"Ah," says she, "but here are no glens or mountains! Though I will never
be denying but what the trees and some of the plain places hereabouts
are very pretty. But our country is the best yet."

"I wish we could say as much for our own folk," says I, recalling Sprott
and Sang, and perhaps James More himself.

"I will never complain of the country of my friend," said she, and spoke
it out with an accent so particular that I seemed to see the look upon
her face.

I caught in my breath sharp and came near falling (for my pains) on the
black ice.

"I do not know what _you_ think, Catriona," said I, when I was a little
recovered, "but this has been the best day yet! I think shame to say it,
when you have met in with such misfortunes and disfavours; but for me,
it has been the best day yet."

"It was a good day when you showed me so much love," said she.

"And yet I think shame to be happy too," I went on, "and you here on the
road in the black night."

"Where in the great world would I be else?" she cried. "I am thinking I
am safest where I am with you."

"I am quite forgiven, then?" I asked.