"Princess," said Patsy seriously, "take my word for it, Uncle Julian has
not had the manhood all taken out of him by his life at courts. Even now
who can cross swords with him? Besides, I have heard him say that if he
were a year or two younger he would be out on the bleak Pyrenees with
the other gallant gentlemen, his friends, driving Soult and his
Frenchmen back out of Spain. And compared to what our army has to suffer
lying out on these frozen rocks--why, the Bothy of Blairmore is a
palace!"

The Princess was silent but not convinced. She knew that of course
Julian Wemyss was brave, but she felt that it was one thing to stand up
to your enemy and kill him like a gentleman, and another to hide among
frozen hags and sleep under a roof of snow.

Nevertheless she brought away a certain sense of physical warmth and
well-being from the description which Patsy had given her, which
comforted her. It was pleasant in the Bothy of Blairmore. Men had a
strain in their blood, something primitive and savage, which made them
like such things, at least for a time and as a change. She remembered
her father saying that he was never happier than in the corner of a
forest clearing waiting for the wild boar to charge, a flask of white
brandy in his pocket and a forest-guard with a couple of spare rifles at
his back.

At that moment the door opened softly and, with her smelling bottle in
her hand, Miss Aline came in. She went to the window where a furious
rush of snow driven by the Channel wind saluted her. She sniffed
appreciatively as the hasps rattled, for even through the well-fitting
windows the snell bite of the winter storm entered.

"Eh, but that's hamelike," she said, going closer, "it will be brave
weather on Solwayside the noo. I mind when it would hae driven me out to
play amang the wreaths like a daft year-auld collie--. Aye, and I am no
sure that I wad not like a turn the noo--not o' that saft stuff that
will melt and be gane the morn's mornin', but the fine kind that sifts
up your sleeve and down your neck!--But for the puir herds on the hill,
wae's me, it will be a wakerife time for them. Little sleep will they
get if the snaw begins to drift in the hollows!"

Patsy looked at the Princess mischievously.

"You see, dear lady," she said, "our Miss Aline knows of worse places
than the Bothy of Blairmore, even in such weather."

"But I do not understand," said the Princess. "Julian never told me
anything of this. Do th