biscuits, and matches in tins, and
stowed them away inside the new cupboard which Morland had placed in an
angle of the rocky shelf, then, fearing that the rising tide would cover
the shore below and cut off their retreat, they bade a regretful
farewell to all their arrangements, promising themselves the pleasure of
coming often again.

It seemed too early to go straight home, so they spent the afternoon
rambling about the cliffs, watching the sea-birds or the waves that were
dashing below. Time flew apace, and when they came down the hill again
from Tangy Point the sky was golden with sunset. The warm evening light
flooded the common, where brown bracken grew like a forest, and
goldfinches flitted about among a grove of thistles. Lorraine, who had
an eye for colour, picked a large wand-like sheaf of yellow ragwort,
and, holding it over her shoulder, trudged through the thistles, sending
showers of down to float in the breeze, and dispersing the goldfinches
from their feast. With her eyes on the horizon instead of on the ground
in front, she nearly walked into an easel that was stationed among the
bracken. Its owner sprang up to save it, and Lorraine, stopping just in
time, paused with her russet dress and flying brown hair a dark mass
against the gold of the sky and the thistle-down background. There was a
second of silence as a pair of clear hazel eyes grasped the picturesque
impression and registered it; then a mellow voice murmured: "Kilmeny!"

CHAPTER VII

Kilmeny

"I'm dreadfully sorry!" apologized Lorraine.

"It doesn't matter at all. You did no damage."

"But I nearly knocked over your picture!"

"A miss is as good as a mile!"

"Why, it's Miss Lindsay!" exclaimed Claudia, coming up. "I thought you
were still in Scotland."

"I've been back a week and am quite settled down again at Porthkeverne,
and hope to stay here all the winter. Tell your father I'm coming up to
see his pictures one day. I hear he's painting in pastel now. I've been
going in for tempera. How are the babies? And Madox? He's a special
friend of mine. I've brought them a box of real shortbread from
Edinburgh. Yes, I'm making a sketch of this piece of the common. It
appeals to me in the sunset."

"What a charming lady! _Who_ is she?" whispered Lorraine as their party
passed on.

"She's an artist--Miss Lindsay. We knew her in London, and it was she
who advised Father to come and live at Porthkeverne. I'm glad she did,
for we