The impression which had seized her, a moment ago, deepened as she went. Something in the scene and the hastening figure roused a sense of dread. With her, an impression was like a spark to gunpowder. Her imagination blazed up. Life, in its most tragic aspect, seemed before her in the lonely scene, with the lonely figure, moving, as if in pursuit of a lost hope, towards the setting sun. If Hadria had not paused on the brow of the hill, it is unlikely that she would have been overtaken, but that pause decided the matter. The stranger seemed suddenly to hesitate, wondering, apparently, what she had done this eccentric thing for. Hadria, feeling a presence behind her, turned nervously round and gave a slight start. It was so rare to meet anybody on these lonely hills, that the apparition of a striking-looking woman with white hair, dark eyes, and a strange exalted sort of expression, gave a shock of surprise. As the lady had stopped short, Hadria supposed that she had lost her way, and wished to make some enquiries. "Can I direct you, or give you any assistance?" she asked, after a second's pause. "Oh, thank you, you are very kind. I have come over from Ballochcoil to explore the country. I have been trying to find out the history of the old houses of the district. Could you tell me, by the way, anything about that house with the square tower at the end; I have been loitering round it half the afternoon. And I would have given anything to know its history, and what it is like inside." "Well, I can help you there, for that old house is my home. If you have time to come with me now, I will show you all over it," said Hadria, impulsively. "That is too tempting an offer. And yet I really don't like to intrude in this way. I am a perfect stranger to you and--your parents I suppose?" "They will be delighted," Hadria assured her new acquaintance, somewhat imprudently. "Well, I can't resist the temptation," said the latter, and they walked on together. Hadria related what she knew about the history of the house. Very scanty records had survived. It had obviously been one of the old Scottish strongholds, built in the lawless days when the country was plunged in feuds and chieftains lived on plunder. A few traditions lingered about it: among them that of a chief who had carried off, by force, the daughter of his bitterest enemy, in revenge for some deed of treachery. He had tortured her with insolent courtship, and then starved her to death in a garret in the tower, while her father and his followers assaulted its thick walls in vain. "The tradition is, that on stormy nights one can still hear the sound of the attack, the shouts of the men and the father's imprecations." "A horrible story!" "When people say the world has not progressed, I always think of that story, and remember that such crimes were common in those days," Hadria remarked.