birth and finer parts, and finish, might steal in before poor me,
and cut me out altogether. Thinking of which, I used to double my great
fist, without knowing it, and keep it in my pocket ready.

But the worst of all was this, that in my great dismay and anguish
to see Lorna weeping so, I had promised not to cause her any further
trouble from anxiety and fear of harm. And this, being brought to
practice, meant that I was not to show myself within the precincts of
Glen Doone, for at least another month. Unless indeed (as I contrived to
edge into the agreement) anything should happen to increase her present
trouble and every day's uneasiness. In that case, she was to throw a
dark mantle, or covering of some sort, over a large white stone which
hung within the entrance to her retreat--I mean the outer entrance--and
which, though unseen from the valley itself, was (as I had observed)
conspicuous from the height where I stood with Uncle Reuben.

Now coming home so sad and weary, yet trying to console myself with the
thought that love o'erleapeth rank, and must still be lord of all, I
found a shameful thing going on, which made me very angry. For it needs
must happen that young Marwood de Whichehalse, only son of the Baron,
riding home that very evening, from chasing of the Exmoor bustards,
with his hounds and serving-men, should take the short cut through
our farmyard, and being dry from his exercise, should come and ask for
drink. And it needs must happen also that there should be none to give
it to him but my sister Annie. I more than suspect that he had heard
some report of our Annie's comeliness, and had a mind to satisfy
himself upon the subject. Now, as he took the large ox-horn of our
quarantine-apple cider (which we always keep apart from the rest, being
too good except for the quality), he let his fingers dwell on Annie's,
by some sort of accident, while he lifted his beaver gallantly, and
gazed on her face in the light from the west. Then what did Annie do (as
she herself told me afterwards) but make her very best curtsey to him,
being pleased that he was pleased with her, while she thought what a
fine young man he was and so much breeding about him! And in truth he
was a dark, handsome fellow, hasty, reckless, and changeable, with a
look of sad destiny in his black eyes that would make any woman pity
him. What he was thinking of our Annie is not for me to say, although I
may think that you could not have found a