Before old Glenalvan and his servant had crossed the lawn, two dark figures stole forth from the hall and silently followed them.
On the green border of the silver lake two figures were standing in the beautiful moonlight. One was a man, tall, dark, splendid, with a princely beauty.
His arm was thrown protectingly about a slender form that clung lovingly to his side.
It was Golden Glenalvan, dressed in a dark suit and light cloth jacket, a neat, little walking-hat, set jauntily on her streaming, golden curls.
Her blue eyes were lifted tenderly, and yet anxiously to her lover's face.
"Oh, Bert," she said, giving him the tender name by which he had taught her to call him, "you must indeed let me go now. We have been saying good-bye at least a half an hour."
"Parting is such a sweet pain," said the lover, bending to kiss the tempting, up-turned lips. "Give me just one more minute, my darling."
"But I have been out so long," she objected, faintly. "What if black mammy should awake and find me gone?"