the sense of being shut
in by the soft whiteness I had so often watched from my nursery window
in the castle.

"People might be walking about," I said to Angus when he lifted me from
Sheltie's back.

"We couldn't see them. They might be walking."

"Nothing that would hurt ye, bairnie," he answered.

"No, they wouldn't hurt me," I said. I had never been afraid that
anything on the moor would hurt me.

I played very little that day. The quiet and the mist held me still.
Soon I sat down and began to "listen." After a while I knew that Jean
and Angus were watching me, but it did not disturb me. They often
watched me when they thought I did not know they were doing it.

I had sat listening for nearly half an hour when I heard the first
muffled, slow trampling of horses' hoofs. I knew what it was even before
it drew near enough for me to be conscious of the other sounds--the
jingling of arms and chains and the creaking of leather one notices as
troopers pass by. Armed and mounted men were coming toward me. That was
what the sounds meant; but they seemed faint and distant, though I knew
they were really quite near. Jean and Angus did not appear to hear them.
I knew that I only heard them because I had been listening.

Out of the mist they rode a company of wild-looking men wearing garments
such as I had never seen before. Most of them were savage and uncouth,
and their clothes were disordered and stained as if with hard travel and
fight. I did not know--or even ask myself--why they did not frighten me,
but they did not. Suddenly I seemed to know that they were brave men
and had been doing some brave, hard thing. Here and there among them I
caught sight of a broken and stained sword, or a dirk with only a
hilt left. They were all pale, but their wild faces were joyous and
triumphant. I saw it as they drew near.

The man who seemed their chieftain was a lean giant who was darker but,
under his darkness, paler than the rest. On his forehead was a queer,
star-shaped scar. He rode a black horse, and before him he held close
with his left arm a pretty little girl dressed in strange, rich clothes.
The big man's hand was pressed against her breast as he held her; but
though it was a large hand, it did not quite cover a dark-red stain on
the embroideries of her dress. Her dress was brown, and she had brown
hair and soft brown eyes like a little doe's. The moment I saw her I
loved her.

The black horse stopped before me. The