ear
the foot of a great mountain, from the top of which, on the longest
day, you can see the sun, or a bit of him at least, all night long."

"How glorious!" said Alec.

"I don't know. _I_ never saw him. And the winters are so long and
terrible! Nothing but snowy hills about you, and great clouds always
coming down with fresh loads of snow to scatter over them."

"Then you don't want to go back?"

"No. There is nothing to make me wish to go back. There is no one there
to love me now."

She looked very sad for a few moments.

"Yes," said Alec, thoughtfully; "a winter without love must be
dreadful. But I like the winter; and we have plenty of it in our
quarter too."

"Where is your home?"

"Not many miles north of this."

"Is it a nice place?"

"Of course I think so."

"Ah! you have a mother. I wish I knew her."

"I wish you did.--True: the whole place is like her to me. But I don't
think everybody would admire it. There are plenty of bare snowy hills
there too in winter. But I think the summers and the harvests are as
delightful as anything can be, except--"

"Except what?"

"Don't make me say what will make you angry with me."

"Now you must, else I shall fancy something that will make me _more_
angry."

"Except your face, then," said Alec, frightened at his own boldness,
but glancing at her shyly.

She flushed a little, but did not look angry.

"I don't like that," she said. "It makes one feel awkward."

"At least," rejoined Alec, emboldened, "you must allow it is your own
fault."

"I can't help my face," she said, laughing.

"Oh! you know what I mean. You made me say it."

"Yes, after you had half-said it already. Don't do it again."

And there followed more of such foolish talk, uninteresting to my
readers.

"Where were you at school?" asked Alec, after a pause. "Your uncle told
me you were at school."

"Near London," she answered.

"Ah! that accounts for your beautiful speech."

"There again. I declare I will wake my uncle if you go on in that way."

"I beg your pardon," protested Alec; "I forgot."

"But," she went on, "in Sutherlandshire we don't talk so horribly as
they do here."

"I daresay not," returned Alec, humbly.

"I don't mean you. I wonder how it is that you speak so much better
than all the people here."

"I suppose because my mother speaks well. She never lets me speak broad
Scotch to her."

"Your mother again! She's everything to you."

Alec did not repl