y to be otherwise than God had made
him. In contrast to his gawky shyness--the rusticity of the farm and
hill, rose up constant in her remembrance the confident young gentleman
she had run away from without so much as a knowledge of his name. She
cried, and the afternoon came, a blush of fire and flowing gold upon
the hills, the purple of the steeps behind her darkened; upon Big Fox
behind, some wild duck floated and gossiped.

She was still at her crying, a maiden altogether disconsolate, with no
notion of where next she should turn to, afraid to go home yet never
once thinking of going to Miss Mary's refuge as she had promised, and
the world was all dolorous round her, when a step sounded near the door.
She started in terror and shrank into the darkest corner of the hut.
The footstep came not quite close to the door; it was as if the stranger
feared to find a house empty and hesitated before setting foot on the
threshold. From where she stood she could not see him, though his breath
was to be heard, short and panting. The square of the open door was
filled with green and purple--the green of the rank nettle, the purple
of the bell-heather she had been always careful to spare as she had gone
in and out.

Who could it be? Her first thought was of some fisherman or sportsman
late upon the hill and attracted by the smoke of the hut that had so
long known no fire. Then she thought of her father, more kindly and more
contrite to him than she had ever felt before. If it was her father,
what should she do? Would she run out and dare all for his forgiveness
of her folly, and take his terms if that were possible now that her name
and his were ridiculous through all the shire? But it could not be her
father. Her father would not be alone and----

Into the square of light stepped Young Islay! He was all blown with the
hurry of his ascent after hearing from Black Duncan (who had heard from
Elasaid) that Nan had been there in the morning, and now there was no
sign of life about the silent hut except the bluereek that rose over the
mouldering thatch. He was a brave youth, but for once he feared to try
his fate.

As he stood in the doorway and looked into the dark interior, where a
poor fire smouldered in the centre of the floor, he seemed so woebegone
that Nan could not but smile in spite of her trepidation. He but looked
a second, then turned to seek her elsewhere.

As he turned away she called faintly, all blushing and all te