Ron picked up his grey cap,--a coat he disdained, though he also was far from warm,--and followed his sister into the bare entrance-hall, with its pungent mingling of odours. From the back of the house could be heard the jangling of milk-pails, and a feminine voice raised in shrill invective; but no one was in sight, and the conspirators emerged unseen from the door of the inn, and turned to the left, endeavouring somewhat unsuccessfully to appear unconscious of the approaching figure. "Good afternoon! Good afternoon!" cried the stranger, in a full genial voice. "Good afternoon!" cried the confederates, in eager response; then they passed by, and were conscious, by the cessation of the crunching footsteps, that the "Brither" had halted to look after them as they went. "He likes our looks! He is going to be friendly... I don't wonder!" soliloquised Margot, looking with fond eyes at the tall figure of the youth by her side; at the clean-cut, sensitive face beneath the deerstalker cap. "He was pleased to see us. All men admire Margot," said Ron to himself, noting with an artist's appreciation the picture made by the graceful figure of the girl, with her vivid, healthful colouring, the little cap set jauntily on her chestnut locks, the breeze showing glimpses of the bright tartan lining of her cloak. Starting under such promising auspices, brother and sister merrily continued their way along the winding road which skirted the border of the tarn. Fresh from London smoke and grime, the clear mountain air tasted almost incredibly pure and fresh. One wanted to open the mouth wide and drink it in in deep gulps; to send it down to the poor clogged lungs,--most marvellous and reviving of tonics! "It makes me feel--_clean_!" gasped Margot, at the end of a deep respiration, and Ron's eyes lighted with the inward glow which showed that imagination was perfecting the idea. Margot loved to watch the lad at moments like these, when he strode along, forgetful of her presence, oblivious of everything but his own thoughts; his face set, save for those glowing eyes, and now and then an involuntary twitch of the lips. In her own poor way she could grasp the trend of his mind, could toil after him as he flew. That word "clean" had suggested wonderful thoughts. God's wind, blowing fresh over the ageless hills, untainted by the soil of the city; the wind of the moorland and the heights! Must not a man's soul perforce be clean who lived alone in the solitude with God? Dare he remain alone in that awful companionship with a taint upon his life?... Ronald dreamt, and Margot pondered, making no excuses for the silence which is a sign of truest understanding, until the scattered village came in sight, and curiosity awakened once more. "Why did they have two churches, I wonder? There can't be enough people to fill even one, and every one is Presbyterian in the Highlands. Why don't they all meet together?" cried Margot, in her ignorance.