o comment as they went on. Presently they came to a deep
rift in the moor through which a stream leaped sparkling. The girl
scrambled down, waist-deep in yellow fern, but the other side was steep
and stony and she was glad of help when he held out his hand. They made
the ascent with some difficulty and on reaching the summit she looked
around, breathless.

"This is a romantic spot, if you're interested in the legends of the
Border," she told him.

"I am," Lisle said; and she sat down among the heather.

"It's an excuse for a rest," she confessed. "The old moss-troopers used
to ride this way to ravage Cumberland. It was advisable for them to
follow hidden paths among the moors, and once an interesting little
skirmish took place among those brakes down the hollow."

She pointed toward a spot where the ravine widened into a level strip of
quaggy grass and moss which glowed a brilliant emerald. On either side of
it a gnarled and stunted growth of alders and birches fringed the foot of
the steep slopes, and between them the stream spread out across a stretch
of milk-white stones. The hollow was flooded with light and filled with
the soft murmur of running water.

"It would be a strong place to hold, if the defenders had time to choose
their ground," Lisle remarked.

"So it proved," replied his companion. "Well, once upon a time, a bold
Scots reaver, riding south, saw a maid who pleased him near a Cumberland
pele. His admiration was not reciprocated, but he came again, often,
though being an armed thief by profession there was a price upon his
head. It is stated that on each occasion he returned unaccompanied by any
of the cattle belonging to his lady's relatives, which was an unusual
piece of forbearance. In those days, men must have been able to
disassociate business from their love-making."

"Don't they do so now?" Lisle inquired lazily.

She looked at him with a smile which had a hint of real bitterness in its
light mockery.

"Not often, one would imagine. Perhaps they can't be blamed--I'm afraid
we're all given to cultivating dreadfully expensive tastes. No doubt,
when it was needful, the Border chieftain of the story could live on
oatmeal and water, and instead of buying pedigree hunters he probably
stole his pony. He haunted the neighborhood of the pele until the maid
became afraid and urged her kinsmen to rid her of him. Several of them
tried and failed--which wasn't surprising."

"Love made him invulnerab