But when Maud Lindesay met Sholto in the morning, coming suddenly upon
him as he stood, with a pale face and dark rings of sleeplessness
about his eyes, as he looked meditatively out upon the broad river and
the blue smoke of the morning campfires, there was yet another
difference to be revealed to him. He had expected that, like others,
she would be confused and bashful meeting him thus in the daylight,
after--well, after the volcanic extinguishing of the lamp.

But there she stood, dainty and calm under the morning sunshine, in
fresh clean gown of lace and varied whiteness, her face grave as a
benediction, her eyes deep and cool like the water of the castle well.

Sholto started violently at sight of her, recovered himself, and
eagerly held out both his hands.

"Maud," he said hoarsely, and then again, in a lower tone, "sweetest
Maud."

But pretty Mistress Lindesay only gazed at him with a certain reserved
and grave surprise, looking him straight in the face and completely
ignoring his outstretched hands.

"Captain Sholto," she said steadily and calmly, "the Lady Margaret
desires to see you and to thank you for your last night's care and
watchfulness. Will you do me the honour to follow me to her chamber?"

There was no yielding softness about this maiden of the morning hours,
no conscious droop and a swift uplifting of penitent eyelids, no
lingering glances out of love-weighted eyes. A brisk and practical
little lady rather, her feet pattering most purposefully along the