t lips trembled with anger.

"I shall have a sweetheart, you think, like Jennie Barnes or Lily Coke.
A sweetheart. Pray, whom will it be, do you think?"

"I know several of the young farmers about here who would each give his
right hand to be a sweetheart of yours."

She laughed a low, contemptuous laugh that made him wince.

"What, marry a farmer! Do you think the life of a farmer's wife would
suit me? I shall go unmarried to my grave, unless I can marry as I
choose."

Then she seemed to repent of the passionate words, and flung her
beautiful arms round his neck and kissed his face.

"I hate myself," she said, "when I speak in that way to you, who have
been so good to me."

"I do not mind it," said Robert Noel, honestly. "Never hate yourself for
me, my lady lass."

She turned one glance from her beautiful eyes on him.

"When I seem to be ungrateful to you, do remember that I am not, Uncle
Robert; I am always sorry. I cannot help myself, I cannot explain
myself; but I feel always as though my mind and soul were cramped."

"Cramp is a very bad thing," said the stolid farmer.

She looked at him, but did not speak; her irritation was too great; he
never understood her; it was not likely he ever would.

"I will go down to the mill-stream," she said.

With an impatient gesture she hastened out of the house.

The mill-stream was certainly the prettiest feature of the farm--a
broad, beautiful stream that ran between great rows of alder-trees and
turned the wheel by the force with which it leaped into the broad, deep
basin; it was the loveliest and most picturesque spot that could be
imagined, and now as the waters rushed and foamed in the moonlight they
were gorgeous to behold.

Leone loved the spot; the restless, gleaming waters suited her; it
seemed to have something akin to herself--something restless, full of
force and vitality. She sat there for hours; it was her usual refuge
when the world went wrong with her.

Round and round went the wheel; on sunlight days the sun glinted on the
sullen waters until they resembled a sheet of gold covered with white,
shining foam. Green reeds and flowers that love both land and water
fringed the edges of the clear, dimpling pool; the alder-trees dipped
their branches in it; the great gray stones, covered with green moss,
lay here and there. It was a little poem in itself, and the beautiful
girl who sat in the moonlight read it aright.

CHAPTER III.

THE MEET