WHEN Alice woke next morning the cool upland air was flooding through the window, and a great dazzle of sunlight made the world glorious. She dressed and ran out to the lawn, then past the loch right to the very edge of the waste country. A high fragrance¹ of heath and bog-myrtle was in the wind, and the mouth grew cool as after long draughts² of spring water. Mists were crowding in the valleys, each bald mountain top shone like a jewel, and far aloft in the heavens were the white streamers of morn. Moorhens were plashing at the loch’s edge, and one tall heron rose from his early meal. The world was astir with life: sounds of the plonk-plonk of rising trout⁴ and the endless twitter of woodland birds mingled⁵ with the far-away barking of dogs and the lowing of the full-uddered cows in the distant meadows. Abashed⁶ and enchanted⁷, the girl listened. It was an elfin land where the old witch voices of hill and river were not silenced. With the wind in her hair she climbed the slope again to the garden ground, where she found a solemn-eyed collie sniffing⁸ the fragrant⁹ wind in his morning stroll.  
Breakfast over, the forenoon hung heavy on her hands. It was Lady Manorwater’s custom to let her guests sit idle in the morning and follow their own desire, but in the afternoon she would plan subtle and far-reaching schemes of enjoyment¹⁰. It was a common saying that in her large good-nature she amused people regardless of their own expense. She would light-heartedly make town-bred folk walk twenty miles or bear the toil¹¹ of infinite drives. But this was after lunch; before, her guests might do as they pleased. Lord Manorwater went off to see some tenant¹²; Arthur, after vain efforts to decoy Alice into a fishing expedition, went down the stream in a canoe, because to his fool’s head it seemed the riskiest¹³ means of passing the time at his disposal; Bertha and her sister were writing letters; the spectacled people had settled themselves below shady trees with voluminous papers and a pile of books. Alice alone was idle. She made futile¹⁴ expeditions to the library, and returned with an armful of volumes which she knew in her heart she would never open. She found the deepest and most comfortable chair and placed it in a shady place among beeches¹⁵. But she could not stay there, and must needs wander restlessly about the gardens, plucking flowers and listlessly watching the gardeners at their work.
 
Lunch-time found this young woman in a slightly irritable¹⁶ frame of mind. The cause direct and indirect was Mr. Stocks, who had found her alone, and had saddled her with his company for the space of an hour and a half. His vein¹⁷ had been badinage¹⁸ of the serious and reproving kind, and the girl had been bored to distraction¹⁹. But a misspent hour is soon forgotten, and the sight of her hostess’s cheery face would have restored her to good humour had it not been for a thought which could not be exorcised. She knew of Lady Manorwater’s reputation as an inveterate²⁰ matchmaker, and in some subtle way the suspicion came to her that that goddess had marked herself as a quarry²¹. She found herself next Mr. Stocks at meals, she had already listened to his eulogy²² from her hostess’s own lips, and to her unquiet fancy it seemed as if the others stood back that they two might be together. Brought up in an atmosphere of commerce, she was perfectly²³ aware that she was a desirable match for an embryo²⁴ politician, and that sooner or later she would be mistress of many thousands. The thought was a barbed vexation. To Mr. Stocks she had been prepared to extend the tolerance²⁵ of a happy aloofness²⁶; now she found that she was driven to dislike him with all the bitterness of unwelcome proximity²⁷.
 
The result of such thoughts was that after lunch she disregarded her hostess’s preparations and set out for a long hill walk. Like all perfectly healthy people, much exercise was as welcome to her as food and sleep; ten miles were refreshing²⁸; fifteen miles in an afternoon an exaltation. She reached the moor³ beyond the policies, and, once past this rushy wilderness²⁹, came to the Avelin-side and a single plank³⁰ bridge which she crossed lightly without a tremor³¹. Then came the highway, and then a long planting of firs, and last of all the dip of a rushing stream pouring down from the hills in a lonely wooded hollow. The girl loved to explore, and here was a field ripe for adventure.
 
Soon she grew flushed with the toil and the excitement; climbing the bed of the stream was no child’s play, for ugly corners had to be passed, slippery rocks to be skirted, and many breakneck leaps to be effected. Her spirits rose as the spray from little falls brushed her face and the thick screen of the birches caught in her hair. When she reached a vantage-rock and looked down on the chain of pools and rapids by which she had come, a cry of delight broke from her lips. This was living, this was the zest³² of life! The upland wind cooled her brow; she washed her hands in a rocky pool and arranged her tangled³⁴ tresses. What did she care for Mr. Stocks or any man? He was far down on the lowlands talking his pompous³⁵ nonsense; she was on the hills with the sky above her and the breeze of heaven around her, free, sovereign, the queen of an airy land.
 
With fresh wonder she scrambled³⁶ on till the trees began to grow sparser³⁷ and an upland valley opened in view. Now the burn was quiet, running in long shining shallows and falling over little rocks into deep brown pools where the trout darted³⁸. On either side rose the gates of the valley—two craggy knolls³⁹ each with a few trees on its face. Beyond was a green lawnlike place with a great confusion of blue mountains hemmed⁴¹ around its head. Here, if anywhere, primeval peace had found its dwelling⁴², and Alice, her eyes bright with pleasure, sat on a green knoll⁴⁰, too rapt with the sight for word or movement.
 
Then very slowly, like an epicure⁴³ lingering at a feast, she walked up the banks of the burn, now high above a trough of rock, now down in a green winding⁴⁴ hollow. Suddenly she came on the spirits of the place in the shape of two boys down on their faces groping among the stones of a pool.
 
One was very small and tattered⁴⁵, one about sixteen; both were barefoot and both were wet and excited. “Tam, ye stot, ye’ve let the muckle yin aff again,” groaned⁴⁷ the smaller. “Oh, be canny⁴⁸, man! If we grip him it’ll be the biggest trout that the laird will have in his basket.” The elder boy, who was bearing the heat and burden of the work, could only groan⁴⁶ “Heather!” at intervals⁴⁹. It seemed to be his one exclam............