how very beautiful she was, her pride all
forgotten. He felt her hand trembling in his, and then she raised her
head with a questioning little sound at her lips, and looked at him,
and smiled, pouting.

"And must _I_ beg," she whispered.

"I think," said Bryde, "that the horses are rested."

The light left her eyes, as the sea darkens when a cloud comes over the
sun. Red surged the blood over throat and face and brow. She sprang
to her feet, twisting her whip in her brown hands. By the horses she
turned--

"Am I lame, or blind, or ugly?" she cried. "Oh, man, I could kill you
. . . but some day, Monsieur, some day I shall laugh when that proud
Mistress Margaret flouts your love . . ." She laughed, mocking.

"'It will be no concern of mine whether Bryde McBride goes or stays,'
says the Lady Margaret. 'I do not beg--and what is he to me.'"

"You are a droll lass," said Bryde, with a frown on his face--"a droll
lass, and very beautiful--so Mistress Margaret . . ." but Helen broke
into his talk.

"Am I beautiful to you, M'sieu? I am honoured," but her eyes were
soft--"but what would the proud Margaret say to that?"

"We will forget her, Mistress Helen--what have I to be doing except to
be a loyal kinsman to her?" and here the drollest laughing came over
Helen.

"I am sure she will be loving _that_," said she, "a loyal kinsman."

And although her breath was still flurried with her swift rage, her
eyes were laughing at the man.

"I can never be in anger with you, Bryde," said she. "I wish it were
not so."

"Are you wishing to be angry with me now?" said he in a deep voice,
with one great arm round her shoulder, and his face bent to her. And
as she looked at him a sort of fierceness came over Helen. She flung
her arms round the man, and stood on tiptoe to be reaching up to him.

"Some day I will be forgetting my convent teaching," said she, "and
then I will make you love me, and you will be mine _altogether_."

"There will be something in that," said Bryde, and laughed a loud
ringing laugh, as the drollness of the business came on him. And when
he looked down, there was the lass all humbled, and tears standing in
her eyes, and a pitiful little mouth on her.

"You are laughing at me, Bryde," said she in a little voice, shakily.

"No, dear, no," said he, "I would be thinking of the Laird of Scaurdale
if he kent, and me with a name to be making. Do not be greetin'," said
he, "there will be nothing