I descended to self-pity, conceiving myself a hero and a martyr, revelling in an agony of mawkish sentiment concerning the post-mortem grief of my friends. From this at length I snatched myself by calling to mind the many simple Highlanders who had preceded me in the past months without any morbid craving for applause. Back harked my mind to Aileen, imagination spanning the future as well as the past. Tender pity and love suffused me. Mingled with all my broken reflections was many a cry of the heart for mercy to a sinner about to render his last account and for healing balm to that dear friend who would be left to mourn the memory of me painted in radiant colours. Paradoxical though it may seem, the leaden hours flew on feathered foot. Dusk fell, then shortly darkness. Night deepened, and the stars came out. From the window I watched the moon rise till it flooded the room with its pale light, my mind at last fallen into the sombre quiet of deep abstraction. A mocking voice brought me to earth with a start. "Romantic spectacle! A world bathed in moonlight. Do you compose verses to your love's bright eyes, Mr. Montagu? Or perhaps an epitaph for some close friend?" An elegant figure in dark cloak, riding boots, and three-cornered hat confronted me, when I slowly turned. "Hope I don't intrude," he said jauntily. I gave him a plain hint. "Sir Robert, like Lord Chesterfield, when he was so ill last year, if I do not press you to remain it is because I must rehearse my funeral obsequies." His laugh rang merrily. Coming forward a step or two, he flung a leg across the back of a chair. "Egad, you're not very hospitable, my friend. Or isn't this your evening at home?" he fleered. I watched him narrowly, answering nothing. "Cozy quarters," he said, looking round with polite interest. "May I ask whether you have taken them for long?" "The object of your visit, sir," I demanded coldly. "There you gravel me," he laughed. "I wish I knew the motives for my visit. They are perhaps a blend--some pique, some spite, some curiosity, and faith! a little admiration, Mr. Montagu." "All of which being presumably now satisfied----" "But they're not, man! Far from it. And so I accept the courteous invitation you were about to extend me to prolong my call and join you in a glass of wine." Seeing that he was determined to remain willy-nilly, I made the best of it. "You have interpreted my sentiments exactly, Sir Robert," I told him. "But I fear the wine will have to be postponed till another meeting. My cellar is not well stocked." He drew a flask from his pocket, found glasses on the table, and filled them.