such grace and strength before her, the vision of
an old horror came rushing back on the mind of Ginevra.

Gibbie had darted from his companion's side some hundred yards off.
The cap which Mr. Sclater had insisted on his wearing had fallen as
he ran, and he had never missed it; his hair stood out on all sides
of his head, and the sun behind him shone in it like a glory, just
as when first he appeared to Ginevra in the peat-moss, like an angel
standing over her. Indeed, while to Miss Kimble and the girls he
was "a mad-like object" in his awkward ill-fitting clothes, made by
a village tailor in the height of the village fashion, to Ginevra he
looked hardly less angelic now than he did then. His appearance,
judged without prejudice, was rather that of a sailor boy on shore
than a shepherd boy from the hills.

"Miss Galbraith!" said Miss Kimble, in the tone that indicates
nostrils distended, "I am astonished at you! What an example to the
school! I never knew you misbehave yourself before! Take your hand
from this--this--very strange looking person's shoulder directly."

Ginevra obeyed, but Gibbie stood as before.

"Remove your hand, boy, instantly," cried Miss Kimble, growing more
and more angry, and began knocking the hand on the girl's shoulder
with her parasol, which apparently Gibbie took for a joke, for he
laughed aloud.

"Pray do not alarm yourself, ma'am," said Mr. Sclater, slowly
recovering his breath: he was not yet quite sure of Gibbie, or
confident how best he was to be managed; "this young--gentleman is
Sir Gilbert Galbraith, my ward.--Sir Gilbert, this lady is Miss
Kimble. You must have known her father well--the Rev. Matthew
Kimble of the next parish to your own?"

Gibbie smiled. He did not nod, for that would have meant that he
did know him, and he did not remember having ever even heard the
name of the Rev. Matthew Kimble.

"Oh!" said the lady, who had ceased her battery, and stood
bewildered and embarrassed--the more that by this time the girls had
all gathered round, staring and wondering.

Ginevra's eyes too had filled with wonder; she cast them down, and a
strange smile began to play about her sweet strong mouth. All at
once she was in the middle of a fairy tale, and had not a notion
what was coming next. Her dumb shepherd boy a baronet!--and, more
wonderful still, a Galbraith! She must be dreaming in the wide
street! The last she had seen of him was as he was driven from the