("He stared out of his great sockets of eyes as if the sky had fallen,” Dr Drummond would say, recounting it.)

“For—­for what reason?” asked Finlay, hardly yet able to distinguish between the sound of disaster and the sense that lay beneath.

“May I begin at the beginning?” asked the Doctor, and Hugh silently nodded.

("He sat there and never took his eyes off me, twisting his fingers.  I might have been in a confession-box,” Dr Drummond would explain to her.)

“She came here, Miss Cameron, with that good woman, Mrs Kilbannon, it will be three weeks next Monday,” he said, with all the air of beginning a story that would be well worth hearing.  “And I wasn’t very well pleased to see her, for reasons that you know.  However, that’s neither here nor there.  I met them both at the station, and I own to you that I thought when I made Miss Cameron’s acquaintance that you were getting better than you deserved in the circumstances.  You were a thousand miles away—­now that was a fortunate thing!—­and she and Mrs Kilbannon just stayed here and made themselves as comfortable as they could.  And that was so comfortable that anyone could see with half an eye”—­the Doctor’s own eye twinkled—­“so far as Miss Cameron was concerned, that she wasn’t pining in any sense of the word.  But I wasn’t sorry for you, Finlay, on that account.”  He stopped to laugh enjoyingly, and Finlay blushed like a girl.

“I just let matters bide and went about my own business.  Though after poor Mrs Forsyth here—­a good woman enough, but the brains of a rabbit—­it was pleasant to find these intelligent ladies at every meal, and wonderful how quick they were at picking up the differences between the points of Church administration here and at home.  That was a thing I noticed particularly in Miss Cameron.

“Matters went smoothly enough—­smoothly enough—­till one afternoon that foolish creature Advena Murchison”—­Finlay started—­“came here to pay a call on Miss Cameron and Mrs Kilbannon.  It was well and kindly meant, but it was not a wise-like thing to do.  I didn’t exactly make it out, but it seems that she came all because of you and on account of you; and the ladies didn’t understand it, and Mrs Kilbannon came to me.  My word, but there was a woman to deal with!  Who was this young lady, and what was she to you that she should go anywhere or do anything in your name?  Without doubt”—­he put up a staying hand—­“it was foolish of Advena.  And what sort of freedom, and how far, and why, and what way, and I tell you it was no easy matter, to quiet her.  ’Is Miss Cameron distressed about it?’ said I.  ‘Not a bit,’ said she, ’but I am, and I must have the rights of this matter,’ said she, ’if I have to put it to my nephew himself.’

“It was at that point, Finlay, that the idea—­just then that the thought came into my mind—­well I won’t say absolutely, but practically for the first time—­Why can’t this matter be arranged on a basis to suit all parties?  So I said to her, ‘Mrs Kilbannon,’ I said, ’if you had reasonable grounds for it, do you think you could persuade your niece not to marry Hugh Finlay?’ Wait—­patience!” He held up his hand, and Finlay gripped the arm of his chair again.