the paths under the bedroom windows; the lassie
might happen to give a look out."

The gardener walked on, thoughtfully gazing up at the windows, and
thinking the while of the nights when he had watchfully made his way,
stealthy as a burglar, from bush to bush, or crouched beneath the
shrubs. Few nights had passed without his seeing Jane Barker's light
extinguished, but there had been no further visit from John Gurdon.

"He didn't like the flat of my spade," said McCray, with a grin, and
this seemed to be the case--the ex-butler never from that night having
been heard of. Still, more now from habit than anything, the gardener
continued his nocturnal rounds, telling himself that he could not sleep
without one peep at the lassie's window before going to bed.

But Alexander McCray seemed to make but little progress in his love
affairs. Whenever he met Jane she had always a pleasant smile for him,
but he knew in his heart that it was not the smile he wished to see.

"But bide a wee," he said. "Her puir heart's sair. Wait awhile and it
will all come reet."

The gardener was favoured that morning, for as he applied his broom
lightly here and there to the wandering leaves, the early ones of
autumn, he heard a window, above his head, thrown open, and as he looked
up, there was Jane leaning out, ready to smile and nod down to him.

"Company coming, lassie?" said McCray, leaning upon his broom.

"Company? No, Mr McCray," said Jane; "why did you think so?"

"Because ye're getting ready the best bedroom," said the gardener.

"Oh dear, no," said Jane; "we shall never have company here again, I
think. I'm only having this put ready for Sir Murray himself, because
some of the old plaster ceiling of his own room's come down."

"Puir lad! he looks bad," said McCray.

"And serve him right, too," said Jane, defiantly. "I haven't patience
with him."

"Nay, lassie, perhaps not," said McCray. "But ye've plenty of patience
with them as is waur."

"Please don't talk about that," said Jane, pleadingly.

"Nay, lassie, then I winna," said McCray, sadly; "but be patient mysel',
if it's for twenty long years ere ye turn to me."

Jane leaned out, giving the gardener one long earnest gaze, such a one
as made his heart beat more freely, but the coming steps of some one
along a neighbouring path sent Jane to her work, and McCray's broom
rustling over gravel and leaf.

Before many seconds had passed Lady Gernon came by, very