there by the burn-side a tuft of
birches, and--two miles off as the crow flies--from its enclosures and
young plantations, the windows of Hermiston glittering in the western
sun.

Here she sat down and waited, and looked for a long time at these
far-away bright panes of glass. It amused her to have so extended a
view, she thought. It amused her to see the house of Hermiston--to see
"folk"; and there was an indistinguishable human unit, perhaps the
gardener, visibly sauntering on the gravel paths.

By the time the sun was down and all the easterly braes lay plunged in
clear shadow, she was aware of another figure coming up the path at a
most unequal rate of approach, now half running, now pausing and seeming
to hesitate. She watched him at first with a total suspension of
thought. She held her thought as a person holds his breathing. Then she
consented to recognise him. "He'll no be coming here, he canna be; it's
no possible." And there began to grow upon her a subdued choking
suspense. He _was_ coming; his hesitations had quite ceased, his step
grew firm and swift; no doubt remained; and the question loomed up
before her instant: what was she to do? It was all very well to say that
her brother was a laird himself; it was all very well to speak of casual
intermarriages and to count cousinship, like Auntie Kirstie. The
difference in their social station was trenchant; propriety, prudence,
all that she had ever learned, all that she knew, bade her flee. But on
the other hand the cup of life now offered to her was too enchanting.
For one moment, she saw the question clearly, and definitely made her
choice. She stood up and showed herself an instant in the gap relieved
upon the sky line; and the next, fled trembling and sat down glowing
with excitement on the Weaver's Stone. She shut her eyes, seeking,
praying for composure. Her hand shook in her lap, and her mind was full
of incongruous and futile speeches. What was there to make a work about?
She could take care of herself, she supposed! There was no harm in
seeing the laird. It was the best thing that could happen. She would
mark a proper distance to him once and for all. Gradually the wheels of
her nature ceased to go round so madly, and she sat in passive
expectation, a quiet, solitary figure in the midst of the grey moss. I
have said she was no hypocrite, but here I am at fault. She never
admitted to herself that she had come up the hill to look for Archie.
And perha