As the lights began to be lit in the wayside stations and the clear April dusk darkened into night, his thoughts were sombre yet resigned.

He opened the window and let the sharp air of the Renfrewshire uplands fill the carriage.

It was fine weather again after the rain, and a bright constellation--perhaps Dougal's friend O'Brien--hung in the western sky.

How happy he would have been a week ago had he been starting thus for a country holiday! He could sniff the faint scent of moor-burn and ploughed earth which had always been his first reminder of Spring.

But he had been pitchforked out of that old happy world and could never enter it again.