ious in his aspect.

I laughed at him, and "Come away, '_ille_," I said; "here's the
Provost's daughter." And I was hurrying in the direction of the cry.

M'Iver put a hand on my shoulder.

"Canny, man, canny; would ye enter a lady's chamber (even the glade of
the wood) without tirling at the pin?"

We stopped, and I softly sounded my curlew-call--once, twice, thrice.

The echo of the third time had not ceased on the hill when out stepped
Betty. She looked miraculous tall and thin in the haze of the dawn,
with the aspiring firs behind her, pallid at the face, wearied in her
carriage, and torn at her kirtle by whin or thorn. The child clung at
her coats, a ruddy brat, with astonishment stilling its whimper.

For a little the girl half misdoubted us, for the wood behind us and
the still sombre west left us in a shadow, and there was a tremor in her
voice as she challenged in English--

"Is that you, Elrigmore?"

I went forward at a bound, in a stupid rapture that made her shrink in
alarm; but M'Iver lingered in the rear, with more discretion than my
relations to the girl gave occasion for.

"Friends! oh, am not I glad to see yoa?" she said simply, her wan face
lighting up. Then she sat down on a hillock and wept in her hands. I
gave her awkward comfort, my wits for once failing me, my mind in a
confusion, my hands, to my own sense, seeming large, coarse, and in the
way. Yet to have a finger on her shoulder was a thrill to the heart, to
venture a hand on her hair was a passionate indulgence.

The bairn joined in her tears till M'Iver took it in his arms. He had a
way with little ones that had much of magic in it, and soon this one was
nestling to his breast with its sobs sinking, an arm round his neck.

More at the pair of them than at me did Betty look with interest when
her tears were concluded.

"Amn't I like myself this morning?" asked John, jocularly, dandling the
bairn in his arms.

Betty turned away without a reply, and when the child was put down and
ran to her, she scarcely glanced on it, but took it by the hand and made
to go before us, through the underwood she had come from.

"Here's my home, gentlemen," she said, "like the castle of Colin Dubh,
with the highest ceiling in the world and the stars for candles."

We might have passed it a score of times in broad daylight and never
guessed its secret. It was the beildy side of the hill. Two fir-trees
had fallen at some time in the common fashion o