Serjeant—(leading us to the eastern verge of the top of the hill.)—Come this way, then, gentlemen. See here what an extensive prospect you have down the course of the river Don. It looks but a small stream there, especially from this height.
Author.—What old castle is that which we see below us there, near yonder clump of trees?
Serjeant.—That is Curgarf Castle. That is the very spot to which so much of my legend referred, though I shall not pretend to say that the building you see there is precisely the same. But now, gentlemen, turn your eyes westward again. Is not that a fine mountain view? See how proudly the Cairngorms rise yonder! But, observe me—you don’t see the very highest summits as yet, because those big black lumps opposite to us there, hide the highest tops from our eyes.
Author.—It is a magnificent scene notwithstanding, especially as viewed at present, under that splendid display of evening light, that is now shooting over those loftier ridges from the descending sun.
Grant.—A very grand scene indeed!
Clifford.—Aye, Grant, we shall have some climbing there, I promise you.
Grant.—There can be little doubt of that. But tell me, Serjeant, what solitary house is that we see in the valley below?
Author.—I can answer you that question. That is Inchrory, the small place, half farm-house, half hostel, where we are to sojourn to-night. It is used as a place of rest and refreshment, by the few travellers who pass on foot, or on horseback, by the rugged path which we left in the valley, and which goes hence southwards, up through the valley of the Builg—past the lake of that name,—so across what is there the rivulet of the Don,—and then onwards over the hills to Castleton of Braemar. That deep hollow in the mountains, that turns sharp westwards beyond Inchrory yonder, is what is more properly called Glenaven. The river Aven comes pouring down hitherwards through it, and our way lies up its course.
Clifford.—I should be sorry if it did so this evening. I am quite prepared to hail yonder house of Inchrory below, as a welcome place of refuge for this night.
Author.—Few places must be more welcome to a wayworn traveller than Inchrory, especially when first descried by the weary wayfarer from Castleton, in a winter’s evening, as the sun is hasting downwards.