"Why?"
"Because, Quentin, I never saw him."
"Not even at Ardgour?"
"No, nor in London, for when my dear mamma was there, the Master was always at Windsor or Brighton with the Guards."
"Then why are you to marry him?" persisted Quentin.
"Because I am told that it will be very convenient for all parties, as the lands of Rohallion and those of Ardgour march together for miles over hill and glen," replied Flora, using the Scottish phrase for "adjoin."
Then she would tell him, with all the kindness and friendship of Lady Rohallion, how sorely she missed the extreme tenderness and gentleness of her own dear mother, and how that beloved parent sunk like a bruised reed, nor ever rallied since the terrible morning when news came to Ardgour that her father had fallen in battle under Abercrombie, and his general's letter and the Duke of York's too, alike failed to afford the consolation they expressed.
There was no love-making in confidences such as these; but both were young; the lad was handsome, sturdy, and impetuous. Flora was winning in manner and delicately beautiful, with soft dove-like dark eyes of violet-grey, and lashes that were almost black like her hair; and such intercourse, if it was pleasant and delightful, was perilous work, and apt to lead to the development of a friendship that certainly would not be platonic.
When climbing the beetling cliffs that overhung the waves, the sea-pinks and wild flowers that grew in such dangerous places, were always culled, and the rare birds'-eggs, that lay in the cliffs and crannies, were gathered by Quentin for Flora.
His whole desire and study were Flora Warrender and the anticipation of her every want and wish. Many of his sports, the trout pools in the Girvan, the fishing boats in the bay, the otter holes by the Doon, the covers where the golden pheasant lurked among the green and feathery fern, were neglected now for places nearer home—for the sycamore avenue, the terraced garden, the yew-hedge labyrinth, for wherever Flora was to be found, he was not far off.