anywhere a sweeter, stiller, dreaming place, than
that pathway behind the garden, and there were
little breaks in the lilac-trees, through which I
had often, when a child, thrust my face to see
the sun dancing in the thickets, and the sticklebacks
leaping in the stream.

On this day after my father had left, me, I was
sitting very quiet, in the summer-house, having
finished my tears, when I heard steps in the
lane below the lilacs, and voices coming
murmuring from behind me. At first I did not
heed it, for the lane led to meadows and
pasture lands, and was frequented by milkmaids
and haymakers. I forgot that it was not milking
time, and that the haymaking was over. For
full half an hour the murmur of the voices went
on behind me, while I sat motionless with my
face between my hands, too weary and too
drowsy with weakness and trouble to think of
putting my eyes to the opening in the lilacs to
learn who were the gossips in the lane. At last
the tone of a half-raised voice came familiarly to
my ear, making me start, while a tingling
sensation gave new life to every vein in my body.

I looked through the trees and saw
and Luke Elphinstone sitting side by side on.
the grass between the pathway and the burn.
Sylvia's hand was lying in Luke's clasp, her
bright head was bent, her face in shadow, but
the light was full upon Luke Elphinstone.
Never had I seen him look so well. There was
a flushed, softened, generous look upon his face
which was not familiar to it. But it was Sylvia
who was speaking, softly and eagerly, her voice
at times almost lost in the murmur of the burn.

I do not know one word they said. I drew my
shawl over my ears so that I could not hear, and
laid my head down on the seat, so that I could
neither see nor be seen. The murmuring went
on a long time after that, and then it ceased.
I lay thinking in the summer-house all the long
sunny afternoon. I guessed that at dinner-time
my father, who had doubtless forgotten to tell
Elspie where to find me, would hear questions
concerning me, and would send Luke to carry
me into the house. I could have managed to
attract notice and get home to my room sooner,
but I chose rather to wait for Luke Elphinstone
where I was. This were a good quiet place to
hold a painful talk.

And in the mean time I could ponder on what
I should say to him when he appeared. Many
strange thoughts passed through my mind while
the sunset hours buzzed past, seemingly on the
wings of the bees. I was mad enough to give
way to joy, thinking that Fate and the fickleness
of a lover were about to undo for me what
Fate and the selfishness of a father had so
cruelly done. I imagined that to-morrow I
might file the stubborn diamond ring from my
finger, and return it broken into the hands of
the giver. And then, "Oh Eldergowan!" I
cried aloud in the silent garden, lifting my head
to see the red sun dropping behind the brown
distant woods. A blackbird began to pipe in
the lilacs beside me; and Luke came down the
garden, seeking me.

CHAPTER VII.

LUKE came down the garden with a rod in
his hand, switching the heads off the roses
he passed. I could see him better than he could
see me, for the sun was in his eyes, and I
gave myself new license observing him. I
looked at him straight with the downright eyes
of my own prejudice, feeling it no longer necessary
to varnish him with any lying gloss.

He lifted his hat from his head a moment
and shook back his hair. His face looked
flushed and troubled. I rejoiced to see him
suffering a little wholesome compunction, and
thought with some bitterness of the cruel
persistence with which he had held me to his
will, to be released now at his pleasure. For
I could not doubt but that he was eager to
dissolve our engagement.

He gave me a furtive glance as he entered
the summer-house, and smiled nervously.

"So, Mattie," he said, sitting down beside
me, and assuming an offhand manner which
sat upon him uneasily, "so you have stolen a
march on us to-day. It was hardly fair.
Your father says he left you here quite early.
You must have been sitting alone the whole
of the afternoon?"

"Yes, Luke," said I, "I have been sitting
here alone the whole of the afternoon."

Again, he looked at me with a furtive
questioning glance. I saw that he was uncertain as
to whether I had overheard his conversation
with Sylvia or not, but I felt too much distaste
for this interview to think of prolonging
it by keeping him in suspense. I kept my
eyes on his face while I spoke; but he
persisted in watching his little rod, with which
he flicked at the gravel like a nervous schoolboy.

"I heard people talking in the lane," said
I, "and I looked through the trees for one
moment. After that I rolled my head up in
this shawl. It is pretty thick, and you will
believe I heard nothing that the people said.
You do believe that?"'

"Why yes," he said, looking somewhat
relieved, though he did not lift his eyes. "I
never knew you to say what was not the
truth to a tittle. But most women would
have listened. You are a rare girl, Mattie.
You might make anything you liked of a
fellow, if you were only a little softer."

There was a dash of regret in his voice as he
said this which touched me, and indeed I was
in the humour to forgive him. "Well, never
mind that now, Luke," I said, stooping kindly
to him from my imaginary pedestal. "I know
well that Sylvia will suit you much better than
I ever could. She has just the softness that I
lack. She is a lovely sweet woman, and will
make sunshine for you where I should only
make gloom. I think it is quite natural that
you should change your mind, having seen so
much of her lately. I am not at all hurt, and
I think it is perhaps better that I happened to
come here to-day, as it has saved you the