"Pay—Mr. Ross of Heimra—for the brandy?" said she, as if it was herself who had been insulted; and she was turning angrily away. "You think—the young master—tekkin money from the like of me?" "Then he gives you the brandy for nothing?" said Kate,—and this question at once arrested the old dame, who made answer somewhat sulkily— "I not saying that—I not saying that at ahl." "Of course not," said Käthchen, with cheerful good humour. "It is not necessary for you to say anything. But now I understand; and I am glad of it; for I have Highland blood in my veins myself, and I did not like to think of a Highland gentleman taking money for little kindnesses of that sort. And indeed I did not believe it; and I am very pleased indeed that you have made it possible for me to contradict such a ridiculous story." Shortly thereafter—the old grandmother having been won into something of a more conciliatory mood by reiterated expressions of thanks and a circumstantial promise with regard to the cow—the two young women left; and as they descended the hill, Kate Glendinning was most triumphant about this refutation of what she considered a malignant slander. Mary, on the other hand, was inclined to be coldly severe in her judgment wherever young Ross of Heimra was concerned—though neither coldness nor severity formed part of her ordinary temperament. "I don’t see anything to be proud of, Käthchen," said she. "He is cheating the revenue, for one thing." "Cheating the revenue," said Käthchen, in her matter-of-fact way, "is not likely to trouble a Highlander’s conscience much. But I dare say he thinks the Government can get along well enough without taking any more taxation from these poor people; and I have no doubt he says to himself that if he pays for a bottle of good brandy for some poor woman with ague or rheumatism in her old joints, the Government can afford to let her have it without the duty. In a climate like this you must have spirits of some kind; and as I was saying to Mrs. MacVean, good brandy is better than bad whisky filled with fusel oil." "I know perfectly well what his object is," Mary said, proudly and indignantly. "His object is simply to steal away the hearts of the people—and to stir up ill-will between them and whoever happens to be at Lochgarra House. They are all his friends—and my enemies. He can shoot and fish wherever he pleases; he has the run of the whole estate; he is welcome at every fireside; whilst I, when I want to lower the rents, and better the condition of the people in every way, and be their friend—well, I am kept outside at the door, and if I say ’Am I welcome?’ there is no answer. For him—everything: for me—nothing. And I think it is hardly fair." She spoke in a proud and hurt way, and her lips trembled for an instant: it was clear that she considered she had not deserved this ill-usage.