"Don’t be silly, Käthchen!" Mary made answer, with quickly lowered lashes. "We are supposed to be a pic-nic party, or a fishing party, taking a rest—anything you please; but of course we must all be together." So that group also was taken, with the Highland river-scene for its background; and then they went forward and overtook the carriage. Mary was much more cheerful now, after getting away from that reproachful sight of Castle Heimra. "Do you know, Mr. Ross," she was saying, "I am about to encounter the bitterest enemy I have in the world?" "I cannot believe you have any enemy," was his reply. "But who is this?" "James Macdonald." "Oh, Macdonald the crofter at Cruagan. Well, what have you been doing to him?" "What have I been doing to him?" she said with some spirit. "You should rather ask what I have been doing for him. I have been doing far too much for him: I suppose that is why he hates me. What haven’t I done for him? I took off the tax for the dyke; I handed over the pasturage of Meall-na-Cruagan; I lowered his rent; I forgave him arrears; I had the decree of removal quashed, and gave him back his holding after he had forfeited it; I stopped the action against him for deforcing the sheriff’s officer. What more? What more? And yet he looks as if he would like to murder me if I try to speak to him." "Have you any idea of the reason?" "Yes," said Mary, a little proudly. "He says that you are his laird, and not I: he says I have nothing to do with the land or the people here." "Macdonald is a foolish man—and stubborn: I will talk to him," he said; and he was thoughtful for a second or two. Indeed, when they arrived at the scattered little hamlet of Cruagan, it was not the sun-pictures that occupied Mary Stanley’s attention. The photographer was allowed to choose his subjects as he liked. For, in driving up, they had perceived the sullen-browed, Russian-looking crofter at work in his patch of potatoes; and as soon as the carriage stopped, young Ross left his companions, stepped over the bit of wire fence, and went along the potato drills. Macdonald ceased working, and respectfully raised his cap. Ross began speaking in a low voice, and yet with some emphasis, and increasing emphasis, as the ladies in the waggonette could gather. It was impossible for them to overhear the words, even if they had been able to understand; but as he proceeded it was clear enough that he was becoming angry and indignant, the man with the shaggy eyebrows and the determined jaw having answered once or twice. Then almost suddenly there came a strange termination to this fierce encounter. Young Ross remained behind, glancing around him as if merely wanting to know whether the crop promised well; but Macdonald came down the drills, in the direction of the carriage. "Käthchen," said Mary, in an eager whisper, "he is coming to speak to me! Let me get out—quick!"