"Aw, no, mem," said he quickly. "Mebbe it was bigger nor Ardvreck at one time—that is a long time ago, before anyone about here can remember; but Castle Heimra?—aw, no!—a smahl place, a smahl place, indeed! There was nothing but the road out to it, when the loch was not too high flooded; and then the archway, and the dingeon, and the tower. Castle Heimra!—aw, it’s a smahl place was Castle Heimra." "And do you suppose it could be built up again?" she asked—but rather to see how far his complaisance would carry him. "Quite easy!" said John, without a moment’s hesitation. "Why, how do you know?" she demanded. "Are you a builder?" "The stons are there," John pointed out. "And if they were pulled down, it is easy to put them back. What has been done once can be done twice." "Ah, but it would not be Castle Heimra," Mary said to herself, rather sadly, as she went on her solitary way. In course of time she came within view of the desolate expanse of mud and stones and rushes that had once been Heimra loch; and when she chose out for herself a seat on a heathery hillock close to the road, there before her were the tumbled ruins of the stronghold that had withstood the storms of centuries only to fall before the withering blast of one man’s spite. And as she sate there, alone, in the absolute silence, a kind of desperation came into her mind. In all other directions there was hope for her; but here there was none. Elsewhere she could labour, and patiently wait for fruition; but how was she to drag back the past? The future had abundant and fair possibilities within it; and she was naturally sanguine; her happiness consisted in action; and perhaps she was looking forward to the time when she could say to her lover, ’See, this is what I have striven to do—for your people: is it well or ill?’ But as between him and her, would there not be ever and always the consciousness of this black deed that could in no wise be recalled or atoned for, that could never be forgiven or forgotten? She was not even allowed to speak: he had declined to hear her shamefaced expressions of sorrow. Nay, she began to think he was too proud, too implacable, that he would have no word uttered. And if she went to him and said: ’Donald, do not blame me!—I had no part in it: I would give my right hand to undo what has been done’—would not his looks still remain haughty and cold, telling her that she had not ceased to be the _ban-sassunnach_—a stranger—the enemy of his race and name? There was a sound of wheels. She started to her feet, for there were tears in her eyes that she had to hide. The approaching vehicle turned out to be the mail-car; and on it were Mr. Purdie and Mr. Watson, seated beside the driver. Both of them raised their hats to her, and would doubtless have driven on, but that she called to the factor; whereupon the mail-car was stopped, and Mr. Purdie descended.