminster Confession. 

It is a wonderful thing to be young. It is marvellously delightfulto be young and a poet as well, who has just fallen--nay, rather, plunged fathoms--deep in love. Ralph Peden was both. He stoodwatching Winsome Charteris, who looked past him into a distancemoistly washed with tender ultramarine ash, like her own eyes toofull of colour to be gray and too pearly clear to be blue. 

An equal blowing wind drew up the loch which lay be neath floodedwith morning light, the sun basking on its broad expanse, andglittering in a myriad sparkles on the, narrows beneath thembeside which the blanket-washing had been. A frolicsome breezeblew down the hill towards them in little flicks and eddies. Oneof these drew a flossy tendril of Winsome's golden hair, whichthis morning had red lights in it like the garnet gloss on ripewheat or Indian corn, and tossed it over her brow. Ralph's handtingled with the desire to touch it and put it back under herbonnet, and his heart leaped at the thought. But though he did notstir, nor had any part of his being moved save the hidden thoughtof his heart, he seemed to fall in his own estimation as one whohad attempted a sacrilege. 

"Have you ever noticed, " continued Winsome, all unconscious, goingon with that fruitful comparison of feelings which has woven somany gossamer threads into three-fold cords, "how everything inthe fields and the woods is tamer in the morning? They seem tohave forgotten that man is their natural enemy while they slept. "

"Perhaps, " said Ralph theologically, "when they awake they forgetthat they are not still in that old garden that Adam kept. "

Winsome was looking at him now, for he had looked away in histurn, lost in a poet's thought. It struck her for the first timethat other people might think him handsome. When a girl forgets tothink whether she herself is of this opinion, and begins to thinkwhat others will think on a subject like this (which really doesnot concern her at all), the proceedings in the case are notfinished. 

They walked on together down by the sunny edge of the greatplantation. The sun was now rising well into the sky, climbingdirectly upward as if on this midsummer day he were leading aforlorn hope to scale the zenith of heaven. He shone on the russettassels of the larches, and the deep sienna boles of the Scotchfirs. The clouds, which rolled fleecy and white in piles andcrenulated bastions of cumulus, lighted the eyes of the man andmaid as they went onward upon the crisping piny carpet of fallenfir-needles. 

"I have never seen Nature so lovely, " said Ralph, "as when thebright morning breaks after a night of shower. Everything seems tohave been new bathed in freshness. "

"As if Dame Nature had had her spring cleaning, " answered Winsome, "or Andrew Kissock when he has had his face washed once a week, "who had been serious long enough, and who felt that too muchearnestness even in the study of Nature might be a dangerousthing. 

But the inner thought of each was something quite different. Thisis what Ralph thought within his heart, though his words were alsoperfectly genuine:

"There is a dimple on her chin which comes out when she smiles, "so he wanted her to smile again. When she did so, she was lovelyenough to peril the Faith or even the denomination. 

Ralph tried to recollect if there were no more stiles on this hillpath over which she might have to be helped. He had taken off hishat and walked beside her bareheaded, carrying his hat in the handfarthest from Winsome, who was wondering how soon she would beable to tell him that he must keep his shoulders back. 

Winsome was not a young woman of great experience in thesematters, but she had the natural instinct for the possibilities oflove without which no woman comes into the world--at once armourdefensive and weapon offensive. She knew that one day Ralph Pedenwould tell her that he loved her, but in the meantime it was sovery pleasant that it was a pity the days should come to an end. So she resolved that they should not, at least not just yet. Ifto-morrow be good, why confine one's self to to-day? She had notyet faced the question of what she would say to him when the daycould be no longer postponed. She did not care to face it. Sufficient unto the day is the good thereof, is quite as excellenta precept as its counterpart, or at least so Winsome Charteristhought. But, all the same, she wished that she could tell him tokeep his shoulders back. 

A sudden resolve sprang full armed from her brain. Winsome hadthat strange irresponsibility sometimes which comes irresistiblyto some men and women in youth, to say something as an experimentwhich she well knew she ought not to say, simply to see what wouldhappen. More than once it had got her into trouble. 

"I wish you would keep back your shoulders when you walk!" shesaid, quick as a flash, stopping and turning sideways to faceRalph Peden. 

Ralph, walking thoughtfully with the student stoop, stood aghast, as though not daring to reply lest his ears had not heard aright. 

"I say, why do you not keep your shoulders back?" repeated Winsomesharply, and with a kind of irritation at his silence. 

He had no right to make her feel uncomfortable, whatever she mightsay. 

"I did not know--I thought--nobody ever told me, " said Ralph, stammering and catching at the word which came uppermost, as hehad done in college when Professor Thriepneuk, who was as fiercein the class-room as he was mild at home, had him cornered upon aquantity. 

"Well, then, " said Winsome, "if every one is so blind, it is timethat some one did tell you now. "

Ralph squared himself like a drill-sergeant, holding himself sostraight that Winsome laughed outright, and that so merrily thatRalph laughed too, well content that the dimple on her cheekshould play at hide and seek with the pink flush of her clearskin. 

So they had come to the stile, and Ralph's heart beat stronger, and a nervous tension of expectation quivered through him, bewildering his judgment. But Winsome was very clear-headed, andthough the white of her eyes was as dewy and clear as a child's, she was no simpleton. She had read many men and women in her time, for it is the same in essence to rule Craig Ronald as to ruleRome. 

"This is your way, " she said, sitting down on the stile. "I amgoing up to John Scott's to see about the lambs. It will bebreakfast-time at the manse before you got back. "

Ralph's castle fell to the ground. 

"I will come up with you to John Scott's, " he said with anundertone of eagerness. 

"Indeed, that you will not, " said Winsome promptly, who did notwant to arrive at seven o'clock in the morning at John Scott'swith any young man. "You will go home and take to your book, afteryou have changed your shoes and stockings, " she said practically. 

"Well, then, let me bid you good-bye, Winsome!" said Ralph. 

Her heart was warm to hear him say Winsome--for the first time. Itcertainly was not unpleasant, and there was no need that sheshould quarrel about that. She was about to give him her hand, when she saw something in his eye. 

"Mind, you are not to kiss it as you did grannie's yesterday;besides, there are John Scott's dogs on the brow of the hill, " shesaid, pointing upward. 

Poor Ralph could only look more crestfallen still. Such knowledgewas too high for him. He fell back on his old formula:

"I said before that you are a witch--"

"And you say it again?" queried Winsome, with carelessnonchalance, swinging her bonnet by its strings. "Well, you cancome back and kiss grannie's hand some other day. You aresomething of a favourite with her. "

But she had presumed just a hair-breadth too far on Ralph'sgentleness. He snatched the lilac sunbonnet out of her hands, tearing, in his haste, one of the strings off, and leaving it inWinsome's hand. Then he kissed it once and twice outside where thesun shone on it, and inside where it had rested on her head. "Youhave torn it, " she said complainlngly, yet without anger. 

"I am very glad, " said Ralph Peden, coming nearer to her with alight in his eye that she had never seen before. 

Winsome dropped the string, snatched up the bonnet, and fled upthe hill as trippingly as a young doe towards the herd's cottage. At the top of the fell she paused a moment with her hand on herside, as if out of breath. Ralph Peden was still holding the tornbonnet-string in his hand. 

He held it up, hanging loose like a pennon from his hand. Shecould hear the words come clear up the hill:

"I'm very--glad--that--I--tore--it, and I will come and--see--your--grandmother!"

"Of all the--" Winsome stopped for want of words, speaking toherself as she turned away up the hill--"of all the insolent anddisagreeable--"

She did not finish her sentence, as she adjusted the outragedsunbonnet on her curls, tucking the remaining string carefullywithin the crown; but as she turned again to look, Ralph Peden wascalmly folding tip the string and putting it in a book. 

"I shall never speak to him again as long as I live, " she said, compressing her lips so that a dimple that Ralph had never seencame out on the other side. This, of course, closed the record inthe case. Yet in a little while she added thoughtfully: "But he isvery handsome, and I think he will keep his shoulders back now. Not, of course, that it matters, for I am never to speak to himany more!"

John Scott's dogs were by this time leaping upon her, and thatworthy shepherd was coming along a steep slope upon the edges ofhis boot-soles in the miraculous manner, which is peculiar toherds, as if he were walking on the turnpike. 

Winsome turned for the last time. Against the broad, dark sapphireexpanse of the loch, just where the great march dyke stepped offto bathe in the summer water, she saw something black which waveda hand and sprang over lightly. 

Winsome sighed, and said a little wistfully yet not sadly:

"Who would have thought it of him? It just shows!" she said. Allwhich is a warning to maids that the meekest worm may turn. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

CAPTAIN AGNEW GREATORIX. 

Greatorix Castle sat mightily upon a hill. It could not be hid, and it looked down superciliously upon the little squiredom ofCraig Ronald, as well as upon farms and cottages a many. In daysnot so long gone by, Greatorix Castle had been the hold of thewearers of the White Cockade, rough riders after Lag and Sir JamesDalzyell, and rebels after that, who had held with Derwentwaterand the prince. Now there was quiet there. Only the Lady Elizabethand her son Agnew Greatorix dwelt there, and the farmer's cow andthe cottager's pig grazed and rooted unharmed--not always, however, it was whispered, the farmer's daughter, for of allserfdoms the droit du seignior is the last to die. Still, Greatorix Castle was a notable place, high set on its hill, shiresand towns beneath, the blue breath of peat reek blowing athwartthe plain beneath and rising like an incense about. 

Here the Lady Elizabeth dwelt in solemn but greatly reduced state. She was a woman devoted to the practice of holiness according tothe way of the priest. It was the whole wish of her life that shemight keep a spiritual director, instead of having Father Mahon toride over from Dumfries once a month. 

Within the castle there were many signs of decay--none ofrehabilitation. The carpets were worn into holes where feet hadoftenest fallen, and the few servants dared not take them out tobe beaten in the due season of the year, for indubitably theywould fall to pieces. So the curtains hung till an unwary strangerwould rest upon them with a hand's weight. Then that hand pluckeda palmbreadth away of the rotten and moth-eaten fabric. 

There was an aged housekeeper at Greatorix Castle, who dwelt inthe next room to the Lady Elizabeth, and was supposed to act asher maid. Mistress Humbie, however, was an exacting person; andbeing an aged woman, and her infirmities bearing upon her, sheconsidered it more fitting that the Lady Elizabeth should waitupon her. This, for the good of her soul, the Lady Elizabeth did. Two maids and a boy, a demon boy, in buttons, who dwelt below-stairs and gave his time to the killing of rats with ingeniouscatapults and crossbows, completed the household--except AgnewGreatorix. 

The exception was a notable one. Save in the matter of fortune, Nature had not dealt unhandsomely with Agnew Greatorix; yet justbecause of this his chances of growing up into a strong and usefulman were few. He had been nurtured upon expectations from hisearliest youth. His uncle Agnew, the Lady Elizabeth's childlessbrother, who for the sake of the favour of a strongly Protestantaunt had left the mother church of the Greatorix family, had beenexpected to do something for Agnew; but up to this present time hehad received only his name from him, in lieu of all the statelyheritages of Holywood in the Nith Valley hard by Lincluden, andStennesholm in Carrick. 

So Agnew Greatorix had grown up in the midst of raw youths whowere not his peers in position. He companied with them till hismother pointed out that it was not for a Greatorix to drink in theBlue Bell and at the George with the sons of wealthy farmers andbonnet lairds. By dint of scraping and saving which took a longtime, and influence which, costing nothing, took for a Greatorixno time at all, the Lady Elizabeth obtained for her son acommission in the county yeomanry. There he was thrown withMaxwells of the Braes, Herons from the Shireside, and Gordons fromthe northern straths--all young men of means and figure in thecounty. Into the midst of these Agnew took his tightly knitathletic figure, his small firmly set head and full-blooded darkface--the only faults of which were that the eyes were too closelyset together and shuttered with lids that would not open more thanhalf way, and that he possessed the sensual mouth of a man who hasnever willingly submitted to a restraint. Agnew Greatorix couldnot compete with his companions, but he cut them out as a squireof dames, and came home with a dangerous and fascinatingreputation, the best-hated man in the corps. 

So when Captain Agnew clattered through the village in clean-cutscarlet and clinking spurs, all the maids ran to the door, exceptonly a few who had once run like the others but now ran no more. The captain came often to Craig Ronald. It was upon his way tokirk and market, for the captain for the good of his soul wentoccasionally to the little chapel of the Permission at Dumfries. Still oftener he came with the books which the Lady Elizabethobtained from Edinburgh, the reading of which she shared withMistress Walter Skirving, whose kinship with the Lochinvars shedid not forget, though her father had been of the moorland branchof that honourable house, and she herself had disgraced herancient name by marrying with a psalm-singing bonnet laird. Butthe inexplicability of saying whom a woman may not take it intoher head to marry was no barrier to the friendship of the LadyElizabeth, who kept all her religion for her own consumption anddid not even trouble her son with it--which was a great pity, forhe indeed had much need, though small desire, thereof. 

On the contrary, it was a mark of good blood sometimes to followone's own fancy. The Lady Elizabeth had done that herself againstthe advice of the countess her mother, and that was the reason whyshe dwelt amid hangings that came away in handfuls, and waswaiting-maid to Mistress Humbie her own housekeeper. 

Agnew Greatorix had an eye for a pretty face, or rather for everypretty face. Indeed, he had nothing else to do, except clean hisspurs and ride to the market town. So, since the author ofWaverley began to write his inimitable fictions, and his mother todivide her time between works of devotion and the adventures ofIvanhoe and Nigel, Agnew Greatorix had made many pilgrimages toCraig Ronald. Here the advent of the captain was much talked overby the maids, and even anticipated by Winsome herself as apicturesque break in the monotony of the staid country life. Certainly he brought the essence of strength and youth andathletic energy into the quiet court-yard, when he rode in on hisshowily paced horse and reined him round at the low steps of thefront door, with the free handling and cavalry swing which he hadinherited as much from the long line of Greatorixes who had riddenout to harry the Warden's men along the marches, as from theyeomanry riding-master. 

Now, the captain was neither an obliging nor yet a particularlyamiable young man, and when he took so kindly to fetching andcarrying, it was not long before the broad world of farm towns andherds' cot-houses upon which Greatorix Castle looked downsuspected a motive, and said so in its own way. 

On one occasion, riding down the long loaning of Craig Ronald, thecaptain came upon the slight, ascetic figure of Allan Welsh, theMarrow minister, leaning upon the gate which closed the loaningfrom the road. The minister observed him, but showed no signs ofmoving. Agnew Greatorix checked his horse. 

"Would you open the gate and allow me to pass on my way?" he said, with chill politeness. The minister of the Marrow kirk lookedkeenly at him from under his grey eyebrows. 

"After I have had a few words with you, young sir, " said Mr. Welsh. 

"I desire no words with you, " returned the young man impatiently, backing his horse. 

"For whom are your visits at Craig Ronald intended?" said theminister calmly. "Walter Skirving and his spouse do not receivecompany of such dignity; and besides them there are only the maidsthat I know of. "

"Who made you my father confessor?" mocked Agnew Greatorix, withan unpleasant sneer on his handsome face. 

"The right of being minister in the things of the Spirit to allthat dwell in Craig Ronald House, " said the minister of the Marrowfirmly. 

"Truly a pleasant ministry, and one, no doubt, requiring frequentministrations; yet do I not remember to have met you at CraigRonald, " he continued. "So faithful a minister surely must befaithful in his spiritual attentions. "

He urged his horse to the side of the gate and leaned over to openthe gate himself, but the minister had his hand firmly on thelatch. 

"I have seen you ride to many maids' houses, Agnew Greatorix, since the day your honoured father died, but never a one have Iseen the better of your visits. Woe and sorrow have attended uponyour way. You may ride off now at your ease, but beware thevengeance of the God of Jacob; the mother's curse and the father'smalison ride not far behind!"

"Preach me no preachments, " said the young man; "keep such foryour Marrow folk on Sundays; you but waste your words. "

"Then I beseech you by the memory of a good father, whom, thoughof another and an alien communion, I shall ever respect, to castyour eyes elsewhere, and let the one ewe lamb of those whom Godhath stricken alone. "

The gate was open now, and as he came through, Agnew Greatorixmade his horse curvet, pushing the frail form of the preacheralmost into the hedge. 

"If you would like to come and visit us up at the castle, " he saidmockingly, "I dare say we could yet receive you as my forefathers, of whom you are so fond, used to welcome your kind. I saw thethumbikins the other day; and I dare say we could fit you withyour size in boots. "

"The Lord shall pull down the mighty from their seats, and exaltthem that are of low estate!" said the preacher solemnly. 

"Very likely, " said the young man as he rode away. 

CHAPTER XV. 

ON THE EDGE OF THE ORCHARD. 

But Agnew Greatorix came as often as ever to Craig Ronald. Generally he found Winsome busy with her household affairs, sometimes with her sleeves buckled above her elbows, rolling thetough dough for the crumpy farles of the oat-cake, and scatteringhandfuls of dry meal over it with deft fingers to bring the massto its proper consistency for rolling out upon the bake-board. Leaving his horse tethered to the great dismounting stone at theangle of the kitchen (a granite boulder or "travelled stone, " asthey said thereabouts), with an iron ring into it, he entered andsat down to watch. Sometimes, as to-day, he would be only silentand watchful; but he never failed to compass Winsome with thecompliment of humility and observance. It is possible that betterthings were stirring in his heart than usually brought him to suchplaces. There is no doubt, indeed, that he appreciated thefrankness and plain speech which he received from the verypractical young mistress of Craig Ronald. 

When he left the house it was Agnew Greatorix's invariable customto skirt the edge of the orchard before mounting. Just in the duskof the great oak-tree, where its branches mingle with those of thegean [wild cherry], he was met by the slim, lithe figure of JessKissock, in whose piquant elvishness some strain of Romany bloodshowed itself. 

Jess had been waiting for him ever since he had taken his hat inhis hand to leave the house. As he came in sight of the watcher, Agnew Greatorix stopped, and Jess came closer to him, motioninghim imperiously to bring his horse close in to the shadow of theorchard wall. Agnew did so, putting out his arm as if he wouldkiss her; but, with a quick fierce movement, Jess thrust his handaway. 

"I have told you before not to play these tricks with me--keepthem for them that ye come to Craig Ronald to see. It's themistress ye want. What need a gentleman like you meddle with themaid?"

"Impossible as it may seem, the like has been done, " said Agnew, smiling down at the black eyes and blowing elf locks. 

"Not with this maid, " replied Jess succinctly, and in deed slhelooked exceedingly able to take care of herself, as became MegKissock's sister. 

"I'll go no further with Winsome, " said Greatorix gloomily, breaking the silence. "You said that if I consulted her about thewell-being of the poor rats over at the huts, and took her adviceabout the new cottages for the foresters, she would listen to me. Well, she did listen, but as soon as I hinted at any othersubject, I might as well have been talking to the old daisy in thesitting-room with the white band round her head. "

"Did anybody ever see the like of you menfolk?" cried Jess, throwing up her hands hopelessly; "d'ye think that a bonny lass isjust like a black ripe cherry on a bough, ready to drap into yourmooth when it pleases your high mightinesses to hold it open?"

"Has Winsome charteris any sweetheart?" asked the captain. 

"What for wad she be doing with a sweetheart? She has muckle elseto think on. There's a young man that's baith braw an' bonny, agreat scholar frae Enbra' toon that comes gye an' aften frae themanse o' Dullarg, whaur he's bidin' a' the simmer for thelearnin'. He comes whiles, an' Winsome kind o' gies him a bitconvoy up the hill. "

"Jess Kissock, " said the young man passionately, "tell me no lies, or--"

"Nane o' yer ill tongue for me, young man; keep it for yer mither. I'm little feared o' ye or ony like ye. Ye'll maybe get a bit dabfrae the neb o' a jockteleg [point of a sheath-knife] that willyeuk [tickle] ye for a day or twa gin ye dinna learn an' thatspeedily, as Maister Welsh wad say, to keep yer Han's aff myfaither's dochter. " Jess's good Scots was infinitely better andmore vigorous than the English of the lady's maid. 

"I beg your pardon, Jess. I am a passionate, hasty man. I am sureI meant no harm. Tell me more of this hulking landlouper[intruder], and I'll give you a kiss. "

"Keep yer kisses for them that likes them. The young man's nolandlouper ony mair nor yersel'--no as mickle indeed, but a veryproper young man, wi' a face as bonny as an angel--"

"But, Jess, do you mean to say that you are going to help him withWinsome?" asked the young man. 

"Feint a bit!" answered the young woman frankly. "She'll no gethim gin I can help it. I saw him first and bid him guid-day aforeever she set her een on him. It's ilka yin for hersel' when itcomes to a braw young man, " and Jess tossed her gipsy head, andpouted a pair of handsome scarlet lips. 

Greatorix laughed. "The land lies that way, does it?" he said. "Then that's why you would not give me a kiss to-day, Jess, " hewent on; "the black coat has routed the red baith but an' ben--butwe'll see. You cannot both have him, Jess, and if you are so veryfond of the parson, ye'll maybe help me to keep Winsome Charteristo myself. "

"Wad ye mairry her gin ye had the chance, Agnew Greatorix?"

"Certainly; what else?" replied the young man promptly. 

"Then ye shall hae her, " replied Jess, as if Winsome were withinher deed of gift, "And you'll try for the student, Jess?" asked the young man. "Isuppose he would not need to ask twice for a kiss?"

"Na, for I would kiss him withoot askin'--that is, gin he hadnathe sense to kiss ME, " said Jess frankly. 

"Well, " said Greatorix, somewhat reluctantly, "I'm sure I wish youjoy of your parson. I see now what the canting old hound from theDullarg Manse meant when he tackled me at the loaning foot. Hewanted Winsome for the young whelp. "

"I dinna think that, " replied Jess; "he disna want him to comeaboot here ony mair nor you. "

"How do you know that, Jess?"

"Ou, I juist ken. "

"Can you find out what Winsome thinks herself?"

"I can that, though she hasna a word to say to me--that am farmair deservin' o' confidence than that muckle peony faced hempie, Meg, that an ill Providence gied me for a sis ter. Her keep asecret?--the wind wad waft it oot o' her. " Thus affectionatelyJess. 

"But how can you find out, then?" persisted the young man, yetunsatisfied. 

"Ou fine that, " said Jess. "Meg talks in her sleep. "

Before Agnew Greatorix leaped on to his horse, which all this timehad stood quiet on his bridle-arm, only occasion ally jerking hishead as if to ask his master to come away, he took the kiss he hadbeen denied, and rode away laugh ing, but with one cheek muchredder than the other, the mark of Jess's vengeance. 

"Ye hae ower muckle conceit an' ower little sense ever to be aricht blackguard, " said Jess as he went, "but ye hae the richtintention for the deil's wark. Ye'll do the young mistress naehurt, for she wad never look twice at ye, but I cannot let her getthe bonny lad frae Embra'-na, I saw him first, an' first comefirst served!"

"Where have you been so long, " asked her mistress, as she came in. 

"Juist drivin' a gilravagin' muckle swine oot o' the or chard!"replied Jess with some force and truth. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

THE CUIF BEFORE THE SESSION. 

"Called, nominate, summoned to appear, upon this third citation, Alexander Mowdiewort, or Moldieward, to answer for the sin ofmisca'in' the minister and session o' this parish, and to showcause why he, as a sectary notour, should not demit, depone, andresign his office of grave digger in the kirk-yard of this parishwith all the emoluments, benefits, and profits theretoappertaining. --Officer, call Alexander Mowdiewort!"

Thus Jacob Kittle, schoolmaster and session clerk of the parish ofDullarg, when in the kirk itself that reverent though not reveredbody was met in full convocation. There was presiding the Rev. Erasmus Teends himself, the minister of the parish, looking like aturkey-cock with a crumpled white neckcloth for wattles. He wasknown in the parish as Mess John, and was full of dignifieddiscourse and excellent taste in the good cheer of the farmers. Hewas a judge of nowt [cattle], and a connoisseur of black puddings, which he considered to require some Isle of Man brandy to bringout their own proper flavour. 

"Alexander Moldieward, Alexander Moldieward!" cried old SnuffyCallum, the parish beadle, going to the door. Then in a lowertone, "Come an' answer for't, Saunders. "

Mowdiewort and a large-boned, grim-faced old woman of fifty-fivewere close beside the door, but Christie cried past them as if thesummoned persons were at the top of the Dullarg Hill at thenearest, and also as if he had not just risen from a long andconfidential talk with them. 

It was within the black interior of the old kirk that the sessionmet, in the yard of which Saunders Mowdiewort had dug so manygraves, and now was to dig no more, unless he appeased the ire ofthe minister and his elders for an offence against the majesty oftheir court and moderator. 

"Alexander Moldieward!" again cried the old "betheral, " very loud, to some one on the top of the Dullarg Hill--then in an ordinaryvoice, "come awa', Saunders man, you and your mither, an' dinnakeep them waitin'--they're no chancy when they're keepit. "

Saunders and his mother entered. 

"Here I am, guid sirs, an' you Mess John, " said the grave-diggervery respectfully, "an' my mither to answer for me, an' guid eento ye a'. "

"Come awa', Mistress Mowdiewort, " said the minister. "Ye hae ayebeen a guid member in full communion. Ye never gaed to a prayer-meetin' or Whig conventicle in yer life. It's a sad peety that yecouldna keep your flesh an' bluid frae companyin' an' covenantin'wi' them that lichtly speak o' the kirk. "

"'Deed, minister, we canna help oor bairns--an' 'deed ye can speaktill himsel'. He is of age--ask him! But gin ye begin to be owersair on the callant, I'se e'en hae to tak' up the cudgels mysel'. "

With this, Mistress Mowdiewort put her hands to the strings of hermutch, to feel that she had not unsettled them; then she stoodwith arms akimbo and her chest well forward like a grenadier, asif daring the session to do its worst. 

"I have a word with you, " said Mess John, lowering at her; "it istold to me that yon keepit your son back from answering thesession when it was his bounden duty to appear on the firstsummons. Indeed, it is only on a warrant for blasphemy and thethreat of deprivation of his liveli hood that he has come to-day. What have you to say that he should not be deprived and alsodeclarit excommunicate?"

"Weel, savin' yer presence, Mess John, " said Mistress Mowdiewort, "ye see the way o't is this: Saunders, my son, is a blate [shy]man, an' he canna weel speak for him sel'. I thought that by thistime the craiter micht hae gotten a wife again that could haespoken for him, an' had he been worth the weight o' a bumbee'shind leg he wad hae had her or this--an' a better yin nor the lasthe got. Aye, but a sair trouble she was to me; she had juist yaefaut, Saunders's first wife, an' that was she was nae use ava! Butit was a guid thing he was grave-digger, for he got her buriet fornaething, an' even the coffin was what ye micht ca' a second-handyin--though it had never been worn, which was a wunnerfu' thing. Ye see the way o't was this: There was Creeshy Callum, the brithero' yer doitit [stupid] auld betheral here, that canna tak' up thebuiks as they should (ye should see my Saunders tak' them up atthe Marrow kirk)--"

"Woman, " said the minister, "we dinna want to hear--"

"Very likely no--but ye hae gien me permission to speak, an' herthat's stannin afore yer honourable coort, brawly kens the laws. Elspeth Mowdiewort didna soop yer kirk an wait till yer sessionmeetings war ower for thirty year in my ain man's time withootkennin' a' the laws. A keyhole's a most amazin' convenient thingby whiles, an' I was suppler in gettin' up aff my hunkers thenthan at the present time. "

"Silence, senseless woman!" said the session clerk. 

"I'll silence nane, Jacob Kittle; silence yersel', for I kenwhat's in the third volume o' the kirk records at the thirtysecond page; an' gin ye dinna haud yer wheesht, dominie, ilka wifein the pairish'll ken as weel as me. A bonny yin you to sitcockin' there, an' to be learnin' a' the bairns their caritches[catechism]. "

The session let her go her way; her son meantime stood passing anapologetic hand over his sleek hair, and making deprecatorymotions to the minister, when he thought that his mother was notlooking in his direction. 

"Aye, I was speakin' aboot Creeshy Callum's coffin that oorSaunders--the muckle tongueless sumph there got dirt cheap--ye seeGreeshy had been measured for't, but, as he had a short leg and ashorter, the joiner measured the wrang leg--joiners are a' dottlestupid bodies--an' whan the time cam' for Creeshy to be streekit, man, he wadna fit--na, it maun hae been a sair disappointmenttill him--that is to say--gin he war in the place whaur he couldthink wi' ony content on his coffin, an' that, judgin' by his lifean' conversation, was far frae bein' a certainty. "

"Mistress Mowdiewort, I hae aye respectit ye, an' we are a'willin' to hear ye noo, if you have onything to say for your son, but you must make no insinuations against any members of thecourt, or I shall be compelled to call the officer to put youout, " said the minister, rising impressively with his handstretched towards Mistress Elspeth Mowdiewort. 

But Elspeth Mowdiewort was far from being impressed. 

"Pit me oot, Snuffy Oallum; pit me, Eppie Mowdiewort, oot! Na, na, Snuffy's maybe no very wise, but he kens better nor that. Man, Maister Teends, I hae kenned the hale root an' stock o' thaeCallums frae first to last; I hae dung Greeshy till he couldnastand--him that had to be twice fitted for his coffin; an' Wullthat was hangit at Dumfries for sheep-stealin'; an' Meg that wasservant till yersel--aye, an' a bonny piece she was as ye kenyersel'; an' this auld donnert carle that, when he carries up theBibles, ye can hear the rattlin' o' his banes, till it disturbsthe congregation--I hae dung them a' heeds ower heels in theirbest days--an' to tell me at the hinner end that ye wad ca' in thebetheral to pit oot Elspeth Mowdiewort! Ye maun surely hae anawsome ill wull at the puir auld craitur!"

"Mither, " at last said Saunders, who was becoming anxious for hisgrave-diggership, and did not wish to incense his judges further, "I'm willin' to confess that I had a drap ower muckle the ithernight when I met in wi' the minister an' the dominie; but, gin Iconfess it, ye'll no gar me sit on the muckle black stool i'repentance afore a' the fowk, an' me carries up the buiks i' theMarrow kirk. "

"Alexander Mowdiewort, ye spak ill o' the minister an' session, o'the kirk an' the wholesome order o' this parish. We have a warrantfor your apprehension and appearance which we might, unless movedby penitence and dutiful submission, put in force. Then are yeaware whaur that wad land you--i' the jail in Kirkcudbright toon, my man Saunders. "

But still it was the dread disgrace of the stool of repentancethat bulked most largely in the culprit's imagination. 

"Na, na, " interjected Mistress Mowdiewort, "nae siccan things forony bairns o' mine. Nae son o' mine sall ever set his hurdies onthe like o't. "

"Be silent, woman!" said the minister severely; "them that will toblack stool maun to black stool. Rebukit an' chastised is the lawan' order, and rebukit and chastised shall your son be as weel asithers. "

"'Deed, yer nae sae fond o' rebukin' the great an' the rich. There's that young speldron frae the castle; its weel kenned whathe is, an' hoo muckle he's gotten the weight o'. "

"He is not of our communion, and not subject to our discipline, "began the minister. 

"Weel, " said Elspeth, "weel, let him alane. He's a Pape, an' gaunto purgatory at ony gate. But then there's bletherin' Johnnie o'the Dinnance Mains--he's as fu' as Solway tide ilka Wednesday, an'no only speaks agin minister an' session, as maybe my Saunders did(an' maybe no), but abuses Providence, an the bellman, an' evenblasphemes agin the fast day--yet I never heard that ye had himcockit up on the black henbauks i' the kirk. But then he's a brawman an' keeps a gig!"

"The law o' the kirk is no respecter of persons, " said Mess John. 

"No, unless they are heritors, " said Cochrane of the Holm, who hada pew with the name of his holding painted on it. 

"Or members o' session, " said sleeky Carment of the Kirkland, whohad twice escaped the stool of repentance on the ground that, ashe urged upon the body, "gleds [hawks] shouldna pike gleds eenoot. "

"Or parish dominies, " said the session clerk, to give solidarityto his own position. 

"Weel, I ken juist this if nae mair: my son disna sit on ony o'yer stools o' repentance, " said Eppie Mowdiewort, demonstratingthe truth of her position with her hand clenched at the dominie, who, like all clerks of ecclesiastical assemblies, was exceedinglyindustrious in taking notes to very small purpose. "Mair nor that, I'm maybe an unlearned woman, but I've been through the Testamentsmair nor yince--the New Testament mair nor twice--an' I never sawnaethin' aboot stools o' repentance in the hoose o' God. But myson Saunders was readin' to me the ither nicht in a fule historybuik, an' there it said that amang the Papists they used to haefowk that didna do as they did an' believe as they believed. Saewi' a lang white serk on, an' a can'le i' their hands, they setthem up for the rabble fowk to clod at them, an' whiles they tiedthem to a bit stick an' set lunt [fire] to them--an that's theorigin o' yer stool o' repentance. What say ye to that?"

Mrs. Mowdiewort's lecture on church history was not at allappreciated by the session. The minister rose. 

"We will close this sederunt, " he said; "we can mak' nocht o'these two. Alexander Mowdiewort, thou art removed from thy officeof grave-digger in the parish kirkyard, and both thysel' and thymother are put under suspension for contumacy!"

"Haith!" said Elspeth Mowdiewort, pushing back her hair; "did yeever hear the mak' o' the craitur. I haena been within his kirkdoor for twenty year. It's a guid job that a body can aye gangdoon to godly Maister Welsh, though he's an awfu' body to deave[deafen] ye wi' the Shorter Quastions. "

"An it's a guid thing, " added Saunders, "that there's a newcemetery a-makkin'. There's no room for anither dizzen in yer auldkailyaird onyway--an' that I'm tellin' ye. An' I'm promised thenew job too. Ye can howk yer ain graves yersel's. "

"Fash na yer heid, Saunders, aboot them, " said the old betheral atthe door; "it's me that's to be grave-digger, but ye shall howkthem a' the same in the mornin', an' get the siller, for I'm farower frail--ye can hae them a' by afore nine o'clock, an' theminister disna pu' up his bedroom blind till ten!"

Thus it was that Saunders Mowdiewort ended his connection with anErastian establishment, and became a true and complete member ofthe Marrow kirk. His mother also attended with exemplarydiligence, but she was much troubled with a toothache on the daysof catechising, and never quite conquered her unruly member to thelast. But this did not trouble herself much--only her neighbours. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

WHEN THE KYE COMES HAME. 

That night Saunders went up over the hill again, dressed in hisbest. He was not a proud lover, and he did not take a rebuffamiss; besides, he had something to tell Meg Kissock. When he gotto Craig Ronald, the girls were in the byre at the milking, and atevery cow's tail there stood a young man, rompish Ebie Farrish atthat at which Jess was milking, and quiet Jock Forrest at Meg's. Ebie was joking and keeping up a fire of running comment withJess, whose dark-browed gipsy face and blue-black wisps of hairwere set sideways towards him, with her cheek pressed upon Lucky'sside, as she sent the warm white milk from her nimble fingers, with a pleasant musical hissing sound against the sides of themilking-pail. 

Farther up the byre, Meg leaned her head against Crummy and milkedsteadily. Apparently she and Jock Forrest were not talking at all. Jock looked down and only a quiver of the corner of his beardbetrayed that he was speaking. Meg, usually so outspoken and fullof conversation, appeared to be silent; but really a series ofshort, low-toned sentences was being rapidly exchanged, so swiftlythat no one, standing a couple of yards away, could have remarkedthe deft interchange. 

But as soon as Saunders Mowdiewort came to the door, Jock Forresthad dropped Crummy's tail, and slipped silently out of the byre, even before Meg got time to utter her usual salutation of--

"Guid een to ye, Cuif! Hoo's a' the session?"

It might have been the advent of Meg's would-be sweetheart thatfrightened Jock Forrest away, or again he might have been in theact of going in any case. Jock was a quiet man who walked sedatelyand took counsel of no one. He was seldom seen talking to any man, never to a woman--least of all to Meg Kissock. But when Meg hadmany "lads" to see her in the evening, he could he observed tosmile an inward smile in the depths of his yellow beard, and aqueer subterranean chuckle pervaded his great body, so that on oneoccasion Jess looked up, thinking that there were hens roosting inthe baulks overhead. 

Jess and Ebie pursued their flirtation steadily and harmlessly, asshe shifted down the byre as cow after cow was relieved of herrichly perfumed load, rumbling and clinking neck chains, andmunching in their head-stalls all the while. Saunders and Meg wereas much alone as if they had been afloat on the bosom of LochGrannoch. 

"Ye are a bonny like man, " said Meg, "to tak' yer minny to speakfor ye before the session. Man, I wonder at ye. I wonder ye didnabring her to coort for ye?"

"War ye ever afore the Session, Meg?"

"Me afore the session--ye're a fule man, but ye dinna ken what yersayin'--gin I thocht ye did--"

Here Meg became so violently agitated that Flecky, suffering fromthe manner in which Meg was doing her duty, kicked out, and nearlysucceeded in overturning the milk-pail. Meg's quickness with handand knee foiled this intention, but Flecky succeeded quite inplanting the edge of her hoof directly on the Cuif's shin-bone. Saunders thereupon let go Flecky's tail, who instantly switched itinto Meg's face with a crack like a whip. 

"Ye great muckle senseless hullion!" exclaimed Meg, "gin ye arenae use in the byre, gang oot till ye can learn to keep haud o' acoo's tail! Ye hae nae mair sense than an Eerishman!"

There was a pause. The subject did not admit of discussion, thoughSaunders was a cuif, he knew when to hold his tongue--at least onmost occasions. 

"An' what brocht ye here the nicht, Cuif?" asked Meg, who, whenshe wanted information, knew how to ask it directly, a very rarefeminine accomplishment. 

"To see you, Meg, my dawtie, " replied Saunders, tenderly edgingnearer. 

"Yer what?" queried Meg with asperity; "I thocht that ye hadaneuch o' the session already for caa'in' honest fowk names; ginye begin wi' me, ye'll get on the stool o' repentance o' yer ainaccord, afore I hae dune wi' ye!"

"But, Meg, I hae telled ye afore that I am sair in need o' a wife. It's byordinar' [extraordinary] lonesome up in the hoose on thehill. An' I'm warned oot, Meg, so that I'll look nae langer on thewhite stanes o' the kirkyaird. "

"Gin ye want a wife, Saunders, ye'll hae to look oot for a deefyin, for it's no ony or'nar' woman that could stand yer mither'stongue. Na, Saunders, it wad be like leevin' i' a corn-millrinnin' withoot sheaves. "

"Meg, " said Saunders, edging up cautiously, "I hae something togie ye!"

"Aff wi' ye, Cuif! I'll hae nae trokin' wi' lads i' the byre--na, there's a time for everything--especial wi' widowers, they're thewarst o' a'--they ken ower muckle. My granny used to say, ginSolomon couldna redd oot the way o' a man wi' a maid, what wad hehae made o' the way o' a weedower that's lookin' for his third?"

CHAPTER XVIII. 

A DAUGHTER OF THE PICTS. 

The Cuif put his hands in his pockets as if to keep them away fromthe dangerous temptation of touching Meg. He stood with hisshoulder against the wall and chewed a straw. 

"What's come o' Maister Peden thae days?" asked Meg. 

"He's maist michty unsettled like, " replied Saunders, "he's for a'the world like a stirk wi' a horse cleg on him that he canna getat. He comes in an' sits doon at his desk, an' spreads oot hisbuiks, an' ye wad think that he's gaun to be at it the leevelangday. But afore ye hae time to turn roon' an' get at yer ain wark, the craitur'll be oot again an' awa' up to the hill wi' a buikaneath his oxter. Then he rises early in the mornin', whilk is noa guid sign o' a learned man, as I judge. What for should alearned man rise afore his parritch is made? There maun besomething sair wrang, " said Saunders Mowdiewort. 

"Muckle ye ken aboot learned men. I suppose, ye think because yecarry up the Bible, that ye ken a' that's in't, " returned Meg, with a sneer of her voice that might have turned milk sour. Theexpression of the emotions is fine and positive in the kitchens ofthe farm towns of Galloway. 

"SWISH, SWISH!" steadily the white streams of milk shot into thepails. "JANGLE, JANGLE!" went the steel head chains of the cows. Occasionally, as Jess and Meg lifted their stools, they gaveFlecky or Speckly a sound clap on the back with their hand ormilking-pail, with the sharp command of "Stan' aboot there!" "Haudup!" "Mind whaur yer comin'!" Such expressions as these Jess andMeg could interject into the even tenor of their conversation, ina way that might have been disconcerting in dialogues conducted onother principles. But really the interruptions did not affect EbieFarrish or any other of the byre-visiting young men, any more thanthe rattling of the chains, as Flecky and Speckly arranged theirown business at the end devoted to imports. These sharp words ofcommand were part of the nightly and morningly ceremony of the"milking" at every farm. The cans could no more froth with thewhite reaming milk without this accompaniment of slaps andadjurations than Speckly, Flecky, and the rest could take theirslow, thoughtfully considerate, and sober way from the hillpastures into the yard without Meg at the gate of the field tocry: "Hurley, Hurley, hie awa' hame!" to the cows themselves; and"Come awa' bye wi' them, fetch them, Roger!" to the short-hairedcollie, who knew so much better than to go near their flashingheels. 

The conversation in the byre proceeded somewhat in this way:

Jess was milking her last cow, with her head looking sideways atEbie, who stood plaiting Marly's tail in a newfangled fashion hehad brought from the low end of the parish, and which was justmaking its way among young men of taste. 

"Aye, ye'll say so, nae doot, " said Jess, in reply to some pointedcompliment of her admirer; "but I ken you fowk frae the laich endower weel. Ye hae practeesed a' that kind o' talk on the lassesdoon there, or ye wadna be sae gleg [ready] wi't to me, Ebie. "

This is an observation which shows that Jess could not have eatenmore effectively of the tree of knowledge, had she been born inMayfair. 

Ebie laughed a laugh half of depreciation, half of pleasure, likea cat that has its back stroked and its tail pinched at the sametime. 

"Na, na, Jess, it a' comes by natur'. I never likit a lassie aforeI set my een on you, " said Ebie, which, to say the least of it, was curious, considering that he had an assortment of locks ofhair--black, brown, and lint-white--up in the bottom of his"kist" in the stable loft where he slept. He kept them along withhis whipcord and best Sunday pocket knife, and sometimes he took alook at them when he had to move them in order to get his greennecktie. "I never really likit a lass afore, Jess, ye may believeme, for I wasna a lad to rin after them. But whenever I cam' toCraig Ronald I saw that I was dune for. "

"STAN' BACK, YE MUCKLE SLABBER!" said Jess, suddenly andemphatically, in a voice that could have been heard a hundredyards away. Speckly was pushing sideways against her as if tocrowd her off her stool. 

"Say ye sae, Ebie?" she added, as if she had not previouslyspoken, in the low even voice in which she had spoken from thefirst, and which could be heard by Ebie alone. In the country theyconduct their love-making in water-tight compartments. And thoughEbie knew very well that the Cuif was there, and may havesuspected Jock Forrest, even after his apparent withdrawal, solong as they did not trouble him in his conversation with Jess, hepaid no heed to them, nor indeed they to him. No man is hisbrother's keeper when he goes to the byre to plait cows' tails. 

"But hoo div ye ken, or, raither, what gars ye think that ye're nothe first that I hae likit, Jess?"

"Oh, I ken fine, " said Jess, who was a woman of knowledge, and hadher share of original sin. 

"But hoo div ye ken?" persisted Ebie. 

"Fine that, " said Jess, diplomatically. 

A DAUGHTER OF THE PICTS

"But tell us, Jess, " said Ebie, who was in high good humour atthese fascinating accusations. 

"Oh, " said Jess, with a quick gipsy look out of her fine darkeyes, "brawly I kenned on Saturday nicht that yon wasna the firsttime ye had kissed a lass!"

"Jess, " said Ebie, "ye're a wunnerfu' woman!" which was hisversion of Ralph's "You are a witch. " In Ebie's circle "witch" wastoo real a word to be lightly used, so he said "wunnerfu' woman. "

He went on looking critically at Jess, as became so great aconnoisseur of the sex. 

"I hae seen, maybes, bonnier faces, as ye micht say--"

"HAUD AFF, WI' YE THERE; MIND WHAUR YER COMIN', YE MUCKLESENSELESS NOWT!" said Jess to her Ayrshire Hornie, who had beentreading on her toes. 

"As I was sayin', Jess, I hae seen--"

"CAN YE NO UNNERSTAN', YE SENSELESS LUMP?" cried Jess, warningly;"I'll knock the heid aff ye, gin ye dinna drap it!" still toHornie, of course. 

But the purblind theorist went on his way: "I hae seen bonnierfaces, but no mair takin', Jess, than yours. It's no aye beautythat tak's a man, Jess, ye see, an' the lassies that hae dune besthae been plain-favoured lassies that had pleasant expressions--"

"Tell the rest to Hornie gin ye like!" said Jess, rising viciouslyand leaving Ebie standing there dumfounded. He continued to holdHornie's tail for some time, as if he wished to give her somefurther information on the theory of beauty, as understood in the"laich" end of the parish. 

Saunders saw him from afar, and cried out to him down the lengthof the byre, "Are ye gaun to mak' a watch-guard o' that coo's tail, Ebie?--yelook fell fond o't. "

"Ye see what it is to be in love, " said John Scott, the herd, whohad stolen to the door unperceived and so had marked Ebie'sdiscomfiture. 

"He disna ken the difference between Jess hersel' an' Hornie!"said the Cuif, who was repaying old scores. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

AT THE BARN END

In a little while the cows were all milked. Saunders was standingat the end of the barn, looking down the long valley of theGrannoch water. There was a sweet coolness in the air, which hevaguely recognized by taking off his hat. 

"Open the yett!" cried Jess, from the byre door. Saunders heardthe clank and jangle of the neck chains of Hornie and Specky andthe rest, as they fell from their necks, loosened by Jess's hand. The sound grew fainter and fainter as Jess proceeded to the top ofthe byre where Marly stood soberly sedate and chewed her eveningcud. Now Marly did not like Jess, therefore Meg always milked her;she would not, for some special reason of her own, "let doon hermilk" when Jess laid a finger on her. This night she only shookher head and pushed heavily against Jess as she came. 

"Hand up there, ye thrawn randy!" said Jess in byre tones. 

And so very sulkily Marly moved out, looking for Meg right andleft as she did so. She had her feelings as well as any one, andshe was not the first who had been annoyed by the sly, mischievousgipsy with the black eyes, who kept so quiet before folk. As shewent out of the byre door, Jess laid her switch smartly acrossMarly's loins, much to the loss of dignity of that stately animal, who, taking a hasty step, slipped on the threshold, and overtookher neighbours with a slow resentment gathering in her matronlybreast. 

When Saunders Mowdiewort heard the last chain drop in the byre, and the strident tones of Jess exhorting Marly, he took a fewsteps to the gate of the hill pasture. He had to pass along ashort home-made road, and over a low parapetless bridgeconstructed simply of four tree-trunks laid parallel and coveredwith turf. Then he dropped the bars of the gate into the hillpasture with a clatter, which came to Winsome's ears as she stoodat her window looking out into the night. She was just thinking atthat moment what a good thing it was that she had sent back RalphPeden's poem. So, in order to see whether this were so or not, sherepeated it all over again to herself. 

When he came back again to the end of the barn, Saunders foundJess standing there, with the wistful light in her eyes which thatyoung woman of many accomplishments could summon into them aseasily as she could smile. For Jess was a minx--there is nodenying the fact. Yet even slow Saunders admitted that, though shewas nothing to Meg, of course, still there was something originaland attractive about her--like original sin. 

Jess was standing with her head on one side, putting the scarlethead of a poppy among her black hair. Jess had strange tastes, which would be called artistic nowadays in some circles. Herliking was always BIZARRE and excellent, the taste of theprimitive Galloway Pict from whom she was descended, or of thatpicturesque Glenkens warrior, who set a rowan bush on his head onthe morning when he was to lead the van at the battle of theStandard. Scotland was beaten on that great occasion, it is true;but have the chroniclers, who complain of the place of Gallowaymen in the ranks, thought how much more terribly Scotland mighthave been beaten had Galloway not led the charge? But this iswritten just because Jess Kissock, a Galloway farm lassie, lookedsomething like a cast back to the primitive Pict of the south, afact which indeed concerns the story not at all, for SaundersMowdiewort had not so much as ever heard of a Pict. 

Jess did not regard Saunders Mowdiewort highly at any time. He wasone of Meg's admirers, but after all he was a man, and one cannever tell. It was for this reason that she put the scarlet poppyinto her hair. 

She meditated "I maybe haena Meg's looks to the notion o' somefolk, but I mak' a heap better use o' the looks that I hae, an'that is a great maitter!"

"Saunders, " said Jess softly, going up to the Cuif and pretendingto pick a bit of heather off his courting coat. She did this witha caressing touch which soothed the widower, and made him wishthat Meg would do the like. He began to think that he had neverproperly valued Jess. 

"Is Meg comin' oot again?" Jess inquired casually, the scarletpoppy set among the blue-black raven's wings, and brushing hisbeard in a distracting manner. 

Saunders would hare given a good deal to be able to reply in theaffirmative, but Meg had dismissed him curtly after the milking, with the intimation that it was time he was making manseward. Asfor her, she was going within doors to put the old folks to bed. 

After being satisfied on this point the manner of Jess wasdecidedly soothing. That young woman had a theory which was notquite complimentary either to the sense or the incorruptibility ofmen. It was by showing an interest in them and making them thinkthat they (or at least the one being operated upon) are thegreatest and most fascinating persons under the sun, almostanything can be done. This theory has been acted upon with resultsgood and bad, in other places besides the barn end of CraigRonald. 

"They're a' weel at the Manse?" said Jess, tentatively. 

"On aye, " said Saunders, looking round the barn end to see if Megcould see him. Satisfied that Meg was safe in bed, Saunders puthis hand on Jess's shoulder--the sleek-haired, candle-greaseddeceiver that he was. 

"Jess, ye're bonny, " said he. 

"Na, na, " said Jess, very demurely, "it's no me that's bonny--itsMeg!"

Jess was still looking at him, and interested in getting all therough wool off the collar of his homespun coat. 

The Samson of the graveyard felt his strength deserting him. 

"Davert, Jess lass, but it's a queer thing that it never camacross me that ye were bonny afore!"

Jess looked down. The Cuif thought that it was because she wasshy, and his easy heart went out to her; but had he seen the smilethat was wasted on a hopping sparrow beneath, and especially thewicked look in the black eyes, he might have received someinformation as to the real sentiments of girls who put red poppiesin their hair in order to meet their sisters' sweethearts at thebarn end. 

"Is the young minister aye bidin' at the Manse?" asked Jess. 

"Aye, he is that!" said Saunders, "he's a nice chiel' yon. Ye'llsee him whiles ower by here. They say--that is Manse Bell says--that he's real fond o' yer young mistress here. Ken ye ocht abootthat, Jess?"

"Hoots, havers, our young mistress is no for penniless students, Iwot weel. There'll be nocht in't, an' sae ye can tell Bell o' theManse, gin you an' her is so chief [intimate]. "

"Very likely ye're richt. There'll be nocht in't, I'm thinkin'--atleast on her side. But what o' the young man? D'ye think he's sairta'en up aboot Mistress Winsome? Meg was sayin' so. "

"Meg thinks there's naebody worth lookin' at in the warl' buthersel' and Mistress Winifred Charteris, as she ca's hersel'; butthere's ithers thinks different. "

"What hae ye against her, Jess? I thocht that she's a fell fineyoung leddy. "

"Oh she's richt eneuch, but there's bonny lasses as weel as her;an' maybe, gin young Maister Peden comes ower by to Oraig Eonaldto see a lass nnkenned o' a'--what faut wad there be in that?"

"Then it's Meg he comes to see, and no' the young mistress?" saidthe alarmed grave-digger. 

"Maybes aye an' maybes no--there's bonny lasses forby Meg Kissockfor them that hae gotten een in their heads. "

"Wi' Jess! Is't yerself?" said Saunders. 

Jess was discreetly silent. 

"Ye'll no tell onybody, wull ye, Maister Mowdiewort?" she saidanxiously. 

To Saunders this was a great deal better than being called a"Cuif. "

"Na, Jess, lass, I'll no tell a soul--no yin. "

"No' even Meg-mind!" repeated Jess, who felt that this was a vitalpoint. 

So Saunders promised, though he had intended to do so on the firstopportunity. 

"Mind, if ye do, I'll never gie ye a hand wi' Meg again as lang asI leeve!" said Jess emphatically. 

"Jess, d'ye think she likes me?" asked the widower in a hushedwhisper. 

"Saunders, I'm jnist sure o't, " replied Jess with great readiness. "But she's no yin o' the kind to let on. "

"Na, " groaned Saunders, "I wuss to peace she was. But ye mind methat I gat a letter frae the young minister that I was to gie toMeg. But as you're the yin he comes to see, I maun as weel gie'tdirect to yoursel'. "

"It wad be as weel, " said Jess, with a strange sort of sea-firelike moonshine in her eyes. 

Saunders passed over a paper to her readily, and Jess, with herhand still on his coat-collar, in a way that Meg had never used, thanked him in her own way. 

"Juist bide a wee, " she said; "I'll be wi' ye in a minute!"

Jess hurried down into the old square-plotted garden, which ran upto the orchard trees. She soon found a moss-rose bush from whichshe selected a bud, round which the soft feathery envelope wasjust beginning to curl back. Then she went round by the edge ofthe brook which keeps damp one side of the orchard, where shefound some single stems of forget-me-nots, shining in the dusklike beaded turquoise. She pulled some from the bottom of thehalf-dry ditch, and setting the pale moss-rosebud in the middle, she bound the whole together with a striped yellow and greenwithe. Then snipping the stacks with her pocket scissors, shebrought the posy to Saunders, with instructions to wrap it in adock-leaf and never to let his hands touch it the whole way. 

Saunders, dazed and fascinated, forgetful even of Meg and loyalty, promised. The glamour of Jess, the gypsy, was upon him. 

"But what am I to say, " he asked. 

"Say its frae her that he sent the letter to; he'll ken brawlythat Meg hadna the gumption to send him that!" said Jess candidly. 

Saunders said his good-night in a manner which would certainlyhave destroyed all his chances with Meg had she witnessed theparting. Then he stolidly tramped away down the loaning. 

Jess called after him, struck with a sudden thought. "See that yedinna gie it to him afore the minister. "

Then she put her hands beneath her apron and walked homemeditating. "To be a man is to be a fool, " said Jess Kissock, putting her whole experience into a sentence. Jess was a daughterof the cot; put then she was also a daughter of Eve, who had noteven so much as a cot. 

CHAPTER XX. 

"DARK-BROWED EGYPT. "

As soon as Jess was by herself in the empty byre, to which shewithdrew herself with the parcel which the faithful andtrustworthy Cuif had entrusted to her, she lit the lantern whichalways stood in the inside of one of the narrow triangular wicketsthat admitted light into the byre. Sitting down on the small haystall, she pulled the packet from her pocket, looked it carefullyover, and read the simple address, "In care of Margaret Kissock. "There was no other writing upon the outside. 

Opening the envelope carefully, he let the light of the byrelantern rest on the missive. It was written in a delicate butstrong handwriting--the hand of one accustomed to forming thesmaller letters of ancient tongues into a current script. "ToMistress Winifred Charteris, " it ran. "Dear Lady: That I haveoffended you by the hastiness of my words and the unforgivablewilfulness of my actions, I know, but cannot forgive myself. Yet, knowing the kindness of your disposition, I have thought that youmight be better disposed to pardon me than I myself. For I neednot tell you, what you already know, that the sight of you isdearer to me than the light of the morning. You are connected inmy mind and heart with all that is best and loveliest. I need nottell now that I love you, for you know that I love the string ofyour bonnet. Nor am I asking for anything in return, save onlythat you may know my heart and not be angry. This I send to easeits pain, for it has been crying out all night long, 'Tell her--tell her!' So I have risen early to write this. Whether I shallsend it or no, I cannot tell. There is no need, Winsome, to answerit, if you will only let it fall into your heart and make nonoise, as a drop of water falls into the sea. Whether you will beangry or not I cannot tell, and, truth to tell you, sweetheart, Iam far past caring. I am coming, as I said, to Craig Ronald to seeyour grandmother, and also, if you will, to see you. I shall notneed you to tell me whether you are angered with a man's love orno; I shall know that before you speak to me. But keep a thoughtfor one that loves you beyond all the world, and as if there wereno world, and naught but God and you and him. For this time fareyou well. Ralph Peden. "

Jess turned it over with a curious look on her face. "Aye, he hasthe grip o't, an' she micht get him gin she war as clever as JessKissock; but him that can love yin weel can lo'e anither better, an' I can keep them sindry [asunder]. I saw him first, an' he spakto me first. 'Ye're no to think o' him, ' said my mither. Think o'him! I hae thocht o' nocht else. Think of him! Since when isthinkin' a crime? A lass maun juist do the best she can forhersel', be she cotman's dochter or laird's. Love's a' yae thing--kitchen or byre, but or ben. See a lad, lo'e a lad, get a lad, keep a lad! Ralph Peden will kiss me afore the year's oot, " shesaid with determination. 

So in the corner of the byre, among the fragrant hay and fresh-cutclover, Jess Kissock the cottar's lass prophesied out of herwayward soul, baring her intentions to herself as perhaps hersister in boudoir hushed and perfumed might not have done. Thereare Ishmaels also among women, whose hand is against every woman, and who stand for their own rights to the man on whom they haveset their love; and the strange thing is, that such are by nomeans the worst of women either. 

Stranger still, so strong and dividing to soul and marrow is aclearly defined purpose and determinately selfish, that such womendo not often fail. And indeed Jess Kissock, sitting in the hay-neuk, with her candle in the lantern throwing patterns on thecobwebby walls from the tiny perforations all round, made aperfectly correct prophecy. Ralph Peden did indeed kiss her, andthat of his own free will as his love of loves within a muchshorter space of time than a year. 

Strangely also, Jess the gipsy, the dark-browed Pictess, wasneither angry nor jealous when she read Ralph's letter to Winsome. According to all rules she ought to have been. She even tried topersuade herself that she was. But the sight of Ralph writing toWinsome gave no pang to her heart. Nor did this argue that she didnot love really and passionately. She did; but Jess had in her theNapoleon instinct. She loved obstacles. So thus it was what shecommuned with herself, sitting with her hand on her brow, and herswarthy tangle of hair falling all about her face. All women havea pose in which they look best. Jess looked best leaning forwardwith her elbows on her knees. Had there been a fender at herfather's fireside Jess would have often sat on it, for there is adangerous species of girl that, like a cat, looks best sitting ona fender. And such a girl is always aware of the circumstance. 

"He has written to Winsome, " Jess communed with herself. "Well, heshall write to me. He loves her, he thinks; then in time he shalllove me, and be sure perfectly o't. Let me see. Gin she had gottenthis letter, she wadna hae answered it. So he'll come the morn, an' he'll no say a word to her aboot the letter. Na, he'll juistlook if she's pleased like, and gin that gomeral Saunders gied himthe rose, he'll no be ill to please eyther! But afore he gangshame he shall see Jess Kissock, an' hear frae her aboot the youngman frae the Castle!" Jess took another look at the letter. " It'sa bonny hand o' write, " she said, "but Dominie Cairnochan learnedme to write as weel as onybody, an' some day he'll write to me. I'se no be byre lass a' my life. Certes no. There's oor Meg, noo;she'll mairry some ignorant landward man, an' leeve a' her life ina cot hoose, wi' a dizzen weans tum'lin' aboot her! What yin cannalearn, anither can, " continued Jess. "I hae listened to graun'fowk speakin', an' I can speak as weel as onybody. I'll disgracenane. Gin I canna mak' mysel' fit for kirk or manse, my name's noJess Kissock. I'm nae country lump, to be left where I'm set doon, like a milkin' creepie [stool], an' kickit ower when they are dunewi' me. "

It is of such women, born to the full power and passion of sex, and with all the delicate keenness of the feminine brain, utterlywithout principle or scruple, that the Cleopatras are made. Forblack-browed Egypt, the serpent of old Nile, can sit in a countrybyre, and read a letter to another woman. For Cleopatra is nothistory; she is type. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

THE RETURN OF EBIE FARRISH. 

Now Ebie Farrish had been over at the Nether Crae seeing thelassies there in a friendly way after the scene in the byre, forGalloway ploughmen were the most general of lovers. Ebieconsidered it therefore no disloyalty to Jess that he woulddisplay his watch-guard and other accomplishments to the youngmaids at the Crae. Nor indeed would Jess herself have soconsidered it. It was only Meg who was so particular that she didnot allow such little practice excursions of this kind on the partof her young men. 

When Ebie started to go home, it was just midnight. As he cameover the Grannoch bridge he saw the stars reflected in the water, and the long stretches of the loch glimmering pearl grey in thefaint starlight and the late twilight. He thought they looked asif they were running down hill. His thoughts and doings that dayand night had been earthly enough. He had no regrets and fewaspirations. But the coolness of the twilight gave him the senseof being a better man than he knew himself to be. Ebie went to situnder the ministrations of the Reverend Erasmus Teends at twelveby the clock on Sunday. He was a regular attendant. He always wasspruce in his Sunday blacks. He placed himself in the hard pews sothat he could have a view of his flame for the time being. As helistened to the minister he thought sometimes of her and of hiswork, and of the turnip-hoeing on the morrow, but oftenest ofJess, who went to the Marrow kirk over the hills. He thought ofthe rise of ten shillings that he would ask at the next half-year's term, all as a matter of course--just as Robert Jamiesonthe large farmer, thought of the rent day and the market ordinary, and bringing home the "muckle greybeard "full of excellentGlenlivat from the Cross Keys on Wednesday. Above them both theReverend Erasmus Teends droned and drowsed, as Jess Kissock saidwith her faculty for expression, "bummelin' awa like a bubbly-Jockor a bum-bee in a bottle. "

But coming home in the coolness of this night, the ploughman was, for the time being, purged of the grosser humours which comenaturally to strong, coarse natures, with physical frames rampingwith youth and good feeding. He stood long looking into the lanewater, which glided beneath the bridge and away down to the Deewithout a sound. 

He saw where, on the broad bosom of the loch, the stillness laygrey and smooth like glimmering steel, with little puffs of nightwind purling across it, and disappearing like breath from a newknife-blade. He saw where the smooth satin plane rippled to thefirst water-break, as the stream collected itself, deep and black, with the force of the water behind it, to flow beneath the bridge. When Ebie Farrish came to the bridge he was a material Gallowayploughman, satisfied with his night's conquests and chewing thecud of their memory. 

He looked over. He saw the stars, which were perfectly reflected ahundred yards away on the smooth expanse, first waver, thentremble, and lastly break into a myriad delicate shafts of light, as the water quickened and gathered. He spat in the water, andthought of trout for breakfast. But the long roar of the rapids ofthe Dee came over the hill, and a feeling of stillness with it, weird and remote. Uncertain lights shot hither and thither underthe bridge, in strange gleams of reflection. The ploughman wasawed. He continued to gaze. The stillness closed in upon him. Thearomatic breath of the pines seemed to cool him and remove himfrom himself. He had a sense that it was Sabbath morning, and thathe had just washed his face to go to church. It was the nearestthing to worship he had ever known. Such moments come to the mostmaterial, and are their theology. Far off a solitary bird whoopedand whinnied. It sounded mysterious and unknown, the cry of a lostsoul. Ebie Farrish wondered where he would go to when he died. Hethought this over for a little, and then he concluded that it werebetter not to dwell on this subject. But the crying on the lonelyhills awed him. It was only a Jack snipe from whose belated nestan owl had stolen two eggs. But it was Ebie Farrish's good angel. He resolved that he would go seldomer to the village public o'nights, and that he would no more find cakes and ale sweet to hispalate. It was a foregone conclusion that on Saturday night hewould be there, yet what he heard and saw on Grannoch Bridgeopened his sluggish eyes. Of a truth there was that in the worldwhich had not been there for him before. It is to Jess Kissock'scredit, that when Ebie was most impressed by the stillness andmost under the spell of the night, he thought of her. He was onlyan ignorant, godless, good-natured man, who was no more moral thanhe could help; but it is both a testimonial and a compliment whensuch a man thinks of a woman in his best and most solemn moments. 

At that moment Jess Kissock was putting Winsome Charteris's letterinto her pocket. 

There is no doubt that poor, ignorant Ebie, with his highlydeveloped body and the unrestrained and irregular propensities ofhis rudimentary soul, was nearer the Almighty that night than hiskeen-witted and scheming sweetheart. 

A trout leaped in the calm water, and Ebie stopped thinking of theeternities to remember where he had set a line. Far off a cockcrew, and the well-known sound warned Ebie that he had better bedrawing near his bed. He raised himself from the copestone of theparapet, and solemnly tramped his steady way up to the "onstead"of Craig Ronald, which took shape before him as he advanced like alow, grey-bastioned castle. As he entered the low square on hisway across to the stable door he was surprised to notice a gleamof light in the byre. Ebie thought that some tramps weretrespassing on the good nature of the mistress of the house, andhe had the feeling of loyalty to his master's interests whichdistinguished the Galloway ploughman of an older time. He wasmortally afraid of bogles, and would not have crossed the kirkyardafter the glimmer of midnight without seeing a dozen corpse-candles; but tramps were quite another matter, for Ebie was not inthe least afraid of mortal man--except only of Allan Welsh, theMarrow minister. 

So he stole on tiptoe to the byre door, circumnavigating the"wicket, " which poured across the yard its tell-tale plank oflight. Standing within the doorway and looking over the highwooden stall, tenanted in winter by Jock, the shaggy black bull, Ebie saw Jess Kissock, lost in her dreams. The lantern was set onthe floor in front of her. The candle had nearly burned down tothe socket. Jess's eyes were large and brilliant. It seemed toEbie Farrish that they were shining with light. Her red lips werepouted, and there was a warm, unwonted flush on her cheeks. In herdreams she was already mistress of a house, and considering howshe would treat her servants. She would treat them kindly andwell. She had heard her sister, who was servant at Earlston, tellhow the ladies there treated their servants. Jess meant to do justthe same. She meant to be a real lady. Ambition in a woman has adouble chance, for adaptation is inborn along with it. Most men donot succeed very remarkably in anything, because at heart they donot believe in themselves. Jess did. It was her heritage from somePict, who held back under the covert of his native woods so longas the Roman tortoise crept along, shelved in iron, but who draveheadlong into a gap with all his men, when, some accident offormation showed the one chance given in a long day's march. 

Ebie thought he had never seen Jess so beautiful. It had neverstruck him before that Jess was really handsomer than Meg. He onlyknew that there was a stinging wild-fruit fragrance about Jess andher rare favours he had never experienced in the company of anyother woman. And he had a large experience. 

Was it possible that she knew that he was out and was waiting forhim? In this thought, which slowly entered in upon hisastonishment, the natural Ebie forced himself to the front. 

"Jess!" he exclaimed impulsively, taking a step within, the door. Instantly, as though some night-flying bat had flown against it, the candle went out--a breath wafted by him as lightly and assilently as a snowy owl flies home in the twilight. A subtlesomething, the influence of a presence, remained, which mingledstrangely with the odours of the clover in the neuk, and the sournight-smell of the byre. Again there was a perfect silence. Without, a corncrake ground monotonously. A rat scurried along therafter. Ebie in the silence and the darkness had almost persuadedhimself that he had been dreaming, when his foot clattered againstsomething which fell over on the cobble-stones that paved thebyre. He stopped and picked it up. It was the byre lantern. Thewick was still glowing crimson when he opened the little tin door. As he looked it drew slowly upward into a red star, and winkeditself out. It was no dream. Jess had been in the byre. To meetwhom? he asked himself. 

Ebie went thoughtfully up-stairs, climbing the stable ladder asthe first twilight of the dawn was slowly pouring up from beneathinto a lake of light and colour in the east, as water gushes froma strong well-eye. 

"Ye're a nice boy comin' to yer bed at this time o' the mornin', "said Jock Forrest from his bunk at the other side. 

"Nicht-wanderin' bairns needs skelpin'!" remarked Jock Gordon, whohad taken up his abode in a vacant stall beneath. 

"Sleep yer ain sleeps, ye pair o' draft-sacks, in yer beds, "answered Ebie Farrish without heat and simply as a conversationalcounter. 

He did not know that he was quoting the earliest English classic. He had never heard of Chaucer. 

"What wad Jess say?" continued Jock Forrest, sleepily. 

"Ask her, " said Ebie sharply. 

"At any rate, I'm no gaun to be disturbit in my nicht's rest wi'the like o' you, Ebie Farrish! Ye'll eyther come hame in time o'nicht, or ye'll sleep elsewhere--up at the Crae, gin ye like. "

"Mind yer ain business, " retorted Ebie, who could think of nothingelse to say. 

Down below daft Jock Gordon, with some dim appropriateness wasbeginning his elricht croon of--

 "The devil sat on his ain lum-tap, Hech how--black and reeky--"

when Jock Forrest, out of all patience, cried out down to him:"Jock Gordon, gin ye begin yer noise at twa o'clock i' the mornin'I'll come down an' pit ye i' the mill-dam!"

"Maybes ye'll be cryin' for me to pit you i' the mill-dam somewarm day!" said Jock Gordon grimly, "but I'se do naething o' thekind. I'll een bank up the fires an' gie ye a turn till ye're weelbrandered. Ye'll girn for mill-dams then, I'm thinkin'!"

So, grumbling and threatening in his well-accustomed manner, JockGordon returned to the wakeful silence which he kept during thehours usually given to sleep. It was said, however, that he neverreally slept. Indeed, Ebie and Jock were ready to take their oaththat they never went up and down that wooden ladder, from whichthree of the rounds were missing, without seeing Jock Gordon'seyes shining like a cat's out of the dark of the manger where, like an ape, he sat all night cross-legged. 

CHAPTEK XXII. 

A SCARLET POPPY. 

IT was early afternoon at Craig Ronald. Afternoon is quite adifferent time from morning at a farm. Afternoon is slack-water inthe duties of the house, at least for the womenfolk--except in hayand harvest, when it is full flood tide all the time, night andday. But when we consider that the life of a farm town beginsabout four in the morning, it will be readily seen that afternooncomes far on in the day indeed for such as have tasted thefreshness of the morning. 

In the morning, Winsome had seen that every part of her farmmachinery was going upon well-oiled wheels. She had consulted herhonorary factor, who, though a middle-aged man and a bachelor oflong and honourable standing, enrolled himself openly and avowedlyin the army of Winsome's admirers. He used to ask every day whatadditions had been made to the list of her conquests, and tookmuch interest in the details of her costume. This last she mostlydevised for herself with taste which was really a gift natural toher, but which seemed nothing less than miraculous to the maidensand wives of a parish which had its dressmaking done according tothe canons of an art which the Misses Crumbcloth, mantua-makers atthe Dullarg village, had learned twenty-five years before, oncefor all. 

Now it was afternoon, and Winsome was once more at the bake-board. There were few things that Winsome liked better to do, and shedaily tried the beauty of her complexion before the openfireplace, though her grandmother ineffectually suggested that MegKissock would do just as well. 

While Winsome was rubbing her hands with dry meal, beforebeginning, she became conscious that some one was coming up thedrive. So she was not at all astonished when a loud knock in thestillness of the afternoon echoed through the empty house and fardown the stone passages. 

It was Ralph Peden who knocked, as indeed she did not need to tellherself. She called, however, to Meg Kissock. 

"Meg, " she said, "there is the young minister come to see mygrandmother. Go and show him into the parlour. "

Meg looked at her mistress. Her reply was irrelevant. "I was bornon a Friday, " she said. 

But notwithstanding she went, and received the young man. She tookhim into the parlour, where he was set down among strange volutedforeign shells with a pink flush within the wide mouth of everyone of them. Here there was a scent of lavender and subtleessences in the air, and a great stillness. While he sat waiting, he could hear afar off the sound of rippling water. It struck alittle chill over him that, after the letter he had sent, Winsomeshould not have come to greet him herself. From this he argued theworst. She might be offended, or--still more fatal thought--sheand Meg might be laughing over it together. 

A tall, slim girl entered the quiet parlour with a silent, catliketread. She was at his side before he knew it. It was the girl whomhe had met on his way to the Manse the first day of his arrival. Jess's experience as a maid to her ladyship has stood her in goodstead. She had a fineness of build which even the housework of afarm could not coarsen. Besides, Winsome considered Jess delicate, and did not allow her to lift anything really heavy. So ithappened that when Ralph Peden came Jess was putting the freshflowers in the great bowls of low relief chinaware--roses fromthe garden and sprays of white hawthorn, which flowers late inGalloway, blue hyacinths and harebells massed together--yellowmarigolds and glorious scarlet poppies, of which Jess with hertaste of the savage was passionately fond. She had arranged someof these against a pale blue background of bunches of forget-me-nots, with an effect strangely striking in that cool, dusky room. 

When Jess came in Ralph had risen instinctively. He shook handsheartily with her. As she looked up at him, she said:

"Do you remember me?"

Ralph replied with an eager frankness, all the more marked that hehad expected Winsome instead of Jess Kissock: "Indeed, how could Iforget, when you helped me to carry my books that night? I am gladto find you here. I had no idea that you lived here. "

Which was indeed true, for he had not yet been able to grasp theidea that any but Winsome lived at Craig Ronald. 

Jess Kissock, who knew that not many moments were hers before Megmight come in, replied:

"I am here to help with the house. Meg Kissock is my sister. " Shelooked to see if there was anything in Ralph's eyes she couldresent; but a son of the Marrow kirk had not been trained torespect of persons. 

"I am sure you will help very much, " he said, politely. 

"I'm not as strong as my sister, you see, so that I'm generally inthe house, " said Jess, who was carrying two dishes of flowers atonce across the room. At Ralph's feet one of them overset, andpoured all its wealth of blue and white and splashed crimson overthe floor. 

Jess stooped to lift them, crying shame on her own awkwardness. Ralph kindly assisted her. As they stooped to gather themtogether, Jess put forward all her attractions. Her lithe gracenever showed to more advantage. Yet, for all the impression shemade on Ralph, she might as well have wasted her sweetness on JockGordon--indeed, better so, for Jock recognized in her somethingstrangely kin to his own wayward spirit. 

When the flowers were all gathered and put back:

"Now you shall have one for helping, " said Jess, as she had onceseen a lady in England do, and she selected a dark-red, velvetydamask rose from the wealth which she had cut and brought out ofthe garden. Standing on tiptoe, she could scarcely reach hisbutton-hole. 

"Bend down, " she said. Obediently Ralph bent, good-humouredlypatient, to please this girl who had done him a good turn on thatday which now seemed so far away--the day that had brought CraigRonald and Winsome into his life. 

But in spite of his stooping, Jess had some difficulty in pinningin the rose, and in order to steady herself on tiptoe, she reachedup and laid a staying hand on his shoulder. As he bent down, hisface just touched the crisp fringes of her dark hair, which seemeda strange thing to him. 

But a sense of another presence in the room caused him to raisehis eyes, and there in the doorway stood Winsome Charteris, looking so pale and cold that she seemed to be a thousand milesaway. 

"I bid you good-afternoon, Master Peden, " said Winsome quietly; "Iam glad you have had time to come and visit my grandmother. Shewill be glad to see you. "

For some moments Ralph had no words to answer. As for Jess, shedid not even colour; she simply withdrew with the quickness andfeline grace which were characteristic of her, without a flush ora tremor. It was not on such occasions that her heart stirred. When she was gone she felt that things had gone well, even beyondher expectation. 

When Ralph at last found his voice, he said somewhat falteringly, yet with a ring of honesty in his voice which for the time beingwas lost upon Winsome:

"You are not angry with me for coming to-day. You knew I wouldcome, did you not?"

Winsome only said: "My grandmother is waiting for me. You hadbetter go in at once. "

"Winsome, " said Ralph, trying to prolong the period of hisconverse with her, "you are not angry with me for writing what Idid?"

Winsome thought that he was referring to the poem which had cometo her by way of Manse Bell and Saunders Mowdiewort. She wasindignant that he should try to turn the tables upon her and somake her feel guilty. 

"I received nothing that I had any right to keep, " she said. 

Ralph was silent. The blow was a complete one. She did not wishhim to write to her any more or to speak to her on the old termsof friendship. He thought wholly of the letter that he had sent bySaunders the day before, and her coldness and changed attitudewere set down by him to that cause, and not to the embarrassingposition in which Winsome had surprised him when she came into theflower-strewn parlour. He did not know that the one thing a womannever really forgives is a false position, and that even the bestof women in such cases think the most unjust things. Winsome movedtowards the inner door of her grandmother's room. 

Ralph put out his hand as if to touch hers, but Winsome withdrewherself with a swift, fierce movement, and held the door open forhim to pass in. He had no alternative but to obey. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

CONCERNING JOHN BAIRDIESON. 

"Guid e'en to ye, Maister Ralph, " said the gay old lady within, assoon as she caught sight of Ralph. "Keep up yer heid, man, an'walk like a Gilchrist. Ye look as dowie as a yow [ewe] that haslost her lammie. "

Walter Skirving from his arm-chair gave this time no look ofrecognition. He yielded his hand to Ralph, who raised it clay-chill and heavy even in the act to shake. When he let it drop, theold man held up his palm and looked at it. 

"Hae ye gotten aneuch guid Gallawa' lear to learn ye no to rin awafrae a bonny lass yet, Maister Ralph?" said the old lady briskly. She had not many jokes save with Winsome and Meg, and she rode onehard when she came by it. 

But no reply was needed. 

"Aye, aye, weelna, " meditated the old lady, leaning back andfolding her hands like a mediaeval saint of worldly tendencies, "tell me aboot your faither. " "He is very robust and strong inhealth of body, " said Kalph. 

"Ye leeve in Edinbra'?" said the old lady, with a risinginflection of inquiry. 

"Yes, " said Ralph, "we live in James's Court. My father likes tobe among his people. "

"Faith na, a hantle o' braw folk hae leeved in James's Court intheir time. I mind o' the Leddy Partan an' Mistress Girnigo, theking's jeweller's wife haein' a fair even-doon fecht a' aboot whawas to hae the pick o' the hooses on the stair. --Winifred, malassie, come here an' sit doon! Dinna gang flichterin' in an' oot, but bide still an' listen to what Maister Peden has to tell usaboot his farther. "

Winsome came somewhat slowly and reluctantly towards the side ofher grandmother's chair. There she sat holding her hand, andlooking across the room towards the window where, motionless andabstracted, Walter Skirving, who was once so bold and strong, dreamed his life away. 

"I hardly know what to tell you first, " said Ralph, hesitatingly. 

"Hoot, tell me gin your faither and you bide thegither withoot onywoman body, did I no hear that yince; is that the case na?"demanded the lady of Craig Ronald with astonishing directness. 

"It is true enough, " said Ralph, smiling, "but then we have withus my father's old Minister's Man, John Bairdieson. John has usboth in hands and keeps us under fine. He was once a sailor, andcook on a vessel in his wild days; but when he was converted byfalling from the top of a main yard into a dock (as he tellshimself), he took the faith in a somewhat extreme form. But thatdoes not affect his cooking. He is as good as a woman in a house. "

"An' that's a lee, " said the old lady. "The best man's no as guidas the warst woman in a hoose!"

Winsome did not appear to be listening. Of what interest couldsuch things be to her?

Her grandmother was by no means satisfied with Ralph's report. "But that's nae Christian way for folk to leeve, withoot a womano' ony kind i' the hoose--it's hardly human!"

"But I can assure you, Mistress Skirving, that, in spite of whatyou say, John Bairdieson does very well for us. He is, however, terribly jealous of women coming about. He does not allow one ofthem within the doors. He regards them fixedly through the keyholebefore opening, and when he does open, his usual greeting to themis, 'Noo get yer message dune an' be gaun!'"

The lady of Craig Ronald laughed a hearty laugh. 

"Gin I cam' to veesit ye I wad learn him mainners! But what doeshe do, " she continued, "when some of the dames of good standing inthe congregation call on your faither? Does he treat them in thiscavalier way?"

"In that case, " said Ralph, "John listens at my father's door tohear if he is stirring. If there be no sign, John says, 'Theminister's no in, mem, an' I could not say for certain when hewull be!' Once my father came out and caught him in the act, andwhen he charged John with telling a deliberate lie to a lady, Johnreplied, 'A'weel, it'll tak' a lang while afore we mak' up for theaipple!'"

It is believed that John Bairdieson here refers to Eve's fatalgift to Adam. 

"John Bairdieson is an ungallant man. It'll be from him that yelearned to rin awa', " retorted the old lady. 

"Grandmother, " interrupted Winsome, who had suffered quite enoughfrom this, "Master Peden has come to see you, and to ask how youfind yourself to-day. "

"Aye, aye, belike, belike--but Maister Ralph Peden has the powero' his tongue, an' gin that be his errand he can say as muckle forhimsel'. Young fowk are whiles rale offcecious!" she said, turningto Ralph with the air of an appeal to an equal from theunaccountabilities of a child. 

Winsome lifted some stray flowers that Jess Kissock had droppedwhen she sped out of the room, and threw them out of the windowwith an air of disdain. This to some extent relieved her, and shefelt better. It surprised Ralph, however, who, being whollyinnocent and unembarrassed by the recent occurrence, wonderedvaguely why she did it. 

"Noo tell me mair aboot your faither, " continued MistressSkirving. "I canna mak' oot whaur the Marrow pairt o' ye comes in--I suppose when ye tak' to rinnin' awa'. "

"Grandmammy, your pillows are not comfortable; let me sort themfor you. "

Winsome rose and touched the old lady's surroundings in a mannerthat to Ralph was suggestive of angels turning over the white-bosomed clouds. Then Ralph looked at his pleasant querist to findout if he were expected to go on. The old lady nodded to him withan affectionate look. 

"Well, " said Ralph, "my father is like nobody else. I have missedmy mother, of course, but my father has been like a mother fortenderness to me. "

"Yer grandfaither, auld Ralph Gilchrist, was sore missed. Therewas thanksgiving in the parish for three days after he died!" saidthe old lady by way of an anticlimax. 

Winsome looked very much as if she wished to say something, whichbrought down her grandmother's wrath upon her. 

"Noo, lassie, is't you or me that's haein' a veesit frae thisyoung man? Ye telled me juist the noo that he had come to see me. Then juist let us caa' oor cracks, an' say oor says in peace. "

Thus admonished, Winsome was silent. But for the first time shelooked at Ralph with a smile that had half an understanding in it, which made that yonng man's heart leap. He answered quite atrandom for the next few moments. 

"About my father--yes, he always takes up the Bibles when JohnBairdieson preaches. "

"What!" said the old lady. 

"I mean, John Bairdieson takes up the Bibles for him when hepreaches, and as he shuts the door, John says over the railing ina whisper, 'Noo, dinna be losin' the Psalms, as ye did this daythree weeks'; or perhaps, 'Be canny on this side o' the poopit; thehinge is juist pitten on wi' potty [putty];' whiles John will walkhalf-way down the kirk, and then turn to see if my father has satquietly down according to instructions. This John has always donesince the day when some inward communing overcame my father beforehe began his sermon, and he stood up in the pulpit without sayinga word till the people thought that he was in direct communionwith the Almighty. "

"There was nane o' thae fine abstractions aboot your grandfaither, Ralph Gilchrist--na, whiles he was taen sae that he couldna speakhe was that mad, an' aye he gat redder an' redder i' the face, till yince he gat vent, and then the ill words ran frae him likethe Skyreburn [Footnote: A Galloway mountain stream noted forsudden floods. ] in spate. "

"What else did John Bairdieson say to yer faither?" asked Winsome, for the first time that day speaking humanly to Ralph. 

That young man looked gratefully at her, as if she had suddenlydowered him with a fortune. Then he paused to try (because he wasvery young and foolish) to account for the unaccountability ofwomankind. 

He endeavoured to recollect what it was that he had said and whatJohn Bairdieson had said, but with indifferent success. He couldnot remember what he was talking about. 

"John Bairdieson said--John Bairdieson said--It has clean gone outof my mind what John Bairdieson said, " replied Ralph with muchshamefacedness. 

The old lady looked at him approvingly. "Ye're no a Whig. There'sguid bluid in ye, " she said, irrelevantly. 

"Yes, I do remember now, " broke in Ralph eagerly. "I remember whatJohn Bairdieson said. 'Sit doon, minister, ' he said, 'gin yerready to flee up to the blue bauks'" [rafters--said of hens goingto rest at nights]; "'there's a heap o' folk in this congregationthat's no juist sae ready yet. '"

Ralph saw that Winsome and her grandmother were both genuinelyinterested in his father. 

"Ye maun mind that I yince kenned yer faither as weel as e'er Ikenned a son o' mine, though it's mony an' mony a year sin' he wasi' this hoose. " Winsome looked curiously at her grandmother. "Aye, lassie, " she said, "ye may look an' look, but the faither o' himthere cam as near to bein' your ain faither--"

Walter Skirving, swathed in his chair, turned his solemn and awfulface from the window, as though called back to life by his wife'swords. "Silence, woman!" he thundered. 

But Mistress Skirving did not look in the least put out; only shewas discreetly silent for a minute or two after her husband hadspoken, as was her wont, and then she proceeded:

"Aye, brawly I kenned Gilbert Peden, when he used to come in atthat door, wi' his black curls ower his broo as crisp an' bonny ashis son's the day. "

Winsome looked at the door with an air of interest. "Did he cometo see you, grandmammy?" she asked. 

"Aye, aye, what else?--juist as muckle as this young man herecomes to see me. I had the word o' baith o' them for't. RalphPeden says that he comes to see me, an' sae did the faither o'him--"

Again Mistress Skirving paused, for she was aware that her husbandhad turned on her one of his silent looks. 

"Drive on aboot yer faither an' John Rorrison, " she said; "it'sverra entertainin'. "

"Bairdieson, " said Winsome, correctingly. 

Ralph, now reassured that he was interesting Winsome as well, wenton more briskly. Winsome had slipped down beside her grandmother, and had laid her arm across her grandmother's knees till the fullcurve of her breast touched the spare outlines of the elder woman. Ralph wondered if Winsome would ever in the years to come be likeher grandmother. He thought that he could love her a thousandtimes more then. 

"My father, " said Ralph, "is a man much beloved by hiscongregation, for he is a very father to them in all theirtroubles; but they give him a kind of adoration in return thatwould not be good for any other kind of man except my father. Theythink him no less than infallible. 'Dinna mak' a god o' yerminister, ' he tells them, but they do it all the same. "

Winsome looked as if she did not wonder. 

"When I kenned yer faither, " said the old dame, "he wad hae beennocht the waur o' a pickle mair o' the auld Adam in him. It's arale usefu' commodity in this life--"

"Why, grandmother--" began Winsome. 

"Noo, lassie, wull ye haud yer tongue? I'm sair deeved wi' the dino' ye! Is there ony yae thing that a body may say withoot bern'interruptit? Gin it's no you wi' yer 'Grandmither!' like acheepin' mavis, it's him ower by lookin' as if ye had dung doonthe Bible an' selled yersel' to Sawtan. I never was in sic ahoose. A body canna get their tongue rinnin' easy an' comfortablelike, but it's 'Woman, silence!' in a yoice as graund an' awfu' as'The Lord said unto Moses'--or else you wi' yer Englishy peepin'tongue, 'Gran'mither!' as terrible shockit like as if a body weregaun intil the kirk on Sabbath wi' their stockin's doon aboottheir ankles!"

The little outburst seemed mightily to relieve the old lady. Neither of the guilty persons made any signs, save that Winsomeextended her elbow across her grandmother's knee, and poised adimpled chin on her hand, smiling as placidly and contentedly asif her relative's words had been an outburst of admiration. Theold woman looked sternly at her for a moment. Then she relented, and her hand stole among the girl's clustering curls. The littleburst of temper gave way to a semi-humorous look of feignedsternness. 

"Ye're a thankless madam, " she said, shaking her white-cappedhead; "maybe ye think that the fifth commandment says nocht abootgrandmithers; but ye'll be tamed some day, my woman. Mony's thegamesome an' hellicat [madcap] lassie that I hae seen brocht tohersel', an' her wings clippit like a sea-gull's i' the yaird, tethered by the fit wi' a family o' ten or a dizzen--"

Winsome rose and marched out of the room with all the dignity ofoffended youth at the suggestion. The old lady laughed a heartylaugh, in which, however, Ralph did not join. 

"Sae fine an' Englishy the ways o' folk noo, " she went on; "yemauna say this, ye mauna mention that; dear sirse me, I canna mindthem a'. I'm ower auld a Pussy Bawdrous to learn new tricks o'sayin' 'miauw' to the kittlins. But for a' that an' a' that, Ihaena noticed that the young folk are mair particular aboot whatthey do nor they waur fifty years since. Na, but they're that nicethey manna say this and they canna hear that. "

The old lady had got so far when by the sound of retreatingfootsteps she judged that Winsome was out of hearing. Instantlyshe changed her tone. 

"But, young man, " she said, shaking her finger at him as if sheexpected a contradiction, "mind you, there's no a lass i' twuntyparishes like this lassie o' mine. An' dinna think that me an' myguidman dinna ken brawly what's bringin' ye to Craig Ronald. Noo, it's richt an' better nor richt--for ye're yer faither's son, an'we baith wuss ye weel. But mind you that there's sorrow comin' tous a'. Him an' me here has had oor sorrows i' the past, deepburied for mair nor twenty year. "

"I thank you with all my heart, " said Ralph, earnestly. "I neednot tell you, after what I have said, that I would lay my lifedown as a very little thing to pleasure Winsome Charteris. I loveher as I never thought that woman could be loved, and I am not thekind to change. "

"The faither o' ye didna change, though his faither garred himmairry a Gilchrist-an' a guid bit lass she was. But for a' that hedidna change. Na, weel do I ken that he didna change. "

"But, " continued Ralph, "I have no reason in the world to imaginethat Winsome thinks a thought about me. On the contrary, I havesome reason to fear that she dislikes my person; and I would notbe troublesome to her--"

"Hoot toot! laddie, dinna let the Whig bluid mak' a pulin' bairno' ye. Surely ye dinna expect a lass o' speerit to jump at thethocht o' ye, or drap intil yer moo' like a black-ripe cherry affa tree i' the orchard. Gae wa' wi' ye, man! what does a blitheyoung man o' mettle want wi' encouragement--encouragement, fie!"

"Perhaps you can tell me--" faltered Ralph. "I thought--"

"Na, na, I can tell ye naething; ye maun juist find oot foryersel', as a young man should. Only this I wull say, it's only acauldrife Whigamore that wad tak' 'No' for an answer. Mind ye thatgin the forbears o' the daddy o' ye was on the wrang side o'Bothwell Brig that day--an' guid Westland bluid they spilt, naedoot, Whigs though they waur--there's that in ye that rode doonthe West Port wi' Clavers, an' cried:

 'Up wi' the bonnets o' bonny Dundee!'"

"I know, " said Ralph with some of the stiff sententiousness whichhe had not yet got rid of, "that I am not worthy of yourgranddaughter in any respect--"

"My certes, no, " said the sharp-witted dame, "for ye're a man, an'it's a guid blessin' that you men dinna get your deserts, or itwad be a puir lookoot for the next generation, young man. Gae wa'wi' ye, man; mind ye, I'll no' say a word in yer favour, butraither the ither way--whilk, " smiled Mistress Skirving in thedeep still way that she sometimes had in the midst of herliveliness, "whilk will maybe do ye mair guid. But I'm speakin'for my guid-man when I say that ye hae oor best guid-wull. Wethink that ye are a true man, as yer faither was, though sorely hewas used by this hoose. It wad maybes be some amends, " she added, as if to herself. 

Then the dear old lady touched her eyes with a fine handkerchiefwhich she took out of a little black reticule basket on the tableby her side. 

As Ralph rose reverently and kissed her hand before retiring, Walter Skirving motioned him near his chair. Then he drew himdownward till Ralph was bending on one knee. He laid a nervelessheavy hand on the young man's head, and looked for a minute--whichseemed years to Ralph--very fixedly on his eyes. Then dropping hishand and turning to the window, he drew a long, heavy breath. 

Ralph Peden rose and went out. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

LEGITIMATE SPORT. 

As Ralph Peden went through the flower-decked parlour in which hehad met Jess Kissock an hour before, he heard the clang ofcontroversy, or perhaps it is more correct to say, he heard thevoice of Meg Kissock raised to its extreme pitch of command. 

"Certes, my lass, but ye'll no hoodwink me; ye hae dune no yaething this hale mornin' but wander athort [about] the hoose wi'that basket o' flooers. Come you an' gie us a hand wi' the kirnthis meenit! Ye dinna gang a step oot o' the hoose the day!"

Ralph did not think of it particularly at the time, but it wasprobably owing to this utilitarian occupation that he did notagain see the attractive Jess on his way out. For, with all hercleverness, Jess was afraid of Meg. 

Ralph passed through the yard to the gate which led to the hill. He was wonderfully comforted in heart, and though Winsome had beenalternatively cold and kind, he was too new in the ways of girlsto be uplifted on that account, as a more experienced man mighthave been. Still, the interview with the old people had done himgood. 

As he was crossing the brook which flows partly over and partlyunder the road at the horse watering-place, he looked down intothe dell among the tangles of birch and the thick viscous foliageof the green-berried elder. There he caught the flash of a lightdress, and as he climbed the opposite grassy bank on his way tothe village, he saw immediately beneath him the maiden of hisdreams and his love-verses. Now she leaped merrily from stone tostone; now she bent stealthily over till her palms came togetherin the water; now she paused to dash her hair back from herflushed face. And all the time the water glimmered and sparkledabout her feet. With her was Andra Kissock, a bare-legged, bonnetless squire of dames. Sometimes he pursued the wily burntrout with relentless ferocity and the silent intentness of asleuthhound. Often, however, he would pause and with his fingerindicate some favourite stone to Winsome. Then the young lady, utterly forgetful of all else and with tremulous eagerness, delicately circumvented the red-spotted beauties. 

Once throwing her head back to clear the tumbling avalanches ofher hair, she chanced to see Ralph standing silent above. For amoment Winsome was annoyed. She had gone to the hill brook withAndra so that she might not need to speak further with RalphPeden, and here he had followed her. But it did not need a secondlook to show her that he was infinitely more embarrassed than she. This is the thing of all others which is fitted to make a womancalm and collected. It allows her to take the measure of heropportunity and assures her of her superiority. So, with a gay andquipsome wave of the hand, in which Ralph was conscious of somefaint resemblance to her grandmother, she called to him:

"Come down and help us to catch some trout for supper. "

Ralph descended, digging his heels determinedly into the steepbank, till he found himself in the bed of the streamlet. Then helooked at Winsome for an explanation. This was something he hadnot practised in the water of Leith. Andra Kissock glared at himwith a terrible countenance, in which contempt was supposed toblend with a sullen ferocity characteristic of the noble savage. The effect was slightly marred by a black streak of mud which wasdrawn from the angle of his mouth to the roots of his hair. Ralphthought from his expression that trout-fishing of this kind didnot agree with him, and proposed to help Winsome instead of Andra. 

This proposal had the effect of drawing a melodramatic "Ha! ha!"from that youth, ludicrously out of keeping with his usualdemeanour. Once he had seen a play-acting show unbeknown to hismother, when Jess had taken him to Cairn Edward September fair. 

So "Ha! ha!" he said with the look of smothered desperation whichto the unprejudiced observer suggested a pain in his inside. "Youguddle troot!" he cried scornfully, "I wad admire to see ye! Yewad only fyle [dirty] yer shune an' yer braw breeks!"

Ralph glanced at the striped underskirt over which Winsome hadlooped her dress. It struck him with astonishment to note how shehad managed to keep it clean and dry, when Andra was apparentlywet to the neck. 

"I do not know that I shall be of any use, " he said meekly, "but Ishall try. "

Winsome was standing poised on a stone, bending like a lithe maid, her hands in the clear water. There had been a swift and noiselessrush underneath the stone; a few grains of sand rose up where thewhite under part of the trout had touched it as it glided beneath. Slowly and imperceptibly Winsome's hand worked its way beneath thestone. With the fingers of one hand she made that slight swirl ofthe water which is supposed by expert "guddlers" to fascinate thetrout, and to render them incapable of resisting the beckoningfingers. Andra watched breathlessly from the bank above. Ralphcame nearer to see the issue. The long, slender fingers, shiningmellow in the peaty water, were just closing, when the stone onwhich Ralph was standing precariously toppled a little and fellover into the burn with a splash. The trout darted out and in amoment was down stream into the biggest pool for miles. 

Winsome rose with a flush of disappointment, and looked veryreproachfully towards the culprit. Ralph, who had followed thestone, stood up to his knees in the water, looking the picture ofcrestfallen humility. 

Overhead on the bank Andra danced madly like an imp. He would nothave dared to speak to Ralph on any other occasion, but guddling, like curling, loosens the tongue. He who fails or causes thefailures of others is certain to hear very plainly of it fromthose who accompany him to this very dramatic kind of fishing. 

"0' a' the stupid asses!" cried that young man. "Was there eversic a beauty?--a pund wecht gin it was an ounce!--an' to fa' affa stane like a six-months' wean!"

His effective condemnation made Winsome laugh. Ralph laughed alongwith her, which very much increased the anger of Andra, who turnedaway in silent indignation. It was hard to think, just when he hadgot the "prairie flower" of Craig Ronald (for whom he cherished aromantic attachment of the most desperate and picturesque kind)away from the house for a whole long afternoon at the fishing, that this great grown-up lout should come this way and spoil allhis sport. Andra was moved to the extremity of scorn. 

"Hey, mon!" he called to Ralph, who was standing in the water'sedge with Winsome on a miniature bay of shining sand, looking downon the limpid lapse of the clear moss-tinted water slipping overits sand and pebbles--"hey, mon!" he cried. 

"Well, Andra, what is it?" asked Winsome Charteris, looking upafter a moment. She had been busy thinking. 

"Tell that chap frae Enbro', " said Andra, collecting all hisspleen into one tremendous and annihilating phrase--"him thattummilt aff the stane--that there's a feck o' paddocks [a goodmany frogs] up there i' the bog. He micht come up here an' guddlefor paddocks. It wad be safer for the like o' him!" The ironicalmethod is the favourite mode or vehicle of humour among the commonorders in Galloway. Andra was a master in it. 

"Andra, " said Winsome warmly, "you must not--"

"Please let him say whatever he likes. My awkwardness deserves itall, " said Ralph, with becoming meekness. 

"I think you had better go home now, " said Winsome; "it will soonbe time for you to bring the kye home. "

"Hae ye aneuch troots for the mistress's denner?" said Andra, whoknew very well how many there were. 

"There are the four that you got, and the one I got beneath thebank, Andra, " answered Winsome. 

"Nane o' them half the size o' the yin that he fleyed [frightened]frae ablow the big stane, " said Andra Kissock, indicating theculprit once more with the stubby great toe of his left foot. Itwould have done Ralph too much honour to have pointed with hishand. Besides, it was a way that Andrew had at all times. Heindicated persons and things with that part of him which was mostconvenient at the time. He would point with his elbow stucksideways at an acute angle in a manner that was distinctlylibellous. He would do it menacingly with his head, and theindication contemptuous of his left knee was a triumph. But thefinest and most conclusive use of all was his great toe as anindex-finger of scorn. It stuck out apart from all the others, redand uncompromising, a conclusive affidavit of evil conduct. 

"It's near kye-time, " again said Winsome, while Ralph yearned witha great yearning for the boy to betake himself over the moor. ButAndra had no such intention. 

"I'se no gaun a fit till I hae showed ye baith what it is toguddle. For ye mauna gang awa' to Embro" [elbow contemptuous tothe north, where Andra supposed Edinburgh to lie immediately onthe other side of the double-breasted swell of blue Cairnsmuir ofCarsphairn], "an' think that howkin' (wi' a lassie to help ye) inamong the gravel is guddlin'. You see here!" cried Andra, andbefore either Winsome or Ralph could say a word, he had strippedhimself to his very brief breeches and ragged shirt, and waswading into the deepest part of the pool beneath the water-fall. 

Here he scurried and scuttled for all the world like a dipper, with his breast showing white like that of the bird, as he walkedalong the bottom of the pool. Most of the time his head wasbeneath the water, as well as all the rest of his body. His armsbored their way round the intricacies of the boulders at thebottom. His brown and freckled hands pursued the trouts beneaththe banks. Sometimes he would have one in each hand at the sametime. 

When he caught them he had a careless and reckless way of throwingthem up on the bank without looking where he was throwing. Thefirst one he threw in this way took effect on the cheek of RalphPeden, to his exceeding astonishment. 

Winsome again cried "Andra!" warningly, but Andra was far too busyto listen; besides, it is not easy to hear with one's head underwater and the frightened trout flashing in lightning wimplesathwart the pool. 

But for all that, the fisherman's senses were acute, even underthe water; for as Winsome and Ralph were not very energetic incatching the lively speckled beauties which found themselves sounexpectedly frisking upon the green grass, one or two of them(putting apparently their tails into their mouths, and letting go, as with the release of a steel spring) turned a splashingsomersault into the pool. Andra did not seem to notice them asthey fell, but in a little while he looked up with a trout in hishand, the peat-water running in bucketfuls from his hair andshirt, his face full of indignation. 

"Ye're lettin' them back again!" he exclaimed, looking fiercely atthe trout in his hand. "This is the second time I hae catched thisyin wi' the wart on its tail!" he said. "D'ye think I'm catchin'them for fun, or to gie them a change o' air for their healths, like fine fowk that come frae Embro'!"

"Andra, I will not allow--" Winsome began, who felt that on theground of Craig Ronald a guest of her grandmother's should berespected. 

But before she had got further Andra was again under the water, and again the trout began to rain out, taking occasional localeffect upon both of them. 

Finally Andra looked up with an air of triumph. "It tak's ye a'yer time to grup them on the dry land, I'm thinkin', " said he withsome fine scorn; "ye had better try the paddocks. It's safer. " So, shaking himself like a water-dog, he climbed up on the grass, where he collected the fish into a large fishing basket whichWinsome had brought. He looked them over and said, as he handledone of them:

"Oh, ye're there, are ye? I kenned I wad get ye some day, impidence. Ye hae nae business i' this pool ony way. Ye belanghalf a mile faurer up, my lad; ye'll bite aff nae mair o' myheuks. There maun be three o' them i' his guts the noo--"

Here Winsome looked a meaning look at him, upon which Andra said:

"I'm juist gaun. Ye needna tell me that it's kye-time. See you an'be hame to tak' in yer grannie's tea. Ye're mair likely to beahint yer time than me!"

Haying sped this Parthian shaft, Andra betook himself over themoor with his backful of spoil. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

BARRIERS BREAKING. 

"Andra is completely spoiled, " exclaimed Winsome; "he is a cleverboy, and I fear we have given him too much of his own will. OnlyJess can manage him. "

Winsome felt the reference to be somewhat unfortunate. It was, ofcourse, no matter to her whether a servant lass put a flower inRalph Peden's coat; though, even as she said it, she owned toherself that Jess was different from other servant maids, both bynature and that quickness of tongue which she had learned whenabroad. 

Still, the piquant resentment Winsome felt, gave just that touch, of waywardness and caprice which was needed to make her altogethercharming to Ralph, whose acquaintance with women had been chieflywith those of his father's flock, who buzzed about him everywherein a ferment of admiration. 

"Your feet are wet, " said Winsome, with charming anxiety. 

Andra was assuredly now far over the moor. They had rounded thejutting point of rock which shut in the linn, and were now walkingslowly along the burnside, with the misty sunlight shining uponthem, with a glistering and suffused green of fresh leaf sap inits glow. So down that glen many lovers had walked before. 

Ralph's heart beat at the tone of Winsome's inquiry. He hastenedto assure her that, as a matter of personal liking, he ratherpreferred to go with his feet wet in the summer season. 

"Do you know, " said Winsome, confidingly, "that if I dared I wouldrun barefoot over the grass even yet. I remember to this day thehappiness of taking off my stockings when I came home from theKeswick school, and racing over the fresh grass to feel thedaisies underfoot. I could do it yet. "

"Well, let us, " said Ralph Peden, the student in divinity, daringly. 

Winsome did not even glance up. Of course, she could not haveheard, or she would have been angry at the preposteroussuggestion. She thought awhile, and then said:

"I think that, more than anything in the world, I love to sit by awaterside and make stories and sing songs to the rustle of theleaves as the wind sifts among them, and dream dreams all bymyself. "

Her eyes became very thoughtful. She seemed to be on the eve ofdreaming a dream now. 

Ralph felt he must go away. He was trespassing on the pleasaunceof an angel. 

"What do you like most? What would you like best to do in all theworld?" she asked him. 

"To sit with you by the waterside and watch you dream, " saidRalph, whose education was proceeding by leaps and bounds. 

Winsome risked a glance at him, though well aware that it wasdangerous. 

"You are easily satisfied, " she said; "then let us do it now. "

So Ralph and Winsome sat down like boy and girl on the fallentrunk of a fir-tree, which lay across the water, and swung theirfeet to the rhythm of the wimpling burn beneath. 

"I think you had better sit at the far side of that branch, " saidWinsome, suspiciously, as Ralph, compelled by the exigencies ofthe position, settled himself precariously near to her section ofthe tree-trunk. 

"What is the matter with this?" asked Ralph, with an innocentlook. Now no one counterfeits innocence worse than a reallyinnocent man who attempts to be more innocent than he is. 

So Winsome looked at him with reproach in her eyes, and slowly sheshook her head. "It might do very well for Jess Kissock, but forme it will balance better if you sit on the other side of thebranch. We can talk just as well. "

Ralph had thought no more of Jess Kissock and her flower from themoment he had seen Winsome. Indeed, the posy had droppedunregarded from his button-hole while he was gathering up thetrout. There it had lain till Winsome, who had seen it fall, accidentally set her foot on it and stamped it into the grass. This indicates, like a hand on a dial, the stage of herprepossession. A day before she had nothing regarded a flowergiven to Ralph Peden; and in a little while, when the long curvehas at last been turned, she will not regard it, though a hundredwomen give flowers to the beloved. 

"I told you I should come, " said Ralph, beginning the personaltale which always waits at the door, whatever lovers may say whenthey first meet. Winsome was meditating a conversation about thescenery of the dell. She needed also some botanical informationwhich should aid her in the selection of plants for a herbarium. But on this occasion Ralph was too quick for her. "I told you Ishould come, " said Ralph boldly, "and so you see I am here, " heconcluded, rather lamely. 

"To see my grandmother, " said Winsome, with a touch of archness inher tone or in her look--Ralph could not tell which, though heeyed her closely. He wished for the first time that the dark-browneyelashes which fringed her lids were not so long. He fanciedthat, if he could only have seen the look in the eyes hiddenunderneath, he might have risked changing to the other side of theunkindly frontier of fir-bough which marked him off from the landof promise on the farther side. 

But he could not see, and in a moment the chances were past. 

"Not only to see your grandmother, who has been very kind to me, but also to see you, who have not been at all kind to me, "answered Ralph. 

"And pray, Master Ralph Peden, how have I not been kind to you?"said Winsome with dignity, giving him the full benefit of a pairof apparently reproachful eyes across the fir-branch. 

Now Ralph had strange impulses, and, like Winsome, certainly didnot talk by rule. 

"I do wish, " he said complainingly, with his head a little to oneside, "that you would only look at me with one eye at a time. Twolike that are too much for a man. "

This is that same Ralph Peden whose opinions on woman were writtenin a lost note-book which at this present moment is--we shall notsay where. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

SUCH SWEET PERIL. 

Winsome looked away down the glen, and strove to harden her faceinto a superhuman indignation. 

"That he should dare--the idea!"

But it so happened that the idea so touched that rare gift ofhumour, and the picture of herself looking at Ralph Peden solemnlywith one eye at a time, in order at once to spare hissusceptibilities and give the other a rest, was too much for her. She laughed a peal of rippling merriment that sent all theblackbirds indignant out of their copses at the infringement oftheir prerogative. 

Ralph's humour was slower and a little grimmer than Winsome's, whose sunny nature had blossomed out amid the merry life of thewoods and streams. But there was a sternness in both of them aswell, that was of the heather and the moss hags. And that would indue time come out. It is now their day of love and bounding life. And there are few people in this world who would not be glad tosit just so at the opening of the flower of love. Indeed, it washardly necessary to tell one another. 

Laughter, say the French (who think that their l'amour is love, and so will never know anything), kills love. But not the kind oflaughter that rang in the open dell which peeped like the end of agreat green-lined prospect glass upon the glimmering levels ofLoch Grannoch; nor yet the kind of love which in alternatecurrents pulsed to and fro between the two young people who sat sodemurely on either side of the great, many-spiked fir-branch. 

"Is not this nice?" said Winsome, shrugging her shoulderscontentedly and swinging her feet. 

Their laughter made them better friends than before. Theresponsive gladness in each other's eyes seemed part of themidsummer stillness of the afternoon. Above, a red squirreldropped the husks of larch tassels upon them, and peered down uponthem with his bright eyes. He was thinking himself of householdduties, and had his own sweetheart safe at home, nestling in thebowl of a great beech deep in the bowering wood by the loch. 

"I liked to hear you speak of your father to-day, " said Winsome, still swinging her feet girlishly. "It must be a great delight tohave a father to go to. I never remember father or mother. "

Her eyes were looking straight before her now, and a depth oftender wistfulness in them went to Ralph's heart. He was beginningto hate the branch. 

"My father, " he said, "is often stern to others, but he has neverbeen stern to me--always helpful, full of tenderness and kindness. Perhaps that is because I lost my mother almost before I canremember. "

Winsome's wet eyes, with the lashes curving long over the underside of the dark-blue iris, were turned full on him now with thetenderness of a kindred pity. 

"Do you know I think that your father was once kind to my mother. Grandmother began once to tell me, and then all at once would tellme no more--I think because grandfather was there. "

"I did not know that my father ever knew your mother, " answeredRalph. 

"Of course, he would never tell you if he did, " said the woman ofexperience, sagely; "but grandmother has a portrait in an ovalminiature of your father as a young man, and my mother's name ison the back of it. "

"Her maiden name?" queried Ralph. 

Winsome Charteris nodded. Then she said wistfully: "I wish I knewall about it. I think it is very hard that grandmother will nottell me!"

Then, after a silence which a far-off cuckoo filled in with thatvoice of his which grows slower and fainter as the midsummer heatscome on, Winsome said abruptly, "Is your father ever hard and--unkind?"

Ralph started to his feet as if hastily to defend his father. There was something in Winsome's eyes that made him sit downagain--something shining and tender and kind. 

"My father, " he said, "is very silent and reserved, as I fear Itoo have been till I came down here" (he meant to say, "Till I metyou, dear, " but he could not manage it), "but he is never hard orunkind, except perhaps on matters connected with the Marrow kirkand its order and discipline. Then he becomes like a stone, andhas no pity for himself or any. I remember him once forbidding meto come into the study, and compelling me to keep my own garret-room for a month, for saying that I did not see much differencebetween the Marrow kirk and the other kirks. But I am sure hecould never be unkind or hurtful to any one in the world. But whydo you ask, Mistress Winsome?"

"Because--because--" she paused, looking down now, the underwellsof her sweet eyes brimming to the overflow--"because somethinggrandfather said once, when he was very ill, made me wonder ifyour father had ever been unkind to my mother. "

Two great tears overflowed from under the dark lashes and ran downWinsome's cheek. Ralph was on the right side of the branch now, and, strangely enough, Winsome did not seem to notice it. He had alace-edged handkerchief in his hand which had been his mother's, and all that was loving and chivalrous in his soul was stirred atthe sight of a woman's tears. He had never seen them before, andthere is nothing so thrilling in the world to a young man. Gently, with a light, firm hand, he touched Winsome's cheek, instinctivelymurmuring tenderness which no one had ever used to him since thatday long ago, when his mother had hung, with the love of a womanwho knows that she must give up all, over the cot of a boy whosefuture she could not foresee. 

For a thrilling moment Winsome's golden coronet of curls touchedhis breast, and, as he told himself after long years, restedwillingly there while his heart beat at least ten times. Unfortunately, it did not take long to beat ten times. 

One moment more, and without any doubt Ralph would have takenWinsome in his arms. But the girl, with that inevitable instinctwhich tells a woman when her waist or her lips are in danger--matters upon which no woman is ever taken by surprise, whatevershe may pretend--drew quietly back. The time was not yet. 

"Indeed, you must not, you must not think of me. You must go away. You know that there are only pain and danger before us if you cometo see me any more. "

"Indeed, I do not know anything of the kind. I am sure that myfather could never be unkind to any creature, and I am certainthat he was not to your mother. But what has he to do with us, Winsome?"

Her name sounded so perilously sweet to her, said thus in Ralph'slow voice, that once again her eyes met his in that full, steadygaze which tells heart secrets and brings either life-long joys orunending regrets. Nor--as we look--can we tell which?

"I cannot speak to you now, Ralph, " she said, "but I know that youought not to come to see me any more. There must be somethingstrange and wicked about me. I feel that there is a cloud over me, Ralph, and I do not want you to come under it. "

At the first mention of his name from the lips of his beloved, Ralph drew very close to her, with that instinctive drawing whichhe was now experiencing. It was that irresistible first love of aman who has never wasted himself even on the harmless flirtationswhich are said to be the embassies of love. 

But Winsome moved away from him, walking down towards the mouth ofthe linn, through the thickly wooded glen, and underneath theoverarching trees, with their enlacing lattice-work of curvingboughs. 

"It is better not, " she said, almost pleadingly, for her strengthwas failing her. She almost begged him to be merciful. 

"But you believe that I love you, Winsome?" he persisted. 

Low in her heart of hearts Winsome believed it. Her ear drank inevery word. She was silent only because she was thirsty to hearmore. But Ralph feared that he had fatally offended her. 

"Are you angry with me, Winsome?" he said, bending from hismasculine height to look under the lilac sunbonnet. 

Winsome shook her head. "Not angry, Ralph, only sorry to theheart. "

She stopped and turned round to him. She held out a hand, whenRalph took it in both of his. There was in the touch adetermination to keep the barriers slight but sure between them. He felt it and understood. 

"Listen, Ralph, " she said, looking at him with shining eyes, inwhich another man would have read the love, "I want you tounderstand. There is a fate about those who love me. My motherdied long ago; my father I never knew; my grandfather andgrandmother are--what you know, because of me; Mr. Welsh, at theManse, who used to love me and pet me when I was a little girl, now does not speak to me. There is a dark cloud all about me!"said Winsome sadly, yet bravely and determinedly. 

Yet she looked as bright and sunshiny as her own name, as if Godhad just finished creating her that minute, and had left theSabbath silence of thanksgiving in her eyes. Ralph Peden may beforgiven if he did not attend much to what she said. As long asWinsome was in the world, he would love her just the same, whatever she said. 

"What the cloud is I cannot tell, " she went on; "but mygrandfather once said that it would break on whoever loved me--and--and I do not want that one to be you. "

Ralph, who had kept her hand a willing prisoner, close and warm inhis, would have come nearer to her. 

He said: "Winsome, dear" (the insidious wretch! he thought that, because she was crying, she would not notice the addition, but shedid)--"Winsome, dear, if there be a cloud, it is better that itshould break over two than over one. "

"But not over you, " she said, with a soft accent, which shouldhave been enough, for any one, but foolish Ralph was already fixedon his own next words:

"If you have few to love you, let me be the one who will love youall the time and altogether. I am not afraid; there will be two ofus against the world, dear. "

Winsome faltered. She had not been wooed after this manner before. It was perilously sweet. Little ticking pulses beat in her head. Agreat yearning came to her to let herself drift up on a sea oflove. That love of giving up all, which is the precious privilege, the saving dowry or utter undoing of women, surged in upon herheart. 

She drew away her hand, not quickly, but slowly and firmly, and asif she meant it. "I have come to a decision--I have made a vow, "she said. She paused, and looked at Ralph a little defiantly, hoping that he would take the law into his own hands, and forbidthe decision and disallow the vow. 

But Ralph was not yet enterprising enough, and took her words alittle too seriously. He only stood looking at her and waiting, asif her decision were to settle the fate of kingdoms. 

Then Winsome emitted the declaration which has been so often made, at which even the more academic divinities are said to smile, "Iam resolved never to marry!"

An older man would have laughed. He might probably have heardsomething like this before. But Ralph had no such experience, andhe bowed his head as to an invincible fate--for which stupidityWinsome's grandmother would have boxed his ears. 

"But I may still love you, Winsome?" he said, very quietly andgently. 

"Oh, no, you must not--you must not love me! Indeed, you must notthink of me any more. You must go away. "

"Go away I can and will, if you say so, Winsome; but even you donot believe that I can forget you when I like. "

"And you will go away?" said Winsome, looking at him with eyesthat would have chained a Stoic philosopher to the spot. 

"Yes, " said Ralph, perjuring his intentions. 

"And you will not try to see me any more--you promise?" she added, a little spiteful at the readiness with which he gave his word. 

So Ralph made a promise. He succeeded in keeping it just twenty-four hours--which was, on the whole, very creditable, considering. 

What else he might have promised we cannot tell--certainlyanything else asked of him so long as Winsome continued to look athim. 

Those who have never made just such promises, or listened to thembeing made--occupations equally blissful and equally vain--hadbetter pass this chapter by. It is not for the uninitiated. But itis true, nevertheless. 

So in silence they walked down to the opening of the glen. As theyturned into the broad expanse of glorious sunshine the shadowswere beginning to slant towards them. Loch Grannoch was darkeninginto pearl grey, under the lee of the hill. Down by the high-backed bridge, which sprang at a bound over the narrows of thelane, there was a black patch on the greensward, and the tripod ofthe gipsy pot could faintly be distinguished. 

Ralph, who had resumed Winsome's hand as a right, pointed it out. It is strange how quickly pleasant little fashions of that kindtend to perpetuate themselves!

As Winsome's grandmother would have said, "It's no easy turnin' acoo when she gets the gate o' the corn. "

Winsome looked at the green patch and the dark spot upon it. "Tellme, " she said, looking up at him, "why you ran away that day?"

Ralph Peden was nothing if not frank. "Because, " he said, "Ithought you were going to take off your stockings!"

Through the melancholy forebodings which Winsome had so recentlyexhibited there rose the contagious blossom of mirth, that nevercould be long away even from such a fate-harassed creature asWinsome Charteris considered herself to be. "Poor fellow, " shesaid, "you must indeed have been terribly frightened!"

"I was, " said Ralph Peden, with conviction. "But I do not think Ishould feel quite the same about it now!"

They walked silently to the foot of the Craig Ronald loaning, where by mutual consent they paused. 

Winsome's hand was still in Ralph's. She had forgotten to take itaway. She was, however, still resolved to do her duty. 

"Now you are sure you are not going to think of me any more?" sheasked. 

"Quite sure, " said Ralph, promptly. 

Winsome looked a little disappointed at the readiness of theanswer. "And you won't try to see me any more?" she asked, plaintively. 

"Certainly not, " replied Ralph, who had some new ideas. 

Winsome looked still more disappointed. This was not what she hadexpected. 

"Yes, " said Ralph, "because I shall not need to think of youagain, for I shall never stop thinking of you; and I shall not tryto see you again, because I know I shall. I shall go away, but Ishall come back again; and I shall never give you up, though everyfriend forbid and every cloud in the heavens break!"

The gladness broke into his love's face in spite of all hergallant determination. 

"But remember, " said Winsome, "I am never going to marry. On thatpoint I am quite determined. "

"You can forbid me marrying you, Winsome dear, " said Ralph, "butyou cannot help me loving you. "

Indeed on this occasion and on this point of controversy Winsomedid not betray any burning desire to contradict him. She gave himher hand--still with the withholding power in it, however, whichtold Ralph that his hour was not yet come. 

He bowed and kissed it--once, twice, thrice. And to him who hadnever kissed woman before in the way of love, it was more thanmany caresses to one more accustomed. 

Then she took her way, carrying her hand by her side tingling withconsciousness. It seemed as if Ebie Farrish, who was at thewatering-stone as she passed, could read what was written upon itas plain as an advertisement. She put it, therefore, into thelilac sunbonnet and so passed by. 

Ralph watched her as she glided, a tall and graceful young figure, under the archway of the trees, till he could no longer see herlight dress glimmering through the glades of the scattered oaks. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

THE OPINIONS OF SAUNDERS MOWDIEWORT UPON BESOMSHANKS. 

Ralph Peden kept his promise just twenty-four hours, which underthe circumstances was an excellent performance. That evening, onhis return to the manse, Manse Bell handed him, with a fineaffectation of unconcern, a letter with the Edinburgh post-mark, which had been brought with tenpence to pay, from Cairn Edward. Manse Bell was a smallish, sharp-tongued woman of forty, with hereyes very close together. She was renowned throughout the countryfor her cooking and her temper, the approved excellence of the onebeing supposed to make up for the difficult nature of the other. 

The letter was from his father. It began with many inquiries as tohis progress in the special studies to which he had been devotinghimself. Then came many counsels as to avoiding all entanglementswith the erroneous views of Socinians, Erastians, and Pelagians Inconclusion, a day was suggested on which it would be convenientfor the presbytery of the Marrow kirk to meet in Edinburgh inorder to put Ralph through his trials for license. Then it wasthat Ralph Peden felt a tingling sense of shame. Not only had heto a great extent forgotten to prepare himself for hisexaminations, which would be no great difficulty to a collegescholar of his standing, but unconsciously to himself his mind hadslackened its interest in his licensing. The Marrow kirk hadreceded from him as the land falls back from a ship which puts outto sea, swiftly and silently. He was conscious that he had paidfar more attention to his growing volume of poems than he had doneto his discourses for license; though indeed of late he had givenlittle attention to either. 

He went up-stairs and looked vaguely at his books. He found thatit was only by an effort that he could at all think himself intothe old Ralph, who had shaken his head at Calvin under the broom-bush by the Grannoch Water. Sharp penitence rode hard upon Ralph'sconscience. He sat down among his neglected books. From these hedid not rise till the morning fully broke. At last he lay down onthe bed, after looking long at the ridge of pines which stoodsharp up against the morning sky, behind which Craig Ronald lay. Then the underlying pang, which he had been crushing down by thenight's work among the Hebrew roots, came triumphantly to thesurface. He must leave the manse of Dullarg, and with it thatsolitary white farmhouse on the braeface, the orchard at the backof it, and the rose-clambered gable from which a dear windowlooked down the valley of the Grannoch, and up to the heatherybrow of the Crae Hill. 

So, unrefreshed, yet unconscious of the need of any refreshment, Ralph Peden rose and took his place at the manse table. 

"I saw your candle late yestreen, " said the minister, pausing tolook at the young man over the wooden platter of porridge whichformed the frugal and sufficient breakfast of the two. 

Porridge for breakfast and porridge for supper are the cure-allsof the true Galloway man. It is not every Scot who stands throughall temptation so square in the right way as morning and night toconfine himself to these; but he who does so shall have his rewardin a rare sanity of judgment and lightness of spirit, and acapacity for work unknown to countrymen of less Spartan habit. 

So Ralph answered, looking over his own "cogfu' o' brose" as ManseBell called them, "I was reading the book of Joel for the secondtime. "

"Then you have, " said the minister, "finished your studies in theScripture character of the truly good woman of the Proverbs, withwhich you were engaged on your first coming here?"

"I have not quite finished, " said Ralph, looking a littlestrangely at the minister. 

"You ought always to finish one subject before you begin another, "said Mr. Welsh, with a certain slow sententiousness. 

By-and-bye Ralph got away from the table, and in the silence ofhis own room gave himself to a repentant and self-accusing day ofstudy. Remorsefully sad, with many searchings of heart, hequestioned whether indeed he were fit for the high office ofminister in the kirk of the Marrow; whether he could now acceptthat narrow creed, and take up alone the burden of these manifoldprotestings. It was for this that he had been educated; it was forthis that he had been given his place at his father's desk sinceever he could remember. 

Here he had studied in the far-off days of his boyhood strangedeep books, the flavour of which only he retained. He had learnedhis letters out of the Bible--the Old Testament. He had gonethrough the Psalms from beginning to end before he was six. Heremembered that the paraphrases were torn out of all the Bibles inthe manse. Indeed, they existed only in a rudimentary form even inthe great Bible in the kirk (in which by some oversight a heathenbinder had bound them), but Allan Welsh had rectified this bypasting them up, so that no preacher in a moment of demoniacpossession might give one out. What would have happened if thishad occurred in the Marrow kirk it is perhaps better onlyguessing. At twelve Ralph was already far on in Latin and Greek, and at thirteen he could read plain narrative Hebrew, and had aHebrew Bible of his own in which he followed his father, to theadmiration of all the congregation. 

Prigs of very pure water have sometimes been manufactured by justsuch means as this. 

Sometimes his father would lean over and say, "My son, what is theexpression for that in the original?" whereupon Ralph would readthe passage. It was between Gilbert Peden and his Maker thatsometimes he did this for pride, and not for information; butRalph was his only son, and was he not training him, as all knew, in order that he might be a missionary apostle of the great truthsof the protesting kirk of the Marrow, left to testify lonely andforgotten among the scanty thousands of Scotland, yet carryingindubitably the only pure doctrine as it had been delivered to thesaints?

But, in spite of all, the lad's bent was really towardsliterature. The books of verses which he kept under lock and keywere the only things that he had ever concealed from his father. Again, since he had come to man's estate, the articles he hadcovertly sent to the Edinburgh Magazine were manifest tokens ofthe bent of his mind. All the more was he conscious of this, thathe had truly lived his life before the jealous face of hisfather's God, though his heart leaned to the milder divinity andthe kindlier gospel of One who was the Bearer of Burdens. 

Ralph lay long on his bed, on which he had lain down at fulllength to think out his plans, as his custom was. It did not meanto leave Winsome, this call to Edinburgh. His father would notutterly refuse his consent, though he might urge long delays. And, in any case, Edinburgh was but two days' journey from the Dullarg;two days on the road by the burnsides and over the heather hillswas nothing to him. But, for all that, the aching would not bestilled. Hearts are strange, illogical things; they will not beargued with. 

Finally, he rose with the heart of him full of the intention oftelling Winsome at once. He would write to her and tell her thathe must see her immediately. It was necessary for him to acquainther with what had occurred. So, without further question as to hismotive in writing, Ralph rose and wrote a letter to give toSaunders Mowdiewort. The minister's man was always ready to take aletter to Craig Ronald after his day's work was over. Hisinclinations jumped cheerfully along with the shilling whichRalph--who had not many such--gave him for his trouble. Within adrawer, the only one in his room that would lock, on the top ofRalph's poems lay the white moss-rose and the forget-me-notswhich, as a precious and pregnant emblem from his love, Saundershad brought back with him. 

As Ralph sat at the window writing his letter to Winsome, he sawover the hedge beneath his window the bent form of Allan Welsh--his great, pallid brow over-dominating his face--walking slowly toand fro along the well-accustomed walk, at one end of which wasthe little wooden summer house in which was his private oratory. Even now Ralph could see his lips moving in the instancy of hisunuttered supplication. His inward communing was so intense thatthe agony of prayer seemed to shake his frail body. Ralph couldsee him knit his hands behind his back in a strong tension ofnerves. Yet it seemed a right and natural thing for Ralph to beimmersed in his own concerns, and to turn away with the lighttribute of a sigh to finish his love-letter--for, after all (saythey), love is only a refined form of selfishness. 

"Beloved, " wrote Ralph, "among my many promises to you yestereven, I did not promise to refrain from writing to you; or if Idid, I ask you to put off your displeasure until you have read myletter. I am not, you said, to come to see you. Then will you cometo meet me? You know that I would not ask you unless the matterwere important. I am at a cross-roads, and I cannot tell which wayto go. But I am sure that you can tell me, for your word shall beto me as the whisper of a kind angel. Meet me to-night, I beseechyou, for ere long I must go very far away, and I have much to sayto thee, my beloved! Saunders will bring any message of time orplace safely. Believing that you will grant me this request--forit is the first time and may be the last--and with all my heartgoing out to thee, I am the man who truly loves thee. --RALPHPEDEN. "

It was when Saunders came over from his house by the kirkyard thatRalph left his books and went down to find him. Saunders was inthe stable, occupying himself with the mysteries of Birsie'sstraps and buckles, about which he was as particular as though hewere driving a pair of bays every day. 

"An' this is the letter, an' I'm to gie it to the same lass as Igied the last yin till? I'll do that, an' thank ye kindly, " saidSaunders, putting the letter into one pocket and Ralph's shillinginto the other; "no that I need onything but white silver kind o'buckles friendship. It's worth your while, an' its worth my while--that's the way I look at it. "

Ralph paused a moment. He would have liked to ask what Meg said, and how Winsome looked, and many other things about Saunders'slast visit; but the fear of appearing ridiculous even to Saunderswithheld him. 

The grave-digger went on: "It's a strange thing--love--it levelsa'. Noo there's me, that has had a wife an' burriet her; I'm juistas keen aboot gettin' anither as if I had never gotten the besomi' the sma' o' my back. Ye wad never get a besom in the sma' o'yer back?" he said inquiringly. 

"No, " said Ralph, smiling in spite of himself. 

"Na, of course no; ye havna been mairrit. But bide a wee; she's afell active bit lass, that o' yours, an' I should say"--hereSaunders spoke with the air of a connoisseur--"I wad say that shemicht be verra handy wi' the besom. "

"You must not speak in that way, " began Ralph, thinking ofWinsome. But, looking at the queer, puckered face of Saunders, hecame to the conclusion that it was useless to endeavour to impressany of his own reverence upon him. It was not worth the pains, especially as he was assuredly speaking after his kind. 

"Na, of course no, " replied Saunders, with a kind of sympathy foryouth and inexperience in his tone; "when yer young an' gauncoortin' ye dinna think o' thae things. But bide a wee till yegann on the same errand the second time, and aiblins the thirdtime--I've seen the like, sir--an' a' thae things comes intil yerreckoning, so so speak. "

"Really, " said Ralph, "I have not looked so far forward. "

Saunders breathed on his buckle and polished it with the tail ofhis coat, after which he rubbed it on his knee. Then he held it upcritically in a better light. Still it did not please him, so hebreathed on it once more. 

"'Deed, an' wha could expect it? It's no in youth to think o' thaethings--no till it's ower late. Noo, sir, I'll tell ye, whan I wascoortin' my first, afore I gat her, I could hae etten [eaten] her, an' the first week efter Maister Teends mairrit us, I juist dancedI was that fond o' her. But in anither month, faith, I thocht thatshe wad hae etten me, an' afore the year was oot I wussed she had. Aye, aye, sir, it's waur nor a lottery, mairriage--it's a greatmystery. "

"But how is it, then, that you are so anxious to get marriedagain?" asked Ralph, to whom these conversations with the Cuifwere a means of lightening his mind of his own cares. 

"Weel, ye see, Maister Ralph, " pursued the grave-digger, "I'm byinclination a social man, an' the nature o' my avocation, so tospeak, is a wee unsocial. Fowk are that curious. Noo, when I ganginto the square o' a forenicht, the lads 'll cry oot, 'Dinna belookin' my gate, Saunders, an' wonnerin' whether I'll need aseven-fit hole, or whether a six-fit yin will pass!' Or maybe thebairns'll cry oot, 'Hae ye a skull i' yer pooch?' The like o' thattells on a man in time, sir. "

"Without doubt, " said Ralph; "but how does matrimony, for eitherthe first or the second time, cure that?"

"Weel, sir, ye see, mairriage mak's a man kind o' independentlike. Say, for instance, ye hae been a' day at jobs up i' theyaird, an' it's no been what ye micht ca' pleesant crunchin'through green wud an' waur whiles. Noo, we'll say that juist as aprecaution, ye ken, ye hae run ower to the Black Bull for a glessor twa at noo's an' nan's" [now and then]. 

"_I_ have run over, Saunders?" queried Ralph. 

"Oh, it's juist a mainner o' speakin', sir; I was takin' apersonal example. Weel, ye gang hame to the wife aboot thegloamin', an' ye open the door, an' ye says, says you, pleesantlike, bein' warm aboot the wame, ' Guid e'en to ye, guidwife, mydawtie, an' hoos a' thing been gaim wi' ye the day?' D'ye thinkshe needs to luik roon' to ken a' aboot the Black Bull? Na, na, she kens withoot even turnin' her heid. She kenned by yer verrafit as ye cam' up the yaird. She's maybe stirrin' something i' thepat. She turns roon' wi the pat-stick i' her haund. 'I'll dawtieye, my man!' she says, an' WHANG, afore ye ken whaur ye are, thepat-stick is acquant wi' the side o' yer heid. 'I'll dawtie ye, rinnin' rakin' to the public-hoose wi' yer hard-earned shillin's. Dawtie!' quo' she; 'faith, the Black Bull's yer dawtie!'"

"But how does she know?" asked Ralph, in the interests of truthand scientific inquiry. 

Saunders thought that he was speaking with an eye on the future. He lifted up his finger solemnly: "Dinna ye ever think that ye cangang intil a public hoose withoot yer wife kennin'. Na, it's nothe smell, as an unmarrit man micht think; and peppermints is avain thing, also ceenimons. It's juist their faculty--aye, that'swhat it is--it's a faculty they hae; an' they're a' alike. Theyken as weel wi' the back o' their heids till ye, an' their nosesfair stuffit wi' the cauld, whether ye hae been makin' a ca' ortwa on the road hame on pay-nicht. I ken it's astonishin' to asingle man, but ye had better tak' my word for't, it's the case. 'Whaur's that auchteenpence?' Betty used to ask; 'only twal an'sixpence, an' your wages is fourteen shillings--forbye yourchance frae mourners for happen the corp up quick'--then ye hummeran' ha', an' try to think on the lee ye made up on the road doon;but it's a gye queery thing that ye canna mind o't. It's an oddthing hoo jooky [nimble] a lee is whan ye want it in time o'need!"

Ralph looked so interested that Saunders quite felt for him. 

"And what then?" said he. 

"Then, " said Saunders, nodding his head, so that it made theassertion of itself without any connection with his body--"then, say ye, then is juist whaur the besom comes in"--he paused amoment in deep thought--"i' the sma' o' yer back!" he added, in alow and musing tone, as of one who chews the cud of old andpleasant memories. "An' ye may thank a kind Providence gin there'splenty o' heather on the end o't. Keep aye plenty o' heather onthe end o' the besom, " said Saunders; "a prudent man aye sees tothat. What is't to buy a new besom or twa frae a tinkler body, whan ye see the auld yin gettin' bare? Nocht ava, ye can tak' theauld yin oot to the stable, or lose it some dark nicht on themoor! O aye, a prudent man aye sees to his wife's besom. " Saunderspaused, musing. "Ye'll maybe no believe me, but often what mak'sa' the hale differ atween a freendly turn up wi' the wife, thatkind o' cheers a man up, an' what ye micht ca' an onpleesantness--is juist nae mair nor nae less than whether there's plenty o'heather on his wife's besom. "

Saunders had now finished all his buckles to his satisfaction. Hesummed up thus the conclusion of his great argument: "A besom i'the sma' o' yer back is interestin' an' enleevinin', whan it's newan' bushy; but it's the verra mischief an' a' whan ye get the bareshank on the back o' yer heid--an' mind ye that. "

"I am very much indebted to you for the advice, Saunders. "

"Aye, sir, " said Saunders, "it's sound! it's sound! I can vouchfor that. "

Ralph went towards the door and looked out. The minister was stillwalking with his hands behind his back. He did not in the leasthear what Saunders had said. He turned again to him. "And what doyou want another wife for, then, Saunders?"

"'Deed, Maister Ralph, to tell ye the Guid's truth, it's awfu'deevin' [deafening] leevin' wi' yin's mither. She's a awfu' womanto talk, though a rale guid mither to me. Forbye, she canna tak'the besom to ye like yer ain wife--the wife o' yer bosom, so tospeak--when ye hae been to the Black Bull. It's i' the natur' o'things that a man maun gang there by whiles; but on the itherhaund it's richt that he should get a stap ta'en oot o' his bickerwhen he comes hame, an' some way or ither the best o' mithershaena gotten the richt way o't like a man's ain wife. "

"And you think that Meg would do it well?" said Ralph, smiling. 

"Aye, sir, she Avad that, though I'm thinkin' that she wad bekindlier wi' the besom-shank than Jess; no that I wad for a momentexpect that there wad be ony call for siclike, " he said, with alook of apology at Ralph, which was entirely lost on that youngman, "but in case, sir--in case--"

Ralph looked in bewilderment at Saunders, who was indulging inmystic winks and nods. 

"You see, the way o't is this, sir: yin's mither--(an' mind, I'mfar frae sayin' a word agin my ain mither--she's a guid yin, fora' her tongue, whilk, ye ken, sir, she canna help ony mair thanbein' a woman;) but ye ken, that when ye come hame frae the BlackBull, gin a man has only his mither, she begins to flyte on[scold] him, an' cast up to him what his faither, that's i' thegrave, wad hae said, an' maybe on the back o' that she begins thegreetin'. Noo, that's no comfortable, ava. A man that gangs to theBlack Bull disna care a flee's hin' leg what his faither wad haesaid. He disna want to be grutten ower [wept over]; na, what hewants is a guid-gaun tongue, a wullin' airm, an' a heather besomno ower sair worn. "

Ralph nodded in his turn in appreciative comment. 

"Then, on the morrow's morn, when ye rub yer elbow, an' fin'forbye that there's something on yer left shoother-blade that'sno on the ither, ye tak' a resolve that ye'll come straught hamethe nicht. Then, at e'en, when ye come near the Black Bull, an'see the crony that ye had a glass wi' the nicht afore, yenaturally tak' a bit race by juist to get on the safe side o' yerhame. I'm hearin' aboot new-fangled folk that they ca' 'temperanceadvocates, ' Maister Ralph, but for my pairt gie me a lang-shankitbesom, an' a guid-wife's wullin airm!"

These are all the opinions of Saunders Mowdiewort about besom-shanks. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

THAT GIPSY JESS. 

Saunders took Ralph's letter to Craig Ronald with him earlier thatnight than usual, as Ralph had desired him. At the high hill gate, standing directing the dogs to gather the cows off the hill formilking, he met Jess. 

"Hae ye ouy news, Saunders?" she asked, running down to the littlefoot-bridge to meet him. Saunders took it as a compliment; and, indeed, it was done with a kind of elfish grace, which cast aglamour over his eyes. But Jess, who never did anything without amotive, really ran down to be out of sight of Ebie Farrish, whostood looking at her from within the stable door. 

"Here's a letter for ye, Jess, " Saunders said, importantly, handing her Ralph's letter. "He seemed rale agitatit when hebrocht it in to me, but I cheered him up by tellin' him how ye waddreel him wi' the besom-shank gin he waur to gang to the BlackBull i' the forenichts. "

"Gang to the Black Bull!--what div ye mean, ye gomeril?--SaundersI mean; ye ken weel that Maister Peden wadna gang to ony BlackBull. "

"Weel, na, I ken that; it was but a mainner o' speakin'; but I cansee that he's fair daft ower ye, Jess. I ken the signs o' love asweel as onybody. But hoo's Meg--an' do ye think she likes me onybetter?"

"She was speakin' aboot ye only this mornin', " answered Jesspleasantly, "she said that ye waur a rale solid, sensible man, noa young ne'er-do-weel that naebody kens whaur he'll be by theMartinmas term. "

"Did Meg say that!" cried Saunders in high delight, "Ye see whatit is to be a sensible woman. An' whaur micht she be noo?"

Now Jess knew that Meg was churning the butter, with Jock Forrestto help her, in the milk-house, but it did not suit her to say so. Jess always told the truth when it suited as well as anythingelse; if not, then it was a pity. 

"Meg's ben the hoose wi' the auld fowk the noo, " she said, "butshe'll soon be oot. Juist bide a wee an' bind the kye for me. "

Down the brae face from the green meadowlets that fringed the moorcame the long procession of cows. Swinging a little from side toside, they came--black Galloways, and the red and white breed ofAyrshire in single file--the wavering piebald line following theintricacies of the path. Each full-fed, heavy-uddered mother ofthe herd came marching full matronly with stately tread, blowingher flower-perfumed breath from dewy nostrils. The older andstaider animals--Marly, and Dumple, and Flecky--came stolidlyhomeward, their heads swinging low, absorbed in meditativedigestion, and soberly retasting the sweetly succulent grass ofthe hollows, and the crisper and tastier acidity of the sorrel-mixed grass of the knolls. Behind them came Spotty and Speckly, young and frisky matrons of but a year's standing, who yet knew nobetter than to run with futile head at Roger, and so encouragethat short-haired and short-tempered collie to snap at theirheels. Here also, skirmishing on flank and rear, was Winsome's petsheep, "Zachary Macaulay"--so called because he was a livingmemorial to the emancipation of the blacks. Zachary had been namedby John Dusticoat, who was the politician of Cairn Edward, and"took in" a paper. He was an animal of much independence of mind. He utterly refused to company with the sheep of his kind anddegree, and would only occasionally condescend to accompany thecows to their hill pasture. Often he could not be induced to quitpoking his head into every pot and dish about the farm-yard. Onthese occasions he would wander uninvited with a little pleading, broken-backed bleat through every room in the house, looking forhis mistress to let him suck her thumb or to feed him on oatcakeor potato parings. 

To-night he came down in the rear of the procession. Now and thenhe paused to take a random crop at the herbage, not so much fromany desire for wayside refreshment, as to irritate Roger intoattacking him. But Roger knew better. There was a certainimperiousness about Zachary such as became an emancipated black. Zachary rejoiced when Speckly or any of the younger or livelierkine approached to push him away from a succulent patch ofherbage. Then he would tuck his belligerent head between his legs, and drive fore-and-aft in among the legs of the larger animals, often bringing them down full broadside with the whole of theirextensive systems ignominiously shaken up. 

By the time that Saunders had the cows safe into the byre, Jesshad the letter opened, read, and resealed. She had resolved, forreasons of her own, on this occasion to give the letter toWinsome. Jess ran into the house, and finding Winsome reading inthe parlour, gave her the letter in haste. 

"There's a man waiting for the answer, " she said, "but he can easybide a while if it is not ready. "

Winsome, seeing it was the handwriting she knew so well, that ofthe note-book and the poem, went into her own room to read herfirst love-letter. It seemed very natural that he should write toher, and her heart beat within her quickly and strongly as sheopened it. As she unfolded it her eye seemed to take in the wholeof the writing at once as if it were a picture. She knew, beforeshe had read a word, that "beloved" occurred twice and "Winsomedear" twice, nor had she any fault to find, unless it were thatthey did not occur oftener. 

So, without a moment's hesitation, she sat down and wrote only aline, knowing that it would be all-sufficient. It was her firstlove-tryst. Yet if it had been her twentieth she could not havebeen readier. 

"I shall be at the gate of the hill pasture, " so she wrote, "atten o'clock to-night. "

It was with a very tumultuous heart that she closed this missive, and went out quickly to give it to Jess lest she should repent. Aday before, even, it had never entered her mind that by anypossibility she could write such a note to a young man whom shehad only known so short a time. But then she reflected thatcertainly Ralph Peden was not like any other young man; so that inthis case it was not only right but also commendable. He was sokind and good, and so fond of her grandmother, that she could notlet him go so far away without a word. She ought at least to goand tell him that he must never do the like again. But she wouldforgive him this time, after being severe with him for breakinghis word, of course. She sighed when she thought of what it is tobe young and foolish. Once the letter in Jess's hands, thesedoubts and fears came oftener to her. After a few minutes ofremorse, she ran out in order to reclaim her letter, but Jess wasnowhere to be seen. She was, in fact, at her mother's cottage upon the green, where she was that moment employed in coercing herbrother Andra to run on a message for her. "When she went out ofthe kitchen with Winsome's reply in her pocket she made it herfirst duty to read it. This there was no difficulty in doing, foropening letters was one of Jess's simplest accomplishments. ThenJess knitted her black brows, and thought dark and Pictishthoughts. In a few moments she had made her dispositions. She wasnot going to let Winsome have Ralph without a struggle. She feltthat she had the rude primogeniture of first sight. Besides, sinceshe had no one to scheme for her, she resolved that she wouldscheme for herself. Shut in her mother's room she achieved a fairimitation of Winsome's letter, guiding herself by the genuinedocument spread out before her. She had thought of sending only averbal message, but reflecting that Ralph Peden had probably neverseen Winsome's handwriting, she considered it safer, choosingbetween two dangers, to send a written line. 

"Meet me by the waterside bridge at ten o'clock, " she wrote. Noword more. Then arose the question of messengers. She went out tofind Saunders Mowdiewort; she got him standing at the byre door, looking wistfully about for Meg. "Saunders, " she said, "you are totake back this answer instantly to the young Master Peden. "

"Na, na, Jess, what's the hurry? I dinna gang a fit till I haeseen Meg, " said Saunders doggedly. "Your affairs are dootlessverra important, but sae are mine. Your lad maun een wait wi'patience till I gang hame, the same as I hae had mony a day towait. It's for his guid. "

Jess stamped her foot. It was too irritating that her combinationsshould fail because of a Cuif whom she had thought to rule with aword, and upon whom she had counted without a thought. 

She could not say that it was on Winsome's business, though sheknew that in that case he would have gone at once on the chance ofindirectly pleasuring Meg. She had made him believe that sheherself was the object of Ralph Peden's affections. But Jess wasnot to be beaten, for in less than a quarter of an hour she hadovercome the scruples of Andra, and despatched Jock Gordon onanother message in another direction. Jess believed that wherethere is a will there are several ways: the will was her own, butshe generally made the way some one else's. Then Jess went intothe byre, lifting up her house gown and covering it with the dust-coloured milking overall, in which she attended to Speckly andCrummy. She had done her best--her best, that is, for JessKissock--and it was with a conscience void of offence that she setherself to do well her next duty, which happened to be the milkingof the cows. She did not mean to milk cows any longer than shecould help, but in the meantime she meant to be the best milker inthe parish. Moreover, it was quite in accordance with hercharacter that, in her byre flirtations with Ebie Farrish, sheshould take pleasure in his rough compliments, smacking of thefield and the stable. Jess had an appetite for complimentsperfectly eclectic and cosmopolitan. Though well aware that shewas playing this night with the sharpest of edged tools, till hermessengers should return and her combinations should close, Jesswas perfectly able and willing to give herself up to the game ofconversational give-and-take with Ebie Farrish. She was a girl offew genteel accomplishments, but with her gipsy charm and herfrankly pagan nature she was fitted to go far. 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

THE DAKK OF THE MOON AT THE GKANNOCH BRIDGE. 

Over the manse of Dullarg, still and grey, with only the two menin it; over the low-walled rectangular farm steading of CraigRonald, fell alike the midsummer night. Ten o'clock on an earlyJuly evening is in Galloway but a modified twilight. But as thesun went down behind the pines he sent an angry gleam athwart thegreen braes. The level cloud-band into which he plunged drewitself upward to the zenith, and, like the eyelid of a giganticeye, shut down as though God in his heaven were going to sleep, and the world was to be left alone. 

It was the dark of the moon, and even if there had been full moonits light would have been as completely shut out by the cloudcanopy as was the mild diffusion of the blue-grey twilight. So ithappened that, as Ralph Peden took his way to his first love-tryst, it was all that he could do to keep the path, so dark hadit become. But there was no rain--hardly yet even the hint orpromise of rain. 

Yet under the cloud there was a great solitariness--the murmur ofa land where no man had come since the making of the world. Downin the sedges by the lake a blackcap sang sweetly, waesomely, thenightingale of Scotland. Far on the moors a curlew cried out thatits soul was lost. Nameless things whinnied in the mist-filledhollows. On the low grounds there lay a white mist knee-deep, andRalph Peden waded in it as in a shallow sea. So in due time hecame near to the place of his tryst. 

Never had he stood so before. He stilled the beating of his heartwith his hand, so loud and riotous it was in that silent place. Hecould hear, loud as an insurrection, the quick, unequal double-knocking in his bosom. 

A grasshopper, roosting on a blade of grass beneath, his feet, tumbled off and gave vent to his feelings in a belated "chirr. "Overhead somewhere a raven croaked dismally and cynically atintervals. Ralph's ears heard these things as he waited, withevery sense on the alert, at the place of his love-tryst. 

He thrilled with the subtle hope of strange possibilities. A mill-race of pictures of things sweet and precious ran through hismind. He saw a white-spread table, with Winsome seated opposite tohimself, tall, fair, and womanly, the bright heads of childrenbetween them. And the dark closed in. Again he saw Winsome withher head on his arm, standing looking out on the sunrise from thehilltop, whence they had watched it not so long ago. The thoughtbrought him to his pocket-book. He took it out, and in thedarkness touched his lips to the string of the lilac sunbonnet. Itsurely must be past ten now, he thought. Would she not come? Hehad, indeed, little right to ask her, and none at all to expecther. Yet he had her word of promise--one precious line. What wouldhe say to her when she came? He would leave that to be settledwhen his arms were about her. But perhaps she would be colder thanbefore. They would sit, he thought, on the parapet of the bridge. There were no fir-branches to part them with intrusive spikes. Somuch at least should be his. 

But then, again, she might not come at all! What more likely thanthat she had been detained by her grandmother? How could he expectit? Indeed, he told himself he did not expect it. He had come outhere because it was a fine night, and the night air cooled hisbrain for his studies. His heart, hammering on his life's anvil, contradicted him. He could not have repeated the Hebrew alphabet. His head, bent a little forward in the agony of listening, whirledmadly round; the ambient darkness surrounding all. 

There! He heard a footstep. There was a light coming down theavenue under the elders. At last! No, it was only the glow-wormsunder the leaves, shining along the grass by the wayside. Thefootstep was but a restless sheep on the hillside. Then some onecoughed, with the suppressed sound of one who covers his mouthwith his hand. Ralph was startled, but almost laughed to thinkthat it was still only the lamb on the other side of the wallmoving restlessly about in act to feed. Time and again the bloodrushed to his temples, for he was sure that he heard her coming tohim. But it was only the echo of the blood surging blindly throughhis own veins, or some of the night creatures fulfilling theirlove-trysts, and seeking their destinies under the cloud of night. 

Suddenly his whole soul rose in revolt against him. Certainly nowhe heard a light and swift footstep. There was a darker shapecoming towards him against the dim, faint grey glimmer of theloch. It was his love, and she had come out to him at his bidding. He had dreamed of an angel, and lo! now he should touch her in thehollow night, and find that she was a warm, breathing woman. 

Wrapped from head to foot in a soft close shawl, she came to him. He could see her now, but only as something darker against thecanopy of the night. So, in the blissful dark, which makes loversbrave, he opened his arms to receive her. For the first time inhis life he drew them to him again not empty. 

The thrill electric of the contact, the yielding quiescence of thegirl whom he held to his breast, stilled his heart's tumultuousbeating. She raised her head, and their lips drew together into along kiss. What was this thing? It was a kiss in which he tasted astrange alien flavour even through the passion of it. A sense ofwrong and disappointment flowed round Ralph's heart. So on thebridge in the darkness, where many lovers had stood ever since thefirst Pict trysted his dark-browed bride by the unbridged water, the pair stood very still. They only breathed each other's breath. Something familiar struck on Ralph's senses. He seemed to bestanding silent in the parlour at Craig Ronald--not here, with hisarms round his love--and somehow between them there roseunmistakable the perfume of the flower which for an hour he hadcarried in his coat on the day that he and she went a-fishing. 

"Beloved, " he said tenderly, looking down, "you are very good tome to come!"

For all reply a face was held close pressed to his. The mists ofnight had made her cheek damp. He passed his hand across theripples of her hair. Half hidden by the shawl he could feel thecrisping of the curls under his fingers. 

It was harder in texture than he had fancied Winsome's hair wouldbe. He half smiled that he had time at such a moment to think sucha thing. It was strange, however. He had thought a woman's hairwas like floss silk--at least Winsome's, for he had theorizedabout none other. 

"Winsome, dear!" he said, again bending his head to look down, "Ihave to go far away, and I wanted to tell you. You are not angrywith me, sweetest, for asking you to come? I could not go withoutbidding you good-bye, and in the daytime I might not have seen youalone. You know that I love you with all my life and all my heart. And you love me--at least a little. Tell me, beloved!"

Still there was no answer. Ralph waited with some certitude andease from pain, for indeed the clasping arms told him all hewished to know. 

There was a brightness low down in the west. Strangely and slowlythe gloomy eyelid of cloud which had fallen athwart the eveninglifted for a moment its sullen fringe; a misty twilight of luridlight flowed softly over the land. The shawl fell back like a hoodfrom off the girl's shoulders. She looked up throbbing andpalpitating. Ralph Peden was clasping Jess Kissock in his arms. She had kept her word. He had kissed her of his own free will, andthat within a day. Her heart rejoiced over Winsome. "So much, atleast, she cannot take from me. "

Ralph Peden's heart stopped beating for a tremendous interval ofseconds. Then the dammed-back blood-surge drave thundering in hisears. He swayed, and would have fallen but for the parapet of thebridge and the clinging arms about his neck. All his nature andlove in full career stopped dead. The shock almost unhinged hissoul and reason. It was still so dark that, though he could seethe outline of her head and the paleness of her face, nothing heldhim but the intense and vivid fascination of her eyes. Ralph wouldhave broken away, indignant and amazed, but her arms and eyes heldhim close prisoner, the dismayed turmoil in his own heart aiding. 

"Yes, Ralph Peden, " Jess Kissock said, cleaving to him, "and youhate me because it is I and not another. You think me a wickedgirl to come to you in her place. But you called her because youloved her, and I have come because I loved you as much. Have I notas much right? Do not dream that I came for aught but that. Have Inot as good a right to love as you?"

She prisoned his face fiercely between her hands, and held him offfrom her as if to see into his soul by the light of the lingeringlake of ruddy light low in the west. 

"In your Bible where is there anything that hinders a woman fromloving? Yet I know you will despise me for loving you, and hate mefor coming in her place. "

"I do not hate you!" said Ralph, striving to go without rudelyunclasping the girl's hands. Her arms fell instantly again abouthis neck, locking themselves behind. 

"No, you shall not go till you have heard all, and then you cancast me into the loch as a worthless thing that you are better ridof. "

Through his disappointment and his anger, Ralph was touched. Hewould have spoken, but the girl went on:

"No, you do not hate me--I am not worth it. You despise me, and doyou think that is any better? I am only a cottar's child. I havebeen but a waiting-maid. But I have read how maids have loved thekings and the kings loved them. Yes, I own it. I am proud of it. Ihave schemed and lain awake at nights for this. Why should I notlove you? Others have loved me without asking my leave. Why shouldI ask yours? And love came to me without your leave or my own thatday on the road when you let me carry your books. "

She let her arms drop from his neck and buried her face in herhands, sobbing now with very genuine tears. Ralph could not yetmove away, even though no longer held by the stringent coercion ofthis girl's arms. He was too grieved, too suddenly and bitterlydisappointed to have any fixed thought or resolve. But the goodman does not live who can listen unmoved to the despairing catchof the sobbing in a woman's throat. Then on his hands, which hehad clasped before him, he felt the steady rain of her tears; hisheart went out in a great pity for this wayward girl who wasbaring her soul to him. 

The whole note and accent of her grief was of unmistakablefeeling. Jess Kissock had begun in play, but her inflammablenature kindled easily into real passion. For at least that night, by the bridge of the Grannoch water, she believed that her heartwas broken. 

Ralph put his hand towards her with some unformed idea ofsympathy. He murmured vague words of comfort, as he might havedone to a wailing child that had hurt itself; but he had no ideahow to still the tempestuous grief of a passion-pale woman. 

Suddenly Jess Kissock slipped down and clasped him about theknees. Her hair had broken from its snood and streamed a cloud ofintense blackness across her shoulders. He could see her onlyweirdly and vaguely, as one may see another by the red light of awood ember in the darkness. She seemed like a beautiful, pureangel, lost by some mischance, praying to him out of the hollowpit of the night. 

"I carried your burden for you once, the day I first saw you. Letme carry your burden for you across the world. If you will notlove me, let me but serve you. I would slave so hard! See, I amstrong--"

She seized his hands, gripping thorn till his fingers clavetogether with the pressure. 

"See how I love you!" her hands seemed to say. Then she kissed hishands, wetting them with the downfalling of her tears. 

The darkness settled back thicker than before. He could not seethe kneeling woman whose touch he felt. He strove to think what heshould do, his emotions and his will surging in a troubledmaelstrom about his heart. 

But just then, from out of the darkness high on the unseen hillabove them, there came a cry--a woman's cry of pain, anger, andultimate danger: "Ralph, Ralph, come to me--come!" it seemed tosay to him. Again and again it came, suddenly faltered and wassilenced as if smothered--as though a hand had been laid across amouth that cried and would not be silent. 

Ralph sprang clear of Jess Kissock in a moment. He knew the voice. He would have known it had it come to him across the wreck ofworlds. It was his love's voice. She was calling to him--RalphPeden--for help. Without a thought for the woman whose despairingwords he had just listened to, he turned and ran, plunging intothe thick darkness of the woods, hillward in the direction of thecry. But he had not gone far when another cry was heard--not thecry of a woman this time, but the shorter, shriller, piercing yellof a man at the point of death--some deadly terror at his throat, choking him. Mixed with this came also unearthly, wordless, inhuman howlings, as of a wild beast triumphing. For a dozenseconds these sounds dominated the night. Then upon the hill theyseemed to sink into a moaning, and a long, low cry, like thewhining of a beaten dog. Lights gleamed about the farm, and Ralphcould vaguely see, as he sprang out of the ravine, along which heand Winsome had walked, dark forms flitting about with lanterns. In another moment he was out on the moor, ranging about like awild, questing hound, seeking the cause of the sudden and hideousoutcry. 

CHAPTEE XXX. 

THE HILL GATE. 

There was no merry group outside Winsome's little lattice windowthis night, as she sat unclad to glimmering white in the quiet ofher room. In her heart there was that strange, quiet thrill ofexpectancy--the resolve of a maiden's heart, when she knowswithout willing that at last the flood-gates of her being mustsurely be raised and the great flood take her to the sea. She didnot face the thought of what she would say. In such a case a manplans what he will say, and once in three times he says it. But awoman is wiser. She knows that in that hour it will be given herwhat she shall speak. 

"I shall go to him, " said Winsome to herself; "I must, for he isgoing away, and he has need of me. Can I let him go without aword?"

Though Ralph had done no noble action in her sight or within herken, yet there was that about him which gave her the knowledgethat she would be infinitely safe with him even to the world'send. Winsome wondered how she could so gladly go, when she wouldnot have so much as dreamed of stealing out at night to meet anyother, though she might have known him all her life. She did notknow, often as she had heard it read, that "perfect love castethout fear. " Then she said to herself gently, as if she feared thatthe peeping roses at the window might hear, "Perhaps it is becauseI love him. " Perhaps it was. Happy Winsome, to have found it outso young!

The curtain of the dark drew down. Moist airs blew into the room, warm with the scent of the flowers of a summer night. Honeysuckleand rose blew in, and quieted the trembling nerves of the girlgoing to meet her first love. 

"He has sair need o' me!" she said, lapsing as she sometimes didinto her grandmother's speech. "He will stand before me, " shesaid, "and look so pale and beautiful. Then I will not let himcome nearer--for a while--unless it is very dark and I am afraid. "

She glanced out. It promised to be very dark, and a tremour cameover her. Then she clad herself in haste, drawing from a box athin shawl of faded pale blue silk with a broad crimson edge, which she drew close about her shoulders. The band of red lyingabout her neck forced forward her golden tresses, throwing themabout her brow so that they stood out round her face in achangeful aureole of fine-spun gold. She took a swift glance inthe mirror, holding her candle in her hand. Then she laughed anervous little laugh all to herself. How foolish of her! Ofcourse, it would be impossible for him to see her. Butnevertheless she put out her light, and went to the door smiling. She had no sense of doing that which she ought not to do; for shehad been accustomed to her liberty in all matters whatsoever, eversince she came to Craig Ronald, and in the summer weather nothingwas more common than for her to walk out upon the moor in the dewyclose of day. She shut the door quietly behind her, and set herfoot on the silent elastic turf, close cropped by many woollygenerations. The night shut down behind her closer than the door. The western wind cooled her brain, and the singing in her heartrose into a louder altar-song. A woman ever longs to be givingherself. She rejoices in sacrifice. It is a pity that she so oftenchooses an indifferently worthy altar. Yet it is questionablewhether her own pleasure in the sacrifice is any the less. 

At the gate of the yard, which had been left open and hungbackward perilously upon its hinges, she paused. 

"That is that careless girl, Jess!" she said, practical even atsuch a moment. 

And she was right--it was Jess who had so left it. Indeed, had shebeen a moment sooner, she might have seen Jess flit by, taking thedownward road which led through the elder--trees to the waterside. As it was, she only shut the gate carefully, so that no night-wandering cattle might disturb the repose of her grandparents, laid carefully asleep by Meg in their low-ceilinged bedroom. 

The whole farm breathed from its walls and broad yard spaces thepeaceful rise and fall of an infant's repose. There was no soundabout the warm and friendly place save the sleepy chunner of a henon the bauks of the peat-house, just sufficiently awake to beconscious of her own comfort. 

The hill road was both stony and difficult, but Winsome's lightfeet went along it easily and lightly. On not a single stone didshe stumble. She walked so gladsomely that she trod on the air. There were no rocks in her path that night. Behind her the lightin the west winked once and went out. Palpable darkness settledabout her. The sigh of the waste moorlands, where in the haggs thewild fowl were nestling and the adders slept, came down over thewell-pastured braes to her. 

Winsome did not hasten. Why hasten, when at the end of the waythere certainly lies the sweet beginning of all things. Alreadymight she be happy in the possession of certainties? It neveroccurred to her that Ralph would not be at the trysting-place. That a messenger might fail did not once cross her mind. Butmaidenly tremours, delicious in their uncertainty, coursed alongher limbs and through all her being. Could any one have seen, there was a large and almost exultant happiness in the depths ofher eyes. Her lips were parted a little, like a child that waitson tiptoe to see the curtain rise on some wondrous and long-dreamed-of spectacle. 

Soon against the darker sky the hill dyke stood up, looking in thegloom massive as the Picts' Wall of long ago. It followedirregularly the ridgy dips and hollows downward, till it ran intothe in tenser darkness of the pines. In a moment, ere yet she wasready, there before her was the gate of her tryst. She paused, affrighted for the first time. She listened, and there was nosound. A trembling came over her and an uncertainty. She turned, in act to flee. 

But out of the dark of the great dyke stepped a figure cloakedfrom head to heel, and while Winsome wavered, tingling now withshame and fear, in an instant she was enclosed within two verystrong arms, that received her as in a snare a bird is taken. 

Suddenly Winsome felt her breath shorten. She panted as if shecould not get air, like the bird as it nutters and palpitates. 

"Oh, I ought not to have come!" &he said, "but I could not helpit!"

There was no word in answer, only a closer folding of the armsthat cinctured her. In the west the dusk was lightening and theeyelid of the night drew slowly and grimly up. 

When for the first time she looked shyly upward, Winsome foundherself in the arms of Agnew Greatorix. Wrapped in his greatmilitary cloak, with a triumphant look in his handsome face, hesmiled down upon her. 

Great Lord of Innocence! give now this lamb of thine thy help!

The leaping soul of pure disembodied terror stood in Winsome'seyes. Fascinated like an antelope in the coils of a python shegazed, her eyes dilating and contracting--the world whirlingabout her, the soul of her bounding and panting to burst its bars. 

"Winsome, my darling!" he said, "you have come to me. You aremine"--bending his face to hers. 

Not yet had the power to speak or to resist come back to her, soinstant and terrible was her surprise. But at the first touch ofhis lips upon her cheek the very despair brought back to hertenfold her own strength. She pushed against him with her hands, straining him from her by the rigid tension of her arms, settingher face far from his, but she was still unable to break the claspof his arms about her. 

"Let me go! let me go!" she cried, in a hoarse and labouringwhisper. 

"Gently, gently, fair and softly, my birdie, " said Greatorix;"surely you have not forgotten that you sent for me to meet youhere. Well, I am here, and I am not such a fool as to come fornothing!"

The very impossibility of words steeled Winsome's heart, "_I_ send for you!" cried Winsome; "I never had message or wordwith you in my life to give you a right to touch me with yourlittle finger. Let me go, and this instant, Agnew Greatorix!"

"Winsome, sweetest girl, it pleases you to jest. Have not I yourown letter in my pocket telling me where to meet you? Did you notwrite it? I am not angry. You can play out your play and pretendyou do not care for me as much as you like; but I will not let yougo. I have loved you too long, though till now you were cruel andwould give me no hope. So when I got your letter I knew it waslove, after all, that had been in your eyes as I rode away. "

"Listen, " said Winsome eagerly; "there is some terrible mistake; Inever wrote a line to you--"

"It matters not; it was to me that your letter came, brought by amessenger to the castle an hour ago. So here I am, and here youare, my beauty, and we shall just make the best of it, as loversshould when the nights are short. "

He closed his arms about her, forcing the strength out of herwrists with slow, rude, masculine muscles. A numbness and adeadness ran through her limbs as he compelled her nearer to him. Her head spun round with the fear of fainting. With a great effortshe forced herself back a step from him, and just as she felt thebreath of his mouth upon hers her heart made way through her lips. 

"Ralph! Ralph! Help me--help! Oh, come to me!" she cried in herextremity of terror and the oncoming rigour of unconsciousness. 

The next moment she dropped limp and senseless into the arms ofAgnew Greatorix. For a long moment he held her up, listening tothe echoes of that great cry, wondering whether it would wake upthe whole world, or if, indeed, there were none to answer in thatsolitary place. 

But only the wild bird wailed like a lost soul too bad for heaven, too good for hell, wandering in the waste forever. 

Agnew Greatorix laid Winsome down on the heather, lifeless andstill, her pure white face resting in a nest of golden curls, thered band of her mother's Indian shawl behind all. 

But as the insulter stooped to take his will of her lips, now paleand defenceless, something that had been crouching beastlike inthe heather for an hour, tracking and tracing him like aremorseless crawling horror, suddenly sprang with a voiceless rushupon him as he bent over Winsome's prostrate body--grippedstraight at his throat and bore him backward bareheaded to theground. 

So unexpected was the assault that, strong man as Greatorix was, he had not the least chance of resistance. He reeled at the suddenconstriction of his throat by hands that hardly seemed human, sowide was their clutch, so terrible the stringency of their grasp. He struck wildly at his assailant, but, lying on his back with thebiting and strangling thing above him, his arms only met on oneanother in vain blows. He felt the teeth of a great beast meet inhis throat, and in the sudden agony he sent abroad the mighty roarof a man in the grips of death by violence. But his assailant wassilent, save for a fierce whinnying growl as of a wild beastgreedily lapping blood. 

It was this terrible outcry ringing across the hills that broughtthe farm steading suddenly awake, and sent the lads swarming aboutthe house with lanterns. But it was Ralph alone who, having heardthe first cry of his love and listened to nothing else, ranonward, bending low with a terrible stitch in his side whichcaught his breath and threw him to the ground almost upon thewhite-wrapped body of his love. Hastily he knelt beside her andlaid his hand upon her heart. It was beating surely thoughfaintly. 

But on the other side, against the gray glimmer of the march dyke, he could see the twitchings of some great agony. At intervalsthere was the ghastly, half-human growling and the sobbing catchof some one striving for breath. 

A light shone across the moor, fitfully wavering as the searchercast its rays from side to side. Ralph glanced behind him with theinstinct to carry his love away to a place of safety. But he sawthe face of Meg Kissock, with slow Jock Forrest behind hercarrying a lantern. Meg ran to the side of her mistress. 

"Wha's dune this?" she demanded, turning fiercely to Ralph. "Ginye--"

"I know nothing about it. Bring the lantern here quickly, " hesaid, leaving Winsome in the hands of Meg. Jock Forrest broughtthe lantern round, and there on the grass was Agnew Greatorix, with daft Jock Gordon above him, his sinewy hands gripping hisneck and his teeth in his throat. 

Ralph pulled Jock Gordon off and flung him upon the heather, whereJock Forrest set his foot upon him, and turned the light of thelantern upon the fierce face of a maniac, foam-flecked and blood-streaked. Jock still growled and gnashed his teeth, and struggledin sullen fury to get at his fallen foe. With his hat Ralphbrought water from a deep moss-hole and dashed it upon the face ofWinsome. In a little while, she began to sob in a heartbroken way. Meg took her head upon her knees, and soothed her mistress, murmuring tendernesses. Next he brought water to throw over theface and neck of Greatorix, which Jock Gordon in his fury had madeto look like nothing human. 

The rest might wait. It was Ralph's first care to get Winsomehome. Kneeling down beside her he soothed her with whisperedwords, till the piteous sobbing in her throat stilled itself. Theploughman was at this moment stolidly producing pieces of ropefrom his pockets and tying up Jock Gordon's hands and feet; butafter his first attempts again to fly at Greatorix, and his gaspsof futile wrath when forced into the soft moss of the moor by JockForrest's foot, he had not offered to move. 

His paroxysm was only one of the great spasms of madness whichsometimes come over the innocently witless. He had heard close byhim the cries of Winsome Charteris, whom he had worshipped foryears almost in the place of the God whom he had not theunderstanding to know. The wonder rather was that he did not killGreatorix outright. Had it happened a few steps nearer the greatstone dyke, there is little doubt but that Jock Gordon would havebeat out the assailant's brains with a ragged stone. 

Winsome had not yet awakened enough to ask how all these thingscame about. She could only cling to Meg, and listen to Ralphwhispering in her ear. 

"I can go home now, " she said earnestly. 

So Ralph and Meg helped her up, Ralph wrapping her in her greatcrimson-barred shawl. 

Ralph would have kissed her, but Winsome, standing unsteadilyclasping Meg's arm, said tenderly:

"Not to-night. I am not able to bear it. "

It was almost midnight when Ralph and the silent Jock Forrest gotAgnew Greatorix into the spring-cart to be conveyed to GreatorixCastle. 

He lay with his eyes closed, silent. Ralph took Jock Gordon to themanse with him, determined to tell the whole to Mr. Welsh ifnecessary; but if it were not necessary, to tell no one more thanhe could help, in order to shelter Winsome from misapprehension. It says something for Ralph that, in the turmoil of the night andthe unavailing questionings of the morning, he never for a momentthought of doubting his love. It was enough for him that in thedepths of agony of body or spirit she had called out to him. Allthe rest would be explained in due time, and he could wait. Moreover, so selfish is love, that he had never once thought ofJess Kissock from the moment that his love's cry had pealed acrossthe valley of the elder-trees and the plain of the water meadows. 

When he brought Jock Gordon, hardly yet humanly articulate, intothe kitchen of the manse, the house was still asleep. Then Ralphwakened Manse Bell, who slept above. He told her that Jock Gordonhad taken a fit upon the moor, that he had found him ill, andbrought him home. Next he went up to the minister's room, where hefound Mr. Welsh reading his Bible. He did not know that theminister had watched him both come and go from his window, or thathe had remained all night in prayer for the lad, who, hemisdoubted, was in deep waters. 

As soon as Jock Gordon had drunk the tea and partaken of the beefham which Manse Bell somewhat grumblingly set before him, he said:

"Noo, I'll awa'. The tykes'll be after me, nae doot, but it's noin yin o' them to catch Jock Gordon gin yince he gets into theDungeon o' Buchan. "

"But ye maun wait on the minister or Maister Peden. They'll haemuckle to ask ye, nae doot!" said Bell, who yearned for news. 

"Nae doot, nae doot!" said daft Jock Gordon, "an' I hae little toanswer. It's no for me to tie the rape roond my ain craig [neck]. Na, na, time aneu' to answer when I'm afore the sherra atKirkcudbright for this nicht's wark. "

With these words Jock took his pilgrim staff and departed forparts unknown. As he said, it was not bloodhounds that could catchJock Gordon on the Rhinns of Kells. 

In the morning there was word come to the cot-house of theKissocks that Mistress Kissock was wanted up at the castle tonurse a gentleman who had had an accident when shooting. MistressKissock was unable to go herself, but her daughter Jess wentinstead of her, having had some practice in nursing, among otherexperiences which she had gained in England. It was reported thatshe made an excellent nurse. 

CHAPTEE XXXI. 

THE STUDY OF THE MANSE OF DULLARG. 

IT was growing slowly dusk again when Ralph Peden returned fromvisiting Craig Ronald along the shore road to the Dullarg and itsmanse. He walked briskly, as one who has good news. Sometimes hewhistled to himself--breaking off short with a quick smile atsome recollection. Once he stopped and laughed aloud. Then hethrew a stone at a rook which eyed him superciliously from the topof a turf dyke. He made a bad shot, at which the black criticwiped the bare butt of his bill upon the grass, uttered a hoarse"A-ha!" of derision, and plunged down squatty among the dock-leaves on the other side. 

As Ralph turned up the manse loaning to the bare front door, hewas conscious of a vague uneasiness, the feeling of a man whoreturns to a house of gloom from a world where all things havebeen full of sunshine. It was not the same world since yesterday. Even he, Ralph Peden, was not the same man. But he entered thehouse with that innocent affectation of exceeding ease which isthe boy's tribute to his own inexperience. He went up the stairsthrough the dark lobby and entered Allan Welsh's study. Theminister was sitting with his back to the window, his handsclasped in front of him, and his great domed forehead andemaciated features standing out against the orange and crimsonpool of glory where the sun had gone down. 

Ralph ostentatiously clattered down his armful of books on thetable. The minister did not speak at first, and Ralph began hisexplanation. 

"I am sorry, " he said, hesitating and blushing under the keen eyesof his father's friend. "I had no idea I should have beendetained, but the truth is--"

"I ken what the truth is, " said Allan Welsh, quietly. "Sit down, Ralph Peden. I have somewhat to say to you. "

A cold chill ran through the young man's veins, to which succeededa thrill of indignation. Was it possible that he was about toreproach him, as a student in trials for the ministry of theMarrow kirk, with having behaved in any way unbecoming of anaspirant to that high office, or left undone anything expected ofhim as his father's son?

The minister was long in speaking. Against the orange light ofevening which barred the window, his face could not be seen, butRalph had the feeling that his eyes, unseen themselves, werereading into his very soul. He sat down and clenched his handsunder the table, "I was at the Bridge of Grannoch this day, " began the minister atlast. "I was on my way to visit a parishioner, but I do notconceal from you that I also made it my business to observe yourwalk and conversation. "

"By what right do you so speak to me?" began Ralph, the hotterblood of his mother rising within him. 

"By the right given to me by your father to study your heart andto find out whether indeed it is seeking to walk in the moreperfect way. By my love and regard for you, I hope I may alsosay. "

The minister paused, as if to gather strength for what he had yetto say. He leaned his head upon his hand, and Balph did not seethat his frail figure was shaken with some emotion too strong forhis physical powers, only kept in check by the keen andindomitable will within. 

"Ralph, my lad, " Allan Welsh continued, "do not think that I havenot foreseen this; and had jour father written to inform me of hisintention to send you to me, I should have urged him to cause youto abide in your own city. What I feared in thought is in act cometo pass. I saw it in your eyes yestreen. "

Kalph's eyes spoke an indignant query. 

"Ralph Peden, " said the minister, "since I came here, eighteenyears ago, not a mouse has crept out of Craig Ronald but I havemade it my business to know it. I am no spy, and yet I need not tobe told what happened yesterday or to-day. "

"Then, sir, you know that I have no need to be ashamed. "

"I have much to say to you, Ralph, which I desire to say by nomeans in anger. But first let me say this: It is impossible thatyou can ever be more to Winifred Charteris than you are to-day. "

"That is likely enough, sir, but I would like to know why in thatcase I am called in question. " "Because I have been, more thantwenty years ago, where you are to-day, Ralph Peden, I--even I--have seen eyes blue as those of Winsome Charteris kindle withpleasure at my approach. Yes, I have known it. And I have alsoseen the lids lie white and still upon these eyes, and I am hereto warn you from the primrose way; and also, if need be, to forbidyou to walk therein. "

His voice took a sterner tone with the last words. 

Ralph bowed his head on the table and listened; but there was nofeeling save resentment and resistance in his heart. 

The minister went on in a level, unemotional tone, like onetelling a tale of long ago, of which the issues and even theinterests are dead and gone. 

"I do not look now like a man on whom the eye of woman could everrest with the abandonment of love. Yet I, Allan Welsh, have seen'the love that casteth out fear. '"

After a pause the high, expressionless voice took up the tale. 

"Many years ago there were two students, poor in money but rich intheir mutual love. They were closer in affection than twinbrothers. The elder was betrothed to be married to a beautifulgirl in the country; so he took down his friend with him to thevillage where the maid dwelt to stand by his side and look uponthe joy of the bridegroom. He saw the trysted (betrothed) of hisfriend. He and she looked into one another's eyes and were drawntogether as by a power beyond them. The elder was summonedsuddenly back to the city, and for a week he, all unthinking, leftthe friends of his love together glad that they should know oneanother better. They walked together. They spoke of many things, ever returning back to speak of themselves. One day they held abook together till they heard their hearts beat audibly, and inthe book read no more that day. 

"Upon the friend's return he found only an empty house anddistracted parents. Bride and brother had fled. Word came thatthey had been joined by old Joseph Paisley, the Gretna Green'welder, ' without blessing of minister or kirk. Then they hidthemselves in a little Cumbrian village, where for six years theunfaithful friend wrought for his wife--for so he deemed her--tillin the late bitterness of bringing forth she died, that was thefairest of women and the unhappiest. "

The minister ceased. Outside the rain had come on in broad singledrops, laying the dust on the road. Ralph could hear it patteringon the broad leaves of the plane-tree outside the window. He didnot like to hear it. It sounded like a woman's tears. 

But he could not understand how all this bore on his case. He wassilenced and awed, but it was with the sight of a soul of a man ofyears and approved sanctity in deep apparent waters of sorrow. 

The minister lifted his head and listened. In the ancient woodworkof the manse, somewhere in the crumbling wainscoting, the littleboring creature called a death-watch ticked like the ticking of anold verge watch. Mr. Welsh broke off with a sudden causeless augervery appalling in one so sage and sober in demeanour. 

"There's that beast again!" he said; "often have I thought it wasticking in my head. I have heard it ever since the night she died--"

"I wonder at a man like you, " said Ralph, "with your wisdom andChristian standing, caring for a worm--"

"You're a very young man, and when you are older maybe you'llwonder at a deal fewer things, " answered the minister with a kindof excited truculence very foreign to his habit, "for I myself ama worm and no man, " he added dreamily. "And often I tried to killthe beast. Ye see thae marks--" he broke off again--"I bored forit till the boards are a honeycomb, but the thing aye ticks on. "

"But, Mr. Welsh, " said Ralph eagerly, with some sympathy in hisvoice, "why should you trouble yourself about this story now--orI, for the matter of that? I can understand that Winsome Charterishas somehow to do with it, and that the knowledge has come to youin the course of your duty; but even if, at any future time, Winsome Charteris were aught to me or I to her--the which I haveat present only too little hope of--her forbears, be theywhomsoever they might, were no more to me than Julius Caesar. Ihave seen her and looked into her eyes. What needs she ofancestors that is kin to the angels?"

Something like pity came into the minister's stern eyes as helistened to the lad. Once he had spoken just such wild, heart-eager words. 

"I will answer you in a sentence, " he said. "I that speak with youam the cause. I am he that has preached law and the gospel--fortwenty years covering my sin with the Pharisee's strictness ofobservance. I am he that was false friend but never false lover--that married without kirk or blessing. I am the man that clasped adead woman's hand whom I never owned as wife, and watched afar offthe babe that I never dared to call mine own. I am the father ofWinifred Oharteris, coward before man, castaway before God. Of mysin two know besides my Maker--the father that begot you, whosefalse friend I was in the days that were, and Walter Skirving, thefather of the first Winifred whose eyes this hand closed under thePeacock tree at Crossthwaite. "

The broad drops fell on the window-panes in splashes, and thethunder rain drummed on the roof. 

The minister rose and went out, leaving Ralph Peden sitting in thedark with the universe in ruins about him. The universe is fragileat twenty-one. 

And overhead the great drops fell from the brooding thunder-clouds, and in the wainscoting of Allan Welsh's study the death-watch ticked. 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

OUTCAST AND ALIEN FROM THE COMMONWEALTH. 

"Moreover, " said the minister--coming in an hour afterwards totake up the interrupted discussion--"the kirk of the Marrowoverrides all considerations of affection or self-interest. If youare to enter the Marrow kirk, you must live for the Marrow, andfight for the Marrow, and, above all, you must wed for the Marrow--"

"As you did, no doubt, " said Ralph, somewhat ungenerously. 

Ralph had remained sitting in the study where the minister hadleft him. 

"No, for myself, " said the minister, with a certain firmness andhigh civility, which made the young man ashamed of himself, "I amno true son of the Marrow. I have indeed served the Marrow kirk inher true and only protesting section for twenty-five years; but Iam only kept in my position by the good grace of two men--of yourfather and of Walter Skirving. And do not think that they keeptheir mouths sealed by any love for me. Were there only my ownlife and good name to consider, they would speak instantly, and Ishould be deposed, without cavil or word spoken in my own defence. Nay, by what I have already spoken, I have put myself in yourhands. All that you have to do is simply to rise in your place onthe Sabbath morn and tell the congregation what I have told you--that the minister of the Marrow kirk in Dullarg is a man rebukingsin when his own hearthstone is unclean--a man irregularlyespoused, who wrongfully christened his own unacknowledged child. "

Allan Welsh laid his brow against the hard wood of the study tableas though to cool it. 

"No, " he continued, looking Ralph in the face, as the midnighthummed around, and the bats softly fluttered like gigantic mothsoutside, "your father is silent for the sake of the good name ofthe Marrow kirk; but this thing shall never be said of his ownson, and the only hope of the Marrow kirk--the lad she hascolleged and watched and prayed for--not only the twocongregations of Edinburgh and the Dullarg contributing yearly outof their smallest pittances, but the faithful single members andadherents throughout broad Scotland--many of whom are coming toEdinburgh at the time of our oncoming synod, in order to bepresent at it, and at the communion when I shall assist yourfather. "

"But why can not I marry Winsome Charteris, even though she beyour daughter, as you say?" asked Ralph. 

"O young man, " said the minister, "ken ye so little about the kirko' the Marrow, and the respect for her that your father and myselfcherish for the office of her ministry, that ye think that wecould permit a probationer, on trials for the highest officewithin her gift, to connect himself by tie, bond, or engagementwith the daughter of an unblest marriage? That wouald be winkingat a new sin, darker even, than the old. " Then, with a burst ofpassion--"I, even I, would sooner denounce it myself, though itcost me my position! For twenty years I have known that before GodI was condemned. You have seen me praying--yes, often--all night, but never did you or mortal man hear me praying for myself. "

Ralph held out his hand in sympathy. Mr. Welsh did not seem tonotice it. He went on:

"I was praying for this poor simple folk--the elect of God--theirminister alone a castaway, set beyond the mercy of God by his ownact. Have I not prayed that they might never be put to shame bythe knowledge of the minister's sin being made a mockery in thecourts of Belial? And have I not been answered?"

Here we fear that Mr. Welsh referred to the ecclesiasticalsurroundings of the Reverend Erasmus Teends. 

"And I prayed for my poor lassie, and for you, when I saw you bothin the floods of deep waters. I have wept great and bitter tearsfor you twain. But I am to receive my answer and reward, for thisnight you shall give me your word that never more will you password of love to Winsome, the daughter of Allan Charteris Welsh. For the sake of the Marrow kirk and the unstained truth deliveredto the martyrs, and upheld by your father one great day, you willdo this thing. "

"Mr. Welsh, " said the young man calmly, "I cannot, even though Ibe willing, do this thing. My heart and life, my honour and word, are too deeply engaged for me to go back. At whatever cost tomyself, I must keep tryst and pledge with the girl who has trustedme, and who for me has to-night suffered things whose depths ofpain and shame I know not yet. "

"Then, " said the minister sternly, "you and I must part. My dutyis done. If you refuse my appeal, you are no true son of theMarrow kirk, and no candidate that I can recommend for herministry. Moreover, to keep you longer in my house and at my boardwere tacitly to encourage you in your folly. "

"It is quite true, " replied Ralph, unshaken and undaunted, "that Imay be as unfit as you say for the office and ministry of theMarrow kirk. It is, indeed, only as I have thought for a longseason. If that be so, then it were well that I should withdraw, and leave the place for some one worthier. "

"I wonder to hear ye, Ralph Peden, your father's son, " said theminister, "you that have been colleged by the shillings andsixpences of the poor hill folk. How will ye do with these?"

"I will pay them back, " said Ralph. 

"Hear ye, man: can ye pay back the love that hained and saved tosend them to Edinburgh? Can ye pay back the prayers andexpectations that followed ye from class to class, rejoicing inyour success, praying that the salt of holiness might be put foryou into the fountains of earthly learning? Pay back, RalphPeden?--I wonder sair that ye are not shamed!"

Indeed, Ralph was in a sorrowful quandary. He knew that it was alltrue, and he saw no way out of it without pain and grief to some. But the thought of Winsome's cry came to him, heard in thelonesome night. That appeal had severed him in a moment from allhis old life. He could not, though he were to lose heaven andearth, leave her now to reproach and ignominy. She had claimed himonly in her utter need, and he would stand good, lover and friendto be counted on, till the world should end. 

"It is true what you say, " said Ralph; "I mourn for it every word, but I cannot and will not submit my conscience and my heart to thekeeping even of the Marrow kirk. "

"Ye should have thought on that sooner, " interjected the ministergrimly. 

"God gave me my affections as a sacred trust. This also is part ofmy religion. And I will not, I cannot in any wise give up hope ofwinning this girl whom I love, and whom you above all others oughtsurely to love. "

"Then, " said the minister, rising solemnly with his handoutstretched as when he pronounced the benediction, "I, AllanWelsh, who love you as my son, and who love my daughter more thanten daughters who bear no reproach, tell you, Ralph Peden, that Ican no longer company with you. Henceforth I count you as a rebeland a stranger. More than self, more than life, more than child orwife, I, sinner as I am, love the honour and discipline of thekirk of the Marrow. Henceforth you and I are strangers. "

The words fired the young man. He took up his hat, which hadfallen upon the floor. 

"If that be so, the sooner that this house is rid of the presenceof a stranger and a rebel the better for it, and the happier foryou. I thank you for all the kindness you have shown to me, and Ibid you, with true affection and respect, farewell!"

So, without wailing even to go up-stairs for anything belonging tohim, and with no further word on either side, Ralph Peden steppedinto the clear, sobering midnight, the chill air meeting him likea wall. The stars had come out and were shining frosty-clear, though it was June. 

And as soon as he was gone out the minister fell on his knees, andso continued all the night praying with his face to the earth. 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

JOCK GORDON TAKES A HAND. 

Whatever is too precious, too tender, too good, too evil, tooshameful, too beautiful for the day, happens in the night. Nightis the bath of life, the anodyne of heartaches, the silencer ofpassions, the breeder of them too, the teacher of those who wouldlearn, the cloak that shuts a man in with his own soul. The seedsof great deeds and great crimes are alike sown in the night. Thegood Samaritan doeth his good by stealth; the wicked one comethand soweth his tares among the wheat. The lover and the lustfulperson, the thief and the thinker, the preacher and the poacher, are abroad in the night. In factories and mills, beside theceaseless whirl of machinery, stand men to whom day is night andnight day. In cities the guardians of the midnight go hither andthither with measured step under the drizzling rain. No man caresthat they are lonely and cold. Yet, nevertheless, both light anddarkness, night and day, are but the accidents of a little time. It is twilight--the twilight of the morning and of the gods--thatis the true normal of the universe. Night is but the shadow of theearth, light the nearness of the central sun. But when the soul ofman goeth its way beyond the confines of the little multipliedcircles of the system of the sun, it passes at once into the dimtwilight of space, where for myriads of myriad miles there is onlythe grey of the earliest God's gloaming, which existed just so orever the world was, and shall be when the world is not. Light anddark, day and night, are but as the lights of a station at whichthe train does not stop. They whisk past, gleaming bright but fora moment, and the world which came out of great twilight plungesagain into it, perhaps to be remade and reillumined on someeternal morning. 

It is good for man, then, to be oftentimes abroad in the earlytwilight of the morning. It is primeval-instinct withpossibilities of thought and action. Then, if at all, he will geta glimpse into his soul that may hap to startle him. Judgment andthe face of God justly angry seem more likely and actual thingsthan they do in the city when the pavements are thronged and atevery turning some one is ready for good or evil to hail you"fellow. "

So Ralph Peden stepped out into the night, the sense of injusticequick upon him. He had no plans, but only the quick resentments ofyouth, and the resolve to stay no longer in a house where he wasan unwelcome guest. He felt that he had been offered the choicebetween his career and unfaithfulness to the girl who had trustedhim. This was not quite so; but, with the characteristic one-sidedness of youth, that was the way that he put the case tohimself. 

It was the water-shed of day and night when Ralph set out from theDullarg manse. He had had no supper, but he was not hungry. Naturally his feet carried him in the direction of the bridge, whither he had gone on the previous evening and where amid aneager press of thoughts he had waited and watched for his love. When he got there he sat down on the parapet and looked to thenorth. He saw the wimples of the lazy Grannoch Lane winding dimlythrough their white lily beds. In the starlight the white cupsglimmered faintly up from their dark beds of leaves. Underneaththe bridge there was only a velvety blackness of shadow. 

What to do was now the question. Plainly he must at once go toEdinburgh, and see his father. That was the first certainty. Butstill more certainly he must first see Winsome, and, in the lightof the morning and of her eyes, solve for her all the questionswhich must have sorely puzzled her, at the same time resolving hisown perplexities. Then he must bid her adieu. Right proudly wouldhe go to carve out a way for her. He had no doubts that themastership in his old school, which Dr. Abel had offered him amonth ago, would still be at his disposal. That Winsome loved himtruly he did not doubt. He gave no thought to that. The cry acrossthe gulf of air from the high march dyke by the pines on the hill, echoing down to the bridge in the valley of the Grannoch, hadsettled that question once for all. 

As he sat on the bridge and listened to the ripple of the Grannochlane running lightly over the shallows at the Stepping Stones, andto the more distant roar of the falls of the Black Water, heshaped out a course for himself and for Winsome. He had ceased tocall her Winsome Charteris. "She, " he called her--the only she. When next he gave her a surname he would call her Winsome Peden. Instinctively he took off his hat at the thought, as though he hadopened a door and found himself light-heartedly and suddenly in achurch. 

Sitting thus on the bridge alone and listening to the ocean-likelapse of his own thoughts, as they cast up the future and the pastlike pebbles at his feet, he had no more thought of fear for hisfuture than he had that first day at Craig Ronald, under the whin-bushes on the ridge behind him, on that day of the blanket-washingso many ages ago. He was so full of love that it had cast outfear. 

Suddenly out of the gloom beneath the bridge upon which he wassitting, dangling his legs, there came a voice. 

"Maister Ralph Peden, Maister Ralph Peden. "

Ralph nearly fell backward over the parapet in his astonishment. 

"Who is that calling on me?" he asked in wonder. 

"Wha but juist daft Jock Gordon? The hangman haesna catchit himyet, an' thank ye kindly--na, nor ever wull. "

"Where are you, Jock, man?" said Ralph, willing to humour theinstrument of God. 

"The noo I'm on the shelf o' the brig; a braw bed it maks, if itis raither narrow. But graund practice for the narrow bed thatI'll get i' the Dullarg kirkyaird some day or lang, unless theycatch puir Jock and hang him. Na, na, " said Jock with a canty kindof content in his voice, "they may luik a lang while or they wadthink o' luikin' for him atween the foundation an' the spring o'the airch. An' that's but yin o' Jock Gordon's hidie holes, an' abraw an' guid yin it is. I hae seen this bit hole as fu' o'pairtricks and pheasants as it could hand, an' a' the keepers andtheir dowgs smellin', and them could na find it oot. Na, the watertaks awa' the smell. "

"Are ye not coming out, Jock?" queried Ralph. 

"That's as may be, " said Jock briefly. "What do ye want wi' Jock?"

"Come up, " said Ralph; "I shall tell you how ye can help me. Yeken that I helped you yestreen. "

"Weel, ye gied me an unco rive aff that blackguard frae theCastle, gin that was a guid turn, I ken na!"

So grumbling, Jock Gordon came to the upper level of the bridge, paddling unconcernedly with his bare feet and ragged trousersthrough the shallows. 

"Weel, na--hae ye a snuff aboot ye, noo that I am here? No--dearsirce, what wad I no do for a snuff?"

"Jock, " said Ralph, "I shall have to walk to Edinburgh. I muststart in the morning. "

"Ye'll hae plenty o' sillar, nae doot?" said Jock practically. 

Ralph felt his pockets. In that wild place it was not his customto carry money, and he had not even the few shillings which werein his purse at the manse. 

"I am sorry to say, " he said, "that I have no money with me. "

"Then ye'll be better o' Jock Gordon wi' ye?" said Jock promptly. 

Ralph saw that it would not do to be saddled with Jock in thecity, where it might be necessary for him to begin a new careerimmediately; so he gently broke the difficulties to Jock. 

"Deed na, ye needna be feared; Jock wadna set a fit in a toon. There's ower mony nesty imps o' boys, rinnin' an' cloddin' stanesat puir Jock, forby caa'in' him names. Syne he loses his temperwi' them an' then he micht do them an injury an' get himsel' intilthe gaol. Na, na, when Jock sees the blue smoor o' Auld Reeky gaunup into the lift he'll turn an' gae hame. "

"Well, Jock, " said Ralph, "it behooves me to see Mistress Winsomebefore I go. Ye ken she and I are good friends. "

"So's you an' me; but had puir Jock no cried up till ye, ye wadhae gane aff to Embra withoot as muckle as 'Fairguide'en to ye, Jock. '"

"Ah, Jock, but then you must know that Mistress Charteris and Iare lad and lass, " he continued, putting the case as he conceivedin a form that would suit it to Jock's understanding. 

"Lad an' lass! What did ye think Jock took ye for? This is nane o'yer Castle tricks, " he said; "mind, Jock can bite yet!"

Ralph laughed. 

"No, no, Jock, you need not be feared. She and I are going to bemarried some day before very long"--a statement made entirelywithout authority. 

"Hoot, hoot!" said Jock, "wull nocht ser' ye but that ava--asensible man like you? In that case ye'll hae seen the last o'Jock Gordon. I canna be doin' wi' a gilravage o' bairns aboot ahoose--"

"Jock, " said Ralph earnestly, "will you help me to see her beforeI go?"

"'Deed that I wull, " said Jock, very practically. "I'll gaun an'wauken her the noo!"

"You must not do that, " said Ralph, "but perhaps if you knew whereMeg Kissock slept, you might tell her. "

"Certes, I can that, " said Jock; "I can pit my haund on her in ameenit. But mind yer, when ye're mairret, dinna expect Jock Gordonto come farther nor the back kitchen. "

So grumbling, "It couldna be expeckit--I canna be doin' wi' bairnsava'--"Jock took his way up the long loaning of Craig Ronald, followed through the elderbushes by Ralph Peden. 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

THE DEW OF THEIR YOUTH. 

Jock made his way without a moment's hesitation to the little hen-house which stood at one end of the farm steading of Craig Ronald. Up this he walked with his semi-prehensile bare feet as easily asthough he were walking along the highway. Up to the rigging of thehouse he went, then along it--setting one foot on one side and theother on the other, turning in his great toes upon the coping forsupport. Thus he came to the gable end at which Meg slept. Jockleaned over the angle of the roof and with his hand tapped on thewindow. 

"Wha's there? "said Meg from her bed, no more surprised than ifthe knock had been upon the outer door at midday. 

"It's me, daft Jock Gordon, " said Jock candidly. 

"Gae wa' wi' ye, Jock! Can ye no let decent fowk sleep in theirbeds for yae nicht?"

"Ye maun get up, Meg, " said Jock. 

"An' what for should I get up?" queried Meg indignantly. "I hadancuch o' gettin' up yestreen to last me a gye while. "

"There's a young man here wantin' to coort your mistress!" saidJock delicately. 

"Haivers!" said Meg, "hae ye killed another puir man?"

"Na, na, he's honest--this yin. It's the young man frae the manse. The auld carle o' a minister has turned him oot o' hoose an' hame, and he's gaun awa' to Enbra'. He says he maun see the youngmistress afore he gangs--but maybe ye ken better, Meg. "

"Gae wa' frae the wunda, Jock, and I'll get up, " said Meg, with abrevity which betokened the importance of the news. 

In a little while Meg was in Winsome's room. The greyish light ofearly morning was just peeping in past the little curtain. On thechair lay the lilac-sprigged muslin dress of her grandmother's, which Winsome had meant to put on next morning to the kirk. Herface lay sideways on the pillow, and Meg could see that she wassoftly crying even in her sleep. Meg stood over her a moment. Something hard lay beneath Winsome's cheek, pressing into its softrounding. Meg tenderly slipped it out. It was an ordinarymemorandum-book written with curious signs. On the pillow by herlay the lilac sunbonnet. 

Meg put her arms gently round Winsome, saying:

"It's me, my lamb. It's me, your Meg!"

And Meg's cheek was pressed against that of Winsome, moist withsleep. The sleeper stirred with a dovelike moaning, and opened hereyes, dark with sleep and wet with the tears of dreams, upon Meg. 

"Waken, my bonnie; Meg has something that she maun tell ye. "

So Winsome looked round with the wild fear with which she nowstarted from all her sleeps; but the strong arms of her loyal Megwere about her, and she only smiled with a vague wistfulness, andsaid:

"It's you, Meg, my dear!"

So into her ear Meg whispered her tale. As she went on, Winsomeclasped her round the neck, and thrust her face into the neck ofMeg's drugget gown. This is the same girl who had set theploughmen their work and appointed to each worker about the farmher task. It seems necessary to say so. 

"Noo, " said Meg, when she had finished, "ye ken whether ye want tosee him or no!"

"Meg, " whispered Winsome, "can I let him go away to Edinburgh andmaybe never see me again, without a word?"

"Ye ken that best yersel', " said Meg with high impartiality, butwith her comforting arms very close about her darling. 

"I think, " said Winsome, the tears very near the lids of her eyes, "that I had better not see him. I--I do not wish to see him--Meg, "she said earnestly; "go and tell him not to see me any more, andnot to think of a girl like me--"

Meg went to Winsome's little cupboard wardrobe in the wall andtook down the old lilac-sprayed summer gown which she had wornwhen she first saw Ralph Peden. 

"Ye had better rise, my lassie, an' tak' that message yersel'!"said Meg dryly. 

So obediently Winsome rose. Meg helped her to dress, holdingsilently her glimmering white garments for her as she had donewhen first as a fairy child she came to Craig Ronald. Some of themwere a little roughly held, for Meg could not see quite so clearlyas usual. Also when she spoke her speech sounded more abruptly andharshly than was its wont. 

At last the girl's attire was complete, and Winsome stood readyfor her morning walk fresh as the dew on the white lilies. Megtied the strings of the old sunbonnet beneath her sweet chin, andstepped back to look at the effect; then, with sudden impulsivemovement, she went tumultuously forward and kissed her mistress onthe cheek. 

"I wush it was me!" she said, pushing Winsome from the room. 

The day was breaking red in the east when Winsome stepped out uponthe little wooden stoop, damp with the night mist, which seemedsomehow strange to her feet. She stepped down, giving a littlefamiliar pat to the bosom of her dress, as though to advertise toany one who might be observing that it was her constant habit thusto walk abroad in the dawn. 

Meg watched her as she went. Then she turned into the house tostop the kitchen clock and out to lock the stable door. 

Through the trees Winsome saw Ralph long before he saw her. Shewas a woman; he was only a naturalist and a man. She drew thesunbonnet a little farther over her eyes. He started at last, turned, and came eagerly towards her. 

Jock Gordon, who had remained about the farm, went quickly to thegate at the end of the house as if to shut it. 

"Come back oot o' that, " said Meg sharply. 

Jock turned quite as briskly. 

"I was gaun to stand wi' my back til't, sae that they micht kenthere was naebody luikin'. D'ye think Jock Gordon haes naemainners?" he said indignantly. 

"Staun wi' yer back to a creel o' peats, Jock; it'll fit yebetter!" ooserved Meg, giving him the wicker basket with the broadleather strap which was used at Craig Ronald for bringing thepeats in from the stack. 

Winsome had not meant to look at Ralph as she came up to him. Itseemed a bold and impossible thing for her ever again to come tohim. The fear of a former time was still strong upon her. 

But as soon as she saw him, her eyes somehow could not leave hisface. He dropped his hat on the grass beneath, as he came forwardto meet her under the great branches of the oak-trees by thelittle pond. She had meant to tell him that he must not touch her--she was not to be touched; yet she went straight into his openarms like a homing dove. Her great eyes, still dewy with the warmlight of love in them, never left his till, holding his love safein his arms, he drew her to him and upon her sweet lips took hisfirst kiss of love. 

"At last!" he said, after a silence. 

The sun was rising over the hills of heather. League after leagueof the imperial colour rolled westward as the level rays of thesun touched it. 

"Now do you understand, my beloved?" said Ralph. Perhaps it wasthe red light of the sun, or only some roseate tinge from themiles of Galloway heather that stretched to the north, but it iscertain that there was a glow of more than earthly beauty onWinsome's face as she stood up, still within his arms, and said:

"I do not understand at all, but I love you. "

Then, because there is nothing more true and trustful than theheart of a good woman, or more surely an inheritance from themaid-mother of the sinless garden than her way of showing that shegives her all, Winsome laid her either hand on her lover'sshoulders and drew his face down to hers--laying her lips to hisof her own free will and accord, without shame in giving, orcoquetry of refusal, in that full kiss of first surrender which awoman may give once, but never twice, in her life. 

This also is part of the proper heritage of man and woman, andwhoso has missed it may attain wealth or ambition, may exhaust theearth--yet shall die without fully or truly living. 

A moment they stood in silence, swaying a little like twin flowersin the wind of the morning. Then taking hands like children, theyslowly walked away with their faces towards the sunrise. There wasthe light of a new life in their eyes. It is good sometimes tolive altogether in the present. "Sufficient unto the day is thegood thereof, " is a proverb in all respects equal to thescriptural original. 

For a little while they thus walked silently forward, and on thecrest of the ridge above the nestling farm Ralph paused to takehis last look of Craig Ronald. Winsome turned with him in completecomprehension, though as yet he had told her no word of hisprojects. Nor did she think of any possible parting, or ofanything save of the eyes into which she did not cease to look, and the lover whose hand it was enough to hold. All true and purelove is an extension of God--the gladness in the eyes of lovers, the tears also, bridals and espousals, the wife's still happiness, the delight of new-made homes, the tinkle of children's laughter. It needs no learned exegete to explain to a true lover what Johnmeant when he said, "For God is love. " These things are not giftsof God, they are parts of him. 

It was at this moment that Meg Kissock, having seen them stand amoment still against the sky, and then go down from their hilltoptowards the north, unlocked the stable door, at which EbieFairrish had been vainly hammering from within for a quarter of anhour. Then she went indoors and pulled close the curtains ofWinsome's little room. She came out, locked the bedroom door, andput the key in her pocket. Her mistress had a headache. Meg was atreasure indeed, as a thoughtful person about a household oftenis. 

As Winsome and Ralph went down the farther slope of the hill, towards the road that stretched away northward across the moors, they fell to talking together very practically. They had much tosay. Before they had gone a mile the first strangeness had wornoff, and the stage of their intimacy may be inferred from the factthat they were only at the edge of the great wood of Grannochbank, when Winsome reached the remark which undoubtedly Mother Evemade to her husband after they had been some time acquainted:

"Do you know, I never thought I should talk to any one as I amtalking to you?"

Ralph allowed that it was an entirely wonderful thing--indeed, abelated miracle. Strangely enough, he had experienced exactly thesame thought. "Was it possible?" smiled Winsome gladly, from underthe lilac sunbonnet. 

Such wondrous and unexampled correspondence of impression provedthat they were made for one another, did it not? At this pointthey paused. Exercise in the early morning is fatiguing. Only theunique character of these refreshing experiences induces us to putthem on record. 

Then Winsome and Ralph proceeded to other and not lessextraordinary discoveries. Sitting on a wind-overturned tree-trunk, looking out from the edge of the fringing woods of theGrannoch bank towards the swells of Cairnsmuir's green bosom, theyentered upon their position with great practicality. Nature, withan unusual want of foresight, had neglected to provide a back tothis sylvan seat, so Ralph attended to the matter himself. Thisshows that self-help is a virtue to be encouraged. 

Ralph had some disinclination to speak of the terrors of the nightwhich had forever rolled away. Still, he felt that the matter mustbe cleared up; so that it was with doubt in his mind that heshowed Winsome the written line which had taken him to the bridgeinstead of to the hill gate. 

"That's Jess Kissock's writing!" Winsome said at once. Ralph hadthe same thought. So in a few moments they traced the whole plotto its origin. It was a fit product of the impish brain of JessKissock. Jess had sent the false note of appointment to Ralph byAndra, knowing that he would be so exalted with the contents thathe would never doubt its accuracy. Then she had despatched JockGordon with "Winsome's real letter to Greatorix Castle; in answerto the supposed summons, which was genuine enough, though notmeant for him, Agnew Greatorix had come to the hill gate, and Jesshad met Ralph by the bridge to play her own cards as best shecould for herself. 

"How wicked!" said Winsome, "after all. "

"How foolish!" said Ralph, "to think for a moment that any onecould separate you and me. "

But Winsome bethought herself how foolishly jealous she had beenwhen she found Jess putting a flower into Ralph's coat, and Jess'splot did not look quite so impossible as before. 

"I think, dear, " said Ralph, "you must after this make yourletters so full of your love, that there can be no mistake whomthey are intended for. "

"I mean to, " said Winsome frankly. 

There was also some fine scenery at this point. 

But there was no hesitation in Ralph Peden's tone when he settleddown steadily to tell her of his hopes. 

Winsome sat with her eyes downcast and her head a little to oneside, like a bright-eyed bird listening. 

"That is all true and delightful, " she said, "but we must not beselfish or forget. "

"We must remember one another!" said Ralph, with the absorption ofnewly assured love. 

"We are in no danger of forgetting one another, " said that wisewoman in counsel; "we must not forget others. There is yourfather--you have not forgotten him. "

With a pang Ralph remembered that there was yet something that hecould not tell Winsome. He had not even been frank with herconcerning the reason of his leaving the manse and going toEdinburgh. She only understood that it was connected with his lovefor her, which was not approved of by the minister of the Marrowkirk. 

"My father will be as much pleased with you as I, " said Ralph, with enthusiasm. 

"No doubt, " said Winsome, laughing; "fathers always are with theirsons' sweethearts. But you have not forgotten something else?"

"What may that be?" said Ralph doubtfully. 

"That I cannot leave my grandfather and grandmother at CraigRonald as they are. They have cared for me and given me a homewhen I had not a friend. Would you love me as you do, if I couldleave them even to go out into the world with you?"

"No, " said Ralph very reluctantly, but like a man. 

"Then, " said Winsome bravely, "go to Edinburgh. Fight your ownbattle, and mine, " she added. 

"Winsome, " said Ralph, earnestly, for this serious and practicalside of her character was an additional and unexpected revelationof perfection, "if you make as good a wife as you make asweetheart, you will make one man happy. "

"I mean to make a man happy, " said Winsome, confidently. 

The scenery again asserted its claim to attention. Observationenlarges the mind, and is therefore pleasant. 

After a pause, Winsome said irrelevantly. 

"And you really do not think me so foolish?"

"Foolish! I think you are the wisest and--"

"No, no. " Winsome would not let him proceed. "You do not reallythink so. You know that I am wayward and changeable, and not atall what I ought to be. Granny always tells me so. It was verydifferent when she was young, she says. Do you know, " continuedWinsome thoughtfully, "I used to be so frightened, when I knewthat you could read in all these wise books of which I did notknow a letter? But I must confess--I do not know what you willsay, you may even be angry--I have a note-book of yours which Ikept. "

But if Winsome wanted a new sensation she was disappointed, forRalph was by no means angry. 

"So that's where it went?" said Ralph, smiling gladly. 

"Yes, " said Winsome, blushing not so much with guilt as with theconsciousness of the locality of the note-book at that moment, which she was not yet prepared to tell him. But she consoledherself with the thought that she would tell him one day. 

Strangely however, Ralph did not seem to care much about the book, so Winsome changed the subject to one of greater interest. 

"And what else did you think about me that first day?--tell me, "said Winsome, shamelessly. 

It was Ralph's opportunity. 

"Why, you know very well, Winsome dear, that ever since the day Ifirst saw you I have thought that there never was any one likeyou--"

"Yes?" said Winsome, with a rising inflection in her voice. 

"I ever thought you the best and the kindest--"

"Yes?" said Winsome, a little breathlessly. 

"The most helpful and the wisest--"

"Yes?" said Winsome. 

"And the most beautiful girl I have ever seen in my life!"

"Then I do not care for anything else!" cried Winsome, clappingher hands. She had been resolving to learn Hebrew five minutesbefore. 

"Nor do I, really, " said Ralph, speaking out the inmost soul thatis in every young man. 

As Ralph Peden sat looking at Winsome the thought came sometimesto him--but not often--"This is Allan Welsh's daughter, thedaughter of the woman whom my father once loved, who lies so stillunder the green sod of Crossthwaite beneath the lea of Skiddaw. "

He looked at her eyes, deep blue like the depths of theMediterranean Sea, and, like it, shot through with interior light. 

"What are you thinking of?" asked Winsome, who had also meanwhilebeen looking at him. 

"Of your eyes, dear!" said Ralph, telling half the truth--a gooddeal for a lover. 

Winsome paused for further information, looking into the depths ofhis soul. Ralph felt as though his heart and judgment were beingassaulted by storming parties. He looked into these wells of blueand saw the love quivering in them as the broken light quivers, deflected on its way through clear water to a sea bottom of goldensand. 

"You want to hear me tell you something wiser, " said Ralph, whodid not know everything; "you are bored with my foolish talk. "

And he would have spoken of the hopes of his future. 

"No, no; tell me--tell me what you see in my eyes, " said Winsome, a little impatiently. 

"Well then, first, " said truthful Ralph, who certainly did notflinch from the task, "I see the fairest thing God made for man tosee. All the beauty of the world, losing its way, stumbled, andwas drowned in the eyes of my love. They have robbed the sunshine, and stolen the morning dew. The sparkle of the light on the water, the gladness of a child when it laughs because it lives, thesunshine which makes the butterflies dance and the world sobeautiful--all these I see in your eyes. "

"This story is plainly impossible. This practical girl was not oneto find pleasure in listening to flattery. Let us read no more inthis book. " This is what some wise people will say at this point. So, to their loss will they close the book. They have not achievedall knowledge. The wisest woman would rather hear of her eyes thanof her mind. There are those who say the reverse, but then perhapsno one has ever had cause to tell them concerning what lies hid intheir eyes. 

Many had wished to tell Winsome these things, but to no onehitherto had been given the discoverer's soul, the poet's voice, the wizard's hand to bring the answering love out of the deep seaof divine possibilities in which the tides ran high and never alighthouse told of danger. 

"Tell me more, " said Winsome, being a woman, as well as fair andyoung. These last are not necessary; to desire to be told aboutone's eyes, it is enough to be a woman. 

Ralph looked down. In such cases it is necessary to refresh theimagination constantly with the facts. As in the latter days wiseyouths read messages from the quivering needle of the talkingmachine, so Ralph read his message flash by flash as it pulsatedupward from a pure woman's soul. 

"Once you would not tell me why your eyelashes were curled up atthe ends, " said this eager Columbus of a new continent, drawingthe new world nearer his heart in order that his discoveries mightbe truer, surer, in detail more trustworthy. "I know now withouttelling. Would you like to know, Winsome?"

Winsome drew a happy breath, nestling a little closer--so littlethat no one but Ralph would have known. But the little shook himto the depths of his soul. This it is to be young and for thefirst time mastering the geography of an unknown and untraversedcontinent. The unversed might have thought that light breath asigh, but no lover could have made the mistake. It is only inbooks, wordy and unreal, that lovers misunderstand each other inthat way. 

"I know, " said Ralph, needing no word of permission to proceed, "it is with touching your cheek when you sleep. "

"Then I must sleep a very long time!" said Winsome merrily, makinglight of his words. 

"Underneath in the dark of either eye, " continued Ralph, who, beit not forgotten, was a poet, "I see two young things likecherubs. "

"I know, " said Winsome; "I see myself in your eyes--you seeyourself in mine. "

She paused to note the effect of this tremendous discovery. 

"Then, " replied Ralph, "if it be indeed my own self I see in youreyes, it is myself as God made me at first without sin. I do notfeel at all like a cherub now, but I must have been once, if Iever was like what I see in your eyes. "

"Now go on; tell me what else you see, " said Winsome. 

"Your lips--" began Ralph, and paused. 

"No, six is quite enough, " said Winsome, after a little while, mysteriously. She had only two, and Ralph only two; yet she saidwith little grammar and no sense at all, "Six is enough. "

But a voice from quite other lips came over the rising backgroundof scrub and tangled thicket. 

"Gang on coortin', " it said; "I'm no lookin', an' I canna seeonything onyway. "

It was Jock Gordon. He continued:

"Jock Scott's gane hame till his breakfast. He'll no bother yethis mornin', sae coort awa'. "

CHAPTEE XXXV. 

SUCH SWEET SORROW. 

WINSOME and Ralph laughed, but Winsome sat up and put straight hersunbonnet. Sunbonnets are troublesome things. They will not stickon one's head. Manse Bell contradicts this. She says that hersunbonnet never comes off, or gets pushed back. As for otherpeople's, lasses are not what they were in her young days. 

"I must go home, " said Winsome; "they will miss me. "

"You know that it is 'good-bye, ' then, " said Ralph. 

"What!" said Winsome, "shall I not see you to-morrow?" the brightlight of gladness dying out of her eye. And the smile drained downout of her cheek like the last sand out of the sand-glass. 

"No, " said Ralph quietly, keeping his eyes full on hers, "I cannotgo back to the manse after what was said. It is not likely that Ishall ever be there again. "

"Then when shall I see you?" said Winsome piteously. It is the cryof all loving womanhood, whose love goes out to the battle or intothe city, to the business of war, or pleasure, or even of money-getting. "Then when shall I see you. Again?" said Winsome, sayinga new thing. There is nothing new under the sun, yet to loverslike Winsome and Ralph all things are new. 

There was a catch in her throat. A salter dew gathered about hereyes, and the pupils expanded till the black seemed to shut outthe blue. 

Very tenderly Ralph looked down, and said, "Winsome, my dear, verysoon I shall come again with more to ask and more to tell. "

"But you are not going straight away to Edinburgh now? You mustget a drive to Dumfries and take the Edinburgh coach. "

"I cannot do that, " said Ralph; "I must walk all the way; it isnothing. "

Winsome looked at Ralph, the motherly instinct that is in all truelove surging up even above the lover's instinct. It made her claspand unclasp her hands in distress, to think of him going awayalone over the waste moors, from the place where they had been sohappy. 

"And he will leave me behind!" she said, with a sudden fear of theloneliness which would surely come when the bright universe wasemptied of Ralph. 

"Had it only been to-morrow, I could have borne it better, " shesaid. "Oh, it is too soon! How could he let us be so happy when hewas going away from me?"

Winsome knew even better than Ralph that he must go, but the mostaccurate knowledge of necessity does not prevent the resentfulfeeling in a woman's heart when one she loves goes before histime. 

But the latent motherhood in this girl rose up. If he were trulyhers, he was hers to take care of. Therefore she asked thequestion which every mother asks, and no sweetheart who is nothingbut a sweetheart has ever yet asked:

"Have you enough money?"

Ralph blushed and looked most unhappy, for the first time sincethe sun rose. 

"I have none at all, " he said; "my father only gave me the moneyfor my journey to the Dullarg, and Mr. Welsh was to provide mewhat was necessary--" He stopped here, it seemed such a hard andshameful thing to say. "I have never had anything to do withmoney, " he said, hanging down his head. 

Now Winsome, who was exceedingly practical in this matter, wentforward to him quickly and put an arm upon his shoulder. 

"My poor boy!" she said, with the tenderest and sweetestexpression on her face. And again Ralph Peden perceived that thereare things more precious than much money. 

"Now bend your head and let me whisper. " It was already bent, butit was in his ear that Winsome wished to speak. 

"No, no, indeed I cannot, Winsome, my love; I could not, indeed, and in truth I do not need it. "

Winsome dropped her arms and stepped back tragically. She put onehand over the other upon her breast, and turned half way from him. 

"Then you do not love me, " she said, purely as a coercive measure. 

"I do, I do--you know that I do; but I could not take it, " saidRalph, piteously. 

"Well, good-bye, then, " said Winsome, without holding out herhand, and turning away. 

"You do not mean it; Winsome, you cannot be cruel, after all. Comeback and sit down. We shall talk about it, and you will see--"

Winsome paused and looked at him, standing so piteously. She saysnow that she really meant to go away, but she smiles when she saysit, as if she did not quite believe the statement herself. Butsomething--perhaps the look in his eyes, and the thought that, like herself, he had never known a mother--made her turn. Goingback, she took his hand and laid it against her cheek. 

"Ralph, " she said, "listen to me; if _I_ needed help and had noneI should not be proud; I would not quarrel with you when youoffered to help me. No, I would even ask you for it! BUT THEN ILOVE YOU. " It was hardly fair. Winsome acknowledges as muchherself; but then a woman has no weapons but her wit and herbeauty--which is, seeing the use she can make of these two, on thewhole rather fortunate than otherwise. 

Ralph looked eager and a little frightened. 

"Would you do that really?" he asked eagerly. 

"Of course I should!" replied Winsome, a little indignantly. 

Ralph took her in his arms, and in such a masterful way, thatfirst she was frightened and then she was glad. It is good to feelweak in the arms of a strong man who loves you. God made it sowhen he made all things well. 

"My lassie!" said Ralph for all comment. 

Then fell a silence so prolonged that a shy squirrel in the boughsoverhead resumed his researches upon the tassels and young shootsof the pine-tops, throwing down the debris in a contemptuousmanner upon Winsome and Ralph, who stood below, listening to thebeating of each other's hearts. 

Finally Winsome, without moving, produced apparently from regionsunknown a long green silk purse with three silver rings round themiddle. 

As she put it into Ralph's hand, something doubtful started againinto his eyes, but Winsome looked so fierce in a moment, and sodecidedly laid a finger on his lips, that perforce he was silent. 

As soon as he had taken it, Winsome clapped her hands (as well aswas at the time possible for her--it seemed, indeed, altogetherimpossible to an outsider, yet it was done), and said:

"You are not sorry, dear--you are glad?" with interrogativelyarched eyebrows. 

"Yes, " said Ralph, "I am very glad. " As indeed he might well be. 

"You see, " said the wise young woman, "it is this way: all that ismy very own. _I_ am your very own, so what is in the purse is yourvery own. "

Logic is great--greatest when the logician is distractinglypretty; then, at least, it is sure to prevail--unless, indeed, theopponent be blind, or another woman. This is why they do notexamine ladies orally in logic at the great colleges. 

We have often tried to recover Ralph's reply, but the text iscorrupt at this place, the context entirely lost. Experts suspecta palimpsest. 

Perhaps we linger overly long on the records; but there is so muchcalled love in the world, which is no love, that there may be someuse in dwelling upon the histories of a love which was fresh andtender, sweet and true. It is at once instruction for the young, and for the older folk a cast back into the days that were. If toany it is a mockery or a scorning, so much the worse--for of themwho sit in the scorner's chair the doom is written. 

Winsome and Ralph walked on into the eye of the day, hand in hand, as was their wont. They crossed the dreary moor, which yet is notdreary when you came to look at it on such a morning as this. 

The careless traveller glancing at it as he passed might call itdreary; but in the hollows, miniature lakes glistened, into whichthe tiny spurs of granite ran out flush with the water likeminiature piers. The wind of the morning waking, rippled on thelakelets, and blew the bracken softly northward. The heather wasdark rose purple, the "ling" dominating the miles of moor; for thelavender-grey flush of the true heather had not yet broken overthe great spaces of the south uplands. 

So their feet dragged slower as they drew near to that spot wherethey knew they must part. There was no thought of going back. There was even little of pain. 

Perfect love had done its work. All frayed and secondhand lovesmay be made ashamed by the fearlessness of these two walking totheir farewell trysting-place, lonely amid the world of heather. Only daft Jock Gordon above them, like a jealous scout, scouredthe heights--sometimes on all-fours, sometimes bending double, with his long arms swinging like windmills, scaring even the sheepand the deer lest they should come too near. Overhead there wasnothing nearer them than the blue lift, and even that hadwithdrawn itself infinitely far away, as though the angelsthemselves did not wish to spy on a later Eden. It was thatmidsummer glory of love-time, when grey Galloway covers up itsflecked granite and becomes a true Purple Land. 

If there be a fairer spot within the four seas than this fringe ofbirch-fringed promontory which juts into westernmost Loch Ken, Ido not know it. Almost an island, it is set about with the tiniestbeaches of white sand. From the rocks that look boldly up the lochthe heather and the saxifrage reflect themselves in the stillwater. To reach it Winsome led Ralph among the scented gall-bushesand bog myrtle, where in the marshy meadows the lonely grass ofParnassus was growing. Pure white petals, veined green, withspikelets of green set in the angles within, five-lobed broideryof daintiest gold stitching, it shone with so clear a presage ofhope that Ralph stooped to pick it that he might give it toWinsome. 

She stopped him. 

"Do not pull it, " she said; "leave it for me to come and look at--when--when you are gone. It will soon wither if it is taken away;but give me some of the bog myrtle instead, " she added, seeingthat Ralph looked a little disappointed. 

Ralph gathered some of the narrow, brittle, fragrant leaves. Winsome carefully kept half for herself, and as carefully inserteda spray in each pocket of his coat. 

"There, that will keep you in mind of Galloway!" she said. Andindeed the bog myrtle is the characteristic smell of the greatworld of hill and moss we call by that name. In far lands the merethought of it has brought tears to the eyes unaccustomed, so closedo the scents and sights of the old Free Province--the lordship ofthe Picts--wind themselves about the hearts of its sons. 

"We transplant badly, we plants of the hills. You must come backto me, " said Winsome, after a pause of wondering silence. 

Loch Ken lay like a dream in the clear dispersed light of themorning, the sun shimmering upon it as through translucent groundglass. Teal and moor-hen squattered away from the shore as Winsomeand Ralph climbed the brae, and stood looking northward over thesuperb levels of the loch. On the horizon Cairnsmuir showed goldentints through his steadfast blue. 

Whaups swirled and wailed about the rugged side of Bennan abovetheir heads. Across the loch there was a solitary farm sobeautifully set that Ralph silently pointed it out to Winsome, whosmiled and shook her head. 

"The Shirmers has just been let on a nineteen years' lease, " shesaid, "eighteen to run. "

So practical was the answer, that Ralph laughed, and the strain ofhis sadness was broken. He did not mean to wait eighteen years forher, fathers or no fathers. 

Then beyond, the whole land leaped skyward in great heatherysweeps, save only here and there, where about some hill farm thelittle emerald crofts and blue-green springing oatlands clusteredclosest. The loch spread far to the north, sleeping in thesunshine. Burnished like a mirror it was, with no breath upon it. In the south the Dee water came down from the hills peaty andbrown. The roaring of its rapids could faintly be heard. To theeast, across the loch, an island slept in the fairway, wooded tothe water's edge. 

It were a good place to look one's last on the earth, this woodedpromontory, which might indeed have been that mountain, though alittle one, from which was once seen all the kingdoms of the earthand the glory of them. For there are no finer glories on the earththan red heather and blue loch, except only love and youth. 

So here love and youth had come to part, between the heather thatglowed on the Bennan Hill and the sapphire pavement of Loch Ken. 

For a long time Winsome and Ralph were silent--the empty interiorsadness, mixed of great fear and great hunger, beginning to gripthem as they stood. Lives only just twined and unified were againto twain. Love lately knit was to be torn asunder. Eyes were tolook no more into the answering eloquence of other eyes. 

"I must go, " said Ralph, looking down into his betrothed's face. 

"Stay only a little, " said Winsome. "It is the last time. "

So he stayed. 

Strange, nervous constrictions played at "cat's cradle" abouttheir hearts. Vague noises boomed and drummed in their ears, making their own words sound strange and empty, like voices heardin a dream. 

"Winsome!" said Ralph. 

"Ralph!" said Winsome. 

"You will never for a moment forget me?" said Winsome Charteris. 

"You will never for a moment forget me?" said Ralph Peden. 

The mutual answer taken and given, after a long silence of souland body in not-to-be-forgotten communion, they drew apart. 

Ralph went a little way down the birch-fringed hill, but turned tolook a last look. Winsome was standing where he had left her. Something in her attitude told of the tears steadily falling uponher summer dress. It was enough and too much. 

Ralph ran back quickly. 

"I cannot go away, Winsome. I cannot bear to leave you like this!"

Winsome looked at him and fought a good fight, like the brave girlshe was. Then she smiled through her tears with the suddenradiance of the sun upon a showery May morning when the whitehawthorn is coming out. 

At this a sob, dangerously deep, rending and sudden, forced itselffrom Ralph's throat. Her smile was infinitely more heart-breakingthan her tears. Ralph uttered a kind of low inarticulate roar atthe sight--being his impotent protest against his love's pain. Yetsuch moments are the ineffaceable treasures of life, had he butknown it. Many a man's deeds follow his vows simply because hislips have tasted the salt water of love's ocean upon the face ofthe beloved. 

"Be brave, Winsome, " said Ralph; "it shall not be for long. "

Yet she was braver than he, had he but known it; for it is theheritage of the woman to be the stronger in the crises whichinevitably wait upon love and love's achievement. 

Winsome bent to kiss, with a touch like a benediction, not hislips now but his brow, as he stood beneath her on the hill slope. 

"Go, " she said; "go quickly, while I have the strength. I will bebrave. Be thou brave also. God be with thee!"

So Ralph turned and fled while he could. He dared not trusthimself to look till he was past the hill and some way across themoor. Then he turned and looked back over the acres of heatherwhich he had put between himself and his love. 

Winsome still stood on the hill-top, the sun shining on her face. In her hand was the lilac sunbonnet, making a splash of faint purecolour against the blonde whiteness of her dress. Ralph could justcatch the golden shimmer of her hair. He knew but he could not seehow it crisped and tendrilled about her brow, and how the lightwind blew it into little cirrus wisps of sun-flossed gold. Thethought that for long he should see it no more was even harderthan parting. It is the hard things on this earth that are theeasiest to do. The great renunciation is easy, but it isinfinitely harder to give up the sweet, responsive delight of theeye, the thought, the caress. This also is human. God made it. 

The lilac sunbonnet waved a little heartless wave which dropped inthe middle as if a string were broken. But the shining hair blewout, as a waft of wind from the Bennan fretted a moving patchacross the loch. 

Ralph flung out his hand in one of the savage gestures men usewhen they turn bewildered and march away, leaving the best oftheir lives behind them. 

So shutting his eyes Ralph plunged headlong into the green gladesof the Kenside and looked no more. Winsome walked slowly andsedately back, not looking on the world any more, but only twiningand pulling roughly the strings of her sunbonnet till one cameoff. Winsome threw it on the grass. What did it matter now? Shewould wear it no longer. There was none to cherish the lilacsunbonnet any more. 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWA'. 

Winsome came back to a quiet Craig Ronald. The men were in thefield. The farmsteading was hushed, Meg not to be seen, the dogssilent, the bedroom blind undrawn when she entered to find the keyin the door. She went within instantly and threw herself down uponthe bed. Outside, the morning sun strengthened and beat on theshining white of the walls of Craig Ronald, and on Ralph faracross the moors. 

Winsome must wait. We shall follow Ralph. It is the way of theworld at any rate. The woman always must wait and nothing said. With the man are the keen interests of the struggle, the grip ofopposition, the clash of arms. With the woman, naught worthspeaking of--only the silence, the loneliness, and waiting. 

Ralph went northward wearing Winsome's parting kiss on his browlike an insignia of knighthood. It meant much to one who had nevergone away before. So simple was he that he did not know that thereare all-experiencing young men who love and sail away, clearing asthey go the decks of their custom-staled souls for the nextaction. 

He stumbled, this simple knight, blindly into the ruts and pebblywater courses down which the winter rains had rushed, tearing theturf clean from the granite during the November and Februaryrains. 

So he journeyed onward, heedless of his going. 

To him came Jock Gordon, skipping like a wild goat down the Bennanside. 

"Hey, mon, d'ye want to drive intil Loch Ken? Ye wad mak' brawged-bait. Haud up the hill, breest to the brae. "

Through his trouble Ralph heard and instinctively obeyed. In alittle while he struck the beautiful road which runs north andsouth along the side of the long loch of Ken. Now there are fairerbowers in the south sunlands. There are Highlands and Alp-lands ofsky-piercing beauty. But to Galloway, and specially to the centralglens and flanking desolations thereof, one beauty belongs. She islike a plain girl with beautiful eyes. There is no country likeher in the world for colour--so delicately fresh in the rain-washed green of her pasture slopes, so keen the viridian[Footnote: Veronese green] of her turnip-fields when the dew is onthe broad, fleshy, crushed leaves, so tender and deep the blue inthe hollow places. It was small wonder that Ralph had set down inthe note-book in which he sketched for future use all that passedunder his eye:

 "Hast thou seen the glamour that follows The falling of summer rain- The mystical blues in the hollows, The purples and greys on the plain?"

It is true that all these things were but the idle garniture of atale that had lost its meaning to Ralph this morning; but yet intime the sense that the beauty and hope of life lay about himstole soothingly upon his soul. He was glad to breathe thegracious breaths of spraying honeysuckle running its creamy riotof honey-drenched petals over the hedges, and flinging daringreconnaissances even to the tops of the dwarf birches by thewayside. 

So quickly Nature eased his smart, that--for such is the nature ofthe best men, even of the very best--at the moment when Winsomethrew herself, dazed and blinded with pain, upon her low white bedin the little darkened chamber over the hill at Craig Ronald, Ralph was once more, even though with the gnaw of emptiness andloss in his heart, looking forward to the future, and planningwhat the day would bring to him on which he should return. 

Even as he thought he began to whistle, and his step went lighter, Jock Gordon moving silently along the heather by his side at adog's trot. Let no man think hardly of Ralph, for this is thenature of the man. It was not that man loves the less, but thatwith him in his daring initiative and strenuous endeavour thefuture lies. 

The sooner, then, that he could compass and overpass hisdifficulties the more swiftly would his face be again set to thesouth, and the aching emptiness of his soul be filled with astrange and thrilling expectancy. The wind whistled in his face ashe rounded the Bennan and got his first glimpse of the Kellsrange, stretching far away over surge after surge of heather andbent, through which, here and there, the grey teeth of the graniteshone. It is no blame to him that, as he passed on from horizon tohorizon, each step which took him farther and farther from CraigRonald seemed to bring him nearer and nearer to Winsome. He wasgoing away, yet with each mile he regained the rebounding spiritof youth, while Winsome lay dazed in her room at Craig Ronald. Butlet it not be forgotten that he went in order that no more shemight so lie with the dry mechanic sobs catching ever and anon inher throat. So the world is not so ill divided, after all. And, being a woman, perhaps Winsome's grief was as dear and natural toher as Ralph's elastic hopefulness. 

Soon Ralph and Jock Gordon were striding across the moors towardsMoniaive. Ralph wished to breakfast at one of the inns in NewGalloway, but this Jock Gordon would not allow. He did not likethat kind o' folk, he said. 

"Gie's tippens, an' that'll serve brawly, " said Jock. 

Ralph drew out Winsome's purse; he looked at it reverently and putit back again. It seemed too early, and too material a use of herlove-token. 

"Nae sillar in't?" queried Jock. "How's that? It looks brave andbaggy. "

"I think I will do without for the present, " said Ralph. 

"Aweel, " said Jock, "ye may, but I'm gaun to hae my breakfast a'the same, sillar or no sillar. "

In twenty minutes he was back by the dykeside, where he had leftRalph sitting, twining Winsome's purse through his fingers, andthinking on the future, and all that was awaiting him in Edinburghtown. 

Jock seemed what he had called Winsome's purse--baggy. 

Then he undid himself. From under the lower buttons of his longrusset "sleeved waistcoat" with the long side flaps which, alongwith his sailor-man's trousers, he wore for all garment, he drew abarn-door fowl, trussed and cooked, and threw it on the ground. Now came a dozen farles of cake, crisp and toothsome, from thegirdle, and three large scones raised with yeast. 

Then followed, out of some receptacle not too strictly to belocalized, half a pound of butter, wrapped in a cabbage-leaf, anda quart jug of pewter. 

Ralph looked on in amazement. 

"Where did you get all these?" he asked. 

"Get them? Took them!" said Jock succinctly. "I gaed alang toMistress MacMorrine's, an' says I, 'Guid-mornin' till ye, mistress, an' hoo's a' wi' ye the day?' for I'm a ceevil chielwhen folks are ceevil to me. "

"'Nane the better for seein' you, Jock Gordon, ' says she, forshe's an unceevil wife, wi' nae mair mainners nor gin she had justcome ower frae Donnachadee--the ill-mainnered randy. 

"'But, ' says I, 'maybes ye wad be the better o' kennin' that thekye's eatin' your washin' up on the loan. I saw Provost Weir'smuckle Ayreshire halfway through wi' yer best quilt, ' says I. 

"She flung up her hands. 

"'Save us!' she cries; 'could ye no hae said that at first?'

"An' wi' that she ran as if Auld Hornie was at her tail, screevin'ower the kintra as though she didna gar the beam kick at twahunderweicht guid. "

"But was that true, Jock Gordon?" asked Ralph, astounded. 

"True!--what for wad it be true? Her washin' is lyin' bleachin', fine an' siccar, but she get a look at it and a braw sweet. A raceis guid exercise for ony yin that its as muckle as LuckieMacMorrine. "

"But the provisions--and the hen?" asked Ralph, fearing the worst. 

"They were on her back-kitchen table. There they are now, " saidJock, pointing with his foot, as though that was all there was tosay about the matter. 

"But did you pay for them?" he asked. 

"Pay for them! Does a dowg pay for a sheep's heid when he gangsoot o' the butcher's shop wi' yin atween his teeth, an' a twa-pundwecht playin' dirl on his hench-bane? Pay for't! Weel, I wat no!Didna yer honour tell me that ye had nae sillar, an' sae gaed itin hand to Jock?"

Ralph started up. This might be a very serious matter. He pulledout Winsome's purse again. In the end he tried first there wassilver, and in the other five golden guineas in a little silkeninner case. One of the guineas Ralph took out, and, handing it toJock, he bade him gather up all that he had stolen and take hisway back with them. Then he was to buy them from Luckie MacMorrineat her own price. 

"Sic a noise aboot a bit trifle!" said Jock. "What's aboot a bitchuckle an' a heftin' o' cake? Haivers!"

But very quickly Ralph prevailed upon him, and Jock took theguinea. At his usual swift wolf's lope he was out of sight overthe long stretches of heather and turf so speedily that he arrivedat the drying-ground on the hillside before Luckie MacMorrine, handicapped by her twenty stone avoirdupois, had perspiredthither. 

Jock met her at the gate. 

"Noo, mistress, " exclaimed Jock, busily smoothing out the wrinklesand creases of a fine linen sheet, with "E. M. M. " on the corner, "d'ye see this? I juist gat here in time, and nae mair. Ye see, thae randies o' kye, wi' their birses up, they wad sune hae seenthe last o' yer bonny sheets an' blankets, gin I had letten them. "

Mistress MacMorrine did not waste a look on the herd of cows, butproceeded to go over her washing with great care. Jock had justarrived in time to make hay of it, before the owner came puffingup the road. Had she looked at the cows curiously it might havestruck her that they were marvellously calm for such ferociousanimals. This seemed to strike Jock, for he went after them, throwing stones at them in the manner known as "henchin'" [jerkingfrom the side], much practised in Galloway, and at which Jock wasa remarkable adept. Soon he had them excited enough for anything, and pursued them with many loud outcryings till they werescattered far over the moor. 

When he came back he said: "Mistress MacMorrine, I ken brawly thatye'll be wushin' to mak' me some sma' recompense for my troublean' haste. Weel, I'll juist open my errand to ye. Ye see the wayo't was this: There is twa gentlemen shooters on the moors, theLaird o' Balbletherum an' the Laird o' Glower-ower-'em-twarespectit an' graund gentlemen. They war wantin' some luncheon, but they were that busy shootin' that they hadna time to come, sothey says to me, 'Jock Gordon, do ye ken an honest woman in thisneighbourhood that can supply something to eat at a reasonablechairge?' 'Yes, ' says I, 'Mistress MacMorrine is sic a woman, an'nae ither. ' 'Do ye think she could pit us up for ten days or afortnight?' says they. 'I doot na', for she's weel plenisht an'providit, ' I says. 'Noo, I didna ken but ye micht be a lang timedetained wi' the kye (as indeed ye wad hae been, gin I hadna cometo help ye), an' as the lairds couldna be keepit, I juist took upthe bit luncheon that I saw on your kitchie table, an' here it is, on its way to the wames o' the gentlemen--whilk is an honourtill't. '"

Mistress MacMorrine did not seem to be very well pleased at theunceremonious way in which Jock had dealt with the contents of herlarder, but the inducement was too great to be gainsaid. 

"Ye'll mak' it reasonable, nae doot, " said Jock, "sae as to giethe gentlemen a good impression. There's a' thing in a firstimpression. "

"Tak' it till them an' welcome--wi' the compliments o' Mrs. MacMorrine o' the Blue Bell, mind an' say till them. Ye mayconsider it a recognition o' yer ain trouble in the matter o' thekye; but I will let the provost hear o't on the deafest side o'his heid when he ca's for his toddy the nicht. "

"Thank ye, mistress, " said Jock, quickly withdrawing with hispurchases; "there's nocht like obleegements for makin' freends. "

At last Ralph saw Jock coming at full speed over the moor. 

He went forward to him anxiously. 

"Is it all right?" he asked. 

"It's a' richt, an' a' paid for, an' mair, gin ye like to sendJock for't; an' I wasna to forget Mistress MacMorrine'scompliments to ye intil the bargain. "

Ralph looked mystified. 

"Ye wadna see the Laird o' Balbletherum? Did ye?" said Jock, cocking his impudent, elvish head to the side. 

"Who is he?" asked Ralph. 

"Nor yet the Laird o' Glower--ower--'em?"

"I have seen nobody from the time you went away, " said Ralph. 

"Then we'll e'en fa' to. For gin thae twa braw gentlemen arenahere to partake o' the guid things o' this life, then there's themair for you an' Jock Gordon. "

Jock never fully satisfied Ralph's curiosity as to the manner inwhich he obtained this provender. Luckie Morrine bestowed it uponhim for services rendered, he said; which was a true, thoughsomewhat abbreviated and imperfect account of the transaction. 

What the feelings of the hostess of the Blue Bell were when nightpassed without the appearance of the two lairds, for whom she hadspread her finest sheets, and looked out her best bottles of wine, we have no means of knowing. Singularly enough, for someconsiderable time thereafter Jock patronized the "Cross Keys" whenhe happened to be passing that way. He "preferred it to the BlueBell, " he said. 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

UNDER THE BED HEATHER. 

So refreshed, Ralph and Jock passed on their way. All the forenoonthey plodded steadily forward. From Moniaive they followed thewindings of a flashing burn, daching and roaring in a shallowlinn, here and there white with foam and fretting, and againdimpling black in some deep and quiet pool. Through the ducalvillage of Thornhill and so northward along the Nithside towardsthe valley of the Menick they went. The great overlapping purplefolds of the hills drew down about these two as they passed. JockGordon continually scoured away to either side like a dog freshoff the leash. Ralph kept steadily before him the hope in hisheart that before long the deep cleft would be filled up and thatfor always. 

It so happened that it was night when they reached the high summitof the Leadhills and the village of Wanlockhead gleamed greybeneath them. Ralph proposed to go down and get lodgings there;but Jock had other intentions. 

"What for, " he argued, "what for should ye pay for the breadth ofyer back to lie doon on? Jock Gordon wull mak' ye juist ascomfortable ablow a heather buss as ever ye war in a bed in themanse. Bide a wee!"

Jock took him into a sheltered little "hope, " where they were shutin from the world of sheep and pit-heads. 

With his long, broad-bladed sheath-knife Jock was not long inpiling under the sheltered underside of a great rock over whichthe heather grew, such a heap of heather twigs as Ralph couldhardly believe had been cut in so short a time. These he compactedinto an excellent mattress, springy and level, with pliableinterlacings of broom. 

"Lie ye doon there, an' I'll mak' ye a bonnie plaidie, " said Jock. 

There was a little "cole" or haystack of the smallest sort closeat hand. To this Jock went, and, throwing off the top layer aspossibly damp, he carried all the rest in his arms and piled it onRalph till he was covered up to his neck. 

"We'll mak' a' snod [neat] again i' the mornin'!" he said. "Noo, we'll theek [thatch] ye, an' feed ye!" said Jock comprehensively. So saying, he put other layers of heather, thinner than themattress underneath, but arranged in the same way, on the top ofthe hay. 

"Noo ye're braw an' snug, are ye na'? What better wad ye hae beenin a three-shillin' bed?"

Then Jock made a fire of broken last year's heather. This hecarefully watched to keep it from spreading, and on it he roastedhalf a dozen plover's eggs which he had picked up during the dayin his hillside ranging. On these high moors the moor-fowls go onlaying till August. These being served on warmed and butteredscones, and sharpened with a whiff of mordant heather smoke, weremost delicious to Ralph, who smiled to himself, well pleased underhis warm covering of hay and overthatching of heather. 

After each egg was supplied to him piping hot, Jock would say:

"An' isna that as guid as a half-croon supper?"

Then another pee-wit's egg, delicious and fresh--

"Luckie Morrine couldna beat that, " said Jock. 

There was a surprising lightness in the evening air, the elasticlife of the wide moorland world settling down to rest for a coupleof hours, which is all the night there is on these hill-tops inthe crown of the year. 

Jock Gordon covered himself by no means so elaborately as he hadprovided for Ralph, saying: "I hae covered you for winter, forye're but a laddie; the like o' me disna need coverin' when thedays follow yin anither like sheep jumpin' through a slap. "

Ralph was still asleep when the morning came. But when the youngsun looked over the level moors--for they were on the very top ofthe heathery creation--Jock Gordon made a little hillock of dewyheather to shelter Ralph from the sun. He measured at the sametime a hand's breadth in the sky, saying to himself, "I'll wakkenthe lad when he gets to there!" He was speaking of the sun. 

But before the flood of light overtopped the tiny break-water andshot again upon Ralph's face, he sat up bewildered and astonished, casting a look about him upon the moorland and its crying birds. 

Jock Gordon was just coming towards him, having scoured the faceof the ridge for more plover's eggs. 

"Dinna rise, " said Jock, "till I tak' awa' the beddin'. Ye see, "continued the expert in camping out on hills, "the hay an' theheather gets doon yer neck an' mak's ye yeuk [itch] an' fidge a'day. An' at first ye mind that, though after a while gin ye dinnayeuk, ye find it michty oninterestin'!"

Ralph sat up. Something in Jock's bare heel as he sat on the grassattracted his attention. 

"Wi', Jock, " he said, infinitely astonished, "what's that in yerheel?"

"Ou!" said Jock, "it's nocht but a nail!"

"A nail!" said Ralph; "what are ye doin' wi' a nail in yer foot?"

"I gat it in last Martinmas, " he said. 

"But why do you not get it out? Does it not hurt?" said Ralph, compassionating. 

"'Deed did it awhile at the first, " said Jock, "but I got used toit. Ye can use wi' a'thing. Man's a wunnerful craitur!"

"Let me try to pull it out, " said Ralph, shivering to think of thepain he must have suffered. 

"Na, na, ye ken what ye hae, but ye dinna ken what ye micht get. Iken what I hae to pit up wi', wi' a nail in my fit; but wha kenswhat it micht be gin I had a muckle hole ye could pit yer fingerin? It wadna be bonny to hae the clocks howkin' [beetles digging]and the birdies biggin' their nests i' my heel! Na, na, it's aguid lesson to be content wi' yer doon-settin', or ye may getwaur!"

It was in the bright morning light that these two took theEdinburgh road, which clambered down over the hillsides by thevillage of Leadhills into the valley of the Clyde. ThroughAbingdon and Biggar they made their way, and so admirable wereJock's requisitioning abilities that Winsome's green purse wasnever once called into action. 

When they looked from the last downward step of the Mid-Lothiantable-land upon the city of Edinburgh, there was a brisk startingof smoke from many chimneys, for the wives of the burgesses werekindling their supper fires, and their husbands were beginning tocome in with the expectant look of mankind about meal-time. 

"Come wi' me, Jock, and I'll show ye Edinburgh, as ye have showedme the hills of heather!" This was Ralph's invitation. 

"Na, " said Jock, "an' thank ye kindly a' the same. There's muckleloons there that micht snap up a guid-lookin' lad like Jock, an'ship him ontill their nesty ships afore he could cry 'Mulquarcharand Craignell!' Jock Gordon may be a fule, but he kens when he'sweel aff. Nae Auld Reekies for him, an' thank ye kindly. When hewants to gang to the gaol he'll steal a horse an' gang daicent!He'll no gang wi' his thoom in his mooth, an' when they say tillhim, 'What are ye here for?' be obleeged to answer, 'Fegs, an' Idinna ken what for!' Na, na, it wadna be mensefu' like ava'. A'the Gordons that ever was hae gaen to the gaol--but only yince. It's aye been a hangin' maitter, an' Jock's no the man to turnagain the rule an' custom o' his forebears. 'Yince gang, yincehang, ' is Jock's motto. "

Ralph did not press the point. But he had some unexpected feelingin saying good-bye to Jock. It was not so easy. He tried to putthree of Winsome's guineas into his hand, but Jock would have noneof them. 

"ME wi' gowden guineas!" he said. "Surely ye maun hae an ill-wullat puir Jock, that wusses ye weel; what wad ony body say gin Ipoo'ed out sic a lump of gowd? 'There's that loon Jock beenbreakin' somebody's bank, ' an' then 'Fare-ye-weel, Kilaivie, ' toJock's guid name. It's gane, like his last gless o' whusky, neverto return. "

"But you are a long way from home, Jock; how will you get back?"

"Hoots, haivers, Maister Ralph, gin Jock has providit for you thatneeds a' things as gin ye war in a graund hoose, dinna be fearedfor Jock, that can eat a wamefu' o' green heather-taps wi' the dewon them like a bit flafferin' grouse bird. Or Jock can catch themuir-fowl itsel' an' eat it ablow a heather buss as gin he war atod [fox]. Hoot awa' wi' ye! Jock can fend for himsel' brawly. Sillar wad only tak' the edge aff his genius. "

"Then is there nothing that I can bring you from Edinburgh when Icome again?" said Ralph, with whom the coming again was everpresent. 

"'Deed, aye, gin ye are so ceevil--it's richt prood I wad be o' aboxfu' o' Maister Cotton's Dutch sneeshin'--him that's i' the HighStreet--they say it's terrible graund stuff. Wullie Hulliby gatsome when he was up wi' his lambs, an' he said that, after thefirst snifter, he grat for days. It maun be graund!"

Ralph promised, with gladness to find some way of easing his loadof debt to Jock. 

"Noo, Maister Ralph, it's a wanchancy [uncertain] place, thisEnbra', an' I'll stap aff an' on till the morrow's e'en here orhereaboots, for sae it micht be that ye took a notion to gang backamang kent fowk, whaur ye wad be safe an' soun'. "

"But, Jock, " urged Ralph, "ye need not do that. I was born andbrought up in Edinburgh!"

"That's as may be; gin I bena mista'en, there's a byous[extraordinary] heap o' things has happened since then. Gang yerways, but gin ye hae message or word for Jock, juist come cannilyoot, an' he'll be here till dark the morn. "

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

BEFORE THE REFORMER'S CHAIR. 

"The Lord save us, Maister Ralph, what's this?" said JohnBairdieson, opening the door of the stair in James's Court. It wasa narrow hall that it gave access to, more like a passage than ahall. "Hoo hae ye come? An' what for didna Maister Welsh or youwrite to say ye war comin'? An' whaur's a' the buiks an' thegear?" continued John Bairdieson. 

"I have walked all the way, John, " said Ralph. "I quarrelled withthe minister, and he turned me to the door. "

"Dear sirce!" said John anxiously, "was't ill-doing or unsounddoctrine?"

"Mr. Welsh said that he could not company with unbelievers. "

"Then it's doctrine--wae's me, wae's me! I wuss it had been thelasses. What wull his faither say? Gin it had been ill-doin', hemicht hae pitten it doon to the sins o' yer youth; but ill-doctrine he canna forgie. O Maister Ralph, gin ye canna tell a leeyersel', wull ye no haud yer tongue--I can lee, for I'm but anelder--an' I'll tell him that at a kirn [harvest festival] ye warpersuaded to drink the health o' the laird, an' you no bein'acquant wi' the strength o' Glenlivat--"

"John, John, indeed I cannot allow it. Besides, you're a sailor-man, an' even in Galloway they do not have kirns till the corn'sripe, " replied Ralph with a smile. 

"Aweel, can ye no say, or let me say for ye, gin ye be particular, that ye war a wee late oot at nicht seein' a bit lassie--or ochtbut the doctrine? It wasna anything concernin' the fundamentals o'the Marrow, Maister Ralph, though, surely, " continued JohnBairdieson, whose elect position did not prevent him from doinghis best for the interests of his masters, young and old. Indeed, to start with the acknowledged fact of personal election sometimesgives a man like John Bairdieson an unmistakable advantage. Ralphwent to his own room, leaving John Bairdieson listening, as heprayed to be allowed to do, at the door of his father's room. 

In a minute or two John Bairdieson came up, with a scared face. 

"Ye're to gang doon, Maister Ralph, an' see yer faither. But, Osir, see that ye speak lown [calm] to him. He hasna gotten sleepfor twa nichts, an' he's fair pitten by himsel' wi' thae ill-setConformists--weary fa' them! that he's been in the gall o'bitterness wi'. "

Ralph went down to his father's study. Knocking softly, heentered. His father sat in his desk chair, closed in on everyside. It had once been the pulpit of a great Reformer, and eachtime that Gilbert Peden shut himself into it, he felt that he waswithout father or mother save and except the only true and properCovenant-keeping doctrine in broad Scotland, and the honour andwell-being of the sorely dwindled Kirk of the Marrow. 

Gilbert Peden was a noble make of a man, larger in body thoughhardly taller than his son. He wore a dark-blue cloth coat withwide flaps, and the immense white neckerchief on which JohnBairdieson weekly expended all his sailor laundry craft. His facewas like his son's, as clear-cut and statuesque, though larger andbroader in frame and mould. There was, however, a coldness aboutthe eye and a downward compression of the lips, which speaks theman of narrow though fervid enthusiasms. 

Ralph went forward to his father. As he came, his father stayedhim with the palm of his hand, the finger-tips turned upward. 

"Abide, my son, till I know for what cause you have left or beenexpelled from the house of the man to whom I committed you duringyour trials for license. Answer me, why have you come away fromthe house of Allan Welsh like a thief in the night?"

"Father, " said Ralph, "I cannot tell you everything at present, because the story is not mine to tell. Can you not trust me?"

"I could trust you with my life and all that I possess, " said hisfather; "they are yours, and welcome; but this is a matter thataffects your standing as a probationer on trials in the kirk ofthe Marrow, which is of divine institution. The cause is not mine, my son. Tell me that the cause of your quarrel had nothing to dowith the Marrow kirk and your future standing in it, and I willask you no more till you choose to tell me of your own willconcerning the matter. "

The Marrow minister looked at his son with a gleam of tendernessforcing its way through the sternness of his words. 

But Ralph was silent. 

"It was indeed in my duty to the Marrow kirk that Mr. Welshconsidered that I lacked. It was for this cause that he refused tocompany further with me. "

Then there came a hardness as of grey hill stone upon theminister's face. It was not a pleasant thing to see in a father'sface. 

"Then, " he said slowly, "Ralph Peden, this also is a manse of theMarrow kirk, and, though ye are my own son, I cannot receive yehere till your innocence is proven in the presbytery. Ye muststand yer trials. "

Ralph bowed his head. He had not been unprepared for somethinglike this, but the pain he might have felt at another time wasmade easier by a subtle anodyne. He hardly seemed to feel thesmart as a week before he might have done. In some strange wayWinsome was helping him to bear it--or her prayers for him werebeing answered. 

John Bairdieson broke into the study, his grey hair standing onend, and the shape of the keyhole cover imprinted on his browabove his left eye. John could see best with his left eye, andhear best with his right ear, which he had some reason to lookupon as a special equalization of the gifts of Providence, thoughnot well adapted for being of the greatest service at keyholes. 

"Save us, minister!" he burst out; "the laddie's but a laddie, an'na doot his pranks hae upset guid Maister Welsh a wee. Lads willbe lads, ye ken. But Maister Ralph's soond on the fundamentals--Ilearned him the Shorter Questions mysel', sae I should ken--forbyethe hunner an' nineteenth Psalm that he learned on my knee, andhow to mak' a Fifer's knot, an' the double reef, an' a heap o'usefu' knowledge forbye; an' noo to tak' it into your heid thatyer ain son's no soond in the faith, a' because he has fa'en ootwi' a donnert auld carle--"

"John, " said the minister sternly, "leave the room! You have noright to speak thus of an honoured servant of the kirk of theMarrow. "

Ralph could see through the window the light fading off the FifeLomonds, and the long line of the shore darkening under the nightinto a more ethereal blue. 

There came to him in this glimpse of woods and dewy pasturesoverseas a remembrance of a dearer shore. The steading over theGrannoch Loch stood up clear before him, the blue smoke goingstraight up, Winsome's lattice standing open with the rosespeeping in, and the night airs breathing lovingly through them, airing it out as a bed-chamber for the beloved. 

The thought made his heart tender. To his father he said:

"Father, will you not take my word that there is nothing wicked ordisgraceful in what I have done? If it were my own secret, I wouldgladly tell you at once; but as it is, I must wait until in hisown time Mr. Welsh communicates with you. "

The minister, sitting in the Reformer's seat, pulling at his sternupper lip, winced; and perhaps had it not been for the pulpit thehuman in him might have triumphed. But he only said:

"I am quite prepared to support you until such time as at ameeting of the presbytery the matter be tried, but I cannot havein a Marrow Manse one living under the fama of expulsion from thehouse of a brother minister in good standing. "

"Thank you, father, " said his son, "for your kind offer, but I donot think I shall need to trouble you. "

And so with these words the young man turned and went out proudlyfrom the father's sight, as he had gone from the manse of theother minister of the Marrow kirk. 

As he came to the outside of the door, leaving his father sittingstately and stern in the Reformer's pulpit, he said, in the deepsof his heart:

"God do so to me, and more also, if I ever seek again to enter theMarrow kirk, if so be that, like my father, I must forget myhumanity in order worthily to serve it!"

After he had gone out, the Reverend Gilbert Peden took his Bibleand read the parable of the prodigal son. He closed the greatbook, which ever lay open before him, and said, as one who bothaccuses and excuses himself:

"But the prodigal son was not under trials for license in the kirkof the Marrow!"

At the door, John Bairdieson, his hair more than ever on end, metRalph. He held up his hands. 

"It's an awfu'--like thing to be obleegit to tell the hale truth!O man, couldna ye hae tell't a wee bit lee? It wad hae saved anawfu' deal o' fash! But it's ower late now; ye can juist bide i'the spare room up the stair, an' come an' gang by door on theCastle Bank, an' no yin forbye mysel' 'ill be a hair the wiser. I, John Bairdieson, 'll juist fetch up yer meals the same asordinar'. Ye'll be like a laddie at the mastheid up there; it'llbe braw an' quate for the studyin'!"

"John, I am much obliged to you for your kind thought, " saidRalph, "but I cannot remain in his house against my father'sexpressed wish, and without his knowledge. "

"Hear till him! Whaur else should he bide but in the hoose that hewas born in, an' his faither afore him? That would be a bonny likestory. Na, na, ye'll juist bide, Maister Ralph, an'--"

"I must go this very night, " said Ralph. "You mean well, John, butit cannot be. I am going down to see my uncle, ProfessorThriepneuk. "

"Leave yer faither's hoose to gang to that o' a weezened auld--"

"John!" said Ralph, warningly. 

"He's nae uncle o' yours, onygate, though he married your mother'ssister. An' a sair life o't she had wi' him, though I doot na butthae dochters o' his sort him to richts noo. "

So, in spite of John Bairdieson's utmost endeavours, and waitingonly to put his clothes together, Ralph took his way over to theSciennes, where his uncle, the professor, lived in a new housewith his three daughters, Jemima, Kezia, and Keren-happuch. Theprofessor had always been very kind to Ralph. He was not a Marrowman, and therefore, according to the faith of his father, anoutcast from the commonwealth. But he was a man of the world ofaffairs, keen for the welfare of his class at the UniversityCollege--a man crabbed and gnarled on the surface, but within hima strong vein of tenderness of the sort that always seems ashamedof catching its possessor in a kind action. 

To him Ralph knew that he could tell the whole story. The Scienneswas on the very edge of the green fields. The corn-fieldsstretched away from the dyke of the Professor's garden to thesouth towards the red-roofed village of Echo Bank and the longridge of Liberton, crowned by the square tower on which a stonedining-room table had been turned up, its four futile legs wavingin the air like a beetle overset on its back. 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

JEMIMA, KEZIA, AND LITTLE KEREN-HAPPUCH. 

Ralph found the professor out. He was, indeed, engaged in anacrimonious discussion on the Wernerian theory, and at that momenthe was developing a remarkable scientific passion, whichthreatened to sweep his adversaries from the face of the earth inthe debris of their heresies. 

Within doors, however, Ralph found a very warm welcome from histhree cousins--Jemima, Kezia, and Keren-happuch. Jemima was talland angular, with her hair accurately parted in the middle, anddrawn in a great sweep over her ears--a fashion intended by Naturefor Keren-happuch, who was round of face, and with a complexion inwhich there appeared that mealy pink upon the cheeks which ispeculiar to the metropolis. Kezia was counted the beauty of thefamily, and was much looked up to by her elder and youngersisters. 

These three girls had always made much of Ralph, ever since heused to play about the many garrets and rooms of their old mansionbeneath the castle, before they moved out to the new house at theSciennes. They had long been in love with him, each in her ownway; though they had always left the first place to Kezia, andwove romances in their own heads with Ralph for the centralfigure. Jemima, especially, had been very jealous of her sisters, who were considerably younger, and had often spoken seriously tothem about flirting with Ralph. It was Jemima who came to thedoor; for, in those days, all except the very grandest personsthought no more of opening the outer than the inner doors of theirhouses. 

"Ralph Peden, have you actually remembered that there is such ahouse as the Sciennes?" said Jemima, holding up her face toreceive the cousinly kiss. 

Ralph bestowed it chastely. Whereupon followed Kezia and littleKeren-happuch, who received slightly varied duplicates. 

Then the three looked at one another. They knew that this Ralphhad eaten of the tree of knowledge. 

"That is not the way you kissed us before you went away, " saidoutspoken Kezia, who had experience in the matter wider than thatof the others, looking him straight in the eyes as became abeauty. 

For once Ralph was thoroughly taken aback, and blushed richly andlong. 

Kezia laughed as one who enjoyed his discomfiture. 

"I knew it would come, " she said. "Is she a milkmaid? She's notthe minister's daughter, for he is a bachelor, you said!"

Jemima and Keren-happuch actually looked a little relieved, thougha good deal excited. They had been standing in the hall while thisconversation was running its course. 

"It's all nonsense, Kezia; I am astonished at you!" said Jemima. 

"Come into the sitting-parlour, " said Kezia, taking Ralph's hand;"we'll not one of us bear any malice if only you tell us all aboutit. "

Jemima, after severe consideration, at last looked in a curioussidelong way to Ralph. 

"I hope, " she said, "that you have not done anything hasty. "

"Tuts!" said Kezia, "I hope he has. He was far too slow before hewent away. Make love in haste; marry at leisure--that's the rightway. "

"Can I have the essay that you read us last April, on the originof woman?" asked Keren-happuch unexpectedly. "You won't want itany more, and I should like it. "

Even little Keren-happuch had her feelings. 

The three Misses Thriepneuks were a little jealous of one anotherbefore, but already they had forgotten this slight feeling, whichindeed was no more than the instinct of proprietorship which youngwomen come to feel in one who has never been long out of theirhouse, and with whom they have been brought up. 

But in the face of this new interest they lost their jealousy ofone another; so that, in place of presenting a united front to theenemy, these three kindly young women, excited at the mere hint ofa love-story, vied with one another which should be foremost ininterest and sympathy. The blush on Ralph's face spoke its ownmessage, and now, when he was going to speak, his three cousinssat round with eager faces to listen. 

"I have something to tell, girls, " said Ralph, "but I meant totell it first to my uncle. I have been turned out of the manse ofDullarg, and my father will not allow me to live in his house tillafter the meeting of the presbytery. "

This was more serious than a love-story, and the bright expressiondied down into flickering uncertainty in the faces of Jemima, Kezia, and Keren-happuch. 

"It's not anything wrong?" asked Jemima, anxiously. 

"No, no, " said Ralph quickly, "nothing but what I have reason tobe proud enough of. It is only a question of the doctrines andpractice of the Marrow kirk--"

"Oh!" said all three simultaneously, with an accent of mixed scornand relief. The whole matter was clear to them now. 

"And of the right of the synod of the Marrow kirk to control myactions, " continued Ralph. 

But the further interest was entirely gone from the question. 

"Tell us about HER, " they said in unison. 

"How do you know it is a 'her'?" asked Ralph, clumsily trying toput off time, like a man. 

Kezia laughed on her own account, Keren-happuch, because Kezialaughed, but Jemima said solemnly:

"I hope she is of a serious disposition. "

"Nonsense! _I_ hope she is pretty, " said Kezia. 

"And _I_ hope she will love me, " said little Keren-happuch. 

Ralph thought a little, and then, as it was growing dark, he saton the old sofa with his back to the fading day, and told hislove-story to these three sweet girls, who, though they had playedwith him and been all womanhood to him ever since he came out ofpetticoats, had not a grain of jealousy of the unseen sister whohad come suddenly past them and stepped into the primacy ofRalph's life. 

When he was half-way through with his tale he suddenly stopped, and said:

"But I ought to have told all this first to your father, becausehe may not care to have me in his house. There is only my word forit, after all, and it is the fact that I have not the right to setfoot in my own father's house. "

"We will make our father see it in the right way, " said Jemimaquietly. 

"Yes, " interposed Kezia, "or I would not give sixpence for hispeace of mind these next six months. "

"It is all right if you tell us, " said little Keren-happuch, whowas her father's playmate. Jemima ruled him, Kezia teased him--theprivilege of beauty--but it was generally little Keren-happuch whofetched his slippers and sat with her cheek against the back ofhis hand as he smoked and read in his great wicker chair by thenorth window. 

There was the sound of quick nervous footsteps with an odd halt intheir fall on the gravel walk outside. The three girls ran to thedoor in a tumultuous greeting, even Jemima losing her staidnessfor the occasion. Ralph could hear only the confused babble oftongues and the expressions, "Now you hear, father--" "Now youunderstand--" "Listen to me, father--" as one after another tookup the tale. 

Ralph retold the story that night from the very beginning to theprofessor, who listened silently, punctuating his thoughts withthe puffs of his pipe. 

When he had finished, there was an unwonted moisture in the eyesof Professor Thriepneuk--perhaps the memory of a time when he toohad gone a-courting. 

He stretched the hand which was not occupied with his long pipe toRalph, who grasped it strongly. 

"You have acted altogether as I could have desired my own son toact; I only wish that I had one like you. Let the Marrow Kirkalone, and come and be my assistant till you see your way a littleinto the writer's trade. Pens and ink are cheap, and you can takemy classes in the summer, and give me quietness to write my bookon 'The Abuses of Ut with the Subjunctive. '"

"But I must find lodgings--" interrupted Ralph. 

"You must find nothing--just bide here. It is the house of yournearest kin, and the fittest place for you. Your meat's neitherhere nor there, and my lasses--"

"They are the best and kindest in the world, " said Ralph. 

The professor glanced at him with a sharp, quizzical look underhis eyebrows. He seemed as if he were about to say something, andthen thought better of it and did not. Perhaps he also had had hisillusions. 

As Ralph was going to his room that night Kezia met him at thehead of the stairs. She came like a flash from nowhere inparticular. 

"Good-night, Ralph, " she said; "give your Winsome a kiss from me--the new kind--like this!"

Then Kezia vanished, and Ralph was left wondering, with his candlein his hand. 

CHAPTER XL. 

A TRIANGULAR CONVERSATION. 

It was the day of the fast before the Communion in the Dullarg. The services of the day were over, and Allan Welsh, the ministerof the Marrow kirk, was resting in his study from his labours. Manse Bell came up and knocked, inclining her ear as she did so tocatch the minister's low-toned reply. 

"Mistress Winifred Charteris frae the Craig Ronald to see ye, sir. "

Allan Welsh commanded his emotion without difficulty--what of ithe felt--as indeed he had done for many years. 

He rose, however, with his hand on the table as though forsupport, as Winsome came in. He received her in silence, bendingover her hand with a certain grave reverence. 

Winsome sat down. She was a little paler but even lovelier in theminister's eyes than when he had seen her before. The faint violetshadows under her lower lids were deeper, and gave a new depth toher sapphire eyes whose irises were so large that the changefulpurple lights in them came and went like summer lightnings. 

It was Winsome who first spoke, looking at him with a strange pityand a stirring of her soul that she could not account for. She hadcome unwillingly on her errand, disliking him as the cause of herlover's absence--one of the last things a woman learns to forgive. But, as she looked on Allan Welsh, so bowed and broken, his eyesfallen in, looking wistfully out of the pain of his life, herheart went out to him, even as she thought that of a truth he wasRalph Peden's enemy. 

"My grandfather, " she said, and her voice was low, equable, andserious, "sent me with a packet to you that he instructed me onlyto give into your own hands. "

Winsome went over to the minister and gave him a sealed parcel. Allan Welsh took it in his hand and seemed to weigh it. 

"I thank you, " he said, commanding his voice with some difficulty. "And I ask you to thank Walter Skirving for his remembrance of me. It is many years since we were driven apart, but I have notforgotten the kindness of the long ago!"

He opened the parcel. It was sealed with Walter Skirving's greatseal ring which he wore on his watch-chain, lying on the tablebefore him as he kept his never-ending vigil. There was aminiature and a parcel of letters within. 

It was the face of a fair girl, with the same dark-blue eyes ofthe girl now before him, and the same golden hair--the face of anearlier but not a fairer Winifred. Allan Welsh set his teeth, andcaught at the table to stay his dizzying head. The letters werehis own. It was Walter Skirving's stern message to him. From thevery tomb his own better self rose in judgment against him. He sawwhat he might have been--the sorrow he had wrought, and the pathof ultimate atonement. 

He had tried to part two young lovers who had chosen the straightand honest way. It was true that his duty to the kirk which hadbeen his life, and which he himself was under condemnationaccording to his own standard, had seemed to him to conflict withthe path he had marked out for Ralph. 

But his own letters, breaking from their brittle confining band, poured in a cataract of folded paper and close-knit writing whichlooked like his own self of long ago, upon the table before him. He was condemned out of his own mouth. 

Winsome sat with her face turned to the window, from which shecould see the heathery back of a hill which heaved its bulkbetween the manse and the lowlands at the mouth of the Dee. Therewas a dreamy look in her eyes, land her heart was far away in thatEdinburgh town from which she had that day received a message toshake her soul with love and pity. 

The minister of the Dullarg looked up. 

"Do you love him?" he asked, abruptly and harshly. 

Winsome looked indignant and surprised. Her love, laid away in thedepths of her heart, was sacred, and not thus to be at the mercyof every rude questioner. But as her eye rested on Allan Welsh, the unmistakable accent of sincerity took hold on her--that accentwhich may ask all things and not be blamed. 

"I do love him, " she said--"with all my heart. "

That answer does not vary while God is in his heaven. 

The eye of Allan Welsh fell on the miniature. The woman he hadloved so long ago took part in the conversation. 

"That is what you said twenty years ago!" the unseen Winsome saidfrom the table. 

"And he loves you?" he asked, without looking up. 

"If I did not believe it, I could not live!"

Allan Welsh glanced with a keen and sudden scrutiny at WinsomeCharteris; but the clearness of her eye and the gladness and faithat the bottom of it satisfied him as to his thought. 

This Ralph Peden was a better man than he. A sad yearning facelooked up at him from the table, and a voice thrilled in his earsacross the years--

"So did not you!"

"You know, " said Allan Welsh, again untrue to himself, "that it isnot for Ralph Peden's good that he should love you. " The formalpart of him was dictating the words. 

"I know you think so, and I am here to ask you why, " said Winsomefearlessly. 

"And if I persuade you, will you forbid him?" said Allan Welsh, convinced of his own futility. 

Winsome's heart caught the accent of insincerity. It had gone farbeyond forbidding love or allowing it with Ralph Peden andherself. 

"I shall try!" she said, with her own sweet serenity. But acrossthe years a voice was pleading their case. As the black and fadedink of the letters flashed his own sentences across the minister'seye, the soul God had put within him rose in revolt against hisown petty and useless preaching. 

"So did not you" persisted the voice in his ear. "Me youcounselled to risk all, and you took me out into the darkness, lighting my way with love. Did ever I complain--father lost, mother lost, home lost, God well nigh lost--all for you; yet did Ieven regret when you saw me die?"

"Think of the Marrow kirk, " said the minister. "Her hard servicedoes not permit a probationer, before whom lies the task ofdoctrine and reproof, to have father or mother, wife orsweetheart. "

"And what did you, " said the voice, "in that past day, care forthe Marrow kirk, when the light shone upon me, and you thought theworld, and the Marrow kirk with it, well lost for love's sake andmine?"

Allan Welsh bowed his head yet lower. 

Winsome Charteris went over to him. His tears were falling fast onthe dulled and yellowing paper. 

Winsome put her hands on his shoulder. 

"Is that my mother's picture?" she said, hardly knowing what shesaid. 

Allan Welsh put his hand greedily about it, he could not let itgo. 

"Will you kiss me for your mother's sake?" he said. 

And then, for the first time since her babyhood, WinsomeCharteris, whose name was Welsh, kissed her father. 

There were tears on her mother's miniature, but through them theface of the dead Winifred seemed to smile well pleased. 

"For my mother's sake!" said Winsome again, and kissed him of herown accord on the brow. 

Thus Walter Skirving's message was delivered. 

CHAPTER XLI. 

THE MEETING OF THE SYNOD. 

With the vestry of the Marrow kirk in Bell's Wynd the synod met, and was constituted with prayer. Sederunt, the Reverend GilbertPeden, moderator, minister of the true kirk of God in Scotland, commonly called the Marrow Kirk, in which place the synod for thetime being was assembled; the Reverend Allan Welsh, minister ofthe Marrow kirk in Dullarg, clerk of the synod; John Bairdieson, synod's officer. The minutes of the last meeting having been readand approved of, the court proceeded to take up business. Interalia the trials of Master Ralph Peden, some time student of artsand humanity in the College of Edinburgh, were a remit for thisday and date. Accordingly, the synod called upon the ReverendAllan Welsh, its clerk, to make report upon the diligence, humility, and obedience, as well as upon the walk and conversationof the said Ralph Peden, student in divinity, now on trials forlicense to preach, the gospel. 

Allan Welsh read all this gravely and calmly, as if the art ofexpressing ecclesiastical meaning lay in clothing it in as manyovercoats as a city watchman wears in winter. 

The moderator sat still, with a grim earnestness in his face. Hewas the very embodiment of the kirk of the Marrow, and thoughthere were but two ministers with no elders there that day toshare the responsibility, what did that matter?

He, Gilbert Peden, successor of all the (faithful) Reformers, wasthere to do inflexible and impartial justice. 

John Bairdieson came in and sat down. The moderator observed hispresence, and in his official capacity took notice of it. 

"This sederunt of the synod is private, " he said. "Officer, removethe strangers. "

In his official capacity the officer of the court promptly removedJohn Bairdieson, who went most unwillingly. 

The matter of the examination of probationers comes up immediatelyafter the reading of the minutes in well-regulated church courts, being most important and vital. 

"The clerk will now call for the report upon the life and conductof the student under trials, " said the moderator. 

The clerk called upon the Reverend Allan Welsh to present hisreport. Then he sat down gravely, but immediately rose again togive his report. All the while the moderator sat impassive as astatue. 

The minister of Dullarg began in a low and constrained voice. Hehad observed, he said, with great pleasure the diligence andability of Master Ralph Peden, and considered the same in terms ofthe remit to him from the synod. He was much pleased with theclearness of the candidate upon the great questions of theologyand church government. He had examined him daily in his work, andhad confidence in bearing testimony to the able and spiritual toneof all his exercises, both oral and written. 

Soon after he began, a surprised look stole over the face of themoderator. As Allan Welsh went on from sentence to sentence, thethin nostrils of the representative of the Reformers dilated. Astrange and intense scorn took possession of him. He sat back andlooked fixedly at the slight figure of the minister of Dullargbending under the weight of his message and the frailty of hisbody. His time was coming. 

Allan Welsh sat down, and laid his written report on the table ofthe synod. 

"And is that all that you have to say?" queried the moderator, rising. 

"That is all, " said Allan Welsh. 

"Then, " said the moderator, "I charge it against you that you haveeither said too much or too little: too much for me to listen toas the father of this young man, if it be true that you extrudedhim, being my son and a student of the Marrow kirk committed toyour care, at midnight from your house, for no stated cause; andtoo little, far too little to satisfy me as moderator of thissynod, when a report not only upon diligence and scholarship, butalso upon a walk and conversation becoming the gospel, isdemanded. "

"I have duly given my report according to the terms of the remit, "said Allan Welsh, simply and quietly. 

"Then, " said the moderator, "I solemnly call you to account as themoderator of this synod of the only true and protesting Kirk ofScotland, for the gravest dereliction of your duty. I summon youto declare the cause why Ralph Peden, student in divinity, leftyour house at midnight, and, returning to mine, was for that causedenied bed and board at his father's house. "

"I deny your right, moderator, to ask that question as an officerof this synod. If, at the close, you meet me as man to man, and, as a father, ask me the reasons of my conduct, some particulars ofwhich I do not now seek to defend, I shall be prepared to satisfyyou. "

"We are not here convened, " said the moderator, "to bandycompliments, but to do justice--"

"And to love mercy, " interjected John Bairdieson through thekeyhole. 

"Officer, " said the moderator, "remove that rude interrupter. "

"Aye, aye, sir, " responded the synod officer promptly, and removedthe offender as much as six inches. 

"You have no more to say?" queried the moderator, bending hisbrows in threatening fashion. 

"I have no more to say, " returned the clerk as firmly. They wereboth combative men; and the old spirit of that momentous conflict, in which they had fought so gallantly together, moved them to asgreat obstinacy now that they were divided. 

"Then, " said the moderator, "there's nothing for't but anothersplit, and the Lord do so, and more also, to him whose sin bringsit about!"

"Amen!" said Allan Welsh. 

"You will remember, " said the moderator, addressing the ministerof Dullarg directly, "that you hold your office under my pleasure. There is that against you in the past which would justify me, asmoderator of the kirk of the Marrow, in deposing you summarilyfrom the office of the ministry. This I have in writing under yourown hand and confession. "

"And I, " said the clerk, rising with the gleaming light of war inhis eye, "have to set it against these things that you are guiltyof art and part in the concealment of that which, had you spokentwenty years ago, would have removed from the kirk of the Marrowan unfaithful minister, and given some one worthier than I toreport on the fitness of your son for the ministry. It was you, Gilbert Peden, who made this remit to me, knowing what you know. Ishall accept the deposition which you threaten at your hands, butremember that co-ordinately the power of this assembly lies withme--you as moderator, having only a casting, not a deliberativevote; and know you, Gilbert Peden, minister and moderator, that I, Allan Welsh, will depose you also from the office of the ministry, and my deposition will stand as good as yours. "

"The Lord preserve us! In five meenetes there'll be nae MarrowKirk" said John Bairdieson, and flung himself against the door;but the moderator had taken the precaution of locking it andplacing the key on his desk. 

The two ministers rose simultaneously. Gilbert Peden stood at thehead and Allan Welsh at the foot of the little table. They were sonear that they could have shaken hands across it. But they hadother work to do. 

"Allan Welsh, " said the moderator, stretching out his hand, "minister of the gospel in the parish of Dullarg to the faithfulcontending remnant, I call upon you to show cause why you shouldnot be deposed for the sins of contumacy and contempt, for sins ofperson and life, confessed and communicate under your hand. "

"Gilbert Peden, " returned the minister of the Dullarg and clerk tothe Marrow Synod, looking like a cock-boat athwart the hawse of aleviathan of the deep, "I call upon you to show cause why youshould not be deposed for unfaithfulness in the discharge of yourduty, in so far as you have concealed known sin, and by complicityand compliance have been sharer in the wrong. "

There was a moment's silence. Gilbert Peden knew well that whathis opponent said was good Marrow doctrine, for Allan Welsh hadconfessed to him his willingness to accept deposition twenty yearsago. 

Then, as with one voice, the two men pronounced against each otherthe solemn sentence of deposition and deprivation:

"In the name of God, and by virtue of the law of the Marrow Kirk, I solemnly depose you from the office of the ministry. "

John Bairdieson burst in the door, leaving the lock hanging awrywith the despairing force of his charge. 

"Be merciful, oh, be merciful!" he cried; "let not the Philistinesrejoice, nor the daughter of the uncircumcised triumph. Let be!let be! Say that ye dinna mean it! Oh, say ye dinna mean it! Tak'it back--tak' it a' back!"

There was the silence of death between the two men, who stoodlowering at each other. 

John Bairdieson turned and ran down the stairs. He met Ralph andProfessor Thriepneuk coming up. 

"Gang awa'! gang awa'!" he cried. "There's nae leecense for yenoo. There's nae mair ony Marrow Kirk! There's nae mair heaven andearth! The Kirk o' the Marrow, precious and witnessing, is naemair!"

And the tears burst from the old sailor as he ran down the street, not knowing whither he went. 

Half-way down the street a seller of sea-coal, great and grimy, barred his way. He challenged the runner to fight. The spirit ofthe Lord came upon John Bairdieson, and, rejoicing that a foewithstood him, he dealt a buffet so sore and mighty that theseller of coal, whose voice could rise like the grunting of a seabeast to the highest windows of the New Exchange Buildings, dropped as an ox drops when it is felled. And John Bairdieson ranon, crying out: "There's nae kirk o' God in puir Scotland onymair!"

CHAPTER XLII. 

PURGING AND RESTORATION. 

It was the Lord's day in Edinburgh town. The silence in the earlymorning was something which could be felt--not a footstep, not arolling wheel. Window-blinds were mostly down--on the windowsprovided with them. Even in Bell's Wynd there was not the noise ofthe week. Only a tinker family squabbled over the remains of thedeep drinking of the night before. But then, what could Bell'sWynd expect--to harbour such?

It was yet early dawn when John Bairdieson, kirk officer to thelittle company of the faithful to assemble there later in the day, went up the steps and opened the great door with his key. He wentall round the church with his hat on. It was a Popish idea to takeoff the head covering within stone walls, yet John Bairdieson wasthat morning possessed with the fullest reverence for the house ofGod and the highest sense of his responsibility as the keeper ofit. 

He was wont to sing:

 "Rather in My God's house would I keep a door Than dwell in tents of sin. "

That was the retort which he flung across at Taminas Laidlay, thebeadle of the Established Kirk opposite, with all that scorn inthe application which was due from one in John Bairdieson'sposition to one in that of Tammas Laidlay. 

But this morning John had no spirit for the encounter. He hurriedin and sat down by himself in the minister's vestry. Here he satfor a long season in deep and solemn thought. 

"I'll do it!" he said at last. 

It was near the time when the minister usually came to enter intohis vestry, there to prepare himself by meditation and prayer forthe services of the sanctuary. John Bairdieson posted himself onthe top step of the stairs which led from the street, to wait forhim. At last, after a good many passers-by, all single and all inblack, walking very fast, had hurried by, John's neck craningafter every one, the minister appeared, walking solemnly down thestreet with his head in the air. His neckcloth was crumpled andsoiled--a fact which was not lost on John. 

The minister came up the steps and made as though he would passJohn by without speaking to him; but that guardian of thesanctuary held out his arms as though he were wearing sheep. 

"Na, na, minister, ye come na into this Kirk this day as ministertill ye be lawfully restored. There are nae ministers o' the kirko' the Marrow the noo; we're a body without a heid. I thocht thatthe Kirk was at an end, but the Lord has revealed to me that theMarrow Kirk canna end while the world lasts. In the nicht seasonhe telled me what to do. "

The minister stood transfixed. If his faithful serving-man of somany years had turned against him, surely the world was at an end. But it was not so. 

John Bairdieson went on, standing with his hat in his hand, andthe hairs of his head erect with the excitement of unflinchingjustice. 

"I see it clear. Ye are no minister o' this kirk. Mr. Welsh is nominister o' the Dullarg. I, John Bairdieson, am the only officerof the seenod left; therefore I stand atween the people and youthis day, till ye hae gane intil the seenod hall, that we ca' onordinary days the vestry, and there, takkin' till ye the eldersthat remain, ye be solemnly ordainit ower again and set apairt forthe office o' the meenistry. "

"But I am your minister, and need nothing of the sort!" saidGilbert Peden. "I command you to let me pass!"

"Command me nae commands! John Bairdieson kens better nor that. Yeare naither minister nor ruler; ye are but an elder, like mysel'--equal among your equals; an' ye maun sit amang us this day andhelp to vote for a teachin' elder, first among his equals, to beset solemnly apairt. "

The minister, logical to the verge of hardness, could not gainsaythe admirable and even-handed justice of John Bairdieson'sposition. More than that, he knew that every man in thecongregation of the Marrow Kirk of Bell's Wynd would inevitablytake the same view. 

Without another word he went into the session-house, where in duetime he sat down and opened the Bible. 

He had not to wait long, when there joined him Gavin MacFadzean, the cobbler, from the foot of Leith Walk, and Alexander Taylour, carriage-builder, elders in the kirk of the Marrow; these, forewarned by John Bairdieson, took their places in silence. Tothem entered Allan Welsh. Then, last of all, John Bairdieson camein and took his own place. The five elders of the Marrow kirk weremet for the first time on an equal platform. John Bairdiesonopened with prayer. Then he stated the case. The two ex-ministerssat calm and silent, as though listening to a chapter in the Actsof the Apostles. It was a strange scene of equality, only possibleand actual in Scotland. 

"But mind ye, " said John Bairdieson, "this was dune hastily, andnot of set purpose--for ministers are but men--even ministers ofthe Marrow kirk. Therefore shall we, as elders of the kirk, infull standing, set apairt two of our number as teaching elders, for the fulfilling of ordinances and the edification of them thatbelieve. Have you anything to say? If not, then let us proceed toset apairt and ordain Gilbert Peden and Allan Welsh. "

But before any progress could be made, Allan Welsh rose. JohnBairdieson had been afraid of this. 

"The less that's said, the better, " he said hastily, "an' it'sgottin' near kirk-time. We maun get it a' by or then. "

"This only I have to say, " said Allan Welsh, "I recognize thejustice of my deposition. I have been a sinful and erring man, andI am not worthy to teach in the pulpit any more. Also, my life isdone. I shall soon lay it down and depart to the Father whose wordI, hopeless and castaway, have yet tried faithfully to preach. "

Then uprose Gilbert Peden. His voice was husky with emotion. "Hasty and ill-advised, and of such a character as to bringdishonour on the only true Kirk in Scotland, has such an actionbeen. I confess myself a hasty man, a man of wrath, and that wrathunto sin. I have sinned the sin of anger and presumption against abrother. Long ere now I would have taken it back, but it is thelaw of God that deeds once done cannot be undone; though we seekrepentance carefully with tears, we cannot put the past away. "

Thus, with the consecration and the humility of confession GilbertPeden purged himself from the sin of hasty anger. 

"Like Uzzah at the threshing-floor of Nachon, " he went on, "I havesinned the sin of the Israelite who set his hand to the ox-cart tostay the ark of God. It is of the Lord's mercy that I am notconsumed, like the men of Beth-shemesh. "

So Gilbert Peden was restored, but Allan Welsh would not acceptany restoration. 

"I am not a man accepted of God, " he said. And even Gilbert Pedensaid no word. 

"Noo, " said John Bairdieson, "afore this meetin' scales [isdismissed], there is juist yae word that I hae to say. There'snane o' us haes wives, but an' except Alexander Taylour, carriage-maker. Noo, the proceedings this mornin' are never to be jincenamed in the congregation. If, then, there be ony soond of this inthe time to come, mind you Alexander Taylour, that it's youthat'll hae to bear the weight o't!"

This was felt to be fair, even by Alexander Taylour, carriage-maker. 

The meeting now broke up, and John Bairdieson went to reproveMargate Truepenny for knocking with her crutch on the door of thehouse of God on the Sabbath morning. 

"D'ye think, " he said, "that the fowk knockit wi' their staves onthe door o' the temple in Jerusalem?"

"Aiblins, " retorted Margate, "they had feller [quicker]doorkeepers in thae days nor you, John Bairdieson. "

The morning service was past. Gilbert Peden had preached from thetext, 'Greater is he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh acity. "

"Oor minister is yin that looks deep intil the workings o' his ainheart, " said Margate, as she hirpled homeward. 

But when the church was empty and all gone home, in the littlevestry two men sat together, and the door was shut. Between themthey held a miniature, the picture of a girl with a flush of roseon her cheek and a laughing light in her eyes. There was silence, but for a quick catch in the stronger man's breathing, whichsounded like a sob. Gilbert Peden, who had only lost and neverwon, and Allan Welsh, who had both won and lost, were forever atone. There was silence between them, as they looked with eyes ofdeathless love at the picture which spoke to them of long ago. 

Walter Skirving's message, which Winsome had brought to the manseof Dullarg, had united the hearts estranged for twenty years. Winsome had builded better than she knew. 

CHAPTER XLIII. 

THREADS DRAWN TOGETHER. 

Winsome took her grandmother out one afternoon into the richmellow August light, when the lower corn-fields were glimmeringwith misty green shot underneath with faintest blonde, and thesandy knowes were fast yellowing. The blithe old lady was gettingback some of her strength, and it seemed possible that once againshe might be able to go round the house without even theassistance of an arm. 

"And what is this I hear, " said Mistress Skirving, "that the daftyoung laird frae the Castle has rin' aff wi' that cottar's lassie, Jess Kissock, an' marriet her at Gretna Green. It's juist nopossible. "

"But, grandma, it is quite true, for Jock Gordon brought the news. He saw them postin' back from Gretna wi' four horses!"

"An' what says his mither, the Lady Elizabeth?"

"They say that she's delighted, " said Winsome. 

"That's a lee, at ony rate!" said the mistress of Craig Ronald, without a moment's hesitation. She knew the Lady Elizabeth, "They say, " said Winsome, "that Jess can make them do all that shewants at the Castle. "

"Gin she gars them pit doon new carpets, she'll do wonders, " saidher grandmother, acidly. She came of a good family, and did notlike mesalliances, though she had been said to have made oneherself. 

But there was no misdoubting the fact that Jess had done her sicknursing well, and had possessed herself in honourable and lawfulwedlock of the Honourable Agnew Greatorix--and that too, apparently with the consent of the Lady Elizabeth. 

"What took them to Gretna, then?" said Winsome's grandmother. 

"Well, grandmammy, you see, the Castle folk are Catholic, andwould not have a minister; an' Jess, though a queer Christian, aswell as maybe to show her power and be romantic, would have nopriest or minister either, but must go to Gretna. So they're backagain, and Jock Gordon says that she'll comb his hair. He has tobe in by seven o'clock now, " said Winsome, smiling. 

"Wha's ben wi' yer grandfaither?" after a pause, Mistress Skirvingasked irrelevantly. 

"Only Mr. Welsh from the manse, " said Winsome. "I suppose he cameto see grandfather about the packet I took to the manse a monthago. Grandmother, why does Mr. Welsh come so seldom to CraigRonald?" she asked. 

But her grandmother was shaking in a strange way. 

"I have not heard any noise, " she said. "You had better go in andsee. "

Winsome stole to the door and looked within. She saw the ministerwith his head on the swathed knees of her grandfather. The old manhad laid his hand upon the grey hair of the kneeling minister. Awed and solemnised, Winsome drew back. 

She told her grandmother what she had seen, and the old lady saidnothing for the space of a quarter of an hour. At the end of thattime she said:

"Help me ben. "

And Winsome, taking her arm, guided her into the hushed room whereher husband sat, still holding his hand on the head of AllanWelsh. 

Something in the pose of the kneeling man struck her--a certainhelpless inclination forward. 

Winsome ran, and, taking Allan Welsh by the shoulders, lifted himup in her strong young arms. 

He was dead. He had passed in the act of forgiveness. 

Walter Skirving, who had sat rapt and silent through it all asthough hardly of this world, now said clearly and sharply:

"'For if ye forgive men their trespasses, so also shall yourheavenly Father forgive you. '"

Walter Skirving did not long survive the man, in hatred of whom hehad lived, and in unity with whom he had died. It seemed as thoughhe had only been held to the earth by the necessity that the sunof his life should not go down upon his wrath. This done, like aboat whose moorings are loosed, very gladly he went out that samenight upon the ebb tide. The two funerals were held upon the sameday. Minister and elder were buried side by side one gloriousAugust day, which was a marvel to many. So the Dullarg kirk wasvacant, and there was only Manse Bell to take care of theproperty. Jonas Shillinglaw came from Cairn Edward andcommunicated the contents of both Walter Skirving's will and ofthat of Allan Welsh to those whom it concerned. Jonas had madeseveral journeys of late both to the manse as well as to thesteading of Craig Ronald. Walter Skirving left Craig Ronald andall of which he died possessed to Winsome Charteris, subject tothe approval of her grandmother as to whom she might marry. Therewas a recent codicil. "I desire to record my great satisfactionthat Winifred Charteris or Welsh is likely to marry the son of myold friend Gilbert Peden, minister of the Marrow kirk inEdinburgh; and hearing that the young man contemplates the careerof letters, I desire that, if it be possible, in the event oftheir marriage, they come to abide at Craig Ronald, at least tilla better way be opened for them. I commend my wife, ever lovingand true, to them both; and in the good hope of a gloriousresurrection I commit myself to Him who made me. "

Allan Welsh left all his goods and his property to Ralph Peden, "being as mine own son, because he taught me to know true love, and fearlessness and faith unfeigned. Also because one dear to himbrought me my hope of forgiveness. "

There was indeed need of Ralph at Craig Ronald. Mistress Skirvingcried out incessantly for him. Meg begged Winsome to let her lookevery day at the little miniature Ralph had sent her fromEdinburgh. The Cuif held forth upon the great event every nightwhen he came over to hold the tails of Meg's cows. Jock Forreststill went out, saying nothing, whenever the Cuif came in, whichthe Cuif took to be a good sign. Only Ebie Fairrish, struck to theheart by the inconstancy of Jess, removed at the November termback again to the "laigh end" of the parish, and there plungedmadly into flirtations with several of his old sweethearts. He isreported to have found in numbers the anodyne for theunfaithfulness of one. As for what Winsome thought and longed for, it is better that we should not begin to tell, not having anothervolume to spare. 

Only she went to the hill-top by the side of Loch Ken and lookednorthward every eventide; and her heart yearned within her. 

CHAPTER XLIV. 

WINSOME'S LAST TRYST. 

It was the morn before a wedding, and there had been a constantstir all night all about the farmsteading, for a brand-new worldwas in the making. Such a marrying had not been for years. Thefarmers' sons for miles around were coming on their heavy plough-horses, with here and there one of better breed. Long ago in theearliest morning some one had rung the bell of the little kirk ofthe Dullarg. It came upon the still air a fairy tinkle, and many acottar and many a shepherd turned over with a comfortable feeling:"This is the Sabbath morn; I need not rise so soon to-day. " Butall their wives remembered, and turned them out with wifely elbow. 

It was Winsome Charteris's wedding day. The flower of all thecountryside was to wed the young Edinburgh lad who had turned outso great a poet. It was the opinion of the district that her"intended" had unsettled the thrones of all the great writers ofthe past by his volume of poems, which no one in the parish hadread; but the fame of whose success had been wafted down upon theeastern breezes which bore the snell bite of the metropolis upontheir front. 

"Tra-la-la-la!" chanted the cocks of Craig Ronald. 

"Tra-la-la-la-la!" airily sang the solitary bird which lived upamong the pine woods, where, in the cot of Mistress Kissock, RalphPeden occupied the little bedroom which Meg had got ready for himwith such care and honour. 

"Tra-la-la-laa!" was echoed in the airiest diminuendo from thefar-away leader of the harem at the Nether Orae. His challengecrossed the wide gulf of air above Loch Grannoch, from which inthe earliest morning the mists were rising. 

Ralph Peden heard all three birds. He had a delightfullycomfortable bedroom, and the flowers on the little white-coveredtable have come from the front square of Mistress Kissock'sgarden. There was a passion-flower on his table, which somehowreminded him of a girl who had put poppies in hair of the raven'swing hue. It had not grown in the garden of the cot. 

Yet Ralph was out in the earliest dawn, listening to the sighingof the trees and taking in the odour of the perfume from the pineson the slope. 

Ralph did not write any poem this morning, though the Muses wereabroad in the stillness of the dawn. His eyes were on a littlewindow once more overclambered by the June roses. His poem wasdown there, and it was coming to him. 

How eagerly he looked, his eyes like telescopes! Then his heartthrilled. In the cool flood of slanting morning sunshine which hadjust overflowed the eastern gable of the house, some one swiftlycrossed the court-yard of the farm. In a moment the sun, winkingon a pair of tin pails, told him that Meg Kissock was going to thewell. From the barn end some one stepped out by her side andwalked to the well. Then, as they returned, it was not the womanwho was carrying the winking pails. At the barn end they drewtogether in the shadow for a long minute, and then again Ralph sawMeg's back as she walked sedately to the kitchen door, the cansflashing rhythmically as she swung them. So high was he above themthat he could even notice the mellow dimple of diffused light fromthe water in the bright pail centring and scattering the morningsunlight as it swayed. 

Presently the one half of the blue kitchen door became black. Ithad been opened. Ralph's heart gave a great bound. Then the blackbecame white and glorified, for framed within it appeared aslender shape like a shaft of light. Ralph's eyes did not leavethe figure as it stepped out and came down by the garden edge. 

Along the top of the closely-cut hawthorn a dot of light moved. Itwas but a speck, like the paler centre of the heather bells. Ralphran swiftly down the great dyke in a manner more natural to ayoung man than dignified in a poet. In a minute he came to theedge of the glen in which Andra Kissock had guddled the trouts. That flash of layender must pass this way. It passed and stayed. 

So in the cool translucence of morning light the lovers met inthis quiet glade, the great heather moors above them once moreroyally purple, the burnie beneath singing a gentle song, thebirds vying with each other in complicated trills of pretendedartlessness. 

It was purely by chance that Winsome Charteris passed this way. And a kind Providence, supplemented on Ralph's side by someactivity and observation, brought him also to the glen of theelders that June morning. Yet there are those who say that thereis nothing in coincidence. 

When Winsome, moving thoughtfully onward, gently waving a slip ofwillow in her hand, came in sight of Ralph, she stood and waited. Ralph went towards her, and so on their marriage morn these twolovers met. 

It was like that morning on which by the lochside they parted, yetit was not like it. 

With that prescience which is a sixth sense to women, Winsome hadslipped on the old sprigged gown which had done duty at theblanket-washing so long ago, and her hair, unbound in the sun, shone golden as it flowed from beneath the lilac sunbonnet. As forRalph, it does not matter how he was dressed. In love, dress doesnot matter a brass button after the first corner is turned--atleast not to the woman. 

"Sweet, " said Ralph, "you are awake?"

Winsome looked up with eyes so glorious and triumphant that ablind man could scarce have doubted the fact. 

"And you love me?" he continued, reading her eyes. With her oldripple of laughter she lightened the strain of the occasion. 

"You are a silly boy, " she said; "but you'll learn. I have comeout to gather flowers, " she added, ingenuously. "I shall expectyou to help. No--no--and nothing else. "

Had Ralph been in a fit condition to observe Nature this morning, it might have occurred to him that when girls come out to gatherflowers for somewhat extensive decoration, they bring with them atleast a basket and generally also their fourth best pair ofscissors. Winsome had neither. But he was not in a mood forcareful inductions. 

The morning lights sprayed upon them as they went hither andthither gathering flowers--dew-drenched hyacinths, elastic wire-strung bluebells the colour of the sky when the dry east windblows, the first great red bushes of the ling. Now it is a knownfact that, in order properly to gather flowers, the collectorsmust divide and so quarter the ground. 

"But this was not a scientific expedition, " said Ralph, when thefolly of their mode of proceeding was pointed out to him. 

It was manifestly impossible that they could gather flowerswalking with the palm of Ralph's left hand laid on the inside ofWinsome's left arm. The thing cannot be done. At least so Ralphadmitted afterwards. 

"No, " said Ralph, "but you made me promise to keep my shouldersback, and I am trying to to do it now. "

And his manner of assisting Winsome to gather her flowers for herwedding bouquet was, when you come to think of it, admirablyadapted for keeping the shoulders back. 

"Meg waked me this morning, " said Winsome suddenly. 

"She did, did she?" remarked Ralph ineffectively, with a quickenvy of Meg. Then it occurred to him that he had no need to envyMeg. And Winsome blushed for no reason at all. 

Then she became suddenly practical, as the protective instinctteaches women to be on these occasions. 

"You have not seen your study, " she said. 

"No, " said Ralph, "but I have heard enough about it. It hasoccupied sixteen pages in the last three letters. "

Ralph considered the study a good thing, but he had his views uponthe composition of love-letters. 

"You are an ungrateful boy, " said Winsome sternly, "and I shallsee that you get no more letters--not any more!"

"I shall never want any, little woman, " cried Ralph joyously, "forI shall have you!"

It was a blessing that at this moment they were passing under thedense shade of the great oaks at the foot of the orchard. Winsomehad thought for five minutes that it would happen about there. Ithappened. 

A quarter of an hour later they came out into the cool ocean ofleaf shadow which lay blue upon the grass and daisies. Winsome nowcarried the sunbonnet over her arm, and in the morning sunshineher uncovered head was so bright that Ralph could not gaze at itlong. Besides, he wanted to look at the eyes that looked at him, and one cannot do everything at once. 

"This is your study, " she said, standing back to let him look in. It was a long, low room with an outside stair above thefarthermost barn, and Winsome had fitted it up wondrously forRalph. It opened off the orchard, and the late blossoms scatteredinto it when the winds blew from the south. 

They stood together on the topmost step. There was a desk and onechair, and a low window-seat in each of the deep windows. 

"You will never be disturbed here, " said Winsome. 

"But I want to be disturbed, " said Ralph, who was young and didnot know any better. 

"Now go in, " said Winsome, giving him a little push in the waythat, without any offence, a proximate wife may. "Go in and studya little this morning, and see how you like it. "

Ralph considered this as fair provocation, and turned, with bondsand imprisonment in his mind. But Winsome had vanished. 

But from beneath came a clear voice out of the unseen:

"If you don't like it, you can come round and tell me. It will notbe too late till the afternoon. Any time before three!"

A mere man is at a terrible disadvantage in word play of thiskind. On this occasion Ralph could think of nothing better than--

"Winsome Charteris, I shall pay you back for this!"

Then he heard what might either have been a bell ringing for thefairies' breakfast, or a ripple of the merriest earthly laughtervery far away. 

Then he sat down to study. 

It took him quite an hour to arrive at a conclusion; but whenreached it was a momentous one. It was, that it is a mistake to bemarried in summer, for three o'clock in the afternoon is such along time in coming. 

CHAPTER XLV. 

THE LAST OF THE LILAC SUNBONNET. 

Craig Ronald lies bright in a dreaming day in mid-September. Thereapers are once more in the fields. Far away there is a crying ofvoices. The corn-fields by the bridge are white with a bloomy andmellow whiteness. Some part of the oats is already down. Closeinto the standing crop there is a series of rhythmic flashes, thescythes swinging like a long wave that curls over here and there. Behind the line of flashing steel the harvesters swarm like antsrunning hither and thither crosswise, apparently in aimlessfashion. 

Up through the orchard comes a girl, tall and graceful, but with atouch of something nobler and stiller that does not come togirlhood. It is the seal of the diviner Eden grace which onlycomes with the after Eden pain. 

Winsome Peden carries more than ever of the old grace and beauty;and the eyes of her husband, who has been finishing the proofs ofhis next volume and at intervals looking over the busy fields tothe levels of Loch Grannoch, tell her so as she comes. 

But suddenly from opposite sides of the orchard this girl with thegracious something in her eyes is borne down by simultaneousassault. Shrieking with delight, a boy and a girl, dressed incomplete defensive armour of daisies, and wielding desperate armsof lath manufactured by Andra Kissock, their slave, rush fiercelyupon her. They pull down their quarry after a brisk chase, whosinks helplessly upon the grass under a merciless fire ofcaresses. 

It is a critical moment. A brutal and licentious soldiery are notresponsible at such moments. They may carry sack and rapine tounheard of extremities. 

"You young barbarians, be careful of your only mother--unless youhave a stock of them!" calls a voice from the top of the stairswhich lead to the study. 

"Father's come out--hurrah! Come on, Allan!" shouts Field-MarshalWinifred the younger who is leader and commander, to her armywhose tottery and chubby youth does not suggest the desperation ofa forlorn hope. So the study is carried at the point of the lath, and the banner of the victors--a cross of a sort unknown toheraldry, marked on a white ground with a blue pencil--is plantedon the sacred desk itself. 

Winsome the matron comes more slowly up the stairs. 

"Can common, uninspired people come in?" she says, pausing at thetop. 

She looks about with a motherly eye, and pulls down the blind ofthe window into which the sun has been streaming all the morning. It is one of the advantages of such a wife that her husband, especially the rare literary variety, may be treated as no morethan the eldest but most helpless of the babes. It is also truethat Ralph had pulled up the blind in order that he might thebetter be able to see his wife moving among the reapers. ForWinsome was more than ever a woman of affairs. 

She stood in the doorway, looking in spite of the autumn sun andthe walk up from the corn-field, deliriously cool. She fannedherself with a broad rhubarb-leaf--an impromptu fan plucked by theway. She sat down on the ledge of the upper step of Ralph's study, as she often did when she worked or rested. Ralph was againwithin, reclining on a window-seat, while the pack of recklessbanditti swarmed over him. 

"Have the rhymes been behaving themselves this morning?" Winsomesaid, looking across at Ralph as only a wife of some years'standing can look at her husband--with love deepened intounderstanding, and tempered with a spice of amusement and a wideand generous tolerance--the look of a loving woman to whom herhusband and her husband's ways are better than a stage play. Sucha look is a certificate of happy home and an ideal life, far morethan all heroics. The love of the after-years depends chiefly onthe capacity of a wife to be amused by her husband'speculiarities--and not to let him see it. 

"There are three blanks, " said Ralph, a little wistfully. "I havewritten a good deal, but I dare not read it over, lest it shouldbe nothing worth. "

This was a well-marked stage in Ralph's composition, and it waswell that his wife had come. 

"I fear you have been dreaming, instead of working, " she said, looking at him with a kind of pitying admiration. Ralph, too, hadgrown handsomer, so his wife thought, since she had him to lookafter. How, indeed, could it be otherwise?

She rose and went towards him. 

"Sun down, now, children, and play on the grass, " she said. "Sun, chicks--off with you--shoo!" and she flirted her apron after themas she did when she scattered the chickens from the dairy door. The pinafored people fled shrieking across the grass, tumblingover each other in riotous heaps. 

Then Winsome went over and kissed her husband. He was looking sohandsome that he deserved it. And she did not do it too often. Shewas glad that she had made him wear a beard. She put one of herhands behind his head and the other beneath his chin, tilting hisprofile with the air of a connoisseur. This can only be done inone position. 

"Well, does it suit your ladyship?" said Ralph. 

She gave him a little box on the ear. 

"I knew, " he said, "that you wanted to come and sit on my knee!"

"I never did, " replied Winsome with animation, making a statementalmost certainly inaccurate upon the face of it. 

"That's why you sent away the children, " he went on, pinching herear. 

"Of all things in this world, " said Winsome indignantly, "commendme to a man for conceit!"

"And to winsome wives for wily ways!" said her husband instantly. To do him justice, he did not often do this sort of thing. 

"Keep the alliteration for the poems, " retorted Winsome. "Truthwill do for me. "

After a little while she said, without apparent connection:

"It is very hot. "

"What are they doing in the hay-field?" asked Ralph. 

"Jock Forrest was leading and they were cutting down the croftvery steadily. I think it looks like sixty bushels to the acre, "she continued practically; "so you shall have a carpet for thestudy this year, if all goes well. "

"That will be famous!" cried Ralph, like a schoolboy, waving hishand. It paused among Winsome's hair. 

"I wish you would not tumble it all down, " she said; "I am too oldfor that kind of thing now!"

The number of times good women perjure themselves is almostunbelievable. 

But the recording angel has, it is said, a deaf side, otherwise hewould need an ink-eraser. Ralph knew very well what she reallymeant, and continued to throw the fine-spun glossy waves over herhead, as a miser may toss his gold for the pleasure of the cool, crisp touch. 

"Then, " continued Winsome, without moving (for, though so unhappyand uncomfortable, she sat still--some women are born with agenius for martyrdom), "then I had a long talk with Meg. "

"And the babe?" queried Ralph, letting her hair run through hisfingers. 

"And the babe, " said Winsome; "she had laid it to sleep under astock, and when we went to see, it looked so sweet under thenarrow arch of the corn! Then it looked up with big wonderingeyes. I believe he thought the inside of the stook was as high asa temple. "

"It is not I that am the poet!" said Ralph, transferring hisattention for a moment from her hair. 

"Meg says Jock Forrest is perfectly good to her, and that shewould not change her man for all Greatorix Castle. "

"Does Jock make a good grieve?" asked Ralph. 

"The very best; he is a great comfort to me, " replied his wife. "Iget far more time to work at the children's things--and also tolook after my Ursa Major!"

"What of Jess?" asked Ralph; "did Meg say?"

"Jess has taken the Lady Elizabeth to call on My Lord at Bowhill!What do you think of that? And she leads Agnew Greatorix aboutlike a lamb, or rather like a sheep. He gets just one glass ofsherry at dinner, " said Winsome, who loved a spice of gossip--aswho does not?

"There is a letter from my father this morning, " said Ralph, halfturning to pick it off his desk; "he is well, but he is indistress, he says, because he got his pocket picked of hishandkerchief while standing gazing in at a shop window whereinbooks were displayed for sale, but John Bairdieson has sewedanother in at the time of writing. They had a repeating tune theother day, and the two new licentiates are godly lads, and turningout a credit to the kirk of the Marrow. "

"And that is more than ever you would have done, Ralph, " said hiswife candidly. 

"Kezia is to be married in October, and there is a young mancoming to see little Keren-happuch, but Jemima thinks that theminds of both of her younger sisters are too much set on thefrivolous things of this earth. The professor has received a newkind of snuff from Holland which Kezia says is indistinguishablein its effects from pepper--one of his old students brought it tohim--and that's all the news, " said Ralph, closing up the letterand laying it on the table. 

"Has Saunders Moudiewort cast his easy affections on any one thisyear yet?" Ralph asked, returning to the consideration ofWinsome's hair. 

Saunders was harvesting at present at Craig Ronald. The mistressof the farm laughed. 

"I think not, " she said; "Saunders says that his mother is themost' siccar' housekeeper that he kens of, and that after a whileye get to mind her tongue nae mair nor the mill fanners. "

"That's just the way with me when you scold me, " said Ralph. 

"Very well, then, I must go to the summer seat and put you out ofdanger, " replied Winsome. "Since you are so imposed upon, I shallsee if the grannymother has done with her second volume. She nevergets dangerous, except when she is kept waiting for the third. "

But before they had time to move, the rollicking storm-cloud ofyounglings again came tumultuously up the stairs--Winifred far infront, Allan toddling doggedly in the rear. 

"See what granny has put on my head!" cried Mistress Winifred theyoungest, whose normal manner of entering a room suggested arevolution. 

"Oo" said Allan, pointing with his chubby finger, "yook, yook!mother's sitting on favver's knee-rock-a-by, favver, rock-a-by!"

But Ralph had no eyes for anything but the old sunbonnet in which, the piquant flower face of Mistress Five-year-old Winifred wasall but lost. He stooped and kissed it, and the face under it. Itwas frayed and faded, and it had lost both strings. 

Then he looked up and kissed the wife who was still hissweetheart, for the love the lilac sunbonnet had brought to themso many years ago was still fresh with the dew of their youth. 

THE END.