shivered as she crossed the portals, and rubbed her hands together in
disconsolate fashion, even her cheery optimism failing at the sight.

"It's so--_slippery_!" was the mental comment. "What an appalling room
to sit in! What must it be like in bad weather! And no fire! We'd die
of cold if we sat here all the evening. If the worst comes to the
worst, I'll hug my hot bottle. What a mercy I remembered to bring it!"

Mrs McNab was speaking in hard, aloof accents, after the manner of one
who, having been interrupted in her work by unwelcome intruders, is
still determined to perform her duty toward them, as a matter of
distasteful necessity. Shades of the obsequious landladies of the
South! The tired guests quailed before the severity of this Northern
welcome.

"If it's tea you're wanting, the kettle's on the hob. It will be
waiting for you before ye're ready for it. Ye'll be wanting a wash, I'm
thinking."

It was a statement, not a question, and, in response to it, brother and
sister meekly ascended the staircase to the rooms allotted to their use
in the front of the house--two whitewashed cribs, provided with nothing
which was not absolutely necessary; a small, white-covered bed; a wooden
chest of drawers, made to do duty for a dressing-table also, by the
presence of a small mirror set fair and square in the middle of a
coarse-grained mat; a few pegs on the wall, a deal washstand, and a
couple of chairs--that was all; but everything was exquisitely clean and
orderly, and what did one want with luxurious upholstery when a peep
through the open windows revealed a view which sent the blood racing
through the veins in very ecstasy of delight? Purple mountains and a
blue sky; golden yellow of gorse--a silver sheet of water, reflecting
the dark fringe of the pines--it was wonderfully, incredibly beautiful
in the clear afternoon light.

Margot thrust her head out of the window, forgetful of cold and fatigue.
What joy to think of waking up every morning for a month to a scene
like this! Thirty mornings, and on every one of them the sun would
shine, and the air blow clear and sweet. She would put on her thick,
nailed boots, and clamber up the glen, to see what lay at the other side
of the pass; she would take her sketching materials, and sit on that
sunny knoll, trying to make some sort of a picture to send home to the
poor father in his smoky prison-house. On hot days she would wade in
the cool grey tarn...