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that her brother was a laird himself： it was all very well to speak of
casual intermarriages and to count cousinship； like Auntie Kirstie。 The
difference in their social station was trenchant； propriety； prudence；
all that she had ever learned； all that she knew； bade her flee。 But on
the other hand the cup of life now offered to her was too enchanting。
For one moment； she saw the question clearly； and definitely made her
choice。 She stood up and showed herself an instant in the gap relieved
upon the sky line； and the next； fled trembling and sat down glowing
with excitement on the Weaver's stone。 She shut her eyes； seeking；
praying for composure。 Her hand shook in her lap； and her mind was full
of incongruous and futile speeches。 What was there to make a work
about？ She could take care of herself； she supposed！ There was no harm
in seeing the laird。 It was the best thing that could happen。 She
would mark a proper distance to him once and for all。 Gradually the
wheels of her nature ceased to go round so madly； and she sat in passive
expectation； a quiet； solitary figure in the midst of the grey moss。 I
have said she was no hypocrite； but here I am at fault。 She never
admitted to herself that she had come up the hill to look for Archie。
And perhaps after all she did not know； perhaps came as a stone falls。
For the steps of love in the young； and especially in girls； are
instinctive and unconscious。
In the meantime Archie was drawing rapidly near； and he at least was
consciously seeking her neighbourhood。 The afternoon had turned to
ashes in his mouth； the memory of the girl had kept him from reading and
drawn him as with cords； and at last； as the cool of the evening began
to come on； he had taken his hat and set forth； with a smothered
ejaculation； by the moor path to Cauldstaneslap。 He had no hope to find
her； he took the off chance without expectation of result and to relieve
his uneasiness。 The greater was his surprise； as he surmounted the
slope and came into the hollow of the Deil's Hags； to see there； like an
answer to his wishes； the little womanly figure in the grey dress and
the pink kerchief sitting little； and low； and lost； and acutely
solitary； in these desolate surroundings and on the weather…beaten stone
of the dead weaver。 Those things that still smacked of winter were all
rusty about her； and those things that already relished of the spring
had put forth the tender and lively colours of the season。 Even in the
unchanging face of the death…stone； changes were to be remarked； and in
the channeled lettering； the moss began to renew itself in jewels of
green。 By an afterthought that was a stroke of art； she had turned up
over her head the back of the kerchief； so that it now framed becomingly
her vivacious and yet pensive face。 Her feet were gathered under her on
the one side； and she leaned on her bare arm； which showed out strong
and round； tapered to a slim wrist； and shimmered in the fading light。
Young Hermiston was struck with a certain chill。 He was reminded that
he now dealt in serious matters of life and death。 This was a grown
woman he was approaching； endowed with her mysterious potencies and
attractions； the treasury of the continued race； and he was neither
better nor worse than the average of his sex and age。 He had a certain
delicacy which had preserved him hitherto unspotted； and which （had
either of them guessed it） made him a more dangerous companion when his
heart should be really stirred。 His throat was dry as he came near； but
the appealing sweetness of her smile stood between them like a guardian
angel。
For she turned to him and smiled； though without rising。 There was a
shade in this cavalier greeting that neither of them perceived； neither
he； who simply thought it gracious and charming as herself； nor yet she；
who did not observe （quick as she was） the difference between rising to
meet the laird； and remaining seated to receive the expected admirer。
〃Are ye stepping west； Hermiston？〃 said she； giving him his territorial
name after the fashion of the country…side。
〃I was；〃 said he； a little hoarsely； 〃but I think I will be about the
end of my stroll now。 Are you like me； Miss Christina？ The house would
not hold me。 I came here seeking air。〃
He took his seat at the other end of the tombstone and studied her；
wondering what was she。 There was infinite import in the question alike
for her and him。
〃Ay；〃 she said。 〃I couldna bear the roof either。 It's a habit of mine
to come up here about the gloaming when it's quaiet and caller。〃
〃It was a habit of my mother's also；〃 he said gravely。 The recollection
half startled him as he expressed it。 He looked around。 〃I have scarce
been here since。 It's peaceful；〃 he said； with a long breath。
〃It's no like Glasgow；〃 she replied。 〃A weary place； yon Glasgow！ But
what a day have I had for my homecoming； and what a bonny evening！〃
〃Indeed； it was a wonderful day；〃 said Archie。 〃I think I will remember
it years and years until I come to die。 On days like this … I do not
know if you feel as I do … but everything appears so brief； and fragile；
and exquisite； that I am afraid to touch life。 We are here for so short
a time； and all the old people before us … Rutherfords of Hermiston；
Elliotts of the Cauldstaneslap … that were here but a while since riding
about and keeping up a great noise in this quiet corner … making love
too； and marrying … why； where are they now？ It's deadly commonplace；
but； after all； the commonplaces are the great poetic truths。〃
He was sounding her； semi…consciously； to see if she could understand
him； to learn if she were only an animal the colour of flowers； or had a
soul in her to keep her sweet。 She； on her part； her means well in
hand； watched； womanlike； for any opportunity to shine； to abound in his
humour； whatever that might be。 The dramatic artist； that lies dormant
or only half awake in most human beings； had in her sprung to his feet
in a divine fury； and chance had served her well。 She looked upon him
with a subdued twilight look that became the hour of the day and the
train of thought； earnestness shone through her like stars in the purple
west； and from the great but controlled upheaval of her whole nature
there passed into her voice； and rang in her lightest words； a thrill of
emotion。
〃Have you mind of Dand's song？〃 she answered。 〃I think he'll have been
trying to say what you have been thinking。〃
〃No； I never heard it；〃 he said。 〃Repeat it to me； can you？〃
〃It's nothing wanting the tune；〃 said Kirstie。
〃Then sing it me；〃 said he。
〃On the Lord's Day？ That would never do； Mr。 Weir！〃
〃I am afraid I am not so strict a keeper of the Sabbath； and there is no
one in this place to hear us； unless the poor old ancient under the
sto