inst their master's coming. And to
me you said, 'You are not hungry, are you?' And I answered, 'No,'
though I was indeed very hungry--(in my dream, that is). Then you said
again, sighing: 'It is strange that he should not come home! I cannot
eat till he comes! Perhaps he has fallen into a ditch, or some eagle
may have pecked out his eyes!'

"Then all the while it grew darker, and still no one came. Whereat you
cried a little softly, and said: 'He might have come--I know right
well he could have been here by this time if he had tried. But he does
not love me any more.' And you were patting the ground with your foot
as you used to do when--well, when he went away from Thrieve without
coming out upon the leads to say 'Good-night.' Then, all at once,
there was a noise of quick feet brushing eagerly through the heather,
and some one (no, not Landless Jock) leaped the wall and caught
me--_me_--in his arms."

"No, it was not you whom he caught in his arms!" cried Maud Lindesay,
indignantly, and then stopped, abashed at her own folly. But the
little maid laughed merrily.

"Aha!" she said, "_I_ caught you that time in my trap. You know who it
was in my dream, though I have never told you, nor so much as hinted.

"And he asked if you had missed him, and you made a sign for me not to
speak, just as you used to do at Castle Thrieve, and answered, 'No,
not a little bit! Margaret and I were quite happy. We hoped you would
not come back at all this night, for then we could have slept
together.'"

Maud Lindesay drew a long, soft breath, and looked out of the window
of the White Tower into the dark.

"That is a sweet dream," she murmured. "Ah, would that it were true,
and that Sholto--!"

She broke off short again, for the maid clapped her hands gleefully.
"You said it! You said it!" she cried. "You called him Sholto. Now I
know; and I am so glad, for he is nearly as good to play with as you.
And I shall not mind him a bit."

Little Margaret stopped short in her turn, seeing something in her
friend's face.

"Why are you suddenly grown so sad, Maudie?" she asked.

"It came upon me, dear Margaret," said Maud, "how that we are but two
helpless maids in a dreadful place without a friend. Let us say a
prayer to God to keep us!"

Then Margaret Douglas turned and knelt with her face to the pillow and
her small hands clasped in front of her.

"Give me your silver cross," she said, "I lent the little gold one
that was William's