"Och! well, it's nothing," was the reply. "And it's all down-hill now you'll mind, sir."
"Yes. Well, lead the way, Donald."
Donald did.
For one of the party, and that was Frank, the journey was a terrible one. On the upward march there was all the excitement of the sport to keep him up. But now he had no such stimulant to stir his English blood.
When still three miles from Glenvoie mansion-house, Duncan observed that he was very pale and limped most painfully. In fact the poor boy's ankles were swollen, and his toes felt like whitlows; but although so tired that he could hardly carry his gun, that indomitable English courage of his kept him from complaining.
He confessed, however, feeling just a little tired, so the laird poured a small quantity of whisky into a measure, mixed it with snow, and made him swallow it.
After this he felt better.
When they arrived at the top of the very lower-most and lost hill, the house being but half a mile distant, they sat down for a short time to rest and gaze across the sea.
The sun's lower limb had just touched the wester-most wave, and red and fiery gleamed his beams 'twixt horizon and shore. It was a beautiful sight.
Many flocks of rooks were winging their way northwards to the shelter of the great forest, and now and then a string of wild ducks were seen in full flight towards the tall reeds that bordered an ice-bound lake.