d laddie who wears
nought but a homespun kilt?'

But before her maid could answer her, Lizzie had sprung from her
chair, saying, 'Yet I think he must be a wizard, and have
enchanted me, for, come good or come ill, I must e'en go to the
Highlands.'

Then early one morning Lizzie tied up her silk robes in a bundle
and clad herself in one of Helen's plain gowns. With her bundle
over her arm, Lizzie Lindsay was off to the Highlands with Donald
MacDonald.

Donald's heart was glad as he left the fair city of Edinburgh
behind him, Lizzie by his side. He had so much to tell his
beautiful bride, so much, too, to show her, that at first the
road seemed neither rough nor long.

But as the hours passed the way grew rougher, the hills steeper,
and Lizzie's strength began to fail. Her shoes, too, which were
not made for such rough journeys, were soon so worn that her feet
grew hot and blistered.

'Alas!' sighed Lizzie Lindsay, 'I would I were back in Edinburgh,
sitting alone in my bower.'

'We are but a few miles away from the city,' said Donald; 'will
you even now go back?'

But the tears trickled slowly down the maiden's cheeks, and she
sobbed, 'Now would I receive no welcome from my father, no kiss
from my mother, for sore displeased will they be that I have left
them for you, Donald MacDonald.'

On and on they trudged in silence, and as evening crept on Donald
cried aloud, 'Dry your tears now, Lizzie, for there before us is
our home,' and he pointed to a tiny cottage on the side of the
hill.

An old woman stood at the door, gazing down the hill, and as they
drew near she came forward with outstretched hands. 'Welcome, Sir
Donald,' she said, 'welcome home to your own.'

'She spoke in Gaelic, as Highlanders do, so Lizzie did not know
what she said.

Sir Donald whispered quickly in the same language, 'Hush, call me
only Donald, and pretend that I am your son.' The old woman,
though sore dismayed at having to treat the young laird in so
homely a way, promised to do his bidding.

Then Donald turned to Lizzie. 'Here mother,' he said, 'is my
lady-love, whom I have won in the fair city of Edinburgh.'

The old woman drew Lizzie into the cottage, and spoke kindly to
her, but the maiden's heart sank. For a peat fire smouldered on
the hearth and the room was filled with smoke. There was no easy
chair, no couch on which to rest her weary body, so Lizzie
dropped down on to a heap of green turf.

Her sadness did not seem