Εwan took out his handkerchief and wiped his face, and then queerly and tenderly wiped Ellen’s, sweat on it as on his own though the wind blew snell. And holding his hand below her chin something lost ran a strange quiver up his arm, he didn’t heed it, smiling into the misery of her eyes, speaking Scotch who so seldom spoke it, that blunted and foolish and out-dated tool: You needn’t fash for me. I’ve been the gypedest of gomerils to let on and vex you so, but I’m better now, I’ll forget, we forget everything.

They left the road and went into the wood and were presently tackling the chave of the slopes, sharp and tart the whiff of the broom, crackling underheel the old year’s whins. All the hills and the world in their background stilled except that far off above the ploughed lands that shored red in clay to Drumelzie woods the peewits cried, in a breathing-space they halted and listened, laplaplap. Then they took to shinning the haughs again and saw the scrub open in front and far up, ridge on saffron ridge, Finella riding the southern lift.

When they gained the utmost ridge in early afternoon the Howe below was mottled in fog, sun with them here in a little hollow high on the crest where they sat and ate the lunch they had brought. Then Ewan lay flat and looked at the sky, hardly they’d talked in the last hour or so, and talked little now, Ellen squatting beside him said You need a pillow, and meant the rucksacks. And then didn’t; and was sensible.

His head in her lap he lay quiet, nice head, the weight sent through her a queer delight, foolish and tender, she bent over to speak to him. Then she saw his eyes closed: he was fast asleep.

When he woke he was looking at the westerning sun low down in the Howe of Drumtochty. He ached all over, sun-sleepy, sun-tired, yet vaguely refreshed and his sins forgiven. Then he found where his head still rested, heavy, and started up, Ellen moved at last and cried out at a sudden sting of cramp.

—Why didn’t you wake me? You must feel half-dead.

She said, with a pretence at perky Scots, More whole than half, but you slept so sound, and stood up beside him, dark as him. With the drowse still in his eyes he smiled at her: That was nice of you.

She said absently I thought you were going to kiss me, don’t bother now, there still are some oranges! … But what wouldn’t I give for a cup of tea!

He thought it must surely be late by now, but she showed him her watch, only four o’clock, they’d have plenty of time to get back to Auchinblae and get a bus to Duncairn in time, the last passed through at six o’clock.

So they sat down, yawning, and ate the last orange, and Ellen began to speak about Socialism and the world revolution that was coming soon when the workers were led in a sane way to power, no blood and mess, reorganizing things for the good of all, building great healthy cities, schools (what fun there would be in gutting Duncairn!), endowing the sciences, endowing motherhood, no more weeping and no more tears: I couldn’t go on living if I hadn’t that belief.