CHAPTER XX.

“Dark-browed Egypt.”

As soon as Jess was by herself in the empty byre, to which she withdrew herself with the parcel which the faithful and trustworthy Cuif had entrusted to her, she lit the lantern which always stood in the inside of one of the narrow triangular wickets that admitted light into the byre.  Sitting down on the small hay stall, she pulled the packet from her pocket, looked it carefully over, and read the simple address, “In care of Margaret Kissock.”  There was no other writing upon the outside.

Opening the envelope carefully, he let the light of the byre lantern rest on the missive.  It was written in a delicate but strong handwriting—­the hand of one accustomed to forming the smaller letters of ancient tongues into a current script.  “To Mistress Winifred Charteris,” it ran.  “Dear Lady:  That I have offended you by the hastiness of my words and the unforgivable wilfulness of my actions, I know, but cannot forgive myself.  Yet, knowing the kindness of your disposition, I have thought that you might be better disposed to pardon me than I myself.  For I need not tell you, what you already know, that the sight of you is dearer to me than the light of the morning.  You are connected in my mind and heart with all that is best and loveliest.  I need not tell now that I love you, for you know that I love the string of your bonnet.  Nor am I asking for anything in return, save only that you may know my heart and not be angry.  This I send to ease its pain, for it has been crying out all night long, ’Tell her—­ tell her!’ So I have risen early to write this.  Whether I shall send it or no, I cannot tell.  There is no need, Winsome, to answer it, if you will only let it fall into your heart and make no noise, as a drop of water falls into the sea.  Whether you will be angry or not I cannot tell, and, truth to tell you, sweetheart, I am far past caring.  I am coming, as I said, to Craig Ronald to see your grandmother, and also, if you will, to see you.  I shall not need you to tell me whether you are angered with a man’s love or no; I shall know that before you speak to me.  But keep a thought for one that loves you beyond all the world, and as if there were no world, and naught but God and you and him.  For this time fare you well.  Ralph Peden.”

Jess turned it over with a curious look on her face.  “Aye, he has the grip o’t, an’ she micht get him gin she war as clever as Jess Kissock; but him that can love yin weel can lo’e anither better, an’ I can keep them sindry [asunder].  I saw him first, an’ he spak to me first.  ‘Ye’re no to think o’ him,’ said my mither.  Think o’ him!  I hae thocht o’ nocht else.  Think of him!  Since when is thinkin’ a crime?  A lass maun juist do the best she can for hersel’, be she cotman’s dochter or laird’s.  Love’s a’ yae thing—­ kitchen or byre, but or ben.  See a lad, lo’e a lad, get a lad, keep a lad!  Ralph Peden will kiss me afore the year’s oot,” she said with determination.