, I do
not see that you need deprive yourself of his occasional advice."

"Thank you, Aunt Charlotte," said the Princess, stooping and kissing her
aunt's cheek, "I shall remember. But you see, Julian killed the Regent's
friend Lord Wargrove in a duel for helping one of his companions to
carry off Patsy. They charge him also with wounding the Duke of
Lyonesse, but that he did not do. Still, he gets the credit for it with
the Carlton House set, and they have a warrant out against him. Erskine
has seen to that. He cannot come to London, at least not in the
meantime."

"Ah," said the Queen, "so your friend delivered us from that rascal
Wargrove. That was one service to good order, though of course it is
wrong to duel. It is a pity that he could not be here now. If you do not
take care, that little gipsy of yours will slip through your fingers. I
know what happens to young ladies who flout at princes. There is always
another man in the background!"

"Aunt Charlotte, I am quite sure you are wrong about Patsy," said the
Princess.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE LOST FOLK'S ACRE

It was a high day and a holiday at the Bothy of the Wild of Blairmore--a
high day though a short one--one of the shortest of all the year, though
by this time it was well into January. But that made little difference
on our misty moors. There the frozen sea-fog bound us and the wind, when
there was one, stung extraordinarily bitter.

Sea-fog breezes yellowish (let this be marked), but the mist of the
fresh water moors is white with iridescent circles where the low winter
sun is trying to peep through. Little sounds carry far. You can hear
wild fowl calling far up in the brumous smother which hides the lift.
They are voyaging from lands of summer, and are already sorry they came.
For here the winter still holds grim, black and yet somehow raw, which
was the fault of the yellow sea-fog.

Stair had been up that morning long before the tardy January dawn,
Whitefoot had been sent from the farm the night before with the news
that Jean would meet him in the bed of the Mays Water opposite Peden's
Stone. There was now more freedom of moving about, for the freezing of
the snow enabled both man and beast to pass over it without leaving a
footmark.

He found Jean standing there in the dim orange-coloured dawn. She was
shivering dislike of the morning, which was at once clammy and freezing
hard, so that every stone and even the banks were covered with the
f