Lyndall lay in the dark thinking, thinking, thinking; and as she turned
round wearily to sleep she muttered:

"There are some wiser in their sleeping than in their waking."


Chapter 2.IX. Lyndall's Stranger.

A fire is burning in the unused hearth of the cabin. The fuel blazes up,
and lights the black rafters, and warms the faded red lions on the quilt,
and fills the little room with a glow of warmth and light made brighter by
contrast, for outside the night is chill and misty.

Before the open fireplace sits a stranger, his tall, slight figure reposing
in the broken armchair, his keen blue eyes studying the fire from beneath
delicately pencilled, drooping eyelids. One white hand plays thoughtfully
with a heavy flaxen moustache; yet, once he starts, and for an instant the
languid lids raise themselves; there is a keen, intent look upon the face
as he listens for something. Then he leans back in his chair, fills his
glass from the silver flask in his bag, and resumes his old posture.

Presently the door opens noiselessly. It is Lyndall, followed by Doss.
Quietly as she enters, he hears her, and turns.

"I thought you were not coming."

"I waited till all had gone to bed. I could not come before."

She removed the shawl that enveloped her, and the stranger rose to offer
her his chair; but she took her seat on a low pile of sacks before the