A KIND OF MAGIC
by
BETTY NEELS


CHAPTER ONE

the bright sunshine of early May, pouring through the latticed windows
of the old house, shone on to the short dark curls of the girl bent
over the case she was packing with a kind of controlled ferocity.

She was young, built on Junoesque lines, and tall with a lovely face
and dark eyes heavily fringed with black lashes.

The face was marred at the moment by her heavy frown.

"I cannot think what Granny is about," she observed to the middle-aged
lady--an older, gently faded version of herself sitting and watching
her.

"Mother, she is eighty years old;

why on earth does she want to go trekking across the Highlands of
Scotland.  "

"Not trekking, Rosie--she won't have to move from the train if she
doesn't wish to!"  Mrs.  Macdonald heaved a sentimental sigh.

"I think it is rather touching that she should want to see the
surroundings of her childhood."

"Well, she won't see much from the train."  Rosie then added because of
her mother's unhappy look, "Well, if it makes her happy.  But why me?
There's Aunt Carrie..."

"Your granny and Aunt Carrie don't get on, dear.  It is only for a
week, and I dare say there will be some interesting people on the
train.  " She paused.

"Aren't you going to take the cream jersey?  You look so nice in it,
and it doesn't take up any room..."

"Anyway, you never know," continued her mother vaguely, and Rosie,
guessing her parent's thoughts, said baldly, "There will be Americans
on the train.  Mother, and possibly a German or two, all married and
over fifty."

"Oh, I do hope not," said Mrs.  Macdonald.  She had never quite
understood why Rosie, at twenty-five, was still unmarried.

She was as pretty as a picture, had any number of friends and, to her
mother's knowledge, had turned down in the nicest possible manner
several offers of marriage.

"Don't you want to get married?"  she voiced her thoughts out loud.

"Oh, yes.  Mother, dear.  But I haven't met him yet..."

"There was that nice Percy Walls," said Mrs.  Macdonald.

"Pooh!"  replied Rosie strongly.

"He only talked about food and how clever he was.  If I had married him
I would have been a doormat, everlastingly cooking snacks."

"He did like his food," conceded Mrs.  Macdonald, 'but he was keen on
you, darling.  "

"Just because I can cook."  Rosie rolled up a pleated skirt in a
ruthless fashion, and stuffed it into her case.

"Very surely being keen isn't enough, Mother.  The man I marry must
dote on me, cherish and love me for always, even when I'm bad-tempered
or sneezing my head off."  She closed the case, and added briskly, "I
don't imagine there is such a man..."

"He sounds worth waiting for," said Mrs.  Macdonald.

"I must admit that a man's love can be tried to the utmost when one has
a heavy cold.  Though I must say that your father is an exception." 
She sounded a little smug, and Rosie laughed and dropped a kiss on her
mother's cheek as she went to the dressing-table.

"Mother, Father is the nicest man I know... How much money shall I need
to take, do you think?"

"Your granny said not to take any, but I think you had better take
some; she forgets sometimes.  Are you not looking forward to this trip
at all, love?"

"Well, it will be nice to be in Scotland again, only a week isn't long
enough I'd love to stay up in the Highlands for a long time, walk
perhaps, or drive around.  But I've only got two weeks' holiday, and
Miss Porter wants to go away in June, so I'll have to be there to do
some of her work."

Rosie had spoken cheerfully; she disliked her job as a shorthand typist
at Messrs Crabbe, Crabbe and Twitchett, the leading solicitors in the
small country town in Wiltshire where she lived, but she had never said
so; her father had lost almost all of his capital some years previously
when the shares he held became almost worthless, and in order to keep
his home in Scotland intact he had handed it over to a cousin and taken
the job of agent on a large estate in Wiltshire.  Neither he nor her
mother had ever complained, although Rosie knew that they missed their
home as much as she did.  She had set about learning shorthand and
typing, got herself a job, and consoled herself with the thought that
their home in Scotland was, at least, still in the family.

Her grandmother lived in Edinburgh with her unmarried daughter who was
older than Rosie's father-- a wispy lady who was seldom able to
complete a sentence, and was possessed of a meekness which irritated
the old lady, a forceful person who browbeat her despite the care Aunt
Carrie took of her.  Rosie was able to see her very seldom;

the journey to Scotland was expensive and long, and she suspected that
her parents were reluctant to visit their old home now that her
father's cousin lived there.  Now she had been bidden to accompany the
old lady on a train tour of the Highlands.

"To revive old memories," her grandmother had said, and had explained
her plan more fully by letter.

"I hear that the train is splendidly equipped and very well staffed.  I
shall not need to exert myself, but of course I need a companion.  You
will come with me, Rosie."

"Of course you must go," her father had observed.

"It will be a pleasant holiday for you; besides, it will give Carrie a
week of peace and quiet."  He hadn't seen his sister for some time but
he had vivid memories of his mother keeping her under her thumb.  A
week of freedom would do her good.  So all the arrangements had been
made; Rosie was to travel up to Edinburgh by train, spend the night at
her grandmother's house, and escort her to the station on the following
day.  There wouldn't be many passengers, she had been told, and she had
been sent the brochure so that she would have some idea what to expect.
It had looked rather fun, and they would see many of the places she had
known so well as a child, only she thought it unlikely that she would
have much chance to poke around on her own.  Granny had made it quite
clear that she expected constant attention and companionship.

She and her mother went downstairs presently into the kitchen, and
began to get supper while they argued amicably as to whether Rosie's
jersey suit would be better than her lo vat corduroy skirt and country
shirt with her matching gi let over.

"It could be quite chilly still," argued Mrs.  Macdonald.

"On the other hand the jersey is useful.  I wish you could have had
some new clothes..."

"No need I've got several thin tops with me, and I'll take the skirt
and gi let There's the shirt- waister if it gets really warm."

Her father came in presently, and she went to lay the table in the
small dining-room, seldom used, but this evening seemed a special
occasion.

Her father drove her to the station the next morning in the rather
battered Land Rover.  He hadn't much to say; he was a quiet man, tall
and thin and hardworking; he looked after the estate with the same care
with which he had run his own family home in Scotland.  Rosie wished
with all her heart that he and her mother could have been coming with
her; more than that she wished that they could go back to her home
there.  She sat up straighter; it did no good to repine.  It would be
nice to see Granny again even though she was a tartar; she listened
carefully to her father's last-minute messages, kissed him goodbye, and
got into the train.

"I'll be back in a week," she told him.

"I'll phone and let you know which train I'll be on."

Her grandmother had sent enough money for her fare and for a taxi to
get her to King's Cross Station, and she joined the long queue.  She
was seldom in London, she didn't like it much, and she was glad when
she finally reached the station with time to spare for coffee before
she needed to get on to the train.  It was more than six years since
she had been at King's Cross; that was when they had left Scotland, and
Rosie remembered how unhappy she had been.  Her spirits lifted at the
thought of going back, even if only for a week, and she got on to the
train, found a corner seat, and prepared to while away the journey with
a paperback until the train had left London and its suburbs, and begun
its race to the north.

Waverley Station hadn't changed; it was in the heart of Edinburgh, and
she gave an unconscious sigh of pleasure as she went in search of a
taxi.  Her grandmother lived on the other side of Princes Street, in a
grey granite house, tall and narrow, one of a terrace of such houses in
a narrow, winding street near Queen Street Gardens, surprisingly quiet
although there was the constant hum of traffic from Princes Street and
Queen Street.  She got out of the taxi, and stood for a moment on the
pavement looking up at her grandmother's house.  It hadn't changed at
all; there was the same solid door, the same dark green curtains at the
narrow windows.

She mounted the steps to the door and banged the knocker, and after a
few moments it was partly opened by Elspeth, the elderly maid who had
been with her grandmother ever since Rosie could remember.

She must be all of seventy, thought Rosie, embracing her warmly, but
she seemed ageless, her iron-grey hair scraped back into a stiff bun,
her bony frame erect in its black dress.

Elspeth led the way into the narrow hall, and opened a door.

"Yer granny's waiting.  I'll leave ye a wee while before I bring in the
tea."

She gave Rosie a little push and shut the door on her.  Old Mrs.
Macdonald was sitting bolt upright in a high-backed chair.  She was an
imposing figure, tall and stout with dark hair only lightly streaked
with silver.  She was handsome, with dark eyes and a straight nose
above an obstinate mouth.  She hadn't changed, thought Rosie, crossing
the room to kiss her.

"You had a good journey?"  asked her grand mother, the question uttered
in a voice which expected no reply.

"Your mother and father are well?"

"Very well.  Granny.  They sent their love."

"Sit down, child, and let me look at you.  Still not wed?

There is, perhaps, a young man?  "

"No not one I wish to marry.  Where is Aunt Carrie, Granny?"

"She got it into her head to make a cake for your arrival.

She will be in the kitchen.  "

The door opened as she spoke, and Aunt Carrie came in.  Rosie
remembered her as a pretty, rather faded woman who adored her brother
and sister-inlaw.  She was still pretty, but she looked dispirited and
worn out.  She probably was, reflected Rosie as she went to greet her,
living with Granny day in and day out.  She would have a week to
herself now, and not before time.

Aunt Carrie kissed her fondly.

"I made a cake, it seemed... You look well, dear, and not a day...
You're not...?"

"No, Aunt Carrie.  I'm waiting for a millionaire, handsome and
generous, who will lavish the world's goods upon me."

Mrs.  Macdonald gave a ladylike snort.

"That is a worldly attitude to be deplored, Rosie."

Rosie winked at Aunt Carrie and said, suitably meek, "Yes, Granny."

They had tea presently, and Rosie lavished praise upon the cake while
she listened to her grand mother's plans for the train journey, which
would start in the morning.  Her plans concerned herself and her
comfort, for she was a selfish old lady.  Rosie, listening to them,
wondered if they clashed with their journey; she had read the brochure
with its carefully planned itinerary, and it allowed little room for
independent plans for the passengers, and as far as she could see the
whole journey was so meticulously arranged that only the most
discontented and selfish person could take exception to it.  Of course,
her grandmother was both discontented and selfish.

"This is, of course, a great treat for you, Rosie," observed her
grandparent complacently.

Rosie replied suitably, wondering silently just how much of a treat it
would be.

She managed to have a word with her aunt the next morning.

"Do have a good time.  Aunt Carrie," she urged.

"You've a whole week, think of all the things you can do.  You must
have friends?"

"Well, your grandmother doesn't care for visitors, dear, but I meet
them from time to time while I'm shopping."

She had gone a pretty pink, and Rosie said, "Is he nice.

Aunt Carrie?  "

The pink deepened.

"A retired solicitor, dear, but of course I have your granny to look
after."

"Stuff!"  retorted Rosie fiercely.

"There is Elspeth, and Granny can afford a companion.  Does she
know?"

"No.  And there's not much point... I mean, we're just friends."

"Well, make the most of him."  They stood listening to her
grandmother's voice giving brisk orders.

"It's time we went we have to be on the platform before nine
o'clock."

They were met at the station by two pleasant young men, who whisked
away their luggage and took them to one of the lounges to wait for the
train.  The room was full, and a score of faces turned to them as they
were introduced, before Mrs.  Macdonald was seated with suitable care
in a chair, and offered coffee.  Rosie sat down not too near her, and
over coffee exchanged names with those around her.

Americans mostly, a sprinkling of Germans, and a haughty-looking woman
with a meek husband who had flown up from London.  All very V.

I.

P, thought Rosie, making suitable replies to friendly questions.  She
had been right; there was no one there under fifty.  They were all
prosperous-looking couples, well dressed and pleased with themselves.
Within five minutes they had asked her name, and from then on she was
"Rosie', despite the look of affront upon her grandmother's face.

They boarded the train in style, with a piper to lead them, and once
there, sitting convivially in the observation car, they were offered
champagne.  Rosie, careful not to look at Mrs.  Macdonald, enjoyed
hers. Later, after the train had got under way, Rosie led her
grandmother to their cabins.  The old lady had taken a long time
deciding whether Rosie should share a cabin with her or whether they
should be apart.

Rosie was glad now that she had made up her mind to be on her own;
doubtless it would mean that she would have to nip to and fro a good
deal, but it would be worth it.  She sat her grandmother down in the
beautifully appointed cabin, and unpacked for her, and rang the bell
for the stewardess so that orders might be given concerning morning
tea, a tin of biscuits in case of hunger during the night and a warm
drink before retiring.  The stewardess had a soft Highland voice and a
gentle face.  Everything would be done just as Mrs.  Macdonald wished,
she promised.

"You can unpack later," said Mrs.  Macdonald.

"I will go back to the observation car, but you must go with me I find
the corridors difficult.  I must see someone about our table..."

"I heard someone say that we sit where we like," remarked Rosie.

"Rather nice, for we can get to know everyone."

Her grandmother gave her a steely look.

"I shall ask for a table for two to be reserved for us.  And now come
along, Rosie, we have wasted enough time sitting here idly."

Rosie, who hadn't sat down once, said nothing, merely led the way back
to the observation car where a good many of the passengers had for
gathered.  She sat the old lady down in a small arm chair so placed
that if she didn't wish to talk to anyone there would be no need,
accepted the sherry they were offered, and sat down to drink it.  It
was good sherry but she didn't waste time drinking it.  With a muttered
excuse she skipped away back to her cabin, where she unpacked and
tidied everything away, did her face and hair and, armed with the
itinerary, went back, just in time to join her grand mother for
lunch.

The old lady had had her way, of course; they were to sit at a table
for two for the entire journey.  Rosie, listening to her grandmother's
annoyed're marks concerning the lack of companionship which it was
evident she would be called upon to endure, wished she could have
joined in the cheerful talk at the larger tables.  She spoke
soothingly, promised constant attendance in the future and, being a
sensible girl, enjoyed the excellent meal while making suitable
conversation.

"I shall rest," declared Mrs.  Macdonald as they finished their
coffee.

"There is a visit this afternoon, I believe.

We stop at Spean Bridge in order to drive there, but I shall not go--I
know the house and I should have enjoyed meeting old friends again, but
I have to think of my health.  You will stay with me, Rosie--I like to
be read to while I rest.  "

Rosie swallowed disappointment, and said, "Yes, Granny," in a voice
carefully devoid of expression.  The train had turned north at
Craigendoran Junction, the country was dramatically beautiful, with
mountains still snow-capped ringing the horizon, and soon they would be
crossing Rannoch Moor.  Years ago she had walked part of its lonely
road with her father, and she wanted to see it all again.

"You don't wish to see the moor?  We are almost at Bridge of Orchy--'
She glanced out of the window.

"There are several people on the walkway..."

"My health is more important than sentimental remembrances at the
moment.  Tomorrow I shall have recovered sufficiently to look around
me."

So they made their way back to Mrs.  Macdonald's cabin, where Rosie
finally settled her on her bed and obediently opened the book she was
to read.  It was a dull book, full of long words, and she read badly
because she was listening to the cheerful departure of everyone else.
She ventured a peep out of the window, and saw them climbing aboard the
special coach which was to carry them to the various places to be
visited.  There was a lot of laughing and chatter, and she longed to be
there too.  She reminded herself sternly that she had come to look
after Granny, and went back to the book.

Ten minutes after the coach had left Mrs.  Macdonald went to sleep, and
presently Rosie closed the book, opened the cabin door quietly, and
went to stand in the corridor to take stock of her surroundings.  The
train would leave for Fort William soon, and wait there for the coach,
and after making sure that her grandmother was sleeping soundly she
went to the observation car and through its doors to the platform
beyond.  It was a fresh day, threatening rain, and she stayed there
until the train started on its way to Fort William where it would pick
up its passengers.  But before that she was summoned back to her
grandmother's cabin, to find that lady wishing to be tidied after her
nap and to take tea.

They had just finished when the rest of the party got on to the train
again, full of their pleasant after noon.  They gathered round Mrs.
Macdonald and Rosie, not noting the former's icy lack of interest, but
Rosie listened happily, glad to talk to them, and rather taken aback
when a cheerful matron from Chicago remarked that it was a shame that
her granny was sick, and wouldn't they like to sit with them at
dinner?

Rosie listened to her grandmother explaining in well-modulated tones
that conversation gave her a headache, and it was essential that she
should take her meals without distraction.  The Americans were nice;
they offered sympathy with a friendliness which Rosie would have liked
to have reciprocated.

So they dined presently, she and her grandmother, sitting in a near
silence, Mrs.  Macdonald in black crepe and pearls, and Rosie in silk
jersey, the old lady apparently oblivious of the convivial atmosphere
around them.  Rosie was quite glad when the old lady said that she
would go to bed shortly after dinner.  Of course, an hour passed before
she was in her bed, and another half-hour before Rosie was told that
she might go to her own cabin.

"A pleasant day," commented Mrs.  Macdonald.  " I hope you'll make sure
that I am called with China tea at half-past seven, Rosie?"

Rosie simply said, "Yes Granny' to both remarks, and sped back to the
observation car to spend the next hour or so exchanging light-hearted
views and opinions with everyone there.

The next day the train took them to Mallaig, and although Mrs.
Macdonald refused to get out of the train Rosie was dispatched into the
village to get postcards and stamps--an excuse to walk briskly down to
the harbour and watch the ferry from Skye come in, where she was swept
into a friendly group of passengers.  The pleasant little interlude
cheered her before going back to her grandmother, to sit with her,
watching the familiar countryside and listening to the old lady's
reminiscences.  They were going back over Rannoch Moor again to stay
for the night at Bridge of Orchy, and the scene was familiar.  Rosie's
old home wasn't far away a nice old house tucked away at the foot of
the mountains behind Oban.  She longed to see it again, but her
grandmother, who had never approved of her father allowing it to pass
into the hands of his cousin, had stated categorically that she had no
wish to see it. It was a pointless remark, for the train didn't go
within a dozen miles of it.

There was another visit to a local country estate that evening, but
Mrs.  Macdonald declared herself too tired to go.

She and Rosie dined alone to the great inconvenience of the train
staff, Rosie thought, although they presented smiling faces when her
grandmother requested dinner to be served at the usual time.  Everyone
else had gone off in the coach and would have a buffet supper at the
house they were to visit.

Rosie settled her grandparent for the night, went back to the
observation car, and was presently over whelmed by the returning
passengers, eager to tell her about the house they had seen, and the
buffet super.  They were kind, and concerned that she was having such a
dull time of it.

"But tomorrow we're all going to the wildlife park," one woman
remarked.

"Your grandmother could come in the coach and be put down at the hotel
in Aviemore, Rosie.  That would be nice and quiet for her, and you
could come with us..."

It sounded a splendid idea, Rosie agreed.

"But I'll have to see how Granny feels about it," she're minded them.

She had been too hopeful.  In the morning Mrs.  Macdonald declared that
she intended to visit the hotel by the station where she had stayed
years ago.

"With your grandfather, dear a sentimental visit I have long looked
forward to."

When Rosie said hopefully that she might like to be on her own there,
she was told at once that probably the emotion stirred up by fond
memories might upset her grand mother; it was essential that she had
Rosie beside her.

Rosie watched the coach drive away once more and, presently warned by
Jamie, the guide, as he got into the coach, that the train would leave
in an hour's time for Perth and Stirling, the pair of them walked the
very short distance from the train to the hotel.

It had of course, changed hands.  Which didn't stop her grandmother
insisting upon seeing round the hotel, pausing from time to time to
make some blistering remark about the changes in the rooms.  The owner
was patient and courteous, but even his politeness wore thin when Mrs.
Macdonald criticised the colour scheme in the dining-room in no
uncertain terms.

Time I did something, decided Rosie, and asked if they might have
coffee.

They drank it in the pleasant lounge on the other side of the foyer and
after a short time she said, "We should be going back.  Granny, the
train's due to leave in ten minutes..."

"I cannot be hurried, my dear.  I intend to take a quick look at the
gardens at the back of the hotel five minutes only I promise you and I
wish to be alone.  Wait here."

Rosie paid the bill, and went to the hotel entrance.  She could see the
train clearly enough, five minutes would suffice to get her grandmother
back on board.  She knew that the schedule was strict, for the train
had to fit in exactly with the normal time table, and they had been
warned in the nicest possible way by Jamie that if anyone missed it
they would have to find their way to the next stopping- place.

She glanced at her watch her grandmother had been gone for five minutes
and there was no sign of her.

The gardens behind the hotel were neatly laid out with a variety of
shrubs and beds of flowers, petering out into rough grass hedged with
gorse and broom, ferns and, later in the year, heather.  She found her
grandmother there huddled on the ground, one leg bent awkwardly.  Mrs.
Macdonald's face was paper-white, but she had lost very little of her
brisk manner.

"My leg," she explained "I tripped.  The ankle..."

"I'll get help," said Rosie, who when necessary could be just as brisk
as her granny, and sped back to the hotel, where she sent the owner and
one of the waiters to carry her grandmother in, and then turned and ran
back to the station.

Will, one of the stewards, was on the platform.

"We're off in just under five minutes.  Miss Macdonald," he began.

Rosie told him what had happened, and before she had finished the train
manager had joined them.

"We shall have to stay behind," she told him.

"We'll never be able to get my grandmother on to the train, and she
needs a doctor quickly.  I know that you have to leave on the dot.

Could someone pack our things and send them back here on one of the
local trains?  I can't think of anything else to do.  "

"I'll come to the hotel."  The manager glanced at his watch, and began
marching her back.

"I'm so very sorry, but you do see that the journey can't be delayed or
altered...?"

"Yes, of course.  We shall be quite all right here, but I think that if
it's a sprain or a break we shall have to stay for a while until
something can bear ranged."

They had reached the hotel, and found Mrs.  Macdonald laid out on a big
sofa.  She had lost her shoe when she fell, and the ankle was badly
swollen.  She opened her eyes as they reached her, and said peevishly,
"I intend to remain here until a doctor has examined me.  Rosie will
make the necessary arrangements.  Good of you to come."

The manager was a nice youngish man; he said all that was proper and,
with his eye on the time, wished her a speedy recovery, and promised
that she would hear from him.

"I'll phone you from Stirling," he promised, 'and I'll see about your
luggage.  Has someone phoned for a doctor?  There should be one at
Crianlarich and several in Oban.  "

"Don't worry, the hotel owner will know."  Rosie added urgently,
"Don't, for heaven's sake, miss the train."

"I hate to leave you both he shook her hand but there's nothing else
for it."

The train gave an impatient toot, and he turned and ran.

There were several people fussing around her grandmother, not quite
sure what to do first.

"Scissors, please," said Rosie, 'a bowl of cold water and a napkin. 
How long will it take the doctor to get here?  "

She took her grandmother's hand and gave it a heartening squeeze.

"I'm so sorry.  Granny, we'll have you comfortable in a little while."
She was carefully cutting the black stocking, and easing it off the
swollen foot.

"I don't know much about it, but I don't think it's broken.

I'm going to lay a cold cloth over it.  There .  and if someone will
help me we'll put some cushions behind you;

you'll feel easier sitting up a little.  "

One of the waitresses came in with a cup of tea, and the hotel owner
came back to say that most fortunately Dr.  Finlay at Crianlarich had
just're turned from early-morning fishing, and was driving over.  They
were to make the patient comfortable, but were not to move her.

Rosie studied her grandmother's pale face anxiously.

"How far away is Crianlarich?"  she asked, "Twelve miles, but it's a
good road.  He'll be a wee while yet; ye'd best have a cup of tea while
waiting."

She drank her tea gratefully, applied more cold cloths, and made quiet,
heartening small talk to be interrupted suddenly by Mrs.  Macdonald.

"We are so near home..."

"Would you like me to telephone Uncle Donald, Granny?

Perhaps we could.  "

"Certainly not.  When your father saw fit to let Donald have his family
home I washed my hands of the whole affair."

Rosie murmured a nothing.  She knew that her grandmother had blamed her
father for leaving Scotland, and that he had never told her how he had
come to lose most of his capital and been forced to make the
heart-rending decision to hand over the house to his prosperous cousin.
Privately Rosie had never understood why her uncle couldn't have lent
her father the money to come about, but he was a hard man, made harder
by the wealth he had acquired by marrying an heiress.  She had never
liked him anyway; years ago when she had been on a visit to his house
she had come upon him beating one of his dogs.  She had caught his arm
and hung on to it and kicked his shins, calling him a brute, and then
screaming at the top of her voice until several people came running to
see what was the matter.  He had never forgiven her for that.

Her grandmother was looking alarmingly pale.  Rosie renewed the cold
compress, persuaded her grandmother to take a sip of brandy, and prayed
silently that the doctor would come soon.

Her prayers were answered; the slight commotion in the hotel entrance
heralded the doctor's arrival.

He came in unhurriedly, an immensely tall, broad-shouldered man,
dark-haired and dark-eyed with a long straight nose and a firm mouth.
He wasted no time.

"Doctor Cameron," he stated.

"Doctor Finlay was called to a birth, and he asked me to take over.
What is the trouble?"

He gave Rosie a nod and a quick questioning glance; she could have been
yesterday's newspaper, she reflected with a touch of peevishness.

"My grandmother fell.  Her ankle is swollen and very painful..."

He took Mrs.  Macdonald's hand.

"A nasty shock for you, Mrs...?"

"Macdonald," said Rosie.

"My grandmother is eighty years old."

He gave her a look which put her in her place.

"Let's look at it."

He was very gentle, keeping up a steady flow of quiet questions as he
examined the swollen joint.

"A sprain a nasty one, but I think nothing is broken.  It will be best
if you stay here in bed for a few days with your ankle bandaged, and
when you are more yourself you must go to Oban and have an X-ray.  You
live in Scotland?"

"Edinburgh.  My granddaughter and I were taking the train tour of the
Highlands."  Mrs.  Macdonald opened her eyes and studied his face.

"And where are you from, may I ask?"

He didn't answer directly.

"I'm staying with Doctor Finlay for some fishing."  He smiled at her
suddenly and with great charm.

"Now I want you to rest quietly while that ankle settles down.  I shall
write you up for something to relieve the pain, and within a couple of
days or so you should be well enough to go for an X-ray.  If it is, as
I think, a sprain, then there is no reason why you shouldn't go home
and rest there.  Now I am going to strap it firmly, and later, when you
may get up, a viscopaste stocking must be applied."

Mrs.  Macdonald might be a crotchety, selfish old lady but she had
courage; she uttered no sound as he attended to the ankle, and when
Rosie said urgently, "Oh, Granny's fainted!"  the doctor said calmly,
"Good, pass me that crepe bandage and let us get finished before she
comes round."  He gave her a quick look.

"You have arranged to stay here?"

"Not yet."  She spoke sharply, "I've had no time."

"Well, see about it now, will you?  Get a room, and I'll carry Mrs.
Macdonald up, then you get her undressed and in bed, and I'll take
another look at her before I go."

There were two rooms on the first floor, she was told, with a
communicating door and, providing she was prepared to pay for it,
fortunately room service was available.

"Good, we'll have them.  Could someone get the bed ready for my
grandmother?  The doctor will carry her up..."

There were plenty of willing helpers; Mrs.  Macdonald was carried up to
her room and laid on the bed, and a chambermaid stayed to help get her
into bed, offering a nightie and extra pillows, and helping Rosie to
arrange a chair at the foot of the bed so that the bedclothes might be
draped over it.

The doctor nodded approvingly when he came to see his patient again.

"Your grandmother will do very well," he observed.

"I can see that you're a sensible lass.  From these parts?"

"Yes."  She paused.

"Well, I was born near here but we live in England now."

He stood studying her, looking down his long nose in a manner which she
found annoying.

"Married?"

"No."

He smiled.

"A woman of refreshingly few words."  Then he added to surprise her,
"Are you all right for money?"

"Why, yes, thank you.  It is kind of you to ask."

"Nothing kind about it--common sense in the circumstances.

It would have gone on the bill.  "

She ignored this.

"Will you come to see my grandmother again?"  She is old, it must have
been a shock.  "

"I'll be over tomorrow, in the morning."  He stared at her, and added,
"Unless you would rather Dr.  Finlay took over the case?"

"Why do you say that?  Granny is perfectly satisfied..."

"Good."  He spoke carelessly.

"Perhaps by tomorrow you and I will like each other a little better.
Good day to you.  Miss Macdonald."

He had gone leaving her bewildered and decidedly ill-tempered.

CHAPTER TWO

rosie was kept busy for the rest of the morning; she telephoned Elspeth
and promised to ring again that evening, then she phoned her mother.

"Are you going to let Uncle Donald know?"  she asked, "Inverard is
barely a dozen miles from the hotel; you could go there..."

"Granny won't hear of it.  Oh, Mother, I'd love to see it again, only
not with Uncle Donald there, and I think Granny feels the same.  She
never did like him..."

"Will you be all right?  Is there anything we can do, Rosie?"

"Nothing, Mother, for the moment.  I'll phone you tomorrow when the
doctor's been again."

She spent the rest of the day with her grandmother, leaving her only
for long enough to have a meal and answer the anxious enquiries of the
train manager.  Their luggage had been sent back to Bridge of Orchy in
the late afternoon, and was there anything that he could do to help
them?  He added that the crew and passengers on the train sent their
best wishes for Mrs.  Macdonald's speedy recovery.

"We shall be doing this same trip next week," he reminded her, 'and if
you are still at the hotel we shall call on you both.  Perhaps you will
leave a message if you depart before then?  "

She thanked him; he had been kind and more than concerned for their
welfare, although it had been no fault of his or his staff.  She felt
even more grateful when their luggage arrived, and with it a splendid
basket of fruit for her grandmother with the train staffs best
wishes.

Dr.  Cameron had left sleeping pills for her grand mother so that the
old lady slept for a good part of the night.  All the same, she woke in
the early morning wanting her pillows rearranged, a cup of tea, and
Rosie's company.

The hotel bedrooms had tea and coffee, sugar and milk arranged by an
electric kettle.  Rosie made tea for them both, and sat with her
grandmother until that lady dozed off once more, enabling her to return
to her own room, shower and dress, and do the best she could with a
tired face.

Dr.  Cameron came soon after breakfast.  Mrs.  Macdonald, refreshed
after a wash, a changed nightie and a light breakfast, greeted him with
a tart, "Well, young man, and what do you intend to do this morning

His expression remained professionally calm.

"Merely a quick look at that ankle.  How did you sleep?"

He glanced at Rosie standing on the other side of the bed.

"Rather wakeful?"

"I have had considerable pain," said Mrs.  Macdonald waspishly.

"Rosie gave me tea oh, about four o'clock this morning, I suppose, and
another of your pills; I dozed off eventually."

The old lady then asked her granddaughter, "At what time did you leave
me, Rosie?"

"Ten to six.  Granny."

Dr.  Cameron gave her a hard stare; that would ac count for her pallor
and her cross face.

"If I might see this ankle?"

he prompted gently.

The limb was inspected, pronounced as satisfactory as circumstances
allowed, and made comfortable.

"Quite satisfactory," pronounced Dr.  Cameron, 'but I believe that you
will benefit from a change of sleeping tablets.  A good night's sleep
is essential.  " He for bore from looking at her heavy-eyed
granddaughter as he spoke.

"I have a busy day ahead of me; perhaps it might be as well if your
granddaughter were to return to the surgery with me now, collect them,
and return with me I have to go further along the road to a shepherd's
croft on Rannoch Moor."

He didn't wait for Mrs.  Macdonald to object to this.

"If you could come right away?"  he asked Rosie.

"I have Finlay's patients to visit..."

It would be simply lovely to have a breath of air.

"You'll be all right.  Granny?"

"It seems that I shall have to be.  Tell someone that I shall be alone
until you return; I can only hope that I shall not need your
services."

"Try and have a nap," said Rosie, "I shan't be long."

She fetched a cardigan, and followed the doctor out of the hotel, to
squeeze into the small, shabby car, hardly suitable for two splendidly
built persons, and be driven away without more ado.

It was a bright clear morning, the country through which they drove was
remote and grandly rugged, snow-capped mountains filled the horizon,
late primroses carpeted the rough grass.  The lonely moor was at their
backs as they climbed to Tyndrum Upper and over the viaducts towards
Crianlarich.

Rose sighed with the pleasure of it all, and the doctor asked, "You
know this part of the world?"  He glanced at her.

"You said you were born near here?"

"Yes."

"Would you not like to return?"

"Yes."  She looked out of the window at the grandeur all around her;
not a soul in sight, and they hadn't passed a car, only slowed once or
twice for a leisurely sheep with her lambs.  She knew that if she got
out of the car there wouldn't be a sound--only the quiet breath of the
wind and the birds.  She wanted above all things to stay in this
magnificent solitude.

"Then why don't you?  I imagine you could get a job easily enough--the
hotels are always short- staffed."  He sounded uninterested, carrying
on some kind of conversation out of politeness.

Rose said stonily, "I already have a job, and I live with my parents.
Why did you ask me to come with you?  There was no need; you could have
handed in the pills on your way back, since you have to go and see a
patient on the moor."

"You looked as though you needed a change of scene.  Your disturbed
night appears to have left you decidedly whey-faced and peevish."

She said hotly, "I don't like you, Dr.  Cameron."

"I dare say not.  That's only because you're such a cross-patch.  I
think you must be quite a nice girl in kinder circumstances."  He
slowed the car as they reached the outskirts of Crianlarich a
scattering of cottages on either side of the road, and then the main
street.

"Do you want to come in?"  he asked as he stopped before a solid house
opposite the church.

"I'll be a couple of minutes."

"Thank you, no."  She turned an exquisite profile to him, and didn't
see his smile.

She regretted her words; he was all of ten minutes.

"A small boy with a bead in his ear," he told her, squeezing in beside
her again.

"I knew you wouldn't mind, and his mother was upset."

"You got it out?"

His firm mouth twitched.

"Yes.  Take these, will you?  See that your grandmother has one at
bedtime;

that should ensure that you both have a good night's sleep.  "

He dropped the small bottle of pills into her lap and started the car.
He had very little to say after that, apart from the bare minimum of
conversation good manners dictated.

She got out of the car at the hotel, and then poked her head through
the window.

"I'm sorry I was cross, and thank you for the ride."

"Think nothing of it.  Miss Macdonald.  In these sparsely populated
parts it be hoves one to offer a helping hand to all and sundry, does
it not?"

She wasn't sure if she liked being called 'all and sundry'.

She said starchily, quite sorry that she had apologised, "We shall
expect you in the morning, Dr.  Cameron."

He nodded coolly, and shot away, and she watched the car disappear
along the lonely road.

She was in time to pour oil on the troubled waters of her grandmother's
insistence that she should inter view the chef so that she might order
exactly what she wanted for her lunch.

"A light meal.  Granny," said Rosie soothingly.

"Dr.  Cameron told me that if you kept to a light diet for a few days
it will make your recovery much quicker."

She took the menu from the hurry chefs hand.

"There is salmon now, poached salmon with a potato or two would be
delicious, and I see there is clear soup... just right."  She caught
the man's eye.

"And perhaps the chef would be so kind as to make you a junket?  If I
were to have the same perhaps that would be less trouble?"

The chef went away appeased, and she sat down and regaled Mrs.
Macdonald with an account of her brief trip.  Not that there was much
to say, but she took care to make it sound as though she and Dr. 
Cameron were on the best of terms.

Presently her grandmother dozed, and Rosie went down to the hotel
lounge for coffee.  There weren't many people there.

The guests at that time of year were for the most part walkers along
the walkway between Glasgow and Fort William;

they spent a night or stopped for a meal before taking to the road
again.  There was a party of them sitting on the hotel steps, resting
their feet while they drank their coffee, and they called her to join
them.  They were a cheerful lot, and she envied them, going at their
own pace, taking perhaps three days over the walk, stopping where they
wanted to with the leisure to stand and stare as much as they wanted.
The vague idea that perhaps she might manage a day to walk a few miles
crossed her mind, although she had no idea how that could be
arranged;

it depended very much on how her grandmother progressed and it was more
than likely that as soon as she was fit enough to leave for a few hours
she would want to go back to Edinburgh.  She drank her coffee, wished
her companions a pleasant journey, and went back to the invalid.

Mrs.  Macdonald was at her most pernickety.  Nothing was right;

she was too hot, too cold, bored, and then peevishly wishing to be left
in peace and quiet.  Rosie did her best to cope with this variety of
moods; her grandmother, despite her age, was an active person, and to
lie inactive in bed was almost worse than the pain of her sprained
ankle.  Rosie read until she was hoarse, listened to her grandmother
reminiscing about the days of her childhood and youth, and ventured to
suggest, not for the first time, that her Uncle Donald would visit her
if she cared to let him know of her accident.

"Certainly not," declared the old lady indignantly.

"I'm surprised that you should suggest such a thing."  She sounded
wistful.

"Your Uncle Donald never writes.  I am, after all, his aunt, but he has
cut himself off from his family."

"Did you quarrel?"

"That is my business, Rosie."

As she got ready for bed that night Rosie made up her mind to speak to
Dr.  Cameron in the morning.  Surely her grandmother was well enough to
be taken back to Edinburgh?

Elspeth and Aunt Carrie would be there and, if necessary, a nurse.  She
had phoned her mother that evening, making light of everything,
assuring her that she would be home just as soon as possible.  In any
case, she reflected, she would have to go home at the end of two weeks;
she would be needed at the office, and one week had gone already.  She
slept badly, and woke to a morning dark with tumultuous clouds racing
across the sky, bringing a fine rain on a strengthening wind.

Dr.  Cameron came during the morning, examining the ankle, which was
now all the colours of the rainbow, and pronouncing himself satisfied
with it.

"The swelling is going down nicely," he said, probing the joint with
gentle fingers.

"Another few days and you may get up--I'll bring crutches with me when
the time comes."  He opened his bag.

"You are sleeping, Mrs.  Macdonald?"

She gave a grudging assent as he took out his stethoscope.

"I'll just go over your chest," he explained and, at her look of
surprise, added smoothly, 'it is usual after a fall such as you have
had, it may take a day or so before the shock of it wears off.  "

He took her blood-pressure too, and although Rosie watched his face
closely she could detect no change in its calm blandness.

Dr.  Cameron didn't hurry away, but stood leaning against the door, his
hands in the pockets of his elderly and excellently tailored tweed
jacket, listening to Mrs.  Macdonald's tetchy opinions of modern youth,
fast food and microwave ovens.  He gave her his full attention, and
they parted, if not the best of friends, at least on speaking terms.

Rosie, intent on getting him alone, followed him out of the room.

"I want a word with you," she told him urgently, 'if you can spare a
moment.  "

His, 'of course," was non-committal as he followed her down to the
lounge, crowded with frustrated anglers and walkers because of the
heavy rain.  They found a table jammed up against a wall, and ordered
coffee, and she began without preamble.

"How soon can Grandmother go home?  Could we get an ambulance or a car
to take her to Edinburgh?  She has a daughter living with her, and a
splendid housekeeper, and I could arrange for a nurse if you think it
necessary."  At his faintly surprised look, she added, "I sound as if I
want to get rid of her, don't I?  But, you see, I have a job at home,
and I have to be back by the end of next week..."

Their coffee came, and she poured out and handed him a cup.

"As far as the ankle is concerned there is no reason why Mrs. Macdonald
should not be taken back to her home.

Unfortunately there is a complication.  She has a heart condition, and
the shock of the fall has made it worse.  Rest in bed is absolutely
necessary for several more days even a week.  Her blood-pressure is far
too high, and she is not by nature a calm person, is she?  A placid
life is essential to her well-being.  Ideally she should stay where she
is.

Perhaps the housekeeper or your aunt could come here and take your
place?  "

"Then she would want to know why..."

"Indeed, yes.  Is your job very important to you?  Do you stand a risk
of losing it if you were to stay on here?"

She nodded and said, 'yes," slowly, thinking that her mother would miss
her share of the household expenses until she could find another job.
Messrs Crabbe, Crabbe and Twitchett, a young, rather pushy firm, would
show no compunction in finding someone to replace her.  Shorthand
typists were quite thick on the ground.

She said out loud, "But of course I'll stay."  She gave him a direct
look.

"She is my granny."

"Good, but I think that we must establish some sort of routine.  You
must have some leisure during the day.  Do you get enough sleep?"

"Well, Granny takes quite a time to settle, and she wakes early and
likes a cup of tea and then goes to sleep again."

"So it is essential that you should have a few hours each day to
yourself.  I suggest that you settle her for a rest after lunch,
arrange for her to have her tea, and return to her around five or six
o'clock.  I dare say there is a sensible chambermaid who would
undertake to cast an eye over your grandmother from time to time and
give her tea."

"I did come to Scotland especially to be her companion on the train
trip..."

"Indeed, but not to nurse her for twenty-four hours of the day and
night for a week or more."

Dr.  Cameron smiled suddenly at her, and just for a moment she liked
him very much.

"Get through today, and tomorrow I will have a talk with her.  Now I
must go I have someone to see at the youth hostel at Loch Ossian."

He lifted a finger for the bill, wished her goodbye, and left the
hotel.

Rosie went back to the invalid presently, and read the Daily Telegraph
from end to end before lunch, and after that meal, since her
grandmother declared that she needed her company, sat quietly while the
old lady talked.  Mostly about her youth and the early years of her
marriage and, when that topic was exhausted, politics and the
shortcomings of the younger generation.

Mercifully tea gave her pause, and Rosie produced a pack of cards and
suggested Patience before being allowed to go down to the dining-room
for her dinner.  There was still an hour or so before bedtime, and Mrs.
Macdonald, far from being tired, became chatty.

"Quite a pleasant man, Dr.  Cameron," she allowed.

"I am inclined to take his advice.  He is not so young, and must have
had some experience.  Is he Dr.  Finlay's partner, I wonder?  There
surely can't be enough work for the pair of them."

"It's a scattered practice," said Rosie, and stifled a yawn, not caring
in the least where the man came from.

Her grandmother gave her a sharp glance.

"Married, do you suppose?"

"I've no idea.  Granny.  I should think that very likely he is; he's
not young."

Her grandmother spoke with a snap.

"Not a day over thirty-five, I should imagine.  You're not so young
yourself, Rosie."

The kind of remark which made it hard for Rosie to love her Granny as
she ought.

She had to admire Dr.  Cameron's tactics the next morning.  He was
later than usual, and he looked tired.  But he was as immaculate as
usual, and just as impersonally pleasant, reassuring Mrs.  Macdonald
that she was making a steady progress, explaining that the longer she
stayed in bed off her foot, the sooner she would be able to walk
without pain.

"Another few days," he warned her, 'and then I will see about getting
you home.  You are making the most remarkable recovery.  "

Mrs.  Macdonald gave a smug smile.

"I pride myself upon my fortitude and common sense," she told him.

It was an easy step from there to point out that Rosie, if she were to
give her grandmother her full attention, should take necessary
exercise.

"If I might suggest," said Dr.  Cameron at his most urbane, 'two or
three hours in the fresh air each after noon?  I am sure that there is
a chambermaid able to bring you your tea and answer your bell, but I
hope that for your own good you will rest quietly after your lunch. 
Shall you be willing to try this for a day or so?  Now that you are
feeling so much better I dare say you have been thinking along these
lines yourself.  "

To Rosie's astonishment her grandmother replied quite sharply that of
course she had.

"Then that is settled, if er Rosie feels able, there are some splendid
walks around the hotel."

Of which she was well aware, although she had no intention of saying
so.  She still didn't like him, she told herself, but she had to admit
that he was doing his best for her.

He went away presently giving her a casual nod.

"I'll be in tomorrow I have to pass the hotel."

She accompanied him down to the foyer, and as he went he said, "Be sure
and get out for a walk each day."  He stopped unexpectedly so that she
almost tripped up.

"You're not very happy, are you?"  he asked, but didn't wait for an
answer.

"A good thing, too," muttered Rosie crossly, 'for it's none of his
business.  "

The new regime worked well; her grandmother offered no opposition when,
having settled her for her afternoon nap, she got into her gi let and
sensible shoes, reassured her that she had warned the chambermaid,
rearranged the pillows, adjusted the window curtains to her
grandmother's taste, and at last took herself off.

She took the road towards Loch Tuna, walking briskly.  It was a fine
afternoon, but it wouldn't last the sky above Ben Dorian behind her was
ominously grey, but she didn't care; to be out walking in well
remembered country was enough to make her happy.  That evening, she
reflected, she would phone her mother and tell her that nothing had
changed in the wild and lonely countryside around her.  Just for a
little while she was blissfully happy, and some of the happiness was
still with her when she returned to soothe a disgruntled grandparent
who declared that she had been bored, in pain, and neglected.

"Kirsty came to see you," said Rosie.

"I met her as I came in, and she said that you had had a long nap and a
splendid tea."

She wished she hadn't repeated that, for her grand mother declared
loudly that no servant was to be trusted.

"Of course if you wish to disbelieve your own kith and kin..."

It took her the rest of the evening to coax Mrs.  Macdonald into a good
frame of mind again.

When Dr.  Cameron came in the morning she half expected her grandmother
to object to being left on her own in the afternoon, and she couldn't
help but admire his handling of her recalcitrant grandparent so that
grudging permission was given once more with the rider that it was to
be hoped that the state of affairs wouldn't last.

"Just as soon as you are fit to be moved, Mrs.  Macdonald," said the
doctor, at his most soothing, "I will arrange your return home.  You
are doing splendidly, due largely to your co-operation and
fortitude."

Rosie, watching the old lady's pleased smile at that, thought Dr.
Cameron was a cunning rascal, obviously used to getting his own way
once he had made up his mind.

Beyond a civil good day as he went he had nothing to say to her, which
rather annoyed her.  Even if she didn't like him their barbed
conversation made her day more interesting.

Two more days went by, and Rosie's lovely face took on a healthy glow
from the energetic walks she took each day.  It was a pity that the
weather was changing; there was more persistent rain and a
strengthening wind hardly a day for a tramp but Dr.  Cameron had said
that morning that her grandmother was well enough to return home, and
this might be her last chance to take a last look.  She borrowed an old
mac from one of the maids, tied her head in a scarf, assured her
grandmother, with not a vestige of truth, that the weather was
clearing, and left the hotel.

The steady drizzle didn't bother her, nor did the great gusts of wind.
The sky was leaden and the mountains loomed, grey and forbidding, but
she had been brought up in surroundings such as these, and wasn't
deterred from her resolve to walk as far as possible towards Rannoch
Moor.  She had no hope of actually getting there, but at least she
would be able to reach its very edge.  She would walk for an hour and
then turn back.

The hour was almost up and she was a good four miles from the hotel
when the drizzle turned to torrential rain.  There was no escaping it;
she was on a lonely stretch of road bordered by coarse grass and last
year's bracken, patterned with the vivid green of the new growth.  The
low-lying shrubs offered no shelter, and there was nothing to do but
turn round and walk back.  She paused to wipe the rain from her face
with an already sopping hanky, and didn't hear the Land Rover come to a
halt on the other side of the road.  Its door opened and Dr.  Cameron
roared, "Over here, Rosie, and look sharp about it!"

She sloshed across the road, her shoes full of water, relieved to see
him, and at the same time vexed that he should bawl at her in such a
fashion.  He had the door open, and she climbed in and squelched into
the seat beside him, and he drove off, far too fast she considered,
before she had fastened her seatbelt.  She mopped her face, glad that
she would be back soon.

"An emergency?"  she asked, and when he didn't do more than grunt,
"Thank you for picking me up, I'll be glad to get out of these wet
clothes."

They were approaching Bridge of Orchy; she could see the hotel,
standing back from the station and the road.  A cup of tea and a hot
bath would be more than welcome.  She gave a sigh of relief which
turned to a surprised gasp as he drove down a side-road which joined
the road to Oban.

"Sorry I can't stop," said Dr.  Cameron in what she considered to be a
heartless manner.  The next minute she felt ashamed of herself; what
were hot baths and cups of tea compared with emergencies?

She peered through the driving rain as he turned off the road on to a
narrow country lane running through fir trees.

She knew the lane, for it was within a few miles of her old home.  They
would pass close to Inverard unless he turned off again, and side-roads
were few and far between.

He didn't turn off, but presently raced through an open gateway and
slowed then because the drive was steep and narrow and winding.

"Why are you coming here?"  She strove to keep her voice quiet.

"Dr.  Finlay is out on a case.  The medical men at Oban are tied up--I
got a call on the car phone."

They had reached the end of the drive, and the house came into view. 
It hadn't changed--white walls, gables, tall chimneys, shallow steps to
the wide front door standing ajar, sitting cosily within its circle of
trees and gardens, facing the mountains across a wide grass meadow.

She gave a small sigh, and he turned to look at her.

"Know this place?  Who lives here?  I was only given the address..."

"Macdonald," and at his sudden understanding look, "I was born here.
Donald Macdonald is my uncle."

He had the doors open.

"Out you get and inside with you, and don't waste my time.  You can dry
off somewhere..."

He mounted the steps and went into the square hall with doors on all
sides.  One of them opened now, and a small elderly woman in a flowered
pinny came to meet them.

"The doctor--thank God for that.  He's in the drawing-room, we've not
dared to move him."  Her eyes lighted on Rosie, and her face broke into
a wide smile.

"Miss Rosie in with ye, lassie, while I take the doctor along."

The doctor had cast down his Burberry and followed the woman through
the door, and Rosie stopped to take off her mac and headscarf, and made
haste to follow.  Nothing had changed, she saw that at a glance as she
crossed the charming room to the vast sofa where her uncle lay.

"Is there anything I can do?"  She looked at the un conscious face of
her uncle, and felt a pang of pity;

he had treated her father with unkindness and she had never liked him,
but now he lay, a lonely elderly man with no wife and no family to be
with him.

"Open my bag and get out the syringe in a plastic envelope, the small
bottle with spirit written on it, and one of the woollen swabs beside
it.  Put them where I can reach them, and get someone to get a bed
ready."

He didn't look at her; he was bending over his patient, listening to
his chest, so she did exactly as she had been told and then, leaving
Mrs.  Mac Fee with him, hurried through to the dining-room through the
open archway and up the small second staircase leading from it.  Old
Robert, the odd-job man, and a young girl with a tear-stained face were
standing in the doorway leading to the kitchen, and Rosie said, "Come
up with me, will you, and help me get a bed ready?"

Her uncle's room was at the front of the house; if he was to be carried
upstairs, then it would be easier if they used the main staircase in
the inner hall leading up from the drawing-room.  Rosie ran through the
passages and opened the door wide.

"We'd better take the bedclothes off."

She gave the girl a reassuring smile.

"What is your name?"

"Flora, miss, I'm the housemaid."

"Well, Flora, would you switch on the lights?  And I should think one
pillow would do."  She frowned.

"Perhaps you'd better fetch several more, though, for I'm not sure if
Mr.  Macdonald should sit up or not."

She gave a quick look round, moved a bedside table to make it easier to
reach the bed, and said, "I'm going downstairs again to tell the doctor
to use the main staircase."

Dr.  Cameron was still bending over her uncle.  He didn't look up as
she went in, but said in his calm way, "Is the bed ready?"  and when
she said 'yes' he lifted his patient with apparent ease.

"Lead the way..."

She went ahead, turning every few steps to make sure that the doctor
was all right.

"Pillow?"  she asked urgently as they reached the bedroom.

"One," Dr.  Cameron laid his patient on the bed.  He was breathing
rather fast, but that was all.  He must be all of fifteen stone,
reflected Rosie and, being a practical young woman, began to ease off
her uncle's shoes.

Her uncle was still unconscious.

"We will get him undressed," stated the doctor.

"Trousers and jacket, leave everything else."

When that was done he turned to Rosie and said, "Go and telephone the
hotel, reassure your grand mother.  Will it upset her to be told?"

"She hasn't spoken to Uncle Donald since he came here to live, but I'd
rather not tell her not yet, any way."

"Tell her what you think is best, and then come back here."

She was still wringing wet and with no hope of getting dry, at least
for the moment.  When she got downstairs she kicked off her shoes,
stripped off her tights, and went to the telephone.  It took a minute
or two to explain to the manager where she was and why.

"If you could tell my grandmother," she asked, 'that I am quite safe,
and will be back just as soon as Dr.  Cameron can leave his patient. 
"

Mrs.  Mac Fee was at her elbow as she put down the phone.

"You'll get these wet things off you.  Miss Rosie.  Ye can sit in my
dressing-gown while they dry it'll take but a wee while."

"I can't just yet, Mrs.  Mac Fee the doctor might need help."

She raced back upstairs, and the housekeeper, tuning indignantly, went
back to the kitchen to warm up the soup she was sure would be needed.

"A fine, strong lass," she grumbled at Old Robert.

"It won't be my fault if she catches her death of cold and why should
she be here after all this time and them not speaking, her father and
him?"  She nodded her head towards the ceiling.

"That's a braw man, that doctor.  Fetch in some more peat, Robert, will
you?  The fire'll need banking for the night."

"Woman, it's but five o'clock."

"And a long night ahead of us, Robert."

"Stay here, will you?"  asked Dr.  Cameron as Rosie reached the
bedroom.

"I've some phoning to do.  No need to do anything, but give a yell if
he comes round."

She sat down close to the bed, her eyes glued to her uncle's
unconscious face.  It was quiet in the room save for his slow breaths,
so quiet that she had to strain her ears to hear them.  It seemed an
age before the doctor came soft-footed through the half-open door.  He
said nothing, checked his patient's pulse once more, and then sat down
on the other side of the bed.

Presently he looked across at her.

"Go down and get those wet things off; your Mrs.  Mac Fee is seething
with anxiety for fear you will catch cold.  Then come back here I might
need you."

He could have been giving orders to a nurse on a hospital ward. 
Polite, impersonal, and quite sure he would be obeyed.

She did as she was told, and didn't say a word.  In the kitchen she was
given a scalding cup of tea, and was told to go up the back stairs to
Mrs.  Mac Fee room, strip off her clothes, and put on the dressing gown
she would find behind the door.  It was a voluminous garment, very
woolly, and she wrapped it around her person with a sigh of relief as
Mrs.  Mac Fee came trotting in with her tights.

"You put these on, my lass, and button up that gown all the way down.
Come and sit in the kitchen by the fire your things will dry in no
time."

"I'm to go back upstairs," Rosie insisted.

"Like that?  Whatever next...?"

"He's a doctor, Mrs.  Mac Fee said Rosie.

"He's concerned with Uncle Donald I could be there with nothing on at
all and he wouldn't notice!"

She gave the elderly cheek a quick kiss, nipped through the upstairs
passages, and slid into the room without a word.

If the doctor noticed her appearance he gave no sign.

"He is regaining consciousness.  Sit where he can see you.

So she sat close to the bed again, and sure enough her uncle's eyelids
soon fluttered and opened.  He closed them again at once, and then
after a minute opened them again.

"Rosie?"  His voice was a thread of sound.

"Yes, Uncle."

"Strange you're here I've been thinking about you... your father..." 
He closed his eyes again, and she looked at the doctor, who looked
calmly back at her and didn't speak.

"Never liked me much, did you?"  went on the weary voice.

"Kicked me when I beat that dog.  Sorry about that.  So long ago.  I've
been a fool."

Rosie took one of his hands in hers.

"That's all over and done with.  Uncle... The doctor's here, you were
taken ill."

The tired face turned slowly on the pillow.

"Don't know you.

Married to Rosie, are you?  "

Dr.  Cameron looked faintly amused.

"Indeed not.  Your own doctor was out on a case, and I got your
housekeeper's message on the car phone.  Dr.  Douglas will be with us
very shortly and it is to be hoped that you can be taken to hospital in
Oban as soon as you are fit enough to move."

The man in the bed closed his eyes again, and presently the doctor said
quietly to Rosie, "Go and get some clothes on."

"You'll be all right?"  She went pink the moment she had spoken.  It
had been a silly remark; she didn't need his slow smile to let her know
that.

When she got back there was another man there.  Dr.  Douglas a youngish
man who had taken over old Dr.  MacTavish's practice during the last
year.  It surprised her that he deferred to Dr.  Cameron's opinion; she
sup posed that it was because he was a good deal younger.

Her uncle was recovering slowly.  The two men examined him together,
and Dr.  Douglas went away to telephone.

While he was gone Dr.  Cameron said, "We shall send your uncle to
hospital.  He needs urgent treatment.

As soon as the ambulance is here and he is gone I'll take you back. 
"

Which, after an hour or so, he did.  Mrs.  Mac Fee had insisted on hot
soup for them both, and ten minutes by the blazing fire, and had taken
the opportunity of discovering just why Rosie was there before they
were allowed to get into the Land Rover and drive away.  The ambulance
had come and gone, and Dr.  Douglas had driven away behind it with the
promise that he would be sure and let them know how the patient did.

It was after ten o'clock when they left at last; the rain had settled
down to a soft drizzle with patches of mist.

Here and there the road was awash, and it was hard to see more than a
few yards ahead, but the doctor remained unperturbed, and Rosie was too
tired to bother.  He drew up before the hotel entrance, got out, and
opened her door.

"I'll let you have any news when I see your grand mother in the
morning," he promised.

"Now go to bed as quickly as you can."

He put a finger under her chin and kissed her gently.

"Rather an eventful day," he added, and pushed her gently through the
door.

CHAPTER THREE

it would be prudent to get out of her still damp clothes before she
went to see if her grandmother was still awake, Rosie decided.  She was
greeted with sympathy by the head waiter, who offered to get her
something to eat.

"Oh, that really would be kind, I'm famished."  Her eyes strayed to the
clock.

"Heavens, it's after ten o'clock!  A sandwich would do, and a pot of
tea please, and could it possibly be brought to my room?  I'm so wet
still, and I must get out of my things."

"Leave it to me.  Miss Macdonald."  He was a kindly man, and a little
sorry for her, tied to the old lady for hours and hours on end.

In her room she got into her dressing-gown, and peeped into her
grandmother's room.  The old lady was sitting up in bed reading, but
she put the book down when she saw Rosie.

"Where have you been?"  she demanded peevishly, "You ungrateful girl,
jaunting off in that fashion, leaving me alone among strangers."

Rosie, longing for a hot bath and a large pot of tea, pulled her
dressing-gown more closely around her.

"I went for a walk.  Granny," she began patiently.

"It rained very hard Dr.  Cameron came by in his Land Rover and gave me
a lift, only he couldn't stop be cause he was going to an emergency."

Her grandmother uttered a sound which could have been 'pish' or 'tush',
indicative of her disbelief.

"Rubbish, of course he could have stopped here.  I have never heard
such nonsense!  I suppose you wanted to spend the afternoon with
him?"

Rosie giggled, sneezed, and then blew her pretty nose.

"Granny, we don't like each other.  He's the last person I would want
to spend an afternoon with, and I'm sure he feels the same.  Only one
wouldn't leave one's worst enemy to walk miles in such a downpour."

Her grandmother said, "Huh!  So where was this dire emergency?"

Rosie sneezed again.  It had to be said.

"Inverard, Granny.

Uncle Donald.  "

Mrs.  Macdonald said quickly, "Well, I don't want to hear about it. 
Now you're here you can pour me some of that lemonade and do my
pillows.  I suppose I'd better have one of those pills Dr.  Cameron
sent.  You had better go to bed yourself, Rosie, and let us have no
more traipsing around.  I must say I expected more consideration from
you."

Rosie considered answering this, and decided not to.  She fetched the
pill and the lemonade, arranged the pillows just so, switched off the
lights except for the small bedside lamp, kissed her grandmother good
night, and went thankfully back to her room.  Someone had put a tray
there a plate of toasted sandwiches, cheese and biscuits, a bowl of
yoghurt and a large pot of tea.  She ran the bath, bore the tray into
the bath room, set it on a stool by the bath, and lay in its comforting
heat while she demolished everything on the tray.  There was a small
glass of brandy lurking behind the teapot; she prudently saved it until
she was curled up in bed before she tossed it off.  She wasn't in the
habit of drinking brandy; she spluttered and choked, aware of its
comforting warmth before she fell instantly asleep.

Mrs.  Macdonald was still tetchy in the morning, and since she had
nothing more to say about Rosie's absence the previous day Rosie said
nothing as well.  After breakfast she helped her grandmother into a
chair and settled the injured limb on a stool, and awaited the arrival
of Dr.  Cameron.  She felt heavy- eyed and out of sorts, and from time
to time, to her grandmother's annoyance, she sneezed.

The doctor arrived at his usual hour, immaculate in his elderly tweeds,
looking in the very best of health.  Rosie wished him a rather cold,
terse good morning, and sneezed again.

"A little under the weather?"  he wanted to know kindly.

"I'll let you have something to check that cold nasty things, colds."

He had spoken blandly, but he was amused, too.  She frowned heavily at
him.

"Thank you, it's nothing just a summer cold.  I don't need anything for
it."

"You will take whatever Dr.  Cameron gives you, Rosie," said her
grandmother.

"You may be a great, healthy girl, but if I were to become infected it
might be a serious matter."

Rosie didn't reply; to be described as a great, healthy girl did
nothing for her ego.  She avoided the doctor's eye, and with a slightly
heightened colour turned back the light shawl which shrouded the
injured ankle.

"Very nice," he pronounced presently.

"Tomorrow you shall try walking with the crutches I shall bring with
me.  I think that you might make arrangements to go home within the
next few days.  Do you have a car, Mrs.  Macdonald?"

"Certainly not.  If necessary I hire a car and a chauffeur.

Why do you ask?  "

"I shall be going to Edinburgh on Saturday; I can offer you and Rosie a
lift."  He noticed Rosie's questioning look.

"Not in the Land Rover."

Mrs.  Macdonald wasn't exactly mean, but she didn't believe in spending
money on something which could be obtained without it.  She accepted
with alacrity.

"You have a practice in Edinburgh?"  she wanted to know.

"Yes.  You have made a- splendid recovery, Mrs.  Macdonald.  I will
write a note to your doctor and give him details."

"Oh, but I wish you to attend me until my ankle is quite healed."

"I can hardly do that, Mrs.  Macdonald.  I'm sure that you will be
quite satisfied with your doctor's treatment if any is needed."

"In that case I shall expect you to visit me not professionally."

"I shall be delighted to do so..."

He was interrupted by one of Rosie's sneezes, and he turned round to
look at her.

"I think I must deal with that before it gets too se vere."

He opened his bag and shook out some tablets.

"Take one now and then four-hourly.  I'll bring enough for the full
treatment when I come tomorrow."

He had bidden them goodbye and was almost at the door when Mrs.
Macdonald asked, "Donald Macdonald is he dead?"

"No; there is very little to be done, however.  He has a history of
heart trouble.  I'm sorry, Mrs.  Macdonald."

"I haven't set eyes on him for years.  He didn't deal fairly with
Rosie's father..."  Her voice held no feeling.

Rosie remembered the lonely figure on the sofa.

"Granny, please..."  She bustled the doctor through the door and shut
it firmly on her grandmother.

"She doesn't mean it," she told him.

"She's old."

He stood looking down at her.

"Yes.  Do your parents wish to be informed?"

"Oh, yes.  They haven't seen Uncle Donald for a long time not since we
left Inverard.  They have never spoken of him, though they have never
borne him a grudge.  I think that they might like to know how he is.
Granny will be furious; you see, she can't forgive him, not even
now..."

"Why don't you phone now?"

He swept her willy-nilly down the stairs, and picked up the telephone
on the reception desk.

"An urgent call," he said blandly, and stood beside her while she
dialled.

Her mother answered.

"Darling," she began before Rosie could get a word in edgeways, 'you
have to be back at your job on Monday.  Will you be able to get here by
then?  "

Rosie drew a deep breath and explained.

"Oh, dear?  said her mother when Rosie paused.

"The poor man not that I like him, but one has to be sorry... What kind
of man is this Dr.  Cameron?"

"Just a doctor.  Mother," said Rosie evasively, aware that he was
standing beside her, listening to every word.

"Will you tell Father?  And I'll let you know how Uncle Donald is.  And
will you let them know at the office, please?"  She paused to think.

"Once Granny is back home I should be able to come home straight
away."

"That will be Sunday or Monday?"

"Yes, I hope so.  I'll ring you again tomorrow."

She put down the receiver as several people came in through the hotel
entrance; the Royal Scotsman was in the station, and the train manager
and the two stewards as well as the guide, had come to visit her grand
mother.

"I'll leave you," said Dr.  Cameron, and was gone before she could say
goodbye.

It was nice to see their cheerful faces and hear their friendly voices.
They had flowers and fruit with them, and Rosie took them upstairs to
her grandmother be fore going in search of someone to bring coffee to
her room.  They couldn't stay long; Jamie had to go almost at once, as
the coach was taking the passengers on the scheduled trip, and the
other three had to go again after half an hour, since the train was due
to leave.

Rosie was sorry to see them go; she had liked them all, and they had
been more than kind and thoughtful.

"I'll come again," she promised, 'but I don't know when.  "

They hugged her in turn, bade Mrs.  Macdonald a more dignified
farewell, and hurried back to the train.  A brief visit, but it
supplied a topic of conversation for the rest of the morning.  Her
grandmother, reflected Rosie, hadn't mentioned Uncle Donald once.

Her leisure that afternoon was brief; Mrs.  Macdonald, now that she had
her crutches, intended to waste no time in becoming an expert in their
use, which meant that Rosie had to be there to give help when needed,
and when her grandmother was tired she insisted that Rosie should start
to repack their cases.

"There's still a whole day.  Granny," Rosie pointed out.

"You have nothing better to do," the old lady remarked.

"You may just as well occupy yourself use fully as moon around out of
doors."

Dr.  Cameron was late the next morning.  He gave no reason for it,
though, merely took another look at the ankle, watched his patient on
her crutches, pronounced her fit to go home to the care of her own
doctor, and reminded them that he would call for them about ten o'clock
on the day after tomorrow.

He enquired after Rosie's cold, and went again after the briefest of
visits.  He hadn't mentioned Uncle Donald; Rosie, with a muttered
excuse to her grand mother, ran down the stairs after him, and caught
him up as he was going through the hotel entrance.

"Uncle Donald.  Is he any better?"

He paused on the step.

"He is conscious in Intensive Care but I think it unlikely that he will
re cover."  He stared down at her thoughtfully.

"Do you wish to see him?"

"There isn't anyone else..."

"No.  I'll take you to the hospital tomorrow morning."

"Granny..."  she began.

"Leave her to me, just be ready."

After the stormy weather the day was fine and Rosie longed to be out of
doors, but there was little chance of that; she repacked, and read the
Daily Telegraph from end to end as usual, perambulated to and fro with
her grandmother on her crutches and, while the old lady slept, did her
nails and washed her hair, all the while wondering if she was doing the
wise thing in visiting the hospital to see her uncle.  Dr.  Cameron had
said that he wasn't likely to recover, and he had no family now.

Dr.  Cameron came earlier than usual; he sat down as though he had the
whole morning in which to do nothing, listening to her grandmother
giving forceful opinions about this, that and the other, and only when
the old lady had talked herself into a good mood did he observe
casually that it might be a good idea if Rosie were to get some fresh
air.

"I'll take her with me."

He smiled charmingly at her, and turned to Rosie.

"Ready?  It's rather a splendid morning.  I'm going over to the youth
hostel; you can take a stroll while I'm there it will help to shake off
that cold."

He swept Rosie away before her grandmother could make any objection,
urged her into the Land Rover, and drove away.

"Are you really going to the youth hostel?"

"Of course, I have to deliver some tablets on Dr.  Finlay's behalf."

Her nod was friendly and he drove in silence for quite a time, but
presently said, "I shall be all of five minutes there.  We will go on
to Ballachullish and down to Oban; it's the long way round, but quicker
than turning back."

He gave her a faintly smiling glance.

"Not that I am in a hurry."

"Well, if you're sure you can spare the time."  She settled back to
enjoy the drive.

They stopped just outside Oban at a small hotel, and had coffee before
driving on to the town and the hospital.

Donald Macdonald was still in Intensive Care, but since Dr.  Cameron
seemed to be known by every one they encountered as they went through
the hospital entrance, and Dr.  Douglas came to meet them, there was no
objection to Rosie's visiting him.

"He's not too good," said Dr.  Douglas, leading the way, 'but he's
conscious.  He'll be glad to see you.  "

Rosie wasn't sure about that.  She greeted her uncle quietly and with
caution; he might take umbrage at the sight of her, and that would do
him no good at all.  She remembered his sudden surges of temper.  But
here, she saw at once, was a man who had no temper left in him; he was
too ill.

She sat down by his bed, taking care to avoid the various tubes and
portable machines encircling it.

He managed a smile.

"Coals of fire, Rosie?"

"No, Uncle.  But Father and Mother will want to know how you are
getting on when I go home.  I phoned them they hope you will feel
better soon."

"I find that hard to believe," he whispered.

"True, all the same.  I'm going home on Monday, Father will phone the
hospital each day."  She caught Dr.  Douglas's glance and got up.

"I mustn't make you tired."  She squeezed the hand she had been
holding.

"Get better soon."

Dr.  Cameron was standing quietly behind her; she was surprised to see
that he had taken off his car coat, and had a stethoscope swinging from
one hand.  There was a ward sister too, as well as Dr.  Douglas.

"I shan't be long," said Dr.  Cameron.

"Wait in Sister's office, will you?"

He opened the door for her, polite and faintly impatient for her to be
gone.

Later, once more in the Land Rover, she said, "Everyone knew you there
have you a practice in Oban?"

"No.  I go to the hospital occasionally."

He had answered her coolly, but she persisted.

"The landlord at the hotel said that you were staying at Dr.
Finlay's..."

"He was quite right.  There is some splendid fishing hereabouts.  You
must know that."

Which didn't answer her question, and made it difficult to pursue the
subject.  She said with something of a snap, "Uncle Donald is in good
hands I like Dr.  Douglas."

"He would be glad to know that; he's taken a fancy to you you could do
worse, he's got a good practice and should go far..."

Rosie's bosom swelled with indignation.

"Well," re ally whatever will you say next?  " She paused to take
breath and he added carelessly, " He's not married?  "

She ground splendid teeth.

"You're awful I've never met a man like you..."

"I'm glad to hear that."

"Are you married?"  She hadn't meant to speak her thoughts out loud,
but once said there was no taking it back.

"Er no.  But I'm hopeful of being so in the not too distant future."

For some reason his answer depressed her.  Vaguely she supposed that
she was sorry for the girl.  Before they came to open warfare she
supposed that she should change the conversation.

"What a pleasant morning," she observed in a polite voice which would
have frozen a kettle of boiling water.

The doctor gave a bellow of laughter.

"Are you burying the hatchet or offering an olive branch?  I'll settle
for either, at least let us part on speaking terms."

They were almost at the hotel, and he went on casu ally, "I'll be here
at ten o'clock tomorrow if that suits you and Mrs.  Macdonald?"

"Oh, yes.  We can be ready by then.  You're quite sure it's convenient?
We're not taking up your time?"

"Not in the least.  I did tell you that I have to be in Edinburgh
tomorrow."

He stopped the car and got out, and went to open her door.

"Thank you for taking me," she said frostily, "I'm very grateful."

He nodded, and stood watching her until she had gone inside and then
got back into the Land Rover and drove himself away.

Rosie, sneaking a quick backward look at him from inside the door,
could see that he was smiling.  It puzzled her, for she had not said
anything to amuse him.

Back with her grandmother she assured that lady that she had had a very
pleasant drive.

"I can see that; you have quite a good colour there is nothing like
exercise in the fresh air," remarked Mrs.  Macdonald, who seldom
ventured into the outdoors.

Rosie fore bore from telling her that the colour was the result of her
vexatious conversation with Dr.  Cameron, and offered to accompany her
down the corridor outside the bedroom on her daily exercise with her
crutches.

"We are to be ready by ten o'clock in the morning," she reminded her
grandmother.

"I'll order your break fast a little earlier, shall I?  So that you
don't have to hurry."

"I suppose we shouldn't keep him waiting."

"Well, I don't think so doctors usually have a busy day, don't they?"

They were ready by ten o'clock; Rosie had prudently allowed time for
paying the bill, saying their goodbyes, and making sure that their
luggage was in the foyer so that when Dr.  Cameron arrived they were
waiting for him.

His good morning was brisk; obviously he had no time to stand about
passing the time of day.  He helped Mrs.  Macdonald down the steps, and
Rosie and the porter with their cases followed.

The car parked at the bottom of the steps wasn't what she had expected
a dark blue Rolls-Royce.

Her grandmother had stopped at the car doors.

"How very kind," she observed in her commanding voice, 'to consider my
comfort and hire a car in which I can travel without being jarred and
jolted.  "

The doctor was stowing the crutches in the boot, and didn't look up.

"I think you will be comfortable enough.  I'll help you into the back
seat; there is a cushion for your foot."

He glanced up.

"Rosie, get in front, will you?"

A good many of the hotel staff had come out to see them off.

Mrs.  Macdonald waved in a regal fashion, pronounced herself as
comfortable as it was possible to be, and expressed the hope that the
journey wouldn't take too long.

"Two hours, perhaps a little more.  We will go down on the A82, by-pass
Glasgow, and join the motorway to Edinburgh."

He took the A819, going south, drove round the head of Loch Pyne, and
joined the A82 running along side Loch Lomond.  He drove fast, and
beyond an enquiry as to his passengers' comfort had little to say.

The journey was half done before Rosie plucked up the courage to say,
"We simply cannot allow you to bear the expense of hiring this car. I'm
afraid we didn't think about it, but if you will let us know..."

"I'm on good terms with the owner; there's no question of paying."

"Oh, well, that's very good of your friend to let us travel in it." 
She glanced at his rather stern profile.

"You're not--that is, it's really so?"

He turned to look at her down his handsome nose.

"I am not in the habit of having my word questioned."

"No, no.  I'm sure you're not," said Rosie soothingly.

"I

just wondered.  I'm sorry if I ruffled you.  "

"Neither do I ruffle easily."

They went almost the length of Loch Lomond before he spoke again.

"You are glad to be going home?"

In her mind's eye she saw the remote majesty of the Highlands, the
towering black mountains, the waterfalls, the bracken, the heather and
the breathtaking beauty of it all.

"I shall be glad to see my mother and father," she told him.

That was true, only she was leaving her thoughts and her heart at
Inverard.  She wondered what would happen to the house if her uncle
were to die.  There were remote cousins on his side of the family, but
they had lived for years in Canada, and would hardly wish to uproot
themselves.

"You will fly back?"  he asked idly.

"Perhaps, in a day or two.  I believe Granny has made some arrangements
with her own doctor I don't know if she has to go to hospital.  If so,
I'd better stay until that's seen to."

He made a non-committal reply, and began a casual conversation about
the country they were driving through.

They joined the motorway shortly, and on the outskirts of Glasgow he
turned south to avoid the city's heart, and picked up the motorway on
its eastern outskirts.  It was barely forty miles to Edinburgh on the
M8, it took that number of minutes to reach the city, and when Rosie
offered directions Dr.  Cameron said, "It's all right, I know my
way."

And very shortly after he drew up before Mrs.  Macdonald's door.

Elspeth had the door open before they were out of the car, with Aunt
Carrie peering over her shoulder, getting in each other's way while the
doctor lifted Mrs.  Macdonald out of the car and carried her up the
steps.

She was received with a good deal of fuss while he returned to the car
to fetch the crutches and the lug gage.  Rosie had hung back a little
so that Aunt Carrie and Elspeth could make much of her grandmother, but
she took the crutches from the doctor so that he could deal with their
cases, and ushered him into the house.

He said pleasantly, "Let everyone see how well you walk again, Mrs.
Macdonald," and handed the crutches to her with a smile.

Mrs.  Macdonald was at her most gracious.

"Let me introduce you my daughter, Caroline, and Elspeth, our
housekeeper.

This is Dr.  Cameron who has so kindly driven us back and looked after
me so well.  Rosie, go with Elspeth and bring coffee to the
drawing-room.  "

"I must be on my way, Mrs.  Macdonald.  If I might give Rosie one or
two last-minute instructions until your doctor calls...?"

"Well, I suppose that you are a busy man.  Rosie, go into the
dining-room with the doctor.  I shall go to the drawing-room;

come there when you are ready to go.  "

In the gloomy dining-room Rosie asked, "Should I stay longer?  I've
arranged to go home on Tuesday."

"No need to stay.  The sooner your grandmother starts gentle walking
the better.  Her own doctor will be round to see her, will he not?  I
think it likely that she will be able to manage with a stick within a
very short time."

He smiled suddenly.

"It hasn't been quite the holiday you expected, has it?"

"Well, no, but it was lovely to see Inverard again."  She sighed
without knowing she did so.

"Thank you for bringing us back, it was very kind.  Are you sure you
won't have coffee before you go?"

"I've things to do, I'm afraid."  He held out a large hand and engulfed
hers.

"It is a great pity that we need to part when we are beginning to be
friends."

"Oh, are we?"  She went rather pink.

"Well, yes, perhaps... You will want to say goodbye to Granny..."

Mrs.  Macdonald was sitting in an upright chair, in tent on telling her
daughter every detail of her mishap.

"You are going.  Doctor?  I shall tell Dr.  MacLeod how very helpful
you have been.  You are sure that I shall be all right on the stab's? I
managed very well at the motel for the last day or so, but I am
nervous..."

"Don't be, Mrs.  Macdonald, you are perfectly safe, only don't put your
weight on that foot until your doctor says you may."

He shook hands with her and with Carrie, said goodbye, and Rosie went
into the hall to see him out.  Elspeth was already there, waiting to
see him out of the door, so she said lamely, "Well, goodbye.  Doctor,"
and watched him go, surprised at the regret she felt at the sight of
his vast back disappearing into the street.

Dr.  MacLeod came to see them later that afternoon, pronounced himself
very satisfied with the ankle, and said that he had made arrangements
for Mrs.  Macdonald to go the Royal Infirmary on Monday morning.

"For an X-ray," he assured her.

"Nothing to be alarmed about.  If it is satisfactory you won't need
those crutches, just a stout stick.  The appointment is for ten
o'clock.  I shall see you there."

Mrs.  Macdonald was enjoying being the centre of attention.

She was accustomed to being the most important person in the house,
anyway; now she basked in the sympathetic attention she was getting.
She're counted every detail of each day since they had set out on the
train together, with her opinion about the hotel, the train, its staff,
the weather and the food.  It took the rest of the day, and she never
once mentioned Uncle Donald.  Rosie wondered if she should tell Aunt
Carrie, and decided not to for the moment, at any rate.

Only when their combined efforts had got her grandmother up the stairs
and into bed, and she and Aunt Carrie were having a cup of tea before
going to their own beds did she ask, "Did you have a good time, Aunt
Carrie?  Go out at all?"

Her companion blushed.

"Oh, Rosie, dear, I did... You can't imagine... He's very anxious that
we should ... I'm too old..."

"I don't suppose that being in love has anything to do with age,"
observed Rosie.

"Of course he wants to marry you;

you're still pretty, you know, and you'd make a splendid wife, just the
thing for a solicitor.  You've spent years looking after Granny, who
really doesn't need looking after, especially since there's Elspeth. 
Is he on the phone?  "

Aunt Carrie nodded.

"Good.  Ring him up this evening it's only half- past nine, and tell
him you'll marry him, and ask him to come here, and you can tackle
Granny together."  She added carefully, "I don't want to pry, but has
he enough money to marry?"

"He's senior partner in an old firm of solicitors; he's quite
comfortably off, and he has a lovely house, not big, you know, just
right."  Aunt Carrie, having uttered a long sentence without pause, let
out a huge sigh.

"Good," said Rosie, intent on her matchmaking.

"Will you promise to do that?  Do it while I'm here if you like."

"Your grandmother will be angry."  She caught Rosie's eye.

"Very well, dear.  I'll phone him and ask him to come
tomorrow--when?"

"Tea-time.  Granny will have had a rest."  She got up.

"I'm going to bed.  Aunt Carrie; I'll leave you to phone--now?"

Sunday was an eventful day.  Lying in her bed at the end of it Rosie
reviewed its happenings.  It had gone smoothly enough until tea-time,
when Mr.  Brodie had arrived.  To her relief, Rosie had seen that he
was a man of determination.

Nothing much to look at, perhaps, but very suitable for Aunt Carrie,
and it was obvious that he loved that lady dearly.

Over tea and Elspeth's shortbread she had been the unwilling but
fascinated witness of his level-headed battle with her grandmother.
Mrs.  Macdonald, taken unawares, and then subjected to the solicitor's
dry-as-dust arguments, found herself outflanked, the ground taken from
under her feet and not a leg to stand on.  Finally she had conceded
that there was no reason why Aunt Carrie shouldn't marry if she
wished.

Even her caustic 'ridiculous at her age' had conjured up no more than a
slight lift of the eyebrows from Aunt Carrie's suitor.  He was made of
stern stuff, Rosie reflected.  She closed her eyes well content with
the day's happenings.

It was fortunate that, in the bustle of getting off to the hospital in
the morning, her grandmother had little time to grumble about her
daughter.  Rosie had prudently suggested that her aunt should keep out
of sight until they had left, and her grandmother, full of her own
affairs, hardly noticed that she wasn't there.  Getting the old lady
into the taxi took time, and she complained bitterly as it sped through
the city, disregarding the cobbled streets away from the main roads.
The Royal Infirmary was on the other side of Princes Street, beyond the
Grassmarket, towering over thenar row streets and ancient houses around
it.  Rosie helped her grandmother out of the taxi, went in search of a
porter and a wheelchair, and with five minutes to spare presented the
pair of them at the X-ray department.

There were any number of people waiting, and she felt uncomfortable as
they passed the rows of patients and were ushered at once into the
X-ray room.  Her grandmother, never particularly mindful of other
people's convenience, had taken it for granted that she should be
attended to at once, and when the X-ray had been taken expressed the
hope that she wouldn't be kept waiting for too long.  The radiographer,
a brisk man, muttered something, and Rosie wheeled her grandmother away
to the waiting-room before the two of them could cross swords.

It was fifteen minutes before a student nurse came to fetch them,
wheeling the old lady into a small room, and hurrying away again.

"Why am I brought here?"  demanded Mrs.  Macdonald crossly and, when
Rosie pointed out in her calm way that it might be to await the result
of the X-ray, told her to hold her tongue until she had some thing
sensible to say.  So Rosie stood mute, studying the only picture on the
wall, a print of Princes Street.  She wished she were there now,
browsing round Jenners with plenty of money in her purse.

The door opened and Dr.  MacLeod came in, followed by Dr.  Cameron. 
Rosie felt a surge of pleasure at the sight of him, instantly followed
by surprise.  Unlike Dr.  MacLeod he was wearing a long white coat, and
looked somehow unapproachable.

He bade her a cheerful good morning, and greeted Mrs.  Macdonald with
brisk kindliness before assuring her that her ankle was very nearly as
good as new.

"A stout stick," he told her, 'and a helping hand from time to time.
You have done splendidly.  "

Mrs.  Macdonald had found her voice.

"I was under the impression that you were a general practitioner,
helping Dr.  Finlay."

Dr.  Cameron smiled a little, but it was Dr.  MacLeod who answered
her.

"A small misunderstanding," he said smoothly.

"This is Sir Fergus Cameron, the professor of orthopaedics at this
hospital, and senior consultant for the region.  You were most
fortunate in having his services when you sprained your ankle."

Rosie blushed with shame when her grandmother said sharply, "On the
National Health, I hope?"

Sir Fergus spoke then, his voice mild.

"Naturally, Mrs.  Macdonald indeed, I would gladly waive all fees for
the pleasure of making the acquaintance of yourself and your
granddaughter."  He stood there, a genial giant, smiling pleasantly,
and Rosie wished very much that the ground beneath her feet might open
up and swallow her.

He shook hands with her grandmother with the're mark that Dr.  MacLeod
would keep her under his eye for a time, and, with nothing but a
murmured goodbye to herself, went away.

Dr.  MacLeod was inclined to fuss.  A porter had to be fetched, a visit
arranged, and five minutes was wasted while Mrs.  Macdonald forecast a
gloomy future for herself.

"I am not strong," she declared.

"My health is probably unimportant to those around me, and I do my
utmost to make light of hurtful ailments..."

Her doctor patted her hand.

"You are remarkably fit for a lady of your years," he assured her, 'and
I shall keep my eye upon you.  "

Rosie went ahead to get a taxi, hoping for a glimpse of the professor;
there was no sign of him.  Not that it mattered, she told herself
crossly.  He had taken not the slightest notice of her, and why should
he?

CHAPTER FOUR

rosie caught an inter-city train to London the next morning after
bidding goodbye first to Aunt Carrie, who in a flurry of half-finished
sentences begged her to come to the wedding, "As soon as it can be
arranged.  Elspeth knows of a good woman who will come in to help with
the house."

Rosie had kissed her warmly.

"I'll come if I possibly can," she had said.

Elspeth had hugged her and handed her a packet of sandwiches for the
homeward journey.

"It was a joy to have ye, lass.

I'll take good care of your granny.  "

Lastly, her grandmother, sitting in the drawing- room reading the
newspaper had bidden her farewell.  Rosie had thanked her for her
holiday, which was a bit silly, but she knew it would be expected of
her, and her grandmother in her turn offered no thanks for Rosie's care
of her.  Indeed, she had said dourly, "You'll miss all the gallivanting
with Dr.  Cameron."

"Did I gallivant?"  asked Rosie with interest, and had to bite back the
words on her tongue when her grandmother said, "And much good it did
you, but I dare say it amused him, pretending to be a country
doctor."

Rosie, sitting in her second-class seat, eating her sandwiches and
washing them down with British Rail coffee, found that Mrs. 
Macdonald's remark still rankled

It was lovely to be home.  There was a great deal to talk about, not
least her unexpected visit to Inverard.

"You see, I didn't know Dr.  not Dr, Professor Cameron, only he's Sir
Fergus as well couldn't stop as it was an emergency call.  It hasn't
changed, and Mrs.  Mac Fee is there still, and old Robert..."

"And no one else?  Has he no friend living with him?  Surely he is not
alone?"  asked her father.

"Well, there wasn't anyone there, and as far as I know no one went to
see him at the hospital.  I went I had to."

"Of course you did," said her mother.

"He'll're cover?"

"I don't know.  I've got the phone number.  The the professor said it
was impossible to tell at the moment

"Was he nice, this professor?  Scots?  How strange that he didn't tell
your grandmother who he really was."  Her mother added with a casual
air, "Elderly, I dare say I mean, being a professor one would expect
him to be."

"Not even elderly, about thirty-five or six, I should think he's a very
big man, and tall.  Dark, good-looking.

Most of the time we didn't get on together.

His own doctor was really rather nice, though quite young and friendly.
"

"I had better telephone the hospital," said her father.

"And you are sure that your grandmother wishes to have nothing to do
with him?"

He came back presently.

"No change.  I spoke to Dr.  Douglas he asked after you, Rosie."

"Oh, did he?"  She felt her mother's interested eye upon her, and went
a little pink.

"He has been looking after Uncle Donald for the last year or two, I
believe;

he seemed very nice.  "

If Mrs.  Macdonald was disappointed at this wishy- washy statement she
didn't say so.

"It is nice to know that your uncle is in competent hands.  He's not a
consultant?"

"No, no.  He has a practice in Oban."

"Of course, he can call in someone from Edinburgh or Glasgow if he
needs a second opinion."

"Well, yes, only there was no need because Professor Cameron was
already there, and he's a consultant."  Rosie frowned.

"Though I don't know what of."

"Ah, well," said her mother.

"I dare say we shall hear how your uncle does."

Sooner than they had expected, as it turned out.

Rosie had been back at her desk, neatly typing Mr.  Crabbe senior's
dry-as-dust letters when Mr.  Crabbe junior called her on the
intercom.

"There is a telephone call for you.  Miss Macdonald.

As you know, we do not allow private calls in that office, but it seems
that this one is urgent.  It will be switched through to your office.
"

He always referred to the cubby-hole where she worked as an office.

She thanked him while half a dozen dire possibilities left her with a
dry mouth.  She lifted the receiver, and Professor Cameron's voice
said, "Ah, good morning, Rosie."

"It's you!"  she exclaimed.

"I thought something awful had happened at home."  She let out the
breath she had been holding.

"How did you know that I was here?  Is Grandmother ill?  But you
wouldn't know that, would you?  Dr.  MacLeod would have phoned " Stop
nattering.  I'm a busy man, and presumably you're doing whatever it is
you do.  Your uncle died early this morning.  "

"Oh oh, I'm sorry.  I didn't like him, but all the same I'm sorry."

"He had been unconscious for several hours.  His solicitor and Dr.
Douglas will be in touch with your father.  Goodbye, Rosie."

He had rung off before she could thank him.

When she got home that evening her father told her that he had had a
telephone call from Dr.  Douglas.

"It seems that there is no one on his side of the family only those in
Canada.  I shall have to go to the funeral.  They will let me know when
it is to be.  I'll go up by train, and stay with your grandmother."

His own doctor was really rather nice, though quite young and friendly.
"

"I had better telephone the hospital," said her father.

"And you are sure that your grandmother wishes to have nothing to do
with him?"

He came back presently.

"No change.  I spoke to Dr.  Douglas he asked after you, Rosie."

"Oh, did he?"  She felt her mother's interested eye upon her, and went
a little pink.

"He has been looking after Uncle Donald for the last year or two, I
believe;

he seemed very nice.  "

If Mrs.  Macdonald was disappointed at this wishy- washy statement she
didn't say so.

"It is nice to know that your uncle is in competent hands.  He's not a
consultant?"

"No, no.  He has a practice in Oban."

"Of course, he can call in someone from Edinburgh or Glasgow if he
needs a second opinion."

"Well, yes, only there was no need because Professor Cameron was
already there, and he's a consultant."  Rosie frowned.

"Though I don't know what of."

"Ah, well," said her mother.

"I dare say we shall hear how your uncle does."

Sooner than they had expected, as it turned out.

Rosie had been back at her desk, neatly typing Mr.  Crabbe senior's
dry-as-dust letters when Mr.  Crabbe junior called her on the
intercom.

"There is a telephone call for you.  Miss Macdonald.

As you know, we do not allow private calls in that office, but it seems
that this one is urgent.  It will be switched through to your office.
"

He always referred to the cubby-hole where she worked as an office.

She thanked him while half a dozen dire possibilities left her with a
dry mouth.  She lifted the receiver, and Professor Cameron's voice
said, "Ah, good morning, Rosie."

"It's you!"  she exclaimed.

"I thought something awful had happened at home."  She let out the
breath she had been holding.

"How did you know that I was here?  Is Grandmother ill?  But you
wouldn't know that, would you?  Dr.  MacLeod would have phoned " Stop
nattering.  I'm a busy man, and presumably you're doing whatever it is
you do.  Your uncle died early this morning.  "

"Oh oh, I'm sorry.  I didn't like him, but all the same I'm sorry."

"He had been unconscious for several hours.  His solicitor and Dr.
Douglas will be in touch with your father.  Goodbye, Rosie."

He had rung off before she could thank him.

When she got home that evening her father told her that he had had a
telephone call from Dr.  Douglas.

"It seems that there is no one on his side of the family only those in
Canada.  I shall have to go to the funeral.  They will let me know when
it is to be.  I'll go up by train, and stay with your grandmother."

There was a letter from the solicitor in the morning, too, suggesting
that Mr.  Macdonald might wish to at tend the funeral on what was now
the following day, so Rosie drove her father to the station and saw him
off, and then went back to the office to spend the morning in the dimly
lighted basement looking for documents for old Mr.  Crabbe while she
wondered if by any chance her father might meet Professor Cameron.  She
pulled out a bundle of old papers covered in dust, and sneezed.  It was
most unlikely.

Her father telephoned that evening, merely to say that he had arrived
safely, and was at her grand mother's house.  The funeral was the next
day, and Aunt Carrie and her fiance were going to drive him to Oban.

"Your granny isn't going to like that," observed her mother as she put
the phone down.

"I'm so very glad that Carrie is going to get married."

She started down the flagstone passage to the kitchen.

"I'll start the supper, love, if you'll lay the table.  Your father
will be back in two days' time the house is empty without him, isn't
it?"

Her father phoned again the following evening to tell them that he
would be home the next day.

"He sounded tired," observed his wife, who had taken the call.

"Well, I suppose it was tiredness as though something had
happened..."

"I dare say he is tired," said Rosie comfortingly.

"It's quite a journey to Edinburgh, and then driving to Oban and back
today.  I hope he'll rest on Sunday before he goes back to work.  Did
he say what time he would get here?"

"No and I quite forgot to ask him.  We'll have a casserole, then it
won't matter, will it?  Will you be able to get home a bit earlier?"

Rosie said yes, of course, Mr.  Twitchett had kept her during her
lunch-hour that day; she would point that out to him in the morning,
and leave as soon after her lunch-break as she could.

Mr.  Twitchett wasn't best pleased, but he was forced to admit that she
had missed half an hour of her lunch hour, and since it was an urgent
family matter he had no choice but to allow her to go home during the
early afternoon.  There had been no message from her father, she and
her mother had tea, put the casserole in the oven, and Rosie occupied
herself in making a treacle tart.

A rather watery sun shone into the kitchen, touching lightly on Hobb,
her father's labrador, who had come with them from Inverard, and now
that he was elderly led a leisurely life, sleeping a great deal and
keeping the family cat company before the Aga.  The sun also rested on
Rosie as she stood at the kitchen table making her pastry, and it
showed up the worn paintwork and shabby chairs.  All the same, the
kitchen was a pleasant room with bright curtains and the vase of early
roses she had picked from the New Dawn climber outside the front door.
Mrs.  Macdonald switched on the radio for the six o'clock news, and
neither of them heard the car stop outside the house.

It was Rosie who heard the rumble of voices first.

"That's Father!"  she cried.

"And there's someone with him."

Her mother had got up to open the door just as her father came in, and,
right behind him.  Sir Fergus Cameron.

Rosie, the tart on its plate held in one hand while she neatened its
edge with a knife, put them both down carefully, very conscious of her
pinny and floury hands.  She looked vaguely at her father embracing her
mother, and allowed her astonished gaze to dwell on Professor
Cameron.

After a moment she said "Hello' in an enquiring voice.

By then her father was introducing him to her mother, and it was a few
moments before the guest said, "Hello, Rosie!  I had to come this way
it was pleasant to have your father's company."

"You're a long way from home," she commented, and blushed at the
silliness of the remark.

"Home is where the heart is," he told her gravely, and turned to make a
civil answer to her mother's offer of a bed for the night.

"I'm expected at Bristol," he told her.

"Then at least do stay for supper," urged Mrs.  Macdonald.

"A

casserole, and Rosie has made a treacle tart.  You must be hungry?  "

He smiled.

"I am, and I would be delighted to have supper with you."

Mrs.  Macdonald beamed at him.

"Oh, splendid.  Go along the pair of you, and have a drink while we get
it on the table."

When they had gone she said, "Put that tart in the oven, love, it
should be just about ready to eat by the time they've had a drink and
we've had the casserole.  What a nice young man."

Rosie put the tart in the oven and said nothing.  Sir Fergus was indeed
a long way from home, and what on earth had he meant about home being
where the heart was?  His home was in Scotland.  She took off her
pinny, and went away to tidy herself, and presently joined the others
in the pleasant, rather shabby sitting- room.

Her father gave her a glass of sherry and, her mother observed, "It's a
long drive from Edinburgh..."

It was really a question.

"We left early this morning, there wasn't much traffic, and I enjoy
driving."  Sir Fergus didn't sound in the least tired, and he didn't
look it, either.  He looked perfectly at home, thought Rosie, peeping
at him when he wasn't looking.

"I am most grateful," said her father quietly.

"It was a pleasant journey, and far less tiresome than that long train
ride.  I had a great deal to think about, and the time to do it."  He
looked at his wife.

"I have a great deal to tell you, my dear..."

"I'll go and see to the supper," offered Rosie, and very much to her
surprise Sir Fergus got up too.

"I'm sure there is something I can do to help you," he said smoothly,
and her father said, "Oh, Fergus, be so good as to tell Rosie my news
while you're dishing up you will excuse us if we have just a few
minutes to talk?"

So it's Fergus, is it?  thought Rosie, leading the way to the kitchen.
And what is this news?

She said, "Sit down, do.  We're going to eat here because it's warm,
and we weren't expecting guests..."  She turned swiftly.

"I'm sorry, that sounded rude, but I didn't mean it to be.  Only
perhaps you don't eat in the kitchen, being a professor; if we had
known that you were coming we would have used the dining room."

"I like kitchens."  He sat down on the edge of the table.

"Something smells delicious."

"Beef casserole, dumplings and mashed potatoes."  She took the saucepan
off the sink, drained it, and began to beat the contents with a fork.

"Quite the little housewife," murmured the professor.

"Well, not so little."

Rosie added a generous knob of butter, and went on beating, looking
annoyed.

"That doesn't mean to say you're large," he went on equably.

"In fact, you appear to me to be just right..."

She shot in some milk and plied her fork.

"Stop annoying me.

Sir Fergus.  What news?  "

"Your uncle has left Inverard to your father.  He left a good deal of
money besides.  Most of it goes to distant relations in Canada, but
there is sufficient for your father to run the place and return to
sheep-fanning."

She had abandoned the potatoes.

"Is that really true?"  And then, at the look on his face, added, "Oh,
sorry, no one ever doubts your word; it's just that I'm a bit
overcome."

"Naturally.  It may interest you to know that your uncle altered his
will after he had seen you."

She echoed him in a bemused fashion.

"Seen me?  After he had seen me?"

"You sound like a parrot.  There is a delicious smell of toasted
treacle."

"My tart!"  Rosie flung open the Aga oven door, snatched out the tart,
and put it on the table.  It was exactly right, the pastry pale brown
and flaky and the treacle bubbling.  The fragrance of it caused Sir
Fergus's patrician nose to flare with pleasure.

He asked, "Are you glad?"

"Glad?  I'm dumbfounded over the moon.  Wouldn't you be, in my
shoes?"

"Indeed I would.  You will no longer need to pound a typewriter, will
you?  But you must have some friends here whom you will miss?"

He was watching her, sleepy-eyed.

"Well, of course I have some friends; we have been here for six years.
There's Brenda up at the big house;

we play tennis and go shopping and that kind of thing, and there's Will
we go fishing sometimes.  "

"Will?"  prompted the professor gently.

"He's a nice boy, waiting to go up to Oxford..."

"So you have no regrets at leaving?"  He spoke casually.

"None--oh, I've been happy here, but I long to be back at Inverard."

She smiled widely at him.

"I can't quite believe it, you know."  She put the saucepan with the
potatoes in it back on the Aga to keep warm, and asked, "Are you very
hungry?"  She added, "There's such a lot of you, isn't there?"

"Er--yes, I'm afraid so."

Mrs.  Macdonald came into the kitchen followed by her husband, and the
professor got up from the table, saying easily, "It is really very good
of you, Mrs.  Macdonald, to invite me to supper."

"A small return for bringing my husband home.  Sir Fergus!"

She beamed at him, and Rosie said quietly to her father, "I'm still
trying to believe it's true.  Father.  Can we go soon?"

"Just as soon as there is someone to take over from me, my darling.
Fergus, you'll have a glass of beer with your supper?  Something smells
good."

Supper was a cheerful meal, the talk naturally enough centred round
Scotland--the Highlands and Inverard in particular--and Rosie was
surprised to discover that Sir Fergus, without pushing himself forward
in any way, became, as it were, integrated into the conversation.  It
seemed that he knew several old friends of her parents, had an
excellent knowledge of the country round Oban and Fort William, and at
the same time betrayed a sound knowledge of Edinburgh.

And yet, she thought uneasily, he had told them nothing about himself.
That he had some kind of consultant position at the Royal Infirmary
seemed obvious, on the other hand he seemed to have a good deal of free
time.  He had been on holiday, hadn't he, when they had met?  And now
he had said that he was going to Bristol.  For how long?  she wondered.
He had told her that he hoped to marry; perhaps the girl lived there. 
She wondered where they had met; Bristol and Edinburgh were very far
apart. "Rosie, dear."

Her mother's voice broke into her thoughts.

"Will you help me take the coffee into the sitting- room?"

And Rosie looked up to find the professor's eyes on her.

He looked amused, and she flushed a little, aware that she had allowed
her thoughts to stray about him, too.

She became all at once very brisk, serving the coffee, and carrying on
a laboured conversation with the professor, who, for his part, replied
to her stilted comments with suitable gravity and enjoyed himself
enormously.

He got up to go presently, assuring them that he hoped they might meet
again when they returned to their home in Scotland.

"You can reach me at the Royal Infirmary," he told them, 'and perhaps I
shall be able to return your hospitality, Mrs.  Macdonald?  "

"Oh, I do hope so."  Mrs.  Macdonald tiptoed to kiss his cheek, and
said, "You were so kind to my mother- in-law, and I'm sure Rosie was
delighted to have some young company."

"I'm flattered," he murmured, and held out a hand to Rosie, who shook
it with her eyes fixed on his tie, and mumbled awkwardly.

Bother the man, she thought.  Making me feel a fool!

After he had gone they sat up until late discussing a suddenly
delightful future.  They wouldn't be able to go at once, of course; her
father reckoned that it would be at least a month before he could leave
his job.  There would be the furniture to sell, for they had taken only
their personal possessions when they had left Inverard, but the house
went with his job, which would simplify their move.

"It is early days for planning, but perhaps it would be a good idea if
your mother and I took Hobb and Simpkins, the china and glass and so
forth and as many clothes as we can pack in, and you, Rosie, go by
train with the rest of the luggage.  Could you man age that?"

"Yes, of course.  You'll leave a day ahead of me you'll have to spend a
night on the way.  Will you go to Granny's first?"

"I think not we can cross over at Carlisle, and go straight up from
there.  Could you manage to change trains at Waverley Station?  I could
meet you at Crianlarich."

"I can't wait!"  declared Mrs.  Macdonald happily.

"Did you say everything looks the same, dear?"

"As far as I could see.  Mrs.  Mac Fee and Old Robert certainly haven't
changed."

"To meet old friends again..."  She sighed with pleasure.

"Of course, we shall have to have this Dr.  Douglas now he's taken over
the practice.  He sounds very nice."  She looked at Rosie.

"You'll have a chance to meet some young people, darling."

Which remark Rosie rightly translated as having a chance to see more of
Dr.  Douglas, single and most suitable.  He was, as her mother had
said, a nice man, which made it all the more strange that Sir Fergus's
austere visage should superimpose itself upon the younger man's
pleasant features.

On Monday she begged an interview with old Mr.  Crabbe, and gave him
her notice.  He was no more than a figure-head in the firm now; his son
and young Mr.  Twitchett conducted the business with the aid of
computers, word processors and every modern gadget which might enable
them to take on more work.  He sat in his backwater of an office,
surrounded by deed boxes and stacks of papers and shelves of law books,
and Rosie, who liked him, felt sorry to be leaving him, although she
was glad enough to turn her back on her typewriter.  She thought
happily of Inverard and the life she would lead there.  She would take
over the kitchen garden once more, and the hens, and help Flora around
the house, and there would be time to knit; she was a skilled knitter,
and like many girls and women in the Highlands had spent the long
winter evenings making the traditional sweaters.  She had had no
trouble in selling them to shops in Fort William and Oban, and they
were always in demand, especially by tourists.

It had seemed to her at first that the month before they could return
to her old home would be far too long, but the days were filled with
packing, giving farewell dinners to the friends they had made and, once
she had left her job, the task of helping her father hand over the
considerable book work to his successor.

The last day came, and she saw her mother and father off early in the
morning with Hobb and Simpkins cocooned in the most precious of the
family possessions, and the boot stuffed to capacity.  She waved until
they were out of sight, and then went into the house.  She wouldn't be
leaving until the next day, and there was a good deal to do before
then.

The house must be left clean and tidy for the new tenants, and there
were the last of the cases to finish packing.  Two big trunks had been
sent on in advance, but there were always last-minute things which she
would have to take with her.  The day went quickly, she had no time to
be lonely; she cooked supper and went to bed early, and was up at first
light to eat a hasty breakfast, cast an eye over the house for the last
time, and then get into the taxi to take her to the station.

It was a two-hour train journey to London, but once there she found
that the queue for taxis was long and slow-moving;

she missed the train to Edinburgh she had planned to catch, and sat
impatiently, drinking coffee she didn't want, until she could board the
next train, see to her cases, and settle into a corner seat for the
journey north.  She was excited now, still not quite believing that she
was going back to her old life once more, but she was tired too, and
dozed off, only to wake and find that they had reached Berwick-on Tweed
and Edinburgh was no longer a dream but a reality barely forty minutes
or so away.

Waverley Station was busy and bright with the lateafternoon sunshine.
Rosie collected her hand-luggage and got out of the coach, intent on
getting the luggage and then telephoning her father to say that she
would be on a later train to Crianlarich.

She had one foot on the platform when she had her overnight bag taken
from her and Sir Fergus said, "Hello, Rosie.  Where's the rest of the
luggage?"

She gaped at him.

"How did you know...?  I missed the train at King's Cross... Are you
going somewhere?"

"Plenty of time to talk later," he told her easily.

"Is the luggage in the front van?"

She nodded, and stood watching his commanding figure stride away, her
surprise at last giving way to good sense.  She hurried after him, and
plucked at his sleeve.

"I'm catching the next train there's one to Fort William in half an
hour..."

"I'm going to Fort William with the car; I'll drop you off."

He picked up the luggage.

"The car's outside;

come along.  "

Since he had the luggage she went.  When they reached the car she tried
again.

"Look, it's out of your way and how did you know?"

"Your father told me.  Get in, there's a good girl."  Rosie eyed the
car.

"It's the Rolls-Royce again."  She turned an accusing eye upon him.

"It's yours, isn't it?  You were pretending..."

"I had no need.  I wasn't asked, if you remember."  He was stowing the
luggage in the boot.

"Are you coming or not?"

Put like that there was nothing much she could do about it.

She got in and settled thankfully into the comfort of the big car.

He got in beside her, and as he drove off asked, "Tired?"

She thought back over a long day.

"Yes."

"When did you last have a meal?  And I don't mean a sandwich on the
train."

Thinking about it, she realised that she hadn't;

breakfast had been a slice of toast and a pot of tea, and then a
sandwich at King's Cross, and then a card board mug of tea on the train
and two rich tea biscuits in plastic.

"Well, at supper, last night."

He growled something at her, but she wasn't listening.  She was
suddenly sleepy; for the first time that day she had no worries.  Here
she was, borne in luxury, the luggage safely stowed, and home only an
hour or two away.  She closed her eyes and went to sleep.

He woke her very gently as he drew up before the Inverbeg Inn at the
upper end of Loch Lomond.  She opened her eyes, and sat up at once.

"Oh, Luss already;

I went to sleep.  "

"Now I hope you are as hungry as I am?"  He leant over and undid her
seatbelt, and then got out to open her door.

She hung back.

"But I'm sure there'll be a meal for me when I get home--don't stop on
my account."

"I'm stopping on both our accounts."

He whisked her into the inn without more ado, sat her down at the bar,
watched her drink her sherry, and then said, "Go and tidy your face or
whatever while I see what there is to eat.  I'll be here."

So she went away and did her face and her hair, feeling a bit strange
because of the sherry on an empty stomach, and then she went back to
join him.  He handed her the menu and offered her another sherry.

"No, thank you, I feel rather peculiar as it is.  May I have the
poached salmon?"

He said gravely, "You may; and I would suggest that you try the
mushrooms in garlic butter to start with.  A cucumber salad with the
fish, or would you rather have spinach?"

"Oh, the cucumber, please."

The dining-room was half full and pleasant; they ate their meal without
haste, exchanging small talk of an undemanding nature, and presently
got back into the Rolls and drove on.

There were rather less then forty miles to go, and since the road for
most of the way was a good one, and the Rolls swallowed the miles with
well-bred speed, Rosie calculated that she would be home well within
the hour.  Her pleasure at the thought was tinged with regret that Sir
Fergus would bid her a polite goodbye and very likely never see her
again.

Not that she minded that, she reminded herself stoutly, only if she
could get to know him better she might be able to discover why she
still wasn't sure if she liked him or not.

"Now you are home again what do you intend to do?"  asked her companion
suddenly.

"Help Mother run the house, help old Robert with the garden, I don't
know if Uncle Donald kept chick ens, but I shall, and in the winter I
shall knit.  We had a kind of cottage industry, you know, and sold what
we had knitted to the shops in Oban and Fort William."

"Will you be content with that?"

She said, suddenly fierce.

"Have you ever sat at a desk from nine till five typing letters full of
long words and dry as dust?"  She cast a look at his profile, and saw
that he was smiling.

"Oh, of course you haven't," she went on crossly.

"If you had, you would know that anything is better than that."

"Better than marrying?"

"Well, of course not.  That is, if one married the right person there
can't be anything better than that."

He said idly, "You're a very pretty girl; one would assume that you
have had your chances."

"Oh, yes.  Perhaps I'm hard to please."

"Perhaps you have never fallen in love and loved too?"

"Have you?"

"Oh, yes.  It brings its difficulties, but they will be overcome in due
course."

They drove in silence for a while until he said, "Here's your turning,"
and slid the Rolls on to thenar row country lane she knew so well.

The daylight was beginning to fade very slowly, its pearly light
enhancing the colours around them, so that the mountains, never far
away, showed steely grey, and the firs crowding their lower reaches had
become a vivid green in the evening light.

"I can't believe it," murmured Rosie softly.

"It doesn't change, does it?"

He understood her.

"No, but the best time of day is early in the morning."

"Oh, yes, about six o'clock.  I don't suppose you get much chance to
enjoy that, though.  Do you come to stay with Dr.  Finlay very
often?"

"Not as often as I would wish.  Do you fish, Rosie?"

"Yes.  There's splendid trout fishing here you know;

salmon, too.  "

They were almost in sight of the house now, and Rosie sat forward so
that she would get the first delightful glimpse.

There were lights in most of the windows downstairs, and as they swept
gently up to the front door it was thrown open and her mother and
father, Hobb and Simpkins with Mrs.  Mac Fee and Old Robert behind them
came out to meet them.

Rosie was hugged and kissed as though she hadn't been seen for years,
while Hobb and Simpkins wound themselves around her legs, and it was
her father who held out a hand to Sir Fergus and said, "We are so
grateful to you.  Do come in and have coffee and a sandwich..."

"And stay the night," added Mrs.  Macdonald quickly.

"We have rooms enough now, and we would love to have you."  She cast a
motherly eye over him.

"You're tired--could you not stay?"

Rosie had turned to look at him.

"It would be nice if you could; you've been so kind, and I haven't
thanked you properly."

He gave a wicked little grin and looked at her from under drooping
lids, and she found herself, to her great annoyance, going red.

It was to her mother, however, that he spoke.

"It would be delightful, but I am expected tonight."

"Then you'll have a cup of coffee?"

He said regretfully, "Not even a cup of coffee, Mrs.  Macdonald, but I
hope that if I come this way in the future you will invite me again."

To Rosie's astonishment her mother stood on tiptoe and kissed his
cheek, and that was the second time.

"I do hope that someone looks after you properly.  We won't keep
you."

He shook Mr.  Macdonald's hand, bade Mrs.  Mac Fee and Old Robert
goodbye, and turned to Rosie.  She broke into speech before he could
utter a word.

"Thank you for bringing me, and for my dinner you've been very kind."
She was conscious that she had said it all before more than once, and
she felt a fool under his cool look.

"A pleasure, Rosie, goodbye."

He got into the car and drove himself back up the lane, and they all
stood and watched until he was out of sight.

"Such a nice man," observed her mother, 'don't you think so Rosie?  "

Rosie said, "Yes, Mother," quite unable to voice her muddled thoughts;
of course he was nice.  He was also a man who liked his own way and
expected to get it;

moreover she knew nothing about him.  Did he live in Edinburgh?  she
wondered.  And why was he going to Fort William?  Was that where the
girl he was going to marry lived?  And if so, why couldn't he have said
so?

They all went indoors, and the rest of the evening was taken up with
the exchange of news.

She pottered around getting ready for bed.  She was back in her own
room once again, and it was as though she had never left it.  Uncle
Donald had made very few alterations in the house, and the furniture
was almost exactly as she remembered it.  At length she had a bath in
the rather old-fashioned bathroom at her end of the house and, since it
was a lovely night, went to hang out of the window.  It was a clear
night and starry, a small wind stirred the trees around the house,
which somehow added to the peace.  Rosie allowed her thoughts to roam
in a sleepy fashion.  Only they didn't roam far; they stopped at Sir
Fergus.

"I'm not really interested in him," she said out loud, her wits woolly
with sleep.

"But it would be nice to know more about him."

She got into bed, and Simpkins, who was already there, opened an eye
and looked annoyed at being disturbed.

"I wonder what sort of a girl she is?"  Rosie asked of the little cat
and, since there was no answer, put her head on the pillow and went to
sleep.

CHAPTER FIVE

sir fergus cameron drove back the way he had come, but when he reached
the road again he turned the car in the direction of Fort William.
There was almost no traffic, only a stray sheep from time to time and
an occasional small hotel or youth hostel by the side of the road, for
it was used during the summer months by a great many walkers.  At Fort
William he turned off to Banavie and so to Glenfinnan; this was Cameron
country now, and he was almost home.

Through Glenfinnan and very shortly a glimpse of Loch Eilt and then the
two gate-posts, the gates opening on to a narrow drive winding between
trees beside the water.  He rounded a corner and saw his family home
ahead.  A magnificent house--a sixteenth- century fortified house,
added to, modernised, but very little altered over the years.  It had
square towers at each end of it, and corbel led battlements, long, wide
windows on the lower floors, and very small dormer ones tucked into
irregular roofs.  The stout door was set at an angle between the front
of the house and a short wing at right angles to it.

As he drew up the door was opened by an old man, tall and very thin
with a rugged face and an eye-patch.

Sir Fergus got out of the car, and crossed to him in two strides.

"Good evening, Hamish.  I'm late.  Is my mother still up?"

"Aye, Sir Fergus, and disappointed that it is too late for a guid
blether!"  He took the professor's bag from him.

"Ye'll be biding a wee while?"

"Until tomorrow evening.  How's the rheumatism?"

The old man hesitated, "Weel..."

Sir Fergus put a gentle hand on the man's shoulder.

"I'll have a look at you before I go."

He crossed the hall, large and square with its flagstoned floor partly
covered by a beautiful worn carpet, its low curved ceiling and plain
plastered walls, he opened a door to one side of the oak staircase, and
entered a charming sitting-room.  It had a plaster-work ceiling, rather
crude strap-work several hundred years old and a Saxe blue wallpaper of
a much later date.  The furniture was a pleasing mixture of cretonne-.
covered chairs and several small tables, a Louis XV writing table under
the one long and narrow window, and a bombe commode.  There were a
great many small pictures on the walls and a small ormolu Cartel clock
on the narrow mantel shelf

His mother was in one of the chairs, knitting, but she got up as he
crossed the room a woman in her sixties, rather stout, grey hair
framing serene good looks.

She put up her face for his kiss.

"My dear, you must be tired; Hamish will bring you coffee and
sandwiches Such a pity that you have to go again so soon.  Your
secretary said that you were due in Leiden for a consultation, but
lovely to see you, and so unexpected."

He had taken a chair opposite her, and the Jack Russell who had been
sitting with her went to sit with him and put his chin on the
professor's shoes.  He smiled a little at his mother's remark, for it
had sounded like a question.

"I'm late because I gave someone a lift.  You're member me telling you
about the Macdonalds at Inverard?"

"Oh, yes he died, did he not?  Donald Macdonald.  You were called to
old Mrs.  Macdonald at Bridge of Orchy there was a granddaughter..."

"Rosie, and a more inappropriate name would be hard to find."  He had
bent down to pull gently at the Jack Russell's ears and didn't see her
quick look.

"Malcolm Macdonald, her father who lived there originally has
inherited, and they've moved back there.  I collected Rosie and some
luggage from Waverley Station this evening, and drove her up.  Her
parents had already come up by car."

"How kind, dear, especially if I remember rightly you said you neither
of you have much time to waste on each other."

He laughed.

"That's true; we have to try hard to be civil, but we seem to have a
mutual antipathy."

He began to talk about family matters then, and Hamish came in with the
coffee and sandwiches, and his mother, placidly knitting and making
appropriate replies to his remarks, wondered about Rosie.

Fergus, she reflected, was thirty-five, and although he had fancied
himself in love on a number of occasions she was sure that he had never
been serious;

none of the girls had been suitable, she considered.  He needed a wife
to stand up to him; he was a successful man, self-assured, well-to-do,
and inclined to be impatient and like his own way things which he
concealed very well under beautiful manners and, when he troubled to
exert himself, great charm.  This Rosie sounded exactly right.  They
sat talking for an hour or so before she got up to go to bed.

"Any plans for tomorrow?"  she wanted to know as she bade him
goodnight.

"An hour's fishing before breakfast.  A pity I didn't bring Gyp with
me, but I wasn't sure how much lug gage Rosie would have."

"You'll manage a few days before the summer's over?  She can come
then."

He went to open the door for her, "Bobby will stay down here with you
let him into my room as you come up, will you, dear?"

The professor went back to his chair, pouring him self a nightcap as he
went.  He was tired, but it was pleasant to sit in the peaceful room
with Bobby at his feet.  He allowed his thoughts to wander, and
presently found himself wishing that Rosie was sitting with him.

"A

tiresome girl," he observed to the little dog, 'but her conversation is
stimulating, to say the least that is if we aren't arguing!"  He
sighed.

"She'll make young Douglas a good wife."

He went through the quiet old house presently, using the secondary
staircase leading from an inner corridor in the main part of the house.
His room over looked the grounds at the back of his home; he spent ten
minutes there with Bobby, and stood listening to the wind in the trees
and the soft lapping of the water at the loch's edge, and once again he
wished that Rosie were with him.  He laughed at himself, and went back
into the house.

As for Rosie, she hadn't given him a thought, there was so much to talk
about and, in the morning, so much to do.  After all, Mrs.  Mac Fee and
Old Robert had six years' events to tell about, and there was furniture
to rearrange, odds and ends which had been banished to the attics to be
brought down into the house once more, and a detailed tour of the
gardens to be made.  Uncle Donald hadn't bothered much with flowers;

the kitchen garden flourished there was enough stuff there to keep
Rosie and her mother busy bottling and freezing for days but the rose
garden and the herbaceous borders had been neglected.  Rosie went round
pulling up weeds and frowning over roses which hadn't been cut back for
years while Old Robert stumped along beside her explaining that Donald
Macdonald wouldn't allow him so much as a boy to give a hand, and
forbade him to waste his time on flowers.

"Never mind, Robert.  I shall enjoy getting every thing going again.
The kitchen garden looks pretty good to me; you must have worked very
hard."

"Oh, aye," said Old Robert.

It was that afternoon, after her father had come in from a leisurely
inspection of the land around the house, and she was crossing the inner
hall with a vase of flowers she had wrested from the weedy beds, that
he stopped to say, "Rosie, come to the study, will you?  There's some
thing I would like you to do for me."

She put the flowers in the drawing-room, and opened the door leading
from it, and went into a long, low room with a big window overlooking
the gardens at the side of the house a room lined with books, and
furnished as it had been for years, with bulky leather armchairs, a
great desk and a circular table in its centre.

"I've had a letter from your granny.  She wants to come and see us."
Her father picked up the letter on his desk.

"She says that she wishes to see the house and us before she dies; she
also says that someone will have to fetch her here.  Carrie, it seems,
is no longer of any use to her, and she asks that you should go and
fetch her here and drive her back to Edinburgh at the end of her
visit."

He saw the look on Rosie's face, and said, "Yes, I know, dear, but she
has always loved this place.  After all, she came here as a bride...!
wondered if you would like to go and stay for a day or two before you
pick her up... You've had a thin time of it for the last few years, and
now I'm going to give you a cheque to spend on clothes you should be
able to fit yourself out in Edinburgh.  I had a chat with Dr.  MacLeod,
and he kindly suggested that you should stay with him and his wife for
a night or two.  Granny need not know, and you can shop to your heart's
content."

He handed her a cheque, and watched her lovely face break into a wide
smile.

"Father but this is much too much... I can manage with far less."

"You don't need to.  And it is not too much.  If you care to do a
little simple arithmetic you will find that I have given you exactly
half of the total amount of money you gave your mother while you were
working

"Yes, but I didn't mind."

"We know that, my dear.  Now we would like you to spend this money on
yourself.  I dare say you'll pick up old friends again, and you'll need
clothes."

She gave him a hug and waltzed off, her head already full of plans.
Most of the clothes would have to be sensible;

social life was restricted, especially in the winter, but one or two
pretty dresses for dinner parties would be a must a good suit, too.
There was plenty of wear in her old kilt still, but a cashmere sweater
would liven it up a bit.  Shoes and a pair of fashionable boots as well
as the tough wellies she used so often in the winter.  A waxed jacket,
a blouse or two, and wool so that she could start knitting.  She went
back into the garden and did some more weeding while she spent the
cheque in a dozen different ways.

There was an elderly Rover in the garage which her uncle had used when
he had been living at Inverard, a suitable vehicle in which to convey
old Mrs.  Macdonald from Edinburgh, and Rosie, the cheque cashed in
Oban, wearing the best of her last year's summer dresses an unassuming
pale green cotton jersey flung an overnight-bag into the back of the
Rover, and set off for Edinburgh.

It was a splendid morning, the mountains gleamed in the sun, and in the
glens the rivers tumbled along over great boulders.  Rosie bowled
along, not going fast for there was too much to see; there was a need
to refresh her memory, and there was time enough.  When she reached
Bridge of Orchy she stopped on an impulse and went into the hotel and
had coffee, ex changing news with the owner.  It was surprising that
news travelled so fast in that sparsely populated part of Scotland; he
knew all about her uncle's death and the return of her mother and
father to Inverard.

"De lighted we are, too.  Miss Macdonald.  We hope we shall see
something of you."

She replied suitably, got back into the car, and drove on, taking the
road which Sir Fergus had taken, which, naturally enough, reminded her
of him.

Edinburgh is a large place, she reminded herself once more;

I'm not at all likely to see anything of him.

Doctor MacLeod and his wife welcomed her warmly, gave her high tea, and
showed her into a pretty bedroom.

"You do just as you like," said Mrs.  MacLeod.

"You have all tomorrow in which to shop, so come and go just as you
please."

Sound advice which Rosie took.  She was out early the next day, in and
out of the Princes Street shops, ending up, as she knew she would, in
Jenners.  She emerged hours later with a great many parcels which
necessitated her hailing a taxi to take her back to Doctor MacLeod's
house, and once there, since there was no one at home save the daily
maid, she repaired to her room and spent the next hour trying on the
things she had bought.  She had spent almost every penny her father had
given her on a couple of pretty summer dresses, a sensible raincoat,
cotton skirts and tops and, with an eye on the autumn, a good tweed
suit in tawny browns, and also since she had money to burn, an elegant
dress for the evening.  It was chiffon and taffeta in old rose, with a
wide skirt and a wide neckline.  It wasn't a very suitable dress
perhaps, and she had bought it for a reason which she refused to admit,
even to herself.  It would be nice, she had reflected, looking at her
enticing figure in the looking glass in Jenners' gown department, if
the next time she met the professor she could be wearing it.

It had been silly to buy it, she admitted to herself, trying it on once
more, and then hanging it away at the back of the wardrobe at Mrs.
MacLeod's house.  She then turned her attention to the lace undies and
slippers and all the small luxuries she had done without during the
past six years; it had been such fun shopping for pleasure and not from
necessity.

She stowed her purchases in the car the following morning and, after
bidding the MacLeods goodbye, drove to her grandmother's house.

That lady, recovered now from her sprained ankle, was none the less
full of small complaints.  Her own daughter, she declared in a
dignified moan, could no longer be bothered with her, and why a woman
of her age should wish to marry when she had a perfectly good home of
her own was something not to be understood.  Rosie murmured from time
to time, and exchanged speaking glances with her aunt, who, as far as
she could see, had become a different woman.  Love wrought miracles,
presumably.

"I shall stay with you for one week," said her grandmother, 'and it is
to be hoped that I shall be driven back in comfort.  I am an old
lady--' she fixed Rosie with a stern eye '--unlike you younger,
thoughtless young women, I consider my health before everything else. 
"

Rosie sternly suppressed a naughty reply, and said, "Yes, Granny, I'll
bring you back in a week's time."

"Since your aunt Carrie has seen fit to go away and not return until
two days after I get back here I shall expect you to stay, Rosie."

Rosie, trying to think of a good excuse, caught her Aunt's eye, and
said "Yes, Granny' in a meek way instead.  Aunt Carrie deserved some
fun even though she was middle-aged.

Rosie was loading the car boot with the impedimenta considered
necessary for a week's stay by her grandmother when she straightened up
to see Sir Fergus driving past in the Rolls.  He didn't stop; probably
he hadn't seen her, and even if he had she doubted if he would have
bothered to do so.

She poked in her grandmother's spare walking stick, her sunshade, her
umbrella and a particular cushion she simply had to have with her, and
then she slammed down the boot with unwonted vigour.  He could have
stopped, she grumbled silently, and he must have seen her.  Even if it
had only been for a moment to make some caustic remark.  A slight sound
made her turn her head.  The Rolls was within inches of her, and Sir
Fergus was getting out.

It was annoying to blush so hotly, and his faintly amused look didn't
help.  She said, "Good morning.  Sir Fergus," in a rather high voice.

"Hello, Rosie.  How fortunate that I should have noticed the car."

Not her she reflected crossly, the car.

"Are you going back to Inverard?"

She said "Yes' rather ungraciously and, since he was waiting for her to
say something else, added, " Granny is to pay us a visit, so I came
down to get her.  "

"Rather unwillingly, perhaps?  You were ramming the boot full in a
rage."

"Well... there's such a lot to do and see, and for a week I won't be
able to do any of the things I want to do.  And now call me
selfish..."

Her dark eyes flashed and she had gone rather pink again.

The professor, leaning on the bonnet of his car, observed her splendid
bosom heaving with temper and longing with suitable appreciation.

"Of course you're not selfish."  He spoke in a soothing manner which
took the wind out of her angry sails.

"I can imagine how you feel--you need a week tramping around the hills,
don't you?  Catching up on memories?

When she nodded he continued, "Well, now, if you could bear with me we
could spend a day together next week?  I have to go to Oban, Fort
William and then Inverness, and I've a couple of days owing to me."  He
eyed her narrowly, watching the doubt in her face.

"I suggest this merely because, while it would be difficult for you to
go off on your own, if I invite you I think your grandmother would be
unable to raise any objection.  Presumably she is expecting you to keep
her company for a good deal of the time?"

"Yes, yes, she is.  Father will be busy with solicitors, then Mother
has the house to run."

"Perhaps for one day you could arrange something?"

"It's kind of you."

"Yes, I know I'm a kind man, only you don't know me well enough to
realise that."

She wasn't sure if he was serious; there was nothing in his face to
give her a hint.

"Well, I dare say Granny might like a quiet day..."

"Splendid.  I'll give you a ring if I may.  Do you like walking in the
rain?"

"Yes.  Anyway, it rains a great deal in the Highlands."

He looked amused for a moment.

"Yes.  Well, I must be getting on I've an out patients clinic to keep
me busy this afternoon."  He bent forward and ran a gentle finger down
her cheek.

"You're quite eye-catching when you're in a rage, but when you're happy
you are beautiful."  At her round eyed-astonishment he added, "And
how's that for coals of fire?  Goodbye, Rosie!"

He got into his car and drove off, leaving her with her pretty mouth
slightly open, and for once at a loss for words; even her thoughts
didn't make sense.

She went back into the house to be dragged into the dining-room by Aunt
Carrie.

"Rosie, you're a darling to stay a day or two when you bring your
grandmother back.  You see, we plan to buy some furniture and things,
you know, and go to the theatre, and I thought if and we want to see
about getting married.  It's such a..."

Aunt Carrie paused, looking wistful.

"That's fine," said Rosie, who hadn't been listening, "I'll stay two
days when we get back will that be long enough?"  As she spoke she
wondered if she might see the professor then.

Of course, if they spent a day walking together they probably wouldn't
be on speaking terms.

They could hear her grandmother's voice raised in protest about
something or other, and Rosie kissed her aunt's cheek and nipped into
the hall.

"There you are.  I am quite ready, and I expect you to be as well,
Rosie.  Let us get into the car."

Rosie had plenty of time to think as they drove back, too, for her
grandmother kept up a running monologue a mixture of fault-finding,
directed at Aunt Carrie, Elspeth, tradespeople and those of her friends
who had annoyed her in some way, interlarded with a detailed account of
her numerous ailments.  Rosie, murmuring suitably from time to time,
thought about Sir Fergus and admired the scenery.  She knew it very
well, but there was always something new to see.  A day out would be
lovely; it would probably be raining, but who cared?  Rannoch Moor, she
thought with longing, its countless pools sparkling under the
rain-clouds.

"You are not listening, Rosie," said her grandmother.

"We seem to have been in this car for a very long time."

"Not long now.  Granny.  Here's Bridge of Orchy remember the hotel?
Mother will be waiting for us with tea.  Almost nothing has changed the
drawing- room is exactly the same as it always was."

She was surprised when old Mrs.  Macdonald commented "It will be
pleasant to talk to your mother again."

The old lady's welcome was all that she could have wished for; her son
and daughter-in-law were at the door to receive her, with Mrs.  Mac Fee
hovering in the background ready to take the baggage Rosie was hurling
out of the boot.

Installed in a comfortable chair in the drawing-room, old Mrs.
Macdonald pronounced herself well pleased with everything.

"I never thought that I would see this house again," she remarked.

"I shall die happy."

"Well, wait a while," suggested her son.

"I'll be get ting some more sheep, and you'll need to know how the
lambing goes.  Angus is coming back, remember him?  He still has Shep,
too.  He can have the cottage at the end of the bottom drive.

Donald wasn't interested in the fishing I'm looking forward to that,
there should be plenty of trout and salmon at the right time.  "

They settled down to a pleasant discussion about the estate;

it was small, but now that there was money to spend on it it should, in
time, provide a livelihood.  That was all her father and mother wanted,
Rosie knew their old home and enough to keep it viable.  She left them
talking and went upstairs to unpack her grandmother's luggage.

It rained the next day, which didn't matter much, for the old lady was
content to inspect the house from attic to cellar, poking her long
straight nose into every cupboard and drawer, and when she had examined
everything she sat down and reminisced until a rather late lunch.  In
the afternoon she rested while Rosie read aloud to her from Hamish
Brown's Mountain Walk, being corrected when she mispronounced the
Gaelic names of the mountains.  It was a relief when the old lady
dropped off to sleep.

The sun shone the next day, and Rosie spent the morning trundling her
grandparent around the gardens and a little way down the drive towards
the back entrance leading to the Oban road.  There were two cottages a
few hundred yards from the house; Old Robert lived in one, alone now
that his wife was dead, looked after by his daughter who lived next
door with her husband Hugh, who had worked all his life for the
Macdonalds, and their brood of children.  Meg worked in the house once
or twice a week, but that had been difficult, for Donald Macdonald
hadn't cared for the small creatures running around the kitchen and
poking their noses into the kitchen garden.  But now Mrs.  Macdonald
wanted her back there were several empty rooms behind the kitchen where
the children could play, and the two elder ones could pick the soft
fruit and the beans and peas.  They would be going to school in
September, anyway; their father would drive them there in the farm
truck and fetch them at teatime, so there would only be the two little
ones.

Old Mrs.  Macdonald had known Old Robert and his family, and went
happily enough with Rosie to arrange things with Meg.

They had a cup of tea in the cottage while the old lady reminisced at
some length.  It passed the morning very well, and she was in an
amiable frame of mind when they went back to the house for lunch.  It
was halfway through that meal that the phone rang, and Rosie got up to
answer it.

"That will be your aunt Carrie," declared her grand mother, 'with some
problem which needs my advice.  She is incapable of running a house, I
do not know what will happen when she marries.  Tell her to tele phone
me later, Rosie.  "

Rosie had the receiver to her ear, she was smiling, and had gone a
little pink.

"It's for me," she said over her shoulder.

Sir Fergus's voice, decisive and matter-of-fact, said in her ear,
"Shall we walk tomorrow?  I have an urge to take a look at Rannoch
Moor.  Will you be ready by nine o'clock?  We'll drive as far as
Rannoch Station, and leave the car there.

I'll bring you back in time for supper it's light until nine o'clock. 
I might even take you out to supper provided we haven't fallen out by
then.  " And at her quick-drawn breath he added, " No, no, don't get
uppity, I shall strive to be the soul of good nature.  What do you
intend to do with Granny?  "

Rosie gave a chortle of laughter and turned it into a cough.

"I'll think of something.  Shall I bring some sandwiches?"

"No need, I'll bring food with me.  Till tomorrow, and don't keep me
waiting."

He rang off, and she said, "Well, really...!"

Her mother and father continued their mild conversation as she sat down
again, but her grandmother saw no reason why she shouldn't poke her
nose into her granddaughter's business.

"Well, who was that?"  she wanted to know.

"Oh, just a friend.  Granny.  Shall I get coffee, Mother?"

"Please dear, and tell Mrs.  Mac Fee that she can clear the table in
five minutes, will you?"

With old Mrs.  Macdonald staying with them, they had abandoned their
cosy lunches in the kitchen, and they drank their coffee in the
drawing-room; it made extra work, especially as they were still getting
settled in, but, as her mother had pointed out to her husband, his
mother expected it, and it was only for a week.  He had given in, for
he was a good son even if he and the old lady didn't see eye to eye on
certain matters.  He engaged her in conversation now, and presently
Rosie helped her up the stairs to her room and settled her down for her
post-prandial nap, which left her free to run downstairs again before
the old lady could think of anything else she might need while taking a
rest on her bed.

"That was Sir Fergus," she told her mother.

Mrs.  Macdonald had picked up her knitting, and forced herself to
finish the row before saying in a mildly questioning voice, "Yes,
dear?"

Rosie perched on the edge of the large and rather shabby sofa, and
said, "You're dying to know, aren't you?  Only, I couldn't say anything
with Granny there.  Well, he's asked me to spend the day walking with
him tomorrow, and I said I would.  He's coming for me at nine o'clock
he wants to drive to Rannoch Station and leave the car there."

"What shall we do with your grandmother?"  asked her father from behind
his newspaper.

"Oh, Father, dear He interrupted her.

"I have to go to Oban in the morning;

I'll take her in with me, and I'll give her lunch at the Caledonian
Hotel and bring her back in time for her nap.

Then it will be your mother's turn.  "

Rosie skipped over to kiss the top of his head.

"You really are a splendid pair.  I'll do anything you want after
tomorrow."

The sky was overcast when she got out of bed in the morning;

the clouds hung low over the hills en circling the house it would
surely rain before the day was out.

Rosie got into a denim skirt and a short-sleeved cotton shirt, and went
down to help her mother get the breakfast.

A pity it wasn't a fine day, but even a heavy down pour wasn't going to
dim her good spirits.  She fed Hob and Simpkins, fed the hens, made
toast, and presently sat down to make a good breakfast.  She had just
taken up her grandmother's tray when Sir Fergus arrived.  She saw him
drive up from the landing window, and stopped to have a good look.  He
appeared different but then she had never seen him dressed casually.
Cavalry twill trousers, she guessed from her vantage- point, and a
cotton sweater over an open-necked shirt.  He looked younger.  She went
on down to the kitchen, regretting that her cotton shirt had no style
to it at all.

He was in the kitchen, sitting on the table, drinking the coffee her
mother had given him and eating the last of the breakfast toast,
heavily buttered.

"Fergus left very early this morning; he didn't have a proper
breakfast," explained her mother as Rosie went in.

He got off the table and came to meet her.

"Hello.  A good day for a tramp.  I've brought Gyp with me;

she likes a good walk.  "

"Gyp?"

"My dog.  You won't mind a few spots of rain?"  He eyed her person in a
leisurely manner.

"You're sensibly dressed, anyway.  Better bring a jacket."

"I have one ready," said Rosie coldly.  He sounded just as she imagined
an elder brother would sound.  It was obvious to her that the cotton
shirt would be quite adequate; indeed, an old sack would have done just
as well.

"Unless you would care for another slice of toast, I will get my
jacket," she told him.

He was standing by the car talking to her father when she got down.
Gyp, a labrador with soulful eyes, was wandering around and came to
meet her but, at a brief whistle from his master, got back into the
car.

"Ready?"  Sir Fergus bade her father goodbye, waved to her mother, who
was standing at a window, and ushered her into the seat beside him.

"Enjoy your day," said her father.  She hoped that she would, but she
wasn't sure.

Her doubts were quickly put at rest; her companion was at his most
charming.

"A pity about this drizzle, but we may be lucky and get better weather
later on."

"I rather like sombre weather," commented Rosie.

"Does Gyp like walking?"

"Loves it.  Shall we have coffee at Rannoch?  There's a picnic of sorts
in the boot."

"I should like that.  Which way are we walking?"

"I thought the West Highland walkway for a start, but we can turn off
on to the edge of the moor--it'll be pretty damp--' He glanced at her
shoes.

"Sensible shoes, I see."

To which she made no reply.  Did he think that she was fool enough to
wear something dainty with a high heel?  And she born and brought up in
the Highlands?

He went on smoothly, "I have before now escorted ladies who had no idea
how wild and remote the moor is.  You know it well, I expect?"

"I've walked there several times with Father the heather was out and
the pools sparkled..."

"A bit early for the heather yet, but even under a grey sky the pools
are a delight."

"I'd love to skate across it..."

"We shall do it together next winter much more fun than swimming across
in the summer."

"I've never met anyone who has done that."

"Several of us did it oh, years ago when we were medical students."

"Was it very long ago?"  she asked.

"I have been qualified for eleven years.  I'm thirty- five, Rosie. Does
that seem old to you?"

"Heavens, no!  I'm twenty-five, you know."

"Yes.  I do know."  They were almost at Rannoch, and the Grampians
loomed all around them.

"It's going to clear," said Sir Fergus, and stopped outside the
hotel.

They had their coffee.  Gyp had a bowl of water, and they were on their
way, sandwiches stashed away in pockets with a couple of bottles of spa
water.

They took a track across the moor towards the twin peaks of Buachaille,
and then doubled back to the road again.  They were on the highest part
of the moor now, and although the sky was cloud-filled the view was
magnificent.

They found a fallen tree, and sat down on it and pointed out the
various peaks to each other.

"I could sit here all day," declared Rosie.

"Well, you're not going to.  There's a stalker's path which will take
up to Cashlie Station, and another one which will bring us out at Loch
Tuna.  We can pick up the road there."

He gave her a sidelong look.

"Not too far for you?"

"Certainly not.  Sir Fergus."

"Would it be possible for you to call me Fergus?  We can find somewhere
by Loch Tuna to eat our sandwiches

There was a strong, cool wind blowing, and Rosie, tramping along, her
hair all over the place, her cheeks glowing, hadn't felt as happy for a
long time; and she had never looked so pretty.  The professor observed
her discreetly, and decided that she was beautiful.

They walked on for some time until, at length, they saw the loch ahead
of them.

"Good, I'm famished!"  said the professor.

"There's a dead root over there; it will do nicely."

So they sat eating their sandwiches smoked salmon, cold beef, cheese
and pickles, between thinly cut bread, lavishly buttered.

"Did you get these at the Hospital?"  asked Rosie, her mouth full.

"No.  My housekeeper rather fancies herself as a sandwich-maker."  He
opened one of the bottles.

"You'll have to drink from it."

Which she did with the un selfconsciousness of a child.

After a moment she asked, "Are you married, Fergus?"

"You asked me that, or had you forgotten?  Or perhaps I didn't give you
a very satisfactory answer?"

"Well, you said that you hoped to be.  I I just wondered if you'd got
married since then?"

He handed her a sandwich, the gleam in his eyes hidden.

"I'll let you know when I do marry, Rosie!"

CHAPTER SIX

they started walking again presently, and Fergus kept their talk
impersonal, but after a while Rosie blurted out, "I'm sorry, that was
rude of me--asking you about being married, I mean.  Of course, you
couldn't possibly be, for if you were you wouldn't be here now, would
you?"

He suppressed a smile, his voice matter-of-fact.

"Well, no.

I rather think that when I marry I shall settle down and be an
exemplary husband.  "

She nodded.

"Well, yes, and anyway, I expect you have to be circumspect don't
you--being well-known and respected?"

He threw back his head and let out a roar of laughter.

"Are you crediting me with leading a secretly amorous life behind the
faa de of my profession?"

She stopped, stamped her foot in temper, and got it wet.

"Now look what you've made me do--and what a silly thing to say!  That
wasn't what I meant at all-you know it wasn't."

He said blandly, "Well, of course I know; I cannot imagine why you
should have any interest in me as a person.  We scarcely know each
other, do we?"

She looked up into his quiet face.

"No no, we don't."

"That can, of course, be remedied.  Indeed, I thought that we were
verging on a kind of cautious friendship."

She smiled suddenly.

"Yes well she put out a hand all right, Fergus."

His hand was firm and very large, and for some reason she wanted to
leave her own hand in its grasp.  She withdrew it prudently, and he
bent and kissed her gently.

"Sealed with a kiss," he observed cheerfully.

"Let us walk on."

Which they did.

Presently Rosie asked, "It doesn't mean that we can't argue, does
it?"

He smiled.

"My dear girl, if you should feel the urge to speak your mind, feel
free to do so."

"Oh, good.  May I ask you about your work now without being nosy?"

"I'm an orthopaedic surgeon."

"Yes, but everyone seems to know you are you a consultant surgeon or
something?"

"A consultant, yes.  I have my base, so to speak, at the Royal
Infirmary, but I visit other hospitals."

"Hospitals in Scotland?  They knew you at Oban."

He said gravely, "I go there from time to time.  I go to England quite
often.  I went to Holland last week..."

"To a hospital?  To operate?"

"Yes, and also to examine medical students."

"Why were you knighted?"

"Oh, my name must have come first out of the hat."

She, aware that he wasn't going to say more than that, asked, "Am I
asking too many questions?"

"No, no.  They will clear the ground."

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask what ground, but she suspected
that if she did so he would only give her another puzzling reply.

They were back on the road again, skirting the moor, and after a time
they reached the hotel once more.  It was beginning to drizzle again,
but the clouds were broken.

"It will be a fine day tomorrow," Sir Fergus remarked.

"You'll be back in Edinburgh?"

"I'm driving down to Leeds and then on to London--I'll be away for
quite a while."  He added idly, "You are driving your granny back, I
suppose?"

"Oh, yes, and I said I'd stay a couple of days so that my aunt Carrie
can finish the plans for her wedding."

He whistled to Gyp, and opened the hotel door.

"Tea, I think, don't you?"

"Yes, please."  She nodded briskly at him, and went off to look for the
"Ladies'; she must look pretty windswept and damp by now.

They ate a huge tea--buttered toast, sandwiches, scones and butter and
almost all of a plate of cakes, sitting opposite each other at a small
table in the hotel's cosy lounge with Gyp between them, enjoying her
share.

"Have you been to Strontian?  There's a good hotel there by the loch.
Will you have dinner with me there?"

"Oh, yes, thank you."  And then, "Will they let us in?"  She looked
down at her sensibly clad person.

"It's at the other end of Glen Tarbet, isn't it?"

"Yes used a good deal by walkers and anglers.  I don't think they'll
object to us."  He glanced at his watch.

"They don't serve dinner after half-past seven, so perhaps we had
better be going.  We'll have to go up to Fort William and then down the
other side of Loch Linnhe."

"You've been there before?"

"Several times.  On second thoughts we'll cross over at Ballachulish
and get the ferry over to Corran, go down the 861 and turn off for Glen
Tarbet.  We may have to go back through Fort William, the ferry may not
be running; it will have to be the long way round."

"It's not all that far," said Rosie instantly, so that he smiled to
himself.

The road was a good one, running between the mountains, and the sky,
washed clear of clouds once more, promised a magnificent sunset.  They
didn't talk much; Fergus, Rosie had discovered, wasn't a man who needed
to be entertained with small talk.  So be yond pointing out the
occasional red deer or a particularly splendid waterfall or view she
maintained the silence, and he made no attempt to break it.

The light was still good as he turned into Glen Tarbet;

mountains towered to left and right of them, and then thick black
forest which presently allowed them a glimpse of the loch ahead of
them.  The road narrowed as they entered the village and drove on for a
short distance to the hotel.  It was charming, standing in its own
grounds bordering the loch, and any fears Rosie had about the wrong
clothes were put at rest by their warm welcome.  Sir Fergus, it seemed,
was known there.  She went away to make the best of her appearance, and
joined him in the bar before they went in to dinner.

The hotel was quite full, and thankfully there were several parties
dining who were wearing clothes as casual as her own.  She settled down
into her chair and cast an appreciative eye over the menu.  She hadn't
felt particularly hungry, but the menu was mouth watering; she chose
smoked salmon, roast beef and all the trimmings that went with it, and
happily drank the claret Sir Fergus chose.  She finished the meal with
millefeuille, rejecting with regret his offer of a second helping, and
then joining him for coffee.

They lingered over their meal, and the long evening was sliding into
night when they left the hotel with Gyp walking sedately at her
master's heels.  Rosie perched on a nearby wall while Sir Fergus opened
a box in the boot, arranged a bowl of food for Gyp and another bowl
with water, and went to sit by her.

"Time for a stroll down to the Loch?"  he enquired.

"It's half an hour to the ferry, and another forty minutes or so to
Inverard."

They sat for a while, and then walked slowly down to the water while
Gyp wandered round, to come presently at his low whistle and get back
into the car where she curled up and composed herself for a nap.

Sir Fergus glanced over his shoulder at the dog as he started up the
engine.

"She's tired; what about you, Rosie?"

"Tired?  Me?  Not a bit well, my feet are a bit, but I could go on all
night like this..."  She stopped abruptly, glad that he couldn't see
her red face.

"What I mean..."  she began, and wondered how to go on.

He helped her out with casual ease.

"I know exactly how you feel there's a kind of magic about this part of
the world, isn't there?  I can understand why thousands come back year
after year just to walk and climb.  Do you climb, Rosie?"

They were driving back through Glen Tarbet, and the powerful car lights
picked out the road ahead with rough grass slopes edging their way up
to the mountains.

"No," said Rosie, "I'm frightened of heights.  Silly, isn't it? Because
I love the hills and mountains.  I expect you climb, don't you?"

"Whenever I have the chance, which isn't very of ten."

"Of course there isn't much chance if you live in Edinburgh!"

Fergus thought of his home, not so far away from where they were,
surrounded by the highland hills and the loch close by.  It wasn't the
time to tell her about it; she must be given the chance to like him
without any inducement to do so, not that he thought her likes and
dislikes could be swayed by anyone once she had made up her mind.  He
smiled to himself in the dimness of the car, and said, "Here we are at
the ferry, and it's still running."

He kept the conversation casual and undemanding for the rest of their
journey, and it was Rosie who asked, as he turned the car through the
open gates leading to her home, "Do you have to leave in the morning?
Won't you be tired?

It's more than a hundred miles to Edinburgh.  "

They could see the lights of her home twinkling at the bottom of the
lane.

"You'll come in for coffee, won't you?"

"Is it not too late?  It's kind of you to ask me, but I think I had
better drive on."

All the same, he got out of the car, and helped her out before doing
the same for Gyp.  The door opened at her touch, and she led the way
into the drawing- room, to find her mother and father sitting there.

Her mother came to meet them.

"Have you had a lovely day?

Fergus, you'll have coffee it's all ready?  "

He refused with charm and real regret.

"I have several matters to clear up before I leave in the morning.
Perhaps you will invite me again?"

Mrs.  Macdonald said warmly, "Of course come whenever you like, don't
wait to be asked.  I think you work too hard."

He shook hands and said goodbye, and Rosie went to the door with him.

"It was a lovely day; thank you very much, Fergus.  I hope you have a
successful trip."

She didn't want him to go, and she very much wanted to know how long he
had to be away for, but his brisk, "A splendid day, Rosie, thank you
for coming precluded any questions.

She said goodbye, and he whistled to Gyp, got into the car, and drove
away without a backward glance.

Somehow it wasn't quite how the day should have ended.

Probably he had seen enough of her it had been a mistake to have gone
to Strontian for dinner.

"Over-exposure," muttered Rosie.

"If he invites me out again if- I must be doing something else."

She went indoors and drank the coffee her mother had poured, described
her day with a wealth of detail about the scenery, and presently she
went to bed.  Fergus would just about be in Edinburgh, she reflected as
she curled up with Simpkins lolling over her feet.

She wondered where he lived--Moray Place, perhaps, where the hierarchy
of the medical profession lived?  Or Belgrave Crescent?  But that was
further away from the Royal Infirmary.  She went to sleep trying to
decide.

He lived in Moray Place in a Georgian house facing the circular gardens
at its centre.  It had been his grandfather's house, and his mother had
inherited it and handed it over to him, since she had no wish to leave
her home by Loch Eilt.  He had always enjoyed visiting his mother's
parents when he was a small boy, and he had learned to love the house.
He had changed very little since he had lived there, beyond turning
powder closets into bathrooms and updating the kitchen and its adjacent
rooms so that Mrs.  Meikle had all the modern equipment she could want.
She had been with the family for as long as he could remember, and ran
his household to perfection; and if she sometimes wished to return to
her native Highlands she never said so.  She had family living at
Glenfinnan, and he often took her with him when he went to his home so
that she might visit them.

He let himself into the silent house through its handsome painted front
door, stopped in the long narrow hall to collect the letters waiting
for him on a carved table, and went to his study.  It was a large room,
lined with books, and furnished comfortably with leather armchairs and
a vast desk.  He settled down in the big chair behind it, and poured
himself coffee from the Thermos jug on a tray; there were sandwiches,
too, and he picked one up, gave the crusts to Gyp, and munched the rest
while he sorted his letters.  There were telephone messages waiting for
him.  He rang the hospital and talked to the surgical officer on duty,
and then to the night sister on the orthopaedic ward, and then went
slowly through his letters, making notes for his secretary, and at the
very end there was a note in Mrs.  Meikle's round hand, urging him to
get a decent night's sleep, and telling him that she would see that he
was called in good time in the morning.

He smiled at that, and an hour later did as she had bidden him.

Old Mrs.  Macdonald was cantankerous the next day.  She had missed
Rosie, she grumbled, and it was to be hoped that she wouldn't be left
all alone all day again.  Since she had spent a pleasant morning with
her son, been given lunch by him, and spent the afternoon with her
daughter-in-law, poking in cupboards and drawers and making arbitrary
suggestions as to the rearrangement of the furniture throughout the
entire house, her grumbles were unfounded.

Rosie listened with a patient ear, trundled her grandparent around the
garden, and allowed her thoughts to wander.

She had enjoyed her day with Fergus; they liked the same things and
shared the same views.  She had started off by not liking him, but now
she had to admit that she liked him very much; it would be nice to know
a great deal more about him--his work and his home and friends.  It
wasn't very likely that she would, though.  He had volunteered very
little about himself-only that one casual remark that he hoped to marry
soon.  The very idea saddened her so that her grandmother, pausing in
her diatribe concerning modern youth, wanted to know what was the
matter.

"You look as though you had lost your last sixpence," she remarked
acidly.

"You young people are never content--always wanting something you can't
have."

"Don't worry, Granny.  I've all I want and I'm quite content."

Which remark she had to admit to herself wasn't quite true.

The remaining days of her grandmother's visit passed pleasantly enough;
it was almost as if Uncle Donald had never lived at Inverard.  The old
lady refused to talk about it or him; instead she discussed the running
of the place with her son, reminisced about her own life when she had
lived there, and wasted a good deal of her daughter-in-law's time
giving unwanted advice.  Rosie came in for her share too.  Why had she
not married?  Where were all the young men who should be courting her?
And what did she intend to do?

Stay for the rest of her life dwindling into an old maid?

To all of which Rosie replied suitably and with great patience.  She
was fond of the old lady, but a little of her went a long way; it was
with well-concealed relief that she settled her grandmother in the back
of the car and prepared to drive her back to Edinburgh.

Rosie was wearing one of her new dresses and elegant high-heeled
sandals.  It would probably rain later in the day, and she had
prudently stowed a mac in the boot with her overnight bag, but since
she would be in Edinburgh for two days it was a splendid chance to air
at least some of her new wardrobe.  Not that there was anybody to
notice it.  By anybody she meant Sir Fergus, of course, although she
didn't admit that even to herself.

Edinburgh was crowded with tourists, but the street where her
grandmother lived was quiet enough.  She parked the car in front of the
door, helped the old lady out, and handed her over to the waiting
Elspeth, and went to unload the boot.  Before she went indoors she
couldn't resist looking up and down the street.  Sir Fergus had driven
down it once; he might do so again.  There was, however, no sign of the
Rolls-Royce, and she went into the house feeling quite unreasonably
disappointed.

Her grandmother declared that she was exhausted;

she had to be revived with tea, then helped to her bed, and given time
to have a nap before dinner.  Rosie unpacked her few odds and ends, and
went downstairs to help Elspeth lay the table.  It had begun to rain,
but rain or no rain she would have liked a walk.  She stared out of the
window at the wet pavements, and thought longingly of Rannoch Moor and
its pools and marshes and lonely splendour.  She wouldn't want to live
in Edinburgh at least, it might be all right if one were married with a
husband and children and a house to run, and perhaps a weekend cottage
in the Highlands, which naturally enough led her thoughts to the
whereabouts of Sir Fergus and where he lived.

It was raining quite hard now, and the traffic was sparse and slow so
that she had ample time to see the Rolls-Royce sliding past with Sir
Fergus at the wheel and a remarkably handsome woman sitting beside him.
If he saw her car parked and he must have done for he had to
drive-round it he gave no sign.  He gave no sign of having seen her
standing so plainly at the window either, but then he was a man adept
at concealing his thoughts and feelings under a bland expression

Rosie flounced away from the window, and Elspeth, coming into the room,
said, "Och, and what's upset ye, lassie?"

"Nothing nothing at all, Elspeth.  I was just thinking that I would
very much dislike living in Edinburgh."  She rearranged a fork or
two.

"I'll get Granny up, shall I?

She'll have an appetite for the dinner you've cooked.  "

Her grandmother was in a mellow mood; the food was good, and Elspeth
had taken care to set her favourite dishes on the table.  They had
their coffee at the table, and then went into the drawing-room to play
cards until the old lady declared that she was ready for bed.

As Rosie bade her goodnight, having seen her into bed, and fetched the
hand-bell in case of need in the night, fetched some fresh water and
the book she wished to read should she not sleep, and then got the
smelling-salts in case she felt faint, her grandmother observed, "I
shall have my breakfast in bed in the morning, and have a good rest.
You may go shopping for Elspeth, Rosie; it will give her more time to
look after me.  She can make out a list for you your aunt Carrie is a
fool in a supermarket, and it is a good opportunity to stock up while
she is away from home."

Rosie, her thoughts still chasing each other around her head, said,
"Yes, Granny," with unwonted meekness, and went to her own bed.  She
might just as well spend the day in some supermarket, for there was no
prospect of anything more exciting.  She pummelled her pillows and
curled up in the high old-fashioned bed.

"I hope I never see him again," she muttered and, just before she
slept, "I shall go to Oban and let Dr.  Douglas know that we are at
Inverard."

She ate her breakfast with Elspeth in the kitchen, helped her wash the
dishes, and studied the list of groceries she was to buy.  It appeared
to be a long list she would never be able to carry all the things on it
and there was nowhere to park the car near the shopping centre.

"I shall take a taxi back," she told Elspeth.

"How on earth does aunt Carrie manage?"

She didn't wait for an answer, but went to get her handbag and a couple
of shopping baskets.  It was a fine morning and still early; at least
the walk would be pleasant enough.

She was crossing a street, intent on getting to the supermarket, when
Sir Fergus saw her while he waited for the lights to change.  He parked
the car and headed for the nearest supermarket; Rosie had been burdened
with two baskets, and it seemed the most likely place to look.

Rosie, pushing a trolley and eyeing her list with an impatient eye, was
loading flour and sugar when she was halted by a large hand on hers.
She knew whose hand it was because she was experiencing a very pleasant
sensation at its touch.

She was unable to stop going pink, but she said with commendable
coolness, "Good morning.  Sir Fergus-one would hardly expect to find
you in a supermarket."

He ignored that.

"I'll push this thing, you throw in whatever is on that list; we can be
out of here in ten minutes..."

She stood facing him, still holding on to the trolley.

"I

have to take it back to Granny's house.  "

"Of course you do.  We'll put it all in the boot and have coffee
somewhere first, shall we?"

"Aren't you working today?"

"Not until this afternoon."

"Well, don't you want to be with--with someone else?"  Her voice was
tart, and he glanced at her, smiling a little.

"No.  Give me that list--I'll read it out, and you fling the stuff
in."

He took the trolley from her.

"Baking powder, white pepper, cooking salt..."

There was no use in arguing with him; they went up and down the aisles
loading the trolley.

"Fairy... What in...?"

"Washing powder."

"Domestos, Flash, scouring powder..."

Fergus handed back the list.

"Do you like shopping in these places?"

She shook her head.

"No, of course I don't; I like village shops where one can have a good
gossip and watch the bacon being sliced..."

They joined a queue, and he began to unload the shopping, and that done
took her baskets from her and went to the end of the counter to load
them up.  When she had paid and joined him he asked, "And who does this
when you're not here?"

"Aunt Carrie or Elspeth."

"Tradespeople call, surely?"

They most certainly would for him, she reflected.

"Oh, yes, some of the grocers still deliver, but Granny says this is
cheaper."

He led her outside.

"Where are we going?"

"To the car."

He loaded the baskets into the boot, and opened the door for her to get
in.  Rosie said, "I'm sure Granny will be glad to give you coffee."

"I thought we might drive out to Aberdour, the coffee at the Woodside
Hotel is excellent."

"But that's about twenty miles..."

For answer he picked up the car phone.

"What is your grandmother's number?"  When she told him he dialled
it.

"I spoke to Elspeth, and she will tell Mrs.  Macdonald that you will be
back in time for lunch."

Rosie had listened to his brief conversation with her pretty mouth
ajar.

"Whatever will Granny say?  She expects me back."

"For lunch, Rosie; it's a pity I have a list at one o'clock otherwise
we could have had lunch too."

He was driving through the city, avoiding the main roads and coming
finally to the Forth Bridge, not talking at all, which she found
unnerving, so that halfway over the bridge she blurted out, "I saw you
in your car yesterday.  Was that your fiancee with you?"

"Grizel?  A handsome woman, is she not?"  He spoke carelessly, and it
was obvious to her that that was the only answer he was going to give
her.  Which served her right for being a Nosy Parker.  She looked out
of the window.

"The country is very pretty along this coast, isn't it?"

He didn't bother to answer that.

"When do you go back to Inverard?"

"When Aunt Carrie comes back tomorrow or the next day.  Did you have a
successful trip to Leeds and London?"

"Yes.  Rosie, will you spend the day with me when I come up to the
Highlands next week?"

Her heart gave a thump of delight, but she ignored that.

"That would have been nice, but I don't think so, thank you."

"Spending your spare time with young Douglas?"  he wanted to know
casually.

"Yes, yes, I am.  He's very nice."  She fibbed too quickly.

She peeped at Sir Fergus's profile; it looked as calm as it always
did.

"It is kind of you to ask me."  Strong feelings got the better of good
sense.

"You shouldn't; if I were going to marry you I would be extremely
annoyed with you she gulped asking another girl out."

"Ah, but you're very likely to marry young Douglas, aren't you?"  He
turned to smile at her.

"Which makes it all very correct and proper."

This was uttered in a tone of calm logic which had the effect of
allaying any qualms she might have had.

"Well, if you're sure it's all right, I I would enjoy it."

"Good.  I'll give you a ring when you get home," He added blandly, "I
don't imagine young Douglas would object?"

"No, no I'm sure he wouldn't."

It was a pity, she thought worriedly, that she had saddled herself with
Dr.  Douglas, who, for all she knew, might be on the point of marrying
someone else.  Not that Sir Fergus was ever likely to know that.  They
had their coffee at the hotel and Rosie, lulled by her companion's
cordial manner, forgot her faint doubts and enjoyed herself.  It was a
pity that they were not able to stay longer but, as Sir Fergus pointed
out, her grandmother would be needing the groceries and his theatre
sister would subject him to a tart telling- off if he were to be too
late in Theatre.

Rosie took that with a pinch of salt; she couldn't imagine anyone
daring to tell Sir Fergus off.

"What is she like, your theatre sister?"  she wanted to know.

"Short and round with grey hair, black eyes and a tongue like a razor.
I'm terrified of her!"

There was plenty to talk about on the way back, and the journey seemed
far too short to Rosie.  Sir Fergus stopped outside her grandmother's
house, carried her shopping to the door for her, and then drove away as
Elspeth opened it.

"Yer grandmother's in a fine tantrum," said Elspeth.

"Ye'd best spend a wee while with her."

Old Mrs.  Macdonald was in a peevish mood, and

Rosie was hauled over the coals.  She was an ungrateful girl, heartless
and uncaring; moreover, she had very likely spent too much money on the
groceries.

"The young woman of today..."  began the old lady, and entered into a
diatribe concerning the deplorable ways of the rising generation.

Rosie listened meekly while she thought about Sir Fergus.

Aunt Carrie came back the next day, but too late for Rosie to drive
herself back to Inverard, so that she had to listen to a similar
lecture directed at her aunt.  Both of them listened with apparent
attentiveness while Aunt Carrie pondered bedroom curtains and Rosie
pondered Sir Fergus, She left for home the next morning.  It was
raining again, but since it rained a great deal in that part of
Scotland she hardly noticed it.  She didn't hurry; even in the rain the
scenery was magnificent, and she had a lot to think about--pleasant
thoughts mainly concerned with what she would wear if and when Sir
Fergus asked her out.  Her choice would be limited if they were to go
walking, although she had some new T-shirts.  On the other hand, if her
entertainment was to be rather more sophisticated, there were the
summer dresses with their matching cardigans--not run-of-the- mill
garments, but stylish jackets with embroidery which matched the
dresses.

She had her clothes nicely sorted out by the time she reached home.

At the end of three days she wondered why she had bothered;

Sir Fergus hadn't telephoned, and it was already 'next week'.  On the
fourth day she invented an excuse to go to Oban, and took herself off
to Dr.  Douglas's surgery ostensibly to let him know that her parents
were now living at Inverard.  That he already knew this was incidental
to her visit, and gave him the opportunity to ask her out to lunch.

Over that meal she listened with nattering attention to his aims and
ambitions, and agreed that Oban, while a good enough place, held very
little challenge for a young man with ambition.

"I would prefer to go to London or Birmingham," said Dr.  Douglas, 'and
perhaps return to Edinburgh or Glasgow.  There is always room for a
good man.  "

He was a nice young man, but Rosie was appalled to discover that she
found him rather boring.  How on earth had she allowed Sir Fergus to
think that she was contemplating marriage with him?  Not that it
mattered since Sir Fergus was contemplating marriage himself.

Sir Fergus telephoned that evening as she was laying the table for
dinner.  He sounded cheerful and far too casual, so that she found
herself telling him that she had had a delightful time lunching with
Dr.  Douglas.

She wished she hadn't mentioned it when he said cheerfully, "Oh, good
the more you see of each other the better.  Can he spare you tomorrow?
I'll call for you about nine o'clock."

"I'm not sure," began Rosie with a touch of peevishness at being taken
for granted, and then, anxious that he might accept this as a formal
refusal, quickly agreed.

"Well, yes.

Thank you.  Are we going to walk?  "

"Wait and see.  Please don't keep me waiting."

Upon which arbitrary note he rang off, leaving her put out.

However, not so put out that she couldn't bend her mind to the
important task of thinking of what to wear.  A problem if they weren't
going for a tramp away from the roads she couldn't possibly wear a
sensible skirt and shirt and stout shoes.  Something that would pass
muster whatever they did.  She decided upon another new dress a cotton
jersey in a vague pink, very plain with a round neck and short sleeves
and a swinging skirt; she could wear one of the new cardigans with it a
slightly darker pink, and plain.  Tan sandals, flat-heeled and not too
flimsy would be ideal.

"And it will be just too bad if he's planned some hike to some rugged
mountain with the idea of making me climb it!"

she observed to Simpkins, who was watching her from the comfort of her
bed.

She went to tell her mother presently, and that lady said mildly, "How
nice, dear such an opportunity to get out and about while we still have
summer.  Where are you going?"

"I don't know--he wouldn't say--I don't know what to wear."

"Well, he seems a considerate man, love; if he planned a walk he would
have told you."

"I asked him if we were going to walk and he said " wait and see","
said Rosie with asperity.

"If he said that, then he has something planned; he wouldn't want you
mincing along in flimsy shoes if he had a good hike in mind."

Mrs.  Macdonald spoke placidly, and glanced at her beautiful daughter
with a hopeful eye.  Rosie seldom spoke of the professor, and her
mother took that as a good sign--Fergus would be a delightful
son-in-law, she reflected wistfully.

It was a pity about this vague girl in the background, although she was
shrewd enough to consider that probably Rosie had misunderstood him
when he had mentioned getting married.  She picked up her knitting, the
picture of maternal calm.

"That's a pretty pink dress you brought back from Edinburgh--you could
wear it anywhere," she observed.

"But you'd better take a mac."

Sir Fergus wasn't mentioned again.  Rosie saw to the hens, collected
the eggs, and went into the garden to get on with the weeding which Old
Robert never had the time to do.  It tired her out nicely so that by
the time she went to bed any doubts she had about the next day were
smothered in yawns and, presently, sound sleep.

* * * It was a lovely morning; Rosie got up early, saw to the hens, and
studied the sky.  At the moment it looked as though it would be a fine
day, and her spirits lifted.  She enjoyed Fergus's company she made no
bones about admitting that now but perhaps it would be as well if she
didn't see any more of him after today.  She went back indoors to get
into the pink dress, and decided that she would concentrate on Dr.
Douglas.

Half an hour later, watching Fergus getting out of his car, she
discovered that concentrating on Dr.  Douglas wasn't going to be the
answer.

CHAPTER SEVEN

sir fergus had Gyp with him; he crossed to the front door unhurriedly,
wearing, Rosie was glad to note, clothes not suited to a day's hard
walking.  She was peeping from her bedroom window, and had plenty of
time to appreciate the casual elegance of his clothes-he never seemed
to wear anything new, she thought confusedly, but it always looked
right.  He looked up suddenly and saw her, and stopped in his stride to
look at her.  It was a long, grave look, and it shook her to her bones
so that she was incapable of moving away from his gaze.  She wasn't
sure how long they stood there, but it was her mother's voice that
broke the spell.

Rosie retreated from the window, and took a look at herself in the
looking-glass.  She had the feeling that she was under a spell, but her
face appeared to be the same as usual.

"If this is falling in love," she observed to the faithful Simpkins,
'it is the most wonderful feeling; only, however am I going to go
downstairs and talk to him as though nothing has happened?  "

The longer she thought about it the worse it was going to be.  She
picked up her shoulder-bag, and went down to meet him.

His 'good morning, Rosie', was uttered with casual friendliness, so
that for a moment she wondered if she had imagined his look and her
sudden rush of feeling.  However, the feeling was still there; she
would have liked to have run to him and flung herself into his arms and
stayed there forever; she hadn't known that being in love could cause
such chaos in an ordinary well- brought-up girl's head and heart.  She
bade him good morning in a carefully expressionless voice, not quite
looking at him so that she didn't see the smile tugging at the corner
of his mouth.

He said, "You look nice--are you ready to go?"

"Yes.  I'll just tell Mother."

Mrs.  Macdonald came through the door like a stage character on cue.

"Fergus--how nice--I was in the kitchen--have you been here long?"  She
gave him a guileless smile and offered a hand, and he smiled gently
down at her.

"A few minutes only."

"You won't have coffee before you go?"

"It's such a lovely morning I feel we should take advantage of it."

Mr.  Macdonald, coming in through the kitchen on his way to the study,
came to join them in the hall.

"Fergus, good morning.  You've chosen a splendid day, though it'll rain
before night."

The professor held out a hand.

"Good morning, sir.

I'm afraid you may be right as long as it holds off until evening.  "
He glanced at Rosie, standing very quietly.

"I

hope Rosie will have dinner with me, so please don't worry if I bring
her back rather late.  "

"I have my key," said Rosie, her voice faintly acid;

just for the moment annoyance that he had taken it for granted that she
would accept his invitation without, as it were, being asked, took over
from her wish to spend every day with him forever and ever.

They were all looking at her.

The professor said in a voice to charm the birds off a tree, "It would
be a delightful end to the day if you would dine with me, Rosie?"

The smile with which he accompanied this invitation would have melted a
stone.

"That would be nice," replied Rosie, quite unable to resist the
charm.

"I don't know where we're going I'm not sure if I'm wearing..."

"Quite delightful," interrupted Sir Fergus.

"Shall we get on?"

They said their goodbyes.  Gyp clambered into the back of the car, and
Rosie was ushered into the front seat.  Then Sir Fergus turned the car
and drove away up the long drive to the road.

"Where are we going?"  asked Rosie.

"You know Loch Eilt?"

"I've seen it I've never actually stopped by it.  It looked lovely all
those little islands with those silvery trees... Is that where we're
going?"

"Yes.  Why did you look like that, Rosie?"

She knew quite well what he meant, but she asked, "Like what?"

"As though you hadn't seen me before.  We are moderately well
acquainted, are we not?"  When she stayed silent he observed, "You
don't wish to tell me, do you?"

"No, It wasn't because I wasn't glad to see you, though."

"I'm glad to hear that."  He sent the car spinning along the road to
Fort William.

"How is your friendship progressing with young Douglas?"

"Douglas?  Oh, Dr.  Douglas.  Oh, well... very nicely."

If he considered her reply was less enthusiastic than was to be
expected from a young woman cherishing thoughts of marriage he said
nothing, but presently began a casual conversation about nothing much
which lasted until they had left Fort William behind them and turned
off on the road to Mallaig.

"Are we going to Skye?"

"No.  Would you like to go there one day?  Do you know it at all?"

"I've been several times, but I don't know the north of the island at
all, though I've been to Kyle of Lochalsh--one could spend a lifetime
here and never see it all."

Rosie was making conversation, anxious to achieve a casual
friendliness, and she was finding it difficult;

besides, she was puzzled as to where he was taking her.  They crossed
the head of Loch Shiel and drove though Glenfinnan, and glimpsed Loch
Eilt ahead of them.  This was where he had said they would be going she
had her mouth open to ask him if this was where they would stop for a
picnic perhaps?  when he turned the car through the open gates and she
saw the sign behind them.

"This is private," she pointed out, turned to look at his placid
profile; and at his laconic 'yes' she knew at last.

"You live here!"  she said accusingly.

"You might have said so."

He didn't answer, which annoyed her, and she stared out of the window
with her beautiful nose in the air.  When the house came in sight she
forgot about being haughty.

"Oh, it's magnificent!"  In her surprise and pleasure she put out a
hand and clutched his sleeve, and then snatched it back as though she
had touched a hot coal.  "Sorry," she mumbled, and knew that she must
seem an idiot to him, behaving like a silly schoolgirl.

Sir Fergus didn't look at her, nor did he speak for the moment, but
drew up at the door before he turned to her.  He said gently, "I wanted
to surprise you, Rosie."

"You have.  Oh, it's lovely; don't you want to live here all the
time?"

He got out, opened her door and helped her out, and did the same for
Gyp.

"Yes it's my home, but if I lived here all the time I'd have to give up
my work, and I couldn't do that."

They were standing looking at the house, and Rosie said slowly, "But
when you marry will your wife live here?  Isn't it too far for you to
commute?  Or perhaps she likes Edinburgh?"

He looked away from her.

"I hope that she will like to be with me wherever I am."  He added,
"Shall we go inside?"

Hamish had opened the door when they had arrived, and had stood well
back watching them, nodding his old head in a satisfied way.  Now he
edged forward to bid them a good morning.

He took the hand Rosie offered, and his "Guid day, Miss Macdonald' was
uttered in a contented voice which made Sir Fergus grin.

"Is my mother in the drawing-room, Hamish?"

"The wee morning-room, ye ken fine she loves the roses."

Sir Fergus led Rosie to the back of the hall, and opened a door
opposite the sitting-room.  It was a small room with deep windows and
doors opening on to the lawn beyond, and Rosie could see why Hamish had
mentioned roses the velvety grass was surrounded by rose beds filled to
overflowing with every shade of pink, red and yellow.  Mrs.  Cameron
was sitting in the doorway with a book on her lap, but she got up as
they went in.

"Fergus and you have brought Rosie to meet me."  She lifted a cheek for
his kiss, and offered a hand to Rosie, her smile very sweet.

"I am so delighted to meet you; Fergus tells me that you are living at
Inverard again.  You are glad to be back there?"

She patted the chair near hers.

"Come and sit down and tell me about it we'll have coffee before Fergus
carries you off."

Gyp, with Bobby at his heels, came in from the garden, and Mrs. 
Cameron asked, "You like dogs?"

She began to talk comfortably about the animals, the garden and the
delights of living almost on the shores of the loch, with Sir Fergus
putting in an easy word or two, so that presently Rosie had the
pleasant feeling that she had known Mrs.  Cameron for quite some time,
and that sitting there with her and Fergus stretched out in his big
chair was something she had done for years instead of the few minutes
she had been there.

Hamish brought in the coffee-tray, and presently Fergus asked, "Would
you like to walk down to the loch?  We can go across the gardens, and
come back through the woods."

The gardens were beautiful; beyond the roses was a small walled garden
with an herbaceous border in full flower and then a little herb garden
before they crossed rough ground beneath the trees and came out by the
loch.  Half a dozen miles away, on the further side of the loch, the
mountains towered, their lower slopes covered with fir trees, and
merging into moor land already tinged with purple heather.

Sir Fergus flung an arm round Rosie's shoulders.

"Splendid, isn't it?  I think of this when I'm in Edinburgh."

She was very conscious of his arm.

"Do you come here each weekend?"

"Whenever I can it isn't always possible; I have friends in Edinburgh
one doesn't like to lose touch."

He glanced down at her.

"And you, Rosie?  There must be old friendships for you now that you
are back at Inverard new ones, too?"

"Well, yes.  It's as though we've never been away..."

"So you are content to stay at Inverard?"

If she said no he would want to know why, and how could she tell him
that she would only be content to stay there if he were there too?  She
had never been a jealous girl, but now she experienced the first pangs
at the thought of him far away in Edinburgh, surrounded by the flower
of eligible womanhood ready to pounce if his matrimonial plans should
come to grief.

"I'm not there all the time," she pointed out in what she hoped was an
uninterested manner.

"I go down to see Granny and Aunt Carrie, and I go shopping.  Aunt
Carrie is getting married in two weeks' time.  She wants me to be her
bridesmaid..."

"So it is to be a big wedding?"  he asked idly.

"Oh, no!  They're being married in Tron church.  I'm not quite sure
why; I believe they first met there, or something like that.  It's to
be very quiet."

"Your aunt deserves to be happy; I should imagine that your grandmother
isn't the easiest of women to live with."

"She's not."  Rosie gave a little chortle of laughter.

"Aunt Carrie is a saint, and so kind; but we all take it in turns to be
out of favour with Granny; she forgives us sooner or later--all except
Uncle Donald."

"Does she approve of your marrying young Douglas?"

She did a quick think--it was important to give the right answer.

"Well, I don't think she knows yet."

"Ah, a secret romance..."  There was mockery in his voice so that she
answered before she had time to think.

"Good heavens, no--he hasn't a spark of romance in him!"

She could have bitten out her tongue.  She went red, and added hastily,
"Well, you know what men are..."

He quelled silent laughter.

"Er--yes, but only from a man's point of view, of course."

He slid an arm under hers, and began to walk in the direction of the
loch side

"Just because young Douglas doesn't quote Robbie Burns to you doesn't
mean to say that he doesn't think it.

"To see her is to to love her and love but her and her for ever, for
Nature made her what she is and never made anither" "

He said the words in broad Scots, and Rosie longed with all her heart
that he had quoted the poem just for her.  He hadn't, of course; he
would have been thinking of his future wife.  The thought made her
uneasy; here they were, walking along arm-in-arm, very much at ease
with each other indeed--even when he annoyed her the annoyance didn't
touch her deep love for him, and that wouldn't do at all.  She
apologised silently to the unknown girl who had his heart, and said
briskly, "Ian would like to get a partnership in Edinburgh."

He had mentioned it casually to her when she had gone to see him; what
he hadn't mentioned was that he wanted her to go with him.  But there
was no need to tell Fergus that.  Ian Douglas was a nice young man, but
he wasn't serious about her; he was prudent enough to marry a girl with
money and good connections.  True, she had the connections, but there
was no money to spare; her father intended to spend every penny on
getting Inverard back on to its feet again.  Fergus wasn't to know
that, and she would take care to see that he never did.

"That shouldn't be too difficult.  Shall I keep an eye open for him?  I
have contacts with most of the medical men there?"

"I'll ask him.  Do you have a practice, or do you just work at the
hospital?"

He was still holding her arm.

"Oh, I have a practice, quite a busy one.  Of course I work at the
hospital too--two lists each week and outpatients and an aftercare
clinic.  I have a registrar and several housemen, and I take a teaching
round..."

"You can't have a minute to yourself..."

He laughed.

"My registrar is my right arm; he takes over and two of the housemen at
least are more than competent.  They need to be, for I am away from
time to time."

"You went to Holland?"

"Yes--I go quite frequently.  I go to London, Birmingham, Leeds and
Bristol, too."

She spoke without remembering to curb her tongue.

"You'll never have any time to be at home.  Won't your wife mind?"

She added, "When you're married."

"I shall take her with me.  If we walk a little further there is an old
stone hut--I considered it mine when I was a boy.

It is overgrown with trees and shrubs, and it is a splendid hideaway.
"

"How interesting," commented Rosie, feeling snubbed.  He considers that
we are friends, she thought crossly, but if I ask questions about his
life and what he does he slams the door in my face.

She added defiantly, "Ian is most interested in old buildings."

Which was a fib thought up on the spur of the moment.

All in a good cause, she reflected, crossing her fingers behind her
back.

The hut, when they reached it, was interesting a kind of look-out post
on the curve of the loch.  It was roofless, and over the years trees
had grown in and around it, almost screening the small openings which
took the place of windows.

"I used to shoot with my bow and arrow through them," observed Sir
Fergus.  He put a remembering hand on the rough stonework.

"And later on my father gave me an air-gun I taught myself to shoot
here."

Rosie didn't speak; she was afraid that if she did he might stop
talking such a small scrap of information, but she treasured it.
However, it was all she was going to get.

He gazed at his watch, and said, "We had better stroll back, lunch is
at one o'clock."

They ate it in a large square room overlooking the grounds and, beyond,
the loch.  The room was panelled with light oak, and the ceiling was of
elaborate plaster- work.  The dining table was rectangular, ringed by
leather-seated chairs of the Regency period.  There was a vast
sideboard and a splendid marble fireplace with a mirror above.  The
table had a white damask cloth, and the porcelain plates and dishes
were blue and white, the remnants of a vast service sent over from
China some hundred and fifty years previously, each bearing the family
coat-of-arms.

Lunch did justice to its elegant surroundings smoked salmon, trout, a
salad, and strawberry tart lets with lashings of cream.  Rosie, who had
a healthy appreciation of good food, enjoyed every mouthful.  She
enjoyed the conversation, too, although never once did Sir Fergus allow
her an insight into his life.

Why should he?  she reflected, drinking coffee in the drawing-room, its
grandeur softened by chintz-covered armchairs and sofas, and the vast
dim pink carpet on its floor.  There were vitrines on either side of
the enormous window, filled with miniature silver and porcelain, and
two small tables Dutch marquetry on rose wood.  There were elaborate
gilt sconces on either side of the fireplace, and an ornate crystal
chandelier hung from the ceiling.  The room's grandeur was further
domesticated by Bobby and Gyp, who had flung them selves down on the
carpet, a pile of magazines and books on one of the tables, and a
half-knitted garment cast down on one of the chairs.  It was a lovely
room, and lived in; Rosie would have liked to have seen the rest of the
house, but Sir Fergus put down his cup and said, "I have to go to
Arisaig just to cast an eye on a patient of mine.  Come with me,
Rosie?"

It was a beautiful drive alongside the loch for a good deal of the way
until they glimpsed the sea and the islands beyond on their right, and
presently reached the village.

Arisaig House stood in the grounds which swept down to the loch, and
stood surrounded by mountains.

"It's an hotel," observed Rosie unnecessarily.

"Yes--and a very nice one, too.  One of the boys broke a leg a couple
of months ago--I took the plaster off last week, and I want to make
sure that he's not running races on it."

He swept the car up to the door, and several people came out to meet
them--a large and cheerful family, all talking at once.  Rosie,
introduced simply as Rosie Macdonald, found herself surrounded by a
group of children, one of them with a crutch.  They all went back
indoors, through the hotel foyer to the private wing, where she was
invited to sit down, and submitted to a friendly cross-examination
while the boy with the crutch was led away by Sir Fergus and his
mother.

There were five children, their father and an aunt left to entertain
her.  The talk was generally impersonal for a start, but the children
were full of questions.  Where did she live?  Had she a horse of her
own? Did she like dogs?  Was she going to marry Fergus?  "

It was unfortunate that this last question was fired at her just as Sir
Fergus returned, and while she might have been able to ignore it and
hope that no one had heard it the aunt spoilt it all by saying in a
clear voice, "That is rude, Robert--you mustn't ask Rosie if she is
going to marry Sir Fergus."

There was a lull in the conversation so that everyone in the room heard
her.  Rosie went delightfully pink and looked at her feet; she would
have to say something.  Sir Fergus spoke instead.  A perfectly natural
question he observed blandly, 'but I wouldn't ask if I were you,
Robert;

you would be jumping the gun.  "

"What's jumping the gun?"  asked Robert, instantly diverted.

"Oh, lord, what have I started?"  The professor went on to explain
patiently with great good humour, and by the time he had finished
Rosie's colour was normal again and she was being borne off to the
enormous kitchen to have tea.

They all sat round the big table while a stout elderly woman they
addressed as Nanny poured tea, admonished the children from time to
time, and handed scones and cake, jam and honey.  Rosie, with the lady
of the house beside her and one of the smaller daughters on the other
side, began to enjoy herself.  They were such a happy family, and she
had been absorbed into it with instant ease.  As for Sir Fergus, he was
sitting opposite her, eating any number of scones and illustrating
something with teaspoons and the bread and-butter plate on the scrubbed
table.  He will make a marvelous father, thought Rosie, suddenly sad at
the thought.

They left presently, and she was sorry to go, but the hotel had to be
run, and there were certain duties waiting

"Do come again," they begged her.

"It's such an easy run for Fergus he can bring you for a meal..."

Rosie thanked her hostess, and murmured vaguely.

Of course he could bring her for a meal, but would he want to?  He
would more likely wish to bring the girl he was going to marry.  She
wondered if he had done so already, and on their way back she asked,
"Do you often go there?  They're awfully nice..."

"I've known them for years, and since there are six children I've had
arms and legs to deal with from time to time.  I'm glad you liked
them."

"Do you--that is, have you...?"

He turned to grin at her.

"Oh, yes, once--we had a delightful time.  Presently he asked, " Should
I feel flattered at your interest in my private life, Rosie?  "

"I am not in the least interested!"

He said coolly, "Well, you have no reason to be, have you?

And when you are married to your Ian you will forget me until such time
as you should break a leg or invite me to set a child's arm or
collar-bone.  "

She looked away so that he shouldn't see the sudden threat of tears.

Presently she said, rather too brightly, "They are charming
children--it must be delightful to be one of a large family."

After that they fell into a silence broken only by a desultory remark
from Sir Fergus from time to time, and when they got back to the house
his mother was there waiting for them in the sitting-room and the talk
became general until they were summoned to dinner.

Before that Rosie had had her chance to see something of the house, for
her hostess had led her upstairs to tidy herself, and shown her into a
charmingly furnished room with a rose-patterned wallpaper and little
canopied bed.  She had sat herself down before the old fashioned
looking-glass and studied her face as she powdered it.  It surprised
her that her sadness didn't show.

They dined in a leisurely fashion; cock a leekie soup, shoulder of lamb
carved by the masterly hand of Sir Fergus, a variety of vegetables
grown, Mrs.  Cameron observed, in their own kitchen gardens, and a
dream of a trifle.  They talked about a great many things, but never
anything remotely connected with Sir Fergus.

They sat over their coffee, and a pleasant hour had slipped by before
Rosie saw the time.

"Heavens, it's late I'm so sorry, I should have noticed."

She added ingenuously, "I have enjoyed my self."

"So have I, Rosie; you must come again."  Mrs.  Cameron smiled warmly
as she spoke.

Sir Fergus said nothing at all, only got up as Rosie got to her feet.

"You're going back to Edinburgh?"  she asked as she got into the car.

"Tomorrow."

"But if you drive me home you won't be back here for hours!"

"A little more than an hour to Inverard, and a little more than an hour
back here.  I like driving at night."

They turned to wave to Mrs.  Cameron standing at the open door, and the
car shot away smoothly along the drive and on to the empty road.

Sir Fergus drove fast, but never recklessly.  What traffic there was
had died down; he slowed from time to time for sheep, and once to
direct a tourist driving to Mallaig, and he talked about this and that
in an easy manner, friendly and impersonal.  She could have been an
aunt he was being polite to for his mother's sake, Rosie thought with
something like despair.

She sat there beside him making suitable replies to his remarks and
pondered the fact that convention pre vented her from uttering what her
heart wished to say.  Although that, she reminded herself sensibly,
would have embarrassed him and put an end to their friend ship.

There was only a dim light in the hall when they arrived at Inverard.
So Fergus got out of the car and opened her door, and she stood beside
him for a moment looking up at the sleeping house.

"Would you like to come in for coffee?  Mother will have left
something..."

He shook his head.

"It is late, and I have to be up early in the morning.  Is the door
locked?"

"No.  Thank you for a lovely day; I have enjoyed it."

He walked with her to the door and opened it for her.

"Lock it after you."

"Yes, although there is no need here, you know."  She put out a hand.

"Goodnight, Fergus."

He took her hand and held it, and bent and kissed her with a swift
gentleness.

"A day to remember," he said softly, and got into his car and waited
until she had gone through the door and closed it behind her.

She wouldn't see him again, she supposed sadly, getting ready for
bed.

She was quite right; there was neither sight nor sound of him for the
next week.  She did her best to forget him, quite unsuccessfully, and
when Dr.  Douglas invited her to have dinner with him in Oban's leading
restaurant she accepted, wearing one of her pretty new dresses, and
listening with every sign of interest to his plans for the future.  She
gathered that they included her, but only vaguely; what was important
to him was his career.  He was ambitious, and she had the lowering
feeling that it wouldn't much matter who he married as long as she
fitted into his own plans.

Rosie thanked him prettily for her dinner, aware that she had no
interest in him at all and, although he showed a flattering interest in
her for the moment, it could be easily diverted.  All the same it would
do no harm to let Fergus assume that she had serious intentions of
marrying Ian, even though it was very likely that he hadn't given her
another thought.

She was wrong.  Sir Fergus, engrossed in his work as he was, still had
time to think about her--something which he did frequently.  He had
been in Edinburgh for more than a week when he had occasion to go to
Oban to give his opinion upon a particularly complicated compound
fracture of tibia and fibula.  The leg had been crushed by a falling
wall, and its fragmented bones would need assembling, wiring and
rearranging into something resembling their original pattern, something
at which he excelled.  He spent a long morning at the hospital doing
just that, assisted by the resident surgeon and watched by Ian
Douglas.

Afterwards they had coffee in Sister's office, and the RSO had gone off
to check the patient's condition, leaving Ian and Sir Fergus finishing
their coffee.

The younger man was full of admiration.

"I mean to make my mark too," he told Sir Fergus.

"General surgery.  Only, of course I must get to Edinburgh
first--there's no future for me here."

Arrogant young pup, thought Sir Fergus, and wondered what Rosie, of all
people, saw in him.

"I shouldn't be in too much of a hurry," he advised quietly.

"A few years here will establish you.  You plan to marry?"

"Marry?  Certainly not.  Perhaps in five or six years.  A wife would be
a millstone round my neck right now.  He laughed rather awkwardly
because Sir Fergus was looking at him rather strangely.

"Popular local rumour has Rosie Macdonald as your future wife," he
observed blandly.

"Rosie?  Good lord, no.  She's a nice girl--we're friendly, but that's
all.  I fancy small fragile women who don't argue."

Sir Fergus looked amused.

"Does Rosie argue?"

"All the time."  He added hastily, "Mind you, sir, she's a charming
girl."  He laughed a little.

"But I've no intention of settling down yet awhile."

"A wise decision."  Sir Fergus got up.

"I must be off.  Let me know how that leg does, will you?  I'll be over
in a day or so to check X-rays--get some more taken in a couple of
days, will you?"

He didn't drive straight back to Edinburgh.  He went to Inverard and
found Rosie in the rose garden, trying to bring order to the tangled
bushes, and attacking the weeds choking them.  She had prudently worn
an old dress and worn-out gym shoes she had found in the garden shed,
and a pair of gardening-gloves sizes too large.  She had gathered up
her hair and tied it in an untidy tangle with a piece of twine, and her
face shone with her exertions.

Sir Fergus, coming upon her silently, thought that she looked
enchanting.

His "Hello, Rosie' was uttered softly, but it surprised her none the
less.  She had been thinking about him too, and the bright colour
flooded her face as she turned round.

"Oh, hello.  Are you on your way home?"

"Yes."  He didn't say which home; he was, in fact, on his way back to
Edinburgh and his house there.

"How are you, Rosie?"

The?  Very well--and happy.  There's such a lot to do, you know, the
days aren't long enough.  "

"No fun at all?"  he asked with casual amusement.

"No friends, no young men?"

"Oh, well, yes--lots of friends..."

"And young Douglas, of course."

"Yes, yes."

She bent to tug at a recalcitrant weed, and she didn't look at him as
she added, "We see quite a lot of each other."

"Naturally," said Sir Fergus smoothly.

"Have you fixed the wedding day yet?"

The weed came away suddenly so that she almost lost her balance.  Sir
Fergus caught her neatly and set her upright.

"September would be a good month for a wedding," he prompted, his eyes
half closed so as to conceal their wicked gleam.

"Well, yes, but of course Ian is busy--it's a large practice, you know.
We--that is, I, haven't decided."

"Very wise," said her companion gravely.

"When is your aunt marrying?"

"The day after tomorrow."

"So you will be staying with your grandmother?"

"Yes.  Mother is coming too--Father has too much to do;

besides, men don't really like weddings, do they?  "

"Er--possibly they find some pleasure in their own."

She pushed back the dark curls.

"Would you like coffee?

Mother will be delighted.  "

"I've already been to the house, and your mother gave me coffee.  I
couldn't go without saying hello."

Rosie took a grubby hand out of its glove.

"Please remember me to your mother; it was nice seeing you."

She offered the hand, rather red in the face because last time he had
kissed her and she wanted him to kiss her now.

He didn't.  He shook her hand and smiled a little, and said, "We'll
meet again some time, I dare say, Rosie," and he had gone before she
could utter a suitable reply.

When she went into the house her mother said, "Fergus called; did he
find you?"

"Yes."  She didn't want to talk about him.

"Those rose beds are in a terrible mess.  Mother--it will take a couple
of years to get them back to what they were."

"Yes, dear," agreed Mrs.  Macdonald, and took care not to mention
Fergus again.

The pair of them left for Edinburgh the following afternoon, and
arrived at old Mrs.  Macdonald's house to find that lady giving orders
right and left, deploring the fact that she had such a heartless
daughter, and wanting to know where the rather splendid hat she had
worn to her son's wedding some twenty ago could be.  Rosie found the
hat, a masterpiece of black straw, tulle and curled feathers, soothed
her grandparent, helped get supper on the table, and retired to bed to
lie awake wishing she was the bride and not the bridesmaid.  A
different bridegroom, of course, she reminded herself as she nodded
off--Fergus, free from his shadowy fiancee and in love with her.

CHAPTER EIGHT

rosie was up early; much as her grandmother decried Aunt Carrie's
wedding, old Mrs.  Macdonald intended to grace the ceremony in
splendour.  It took the combined efforts of Elspeth, her mother and
herself to dress the old lady to her satisfaction, which gave them
little time to get into their wedding finery.  Old Mrs.  Macdonald left
first with Elspeth in the hired car, and Rosie, by no means pleased
with her appearance, since she had dressed in a great hurry, urged her
mother into the car and drove across the city to Tron Church, anxious
to get there before the bride.

She had a thankful ten minutes before Aunt Carrie was due to arrive;
she saw her mother into a pew at the front of the church, already
surprisingly full, and retreated to the porch where she smoothed down
the soft silk of her simple dress, made sure that the wreath of flowers
was firmly anchored on her curls, and sat down to wait.

Aunt Carrie was a little late--only to be expected-and in a flutter.
She had chosen to wear a soft blue two-piece and a charming hat she
would never have dared to wear while she had been living with old Mrs.
Macdonald, and Rosie was quick to tell her how pretty she looked.

"Oh, well, yes," said Aunt Carrie, more disjointedly than ever.

"Is it all...?  That is, it's too hot.  Should I have worn...?  I'm not
sure..."

"You look smashing," Rosie assured her lovingly.

"Here, carry your flowers they go beautifully with your dress.  Are you
ready?"

Dr.  MacLeod was giving Aunt Carrie away; they walked up the aisle with
Rosie behind them.  The un expected sight of Sir Fergus, towering over
the other guests in one of the pews, caused her to falter in her slow
pacing, but only for a moment.  She went past him, looking ahead of
her, apparently lost in the solemnity of the occasion.

The service was simple and short; they were walking down the aisle and
out of the church in no time at all, followed by family and friends.

Rosie watched the elderly best man usher the happy couple into their
car, and waited for him to accompany her in the first of the cars lined
up.  He joined her presently, looking harassed.

"I'd better get your family away first," he told her worriedly.

"I'll drive Rosie back."  Sir Fergus's voice sounded to the bothered
man like that of an old trusted friend;

indeed, he knew Sir Fergus by sight.

"So kind," he said hurriedly.

"There are several ladies, you understand."

"Oh, I do indeed," acknowledged Sir Fergus with what Rosie considered
to be unnecessarily fulsome sympathy.

"Do go ahead and see to them."

He hardly waited for the best man's thanks, but whisked Rosie away to
the Rolls, and popped her into the front seat.

"Why are you here?"  she asked.

He got into the car beside her.

"Your aunt invited me.  She made a charming bride, did she not?"  He
turned to look at her.

"And you are a quite beautiful bridesmaid, Rosie."

She mumbled something, feeling shy and then peevishly furious when he
added, "A rehearsal for being the bride yourself, perhaps?"

"Certainly not!"  Her voice was frosty.

"Aren't you supposed to be looking after your patients?"

"Not until this afternoon.  They're off just after one o'clock, aren't
they?  Leaving everyone feeling flat.  Would you like to come to the
Royal Infirmary with me and look around while I do some work?"

"Oh, may I?  I would very much like to.  Are you coming to the
reception?  It's only drinks and canapes.  What time shall I come, and
where do I go?"

"As soon as we've seen the happy pair off I'll drive you to your
grandmother's house that's where you are staying, isn't it?  you can
have ten minutes to change.  I'll hand you over to someone who will
show you everything you might like to see."

"Just like that?  Don't you even have to ask some one?"

His firm mouth twitched.

"Well, no.  I don't think that will be necessary."

"Not even the matron?"

"Not even the matron.  Here we are.  Are there to be many guests?"

"No, just family and William Brodie's friends and an odd cousin or two
of his."

He parked the car, and they went into the hotel and were at once
separated she to be the centre of the vague cousins' attention, he to
confer gravely with her grandmother, looking, it must be admitted,
rather like the bad fairy bent on casting gloom over the party.  Not
that she was given the chance; Sir Fergus, used to dealing with awkward
patients, diverted the old lady's attention away from Carrie's happy
face, and listened with becoming gravity to a detailed description of
old Mrs.  Macdonald's fragile state before're assuring her with such a
positive manner that she actually accepted a second glass of
champagne.

The last of the confetti had barely been thrown when Sir Fergus was at
Rosie's elbow.

"Come on, I've spoken to your mother."

Rosie found her mother talking to Dr.  MacLeod.

"Mother," she began, to be interrupted by her mother's, "Have a lovely
time, darling.  Dr.  MacLeod will drive Granny and me back.  Don't keep
Fergus waiting."

Outside her grandmother's house he got out to help her.

"Ten minutes," he reminded her, and as she jumped out and hurried into
the house he got back into the car.

She managed it in nine minutes, darting through the door looking as
fresh as a daisy in a pretty cotton dress and a little jacket, her hair
neatly brushed, her feet thrust into low-heeled sandals with an eye to
the hospital corridors she supposed she would traipse up and down later
on.

"What time do you have to be at the hospital?"  she asked as he stowed
her back into the car.

"I have a list for quarter-past two," he told her.

"Oh.plentyoftime..."

"Yes."  He turned the car and drove away in the opposite direction to
which she had expected to go.

"The infirmary is over there, isn't it?"  She waved an arm in its
general direction.

"Yes, but I live in Moray Place.  We will have lunch first.  I cannot
and will not operate with hollow insides."

Not true, of course; many a time he had, in an emergency, got out of
his bed to operate in the small hours and well into the day without so
much as a cup of tea.  He certainly didn't stop for a meal if it
happened to infringe upon his surgery.  His theatre sister swallowed
whatever she had time for between cases, and sent her long-suffering
nurses to their dinners while the theatre was prepared for the next
case, with him standing there like a patient giant.

It was but a short distance to Moray Place.  It looked solid and
elegant in the early-afternoon sun, and tall houses beautifully
maintained, the garden in its centre bright with shrubs and flowers. 
Sir Fergus stopped be fore such a house at the end of the semi-circular
terrace, and got out.

"Mrs.  Meikle will have everything ready," he observed as he opened
Rosie's door and swept her across the pavement, and indeed that lady
had the door open before they reached it.

Sir Fergus paused long enough to make introductions.

"Twenty minutes, Mrs.  Meikle, if you can manage that; we need to be
away not a minute later than that."

"Bless you, Mr.  Fergus, everything's waiting to be popped into your
mouths."

He threw an arm around her plump shoulders.

"Good, we'll go straight into the dining-room."

He opened a door in the narrow hall, and ushered Rosie inside.  The
room was at the back of the house overlooking a pleasant garden, its
doors open on to a terrace.  Gyp came prancing in, delighted to see
them, and Sir Fergus said, "Would you like a drink?  Sherry?"

The champagne Rosie had had after the wedding was still giving her an
agreeably fizzy feeling.

"No, thank you."

He pulled out a chair at the circular table, its cloth snowy-white, the
silver gleaming on it, the crystal sparkling.

"Tonic water?  Lemonade?  Mrs.  Meikle makes her A sturdy girl came in
with watercress soup, very cold and with a dash of cream in it, and a
basket of rolls, and Rosie who had managed to nibble only a handful of
the canapes with the champagne, fell to with unselfconscious pleasure,
watched appreciatively by her companion.

The soup was followed by hot cheese puffs and a green salad, and
finally coffee, taken in an atmosphere which gave no indication of
haste; indeed.  Sir Fergus carried on a rambling conversation without
looking at the clock once.

Nevertheless, they left the house within the half-hour, and when they
reached the hospital it still wanted ten minutes to a quarter-past the
hour.

Rosie was whisked through the entrance hall and into a lift before she
had the time to look around her, walked briskly down a number of
corridors, up and down a staircase or two, and was handed over to a
fierce-looking middle-aged lady, upholstered in dark blue, and wearing
a very starched cap on her iron-grey hair.

The professor flung an arm round her.

"Becky, dear, here is Rosie, just as I promised.  Allow her to poke her
nose into whatever interests her, will you?  And if I'm not finished by
four o'clock or thereabouts sit her down with a good book until I
am."

To Rosie's astonishment he gave the elderly shoulders a friendly hug,
and received a warm smile in're turn.

"Rosie, this is Sister Wallace.  She used to be my theatre sister, now
she is the Theatre Superintendent and only scrubs for me on special
occasions.  She will take you round the hospital and tell you anything
you want to know."

He gave her a brisk nod and stalked away, and Sister Wallace said,
"Well, shall we have a cup of tea before we start?

There's a lot to see.  " She turned a bright, enquiring eye on Rosie, "
You're a lucky girl, the professor's doing you a great favour.  "

Rosie murmured suitably, and they repaired to Sister's office, where
they drank tea and exchanged small talk until there was no more tea
left in the pot.

"Now where shall it be first?  The maternity pavilion?  The eye
pavilion?  Outpatients?"

Rosie put down her cup.

"I'd like to see where Sir Fergus works, please."

Sister Wallace's beady eyes studied Rosie thought fully.

"Why not?  You cannot go into Theatre, of course, but you may look
through the portholes, and if you are not squeamish you may observe him
operating from the gallery."

The porthole revealed the anaesthetic room, a patient on a trolley and,
presumably, the anaesthetist.

"The patient has had a premed explained Sister Wallace, 'which relaxes
him sufficiently to make him composed."

Then she led the way along a corridor, and opened a door which gave on
to a gallery already almost filled with white-coated students.

"You are sure that you wish to watch?  I can't have you fainting
here."

"I shan't faint, although I don't suppose I shall want to stay for
long."

The patient was on the table surrounded by shrouded figures, and it was
very quiet.  Sir Fergus, gowned and gloved, came into view, and his
"Good afternoon.  Sister," uttered in an unhurried and casual voice,
made the surroundings perfectly normal, so that Rosie, peering down and
wondering if she should be there after all, felt reassured.

Sir Fergus murmured something to the theatre sister, put out a gloved
hand and was handed a scalpel, and Rosie very sensibly closed her
eyes.

When she opened them cautiously his vast back obscured her view, which
was just as well, and when Sister Wallace plucked at her arm she went
willingly enough back to the corridor.

"I just wanted to know," she explained to her companion.

"I

mean, I knew he was a surgeon, but I could only imagine.  Does he ever
make a mistake?  "

Sister Wallace allowed herself a chuckle.

"No!  Would you like to see his wards?"

"Yes, please."

The afternoon flew by; Rosie, led from one end of the hospital to the
other, was enthralled.  She poked her pretty head into every corner she
was permitted, asking endless questions which Sister Wallace answered
patiently, if briefly, until at last she was led back to that lady's
office and told to sit down while a tray of tea was brought.

With it came Sir Fergus, looking the epitome of the well-dressed
gentleman who wouldn't know a scalpel if he saw one.

"You look different," remarked Rosie.

"Er in what way?"  he wanted to know.

"Well, I suppose it's the clothes; you looked so so as though everyone
in the theatre would do what you told them to do without asking why."

He took the tea Sister Wallace handed to him.

"I should jolly well hope so, or the place would be bedlam!"

Sister Wallace allowed herself a chuckle.

"We were in the gallery."

"Only I closed my eyes when you took that knife," Rosie said, and then,
"When I opened them again I could only see your back."  She bit into
the petit beurre biscuit she had been offered.

"Are you going to operate again or have you finished for today?"

He glanced at his watch.

"Outpatients in half an hour, and then a quick check-up of today's
cases."

"Not to mention a couple of private patients this evening and letters
to dictate," added Sister Wallace drily.

"Then I'll go now.  Thank you for letting me see round the Infirmary, I
really was interested," Rosie said enthusiastically.

She got to her feet, shook Sister Wallace's hand, offered a hand to Sir
Fergus, and made for the door.  He was there before her.

"I'll drive you back," He sounded like a man with nothing to do for the
rest of the day.

"A breath of fresh air will be welcome."  He looked over his shoulder
at Sister Wallace.

"Thanks, Becky, let them know in OPD, will you?"

Rosie, a calm girl, found that calm shattered.

"I can go back on my own," she pointed out as they started their
devious journey back to the entrance.  She might just as well have been
addressing the air, for Sir Fergus took no notice of her.

She tried again.

"There is no need..."  This also was ignored; instead she was swept out
to the Rolls, shoved into the front seat with surprisingly gentle
hands, and driven back, through the Grassmarket, past the library, down
the Mound, into Princes Street, and so eventually to her grandmother's
house.

Rosie had sat silent, but now she said, "Will you come in?

I'm sure Granny will be pleased to see you.  "

He was already getting out of the car, and had opened her door before
he replied, "No time."  He bent and kissed her swiftly, and got back
into the car and drove away.

Rosie glanced at her watch; Sister Wallace had told her that he was a
stickler for punctuality.  He was going to have to drive very fast. 
She went indoors to find her mother in the drawing- room with a
tea-tray before her.

"Your Granny is tired, she's having a cup of tea in her room, she said.
Sit down, darling, and have a cup with me.  Did you have an interesting
afternoon?"

"Very.  I went everywhere with the theatre supe ring ten dent

"You didn't see Fergus?"  Mrs.  Macdonald's voice was indifferent.

"Oh, yes.  I watched him operate, but only for a minute or two, and
then I didn't look... He brought me back."

"He didn't want to come in?"

"He has an Outpatients clinic this afternoon."

"Oh, well, perhaps he will find time to pay us a visit before we go
back."  Mrs.  Macdonald cast a look at her daughter's downcast face.

"I thought we might go home in a couple of days there's no hurry."

Anything could happen in a couple of days, thought Rosie, allowing
herself a pleasant daydream.

The daydream was shattered that evening.

Rosie and her mother, intent on an evening stroll, were standing on the
pavement making up their minds which way to walk when the Rolls went
by.  Sir Fergus was driving, and sitting beside him was the same girl
who she had seen before.  What was more, he saw them standing there,
and lifted a hand in greeting.

"What a pretty girl," observed Mrs.  Macdonald.

"Do you suppose she's the one he's going to marry?"

"I've no idea," said Rosie waspishly, 'and I'm not really interested.
"

She marched her parent in the opposite direction to that in which the
Rolls had been driven.

"The wedding went off very nicely, didn't it?  I'm sure they'll be very
happy."

"They will.  I thought your aunt looked charming.  What would you like
to do tomorrow, Rosie?"

"Go home."  And, at her mother's surprised look she added, "Well,
there's nothing to do in Edinburgh, and Granny is very snappish.  That
is, unless you want to do some shopping.

Mother?  "

Mrs.  Macdonald, who had been looking forward to a pleasant browse down
Princes Street and possibly the purchase of some inexpensive garment
which wouldn't make her feel too much of a spendthrift're plied
promptly, realising that Rosie's sudden urge to get away from Edinburgh
had been uttered in urgent tones not to be ignored.

"Shopping?  No, dear I thought I'd come again in the autumn, when I'll
need a new coat.  There's nothing I want..."

A brave lie, but she was rewarded by the relief on Rosie's face, and
she wondered what had happened to make Rosie a girl with a normal
interest in fashion turn her back on the delights of the Edinburgh
shops.  Something to do with Fergus?  But he had always treated Rosie
with a casual friendliness now that they had decided to like each other
after all; besides, had she not said on several occasions that he was
thinking of getting married?  Perhaps it was that girl sitting be side
him in the car.

Old Mrs.  Macdonald, still brooding darkly over Aunt Carrie and, when
she wasn't doing that, criticising the wedding, expressed the opinion,
when it was suggested that Rosie and her mother should return home the
very next day, that she would prefer their room to their company.

"I am an old woman, alone and defenceless, abandoned by all but my
faithful maid.  Go home, do!"

These piteous words were uttered in a bad-tempered and very loud voice
which rather spoilt their effect, especially when she added, "In any
case you would have had to leave on the day after tomorrow; I have
arranged one of my bridge parties, and since neither of you have the
least idea how to play with intelligence I had no intention of asking
you to make up a four."

"Well, now, isn't that fortunate," observed her daughter-in-law mildly,
avoiding Rosie's eye.

"If we leave after breakfast that will give you plenty of time to
arrange things."

"Will Elspeth be able to cope on her own?"  asked Rosie.

"I have engaged a very good daily woman, which will allow Elspeth more
time in which to look after me.  I must say, Rosie, that she gives me
more care and attention than my own kith and kin.  I was bitterly
disappointed at your lack of concern when I sprained my ankle, and the
subsequent agony I endured."

Rosie got up from her chair.

"Dear Granny," she said cheerfully, and dropped a kiss on the
beautifully dressed, still dark hair.

"I shall go and pack our things so that we can leave directly after
breakfast.  Goodnight."

She dropped a kiss on her mother's cheek as she passed her chair.

"Goodnight, Mother, don't stay up too late."

They left after breakfast after a severe scolding from old Mrs.
Macdonald, and Rosie drove thankfully through the city and took the
road home, taking care not to look around her too much in case she
should see Fergus in the Rolls.  There was no sign of him, though, and
she wondered unhappily when she would see him again.  Probably never,
she reflected gloomily, her spirits at their lowest possible ebb.

It was great to be home again, to tell her father about the wedding, go
round the garden to see what had grown in two days, to take Hobb for a
walk, visit Meg's cottage because she wasn't sure if the youngest
child's spots were measles or chicken pox, and consult Old Robert about
the strawberry bed.  Her day was filled with mundane tasks, and she was
almost, but not quite, happy.

It was measles; the next morning Rosie phoned Dr.  Douglas, and when he
arrived later and her mother had given him coffee she walked with him
to Meg's cottage and swept the other children out of his way while Meg
took him to see the small sufferer, and when he returned she offered to
drive in to Oban and fetch the penicillin he had prescribed, since the
child was feverish and chesty.

They walked back to his car, talking about this and that, when he gave
a sudden laugh.

"You'll love this," he declared.

"Professor Cameron was operating a week or so ago, and we got talking
about my future and so on.  He actually thought that you and I were
going to marry!  I quickly put him right, I can tell you... I wonder
who gave him that idea?  Of all the non sense...!"

Rosie swallowed rage.

"How frightfully funny," she said, and actually achieved a laugh.

"As though I'd marry you, anyway..."

"I'm not such a bad catch," he observed quickly.

"I'm sure you're not," she observed sweetly, 'only not for me you'll
find some nice little thing.  The professor must have been amused?  "

"Funnily enough he didn't say much, and he's got such a poker-face one
never knows if he's amused or angry, or just bored."

"Probably bored.  Do you intend to visit little Jamie again?"

"Will you let me know if his temperature goes down, say, in a couple of
days?  If it doesn't I'll come and take another look."  He got into his
car, rolled down the window, and asked, "I say, you're not peeved are
you?  About that nonsense about us?"

"Peeved?  Of course not.  Someone was enjoying a joke at our expense."
She gave him a brilliant smile.

"I'll phone you about little Jamie; goodbye."

She watched him drive away, standing there seething.  Fergus had
mentioned Ian several times--had talked about them getting married, had
asked if she had fixed the wedding day, and all the while he had known.
She would never forgive him; better still she would take great care
never to see him again.  A resolve which cast her into a state of the
deepest depression.

She saw him the very next day.  She was in the attics, searching for a
particular basket Simpkins had always slept in which had been banished
to the attics along with a number of unwanted chairs and tables when
her uncle had taken over, and the faint sounds of a car stopping below
sent her to the tiny dormer windows.  Sir Fergus was getting out in his
unhurried fashion so that she had time to fly down the narrow wooden
back stairs which opened into the kitchen, and nip through the kitchen
door before he had so much as gained the front hall.

She encountered Old Robert at the far end of the kitchen garden,
bending over his row of winter cabbages.

"Don't tell anyone you've seen me," she begged as she went past him,
and ran smartly through the little door in the high brick wall which
separated the garden from the small paddock beyond it.  Beyond that was
the river, tumbling over the rocks with the steppingstones to its
further bank.  Rosie nipped over them with the ease of familiarity, and
started making her way towards the line of fir trees at the foot of the
hills ahead of her.  She was out of earshot now and, unless anyone was
looking that way, out of sight too.

She slowed down, and presently sat down on a dead tree-trunk to think,
something she hadn't done since the moment when she had seen Fergus
getting out of the Rolls.  It had been silly to run away, she realised
now; sooner or later she was bound to meet him.  All the same, she had
no intention of going back to the house.

The sun, hidden behind a cloud, shone with sudden brilliance, and Sir
Fergus, standing at the drawing- room window talking to her mother, had
a momentary and clear view of her.

"She was in the attics," Mrs.  Macdonald was saying.

"Why, she must have been there still when you drove up, for I was in
the bedroom below and I could hear her dragging something along the
floor.  The floors need repairing, you know."

Sir Fergus made a pleasant rejoinder, and added, "She is on the other
side of the river, sitting on a tree stump.  I'll stroll over..."

Rosie's attention had been taken by a squirrel near by, and she had
turned away from the house and the river.  Sir Fergus, despite his size
and bulk, could move silently when he wished to do so, and he was
beside her before she was aware of it, a firm, gentle hand on her
shoulder as she started up.

"Now why should you run away?"  he wanted to know.

"Run away?  What makes you think that?  I felt like taking a
stroll..."

A remark he ignored.

"Why did you tell me that you and young Douglas were going to marry?
And why ?"

"Questions, questions," cut in Rosie peevishly.

"I shan't tell you."

"Then I'll answer them for you," said Sir Fergus, studying her flushed
face.

"Don't you dare!  I'll never speak to you again.  I wasn't going to,
anyway."

"Now I wonder why?  What have I done or not done, or said or not
said?"

He sounded as though he was trying not to laugh.

"Nothing, absolutely nothing.  Why are you making such a fuss?  And why
aren't you in Edinburgh at the hospital?"

"I came here to see you, but you don't want to see me, do you,
Rosie?"

"No I don't.  I do long for you to go away..."

He stood up.

"Very well, Rosie."  He sounded off hand, as though it didn't matter in
the least.

"What a perfectly splendid morning, isn't it?  I could wish I were a
hill-shepherd or a farmer."

He smiled into her upturned, surprised face, and went away without
another word.  She stared after him until he had crossed the river and
gone through the little door, and presently, silently sitting there,
relieved her feelings by a good cry.

She had been silly and childish; she owned up to that, but what did
that matter?  He was going to marry soon; all he wanted from her was a
casual friendship, and that, from her point of view, would be
impossible.  All the same, if she had answered him light-heartedly,
treated the whole thing as a joke, they could have parted with polite,
even if insincere, hopes to meet at some time, and in time their
friendship would have died a natural death.  Oh, well, it was too late
now.

She went back to the house, back to the attics, where she banged and
thumped around discarded furniture, old trunks and piles of books,
making a great deal of noise, so that by lunchtime she was sufficiently
restored to express the opinion that it was surprising Sir Fergus had
called that morning.

"He only stayed for a few minutes," she was at pains to explain.

"Had he been in Oban?  He didn't say..."

"On his way home, I dare say," said her father, and asked who was
taking her to the Highland Ball at Fort William the following week.

"Ian Douglas.  It should be fun."  It proved a topic of conversation
for the rest of the meal.

She went to see Jamie the next day.  He was pretty spotty and still
feverish; Ian Douglas had said that there was no need to phone him for
a couple of days, but she had her own reasons for ringing him.  She
reported on Jamie, and then said, "Ian, will you do me a favour?"

"Of course--that is, if I can."

"Are you going to the ball at Fort William?  You are?  Alone?

Good, will you take me?  You don't need to stay with me the whole
evening, I just want someone to go with.  "

"Love to--didn't ask before; I thought Sir Fergus might be going, he
usually does."

Rosie was aware of that; of course he would be there.  His estate was
close by, and his family was well known in Cameron country.

"Will you call for me?  Come to dinner if you like."

"Delighted.  Eight o'clock?"

She went away to tell her mother, who said, "How nice, dear," and began
to plan the menu while she wondered just what had gone wrong between
Rosie and Fergus to make her so very cheerful and chatty and he, when
he had left on the previous morning, so politely inscrutable.  Perhaps
they would see each other at the ball and make it up.

Ian Douglas, arriving for dinner on the night of the ball, had to admit
that Rosie, in white chiffon and her tartan sash, was certainly one of
the prettiest girls he had met.

In five years' time, he mused, she might be just the wife I'll be
looking for.  Not much money, but good family, and a splendid figure as
well as beautiful.  A pity she argues.

She didn't argue over dinner, however; she was the soul of amiability.
He got into the car beside her presently, pleased at the prospect of a
delightful evening ahead of him.

Inveriochy Castle Hotel was a grey stone pile with Ben Nevis in the
background, a fitting background for the guests, the women in their
white dresses and tartan, the men in dress kilts and here and there a
white tie.  The dancing was well under way when they arrived, and they
joined in almost at once.  Rosie was a good dancer, and the reels were
as much to her liking as the more conventional dances.  Ian was a good
partner, too, and since both of them knew a number of people there they
parted from time to time until they met for the supper.

They shared a table with half a dozen friends, and it was as they were
making their way to it that Rosie saw Sir Fergus.

She went rather pale at the sight of him, magnificent in his kilt,
talking to the Provost's eldest daughter--a girl Rosie had never liked,
and now heartily and instantly hated.  If she could have avoided him
she would have done so, but there was no way of doing that, so she gave
him a guttering smile and a glare which would have shaken a lesser man,
paused long enough to go into raptures over his companion's dress, and
sailed on, to become the life and soul of the party at her table.

She danced every dance after supper, her strong feelings giving her a
splendid colour and sparkling eyes while she hoped in vain that Fergus
would ask her to dance so that she might refuse him.  As far as he was
concerned she might not have been there.

She couldn't avoid him altogether, though.  The dancing over and "Auld
Lang Sync' sung, everyone was milling around in the hotel foyer,
finding coats, having a last minute chat, calling good nights Ian had
gone to get his car, and Rosie stood, wrapped in her mother's rather
grand velvet cloak, exchanging goodbyes with those she knew.  There had
been no sign of Sir Fergus; probably, she thought sourly, he was taking
the Provost's daughter home.  She scowled at the very idea, and then
jumped as he bent to say in her ear, " A delightful evening, was it
not, Rosie?  Young Douglas must feel very proud of you.  "

She smiled brightly at an old friend of her mother's, and waved to a
girl with whom she had been at school before she replied.

"You have no need to poke fun," she told him bitterly.

"It must have amused you very much when Ian told you that--that--' She
broke off to exchange a word with old Sir William Bruce, eighty if he
was a day, and who had never been known to miss a ball.

Then she turned a glittering eye upon Sir Fergus, towering beside
her.

"I hope I never see you again," she asserted and, for the benefit of
two acquaintances who had paused close by, she added sweetly, "You must
enjoy an evening out.  Sir Fergus;

it must make a nice change from bones.  "

Her smile was a delight.

"And here is Ian..."

She floated gracefully away to where Ian was standing.  No one watching
her would have known that her desire to turn round and fling herself
into Sir Fergus's arms was so strong that she felt quite faint.

CHAPTER NINE

ian douglas had enjoyed himself, and he said so at some length as he
drove away from Fort William.

"That girl the professor was dancing with," he enthused, 'the Provost's
daughter, isn't she?  A pretty creature, and very gentle, wasn't she?
They made a handsome couple--I must say Sir Fergus looks his best in a
kilt.  "

Rosie agreed through gritted teeth.  The evening hadn't gone according
to plan; if he had been there at the moment and she had been capable of
it she would have done Sir Fergus an injury.  Mere wishful thinking, of
course; he was as solid as an oak, and although she was a well-built
girl she would have made no impression on him unless she had had a
hammer handy.  She wished she had a hammer, and brooded upon this
prospect for some time while Ian waffled on about the provost's
daughter.

At Inverard she invited him in for coffee, and was thankful when he
refused.  It was past two o'clock by now, and she wanted above all
things to get to her bed and sleep.  She bade him goodnight and thanked
him prettily for being her escort, saw him on his way, and went
thankfully to her room.

She had been longing for her bed, but now that she was in it at last
she was wide awake, her head full of Sir Fergus, who, none the less,
she never wanted to see again.  She slept at last and, inevitably,
dreamed of him.

She woke at her usual time, and at breakfast gave her parents a lively
account of the ball, passing on the messages she had been given by
their friends, detailing at length the various dresses, the excellent
band and the splendid buffet-supper; from the sound of it she had had
the time of her life, but her pale face and the pinkened tip of her
beautiful nose gave that the lie.

Her mother gave her a thoughtful glance.

"Was Fergus there?"

she asked.

"Fergus?  Oh, yes--he was with the Provost's party, but there was such
a crush we hardly spoke..."

"He must look fine in the kilt?"

"Yes, yes he does."  Rosie crumbled a slice of toast.

"I thought it might be a good idea if I phone round to get the knitters
organised.  I was talking to Lady MacTavish, and she was telling me
that there's a new boutique opening in Inverness, planning to sell
hand- knitted goods.  I thought I might find out a bit more about
it."

If this abrupt change in the conversation surprised Mrs.  Macdonald she
didn't comment upon it, but discussed the knitting question at some
length, and then suggested that Rosie might like to find Old Robert and
ask him to dig some potatoes.  Something Rosie not only did, but also
helped him dig them, and the effort needed helped her to forget the
feeling of desolation which was threatening to swamp her.

Just for a few days she nurtured the hope that Sir Fergus might come to
Inverard, which she had to admit was silly, for he had no reason to do
so, and she cried quietly into her pillow each night.

Which was a pity for, in actual fact visiting her was the one thing the
professor wished to do more than anything else.  He was quite sure
about that, but he wasn't quite sure about Rosie; he loved her and he
was in love with her and he had every intention of marrying her, but
only when she was ready and willing He wasn't a conceited man, but he
was aware that if he exerted his charm and will she could be plucked
like an apple from a tree.  He didn't want that; he wanted her to fall,
as it were, of her own accord into his waiting hand.

So the days went by, and Rosie busied herself get ting her knitters
organised for the winter.  Many of them lived in isolated glens, and
depended upon her to bring wool and patterns and collect their work
when it was finished; she got them organised, for there had been no one
else to do it while her uncle had lived at Inverard, and then she took
herself off to Inverness to seek out the owner of the boutique there.

The owners were more than willing to take anything she could bring
them; the samples she had brought with her were right for the tourist
market, and they would pay well.  She left the shop feeling satisfied,
and came face to face with Mrs.  Cameron.

"My dear, what a delightful surprise!  And just when I was wondering if
I should stop for a cup of coffee.  Let us pop into this cafe, I shall
be glad to rest for a little while."

The meeting was unexpected; besides, Mrs.  Cameron had a compelling
manner.  Rosie found her self sitting at a small table exchanging small
talk.

"You really must pay me another visit, Rosie," said Mrs.  Cameron.

"Fergus told me that you had been at the ball, but I know these affairs
are crowded no chance to talk."

She prattled on, seemingly unaware of Rosie's're plies, while she
studied the pretty face opposite her.  Fergus had been remarkably terse
whenever she had mentioned Rosie; what was more, he was working harder
than ever and, when he did go to his home, walked miles with the dogs.
Something wasn't quite right, but he was a patient man, and she had no
doubt that he would get whatever he wanted and she was sure that it was
Rosie in his own good time.  She wondered if they had quarrelled, and
thought it un likely.  A misunderstanding, perhaps?

She sighed; when one was in love one was so sensitive

They talked about the knitting for some time, and she observed, "I
don't come to Inverness very often, do you, Rosie?  But it was an
opportunity I couldn't miss today.  Fergus is operating at the Northern
Infirmary, and I needed some odds and ends.  He will meet me for
lunch.

I suppose you wouldn't care to join us?  "

Rosie had gone pale at the very idea.

"I well, I'm afraid I have to get back."

She sought feverishly for an excuse, watched with some interest by Mrs.
Cameron.

"It's very kind of you, I would have enjoyed it very much, but I
promised to let Mrs.  Barr know about this knitting she really runs it
once it's organised, you see.  I just take round the wool and collect
it."

She stopped, aware that she was babbling, and Mrs.  Cameron, a kind
woman, said soothingly, "What a pity but I quite see that you can't
stop.  It's quite a long drive back, isn't it?

It's been delightful seeing you again; I shall write and arrange a day
for you to come over to lunch, and do bring your mother with you.  "

They parted outside the cafe, and Rosie went back to the car park and
got into the car, and drove out of Inverness absurdly afraid that she
was going to bump into Fergus too if she stayed there a moment
longer.

When he went into the foyer of the station hotel his mother was already
there.  He didn't see her at once, and she was able to study him
unobserved.  He looked tired, and she wasn't surprised at that, but he
looked inscrutable too.  A bad sign.  He saw her, and came over to her
table and sat down.

She smiled and said, "I had coffee with Rosie..."

She was right, she knew she was.  His face became a bland mask.  He
lifted a finger to a waiter, and said quietly, "Oh?

Rather far from home, surely?  "

"She is getting the cottage industry going again-knitting and so forth.
Had to come here to get orders from a boutique.  I asked her to have
lunch with us, but she had to hurry back.  Such a pretty girl, but she
looked tired--or do I mean unhappy?"

She cast a quick look at her son, and went on quickly, "Have you had a
very busy morning?  What time will you be finished, dear?  I still have
quite a lot of shopping..."

"I've several patients to see, but I should be through by half-past
four or thereabouts.  Will you be all right until then?"

"Of course, dear.  I shall treat myself to tea at that chic little
place where they have those delicious chocolate cakes."

Several days later Rosie drove to Fort William to have lunch with Lady
MacTavish and tell her that she had been successful with the boutique
at Inverness.  Lunch was a leisurely meal and, by the time her hostess
had asked her advice about the new material she had just bought for
curtains, and taken her up to the attics to search for a particular
piece of tapestry she had found there and mislaid, it was time for tea.
After tea the daughter of the house and her husband arrived, and since
she and Rosie hadn't seen each other since Rosie had gone to England
the time flew by.

"You must stay for supper," insisted Lady MacTavish.

"I'll give your mother a ring, dear.  We have seen so little of you,
and I want to know about Wiltshire, and you and Chloe have such a lot
to talk about still."

So Rosie stayed, and by the time she had made her farewells the evening
was well advanced and the sky had clouded over.

It started to rain within a few minutes of leaving Fort William, and
with the rain came great gusts of wind so that she had to slow down
once she had left the town behind her.

The mountains were shrouded in clouds, the whole wild countryside was
obscured by the downpour, the road empty of traffic.

She drove on steadily; she knew the way like the back of her hand and
the car was running well.  She had passed Ballachulish and was driving
along a lonely stretch of road skirting the Rannoch Moor when she
caught a glimpse of a light well away from the road.  She slowed the
car and took a second look, and then stopped.  There were no crofts
there, no huts used for sheltering walkers, only bog and pools and wild
ground.

The light was nickering on and off and moving around as though someone
was waving a torch.  The light was bad, but she thought it came from an
outcrop of rock well away from the road, probably on the West Highland
Way.  The rain had settled down into a steady drizzle.  She got out of
the car, got her shower-jacket from the boot and put it on, wishing at
the same time that she had put her wellies in as well.  At least she
had a powerful torch with her.  She locked the car doors, checked the
light once more, and set off across the moor.  She knew the moor quite
well, and the walk was about three miles away, she reckoned, although
the light appeared to be much nearer than that.  Probably someone had
strayed from the walk and got lost.  She struck out across the rough
ground, first flashing her torch in reply to the wavering light in the
distance, praying that they didn't switch off their own light.

It was further than she had thought; it took her twenty minutes to get
within shouting distance of the light.  Her 'hello' brought an
answering cry and five minutes later she, slowly clambering over rough
ground strewn with rock, almost fell over the torch- holder.

A young man, little more than a boy, lying awkwardly in a patch of bog,
very wet, with a leg twisted under him and blood matting his hair.

She dropped down beside him, took off her jacket, and slipped it
carefully under his head.

"How long?"  she asked.

"And where does it hurt?  I'll try and make you more comfortable."

Brave words, for she guessed that the leg was broken, but at least she
could help him out of the bog.

His voice was faint.

"I lost my way.  Caught my foot on a rock or something and fell over
backwards, hit my head..."

"Your leg hurts?"

"No.  Can't feel anything."  His anxious eyes sought hers.

"It's broken isn't it?  So why can't I feel it?"

Rosie said bracingly, "I dare say you're numb with cold.

Does your head ache?  "

"Yes."

He was mumbling now, and she had to bend low to hear him.

"Did it for a dare..."  And then, "Don't leave me alone..."

"Of course not.  I've got a powerful torch with me, any car passing
will see it.  Try and go to sleep for a while.  I promise you I won't
go away."

He closed his eyes, and she squatted down beside him.  He felt very
cold, and he was wet to his skin, too, but then so was she.  She
flashed the light and then she switched it off better to save it until
she saw the headlights of a car on the distant road.

"Someone will be along presently," she said cheer fully, and turned a
cautious light on to his face.  He didn't answer.  He appeared to be
asleep, but his breathing was loud and snoring, and his eyes weren't
quite closed.  A frisson of fear shot through her.  She didn't dare to
move him; he had said that he couldn't feel his legs perhaps he had
damaged his spine.  On the other hand, they couldn't stay there.

But they might have to, she reminded herself at least until morning,
when there was a chance that someone might see them.

It was still raining and very windy.  The clouds hung low over the
mountains around them, and it was no longer possible to see any
distance.  Rosie doubted if anyone from the road would see her torch,
and even if they did they might not stop.  It was time to get help.

"Oh, God," whispered Rosie, 'do please send Fergus.  " She meant every
word of it, and she felt better having said it.

Her voice was quite cheerful when she observed to the unconscious boy
beside her, "He'll be along presently; we just have to be patient."

It was after midnight as Fergus drove through Bridge of Orchy, past the
hotel, now in darkness, and on to the desolate stretch of road curving
round the moor.  He had had a long, hard day, and he was tired, and he
was looking forward to a day at home.  He wanted time to think, to
decide what to do about Rosie.  A patient man, his patience was fast
running out.  Perhaps he had been too patient.  He said to the sleeping
Gyp, curled up beside him, "I'll go and see her tomorrow."

The road circled, and he caught the faint flash of a torch away to the
right of the road.  He slowed the car's speed and watched for it and,
when it flashed again, drove on until he was level with it.

"We had better take a look," he told Gyp, and got out of the car, and
saw Rosie's car in the curve of the road ahead of him.

"No lights, the little fool," he muttered, and went to take a look.
There was no sign of damage or any kind of violence, and it was
securely locked.  She had left it deliberately, and for a good reason.
He whistled to Gyp, switched on his torch, and flashed it in the
direction of the tiny pin-point of light.

It flashed back at once, and he set off, as familiar with his
surroundings as she had been, going steadily and, as he neared the
light, whistling cheerfully.  Her nerves would be stretched like violin
strings, he guessed, and to creep upon her silently might send her into
screaming hysterics.

Rosie was so cold and wet she was oblivious of anything else.  Now and
again she waved the torch, but it was a purely mechanical gesture,
while her other hand clutched the cold hand of the boy beside her.  Sir
Fergus's rendering of '0, my love's like a red red rose.  " roused her
as nothing else would have done.  She started to get to her feet, but
she was stiff and numb with cold, and she was still scrabbling around
when Gyp pushed up against her and licked her hand, waving a tail with
the pleasure of meeting her again.

Sir Fergus paused when he saw her, taking in everything at a glance.
The next moment he had swept her up gently and was holding her close,
his great arms tightened around her.

"My brave little love," he said softly, and bent to kiss her with a
most satisfying urgency before setting her down on a nearby rock.

When he spoke he might have been in one of his hospital wards.

"How long?  And has he been conscious at all?"

"It wasn't quite nine o'clock when I left the car; he was conscious
then.  I didn't move him because I think his leg is broken, but he said
he couldn't feel any thing."

"Good girl."  He was squatting beside the boy, examining the inert
body.

"And you're quite right, the leg is broken, and I suspect that his back
is damaged.  Any idea how it happened?"

She was still bewildered from his kiss.

"He was I lost he's been on the West Highland Way on his own, for a
dare.  He fell over something and went over backwards.  He he stopped
talking soon after I got here."

Sir Fergus got to his feet.

"I'm going back to the car to phone for help.  Gyp will stay with
you."

He took off his weatherproof jacket, took off the pullover he was
wearing, and pulled it over her wet head, stuck her arms in the
sleeves, and pulled it down over her sopping dress.  He did it very
gently and impersonally.

"Mustn't let you get cold," he told her in a voice as impersonal as his
manner, so that she decided that she had imagined his kiss.

"Will you be long?"

"It's about a mile to the road I should be back within half an hour."

She watched him go without a word.  Only Gyp, told to 'stay', whimpered
very softly as her master started to wend his way back to the road.

Once at the car he alerted the mountain rescue post a few miles away,
warned the hospital at Fort William, asked for an ambulance and the
police, and finally phoned Rosie's home.

"Mrs.  Macdonald, Rosie will be coming home rather late.

There's been an accident she's not involved, but she is waiting with
the lad who's injured until we can get him to hospital.  I'll see that
she gets safely home.  "

Mrs.  Macdonald kept her voice steady.

"We'll wait up, Fergus, and thank you for ringing we were be ginning to
wonder.  I won't keep you."

He started back across the moor, desolate in the dark; the mountain
rescue team would come presently, and then the others from Fort
William.  Getting the lad to the ambulance would be a slow job.  It was
difficult to be sure he was unconscious, but as well as a badly broken
leg there was almost certainly a fractured spine.

Sir Fergus tramped along, already weighing the pros and cons of the
situation, while at the back of his head he was conscious of Rosie's
beautiful face and the expression on it when she had seen him.  He
allowed his thoughts to dwell on it for a moment with the deepest
satisfaction.

A satisfaction which almost rocked him off his feet when he reached the
bedraggled group among the rocks, for the face Rosie turned to him held
a sudden glow of enormous happiness at the sight of him.  But her words
were prosaic enough.

"Will they be long?  He is so cold; I've been rubbing his hands and
arms."

Sir Fergus crouched down beside the boy.

"About half an hour, I should think.  We must keep him as warm as
possible.

Gyp.  " The dog came to him at once and, obedient to his quiet command,
lay down close to the lad.

"He's wet, but he's warm, too.  Go on rubbing that arm, Rosie; I'm
going to take a closer look."

Rosie was tired and wet and still rather frightened, but she did as she
was told, watching Sir Fergus care fully probing, knowing that there
was really no need to be frightened now that he was there beside her in
complete command of the situation, knowing what to do, and doing it
with calm assurance.  She rubbed the flaccid arm until her own ached.

The mountain rescue team were the first to arrive trained men who knew
what to do once Sir Fergus had assessed the lad's injuries.  He and the
three men rolled the boy on to the stretcher so that he was lying face
down, and then strapped him carefully.  They had barely finished this
slow and difficult task when the police and the ambulance arrived
together.

Rosie stood on one side, and Gyp, at a quiet word from Sir Fergus,
stood by her; only when the slow, careful journey back to the road
began did she essay to go as well.

Sir Fergus had gone with the stretcher, and it was a constable who
hailed her.

"If you'll come with me, miss, I'll see you to your car; Sir Fergus has
asked us to see you safely home."

"Oh, has he?  I'm absolutely all right to drive, you know."

"I'm sure you are, miss, but that's what Sir Fergus said it's only a
wee way I'll drive behind you."

They were following the stretcher party, and since the progress was
slow it was half an hour before they gained the road.  Rosie watched
them loading the stretcher into the ambulance, a ticklish business
which took a few minutes under Sir Fergus's terse directions.

The ambulance doors were shut, the mountain res cue team gathered up
their equipment and prepared to leave in their jeep.  Rosie walked past
the Rolls to her own car, and unlocked the door and got in; there was
no sign of Sir Fergus, and the constable had gone to the patrol car to
phone and then get in beside his driver, ready to follow her.

The car door opened and Sir Fergus loomed over her.

"Thank you, Rosie.  Now go home, have a dram of whisky and a hot bath,
and go to bed.  That's doctor's orders."

He closed the door and was gone before she could utter a word, and a
moment later his car swept past her to turn and drive back to Fort
William, with the ambulance, its lights flashing, hard on its heels.

Rosie turned on the engine and started the drive back to Inverard.
Fergus had called her his brave little love, but possibly he said that,
or something similar, to any of his patients who showed signs of
hysteria.  He had kissed her, too--hardly treatment he would give even
to the most hysterical of patients.  She had been kissed often enough,
but never like that.  It hadn't meant anything to him.

"Whisky and a hot bath," she muttered, and clashed the gears going
round a corner too fast.

The police car behind edged up a bit.  The young lady was driving
without due care--not that she could be blamed, it must have been so
cold and lonely on the moor waiting for help.  A bit of luck that it
had been Sir Fergus Cameron who had come by; they had encountered him
on various other similar occasions-always calm and resourceful,
uncaring of the weather and an expert climber.

It was far into the night when Rosie stopped the car outside her home.
The patrol car drew up alongside her, and she got out and went to poke
her head through the driver's window.

"Someone is still up.  Come on in and have a hot drink and perhaps a
sandwich?"

Her father had opened the door, and Hobb came tearing out to meet her.
They all went inside, and went through to the kitchen where her mother
was pouring boiling water into the teapot.  Rosie kissed her and smiled
at her father, and introduced the two constables.

"They were kind enough to escort me home," she explained, and her
mother bade them sit down, and fetched more mugs and uncovered a plate
of sandwiches

"Now you've to drive back to Fort William?"  she wanted to know.

"It was good of you to come out here with Rosie."  She added carefully
in a casual tone, "You weren't in an accident, love?"  She passed round
the sandwiches.

"Fergus said you were all right..."

"He phoned?  I didn't know."  Rosie bit into a sandwich

"It was a young man a boy really, I suppose walking alone for a dare.
He'd got off the West Highland Way and got lost, and then fallen over
and hit a rock..."

"Then you came by?"  asked her father, turning to the two men.

They explained.

"Not much we could do," said one of them.

"Sir Fergus was there, and a good thing, too, for the lad had a
fractured spine and a broken leg he'll be at the hospital now, with Sir
Fergus sorting him out.

"It's this young lady who saw the boy's torch and went to look for him,
and lucidly Sir Fergus came driving by after a while.  He called us and
the mountain rescue team they've got the right stretchers for rough
ground and they know how to handle injuries and by the time we had all
got back to the road the ambulance had arrived.  Sir Fergus asked us to
escort the young lady home, " Thanks for the tea and sandwiches.  We
must be getting back.  "

Rosie went with them to the door, and shook hands.

"You know, I don't think I could have driven back on my own.

Thank you both very much.  "

They assured her that it had been a pleasure, got into their car, and
drove off.  She went back to the kitchen, and her mother said, "We're
not going to ask you another question you can tell us tomorrow.  Now
you're going to have a hot bath, a dram of whisky, and go to your
bed."

"That's what Fergus said," mumbled Rosie, and burst into tears.

She woke once while it was still dark, her sleepy head full of
determination to forget Fergus, never to see him again, never to think
of him.  She fell asleep again, and when she woke the first thing she
thought of was him.  Had he been to bed at all?  she wondered.  And, if
so, where?  Had he gone back to Edinburgh or was he at home?

Lying there allowing her thoughts to wander wasn't going to do much
good; she got up and went down to her breakfast.  She had overslept,
but her parents were still at the table.  Mrs.  Mac Fee brought in more
coffee and fresh toast and then stood by the door, eager to hear
Rosie's account of the accident.

She recited it baldly, leaving out as much as she could about Fergus,
and when she had finished her mother said, "Would you like to phone the
hospital and ask after the boy?

I wonder where he was from?  "

"No one from hereabouts," said Rosie, and went to the phone.

The boy had had emergency surgery, said the voice at the other end of
the wire; he had a compound fracture of his left leg and fractured
lumber vertebrae.  He was paralysed, but there was every hope that it
was temporary.

"You were the young lady who found him?"  asked the voice.

"Yes," confirmed Rosie.

"He said to tell you that he was deeply thankful."

"Oh, please give him my best wishes.  He's not local, is he?"

"Glasgow.  His parents are on their way here.  You're welcome to visit
at any time.  Miss Macdonald."

Rosie rang off, and too late wondered how the voice had addressed her
by name.  It was nice that the boy had a good chance of recovery.  She
went to tell her mother and, since she felt quite unable to settle to
anything, took herself off to the attics.

"There's a bag of odds and ends of wool," she told her mother.

"It will come in handy once we start knit ting; I think it's in the
back attic."

A gloomy little room under the eaves, approached by a narrow passage
from the main attic and lighted by a small window overlooking the back
of the house, which was why she didn't see the Rolls sailing down the
lane to come to a halt before the house door.

"I thought you might come," said Mrs.  Macdonald, throwing open the
door as Sir Fergus reached the steps.  She eyed him in a motherly
way.

"You're tired.  Were you up all night?"

"Not quite all night."  He smiled down at her.  For all his tiredness
he looked content and, as usual, beautifully turned out.

"I've come to see Rosie..."

Mrs.  Macdonald smiled then.

"She's in the back at tic go through the main attic and along a narrow
passage it's the door at the end.  It overlooks the kitchen gardens and
the river she won't know... Go up the back stairs, it's quicker."

Rosie wasn't looking for wool, she was sitting on a very old sofa, its
springs sticking out, and eaten by moths.  Simpkins was on her lap, and
she was staring out of the window, although she wasn't exactly looking
at anything; she was, in fact, concentrating upon not thinking about
Fergus, and not having much success.  The faint squeak of the door
opening roused her enough to look over her shoulder to sit, like a
small carved statue, gaping at him.

He closed the door behind him, and came into the dim, dusty little room
unhurriedly.  He lifted Simpkins off her lap with gentle hands,
deposited the small creature in an open, battered hat box beside the
sofa, and pulled Rosie, just as gently, to her feet.

"Well, now," he said, 'where had we got to?  "

"Got to?"  She stared up into his quiet face.

"Where were we going?  I didn't know..."

"Of course you didn't, how could you when I had no more time than to
kiss you?"  He smiled suddenly.

"Which reminds me..."

He wrapped his great arms around her and held her close, and kissed her
gently at first and then quite ferociously.

"Well!"  exclaimed Rosie, her hair all over the place, struggling to
get her breath back.

"Whatever next...?"

A silly question which plainly encouraged him to kiss her again.

At last she asked, "The girl--the girl you're going to marry.  It just
won't do--whatever shall we do?"

He held her, if that were possible, a little closer.

"I hope that we shall continue to do what we are doing now, on and off,
for the rest of our lives."  He suited the action to the word.

"My darling, you are such a sensible girl, but you have allowed your
imagination to run away with you.  Did I ever mention this girl by
name?  Did you ever get so much as a glimpse of her?

And at her muttered, "I did, I did..."  he added, "Oh--in the car,
outside your grandmother's.  That was Grizel--a married cousin with
four small boys and a doting husband.  But did you, in your quieter
moments, reflect that a man in love wishes to be with his girl every
minute he can spare and, if he can't spare the minutes, talk about her?
And did I ever talk about her?  And, heaven help me, haven't I spent
hours contriving ways and means of seeing you when I should have been
doing something else?"

"Oh," said Rosie, 'do you really mean that?  " She caught his eye, and
added hastily, " Yes, you do," and flung her arms around his neck and
kissed him.

"You see," she explained, "I didn't like you at first, so I supposed
that you didn't like me either, and then when I did like you I thought
you were going to be married."

"I am--to you, just as soon as you can arrange all the tiresome things
women want to arrange when they get married."

"Mother will want us to have a big wedding..."

"Quite right, too; you're far too beautiful to be hidden away.  Let her
have her wish just as long as she can arrange everything in three
weeks."

"Three weeks?  It takes ages..."

"Three weeks or I shall elope with you to Gretna Green!"  He kissed the
top of her head, which was resting on his shoulder.

"My darling love, not a day longer."

"Well, if you say so..."  She smiled up into his face.

"I'll do my best--I love you very much, Fergus."

He kissed her for that.

"I love you, my dearest love.  Will you marry me?"

"Yes, oh, yes, I will."  She stared up at him, and saw the love in his
face.

"We might manage less than three weeks," she told him.