is before." She spoke with a strong Scotch accent, and was
evidently what she seemed, either a servant at a farmhouse or, perhaps,
the daughter of some small tenant farmer who lived in the district.

"We'll see if we can't destroy the witches' power," laughed Douglas,
and set to work to gather the cattle. It took some little time, but
the feat was accomplished at last. Then the two walked side by side,
driving the beasts before them.

The romance in the young man's nature was aroused. There, amidst the
wild moorland scenery and in the light of the setting sun, it was
vastly pleasant to be walking beside this young creature, so instinct
with life.

"Is your home far away?" he asked.

"It must be more than two miles," she replied.

"And do you know the house called 'Highlands'?"

"It will be where Mr. Graham lives, I expect."

"Yes," he said.

"Then it will be only a mile beyond my father's farm," was her reply.

"Oh, that is capital!" laughed Graham. "I shall get there before dark,
and be able to help you with the cattle at the same time."

"But you are not the son at 'Highlands,'" she said, looking at him
curiously.

"Oh, no," he replied. "The Grahams are distant relatives of mine, that
is all. There is just a little Scotch in me, that is why I love
Scotland so. Of course, you love Scotland too?"

A far-away look came into her eyes. "I don't know," she said.

"Not know if you love your own country?" And he laughed as he spoke.

"I am not sure that it is my own country," was her reply. "You
see----" And then she stopped. "It will be nothing to you," she added
after a minute, and for some time they walked along together in silence.

"It must be just lovely to live amid such surroundings as these; still,
I should find it lonely sometimes," he ventured at length.

"You would, if--if--" And then the girl looked at him curiously. "But
I expect you'll not be understanding what I mean," she added.

Again they walked on in silence, Douglas longing to ask her what she
meant, and yet shrinking from taking what he felt might be a liberty,
for there was something about the girl that kept him from speaking
freely. Dressed like a peasant as she was, he instinctively felt that
here was no ordinary farmer's drudge. She had uttered nothing beyond
commonplaces, but the look in her eyes, the tremor of her lips
suggested romance and mystery and poetry.

"You see," she said a minute later, as if talking