Chapter 24

The little feudal fastness in the Highlands which was called Darreuch
Castle--when it was mentioned by any one, which was rarely--had been
little more than a small ruin when Lord Coombe inherited it as an
unconsidered trifle among more imposing and available property. It had
indeed presented the aspect not so much of an asset as of an entirely
useless relic. The remote and--as far as record dwelt on him--obviously
unnotable ancestor who had built it as a stronghold in an almost
unreachable spot upon the highest moors had doubtlessly had picturesque
reasons for the structure, but these were lost in the dim past and
appeared on the surface, unexplainable to a modern mind. Lord Coombe
himself had not explained an interest he chose to feel in it, or his own
reasons for repairing it a few years after it came into his possession.
He rebuilt certain breaches in the walls and made certain rooms
sufficiently comfortable to allow of his spending a few nights or weeks
in it at rare intervals. He always went alone, taking no servant with
him, and made his retreat after his own mood, served only by the farmer
and his wife who lived in charge from year's end to year's end, herding
a few sheep and cultivating a few acres for their own needs.

They were a silent pair without children and plainly not feeling the
lack of them. They had lived in remote moorland places since their
birth. They had so little to say to each other that Lord Coombe
sometimes felt a slight curiosity as to why they had married instead of
remaining silent singly. There was however neither sullenness nor
resentment in their lack of expression. Coombe thought they liked each
other but found words unnecessary. Jock Macaur driving his sheep to fold
in the westering sun wore the look of a man not unpleased with life and
at least undisturbed by it. Maggy Macaur doing her housework, churning
or clucking to her hens, was peacefully cheerful and seemed to ask no
more of life than food and sleep and comfortable work which could be
done without haste. There were no signs of knowledge on her part or
Jock's of the fact that they were surrounded by wonders of moorland and
hillside colour and beauty. Sunrise which leaped in delicate flames of
dawn meant only that they must leave their bed; sunset which lighted the
moorland world with splendour meant that a good night's sleep was
coming.

Jock had heard from a roaming shepherd or so that the world was at war
and that lads were being killed in their thousands. One good man had
said that the sons of the great gentry were being killed with the rest.
Jock did not say that he did not believe it and in fact expressed no
opinion at all. If he and Maggy gave credit to the story, they were
little disturbed by any sense