gain, fell on my knees before her on the stones.

"Flora--my angel! my heart's bride!"

"Hush!" She sprang away. Heavy footsteps were coming up the path. I had
just time enough to fling Miss Gilchrist's shawl over my head and resume
my seat, when a couple of buxom country wives bustled past the mouth of
the quarry. They saw us, beyond a doubt: indeed, they stared hard at us,
and muttered some comment as they went by, and left us gazing at each
other.

"They took us for a picnic," I whispered.

"The queer thing," said Flora, "is that they were not surprised. The
sight of you----"

"Seen sideways in this shawl, and with my legs hidden by the stone here,
I might pass for an elderly female junketer."

"This is scarcely the hour for a picnic," answered my wise girl, "and
decidedly not the weather."

The sound of another footstep prevented my reply. This time the wayfarer
was an old farmer-looking fellow in a shepherd's plaid and bonnet
powdered with mist. He halted before us and nodded, leaning
rheumatically on his staff.

"A coarse moarnin'. Ye'll be from Leadburn, I'm thinkin'?"

"Put it at Peebles," said I, making shift to pull the shawl close about
my damning finery.

"Peebles!" he said reflectively. "I've ne'er ventured so far as Peebles.
I've contemplated it! But I was none sure whether I would like it when I
got there. See here: I recommend ye no' to be lazin' ower the meat, gin
ye'd drap in for the fun. A'm full late, mysel'!"

He passed on. What could it mean? We hearkened after his tread. Before
it died away, I sprang and caught Flora by the hand.

"Listen! Heavens above us, what is _that_?"

"It sounds to me like Gow's version of 'The Caledonian Hunt's Delight,'
on a brass band."

Jealous powers! Had Olympus conspired to ridicule our love, that we must
exchange our parting vows to the public strains of "The Caledonian
Hunt's Delight," in Gow's version and a semitone flat? For three seconds
Flora and I (in the words of a later British bard) looked at each other
with a wild surmise, silent. Then she darted to the path, and gazed
along it down the hill.

"We must run, Anne. There are more coming!"

We left the scattered relics of breakfast, and, taking hands, scurried
along the path northwards. A few yards, and with a sharp turn it led us
out of the cutting and upon the hillside. And here we pulled up together
with a gasp.

Right beneath us lay a green meadow, dotted with a crowd of two or three