outh and the eyes stared wildly. Men would
have dragged Bryde off, but he hissed a "begone" through clenched teeth
(it was a word of his mother), and they fell back as from a
sword-stroke.

"Go down, go down, ye beast, if ye never come up," he girned, and flung
the man from him to the earth, where he lay.

I heard no word, and no look that I saw passed between, but Margaret
left us and ran to Bryde.

"Put your foot on that cur, my lady," says he, cold as an icicle, and
his head bare. Her two white hands trembled at his sleeve and she
turned her face from the groaning man in horror, and then she raised
her great blue eyes in one long look, and then her little foot but
touched the man's shoulder.

A grim smile came over the face of Bryde McBride, like sunlight in a
dark pool. "A brave lass," said he, and I only heard her reply, and
saw her colour rise at his praise.

"Take me home," she whispered, "Bryde--Bryde _dear_."

"Drink," cried the man on the ground, "drink. God, I wis near hand it
that time."

On the road home we pretended to be very merry, for nothing would
please Margaret but Bryde would ride to her father's house. On the
hill road she set spurs to her horse with a challenge to Bryde, and
they left us some way behind, Hugh and me.

"Man," said Hugh, and his face was troubled, "this will not do."

"No," said I, and hated myself, "for the boy's as good as you or me."

"Good!" cries Hugh; "he's like the mountains--he's granite, and what
are we but dressed sandstone--and the lass kens it," says he. "God
help us."

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE FIRST MEETING.

When we made our way indoors the dogs were bounding and frolicking
round Margaret, and she was all laughter. Her eyes were dancing, and
her wind-whipped cheeks glowed darkly; then she turned, one dainty
finger at her lips, and we kent that no word of her doings that day was
for the ears of her parents.

There was a bustle of women-folk about the house, and the noise of
crockery, and booming into the corridors came the voice of John, Laird
of Scaurdale.

"Chick or child," says he, "she's all I have--a wee Frenchified, Laird,
but she'll learn the wie o' the Scots yet."

And as Margaret entered, a little startled, and us at her heels, "Come
ben, my dear," he cries, "I've a new friend for ye," and beside the
mistress I saw Helen Stockdale.

I was always the great one for watching faces, and as these two maidens
approached, I saw the glow