of you."

On our ride homeward his whole talk turned about his boy Danvers, of
whom he spoke with unfettered approval and satisfaction, which came
from a strange source.

"He looks like you, Jock Stair! It's heaven's truth that he's the image
of you! It seems odd that I, who am a brown man, should have a son with
an olive skin and hair like ink, but it's a fact. And he's like ye in
other ways, for he rides like a monkey and can thrash any one of his
weight in the county. Aye," he concluded, "ye'll be proud of Danvers!"

"And what of my girl?" I asked.

"Nancy," he said, a curious look coming into his face as he smiled;
"she's one you must see to judge of for yourself. I've raised her up as
well as I could. I've spent time with her!"

His determined reticence, which had some humor in it, put me on my
metal concerning the child, and the day after my arrival I sent Tam
MacColl with a written request to Dame Dickenson to fetch the little
one immediately to Stair.

Six days later Tam returned bringing a large sheet of paper, which I
have before me as I write. It was folded after a curious fashion, with
no address, and opening it I found the following:

[Illustration: I am not comming.

Nancy Stair.]

For the first time in five years I laughed aloud. This was something
worth. Here was an atom, not yet five, who took her pen in hand and
misspelled her firm intention to do as she chose. I folded the paper
and laid it aside, wondering what kind of offspring I had begotten, and
the following morning took horse to Landgore to see this very
determined little body for myself.

As I came in sight of the place after my long ride, strange voices
called to me from the sea, from the heather, from the great copper
birch over the house. Eyes long dead seemed looking into mine, hands
were on my hair, and there came to me, with the feeling of mortal
sickness, the terrible, sweet remembrances of an early passion and of
things to be known to none save Marian and me and the One who does most
wisely for the Great End, but bitterly to us who see but a little of
the way.

Reaching the porch, my strength left me utterly, and I leaned against
one of the wooden pillars for support. Standing thus, I saw a child
running down the braeside at the top of her speed, with no knowledge of
my presence, but coming at her fastest to reach the house. She wore a
short-waisted black frock, with a very long skirt, which almost tou