light and flippant, though picturesque, as he went. Macfarlane was
destined to become a shining light of the established Church of
Scotland, and therefore took life very seriously,--Duprez was the
spoilt only child of an eminent French banker, and had very little
to do but enjoy himself, and that he did most thoroughly, without
any calculation or care for the future. On all points of taste and
opinion they differed widely; but there was no doubt about their
both being good-hearted fellows, without any affectation of abnormal
vice or virtue.

"So you did not climb Jedke after all!" remarked Errington
laughingly, as they seated themselves at the breakfast table.

"My friend, what would you!" cried Duprez. "I have not said that I
will climb it; no! I never say that I will do anything, because I'm
not sure of myself. How can I be? It is that cher enfant, Lorimer,
that said such brave words! See!. . . we arrive; we behold the
shore--all black, great, vast!. . . rocks like needles, and, higher
than all, this most fierce Jedke--bah! what a name!--straight as the
spire of a cathedral. One must be a fly to crawl up it, and we, we
are not flies--ma foi! no! Lorimer, he laugh, he yawn--so! He say,
'not for me to-day; I very much thank you!' And then, we watch the
sun. Ah! that was grand, glorious, beautiful!" And Duprez kissed the
tips of his fingers in ecstacy.

"What did YOU think about it, Sandy?" asked Sir Philip.

"I didna think much," responded Macfarlane, shortly. "It's no sae
grand a sight as a sunset in Skye. And it's an uncanny business to
see the sun losin' a' his poonctooality, and remainin' stock still,