Of how it all came to be, Martin knew nothing, but like an atmosphere it stole in upon him, and he came to vaguely understand something of what it meant to be a Highlander, and to bid farewell to the land into whose grim soil his life roots had struck deep, and to tear himself from hearts whose life stream and his had flowed as one for a score of generations.

So from cot to cot Martin followed and observed, until they came to the crossing where the broad path led up from the highroad to the kirkyard and the kirk.

Here they were halted by a young man somewhat older than Martin.

Tall and gaunt he stood.

His face, pale and pock-marked and lit by light blue eyes, and crowned by brilliant red hair, was, with all its unloveliness, a face of a certain rugged beauty; while his manner and bearing showed the native courtesy of a Highland gentleman.
"You are seeking Mr.Allan ?" he said, taking off his bonnet to the girl.
"He is in yonder," waving his hand towards the kirkyard.
"In yonder?
You are sure, Mr.Maclise ?" She might well ask, for never but on Sabbath days, since the day they had laid his mother away under the birch trees, had Allan put foot inside the kirkyard.
"Half an hour ago he went in," replied the young Highlander, "and he has not returned." "I will go in, then," said the girl, and hesitated, unwilling that a stranger's eyes should witness what she knew was waiting her there.
"You, Sir, will perhaps abide with me," suggested Mr.Maclise to Martin, with a quick understanding of her hesitation.
"Oh, thank you," cried Moira.