"She's one of the fair ones," she said, kissing and patting me. "She
will come again. She'll come often, I dare say. But she's gone now and
we must go, too. Get up, Angus, man. We're for the castle."

If we three had been different--if we had ever had the habit of talking
and asking questions--we might surely have asked one another questions
as I rode on Sheltie's back, with Angus leading us. But they asked
me nothing, and I said very little except that I once spoke of the
wild-looking horsemen and their pale, joyous faces.

"They were glad," was all I said.

There was also one brief query from Angus.

"Did she talk to you, bairnie?" he said.

I hesitated and stared at him quite a long time. Then I shook my head
and answered, slowly, "N-no."

Because I realized then, for the first time, that we had said no words
at all. But I had known what she wanted me to understand, and she had
known what I might have said to her if I had spoken--and no words were
needed. And it was better.

They took me home to the castle, and I was given my supper and put to
bed. Jean sat by me until I fell asleep; she was obliged to sit rather a
long time, because I was so happy with my memories of Wee Brown Elspeth
and the certainty that she would come again. It was not Jean's words
which had made me sure. I knew.