She ran behind a big gorse bush and did not come back. When
I ran to look for her she was nowhere. I could not find her, and I went
back to Jean and Angus, feeling puzzled.
"Where did she go?" I asked them, turning my head from side to side.
They were looking at me strangely, and both of them were pale. Jean was
trembling a little.
"Who was she, Ysobel?" she said.
"The little girl the men brought to play with me," I answered, still
looking about me.
"The big one on the black horse put her down--the big one with the star
here." I touched my forehead where the queer scar had been.
For a minute Angus forgot himself. Years later he told me.
"Dark Malcolm of the Glen," he broke out. "Wee Brown Elspeth."
"But she is white--quite white!" I said.
"Where did she go?"
Jean swept me in her warm, shaking arms and hugged me close to her
breast.
"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.
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