‘I suppose it is too late now to take another class?’ said Alec, half absently. ‘I should think so,’ responded his friend. ‘What class did you think of taking? Mathematics?’ ‘No; History.’ ‘History! That isn’t wanted for a degree. What put that into your head?’ ‘Oh, I don’t know. I only thought of it.’ Cameron did not know that the learned Professor of History had a niece named Laura Mowbray. That evening about ten o’clock, when the medical student went down to his friend’s room, as was his custom at that hour, he found Alec poring over some papers, which he pushed aside as Cameron entered. ‘Come in,’ he cried, as the other paused in the doorway. ‘I’m not working.’ The Highlander took up his usual position, standing on the hearth-rug with his back to the fire, and proceeded to light his pipe. ‘They tell me you’re doing very well in the Latin class--sure of a prize, if you keep on as you’re doing,’ he said, after smoking for a minute in silence. ‘Oh, it’s no use; I can’t do Latin prose,’ answered Alec discontentedly. ‘How can I? I’ve never had any practice. Just look at this--my last exercise--no frightful blunders, but, as the Professor said, full of inelegancies;’ and he handed his friend a sheet of paper from his table as he spoke. Cameron took the paper, and regarded it through a cloud of smoke. ‘What’s this?’ he exclaimed. ‘Poetry, as I’m a livin’ Heelandman! Just listen!’ and he waved his hand, as if addressing an imaginary audience. Alec’s face burned, as he rose and hastily snatched the paper from his friend’s grasp. Cameron would have carried his bantering further, but he saw that in the lad’s face which restrained him. ‘Already!’ he muttered, as he turned away to hide his laughter. ‘Are you going home for the New Year?’ asked Alec, when his embarrassment had subsided. ‘Me? No! We have only a week’s vacation, or ten days at most. The _Dunolly Castle_ sails only once a week in winter; and if the sailings didn’t suit, I should have hardly time to go there before I had to come away again. And if a storm came on I should be weather-bound, and might not get south for another week.’ ‘It must be very dreary in the north in winter,’ said Alec. ‘Ay--but you must come and see for yourself some day.’ Alec was silent; he was thinking that he should like to ask his friend to spend the vacation week with him at the Castle Farm; but he did not care to take the responsibility of giving the invitation. The following Sunday was one of those dismal days which are common in the west of Scotland during the winter months. It was nearly cold enough for snow, but instead of snow a continuous drizzle fell slowly throughout the day. There was no fog; but in the streets of Glasgow it was dark soon after midday. Alec Lindsay went to church in the forenoon as usual; then he came home and ate a cold dinner which would have been very trying to any appetite less robust than that of a young Scotchman.