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clear idea I obtained from that recital was that Miss Gregor ruled this house with a heavy hand. Her brother appears to have allowed her to do exactly what she liked; he had no ideas, I think, except her ideas. Now that she’s dead, he seems to be clinging to her ideas and precepts like a disciple who has lost his master. He can’t endure the slightest criticism of them.”
    Dundas raised his eyebrows. It was clear that he saw no help in these personal details.
    â€œI’m afraid,” he confessed, “that my concern must be with those who wanted Miss Gregor out of the way, not with those who find it difficult to live without her.”
    They parted. The doctor descended the staircase. It was the first time, he reflected, that he had been dismissed from a case. But he meant to abide by his decision. He told Duchlan and the others frankly how the matter stood.
    â€œDundas is like that,” Mr. McLeod said in tones of regret. “He always wants to do everything himself. So far, I’ll admit, he’s had the luck on his side.”
    â€œLet us hope it won’t desert him.”
    John MacCallien rose to go. He held out his hand to Duchlan.
    â€œYou know how distressed I feel,” he said. “This policeman, I’m afraid, is an additional burden.”
    â€œThank you, John.” Duchlan turned to Dr. Hailey. “Believe me, my gratitude is very real. I’m sorry that you have not been able to continue your inquiry.” He shook his head as he spoke. But in spite of the melancholy expression on his face the doctor had the same impression he had experienced when taking leave of Dundas. The laird of Duchlan, no less than the policeman from Glasgow, was glad to see him go. Duchlan rose and glanced at the clock. Then he took a thin gold watch from his pocket and looked at that, too.
    â€œShall I send for the car?” he asked John MacCallien.
    â€œNo, please don’t.”
    â€œThen may I walk with you as far as the lodge? I feel that I need air.”
    â€œMy dear Duchlan, it’s very late. Do you think you ought to venture out?”
    â€œAh, what hurts me is sitting here, alone.”
    The moon had come westward, and was high above their heads as they emerged from the Castle. In this light the sham medievalism of the building was tolerable largely because one could no longer see it. There had happened at Duchlan what happened all over the Highlands when the lairds became rich in the middle of the nineteenth century, namely, an attempt to turn the old bare house of the chiefs of the clan into a feudal castle on the English model. Turrets, balustrades, and the rest of the paraphernalia of baronialism had been heaped about a dwelling formerly humble and beautiful, to the profit of the local builder and the loss of the community.
    The old man walked slowly and the journey to the lodge took a long time. John MacCallien tried, once or twice, to talk but failed to awaken any response. Dr. Hailey noticed that each time Duchlan stopped, and he stopped frequently, he turned and looked out, across the loch. On these occasions he seemed to be listening. Once, when a seabird screeched, he dropped his walking-stick. The doctor began to observe him and soon made up his mind that this excursion was predetermined. But to what was he listening? The night was still and without voice.
    â€œMy sister delighted in this walk,” he told his companions. “She had travelled widely but maintained that the view from the north lodge was the most beautiful she had seen. I like to think that she may be watching us now.”
    He addressed Dr. Hailey. “We Highland folk,” he said in low tones, “partake of the spirit of our hills and lochs. That’s the secret of what the Lowlanders, who will never understand us, call our pride. Yes, we have pride; but the pride of blood, of family; of our dear land. Highlanders are ready to die for their pride.”
    It was gently