And the dark Scotch boy shook his head and said you could go on living though you might believe in nothing at all—like Chris; and that struck Ellen as queer and then as true, and then queerer still. Funny freaks the Scotch, rather dears sometimes…. And she stopped her mind bothering about them at all, only about Εwan, and peeped at her watch when he wasn’t looking, then at the sun and as she did so a long, cold shaft of wind blew up the heath at their feet and they raised their eyes and saw the fringes of the darkness on the land, below them the Howe stirring as though someone had stirred a dark drink in the mixture. Εwan jumped to his feet: Your watch must have stopped. And took her wrist: Let’s see.

The watch had stopped. They packed up the rucksacks and slung them on their backs, Ellen’s mind in a flurry. Shouldn’t she have done it up here?—she could, easily, nothing to have stopped her. Only—a mess; and she wanted it proper. What now, what the devil the best thing to do?

Εwan called to her not to take that way, the other was the nearest to Auchinblae, she cried back that here was a clearer track and he came to her side and they ran hand in hand, plunging and slipping from tuft to tuft, the woods stared up and came gambolling to meet them, bound on bound, Luther gleaming beyond, up in the opposite heights rode a castle, all curlecue battlements, a pork-pie in stone. Then it vanished from view as they still fell west.

Ewan said it didn’t matter, over late now to reach Auchinblae, and looked worried a minute, and a clump of larch came and a shoulder of hill and, winding wide and deserted, the road. Ellen stumbled against him of a sudden dog-tired, the outing had won, not her, no need to go on with the thing to the end—oh, thank goodness, for she’d never have managed!

He said Ellen! in a strange, hushed boy’s voice and put his arms under her arms, she saw his face suddenly blind, she gave a little sob, kissing he drew her tight and a wild fear came and struggled and escaped, she didn’t want to escape him, hadn’t done this to help him, she just wanted him for herself, for delight. And she held him away and told him that and he blushed, funny Ewan who could kiss like so! But his voice was cool and clear as glass: I’m going to kiss you all over. Soon.

She said that would be fun, trying not herself to go foolish again; and told him to sit down and asked what he knew of the countryside here, he didn’t know much, two or three miles away was a little inn, he thought, he’d once seen it, picture-book place with honeysuckle in the summer…. She said Oh Lord, NOT honeysuckle! and he said he was sorry, but it wouldn’t be out; and they smiled at each other, stared, laughed, kissed once—too damn dangerous more than once.