he sighed as he remembered the red ripe lips, the warm breath
on his face, and the tingling influence of the skin he touched under the
kerchief.

They walked on in silence again for a while. The night grew dark with
gathering clouds. Lights far out at sea showed the trailing fishers; a
flaring torch told of a trawler's evening fortune made already. And soon
they were at the Duke's lodge and Gilian's way up Glen Aray lay before
him. He was pausing to say good-night, confused, troubled by what he had
heard, feeling he must confess his own regard for the girl and not let
this comparative stranger so buoyantly outdo him in admiration.

"Now," said he, hesitating, "what would you think I was in Glen Shira
myself for?"

"Eh?" said Young Islay, scarcely hearing, and he hummed the refrain of
the lady's song.

"In Glen Shira; what was I doing there?" repeated Gilian. He wanted no
answer. "It was on the odd chance that I might see Miss Nan. We are
not altogether without some taste in these parts, though wanting the
advantage of travel and garrison gallantry. I was in the garden when you
were inside. I heard her singing, and I think I got closer on herself
and her song than you did."

"My dear Gilian," said Young Islay, "I once fought you for less than
that." He laughed as he said it. "If you mean," he went on, "that you
are in love with Miss Nan, that's nothing to wonder at, the miracle
would be for you to be indifferent. We're in the same hunt, are we then?
Well, luck to the winner! I can say no fairer than that. Only you'll
have to look sharp, my boy, for I'm not going to lose any time, I assure
you. If you're going to do all your courtship of yon lady from outside
her window, you'll not make much progress, I'm thinking. Good-night;
good-night!" He went off laughing, and when he had gone away a few yards
Gilian, walking slowly homewards, heard him break whistling into the air
that Nan had sung in the parlour of Maam.

CHAPTER XXVI--AGAIN IN THE GARDEN

Only for a single sleepless night was Gilian dashed by this evidence
that the world was not made up of Miss Nan and himself alone.
Depressions weighed on him as briefly as the keener joys elated, and
in a day or two his apprehension of Young Islay had worn to a thin
gossamer, and he was as ardent a lover as any one could be with what
still was no more than a young lady of the imagination. And diligently
he sought a meeting. It used to be the wonder of Mr. Spencer o