" In spite of what he could do Mr. Martin's eyes kept wandering
to her hair.
"Oh, well!" cried Moira, in increasing surprise at this strange young
man, "the sun won't hurt me, so come, let us go."
Together they went down the avenue of rugged firs. At the highway
she paused. Before them lay the Glen in all the splendid sweep of its
beauty.
"Isn't it lovely!" she breathed.
"Lovely!" echoed Martin, his eyes not on the Glen. "It is so sunny, you
know."
"Yes," she answered quickly, "you notice that?"
"How could I help it?" said Martin, his eyes still resting upon her.
"How could I?"
"Of course," she replied, "and so we call it the Glen Cuagh Oir, that
is the 'Glen of the Cup of Gold.' And to think he has to leave it all
to-morrow!" she added.
The pathetic cadences in her voice again drove Martin to despair. He
recovered himself, however, to say, "But he is going to Canada!"
"Yes, to Canada. And we all feel it so dreadfully for him, and," she
added in a lower voice, "for ourselves."
Had it been yesterday Martin would have been ready with scorn for any
such feeling, and with congratulations to Cameron upon his exceptionally
good luck in the expectation of going to Canada; but to-day, somehow it
was different. He found the splendid lure of his native land availed not
to break the spell of the Glen, and as he followed the girl in and out
of the little cottages, seeking her brother, and as he noted the perfect
courtesy and respect which marked her manner with the people, and their
unstudied and respectful devotion to their "tear young leddy," this
spell deepened upon him.
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