“But still I have so much to be thankful for, Carrie. It’s only very rarely that Mrs Ablewhite gets quite beyond herself as she was when I went down to see her after dinner this evening. And there’s no doubt she had taken a great deal of trouble about our dinner to-night. However, I think everything will be all right when she and Mrs Parsall and Toker have had a night’s rest.”

“I was telling Ben Nevis a while back how much I felt to blame.”

“My dear child, you? What possible blame can attach to you? I think you’ve been most considerate in not making any fuss about your poor husband. I have the greatest admiration for your courage. No, no, it’s my dear Donald who’s entirely responsible for the little uncomfortableness. He lets himself get too excited. Just like a child indeed. If I could only get him to drink a cup of chamomile tea every night. But he won’t. He says he’d sooner pour hot-water on the clippings of the lawn-mower and drink that. I’m afraid Hugh Cameron is a bad influence.”

“Kilwhillie? Oh, surely not, Mrs MacDonald?”

“Yes, yes. And the tragedy of it is that at one time there was nobody I welcomed more gladly to the Castle. I used to say Donald never slept so soundly and so peacefully as when Hughie Cameron had dined at Glenbogle. But of late he has seemed to take a delight in egging Donald on. I blame him entirely for that first affray with the hikers.”

“Well, it’s true it was Kilwhillie who persuaded Chester to get an orange kilt. I know Chester was intending to get a purple one.”

Mrs MacDonald shook her head.

“Dear, dear, dear! And Hugh Cameron used to be so quiet in every way—quiet in his tastes and quiet in his habits. But he’s never been the same since he saw the Loch Ness Monster last spring. He’s never really recovered from the excitement of it. I do hope he won’t egg Donald on to do anything desperate to-night if by chance they come into contact with the hikers.”

Mrs MacDonald and Carrie sat on talking until Carrie felt that a sameness was creeping into the conversation. She told her hostess she was going up to the room in the North Tower, the windows of which afforded the widest view of any in the Castle.

“I’m going to play Sister Anne for a little while, Mrs MacDonald, up in the tower-room.”

“You’ll probably find Mr Fletcher up there. That’s his favourite haunt.”

“Maybe we’ll hear some news of Chester soon.”

Mrs MacDonald patted Carrie’s shoulder.

“Don’t fret too much, my dear. I feel convinced that nothing serious has happened to Mr Royde.”