ably up against him. He did not mean to sleep. It would soon be
morning and there were the cows out in the little meadows. He would only
close his eyes for a moment.

It will not be surprising to learn that the next sound he heard was a
happy laugh, as Patsy appeared at the open door of the barn with "Awake,
thou sluggard" upon her lips.

"I looked in half-an-hour ago," she laughed, "and you looked so sweet
and peaceful that I went and milked the cows before wakening you."

"You milked the cows?"

Patsy nodded her head with its tight cover of curls, all of densest
black, shapely and boyish.

"The milk is in the dairy!" she said. "Concerning what else does my lord
please to inquire?"

"But the two cows?" he said, hastily getting up and putting on his coat,
which he had spread over him, "they ought not to be left out all day on
the high grass. Cruising sloops of war, and even Preventive men with
spy-glasses, might easily see them from the shore."

"I had thought of that, my lord," said Patsy. "I confined them with a
good reach of rope behind the old fold which lies hidden out of sight in
the hollow of the island. No one can see them there, unless they mount
on the cliffs and look down on them from the height of the island. They
will be happy there, for the rabbits and gulls have not spoilt the
grass."

Stair stood up beside Patsy in the doorway of the barn. The gate of the
yard was open, and they walked slowly towards it, splendid widths of sea
and heights of cloudless heaven opening out before them at every step.
Instinctively Patsy caught Stair by the arm, gave it a little joyous
tug, and cried out, "Oh, Stair, was ever anything so beautiful?"

The young man glanced down at her. But her eyes were on the distant,
tender blue of the coast about Whitehaven, and the Isle of Man hovering
in a mother-of-pearl haze, like a dream-island about to alight. All his
instincts told him to clasp her to him and take the consequences. But
unfortunately Stair reasoned, which is the wrong method with a woman,
especially with such a Pictish daughter of impulse as Patsy Ferris. He
remembered what she had said to him the night before, as if that could
have any bearing on her mood of to-day.

But so the chance passed. The fine morning gold was dimmed. They had
looked too long. Patsy released his arm and they fell apart.

She remembered it was time to go indoors for breakfast. They went, their
eyes averted, lest the other should s