Physically, they’re as fine a type as we are—I might go farther—straight in the limb, clean-lined every way, square in the shoulder. They’d make an impression at any London gathering.”

“So long as they didn’t speak?”

“It wouldn’t matter. Allowing for a few colloquialisms, they’re worth listening to; which is more than I’d care to say for a number of the people one meets in this country.”

Millicent laughed.

“Well, I’ll be glad to see him when he comes.” Her voice grew graver. “I feel grateful to him already for what he told you about George.”

They went in together and half an hour later Nasmyth walked home across the moor. He had never thought more highly of Millicent, but somehow he now felt sorry for her. It scarcely seemed fitting that she should live in that lonely spot with only the company of an elderly and staid companion, though he hardly thought she would be happier if she plunged into a round of purposeless amusements in the cities. Still, she was young and very attractive; he felt that she should have more than the thinly-peopled countryside had to offer.

---

Nearly a year had passed since Nasmyth’s return when Lisle at length reached England. Soon after his arrival, he was, as Nasmyth’s guest, invited to join a shooting party, and one bright afternoon he stood behind a bank of sods high on a grouse-moor overlooking the wastes of the Border. The heath was stained with the bell-heather’s regal purple, interspersed with the vivid red of the more fragile ling, and