Vara understood his meaning and was pleased. It was more to her from Cleg than all Kit Kennedy's sweet speeches. Her mind was mightily relieved. Cleg would learn yet. But Vara only replied, "Do you think so, Cleg?" "Guidnicht, Vara," said Cleg, soberly. And with that he took his way sedately over the fields and disappeared into the coppice towards the house of Barnbogle. Vara watched him out of sight; but now not so wistfully. There was a proud little expression in her face. She looked almost conscious of her growing beauty. "He maun think an awfu' deal o' me to say that!" she told herself. When she went back into the house Mirren Douglas was just putting on her milking apron. She pretended to busy herself with the strings. "Cleg doesna improve muckle in looks," she said; "he's no great beauty, is he noo?" She spoke with intent to see what Vara would reply. For, after her sorrow, the old Mirren was springing up again like roses in an Indian summer. "I never think muckle aboot his looks when I see him," said Vara quickly. "If he had looked like an angel, he couldna hae been kinder to me." "Hoots, lassie," said Mirren hastily, "I was only jokin' ye. He is growin' a fine, personable lad, and when he has some flesh on his banes and a wee tait o' mair growth aboot his face, he'll do verra weel." "He does very weel as he is, I think," said the loyal Vara, who was not yet appeased. "He has chappit the firewood, fetched the water, brocht in the peats and stalled the kye, soopit the yaird—and he is coming back the morn to clean the lum." "And to see you, Vara," said Mirren Douglas, with wicked meaning in her tone. "What said ye at the door when he cannily bade ye guidnicht, Vara?" "He said I was lookin' like takkin' my meat weel," said Vara, demurely pulling at the corner of her apron, where a knot of the lace was coming loose. At least Vara was rapidly loosening it. "Let your apron be, lassie; what ill-will hae ye at it?" cried Mirren from the doorstep. Vara dropped the loop as if it had been a white-hot iron. And as Mirren Douglas carried her milking stool to the byre, she dropped a few tears. "I mind sae weel," she said to herself, "the time when Alick was a lad and coming aboot the place, I used to like naething better than for folk to be aye botherin' me aboot him!" And if "bothering" be a provocative to love, Mirren resolved that neither Vara nor Cleg should lack the amatorious irritant. ADVENTURE LVI. THE VOICES IN THE MARSH.