s of
the village cuddled in the bosom of the Dale; far away over the Marches
towered the gaunt Scaur; before her rolled the swelling slopes of the
Muir Pike; while behind--she glanced timidly over her shoulder--was the
hill, at the top of which squatted the Grange, lifeless, cold, scowling.

Her heart failed her. In her whole life she had never spoken to M'Adam.
Yet she knew him well enough from all David's accounts--ay, and hated
him for David's sake. She hated him and feared him, too; feared him
mortally--this terrible little man. And, with a shudder, she recalled
the dim face at the window, and thought of his notorious hatred of her
father. But even M'Adam could hardly harm a girl coming, broken-hearted,
to seek her lover. Besides, was not Owd Bob with her?

And, turning, she saw the old dog standing a little way up the hill,
looking back at her as though he wondered why she waited. "Am I not
enough?" the faithful gray eyes seemed to say.

"Lad, I'm fear'd," was her answer to the unspoken question.

Yet that look determined her. She clenched her little teeth, drew the
shawl about her, and set off running up the hill.

Soon the run dwindled to a walk, the walk to a crawl, and the crawl to
a halt. Her breath was coming painfully, and her heart pattered against
her side like the beatings of an imprisoned bird. Again her gray
guardian looked up, encouraging her forward.

"Keep close, lad," she whispered, starting forward afresh. And the old
dog ranged up beside her, shoving into her skirt, as though to let her
feel his presence.

So they reached the top of the hill; and the house stood before them,
grim, unfriendly.

The girl's face was now quite white, yet set; the resemblance to her
father was plain to see. With lips compressed and breath quick-coming,
she crossed the threshold, treading softly as though in a house of the
dead. There she paused and lifted a warning finger at her companion,
bidding him halt without; then she turned to the door on the left of the
entrance and tapped.

She listened, her head buried in the shawl, close to the wood panelling.
There was no answer; she could only hear the drumming of her heart.

She knocked again. From within came the scraping of a chair cautiously
shoved back, followed by a deep-mouthed cavernous growl.

Her heart stood still, but she turned the handle and entered, leaving a
crack open behind.

On the far side the room a little man was sitting. His head was swa