I drew back, looked again, and at the second glance I recognized it. 'Twas the face of Master Henry Temple of Clachlands--and the hills. 'Twas liker the face of a wild goat than a man. The thin features stood out so strongly that all the rest seemed to fall back from them. The long, ragged growth of hair on lip and chin, and the dirt on his cheeks, made him unlike my friend of the past. But the memorable change was in his eyes, which glowed large and lustrous, with the whites greatly extended, and all tinged with a yellow hue. Fear and privation had done their work, and before me stood their finished product. "Good Heavens, Henry! What brings you here, and how have you fared?" He stared at me without replying, which I noted as curious. "Where is Anne?" he asked huskily. "She is in the house, well and unscathed. Shall I call her to you?" "Nay, for God's sake, nay! I am no pretty sight for a young maid. You say she is well?" "Ay, very well. But how is the minister?" "Alas, he is all but gone. The chill has entered his bones, and even now he may be passing. The child will soon be an orphan." "And you?" "Oh, I am no worse than the others on whom the Lord's hand is laid. There is a ringing in my head and a pain at my heart, but I am still hale and fit to testify to the truth. Oh, man, 'twill ill befa' those in the day of judgment who eat the bread of idleness and dwell in peace in thae weary times." "Come into the house; or nay, I will fetch you food and clothing." "Nay, bring nought for me. I would rather live in rags and sup on a crust than be habited in purple and fare sumptuously. I ask ye but one thing: let the maid walk in the garden that I may see her. And, oh, man! I thank ye for your kindness to me and mine. I pray the Lord ilka night to think on ye here." I could not trust myself to speak. "I will do as you wish," I said, and without another word set off sharply for the house. I entered the sitting room wearily, and flung myself on a chair. Anne sat sewing as before. She started as I entered, and I saw the color rise to her cheeks and brow. "You are pale, my dear," I said; "the day is none so bad, and 'twould do you no ill to walk round the garden to the gate. I have just been there, and, would you believe it, the grass is still wondrous green." She rose demurely and obediently as if my word were the law of her life. "Pray bring me a sprig of ivy from the gate-side," I cried after her, laughing, "to show me that you have been there." I sat and kicked my heels till her return in a miserable state of impatience. I could not have refused to let the man see his own betrothed, but God only knew what desperate act he might do. He might spring out and clasp her in his arms; she, I knew, had not a shred of affection left for him; she would be cold and resentful; he would suspect, and then--what an end there might be to it all! I longed to hear the sound of her returning footsteps.