His aunt shook a hopeless head.  “Your moral nature is warped, my dear.  It has always been the same since you were a very small boy at Glenavelin, and read the Holy War on the hearthrug.  You could never be made to admire Emmanuel and his captains, but you set your heart on the reprobates Jolly and Griggish.  But get away and look after your guests, sir.”

Lunch came just in time to save five hungry men from an undignified end.  The Glenavelin party looked on with amusement as the ravenous appetites were satisfied.  Mr. Stocks, in a huge good humour, talked discursively of sport.  He inquired concerning the morning’s bag, and called up reminiscences of friends who had equalled or exceeded it.  Lewis was uncomfortable, for he felt that in common civility Mr. Stocks should have been asked to shoot.  He could not excuse himself with the plea of an unintentional omission, for he had heard reports of the gentleman’s wonderful awkwardness with a gun, and he had not found it in his heart to spoil the sport of five keen and competent hands.

He dared not look at Alice, for his aunt’s words had set his pulses beating hotly.  For the last week he had wrestled with himself, telling his heart that this lady was beyond his ken for ever and a day, for he belonged by nature to the clan of despondent lovers.  Before, she had had all the icy reserve, he all the fervours.  The hint of some spark of fire behind the snows of her demeanour filled him with a delirious joy.  Every movement of her body pleased him, every word which she spoke, the blitheness of her air and the ready kindness.  The pale, pretty Afflint girls, with their wit and their confidence, seemed old and womanly compared with Alice.  Let simplicity be his goddess henceforth—­simplicity and youth.

The Pool of Ness is a great, black cauldron of clear water, with berries above and berries below, and high crags red with heather.  There you may find shade in summer, and great blaeberries and ripening rowans in the wane of August.  These last were the snare for Alice, who was ever an adventurer.  For the moment she was the schoolgirl again, and all sordid elderly cares were tossed to the wind.  She teased Doctor Gracey to that worthy’s delight, and she bade George and Arthur fetch and carry in a way that made them her slaves for life.  Then she unbent to Mr. Stocks and made him follow her out on a peninsula of rock, above which hung a great cluster of fruit.  The unfortunate politician was not built for this kind of exercise, and slipped and clung despairingly to every root and cleft.  Lewis followed aimlessly:  her gaiety did not fit with his mood; and he longed to have her to himself and know his fortune.

He passed the panting Stocks and came up with the errant lady.

“For heaven’s sake be careful, Miss Wishart,” he cried in alarm.  “That’s an ugly black swirl down there.”

The girl laughed in his face.

“Isn’t the place glorious!” she cried.  “It’s as cool as winter, and oh! the colours of that hillside.  I’m going up to that birk-tree to sit.  Do you think I can do it?”