He patted the dog's head and looked across at Gray, who had resumed his seat and was staring fixedly into the fire. He had turned deadly pale. M'Pherson's shrewd kindly eyes dwelt on him for a moment. Gray was conscious of the look and roused himself with an effort.
"How far is it to Daintry's Corner?" he asked abruptly.
Daintry's Corner was close to Rodwell's Peak, and Gray was making that the apparent end of his journey.
"Aboot a maitter o' twal mile or sae. Ye'll win it by mid-day the morn." He paused a moment and then added: "Ye look ower pale, my lad, for sic journeying amang the hills. Ye wad do weel to tak' a bit rest; and it's lang since I've set een on a braw lad like you. A day or twa's rest wi' me wad freshen you up."
Gray hastily declined the invitation, and then, feeling he had been too abrupt, he said:
"I am sailing for England in a month, and I want to get a good idea of your hill scenery. I've lived on the plains a great deal, and this is my first opportunity."
"Eh! I ken what the plains are. I lived nigh the allotted span o' life upon them—saxty years I lived there. I cam from Scotland a bairn o' seven, and I lived on the Macquoid estate till I cam up here."
"Whatever made you leave your home for this lonely spot?" Gray asked, glad to keep the old man talking about himself to prevent any more curious inquiries about his own doings.
"Ye wadna understand if ye werena born amang the hills, lad. The gudewife, she kent how I felt, and when the Lord took her hame the hills seemed to ca' more and more on me. It's no lonely here; there's voices everywhere. Did ye ever think, my lad, o' the way the Bible speaks of hills an' a' high places. 'The shadow o' a great rock in a weary land.' Yon's a grand passage; but the fu' meaning naebody can understand wha hasna kent the thirst and heat o' a waterless desert. Were ye ever lost in the Bush, lad?"
Gray stared across at him in angry bewilderment.