the things he is used to
    elsewhere,
  And that the things he likes here, elsewhere he wouldn’t have
    looked at;
  People here, too, are people, and not as fairy-land creatures. 
  He is in a trance, and possessed,—­I wonder how long to continue. 
  It is a shame and pity,—­and no good likely to follow.’—­
  Something like this; but, indeed, I cannot the least define it. 
  Only, three hours thence, I was off and away in the moor-land,
  Hiding myself from myself, if I could, the arrow within me.’”—­p.29.

Philip Hewson has been going on

  “Even as cloud passing subtly unseen from mountain to mountain,
  Leaving the crest of Benmore to be palpable next on Benvohrlich,
  Or like to hawk of the hill, which ranges and soars in its hunting,
  Seen and unseen by turns."......  And these are his words in the
    mountains:......

  “’Surely the force that here sweeps me along in its violent impulse,
  Surely my strength shall be in her, my help and protection about her,
  Surely in inner-sweet gladness and vigor of joy shall sustain her;
  Till, the brief winter o’erpast, her own true sap in the springtide
  Rise, and the tree I have bared be verdurous e’en as aforetime: 
  Surely it may be, it should be, it must be.  Yet, ever and ever,
  ‘Would I were dead,’ I keep saying, ’that so I could go and
    uphold her.’”—­pp. 26, 27.

And, meanwhile, Katie, among the others, is dancing and smiling still on some one who is to her all that Philip had ever been.

When Hewson writes next, his experience has reached its second stage.  He is at Balloch, with the aunt and the cousin of his friend Hope:  and the lady Maria has made his beliefs begin to fail and totter, and he feels for something to hold firmly.  He seems to think, at one moment, that the mere knowledge of the existence of such an one ought to compensate for lives of drudgery hemmed in with want; then he turns round on himself with, “How shall that be?” And, at length, he appeases his questions, saying that it must and should be so, if it is.

After this, come scraps of letters, crossed and recrossed, from the Bothie of Toper-na-fuosich.  In his travelling towards home, a horse cast a shoe, and the were directed to David Mackaye.  Hewson is still in the clachan hard by when he urges his friend to come to him:  and he comes.

  “There on the blank hill-side, looking down through the loch to
    the ocean;
  There, with a runnel beside, and pine-trees twain before it,
  There, with the road underneath, and in sight of coaches and
    steamers,
  Dwelling of David Mackaye and his daughters, Elspie and Bella,
  Sends up a column of smoke the Bothie of Toper-na-fuosich.....

  “So on the road they walk, by the shore of the salt sea-water,
  Silent a youth and maid, the elders twain conversing.”—­pp. 36, 37.