THE BRIDGE OF BROKEN HEARTS Listless leaves were tossing in the light wind or borne downward in the swirl of the flooded Midburn, to the weary shallows where they lay, beached high and sodden, till the frost nipped and shrivelled their rottenness into dust.

A bleak, thin wind it was, like a fine sour wine, searching the marrow and bringing no bloom to the cheek.

A light snow powdered the earth, the grey forerunner of storms.
Alice stood back in the shelter of the broken parapet.

The highway with its modern crossing-place was some hundreds of yards up stream, but here, at the burn mouth, where the turbid current joined with the cold, glittering Avelin, there was a grass-grown track, and an ancient, broken-backed bridge.

There were few passers on the high-road, none on this deserted way; but the girl in all her loneliness shrank back into the shadow.