She passed out into the moonlight, and walked slowly back over the moor with her head drooping, an unusual thing for Morva, for from childhood she had had a habit of looking upwards.

Up there on the lonely moor, the vault of heaven with its galaxy of stars, its blue ethereal depths, its flood of silver moonlight, or its breadth of sunlit blue, seemed so closely to envelop and embrace her that it was impossible to ignore it; but to-night she looked only at the gossamer spangles on her path.
"What did Will mean by 'We must part! Whatever thou mayst hear!'" and she sighed a little wearily as she lifted the latch of the cottage door.
"Morva sighing!" said Sara, who sat reading her chapter by the fireside.

"Don't begin that, 'merch i, or I must do the same.

I would never be happy, child, if thou wert not happy too; we are too closely knit together." And she took the girl's strong, firm hand in her own, so frail, so slender, and so soft.

Morva's eyes filled with tears.
"Mother, I am happy, I think.