“Two pounds a week is over much,” said she; “and it is not when the poor gentleman is in distress that we should put such a price on his bit food.”

“Tut!” cried my father, “he can very well afford it, and he with a bag full of gold.  Besides, it’s his own proposing.”

“No blessing will come from that money,” said she.

“Why, woman, he’s turned your head wi’ his foreign ways of speech!” cried my father.

“Aye, and it would be a good thing if Scottish men had a little more of that kindly way,” she said, and that was the first time in all my life that I had heard her answer him back.

He came down soon and asked me whether I would come out with him.  When we were in the sunshine he held out a little cross made of red stones, one of the bonniest things that ever I had set eyes upon.

“These are rubies,” said he, “and I got it at Tudela, in Spain.  There were two of them, but I gave the other to a Lithuanian girl.  I pray that you will take this as a memory of your exceedingly kindness to me yesterday.  It will fashion into a pin for your cravat.”

I could but thank him for the present, which was of more value than anything I had ever owned in my life.

“I am off to the upper muir to count the lambs,” said I; “maybe you would care to come up with me and see something of the country?”

He hesitated for a moment, and then he shook his head.

“I have some letters,” he said, “which I ought to write as soon as possible.  I think that I will stay at quiet this morning and get them written.”

All forenoon I was wandering over the links, and you may imagine that my mind was turning all the time upon this strange man whom chance had drifted to our doors.  Where did he gain that style of his, that manner of command, that haughty menacing glint of the eye?  And his experiences to which he referred so lightly, how wonderful the life must have been which had put him in the way of them!  He had been kind to us, and gracious of speech, but still I could not quite shake myself clear of the distrust with which I had regarded him.  Perhaps, after all, Jim Horscroft had been right and I had been wrong about taking him to West Inch.

When I got back he looked as though he had been born and bred in the steading.  He sat in the big wooden-armed ingle-chair, with the black cat on his knee.  His arms were out, and he held a skein of worsted from hand to hand which my mother was busily rolling into a ball.  Cousin Edie was sitting near, and I could see by her eyes that she had been crying.

“Hullo, Edie!” said I, “what’s the trouble?”

“Ah! mademoiselle, like all good and true women, has a soft heart,” said he.  “I didn’t thought it would have moved her, or I should have been silent.  I have been talking of the suffering of some troops of which I knew something when they were crossing the Guadarama mountains in the winter of 1808.  Ah! yes, it was very bad, for they were fine men and fine horses.  It is strange to see men blown by the wind over the precipices, but the ground was so slippery and there was nothing to which they could hold.  So companies all linked arms, and they did better in that fashion; but one artilleryman’s hand came off as I held it, for he had had the frost-bite for three days.”