Left alone, Sir John leaned pensively from the open casement again, to survey the deserted, winding street with its narrow pavements, its tiled roofs, its neat rows of houses, and the battered shaft of its age-worn cross rising stark against the sun’s level beams, for it was in his mind that he might never behold this scene again, and he sighed more deeply than ever; then leaned suddenly to peer down the street, for upon the air was a sound of approaching feet that woke the echoes—heavy feet that strode masterfully; and thus he presently espied Sir Hector, his wig askew, his weatherbeaten hat cocked at combative angle, purpose in every line of his gigantic figure. Sir John frowned, pished and psha-ed, and, turning from the window, summoned Corporal Robert. “You tell me that Sir Hector is unaware of my early departure?” he demanded. “So far as I know, sir.” “Then what doth he abroad at so unseasonable an hour, pray?” “Abroad, your honour? Where, sir?” “Coming up the street—demme! There he is!” exclaimed Sir John pettishly, as a loud whistle shrilled beneath the window. “Aye, that will be Sir Hector, your honour.” “Well, I’ll not see him! Confound everything, I say, I’ll not be pestered, Bob!” “Oho, John ... Johnnie ... ocheigh!” Sir John promptly closed the window, whereupon Sir Hector’s voice rose but the louder: “Oho, John ... wull ye no loot me ben?” “Damme, but he’ll rouse the village!” cried Sir John. “Shall I go down and let him in, your honour?” “Yes, yes, in the devil’s name! And hurry, he’ll be roaring in a moment.” Downstairs hasted Corporal Robert and opened the door, thus checking Sir Hector in the very commencement of an eldritch Highland war-cry, who nodded grimly and mounted the stair forthwith. “Weel, Johnnie,” quoth he, “sae ye’re gangin’, lad, awa’ frae your friends——” “In about twenty minutes, Hector.” “Aye! An’ whyfor maun ye steal awa’ wi’ no sae muckle as a grup o’ the hand?” “I intended to write to you, Hector.” “Aye! An’ what o’ the leddies ... especially one?” “I trust they are blooming in all health.” “Aye! An’ whyfor maun ye rin awa’? Why maun we twine?” “Because, since my Lord Sayle hath ceased to be, I languish for an object, Hector. The country wearies me.” “Aye! An’ whaur are ye intendin’ for?” “London or Paris, perchance both.” “Ou aye! An’ whiles ye’re gallivantin’ yonder, what o’ the puir, sweet lass wha’s breakin’ her heart for ye? What o’ Rose—no, the Leddy Herminia?” “I venture to think her heart, if she hath one, is as sound as ever——” “Ha! O man, I whiles wonder at ye!” “Faith, Hector, the heart o’ your finished coquette is a tough morsel——” “And—ye loved her once, John!” “I admit the folly, Hector. But my lady, happily for me, very deliberately and effectively killed that very preposterously foolish passion.” “She slaughtered it unco’ quick, John, I’m thinkin’!” “Yet none the less effectually, Hector.”