I-XXIV

She retreated, as he advanced, within the
deeper obscurity of an opened door but he had
seen, in the shimmering, elusive light, her
features, gathered the unmistakable, intangible impression
of her person.

"It's me, Gordon Makimmon," he said. He
paused by the step, on which he laid the trout, shining
with sudden, liquid gleams of silver in the moonlight.

"Oh!" she exclaimed in a low voice; "oh!" She
moved forward, materializing, out of the dark, into
a figure of white youth. Her face was pale, there
were white ruffles on her neck, on her arms, her skirt
clung simply, whitely, about her knees and ankles.

"I stopped to see Sim," he explained further, "and
took you for Mrs. Caley. I reckoned I'd bring
them some trout: I didn't know your father was
here."

"Won't you sit down. Mrs. Caley is sick, and
Sim's on the mountain with the cattle. Father isn't
here."

He mounted to the portico, mentally formulating
a way of speedy escape; he thought, everywhere he

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p116 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p117w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p118

v?