The glen was dressed in June, at its height of green movement and song.  Alexander and Elspeth walked there and turned aside through a miniature pass down which flowed a stream in miniature to join the larger flood.  This cleft led them to a green hollow masked by the main wall of the glen, a fairy place, hidden and lone.  Seven times had the two been in company since that morning of the flower-sprinkled cape and the thorn-tree.  First stood a chance meeting upon the moor, Elspeth walking from the village with a basket upon her arm and the laird riding home after business in the nearest considerable town.  He dismounted; he walked beside her to the stepping-stones before the farm.  The second time he went to White Farm, and she and Jenny, with Merran to help, were laying linen to bleach upon the sun-washed hillside.  He had stayed an hour, and though he was not alone with her, yet he might look at her, listen to her.  She was not a chatterer; she worked or stood, almost as silent as a master painter’s subtle picture stepped out of its frame, or as Pygmalion’s statue-maid, flushing with life, but as yet tongue-holden.  Yet she said certain things, and they were to him all music and wit.  The third time had been by the wishing-green.  That was but for a moment, but he counted it great gain.

“Here,” she said, “was where we danced!  Mr. Ian Rullock and you and Robin and the rest of us.  Don’t you remember?  It was evening and there was a fleet of gold clouds in the sky.  It is so near the house.  I walk here when I have a glint of time.”

The fourth time, riding Black Alan, he had stopped at the door and talked with Jarvis Barrow.  He was thirsty and had asked for water, and Jenny had called, “Elspeth, bring the laird a cup frae the well!” She had brought it, and, taking it from her, all the romance of the world had seemed to him to close them round, to bear them to some great and fair and deep and passionate place.  The fifth time had been the day when he went to kirk with White Farm and listened to her voice in the psalm.  The sixth time had been again upon the moor.  The seventh time was this.  He had come down through the glen as he had done before.  He had no reason to suppose that this day more than another he would find her, but there, half a mile from White Farm, he came upon her, standing, watching a lintwhite’s nest.  They walked together, and when that little, right-angled, infant fellow of the glen opened to them they turned and followed its bright rivulet to the green hidden hollow.

The earth lay warm and dry, clad with short turf.  They sat down beneath an oak-tree.  None would come this way; they had to themselves a bright span of time and place.  Elspeth looked at him with brown, friendly eyes.  Each time she met him her eyes grew more kind; more and more she liked the laird.  Something fluttered in her nature; like a bird in a room with many windows and all but one closed, it turned now this way, now that, seeking the open lattice.