Catherine
Carnegie," and the Doctor bowed gallantly; "but of one thing I am sure,
I have done nothing to deserve it. Saunderson was a scholar of the
ancient kind, and a very fine spirit."

"Don't you think," said Kate, "that he was . . . like A Kempis, I mean,
and George Herbert, a kind of . . . saint?"

"Altogether one, I should say. I don't think he would have known port
wine from sherry, or an _entree_ from a mutton chop; beside a man like
that what worldly fellows you and I are, Jack, and mine is the greater
shame."

"I'll have no comparisons, Padre"--Kate was a little puzzled by the
tone in the Doctor's voice; "he was so good that I loved him; but there
are some points in the General and you, quite nice points, and for the
sake of them you shall have afternoon tea in my room," where the Doctor
and the General fell on former days and were wonderful company.

"It's not really about the road I wish to talk to you," and the Doctor
closed the door of the General's den, "but about . . . a terrible
calamity that has befallen you and me, Jack, and I am to blame."

"What is it?" and Carnegie sat erect; "does it touch our name or . . .
Kate?"

"Neither, thank God," said Davidson.

"Then it cannot be so very bad. Let us have it at once," and the
General lighted a cheroot.

"Our bank has failed, and we shall have to give up everything to pay
the debt, and . . . Jack, it was I advised you to buy the shares." The
Doctor rose and went to the window.

"For God's sake don't do that, Sandie. Why, man, you gave me the best
advice you knew, and there 's an end of it. It's the fortune of war,
and we must take it without whining. I know whom you are thinking
about, and I am . . . a bit sorry for Kate, for she ought to have lots
of things--more dresses and trinkets, you know. But Davidson, she 'll
be the bravest of the three."

"You are right there, Jack. Kate is of the true grit, but . . . Tochty
Lodge."

"Yes, it will hit us pretty hard to see the old place sold, if it comes
to that, when I hoped to end my days here . . . but, man, it's our
fate. Bit by bit we 've lost Drumtochty, till there were just the
woods and the two farms left, and soon we 'll be out of the
place--nothing left but our graves.

"Sandie, this is bad form, and . . . you 'll not hear this talk again;
we 'll get a billet somewhere, and wherever it be, there 'll be a bed
and a crust for you, old man;" and at the door the two held one
another