MacLean laughed. “I hate not all its ways. There is no hatred in my heart for this house which is its altar, nor for the priestess of the altar. Ah! now you frown, Truelove”-- Across the clouds ran so fierce a line of gold that Truelove, startled, put her hand before her eyes. Another dart of lightning, a low roll of thunder, a bending apart of the alder bushes on the far side of the creek; then a woman’s voice calling to the boy in the boat to come ferry her over. “Who may that be?” asked Truelove wonderingly. It was only a little way to the bending alders. Ephraim rowed across the glassy water, dark beneath the approach of the storm; the woman stepped into the boat, and the tiny craft came lightly back to its haven beneath the bank. “It is Darden’s Audrey,” said the storekeeper. Truelove shrank a little, and her eyes darkened. “Why should she come here? I never knew her. It is true that we may not think evil, but--but”-- MacLean moved restlessly. “I have seen the girl but twice,” he said. “Once she was alone, once--It is my friend of whom I think. I know what they say, but, by St. Kattan! I hold him a gentleman too high of mind, too noble--There was a tale I used to hear when I was a boy. A long, long time ago a girl lived in the shadow of the tower of Duart, and the chief looked down from his walls and saw her. Afterwards they walked together by the shore and through the glens, and he cried her health when he drank in his hall, sitting amongst his tacksmen. Then what the men whispered the women spoke aloud; and so, more quickly than the tarie is borne, word went to a man of the MacDonalds who loved the Duart maiden. Not like a lover to his tryst did he come. In the handle of his dirk the rich stones sparkled as they rose and fell with the rise and fall of the maiden’s white bosom. She prayed to die in his arms; for it was not Duart that she loved, but him. She died, and they snooded her hair and buried her. Duart went overseas; the man of the MacDonalds killed himself. It was all wrought with threads of gossamer,--idle fancy, shrugs, smiles, whispers, slurring speech,--and it was long ago. But there is yet gossamer to be had for the gathering; it gleams on every hand these summer mornings.” By now Darden’s Audrey had left the boat and was close upon them. MacLean arose, and Truelove hastily pushed aside her wheel. “Is thee seeking shelter from the storm?” she asked tremulously, and with her cheeks as pink as a seashell. “Will thee sit here with us? The storm will not break yet awhile.” Audrey heeded her not, her eyes being for MacLean. She had been running,--running more swiftly than for a thousand May Day guineas. Even now, though her breath came short, every line of her slender figure was tense, and she was ready to be off like an arrow. “You are Mr. Haward’s friend?” she cried. “I have heard him say that you were so--call you a brave gentleman”--