But—Inver-Mudal? Well, if only he had reflected, Inver-Mudal must at this moment have been just about as dark as was this railway station and the neighbourhood surrounding it—unless, indeed, it happened to be a clear starlit night away up there in the north, with the heavens shining beautiful and benignant over Clebrig, and the loch, and the little hamlet among the trees. However, that was not the Inver-Mudal he was thinking of; it was the Inver-Mudal of a clear spring day, with sweet winds blowing across the moors, and the sunlight yellow on Clebrig’s slopes, and Loch Naver’s waters all a rippling and dazzling blue. And Mr. Murray standing at the door of the inn, and smoking his pipe, and joking with any one that passed; the saucy Nelly casting glances among the lads; Harry with dark suspicions of rats wherever he could find a hole in the wall of the barn; Maggie, under instruction of Duncan the ploughman, driving the two horses hauling a harrow over the rough red land; everywhere the birds singing; the young corn showing green; and then—just as the chance might be—Meenie coming along the road, her golden-brown hair blown by the wind, her eyes about as blue as Loch Naver’s shining waters, and herself calling, with laughter and scolding, to Maggie to desist from that tomboy work. And where was it all gone now? He seemed to have shut his eyes upon that beautiful clear, joyous world; and to have plunged into a hideous and ghastly dream. The roar and yellow glare—the black houses—the lurid crimson in the sky—the terrible loneliness and silence of this very room—well, he could not quite understand it yet. But perhaps it would not always seem so bewildering; perhaps one might grow accustomed in time?—and teach one’s self to forget? And then again he had resolved that he would not read over any more the verses he had written in the olden days about Meenie, and the hills and the streams and the straths that knew her and loved her—for these idle rhymes made him dream dreams; that is to say, he had almost resolved—he had very nearly resolved—that he would not read over any more the verses he had written about Meenie. *CHAPTER X.* *GRAY DAYS.*