s of her demeanour filled him with a delirious joy.
Every movement of her body pleased him, every word which she spoke, the
blitheness of her air and the ready kindness. The pale, pretty Afflint
girls, with their wit and their confidence, seemed old and womanly
compared with Alice. Let simplicity be his goddess
henceforth--simplicity and youth.

The Pool of Ness is a great, black cauldron of clear water, with berries
above and berries below, and high crags red with heather. There you may
find shade in summer, and great blaeberries and ripening rowans in the
wane of August. These last were the snare for Alice, who was ever an
adventurer. For the moment she was the schoolgirl again, and all sordid
elderly cares were tossed to the wind. She teased Doctor Gracey to that
worthy's delight, and she bade George and Arthur fetch and carry in a
way that made them her slaves for life. Then she unbent to Mr. Stocks
and made him follow her out on a peninsula of rock, above which hung a
great cluster of fruit. The unfortunate politician was not built for
this kind of exercise, and slipped and clung despairingly to every root
and cleft. Lewis followed aimlessly: her gaiety did not fit with his
mood; and he longed to have her to himself and know his fortune.

He passed the panting Stocks and came up with the errant lady.

"For heaven's sake be careful, Miss Wishart," he cried in alarm.
"That's an ugly black swirl down there."

The girl laughed in his face.

"Isn't the place glorious!" she cried. "It's as cool as winter, and
oh! the colours of that hillside. I'm going up to that birk-tree to
sit. Do you think I can do it?"

"I am coming up after you," said Lewis.

She stopped and regarded it with serious eyes. "It's hard, but I'm
going to try. It's 'harder than the Midburn that I climbed up on the
day I saw you fishing."

She remembered! Joy caught at his heart, and he laughed so gladly that
Alice turned round to look at him. Something in his eyes made her turn
her head away and scan the birk-tree again.

Then suddenly there was a slip of soil, a helpless clutch at fern and
heather, a cry of terror, and he was alone on the headland. The black
swirl was closing over the girl's head.

He had been standing rapt in a happy fancy, his thoughts far in a world
of their own, and his eyes vacant of any purpose. Startled to
alertness, he still saw vaguely, and for a second stood irresolute and
wondering. Then came another splash, and