From the new grass rose
a blooming thorn-tree; beneath this knelt a girl and, resting upon her
hands, looked at her face in the water.
The laird of Glenfernie stood still. A drooping birch hid him; his
step had been upon moss and was not heard. The face and form upon the
bank, the face in the water, showed no consciousness of any human
neighbor. The face was that of a woman of perhaps twenty-four. The
hair was brown, the eyes brown. The head was beautifully placed on a
round, smooth throat. With a wide forehead, with great width between
the eyes, the face tapered to a small round chin. The mouth and under
the eyes smiled in a thousand different ways. The beauty that was
there was subtle, not discoverable by every one.--The girl settled
back upon the grass beneath the thorn-tree. She was very near
Glenfernie; he could see the rise and fall of her bosom beneath her
blue print gown. It was Elspeth Barrow--he knew her now, though he had
not seen her for a long time. She sat still, her brown eyes raised to
building birds in the thorn-tree. Then she began herself to sing,
clear and sweet.
"A lad and a lass met ower the brae;
They blushed rose-red, but they said nae word--
The woodbine fair and the milk-white slae:--
And frae one to the other gaed a silver bird,
A silver bird.
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