rozen fog. Jean had a great red shawl that had come from Holland about
her head and neck, and so kept herself as comfortable as might be while
she waited for her brother.

Stair had had to watch the signs of the countryside before he dared risk
letting himself down into the dark of the Glen. For the sea was always
open, and a landing party from the _Britomart_ might have lain unseen in
any of the fir copses or hidden behind the knolls.

Black and narrow ran the Mays, that at other times flowed so wide and
brown and free. The frost had bound it tightly, all save a trickle in
the centre, black as ink, and everywhere about clung the icicles, some
thick as a man's arm.

"Oh, Stair, here are letters--one for Mr. Julian and one for you," Jean
gasped, the sea-fog in her throat, "thankful I am to see you! I thought
you would never come. Here, too, are the provisions--be canny with the
eggs. They are on the top in a box by themselves, packed in sawdust, but
do not be throwing them down wi' a brainge to get at your letters. And
there in a big bag are the linen and clothes--cleaner and sweeter could
not be, though I say it that washed and laundried them."

"Is Patsy well?" queried Stair, for he knew that Jean must have a letter
of her own which she had read already.

"Famous," said Jean--"of course she is well. Are they not going to marry
her to a prince--?"

"Not Lyonesse?" The voice of Stair grew suddenly hoarse and threatening.
He looked capable of setting off to London with his musket over his
shoulder, to finish the job he had begun.

"Goose," quoth his sister, "no--of course not. Somebody she likes--a
young and handsome prince from Germany, or maybe Austria, and a great
friend and near neighbour of the Princess, when she is at home."

"You are mocking me," said Stair, regaining some of his composure. "It
is sheer nonsense that you are talking."

"Well," said Jean, adjusting the red Amersfort shawl about her head and
neck, "go back and read your letter. You will no doubt find it all
written there!"

Stair stood and watched her till she disappeared along the edge of the
Water of Mays. He could not ask her any further questions, having
Patsy's prohibition before him. Besides, there was his own letter, along
with one for her Uncle Julian. The last was by far the thickest, and he
wondered greatly as he turned it over in his hand, what it might
contain.

He could not read his letter down under the overhanging brow of