"It is as God meant such things to fall," I answered her, "and He deal so with me as I shall deal with thee." "But," she persisted, "are you sure you understand? You tell me you are Lord of Stair, and I've no doubt of it, for truth shines from your eyes; but what do you ken of me? I who have no name, who was left by some gipsy folk at the inn door, and whose breeding--what I've of it--came from a Jacobite priest who teaches by the Cairn Mills." There was never another voice so full of music, so caressing or so feminine, as Marian Ingarrach's, none, not even Nancy Stair's; and as she uttered these depreciations of herself, I exclaimed: "You are as I would have you." "Entirely?" "Entirely." "And you'll not be ashamed of me?" It was in this question that I had her first teasing of me, for she was woman, and knew as well as I of the beauty, which gave her a queen's right to the hearts of men. "Ashamed of you," I cried. "Ah, girl, dinna ye see I canna get my breath for wantin' ye?" She stood looking at me, her chin well up and an amused and a glad look in her eyes. "Ah," she said at length, "you are the one who is worth all that a woman has to give, and the blood of all the lawless folk of which I come speaks for you, Jock Stair! For ye woo as a man should woo; and I'm won as a woman should be won, because she has no will left to choose." And she turned her face toward mine. "I'm just yours for the asking, Jock." I drew her to me, and we kissed each other beneath the starlit blue, with the sea wind blowing our hair and the gipsy singing coming, in broken bits of melody, up through the gorse and heather. I made a song of it after, in my limping verse, which Nancy found one day, and laughed at, I remember: The gipsies are out, I can see their lights moving, Race answers to race, 'neath the stars and the blue; They are living and laughing and mating and loving, As I stand in the midnight with you, love, with you! CHAPTER III THE TREASURE BECOMES MINE, BUT IS CLAIMED BY ITS OWNER There was no sleep for me that night, and I lay awake till the clear day, watching the gulls fly across the window and waiting the time when I might see her once again. Early as it was when I arose, the wee bit lassie who brought me the hot water said in answer to my inquiry that the other gentlemen had been gone since the daybreak, and declining her offer of breakfasting in my room, I went down to the spence, hoping that Marian might be there before me. I found the room empty, however, save for Dame Dickenson, who had spread a table for me between the fire and the window, through which I could see the waves curl on the lower beach and the sunshine break into flying sparks over the fine blue sea. I was never one to mince words when there was aught to be said, nor to put off settling until another time a thing which could be fixed upon the moment.