entirely her guide to knowledge, that she would at once have felt
self-condemned of impiety--in the old meaning of the word--if she
had doubted for a moment his ability to understand or explain any
difficulty which she could place clearly before him.

By-and-by he began to lend her harder, that is, more purely
intellectual books. He was himself preparing for the class of Moral
Philosophy and Metaphysics; and he chose for her some of the simpler
of his books on these subjects--of course all of the Scotch
school--beginning with Abercrombie's Intellectual Powers. She took
this eagerly, and evidently read it with great attention.

One evening in the end of summer, Hugh climbed a waste heathery hill
that lay behind the house of Turriepuffit, and overlooked a great
part of the neighbouring country, the peaks of some of the greatest
of the Scotch mountains being visible from its top. Here he
intended to wait for the sunset. He threw himself on the heather,
that most delightful and luxurious of all couches, supporting the
body with a kindly upholding of every part; and there he lay in the
great slumberous sunlight of the late afternoon, with the blue
heavens, into which he was gazing full up, closing down upon him, as
the light descended the side of the sky. He fell fast asleep. If
ever there be an excuse for falling asleep out of bed, surely it is
when stretched at full length upon heather in bloom. When he awoke,
the last of the sunset was dying away; and between him and the
sunset sat Margaret, book in hand, waiting apparently for his
waking. He lay still for a few minutes, to come to himself before
she should see he was awake. But she rose at the moment, and
drawing near very quietly, looked down upon him with her sweet
sunset face, to see whether or not he was beginning to rouse, for