areful of the
positions in which he found himself as a consequence of thoughtless
acts.

The week before he had caught and kissed Mysie Maitland, who was now
serving at Rundell House, merely because he was taken with her pretty
face. From that Peter already believed himself in love with her,
because she had not resented his action. He had even walked over with
her from the village, when she had been home visiting her parents one
night, and had felt more and more the witchery of her pretty face and
the lure of her fine little figure.

Up to this time Mysie had always believed herself in love with
Robert--Robert who was always so strange from the rest of young men. He
had always been her hero, her protector; but there was something about
him for which she could not account and which she could not have
defined. Such was her admiration that she believed it was in his power
to do anything he cared to attempt; it was just possible that it was
this strange sense of unknown power which fascinated her. They had never
been lovers in the accepted sense of the word. They had never "walked
out" as young people in their social station usually do, but yet had
always felt that they were meant for one another.

Only once had Robert kissed her, and that moment ever lived with her a
glowing memory. She had been home and was returning through a moorland
pass, when she came across him lying upon the rough heather, his
thoughts doubtless full of her, for he had seen her in the village, and
knew she must return that way.

"Oh, Rob!" she cried, her face flushing with excitement as she saw him.
"Ye nearly frichted me oot o' my wits the noo."

"Did I, Mysie?" he answered, springing to his feet. "I didna mean to dae
that. Ye'll be getting back, I suppose."

"Ay," she returned simply, and a silence fell upon them, in which both
seemed to lose the power of speaking.

Robert looked at her as she stood there, her full, curved breasts rising
and falling with the excitement of the unexpected meeting, the long
lashes of her eyes sweeping her flushed cheeks, as she stood with
downcast eyes before him. The last rays of the setting sun falling upon
her brown hair touched it with a rare strange beauty. Her red lips like
dew-drenched roses--luscious, pure, alluring, were parted a little in a
half smile. But it was the fascinating movement of the breast, full,
round and sensuous, that stirred and made an overpowering appeal to
every pulse within him.