with lack of faith! They stepped at last on the
level below, covered with granite chips and stones and great blocks.
In the middle rose a confused heap of all sorts. To this, and
round to the other side of it, Donal led her. There shone the moon
on the corner of a pool, the rest of which crept away in blackness
under an overhanging mass. She caught his arm with both hands. He
told her to look up. Steep granite rock was above them all round,
on one side dark, on the other mottled with the moon and the
thousand shadows of its own roughness; over the gulf hung vaulted
the blue, cloud-blotted sky, whence the moon seemed to look straight
down upon her, asking what they were about, away from their kind, in
such a place of terror.

Suddenly Donal caught her hand. She looked in his face. It was not
the moon that could make it so white.

"Ginevra!" he said, with trembling voice.

"Yes, Donal," she answered.

"Ye're no angry at me for ca'in ye by yer name? I never did it
afore."

"I always call you Donal," she answered.

"That's nait'ral. Ye're a gran' leddy, an' I'm naething abune a
herd-laddie."

"You're a great poet, Donal, and that's much more than being a lady
or a gentleman."

"Ay, maybe," answered Donal listlessly, as if he were thinking of
something far away; "but it winna mak up for the tither; they're no
upo' the same side o' the watter, like. A puir lad like me daurna
lift an ee till a gran' leddy like you, mem. A' the warl' wad but
scorn him, an' lauch at the verra notion. My time's near ower at
the college, an' I see naething for 't but gang hame an' fee (hire
myself). I'll be better workin' wi' my han's nor wi' my heid whan I
hae nae houp left o' ever seein' yer face again. I winna lowse a
day aboot it. Gien I lowse time I may lowse my rizon. Hae patience
wi' me ae meenute, mem; I'm jist driven to tell ye the trowth. It's
mony a lang sin' I hae kent mysel' wantin' you. Ye're the boady,
an' I'm the shaidow. I dinna mean nae hyperbolics--that's the w'y
the thing luiks to me i' my ain thouchts. Eh, mem, but ye're
bonnie! Ye dinna ken yersel' hoo bonnie ye are, nor what a
subversion you mak i' my hert an' my heid. I cud jist cut my heid
aff, an' lay 't aneth yer feet to haud them aff o' the cauld flure."

Still she looked him in the eyes, like one bewildered, unable to
withdraw her eyes from his. Her face too had grown white.

"Tell me to haud my tongue, mem, an' I'll haud it," he