“Then you answered (it has all come so clear into my mind), ’Some day you will know, little one!’ And you patted me on the head, and went to the house end to look into the sunset.  You looked many minutes under your hand, and when you came back you said, as if you had never said it before, ‘He is long a-coming!  I wonder what can be keeping him.’

“Then the maidens told us that the supper was ready to put on the table, whereat you scolded them, telling them that it was too early, and that they must keep it hot against their master’s coming.  And to me you said, ‘You are not hungry, are you?’ And I answered, ‘No,’ though I was indeed very hungry—­(in my dream, that is).  Then you said again, sighing:  ’It is strange that he should not come home!  I cannot eat till he comes!  Perhaps he has fallen into a ditch, or some eagle may have pecked out his eyes!’

“Then all the while it grew darker, and still no one came.  Whereat you cried a little softly, and said:  ’He might have come—­I know right well he could have been here by this time if he had tried.  But he does not love me any more.’  And you were patting the ground with your foot as you used to do when—­well, when he went away from Thrieve without coming out upon the leads to say ‘Good-night.’  Then, all at once, there was a noise of quick feet brushing eagerly through the heather, and some one (no, not Landless Jock) leaped the wall and caught me—­me—­in his arms.”

“No, it was not you whom he caught in his arms!” cried Maud Lindesay, indignantly, and then stopped, abashed at her own folly.  But the little maid laughed merrily.

“Aha!” she said, “I caught you that time in my trap.  You know who it was in my dream, though I have never told you, nor so much as hinted.

“And he asked if you had missed him, and you made a sign for me not to speak, just as you used to do at Castle Thrieve, and answered, ’No, not a little bit!  Margaret and I were quite happy.  We hoped you would not come back at all this night, for then we could have slept together.’”

Maud Lindesay drew a long, soft breath, and looked out of the window of the White Tower into the dark.

“That is a sweet dream,” she murmured.  “Ah, would that it were true, and that Sholto—!”

She broke off short again, for the maid clapped her hands gleefully.  “You said it!  You said it!” she cried.  “You called him Sholto.  Now I know; and I am so glad, for he is nearly as good to play with as you.  And I shall not mind him a bit.”

Little Margaret stopped short in her turn, seeing something in her friend’s face.

“Why are you suddenly grown so sad, Maudie?” she asked.

“It came upon me, dear Margaret,” said Maud, “how that we are but two helpless maids in a dreadful place without a friend.  Let us say a prayer to God to keep us!”

Then Margaret Douglas turned and knelt with her face to the pillow and her small hands clasped in front of her.