it was like that on the morning of the eleventh of February.
When the day did come at last, there was nothing mean about
it--considered as an early spring morning in Scotland. It was of the
colour of pale straw, with a glint low down like newly thatched houses
before the winter's storm has had a turn at them.

Meanwhile, underneath, and looking so petty and foolish, was the
crackling of the timbers, the falling in of the tiles, the smoke
puffing and mounting like great strings of onions linked together, blue
and stifling from the burning wood, white and steamy as the faggots
slid outward into the moat, or fell with a crash into the pond.

All about swarmed a crowd of eager and curious folk. My father, as
soon as he was recognized, and before he could condescend to tell his
tale, had taken command, all soiled and bleeding as he was. I believe
now that most there considered that he had rescued Elsie from the wild
tribe after a desperate struggle, in which all the others had been
annihilated. And it is characteristic of Breckonside, of the position
my father held there, and especially of public sentiment with regard to
the folk of the Moat, that no one for a moment dreamed that in so doing
he had exceeded his legal right.

There was not much attempt at saving the building. Elsie had come a
little to herself. At first she could say little, save that "her
grandfather was dead--Mad Jeremy had killed him," which information did
not greatly interest the people, save in so far as it detracted from my
father's glory in having made a "clean sweep!"

Mr. Ball, whom everybody respected--in spite of the service in which he
lived--caused a horse to be put between the shafts, and Elsie was
conveyed home to Nance Edgar's by Mr. Ball himself. My father wanted
her to go on to "the Mount." But Elsie no sooner heard the word
mentioned, than, recovering from her swoon, she declared that "she
would never set foot there--so long as---- No, indeed, that she would
not!"

"So long as what, my girl?" my father asked, gently.

You really can't imagine how gentle my father was with her. It took me
by surprise, as I did not, of course, yet know anything about the
events which had drawn them together in the deep places underground.

"Because--because--just because!" she answered. "Besides, it is not
fitting at present!"

"I understand--perhaps you are right," sighed my father, somewhat
disappointed.

For all that, he did not unde