le mess of things in the Red Hose?" he
asked. Then, without waiting, he went on: "I was sorry for Sinclair.
He's a fine chap, and ought to have won. It was purely an accident, and
I couldn't help myself. I was beaten and done for, and it was hard lines
for him to be knocked out in the way he was, just as he was on the point
of winning, too."

"Oh, but ye couldna' help it," Mysie returned. "It was an accident."

"Yes; and I would rather Sinclair had got in, though. It was a good
race, and Sinclair ought to have got the prize. It was rotten luck. I'm
sorry, and I hope the poor beggar does not blame me. We seem always to
be fated to be rivals," he continued, his voice dropping into
reminiscent tones. "Do you remember how we used to fight at school? I've
liked Sinclair always since for the way he stood up for the things he
thought were right. I believe you were the cause of our hardest battle,
and that also was an accident."

"Yes," replied Mysie, her face flushing slightly as she remembered the
incident, and how Peter had been chosen, when her heart told her to
choose Robert.

"Oh, well," said Peter, "I suppose we can't help these things. Fate
wills it. Let's forget all about such unpleasant things. It's a lovely
night. We might go round by the wood. It's not so late yet," and putting
Mysie's arm in his, he turned off into the little pathway that skirted
the wood, and she, caught by the glamor of the gloaming, as well as
flattered by his attentions, acquiesced.

Plaintive and eerie the moor-birds protested against this invasion of
their haunts. The moon came slowly up over the eastern end of the moor,
flinging a silver radiance abroad, and softening the shadows cast by the
hills. A strange, dank smell rose from the mossy ground--the scent of
rotting heather and withered grass, mixed with the beautiful perfume
from beds of wild thyme.

A low call came from a brooding curlew, a faint sigh from a plover, and
the wild rasping cry of a lapwing greeted them overhead. Yet there was a
silence, a silence broken for a moment by the cries of the birds, but a
silence thick and heavy. Between the calls of the birds Mysie could
almost hear her heart's quickened beat. Blood found an eager response,
and the magic of the moonlight and the beauty of the night soon wrought
upon the excited minds of the pair. Mysie looked in Peter's eyes more
desirable than ever. The moonlight on her face, the soft light within
her eyes, her shy, downc