ry and romance, but I love it all the same. That is why I am only
happy when I am out on the moors alone."

A few minutes later a lonely farmhouse appeared to view. It was little
more than a cottage, and Graham judged that the farm consisted of only
about fifty acres of stony and barren land.

"Good night," she said presently, "and thank you for helping me with
the kine."

"Perhaps I shall be seeing you again," said the young man. "I am sure
I shall come round this way in the hope that you may be visible." And
he laughed almost nervously as he spoke. The girl had appealed to him.
She seemed to him like a flower in the wilderness, and aroused all the
romance of his nature.

She shook her head. "No," she said, "you will never see me again."

"At least you will tell me your name?" said Graham; "why, do you know,
we have been nearly an hour together? I am called Douglas Graham."

"And my name is Jean Lindsay," she said, looking at him shyly; "not
that it matters much, for if you are staying with the Grahams you will
be a gentleman."

"And do you go to fetch the cattle home every night?" he asked eagerly;
but she did not answer him. A hard-featured woman came up to the
farmyard gate as he spoke, while Jean silently, and with an almost
sullen look on her face, drove the cattle into the yard. He lifted his
cap and passed on.

"Who is yon?" asked the woman in a harsh, strident voice.

"I do not know," replied the girl; "he helped me with the cattle, that
is all."

Douglas Graham climbed the hill which lay between him and his
relative's house with a strange feeling at his heart. Somehow life
seemed different, and the picture of this black-eyed girl remained with
him. "I should like to see her again," he said, as presently he came
up to the gates which led to the house; "yes, and I will, too!"

During the next two days he made no attempt to see Jean Lindsay. He
found among his relatives at "Highlands" several young people, who not
only gave him a warm welcome, but entirely claimed his companionship,
and amidst the entertainments provided he almost forgot the meeting on
the moors. The third day, however, found him wandering away by himself
towards the lonely farmhouse. Had he tried to analyse his feelings, he
would have told himself that Jean Lindsay was only a chance
acquaintance, who was vastly interesting, but nothing more. But he
could not altogether drive her picture from his mind; the black,
spea