elts of mist. The crying of restless plovers
came out of the gathering dimness.

"All this is remarkably nice; though I don't think I should have
appreciated it quite so much if I'd been alone," Nasmyth said at length.

Millicent laughed lightly. She had known him since her childhood and was
quite aware that he had not intended to pay her a labored compliment;
they were too good friends for that. Once, indeed, he had desired a
closer bond, but he had quietly acquiesced when with gentle firmness she
had made it clear that she was not for him. Submission had not been easy,
but he had long admitted her right to more than he could offer. In this,
however, he was to some extent mistaken, because the gifts he could
bring--a staunch honesty, faithfulness, and a genial nature--are not to
be despised.

"Well," she replied, "I love these moors and dales, as of course you
know, and I've become more of a stay-at-home than ever during the past
year." There was a slight regretfulness in her voice which had its
meaning for him. "I'm never satisfied with the drawings," she went on,
"though I've made so many of them."

Nasmyth made a sign of comprehension. She had undertaken to finish and
illustrate her brother's roughed-out work, a book on the fauna of the
Border, and she had brought to it a fine artistic skill and patience, as
well as a love of the wild creatures of the waste. It was, perhaps, a
curious occupation for a young woman, but she had devoted herself to it
with characteristic thoroughness.

"He wanted it to be as complete and accurate as possible," she added
simply.

Her companion felt compassionate. In some respects, it was almost a pity
that Millicent could not forget.

"You got my letter--the one in which I said I meant to pick up and follow
out his trail?" he asked.

"Yes. I knew it would be difficult. Indeed, I was anxious about you; the
wilderness has claimed so much from me. But did you--"

"I succeeded," Nasmyth answered quietly.

The nod she gave him was expressive. It meant that she had expected him
to succeed; he was a man who did what he said.

"I think George should never have made that journey," she resumed. "Fond
of the open as he was, he hadn't the physical stamina. He never spared
himself; he was apt to overestimate his powers."

It was spoken with a grave regretfulness that troubled Nasmyth and yet
stirred him to strong appreciation of her character. With all her love
for her brother, she cou