“It is I who will see strange things,” she said; and the prophecy was amply fulfilled.  For as they went along the broad path, and came better into view of the splendid undulation of woodland and pasture and fern, when on the one hand they saw the Thames far below them flowing through the green and spacious valley, and on the other hand caught some dusky glimpse of the far white houses of London, it seemed to her that she had got into a new world, and that this world was far more beautiful than the great city she had left.  She did not care so much for the famous view from the hill.  She had cast one quick look to the horizon, with one throb of expectation that the sea might be there.  There was no sea there—­only the faint blue of long lines of country, apparently without limit.  Moreover, over the western landscape a faint haze prevailed, that increased in the distance and softened down the more distant woods into a sober gray.  That great extent of wooded plain, lying sleepily in its pale mists, was not so cheerful as the scene around her, where the sunlight was sharp and clear, the air fresh, the trees flooded with a pure and bright color.  Here indeed was a cheerful and beautiful world, and she was full of curiosity to know all about it and its strange features.  What was the name of this tree? and how did it differ from that?  Were not these rabbits over by the fence? and did rabbits live in the midst of trees and bushes?  What sort of wood was the fence made of? and was it not terribly expensive to have such a protection?  Could not he tell the cost of a wooden fence?  Why did they not use wire netting?  Was not that a loch away down there? and what was its name?  A loch without a name!  Did the salmon come up to it? and did any sea-birds ever come inland and build their nests on its margin?

“O, Bras, you must come and look at the loch.  It is a long time since you will see a loch.”

And away she went through the thick bracken, holding on to the swaying leash that held the galloping greyhound, and running swiftly as though she had been making down for the shore to get out the Maighdean-mhara.

“Sheila,” called her husband, “don’t be foolish!”

“Sheila,” called Ingram, “have pity on an old man!”

Suddenly she stopped.  A brace of partridges had sprung up at some distance, and with a wild whirr of their wings were now directing their low and rapid flight toward the bottom of the valley.

“What birds are those?” she said peremptorily.

She took no notice of the fact that her companions were pretty nearly too blown to speak.  There was a brisk life and color in her face, and all her attention was absorbed in watching the flight of the birds.  Lavender fancied he saw in the fixed and keen look something of old Mackenzie’s gray eye:  it was not the first trace of a likeness to her father he had seen.

“You bad girl!” he said, “they are partridges.”