m.

We spread the napkin on a big stone of the quarry, and set out the
feast: scones, oatcake, hard-boiled eggs, a bottle of milk, and a small
flask of usquebaugh. Our hands met as we prepared the table. This was
our first housekeeping; the first breakfast of our honeymoon I called
it, rallying her. "Starving I may be; but starve I will in sight of
food, unless you share it," and, "It escapes me for the moment, madam,
if you take sugar." We leaned to each other across the rock, and our
faces touched. Her cold cheek with the rain upon it, and one small damp
curl--for many days I had to feed upon the memory of that kiss, and I
feed upon it yet.

"But it beats me how you escaped them," said I.

She laid down the bannock she had been making pretence to nibble.
"Janet--that is our dairy girl--lent me her frock and shawl: her shoes
too. She goes out to the milking at six, and I took her place. The fog
helped me. They are hateful."

"They are, my dear. Chevenix--"

"I mean these clothes. And I am thinking, too, of the poor cows."

"The instinct of animals--" I lifted my glass. "Let us trust it to find
means to attract the notice of two paid detectives and two volunteers."

"I had rather count on Aunt," said Flora, with one of her rare and
adorable smiles, which fleeted as it came. "But, Anne, we must not waste
time. They are so many against you, and so near. O, be serious!"

"Now you are talking like Mr. Romaine."

"For my sake, dear!" She clasped her hands. I took them in mine across
the table, and, unclasping them, kissed the palms.

"Sweetheart," I said, "before this weather clears----"

"It is clearing."

"We will give it time. Before this weather clears, I must be across the
valley and fetching a circuit for the drovers' road, if you can teach me
when to hit it."

She withdrew one of her hands. It went up to the throat of her bodice,
and came forth with my packet of notes.

"Good Lord!" said I: "if I hadn't forgotten the money!"

"I think nothing teaches you," sighed she.

She had sewed them tightly in a little bag of yellow oiled silk; and as
I held it, warm from her young bosom, and turned it over in my hand, I
saw that it was embroidered in scarlet thread with the one word "Anne"
beneath the Lion Rampant of Scotland, in imitation of the poor toy I had
carved for her--it seemed, so long ago!

"I wear the original," she murmured.

I crushed the parcel into my breast-pocket, and, taking both hands
a