"Beloved, strange little Ysobel."
"Am I strange!" I said, softly.
"Yes, thank God!" he answered.
I had known that some day when we were at Muircarrie together he would
tell me what his mother had told me--about what we three might have been
to one another. I trembled with happiness at the thought of hearing him
say it himself. I knew he was going to say it now.
He held my hand and stroked it. "My mother told you, Ysobel--what I am
waiting for?" he said.
"Yes."
"Do you know I love you?" he said, very low.
"Yes. I love you, too. My whole life would have been heaven if we could
always have been together," was my answer.
He drew me up into his arms so that my cheek lay against his breast as
I went on, holding fast to the rough tweed of his jacket and whispering:
"I should have belonged to you two, heart and body and soul. I should
never have been lonely again. I should have known nothing, whatsoever
happened, but tender joy."
"Whatsoever happened?" he murmured.
"Whatsoever happens now, Ysobel, know nothing but tender joy. I think
you CAN. 'Out on the Hillside!' Let us remember."
"Yes, yes," I said; "'Out on the Hillside.'" And our two faces, damp
with the sweet mist, were pressed together.
CHAPTER X
The mist had floated away, and the moor was drenched with golden
sunshine when we went back to the castle.
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