own heart had he said this thing. Only to Mr. Welsh had his
forgetful tongue uttered the word that was in his mind, and which
had covered since yesterday morn all the precepts of that most
superfluous wise woman, the mother of King Lemuel.

"Are you a witch?" asked Ralph, blundering as an honest and
bashful man may in times of distress into the boldest speech.

"You want to go up and see my grandmother, do you not?" said
Winsome, gravely, for such conversation was not to be continued on
any conditions.

"Yes," said the young man, perjuring himself with a readiness and
facility most unbecoming in a student desiring letters of
probation from the Protesting and Covenant-keeping Kirk of the
Marrow.

Ralph Peden lightly picked up the books, which, as Winsome knew,
were some considerable weight to carry.

"Do you find them quite safe?" she asked.

"There was a heavy dew last night," he answered, "but in spite of
it they seem quite dry.

"We often notice the same thing on Loch Grannoch side," said
Winsome.

"I thought--that is, I was under the impression--that I had left a
small book with some manuscript notes!" said the young man,