"Then it will be only a mile beyond my father's farm," was her reply.
"Oh, that is capital!" laughed Graham. "I shall get there before dark, and be able to help you with the cattle at the same time."
"But you are not the son at 'Highlands,'" she said, looking at him curiously.
"Oh, no," he replied. "The Grahams are distant relatives of mine, that is all. There is just a little Scotch in me, that is why I love Scotland so. Of course, you love Scotland too?"
A far-away look came into her eyes. "I don't know," she said.
"Not know if you love your own country?" And he laughed as he spoke.
"I am not sure that it is my own country," was her reply. "You see——" And then she stopped. "It will be nothing to you," she added after a minute, and for some time they walked along together in silence.
"It must be just lovely to live amid such surroundings as these; still, I should find it lonely sometimes," he ventured at length.
"You would, if—if—" And then the girl looked at him curiously. "But I expect you'll not be understanding what I mean," she added.
Again they walked on in silence, Douglas longing to ask her what she meant, and yet shrinking from taking what he felt might be a liberty, for there was something about the girl that kept him from speaking freely. Dressed like a peasant as she was, he instinctively felt that here was no ordinary farmer's drudge. She had uttered nothing beyond commonplaces, but the look in her eyes, the tremor of her lips suggested romance and mystery and poetry.