Chapter 13

One must not make love to the master’s daughter, nor enthrone her in a poem, nor make poems. He reflected with amusement that the time in which he would make songs in his mind would be paid for by Isaiah; that the moor all round the farm, which had inspired him, was Isaiah’s; that their central beauty would be Isaiah’s only child. ‘It’ll take a deal of overtime to make up for all that, I doubt!’ he thought. His smile stirred Gillian’s curiosity. ‘Tell! Tell!’ ‘No. I canna tell ye.’ ‘Summat you’re going to do?’ ‘May…