Didn't you see him yourself ?" "I don't know him as well as you do; and there was the mist," was his answer.

"But he certainly was not one of the White People when I saw him last night." I wondered why he looked as he did when he took my hand and drew me down to my place on the plaid again.

He did not let it go when he sat down by my side.

He held it in his own large, handsome one, looking down on it a moment or so; and then he bent his head and kissed it long and slowly two or three times.
"Dear little Ysobel!" he said.

"Beloved, strange little Ysobel." "Am I strange!" I said, softly.
"Yes, thank God!" he answered.
I had known that some day when we were at Muircarrie together he would tell me what his mother had told me--about what we three might have been to one another.