The strange western light was over her thoughtful face.

She seemed to have become a part of the still and solemn landscape.

John had always loved her with a species of reverence; to-night he felt almost afraid of her beauty and the power she had over him.

She was a true Scandinavian, with the tall, slender, and rather haughty form which marks Orcadian and Zetland women.

Her hair was perhaps a little too fair and cold, and yet it made a noble setting to the large, finely-featured, tranquil face.
She put out her hand as John approached, and said, "Was it well that thou shouldst quarrel with my father?
I thought that thou didst love me." Then John poured out his whole heart--his love for her, his mother's demand of him, his quarrel with Ragon and Peter and Sandy Beg.