the moment with wild joy, but hearts
after leaps ache, and she had quickly reminded herself that Richard
Plantagenet had most evidently accepted the refusal as final and would
never be anything more to her than Pamela's brother. It was quite as it
should be, but life in spite of April and a motor-car was, what Mhor
called a minister's life, "a dullsome job."

That year spring came, not reluctantly, as it often does in the uplands,
but generously, lavishly, scattering buds and leaves and flowers and
lambs, and putting a spirit of youth into everything. The days were as
warm as June, and fresh as only April days can be. The Jardines
anxiously watched the sun-filled days pass, wishing they had arranged to
go earlier, fearful lest they should miss all the good weather. It
seemed impossible that it could go on being so wonderful, but day
followed day in golden succession and there was no sign of a break.

David spent most of his days at the depot that held the car, there being
no garage at The Rigs, and Jock and Mhor worshipped with him. A
chauffeur had been engaged, one Stark, a Priorsford youth, a steady
young man and an excellent driver. He had never been farther than
Edinburgh.

The 20th came at last. Jock and Mhor were up at an unearthly hour,
parading the house, banging at Mrs. M'Cosh's door, and imploring her to
rise in case breakfast was late, and thumping the barometer to see if it
showed any inclination to fall. The car was ordered for nine o'clock,
but they were down the road looking for it at least half an hour before
it was due, feverishly anxious in case something had happened either to
it or to Stark.

The road before The Rigs was quite crowded that April morning. Mrs.
M'Cosh stood at the gate beside the dancing daffodils and the tulips and
the opening wallflowers in the border, her hands folded on her spotless
white apron, her face beaming with its accustomed kind smile, and
watched her family depart.

"Keep a haud o' Peter, Mhor," she cautioned. "Ye needna come back here
if ye lose him." The safety of the rest of the party did not seem to
concern her.

Mr. and Mrs. Jowett were there, having breakfasted an hour earlier than
usual, thus risking the wrath of their cherished domestics. Mrs. Jowett
was carrying a large box of chocolates as a parting gift to the boys,
while Mr. Jowett had a bottle of lavender water for Jean.

Augusta Hope had walked up from Hopetoun with her mother's love to the
traveller