The Body looked at him with curious eyes. "And where would you be spending it?" he asked, in the same language. "This is the night of the marriage of John Macdonald, the rich man from America, who has come back to his own town, and is giving a big night of it to all his friends, and his friends' friends." "Is that the John Macdonald who is marrying Elsie Cameron?" demanded the Body eagerly. "Ay, the same; though it may be the other daughter of Alastair Rua, the girl Morag." A flush rose to the face of the Body. His eyes sparkled. "It is Elsie," he said to the man. "Belike," the stone-breaker muttered indifferently. "Do you know where Alastair Rua and his daughters are?" "Yes, at Beann Marsanta Macdonald's big house of the One-Ash Farm." "Can you show me the way?" "I'm going that way." Thereat the Body turned to his comrades: "I love her," he said simply; "I love Morag Cameron." "She is not for your loving," answered the Will sharply; "for she has given troth to old Archibald Sinclair." The Body laughed. "Love is love," he said lightly. "Come," interrupted the Soul wearily; "we have loitered long enough. Let us go." We stood looking at the stone-breaker, who was gazing curiously at us. Suddenly he laughed. "Why do you laugh?" asked the Soul. "Well, I'm not for knowing that. But I'll tell you this: if you two wish to go into the town, you have only to follow this road. And if _you_ want to come to One-Ash Farm, then you must come this other way with me." "Do not go," whispered the Soul. But the Body, with an impatient gesture, drew aside. "Leave me," he added: "I wish to go with this man. I will meet you to-morrow morning at the first bridge to the westward of the little town yonder, just where the stream slackens over the pebbles." With reluctant eyes the two companions saw their comrade leave. For a long time the Will watched him with a bitter smile. Redeeming love was in the longing eyes of the Soul. When the Body and the stone-breaker were alone, as they walked towards the distant farm-steading, where already were lights, and whence came a lowing of kye in the byres, for it was the milking hour, they spoke at intervals. "Who were those with you?" asked the man. "Friends. We have come away together." "What for?" "Well, as you would say, to see the world." "To see the world?" The man laughed. "To see the world! Have you money?" "Enough for our needs." "Then you will see nothing. The world gives to them that already have, an' more than have." "What do you hope for to-night?" "To be drunk." "That is a poor thing to hope for. Better to think of the laugh and the joke by the fireside; and of food and drink, too, if you will: of the pipes, and dancing, and pretty girls." "Do as you like. As for me, I hope to be drunk." "Why?"