He certainly heard me, for
he whipped off his bonnet in a salute which was as triumphant as the
smile. But he did not answer, and actually passed in and out of sight in
the mist.
When I rose Mr. MacNairn had risen, too. When I turned to speak in my
surprise, he had fixed on me his watchful look.
"Imagine its being Feargus at this hour!" I exclaimed. "And why did
he pass by in such a hurry without answering? He must have been to a
wedding and have been up all night. He looked--" I stopped a second and
laughed.
"How did he look?" Mr. MacNairn asked.
"Pale! That won't do--though he certainly didn't look ill." I laughed
again. "I'm laughing because he looked almost like one of the White
People."
"Are you sure it was Feargus?" he said.
"Quite sure. No one else is the least like Feargus. Didn't you see him
yourself?"
"I don't know him as well as you do; and there was the mist," was his
answer. "But he certainly was not one of the White People when I saw him
last night."
I wondered why he looked as he did when he took my hand and drew me down
to my place on the plaid again. He did not let it go when he sat down by
my side. He held it in his own large, handsome one, looking down on it
a moment or so; and then he bent his head and kissed it long and slowly
two or three times.
"Dear little Ysobel!" he said.
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