Wigtownshire was bleak and lonely, but it was not such an obscure corner of the world that a well-known soldier could hope to conceal himself there, nor would a man who feared publicity set every one's tongue wagging as the general had done.
On the whole, I was inclined to believe that the true solution of the enigma lay in his own allusion to the love of quiet, and that they had taken shelter here with an almost morbid craving for solitude and repose.

We very soon had an instance of the great lengths to which this desire for isolation would carry them.
My father had come down one morning with the weight of a great determination upon his brow.
"You must put on your pink frock to-day, Esther," said he, "and you, John, you must make yourself smart, for I have determined that the three of us shall drive round this afternoon and pay our respects to Mrs.
Heatherstone and the general." "A visit to Cloomber," cried Esther, clapping her hands.
"I am here," said my father, with dignity, "not only as the laird's factor, but also as his kinsman.

In that capacity I am convinced that he would wish me to call upon these newcomers and offer them any politeness which is in our power.

At present they must feel lonely and friendless.
What says the great Firdousi?
'The choicest ornaments to a man's house are his friends.'" My sister and I knew by experience that when the old man began to justify his resolution by quotations from the Persian poets there was no chance of shaking it.

Sure enough that afternoon saw the phaeton at the door, with my father perched upon the seat, with his second-best coat on and a pair of new driving-gloves.
"Jump in, my dears," he cried, cracking his whip briskly, "we shall show the general that he has no cause to be ashamed of his neighbours." Alas! pride always goes before a fall.