lovely to him as now.
As he rose from bending over the heather and looked around, seeing
the moor in its many colours stretch in swelling waves far into the
distance, the lochans winking to the day and over all a kind soft sky,
he was thrilling with his delight.

She summoned him in a little to eat. He looked at her scanty provender,
and there was as much of truth as self-sacrifice in his words as he
said: "I do not care for eating; I am just satisfied with seeing you
there and the world so fine." And still exulting in that rare solitude
of two he went farther off by Little Fox Loch and sought for white
heather, symbol of luck and love, as rare to find among the red as
true love is among illusion. Searching the braes he could hear, after a
little, Nan sing at the shealing hut. A faint breeze brought the strain
to him faintly so that it might be the melody of fairydom heard at eves
on grassy hillocks by the gifted ear, the melody of the gentle other
world, had he not known that it had the words of "The Rover." Nan was
singing it to keep up her heart, far from cheerful, tortured indeed
with doubt and fear, and yet the listener found in the notes content
and hope. When he came back with his spray of white heather he was so
uplifted with the song that he ran up to her for once with no restraint
and made to fasten it at her neck. She was surprised at his new freedom
but noway displeased. A little less self-consciousness as he fumbled
at the riband on her neck would have satisfied her more, but even that
disappeared when he felt her breath upon his hair and an unconscious
touch of her hand on his arm as he fastened the flower. She let her eyes
drop before his bold rapture, he could have kissed her there and then
and welcome. But he only went halfway. When the heather was fastened,
he took her hand and lifted it to his lips, remembering some inadequate
tale in the books of Margot Maclean.

"John Hielan'man! John Hielan'man!" she said within herself, and
suddenly she tore the white spray from her bosom and threw it
passionately at her feet, while tears of vexation ran to her eyes.

"Forgive me, forgive me, I have vexed you again," said Gilian, contrite.
"I should not be so bold."

She could not but smile through her tears.

"If you will take my heather again and say nothing of it, I will never
take the liberty again," he went on, eager to make up for his error.

"Then I will not take it," she answered.

"It was stupid