y braes rose about it,
reflected in its dark water; an islet overgrown with scrub lay in
the middle of it, the very haunt of possible romance; Gilian straight
inhabited the same with memories and exploits. Nan sat her down on the
springy heather that swept its scents about her, she leaned a tired
shoulder on it, and the bells of the ling blushed as they swayed against
her cheek. Gilian put down his lantern, a ludicrous companion in broad
sunshine, and was dashed by the sudden recollection that though he had
talked of something to eat, he had really no means of providing it!

The girl observed his perturbation and shrewdly guessed the reason.

"Well?" she said maliciously, without a smile; "and where are we to get
the food you so nicely spoke of?"

He stood stupefied, and so dolorous a spectacle that she could not but
laugh.

"You have got none at all, but imagined our feast--as usual," she said,
unfolding her bundle. "It was well I did not depend on your forethought,
Gilian," and she took a flask of milk and some bread from within. He was
as much vexed at the spoiling of his illusion about the contents of the
bundle as at the discovery of his thoughtlessness. What he had been
so fervently caressing against his side had been no more romantic than
bread and cheese and some more substantial augmentation for the poor
table of the old woman they were going to meet!

The side of the loch bristled with dry heather roots; he plucked them
and placed them on the side of a boulder beside Nan, and set fire to
them, and soon a cheerful blaze competed with the tardy morning chill.
They sat beside it singularly uplifted by this domestic hearth among the
wilds; he felt himself a sort of householder, and to share as he did the
fare of the girl was a huge delight. Her single cup passed between them;
at first he was shy to touch at all the object her lips had kissed; he
showed the feeling in his face, and she laughed again.

He joined in the merriment, quite comprehending. Next time the cup came
his way he boldly turned it about so that where last she had sipped came
to his lips, and there he lingered--just a shade too long for the look
of the thing. What at first she but blushed and smiled at, she frowned
upon at last with a sparkle of the eye her Uncle Jamie used to call in
the Gaelic the torch of temper. Gilian missed it; that touch of his lip
upon her cup had recalled the warmth of her hand upon the flowers he had
gathered when