coursed over a scene in which the yellow of ripened fields, the green of
the woods on Chellaston Mountain, and the blue of the distance, were
only brought to the eye in the pale, cool tones of high light. The road
and the river ran together now as far as might be seen, the one almost
pure white in its inch-deep dust, the other tumbling rapidly, a dancing
mirror for the light.

The talkers went on, unmindful of dust and heat. Then a cloud came
between them and the sun, changing the hue of all things for the moment.
This lured them further. The oat harvest was ready. The reaping machines
were already in the fields far and near, making noise like that of some
new enormous insect of rattling throat. From roadside trees the cicada
vied with them, making the welkin ring.

There were labourers at various occupations in the fields, but on the
dusty stretch of road there was only one traveller to be seen in front
of the two companions. When they gained upon him they recognised the old
preacher who went by the name of Cameron. The poor old wanderer had been
a nine days' wonder; now his presence elicited no comment. He was
walking cap in hand in the sunshine, just as he had walked in the winter
snow. To Trenholme the sight of him brought little impression beyond a
reminder of his brother's wayward course. It always brought that
reminder; and now, underneath the flow of his talk about college
buildings, was the thought that, if all were done and said that might
be, it was possible that it would be expedient for the future of the New
College that the present principal should resign. This was, of course,
an extreme view of the results of Alec's interference; but Trenholme had
accustomed himself to look at his bugbear in all lights, the most
extreme as well as the most moderate. _That_ for the future; and, for
immediate agitation, there was his resolution to speak to Sophia. As he