iked.

"It might be a come-down," he said, "for a gude sailor an' fisher to
coil peats and do days' darg, but it was honest labor; an', please
God, he'd never do that i' the week that wad hinder him fra going to
the kirk on Sabbath."

"Oigh! she'll jist please hersel'; she'll pe owing ta Beg naething by
ta next new moon." And with a mocking laugh Sandy loitered away
towards the seashore.

CHAPTER II.

Just after this interview a little lad put a note in John's hand from
Margaret Fae. It only asked him to be on Brogar Bridge at eight
o'clock that night. Now Brogar Bridge was not a spot that any Orcadian
cared to visit at such an hour. In the pagan temple whose remains
stood there it was said pale ghosts of white-robed priests still
offered up shadowy human sacrifices, and though John's faith was firm
and sure, superstitions are beyond reasoning with, and he recalled the
eerie, weird aspect of the grim stones with an unavoidable
apprehension. What could Margaret want with him in such a place and at
an hour so near that at which Peter usually went home from his shop?
He had never seen Margaret's writing, and he half suspected Sandy Beg
had more to do with the appointment than she had; but he was too
anxious to justify himself in Margaret's eyes to let any fears or
doubts prevent him from keeping the tryst.

He had scarcely reached the Stones of Stennis when he saw her leaning
against one of them. The strange western light was over her thoughtful
face. She seemed to have become a part of the still and solemn
landscape. John had always loved her with a species of reverence;
to-night he felt almost afraid of her beauty and the power she had
over him. She was a true Scandinavian, with the tall, slender, and
rather haughty form which marks Orcadian and Zetland women. Her hair
was perhaps a little too fair and cold, and yet it made a noble
setting to the large, finely-featured, tranquil face.

She put out her hand as John approached, and said, "Was it well that
thou shouldst quarrel with my father? I thought that thou didst love
me."

Then John poured out his whole heart--his love for her, his mother's
demand of him, his quarrel with Ragon and Peter and Sandy Beg. "It has
been an ill time, Margaret," he said, "and thou hast been long in
comforting me."

Well, Margaret had plenty of reasons for her delay and plenty of
comfort for her lover. Naturally slow of pulse and speech, she had
been long coming to a conclu