ate, as if his eyes were made only for her. And Annie sat
in the meadow, and she too looked at Kate; and she thought how pretty
she was, and how she must like being rowed about in the old boat. It
seemed quite an old boat now. An age had passed since her name was
painted on it. She wondered if _The Bonnie Annie_ was worn off the
stern yet; or if Alec had painted it out, and put the name of the
pretty lady instead. When Tibbie and Thomas walked away into the house,
Annie lingered behind on the grass.

The sun sank slanting and slow, yet he did sink, lower and lower; till
at length Alec leaned back with a stronger pull on the oars, and the
boat crept away up the stream, lessening as it crept, and, turning a
curve in the river, was lost. Still she sat on, with one hand lying
listlessly in her lap, and the other plucking blades of grass and
making a little heap of them beside her, till she had pulled a spot
quite bare, and the brown earth peeped through between the roots. Then
she rose, went up to the door of the cottage, called a good night to
Tibbie, and took her way home.

CHAPTER LII.

My story has not to do with city-life, in which occur frequent shocks,
changes, and recombinations, but with the life of a country region; and
is, therefore, "to a lingering motion bound," like the day, like the
ripening of the harvest, like the growth of all good things. But clouds
and rainbows will come in the quietest skies; adventures and
coincidences in the quietest village.

As Kate and Alec walked along the street, on their way to the castle,
one of the coaches from the county-town drove up with its four
thorough-breds.

"What a handsome fellow the driver is!" said Kate.

Alec looked up at the box. There sat Beauchamp, with the ribbons in his
grasp, handling his horses with composure and skill. Beside him sat the
owner of the coach, a _laird_ of the neighbourhood.

Certainly Beauchamp was a handsome fellow. But a sting went through
Alec's heart. It was the first time that he thought of his own person
in comparison with another. That she should admire Beauchamp, though he
was handsome!

The memory even of that moment made him writhe on his bed years after;
for a mental and bodily wound are alike in this, that after there is
but the scar of either left, bad weather will revive the torture. His
face fell. Kate saw it, and did him some injustice. They walked on in
silence, in the shadow of a high wall. Kate looked