ing from the corner of the original building,
and then a second erection at right angles to the first, so as to form
three sides of an irregular courtyard. This arrangement afforded some
shelter from the winds which seldom ceased to blow in these high
regions. The spot had borne the same reputation for centuries, as the
name of the old tower implied.

The Tower of the Winds stood desolately, in the midst of a wide-eyed
agricultural country, and was approached only by a sort of farm track
that ran up hill and down dale, in a most erratic course, to the distant
main road.

The country was not mountainous, though it lay in a northern district of
Scotland; it was bleak and solitary, with vast bare fields of grass or
corn; and below in the valley, a river that rushed sweeping over its
rough bed, silent where it ran deep, but chattering busily in the
shallows. Here was verdure to one's heart's content; the whole country
being a singular mixture of bleakness on the heights, and woodland
richness in the valleys; bitterly cold in the winter months, when the
light deserted the uplands ridiculously early in the afternoon, leaving
long mysterious hours that held the great silent stretches of field and
hill-side in shadow; a circumstance, which had, perhaps, not been
without its influence in the forming of Hadria's character. She, more
than the others, seemed to have absorbed the spirit of the northern
twilights. It was her custom to wander alone over the broad spaces of
the hills, watching the sun set behind them, the homeward flight of the
birds, the approach of darkness and the rising of the stars. Every
instinct that was born in her with her Celtic blood--which lurked still
in the family to the confounding of its fortunes--was fostered by the
mystery and wildness of her surroundings.

Dawn and sunset had peculiar attractions for her.

Although the Preposterous Society had not separated until unusually late
on the previous night, the President was up and abroad on this exquisite
morning, summoned by some "message of range and of sweep----" to the
flushing stretches of pasture and the windy hill-side.

In spite of the view that Hadria had expounded in her capacity of
lecturer, she had an inner sense that somehow, after all, the will _can_
perform astonishing feats in Fate's despite. Her intellect, rather than
her heart, had opposed the philosophy of Emerson. Her sentiment recoiled
from admitting the possibility of such traged