E-text prepared by MRK THE HALF-HEARTED by JOHN BUCHAN NOTE For the convenience of the reader it may be stated that the period of this tale is the closing years of the 19th Century. CONTENTS PART I I. EVENING IN GLENAVELIN II. LADY MANORWATER'S GUESTS III. UPLAND WATER IV. AFTERNOON IN A GARDEN V. A CONFERENCE OF THE POWERS VI. PASTORAL VII. THE MAKERS OF EMPIRE VIII. MR. WRATISLAW'S ADVENT IX. THE EPISODES OF A DAY X. HOME TRUTHS XI. THE PRIDE BEFORE A FALL XII. PASTORAL AND TRAGEDY XIII. THE PLEASURES OF A CONSCIENCE XIV. A GENTLEMAN IN STRAITS XV. THE NEMESIS OF A COWARD XVI. A MOVEMENT OF THE POWERS XVII. THE BRINK OF THE RUBICON XVIII. THE FURTHER BRINK XIX. THE BRIDGE OF BROKEN HEARTS PART II XX. THE EASTERN ROAD XXI. IN THE HEART OF THE HILLS XXII. THE OUTPOSTS XXIII. THE DINNER AT GALETTI'S XXIV. THE TACTICS OP A CHIEF XXV. MRS. LOGAN'S BALL XXVI. FRIEND TO FRIEND XXVII. THE ROAD TO FORZA XXVIII. THE HILL-FORT XXIX. THE WAY TO NAZRI XXX. EVENING IN THE HILLS XXXI. EVENTS SOUTH OF THE BORDER XXXII. THE BLESSING OF GAD THE HALF-HEARTED PART I CHAPTER I EVENING IN GLENAVELIN From the heart of a great hill land Glenavelin stretches west and south to the wider Gled valley, where its stream joins with the greater water in its seaward course. Its head is far inland in a place of mountain solitudes, but its mouth is all but on the lip of the sea, and salt breezes fight with the flying winds of the hills. It is a land of green meadows on the brink of heather, of far-stretching fir woods that climb to the edge of the uplands and sink to the fringe of corn. Nowhere is there any march between art and nature, for the place is in the main for sheep, and the single road which threads the glen is little troubled with cart and crop-laden wagon. Midway there is a stretch of wood and garden around the House of Glenavelin, the one great dwelling-place in the vale. But it is a dwelling and a little more, for the home of the real lords of the land is many miles farther up the stream, in the moorland house of Etterick, where the Avelin is a burn, and the hills hang sharply over its source. To a stranger in an afternoon it seems a very vale of content, basking in sun and shadow, green, deep, and silent. But it is also a place of storms, for its name means the "glen of white waters," and mist and snow are commoner in its confines than summer heats.