Now, seeing how I heeded her, and feeling that I had kissed her, although she was such a little girl, eight years old or thereabouts, she turned to the stream in a bashful manner, and began to watch the water, and rubbed one leg against the other.

I, for my part, being vexed at her behaviour to me, took up all my things to go, and made a fuss about it; to let her know I was going.  But she did not call me back at all, as I had made sure she would do; moreover, I knew that to try the descent was almost certain death to me, and it looked as dark as pitch; and so at the mouth I turned round again, and came back to her, and said, “Lorna.”

“Oh, I thought you were gone,” she answered; “why did you ever come here?  Do you know what they would do to us, if they found you here with me?”

“Beat us, I dare say, very hard; or me, at least.  They could never beat you.”

“No.  They would kill us both outright, and bury us here by the water; and the water often tells me that I must come to that.”

“But what should they kill me for?”

“Because you have found the way up here, and they never could believe it.  Now, please to go; oh, please to go.  They will kill us both in a moment.  Yes, I like you very much”—­for I was teasing her to say it—­“very much indeed, and I will call you John Ridd, if you like; only please to go, John.  And when your feet are well, you know, you can come and tell me how they are.”

“But I tell you, Lorna, I like you very much indeed—­nearly as much as Annie, and a great deal more than Lizzie.  And I never saw any one like you, and I must come back again to-morrow, and so must you, to see me; and I will bring you such lots of things—­there are apples still, and a thrush I caught with only one leg broken, and our dog has just had puppies—­”

“Oh, dear, they won’t let me have a dog.  There is not a dog in the valley.  They say they are such noisy things—­”

“Only put your hand in mine—­what little things they are, Lorna!  And I will bring you the loveliest dog; I will show you just how long he is.”

“Hush!” A shout came down the valley, and all my heart was trembling, like water after sunset, and Lorna’s face was altered from pleasant play to terror.  She shrank to me, and looked up at me, with such a power of weakness, that I at once made up my mind to save her or to die with her.  A tingle went through all my bones, and I only longed for my carbine.  The little girl took courage from me, and put her cheek quite close to mine.

“Come with me down the waterfall.  I can carry you easily; and mother will take care of you.”

“No, no,” she cried, as I took her up:  “I will tell you what to do.  They are only looking for me.  You see that hole, that hole there?”

She pointed to a little niche in the rock which verged the meadow, about fifty yards away from us.  In the fading of the twilight I could just descry it.