‘Are you going home for the New Year?’ asked Alec, when his embarrassment had subsided.
‘Me? No! We have only a week’s vacation, or ten days at most. The Dunolly Castle sails only once a week in winter; and if the sailings didn’t suit, I should have hardly time to go there before I had to come away again. And if a storm came on I should be weather-bound, and might not get south for another week.’
‘It must be very dreary in the north in winter,’ said Alec.
‘Ay—but you must come and see for yourself some day.’
Alec was silent; he was thinking that he should like to ask his friend to spend the vacation week with him at the Castle Farm; but he did not care to take the responsibility of giving the invitation.
The following Sunday was one of those dismal days which are common in the west of Scotland during the winter months. It was nearly cold enough for snow, but instead of snow a continuous drizzle fell slowly throughout the day. There was no fog; but in the streets of Glasgow it was dark soon after midday.
Alec Lindsay went to church in the forenoon as usual; then he came home and ate a cold dinner which would have been very trying to any appetite less robust than that of a young Scotchman.
Finding that he had a few minutes to spare before setting out for the afternoon service (which takes the place of an evening service in England), he ran upstairs to his friend’s room.
‘I wish you would come to church with me, Duncan,’ he said, as he seated himself on the medical student’s trunk.
The invitation implied a reproach; but Cameron was not offended at this interference with his private concerns. In the north a man who ‘neglects ordinances’ is supposed to lay himself open to the reproof of any better-disposed person who assumes an interest in his spiritual welfare. For reply he muttered something in Gaelic, which Alec conjectured, rightly enough, to be an exclamation too improper to be said conveniently in English.