golden-maned lions, at the description of which would Madge take pretended fright.  Again, would I see Madge herself in flowing white robes made of the stuff from which fleecy clouds are wrought.  All these wonders would I describe, and when I would come to tell her of the fair cloud image of herself I would seize the joyous chance to make her understand in some faint degree how altogether lovely in my eyes the vision was.  Then would she smile and softly press my hand and say:—­

“Malcolm, it must be some one else you see in the cloud,” though she was pleased.

But when the hour was done then came the crowning moment of the day, for as I would rise to take my leave, if perchance we were alone, she would give herself to my arms for one fleeting instant and willingly would her lips await—­but there are moments too sacred for aught save holy thought.  The theme is sweet to me, but I must go back to Dorothy and tell you of the scene I have promised you.

As I have already said, it was the evening following that upon which I had read the marriage contract to Sir George, and had seen the vision on the hillside.  Madge and I were sitting at the west window.  Dorothy, in kindness to us, was sitting alone by the fireside in Lady Crawford’s chamber.  Thomas entered the room with an armful of fagots, which he deposited in the fagot-holder.  He was about to replenish the fire, but Dorothy thrust him aside, and said:—­

“You shall kindle no more fires for me.  At least you shall not do so when no one else is by.  It pains me that you, at whose feet I am unworthy to kneel, should be my servant”

Thereupon she took in her hands the fagot John had been holding.  He offered to prevent her, but she said:—­

“Please, John, let me do this.”

The doors were open, and we heard all that was said by Dorothy and Tom.  Madge grasped my hand in surprise and fear.

“Please, John,” said Dorothy, “if it gives me pleasure to be your servant, you should not wish to deny me.  There lives but one person whom I would serve.  There, John, I will give you another, and you shall let me do as I will.”

Dorothy, still holding the fagot in her hands, pressed it against John’s breast and gently pushed him backward toward a large armchair, in which she had been sitting by the west side of the fireplace.

“You sit there, John, and we will make believe that this is our house, and that you have just come in very cold from a ride, and that I am making a fine fire to warm you.  Isn’t it pleasant, John?  There, you sit and warm yourself—­my—­my—­husband,” she said laughingly.  “It is fine sport even to play at.  There is one fagot on the fire,” she said, as she threw the wood upon the embers, causing them to fly in all directions.  John started up to brush the scattered embers back into the fireplace, but Dorothy stopped him.

“I will put them all back,” she said.  “You know you are cold and very tired.  You have been overseeing the tenantry and have been hunting.  Will you have a howl of punch, my—­my husband?” and she laughed again and kissed him as she passed to the holder for another fagot.