At Mrs. Bremner’s request she had made an appointment to go with her from the castle on a certain Saturday to visit a distant relative, living in a lonely cottage on the other side of the Horn--a woman too old ever to leave her home. When the day arrived, both saw that the weather gave signs of breaking, but the heavy clouds on the horizon seemed no worse than had often shown themselves that winter, and as often passed away. The air was warm, the day bright, the earth dry, and Phemy and her aunt were in good spirits. They had purposed to return early to Weelset, but agreed as they went that Phemy, the days being so short, should take the nearer path to Tiltowie, over the Horn. By this arrangement, their visit ended, they had no great distance to walk together, Mrs. Bremner’s way lying along the back of the hill, and Phemy’s over the nearer shoulder of it. As they took leave of each other a little later than they had intended, Mrs. Bremner cast a glance at the gathering clouds, and said, ‘I doobt, lassie, it’s gaein to ding on afore the nicht! I wuss we war hame the twa o’ ’s! Gien it cam on to snaw and blaw baith, we micht hae ill winnin there!’ ‘Noucht’s to fear, auntie,’ returned Phemy. ‘It’s a heap ower warm to snaw. It may rain--I wudna won’er, but there’ll be nae snaw--no afore I win hame, onygait.’ ‘Weel, min’, gien there be ae drap o’ weet, ye maun change ilka stic the minute ye’re i’ the hoose. Ye’re no that stoot yet!’ ‘I’ll be sure, auntie!’ answered Phemy, and they parted almost at a right angle.