"To Edinbro'. He's an appointment tae meet Major Pringle the morrow's morn aboot the exchange."
"An' when he's comin' back?" asked Marrion sharply.
"I heard no tell o' returnin', and I'm thinkin' not. Ye see the exchange he tell't me was settled into the auld regiment."
"Then his father----" she interrupted.
Andrew shook his head.
"It's no the auld lord. They had just a fearfu' stramash aboot it. It will be Jack Jardine again, puir fallow! He always manages it somehow. Well, he'll hae his reward at the Judgment, though I'm thinkin' he'll hae to wait till then for a reckoning."
"Maist o' us have to do that, Andry," said Marrion grimly, and then her face, looking into the hard, honest, homely face before her, softened; "an' you, abune all, abune all, my lad," she added, as she went on her way.
Andrew Fraser hesitated for a second, then followed fast.
"Thank ye for that, my dear," he said hoarsely at the foot of the stairway, "it makes it easier. An' I'll wait--aye, I'll wait till then, never fear, Marrion!"
His outstretched hand was in hers as they stood gazing into each other's eyes, his very love forgot in the flood of friendship which surged through their hearts and brains, when Miss Margaret Muir, fresh from an afternoon among the rocks with her gallant little parson, came whistling and calling to her dogs through the keep-gate. She had spent so many long years of her life without one touch of glamour and romance that, now it had come to her at last, the whole world seemed transfigured into a place full to the brim of lovers and their lasses. So in an instant the sight of those two set her becking and smiling.