'From Kinlocharty,' he said, 'from the head of the loch, the landward side.' This agreed with the evidence of the villagers on the other side of the sea loch. Would he recognise the crew? He had only seen them at a certain distance, when they landed, but in spite of the blow on his head he remembered the black beard of one man, and the red beard of another. To be sure they might shave off their beards, yet these two he thought he could identify. Speaking to Miss Macrae as the men passed them, he had called one Donald Dubh, or 'black,' and the other Donald Ban, or 'fair.' They carried heavy shepherds' crooks in their hands. Their dress was Lowland, but they wore unusually broad bonnets of the old sort, drooping over the eyes. Blake knew no more, except his anguish from the midges. He expressed his hope to be well enough to go away on Friday; he would retire to the inn at Scourie, and try to persevere with his literary work. Mr. Macrae would not hear of this; as, if the miscreants were captured, Blake alone could have a chance of identifying them. To this Blake replied that, as long as Mr. Macrae thought that he might be useful, he was at his service. To Merton, Blake displayed himself in a new light. He said that he remembered little of what occurred after he was found at the foot of the cliff. Probably he was snappish and selfish; he was suffering very much. His head, indeed, was still bound up, and his face showed how he had suffered. Merton shook hands with him, and said that he hoped Blake would forget his own behaviour, for which he was sincerely sorry. 'Oh, the chaff?' said Blake. 'Never mind, I dare say I played the fool. I have been thinking, when my brain would give me leave, as I lay in bed. Merton, you are a trifle my senior, and you know the world much better. I have lived in a writing and painting set, where we talked nonsense till it went to our heads, and we half believed it. And, to tell you the truth, the presence of women always sets me off. I am a humbug; I do _not_ know Gaelic, but I mean to work away at my drama for all that. This kind of shock against the realities of life sobers a fellow.' Blake spoke simply, in an unaffected, manly way. '_Semel in saninivimus omnes_!' said Merton. '_Nec lusisse pudet_!' said Blake, 'and the rest of it. I know there's a parallel in the _Greek Anthology_, somewhere. I'll go and get my copy.' He went into the observatory (they had been sitting on a garden seat outside), and Merton thought to himself: 'He is not such a bad fellow. Not many of your young poets know anything but French.' Blake seemed to have some difficulty in finding his Anthology. At last he came out with rather a 'carried' look, as the Scots say, rather excited. 'Here it is,' he said, and handed Merton the little volume, of a Tauchnitz edition, open at the right page. Merton read the epigram. 'Very neat and good,' he said.