But here Margaret came forward, calm and serene as usual. Cameron rose to meet her; and the political harangue was cut short by the appearance of a stout damsel with cheeks like peonies, bearing an enormous silver teapot. Cameron was struck by Margaret Lindsay’s beauty, as everyone was who saw her; but the effect was to render him shy and ill at ease. He felt inferior to her; and the calm indifference of her manner made him fancy that she treated him with disdain. Mr. Lindsay did most of the talking; Cameron, mindful of his friend’s warning, sat almost dumb, totally unlike his usual self. Alec began to think that he had made a mistake in inviting him to the Castle Farm. As it happened, a keen frost had set in some days before, and farm operations were at a standstill. Margaret was busy next morning in superintending matters in the dairy and the kitchen; but the three men had nothing to do. Mr. Lindsay fastened on his guest, and extracted from him a full and particular account of the state of agriculture and of religion in the island of Scalpa and the neighbouring mainland before the one o’clock dinner. In the evening, however, there was a promise of a little break in the monotony of life at the farm. A message was brought to Alec enjoining him to be at ‘The Lang Loch’ by half-past nine next morning, and take part in a curling-match between the Muirburn parish and the players of the neighbouring parish of Auchinbyres. ‘You can’t possibly go, Alec,’ said the laird, when the message was delivered; ‘Mr. Cameron won’t care to hang about here alone all day.’ Mr. Lindsay was secretly proud of his son’s reputation as a curler; but he did not wish him to go to the match, because he did not care that he should be exposed to the contaminating influences of a very mixed company, and he did not relish the prospect of Alec’s carrying away his friend and leaving him alone for the day. But when Duncan heard of the match he declared that he must see it--there was hardly ever any frost worth speaking of in the Hebrides; and he had never seen a curling-match. ‘You’ll want the dog-cart to take your stones to the loch, Alec,’ said Mr. Lindsay. ‘I think I will go with you, and go on to Netherburn about those tiles.’ ‘I wish you would come with us, Maggie,’ said Alec. ‘Father will be passing the loch on his way back in half an hour, and he can pick you up and bring you home. The drive will do you good.’ To this arrangement Margaret consented, and early next morning the little party set out in the keen wintry air. The sun, not long risen, was making the snow sparkle on the fields, and turning the desolate scene into fairyland.