Rob shook his head. Afraid of the man of the moor! He was suddenly overtaken by a curious shyness of this mysterious man with his shrewd, inscrutable blue eyes, his great Highland nose, the whimsical twist that lurked at the corners of his mouth, and his massive head far up near the rafters through the vast height of him. His clothes had a foreign cut, and he betrayed the inflection of a strange accent underlying his words accompanied by occasional gestures of the hands that strike a northerner as affected and womanly. His voice was very deep and soft and so persuasive that few could withstand him. Even in anger it was never harsh--but some said he never permitted himself to grow angry and for that very reason always won his own way. Even Miss Macpherson only angered him once. Meanwhile the stranger was eyeing them both with droll intentness. If only the honest can meet another's gaze without flinching then he must have been a very honest man indeed, for there were few he could not stare down, and what is more take a relish in so doing. "How are you named?" he asked, still grasping the boy by the shoulder. "My name is Rob Fraser," he replied, "and this is my aunt, Miss Macpherson." "Then I am in good company," he said, and letting go of Rob began to warm his hands at the fire, turning them backwards and forwards to the blaze. "It is good," he mused after a while, "to have peat reek in one's nostrils once again. What a bonny room this is. There are few pans like those in Inverness I'll warrant. I would like fine to taste a bannock of your cooking, Miss Macpherson. I know a good bannock when I see it, and it's long since I've had a taste of old Scotland..." at which he sighed and stared upon the ground. Somewhat mollified, despite herself, Miss Macpherson set the table again, and busied herself amongst her household utensils. Over the peat fire a pot was swinging on a chain from a cross beam above. The place was full of the rare smell of it. But the stranger said nothing, though he must have been eying out for a basinful. Instead he drew Rob to the fire, and spoke to him in his low musical voice, sitting upon a stool with his great coat hung up upon a peg beside him and the steam rising from it and losing itself in the blueness of the peat reek. "I saw ye the day," he said. "It was just after our forces, heaven help them, had passed. I canna bear to look at them. I feel like a man watching a procession of bairns and dying men..." "Have you been in another war?" asked Rob. "War," said he, "this is not war. Man Rob, I've served all over Europe and seen the armies of Frederick advance like the thunder of surf on a western isle. I have seen service in Poland, Austria, and the Netherlands. I have fought under Saxe." He paused and seemed to draw some pleasure from Rob's flushed face and eager eyes.