‘Blake owes you a rare candle, Merton,’ said Bude, adding, ’A great deal may be done, or said, in a long walk by a young man with his advantages.  And if you had not had your knife in him last night I do not think she would have accompanied us this morning to attend the ministrations of Father McColl.  He preached in Gaelic.’

‘That must have been edifying,’ said Merton, wincing.

’The effect, when one does not know the language, and is within six feet of an energetic Celt in the pulpit, is rather odd,’ said Bude.  ’But you have put your foot in it, not a doubt of that.’

This appeared only too probable.  The laggards arrived late for luncheon, and after luncheon Miss Macrae allowed Blake to read his manuscript poems to her in the hall, and to discuss the prospects of the Celtic drama.  Afterwards, fearing to hurt the religious sentiments of the Highland servants by playing ping-pong on Sunday in the hall, she instructed him elsewhere, and clandestinely, in that pastime till the hour of tea arrived.

Merton did not appear at the tea-table.  Tired of this Castle of Indolence, loathing Blake, afraid of more talk with Lady Bude, eating his own heart, he had started alone after luncheon for a long walk round the loch.  The day had darkened, and was deadly still; the water was like a mirror of leaden hue; the air heavy and sulphurous.

These atmospheric phenomena did not gladden the heart of Merton.  He knew that rain was coming, but he would not be with her by the foaming stream, or on the black waves of the loch.  Climbing to the top of the hill, he felt sure that a storm was at hand.  On the east, far away, Clibrig, and Suilvean of the double peak, and the round top of Ben More, stood shadowy above the plain against the lurid light.  Over the sea hung ‘the ragged rims of thunder’ far away, veiling in thin shadow the outermost isles, whose mountain crests looked dark as indigo.  A few hot heavy drops of rain were falling as Merton began to descend.  He was soaked to the skin when he reached the door of the observatory, and rushed up stairs to dress for dinner.  A covered way led from the observatory to the Castle, so that he did not get drenched again on his return, which he accomplished punctually as the gong for dinner sounded.

In the drawing-room were the Budes, and Mr. Macrae was nervously pacing the length and breadth of the room.

‘They must have taken refuge from the rain somewhere,’ Lady Bude was saying, and ‘they’ were obviously Blake and the daughter of the house.  Where were they?  Merton’s heart sank with a foolish foreboding.

‘I know,’ the lady went on, ’that they were only going down to the cove—­where you and I were yesterday evening, Mr. Merton.  It is no distance.’

’A mile and a half is a good deal in this weather, said Merton, ’and there is no cottage on this side of the sea loch.  But they must have taken shelter,’ he added; he must not seem anxious.