Big GameA Story for Girls

By Mrs George de Horne Vaizey________________________________________________________________________A charming little book. The son of the family aspires to be a poet, muchto his father's annoyance: he ought to have a proper job in the familyfirm. 

His sister hits on a plan to get his work published, which would be astep in the right direction, one that might help to change the father'smind. She discovers that the editor of a poetry magazine always takesa holiday in a very remote hotel in the Scottish highlands, so she booksa holiday for them in the same hotel. 

The woman who runs the hotel hates women guests, and isn't very politeto most people, but they manage to charm her, and get her on their side, until one Sunday they make the fatal mistake of going to the wrongchurch. That eventually passes over. Meanwhile Margot, the heroine, has been wooing the poetry editor. They go fishing together, and oneday they go for a long walk in which the weather turns nasty. Margotcatches pneumonia and is very ill. 

They get back to their homes in London. Margot's lover turns out not tohave been the poetry editor after all, yet somehow young Ron finds thatone of his poems has been published. How this happens is revealed inthe last chapter. An average length book, probably more for girls thanfor boys. N. H. ________________________________________________________________________

BIG GAMEA STORY FOR GIRLS

BY MRS GEORGE DE HORNE VAIZEY

CHAPTER ONE. 

PLANS. 

It was the old story of woman comforting man in his affliction; thetrouble in this instance appearing in the shape of a long blue envelopeaddressed to himself in his own handwriting. Poor young poet! He hadno more appetite for eggs and bacon that morning; he pushed aside evenhis coffee, and buried his head in his hands. 

"Back again!" he groaned. "Always back, and back, and back, and theseare my last verses: the best I have written. I felt sure that thesewould have been taken!"

"So they will be, some day, " comforted the woman. "You have only to bepatient and go on trying. I'll re-type the first and last pages, andiron out the dog's ears, and we will send it off on a fresh journey. Why don't you try the _Pinnacle Magazine_? There ought to be a chancethere. They published some awful bosh last month. "

The poet was roused to a passing indignation. 

"As feeble as mine, I suppose! Oh, well, if even you turn against me, it is time I gave up the struggle. "

"Even you" was not in this instance a wife, but "only a sister, " soinstead of falling on her accuser's neck with explanations and caresses, she helped herself to a second cup of coffee, and replied coolly--

"Silly thing! You know quite well that I do nothing of the sort, sodon't be high-falutin. I should not encourage you to waste time if Idid not know that you were going to succeed in the end. I don't think;I _know_!"

"How?" queried the poet. "How?" He had heard the reason a dozen timesbefore, but he longed to hear it again. He lifted his face from hishands--an ideal face for a poet; clean-cut, sensitive, with deep-seteyes, curved lips, and a finely-modelled chin. "How do you know?"

"I feel!" replied the critic simply. "Of course, I am prejudiced infavour of your work; but that would not make it haunt me as if it weremy own. I can see your faults; you are horribly uneven. There arelines here and there which make me cold; lines which are put in for thesake of the rhyme, and nothing more; but there are other bits, "--thegirl's eyes turned towards the window, and gazed dreamily intospace--"which sing in my heart! When it is fine, when it is dark, whenI am glad, when I am in trouble, why do your lines come unconsciouslyinto my mind, as if they expressed my own feelings better than I can doit myself? That's not rhyme--that's poetry! It is the real thing; notpretence. "

A glad smile passed over the boy's face; he stretched out his handtowards the neglected cup, and quaffed coffee and hope in one revivingdraught. "But no one seems to want poetry nowadays!"

"True! I think you may have to wait until you have made a name in theother direction. Why not try fiction? Your prose is excellent, almostas good as your verse. "

"Can't think of a plot!"

"Bah! you are behind the times, my dear! You don't need a plot. Beginin the middle, meander back to the beginning, and end in the thick ofthe strife. Then every one wonders and raves, and the public--`mostlyfools!'--think it must be clever, because they don't understand whatit's about. "

"Like the lady and the tiger, --which came out first?"

"Ah! if you could think of anything as baffling as that, your futurewould be made. Write a novel, Ron, and take me for the heroine. Youmight have a poet, too, and introduce some of your own love-songs. I'dcoach you in the feminine parts, and you could give me a royalty on thesales. "

But Ronald shook his head. 

"I might try short stories, perhaps--I've thought of that--but not anovel. It's too big a venture; and we can't spare the time. There areonly four months left, and unless I make some money soon, father willinsist upon that hateful partnership. "

The girl left her seat and strolled over to the window. She wasstrikingly like her brother in appearance, but a saucy imp of humourlurked in the corners of her curving lips, and danced in her big browneyes. 

Margot Vane at twenty-two made a delightful picture of youth andhappiness, and radiant, unbroken health. Her slight figure was uprightas a dart; her cheeks were smooth and fresh as a petal of a rose; herhair was thick and luxuriant, and she bore herself with the jaunty, self-confident gait of one whose lines have been cast in pleasantplaces, and who is well satisfied of her own ability to keep thempleasant to the end. 

"Anything may happen in four months--and everything!" she criedcheerily. "I don't say that you will have made your name by September, but if you have drawn a reasonable amount of blood-money, father willhave to be satisfied. It is in the bond! Work away, and don't worry. You are improving all the time, and spring is coming, when even ordinarypeople like myself feel inspired. We will stick to the ordinary methodsyet awhile, but if matters get desperate, we will resort to strategy. I've several lovely plans simmering in my brain!"

The boy looked up eagerly. 

"Strategy! Plans! What plans? What can we possibly do out of theordinary course?"

But Margot only laughed mischievously, and refused to be drawn. 

The cruel parent in the case of Ronald Vane was exemplified by anexceedingly worthy and kind-hearted gentleman, who followed theprofession of underwriter at Lloyd's. His family had consisted of threedaughters before Ronald appeared to gratify a long ambition. Now, MrVane was a widower, and his son engrossed a large share in hisaffections, being at once his pride, his hope, and his despair. The ladwas a good lad; upright, honourable, and clean-living; everything, infact, that a father could wish, if only, --but that "if" was themischief! It was hard lines on a steady-going City man, who was famedfor his level-headed sobriety, to possess a son who eschewed fact infavour of fancy, and preferred rather to roam the countryside composingrhymes and couplets, than to step into a junior partnership in anestablished and prosperous firm. 

It is part of an Englishman's creed to appreciate the great singers ofhis race, --Shakespeare, Milton, Tennyson, not to mention a dozen lesserfry; but, strange to say, though he feels a due pride in the row ofpoets on his library shelves, he yet regards a poet by his own firesideas a humiliation and an offence. A budding painter, a sculptor, amusician, may be the boast of a proud family circle, but to give a youththe reputation of writing verses is at once to call down upon his head astorm of ridicule and patronising disdain! He is credited with beingeffeminate, sentimental, and feeble-minded; his failure is taken as apreordained fact; he becomes a butt and a jest. 

Mr Vane profoundly hoped that none of the underwriters at Lloyd's wouldhear of Ronald's scribbling. It would handicap the boy in his futurework, and make it harder for him to get rid of his "slips"! No onecould guess from the lad's appearances that there was anything wrong, --that was one comfort! He kept his hair well cropped, and wore as highand glossy collars as any fellow in his right mind. 

"You don't know when you are well off!" cried the irate father. "Howmany thousands would be thankful to be in your shoes, with a place keptwarm to step into, and an income assured from the start! I am notasking you to sit mewed up at a desk all day. If you want to use yourgift of words, you couldn't have a better chance than as a writer atLloyd's. There's scope for imagination too, --judiciously applied! Andyou would have your evenings _free_ for scribbling, if you haven't hadenough of it in the daytime. "

Ronald's reply dealt at length with the subject of environment, and hisfather was given to understand that the conditions in which his life wasspent were mean, sordid, demoralising; fatal to all that was true andbeautiful. The lad also gave it as his opinion that, so far fromregarding money as a worthy object for a life's ambition, the true loverof Nature would be cumbered by the possession of more than wasabsolutely necessary for food and clothing. And as for neglecting aGod-given gift--

"What authority have you for asking me to believe that the gift existsat all, except in your own imagination? Tell me that, if you please!"cried the father. "You spend a small income in stamps and paper, but sofar as I know no human creature can be induced to publish your God-givenrhymes!"

At this point matters became decidedly strained, and a serious quarrelmight have developed, had it not been for the diplomatic intervention ofMargot, the youngest and fairest of Mr Vane's three daughters. 

Margot pinched her father's ears and kissed him on the end of his nose, a form of caress which he seemed to find extremely soothing. 

"He is only twenty-one, darling, " she said, referring to the turbulentheir. "You ought to be thankful that he has such good tastes, insteadof drinking and gambling, like some other young men. Really and truly Ibelieve he is a genius, but even if he is not, there is nothing to begained by using force. Ron has a very strong will--you have yourself, you know, dear, only of course in your case it is guided by judgment andcommon sense--and you will never drive him into doing a thing againsthis will. Now just suppose you let him go his own way for a time! Sixmonths or a year can't matter so very much out of a lifetime, and youwill never regret erring on the side of kindness. "

"Since when, may I ask, have you set yourself up as your father'smentor?" cried that gentleman with a growl; but he was softeningobviously, and Margot knew as much, and pinched his nose for a change. 

"You must try to remember how you felt yourself when you were young. Ifyou wanted a thing, how _badly_ you wanted it, and how _soon_, and howterribly cruel every one seemed who interfered! Give Ron a chance, likethe dear old sportsman as you are, before you tie him down for life!It's a pity I'm not a boy--I should have loved to be at Lloyd's. Evennow--if I went round with the slips, and coaxed the underwriters, don'tyou think it might be a striking and lucrative innovation?"

Mr Vane laughed at that, and reflected with pride that not a man in theroom could boast such a taking little witch for his daughter. Then hegrew grave, and returned to the subject in hand. 

"In what way do you propose that I shall give the boy a chance?"

"Continue his allowance for a year, and let him give himself up to hiswork! If at the end of the year he has made no headway, it should be anunderstanding that he joins you in business without any more fuss; butif he _has_ received real encouragement, --if even one or two editorshave accepted his verses, and think well of them--"

"Yes? What then?"

"Then you must consider that Ron has proved his point! It is really astiff test, for it takes mediocre people far longer than a year to makea footing on the literary ladder. You would then have to continue hisallowance, and try to be thankful that you are the father of a poet, instead of a clerk!"

Mr Vane growled again, and, what was worse, sighed into the bargain, asigh of real heartache and disappointment. 

"I have looked forward for twenty years to the time when my son shouldbe old enough to help me! I have slaved all my life to keep a place forhim, and now he despises me for my pains! And you will want to be offwith him, I suppose, rambling about the country while he writes hisrhymes. I shall have to say good-bye to the pair of you! It doesn'tmatter how dull or lonely the poor old father may be. "

Margot looked at him with a reproving eye. 

"That's not true, and you know it isn't! I love you best of any one onearth, and I am only talking to you for your own good. I'd like to stayin the country with Ronald in summer, for he does so hate the town, butI'll strike a bargain with you, too! Last year I spent three months invisiting friends. This year I'll refuse all invitations, so that youshan't be deprived of any more of my valuable society. "

"And why should you give up your pleasures, pray? Why are you soprecious anxious to be with the boy? Are you going to aid and abet himin his efforts?"

"Yes, I am!" answered Margot bravely. "He has his life to live, and Iwant him to spend it in his own way. If he becomes a great writer, I'llbe prouder of him than if he were the greatest millionaire on earth. I'll move heaven and earth to help him, and if he fails I'll move themagain to make him a good underwriter! So now you know!"

Mr Vane chewed his moustache, disconsolately resigned. 

"Ah well! the partnership will have to go to a stranger, I suppose. Ican't get on much longer without help. I hoped it might be one of myown kith and kin, but--"

"Don't be in a hurry, dear. I may fall in love with a pauper, and thenyou can have a son-in-law to help you, instead of a son. "

Mr Vane pushed her away with an impatient hand. 

"No more son-in-laws, thank you! One is about as many as I can tackleat a time. Edith has been at me again with a sheaf of bills--"

His eldest daughter's husband had recently failed in business, inconsequence of which he himself was at present supporting a secondestablishment. He sighed, and reflected that it was a thankless task torear a family. The infantine troubles of teething, whooping-cough, andscarlatina were trifles as compared with the later annoyance anddifficulties of dealing with striplings who had the audacity to imaginethemselves grown-up, and competent to have a say in their own lives!

If things turned out well, they took the credit to themselves! If ill, then papa had to pay the bills! Mr Vane was convinced that he was anill-used and much-to-be-pitied martyr. 

CHAPTER TWO. 

THE SISTERS. 

Mr Vane's house overlooked Regent's Park, and formed the corner houseof a white terrace boasting Grecian pillars and a railed-in stretch ofgrass in front of the windows. The rooms were large and handsome, andof that severe, box-like outline which are the despair of the modernupholsterer. The drawing-room boasted half a dozen windows, four infront, and two at the side, and as regards furnishings was a curiousgraft of modern art upon an Early Victoria stock. Logically thecombination was an anachronism; in effect it was charming andharmonious, for the changes had been made with the utmost caution, inconsideration of the feelings of the head of the household. 

Mr Vane's argument was that he preferred solid old-fashioned furnitureto modern gimcracks, and had no wish to conform to artistic fads, andhis daughters dutifully agreed, and--disobeyed! Their mode of procedurewas to withdraw one article at a time, and to wait until the parentaleye had become accustomed to the gap before venturing on a secondconfiscation. On the rare occasions when the abduction was discovered, it was easy to fall back upon the well-worn domestic justification, "Oh, that's been gone a _long_ time!" when, in justice to one's own power ofobservation, the matter must be allowed to drop. 

The eldest daughter of the household had married five years before thedate at which this narrative opens, and during that period had enjoyedthe happiness of a true and enduring devotion, and the troublesinseparable from a constant financial struggle, ending with bankruptcy, and a retreat from a tastefully furnished villa at Surbiton to a drearylodging in Oxford Terrace. Poor Edith had lost much of her beauty andlight-hearted gaiety as a result of anxiety and the constant care of twodelicate children; but never in the blackest moment of her trouble hadshe wished herself unwed, or been willing to change places with anywoman who had not the felicity of being John Martin's wife. 

Trouble had drawn Jack and herself more closely together; she was inarms in a passion of indignation against that world which judged a manby the standpoint of success or failure, and lay in readiness to heaveanother stone at the fallen. At nightfall she watched for his coming tojudge of the day's doings by the expression of his face, before it litup with the dear welcoming smile. At sight of the weary lines, strengthcame to her, as though she could move mountains on his behalf. As theysat together on the horsehair sofa, his tired head resting on hershoulder, the strain and the burden fell from them both, and they knewthemselves millionaires of blessings. 

The second daughter of the Vane household was a very different characterfrom her sensitive and highly-strung sister. The fairies who hadattended her christening, and bequeathed upon the infant the gifts ofindustry, common sense, and propriety, forgot to bestow at the same timethat most valuable of all qualities, --the power to awaken love! Herrelatives loved Agnes--"Of course, " they would have said; but when "ofcourse" is added in this connection, it is sadly eloquent! The poorwhom she visited were basely ungrateful for her doles, and when sheapproached empty-handed, took the occasion to pay a visit to aneighbour's back yard, leaving her to flay her knuckles on anunresponsive door. 

Agnes had many acquaintances, but no friends, and none of the young menwho frequented the house had exhibited even a passing inclination to payher attention. 

Edith had been a belle in her day; while as for Margot, every masculinecreature gravitated towards her as needles to a magnet. Among variousproposals of marriage had been one from so solid and eligible a _parti_, that even the doting father had laid aside his grudge, and turned intospecial pleader. He had advanced one by one the different claims toconsideration possessed by the said suitor, and to every argument Margothad meekly agreed, until the moment arrived at which she was naturallyexpected to say "Yes" to the concluding exhortation, when she said "No"with much fervour, and stuck to it to the end of the chapter. Pressedfor reasons for her obstinacy, she could advance none more satisfyingthan that "she did not like the shape of his ears"! but the worthy manwas rejected nevertheless, and took a voyage to the Cape to blow awayhis disappointment. 

No man crossed as much as a road for the sake of Agnes Vane! It was atragedy, because this incapacity of her nature by no means prohibitedthe usual feminine desire for appreciation. Agnes could not understandwhy she was invariably passed over in favour of her sisters, and whyeven her father was more influenced by the will-o'-the-wisp Margot thanby her own staid maxims. Agnes could not understand many things. Inthis obtuseness, perhaps, and in a deadly lack of humour lay the secretof her limitations. 

On the morning after the conversation between the brother and sisterrecorded in the last chapter the young poet paced his attic sitting-room, wrestling with lines that halted, and others which were palpablyartificial. Margot's accusations had gone home, and instead ofindulging in fresh flights, he resolved to correct certain errors in thelines now on hand until the verses should be polished to a flawlesswhole. Any one who has any experience with the pen understands thedifficulty of such a task, and the almost hopeless puzzle of changing astone in the mosaic without disturbing the whole. The infinite capacityfor taking pains is not by any means a satisfying definition of genius, but it is certainly one great secret of success. 

Ronald's awkward couplet gave him employment for the rest of themorning, and lunch-time found him still dissatisfied. An adjectiveavoided his quest--the right adjective; the one and only word whichexpressed the precise shade of meaning desired. From the recesses ofhis brain it peeped at him, now advancing so near that it was almostwithin grasp, anon retreating to a shadowy distance. There was no helpfor it but to wait for the moment when, tired of its game of hide-and-seek, it would choose the most unexpected and inappropriate moment topeer boldly forward, and make its curtsy. 

Meantime Margot had dusted the china in the drawing-room, watered theplants, put in an hour's practising, and done a _few_ odds and ends ofmending; in a word, had gone through the programme which comprises theduties of a well-to-do modern maiden, and by half-past eleven wasstepping out of the door, arrayed in a pretty spring dress, and herthird best hat. She crept quietly along the hall, treading with thecautious steps of one who wishes to escape observation; but herprecautions were in vain, for just as she was passing the door of themorning-room it was thrown open from within, and Agnes appeared upon thethreshold--Agnes neat and trim in her morning gown of serviceable fawnalpaca, her hands full of tradesmen's books, on her face an expressionof acute disapproval. 

"Going out, Margot? So early? It's not long past eleven o'clock!"

"I know?"

"Where are you going?"

"Don't know!"

"If you are passing down Edgware Road--"

"I'm not!"

The front door closed with a bang, leaving Agnes discomfited on the mat. There was no denying that at times Margot was distinctly difficult inher dealings with her elder sister. She herself was aware of the fact, and repented ardently after each fresh offence, but alas! withoutreformation. 

"We don't fit. We never shall, if we live together a hundred years. Edgware Road, indeed, on a morning like this, when you can hear thespring a-calling, and it's a sin and a shame to live in a city at all!If I had told her I was going into the Park, she would have offeredstale bread for the ducks!" Margot laughed derisively as she crossedthe road in the direction of the Park, and passing in through a narrowgateway, struck boldly across a wide avenue between stretches of grasswhere the wind and sun had full play, and she could be as much alone aspossible, within the precincts of the great city. 

In spite of her light and easy manner, the problem of her brother'sfuture weighed heavily upon the girl's mind. The eleventh hourapproached, and nothing more definite had been achieved in the way ofencouragement than an occasional written line at the end of the printedrejections: "Pleased to see future verses, " "Unsuitable; but shall beglad to consider other poems. " Even the optimism of two-and-twentyrecognised that such straws as these could not weigh against the hard-headed logic of a business man!

It was in the last degree unlikely that Ronald would make any strikingsuccess in literature in the time still remaining under the terms of theagreement, unless--as she herself had hinted--desperate measures wereadopted to meet desperate needs. A scheme was hatching in Margot'sbrain, --daring, uncertain; such a scheme as no one but a young and self-confident girl could have conceived, but holding nevertheless thepossibilities of success. She wanted to think it out, and movement inthe fresh air gave freedom to her thoughts. 

Really it was simple enough, --requiring only a little trouble, a littleengineering, a little harmless diplomacy. Ronald was a mere babe wheresuch things were concerned, but he would be obedient and do as he wastold, and for the rest, Margot was confident of her own powers. 

The speculative frown gave way to a smile; she laughed, a gleeful, girlish laugh, and tossed her head, unconsciously acting a littleduologue, with nods and frowns and upward languishing glance. Allthings seem easy to sweet and twenty, when the sun shines, and the scentof spring is in the air. The completed scheme stood out clear anddistinct in Margot's mind. Only one small clue was lacking, and thatshe was even now on the way to discover!

CHAPTER THREE. 

A TONIC. 

Margot wandered about the Park so lost in her own thoughts that she wasdismayed to find that it was already one o'clock, when warned by thedeparting stream of nursemaids that it must be approaching luncheon hourshe at last consulted her watch. 

Half an hour's walk, cold cutlets and an irate Agnes, were prospectswhich did not smile upon her; it seemed infinitely more agreeable toturn in an opposite direction, and make as quickly as possible forOxford Terrace, where she would be certain of a welcome from poor sadEdith, who was probably even now lunching on bread and cheese andanxiety, while her two sturdy infants tucked into nourishing beefsteak. Edith was one of those dear things who did not preach if you were late, but was content to give you what she had, without apologising. 

Margot trotted briskly past Dorset Square, took a short cut behind theGreat Central Hotel, and emerged into the dreary stretch of MaryleboneRoad. 

Even in the spring sunshine it looked dull and depressing, with thegloomy hospital abutting at the corner, the flights of dull red flats onthe right. 

A block of flats--in appearance the most depressing--in reality the mostinteresting of buildings!

Inside those walls a hundred different households lived, and moved, andhad their being. Every experience of life and death, of joy and grief, was acted on that stage, the innumerable curtains of which were sodiscreetly drawn. Margot scanned the several rows of windows with acurious interest. To-day new silk _brise-bise_ appeared on the secondfloor, and a glimpse of a branching palm. Possibly some young bride hadfound her new home in this dull labyrinth, and it was still beautiful inher sight! Alas, poor bird, to be condemned to build in such a nest!Those curtains to the right were shockingly dirty, showing that someover-tired housewife had retired discomfited from the struggle againstLondon grime. Up on the sixth floor there was a welcome splash ofcolour in the shape of Turkey red curtains, and a bank of scarletgeranium. Margot had decided long since that this flat must belong toan art student to whom colour was a necessity of life; who toiled up theweary length of stairs on her return from the day's work, tasting inadvance the welcome of the cosy room. She herself never forgot to lookup at that window, or to send a mental message of sympathy and cheer toits unknown occupant. 

Oxford Terrace looked quite cheerful in comparison with the surroundingroads, --and almost countrified into the bargain, now that the beechtrees were bursting into leaf. Margot passed by two or three blocks, then mounting the steps at the corner of a new terrace, walked alongwithin the railed-in strip of lawn until she reached a house in themiddle of the row. A peep between draped Nottingham lace curtainsshowed a luncheon table placed against the wall, after the cheerfulfashion of furnished apartments, when one room does duty for three, atwhich sat two little sailor-suited lads and a pale mother, smilingbravely at their sallies. 

Margot felt the quick contraction of the heart which she experiencedafresh at every sight of Edith's changed face, but next moment shewhistled softly in the familiar key, and saw the light flash back. Edith sprang to the door, and appeared flushed and smiling. 

"Margot, how sweet of you! I _am_ glad! Have you had lunch?"

"No. Give me anything you have. I'm awfully late. Bread and jam willdo splendidly. Halloa, youngsters, how are you? We'll defer kisses, Ithink, till you are past the sticky stage. I've been prowling about thePark for the last two hours enjoying the spring breezes, and working outproblems, and suddenly discovered it was too late to go home. "

She sank down on a seat by the table, shaking her head in response to ananxious glance. "No, not my own affairs, dear; only Ron's! Can't theboys run away now, and let us have a chat? I know you have had enoughof them by your face, and I've such a lot to say. Don't grumble, boys!Be good, and you shall be happy, and your aunt will take you to the Zoo. Yes, I promise! The very first afternoon that the sun shines; butfirst I shall ask mother if you have deserved it by doing what you aretold. "

"Run upstairs, dears, and wash, and put on your boots before Esthercomes, " said Mrs Martin fondly; and the boys obeyed, with a lingeringobedience which was plainly due rather to bribery than training. 

The elder of the two was a sturdy, plain-featured lad, uninterestingexcept to the parental eye; the younger a beauty, a bewitching, plump, curly-headed cherub of four years, with widely-opened grey eyes and aCupid's bow of a mouth. Margot let Jim pass by with a nod, but her handstretched out involuntarily to stroke Pat's cheek, and ruffle his curlypow. 

Edith smiled in sympathetic understanding, but even as she smiled sheturned her head over her shoulder to speak a parting word to the olderlad. 

"Good-bye, darling! We'll have a lovely game after tea!" Then the doorshut, and she turned to her sister with a sigh. 

"Poor Jim! everybody overlooks him to fuss over Pat, and it is hardlines. Children feel these things much more than grown-up peoplerealise. I heard yells resounding from their bedroom one day last year, and flew upstairs to see what was wrong. There was Pat on the floor, with Jim kneeling on his chest, with his fingers twined in his hair, which he was literally dragging out by the roots. He was put to bed forbeing cruel to his little brother, but when I went to talk quietly tohim afterwards, he sobbed so pitifully, and said, `I only wanted some ofhis curls to put on, to make people love me too!' Poor wee man! Youknow what a silly way people have of saying, `Will you give me one ofyour curls?' and poor Jim had grown tired of walking beside the pram, and having no notice taken of him. I vowed that from that day if Ishowed the least preference to either of the boys it should be to Jim. The world will be kind to Pat; he will never need friends. "

"No, Pat is all right. He has the `come-hither eye, ' as his mother hadbefore him!"

"And his aunt!"

Margot chuckled complacently. "Well! it's a valuable thing to possess. I find it most useful in my various plights. They are dear naughtyboys, both of them, and I always love them, but rather less than usualwhen I see you looking so worn out. You have enough strain on youwithout turning nursemaid into the bargain. "

Mrs Martin sighed, and knitted her delicate brows. 

"I do feel such a wicked wretch, but one of the hardest bits of life atthe present is being shut up with the boys in one room all day long. They are very good, poor dears, but when one is racked with anxiety, itis a strain to play wild Indians and polar bears for hours at a stretch. We do some lessons now, and that's a help--and Jack insisted that Ishould engage this girl to take them out in the afternoon. I must be awretched mother, for I am thankful every day afresh to hear the doorbang behind them, and to know that I am free until tea-time. "

"Nonsense! Don't be artificial, Edie! You know that you are nothing ofthe sort, and that it's perfectly natural to be glad of a quiet hour. You are a marvel of patience. I should snap their heads off if I hadthem all day, packed up in this little room. What have you had forlunch? No meat? And you look so white and spent. How wicked of you!"

"Oh, Margot, " sighed the other pathetically, "it's not food that I need!What good can food do when one is racked with anxiety? It's my mindthat is ill, not my body. We can't pay our way even with the rent ofthe house coming in, unless Jack gets something to do very soon, and Iam such a stupid, useless thing that I can do nothing to help. "

"Except to give up your house, and your servants, and turn yourself intonurse, and seamstress, and tailor, and dressmaker, rolled into one; andlive in an uproar all day long, and be a perfect angel of sympathy everynight--that's all!--and try to do it on bread and cheese into thebargain! There must be something inherently mean in women, to skimpthemselves as they do. You'd never find a man who would grudge tenpencefor a chop, however hard up he might be, but a woman spends twopence onlunch, and a sovereign on tonics! Darling, will it comfort you most ifI sympathise, or encourage? I know there are moods when it's pureaggravation to be cheerful!"

Edith sighed and smiled at one and the same moment. 

"I don't know! I'd like to hear a little of both, I think, just to seewhat sort of a case you could make out. "

"Very well, then, so you shall, but first I'll make you comfy. Which isthe least lumpy chair which this beautiful room possesses? Sit downthen, and put up your feet while I enjoy my lunch. I do love damsonjam! I shall finish the pot before I'm satisfied... Well, to take theworst things first, I do sympathise with you about the table linen! Oneclean cloth a week, I suppose? It must be quite a chronicle of theboys' exploits! I should live on cold meat, so that they couldn't spillhe gravy. And the spoons. They feel gritty, don't they? What is itexactly that they are made of? Poor old, dainty Edie! I know you hateit, and the idea that aliens are usurping your own treasures. Stupidpeople like Agnes would say that these are only pin-pricks, which weshould not deign to notice, but sensible people like you and me knowthat constant little pricks take more out of one than the big stabs. Ifthe wall-paper had not been so hideous, your anxieties would have seemedlighter, but it's difficult to bear things cheerfully against abackground of drab roses. Here's an idea now! If all else fails, starta cheerful lodging-house. You'd make a fortune, and be a philanthropistto boot... This _is_ good jam! I shall have to hide the stones, forthe sake of decency. --I know you think fifty times more of Jack than ofyourself. It's hard luck to feel that all his hard work ends in this, and men hate failure. They have the responsibility, poor things, and itmust be tragic to feel that through their mistakes, or rashness, orincapacity, as the case may be, they have brought hard times upon theirwives. I expect Jack feels the table cloth even more than you do! Yousmart, but you don't feel, `This is my fault!'"

"It isn't Jack's fault, " interrupted Jack's wife quickly. "He neverspeculated, nor shirked work, nor did anything but his best. It wasthat hateful war, and the upset of the market, and--"

"Call it misfortune, then; in any case the fact remains that he is thebread-winner, and has failed to provide--cake! We are not satisfiedwith dry bread nowadays. You are always sure of that from father, iffrom no one else. "

"But I loathe taking it! And I would sooner live in one room than gohome again, as some people do. When one marries one loses one's placein the old home, and it is never given back. Father loves me, but hewould feel it a humiliation to have me back on his hands. Agnes wouldresent my presence, and so would you. Yes, you would! Not consciously, perhaps, but in a hundred side-issues. We should take up your sparerooms, and prevent visitors, and upset the maids. If you ran into debt, father would pay your debts as a matter of course, but he grudges payingmine, because they are partly Jack's. "

"Yes, I understand. It must be hateful for you, dear. I suppose no manwishes to pay out more money than he need, especially when he has workedhard to make it, as the pater has done; but if you take him the rightway he is a marvel of goodness. --This year--next year--sometime--never;--I'm going to be married next year! Just what I had decidedmyself... I must begin to pick up bargains at the sales. "

Margot rose from her seat, flicking the crumbs off her lap with a finedisregard of the flower-wreathed carpet, and came over to a seat besideher sister. 

"Now, shall I change briefs, and expatiate on the other side of thequestion? ... Why, Edie, every bit of this trouble depends on yourattitude towards it, and on nothing else. You are all well; you areyoung; you adore each other; you have done nothing dishonourable; youhave been able to pay your debts--what does the rest matter? Jack hashad a big disappointment. Very well, but what's the use of crying overspilt milk? Get a fresh jug, and try for cream next time! The childrenare too young to suffer, and think it's fine fun to have no nursery, andlive near Edgware Road. If you and Jack could just manage to think thesame, you might turn it all into a picnic and a joke. Jack is strongand clever and industrious, and you have a rich father; humanlyspeaking, you will never want. Take it with a smile, dear! If you willsmile, so will Jack. If you push things to the end, it rests with you, for he won't fret if he sees you happy. He _does_ love you, Edie! I'mnot sentimental, but I think it must be just the most beautiful thing inthe world to be loved like that. I should like some one to look at meas he does at you, with his eyes lighting up with that deep, brightglow. I'd live in an attic with my Jack, and ask for nothing more!"

The elder woman smiled--a smile eloquent of a sadder, maturer wisdom. She adored her husband, and gloried in the knowledge of his love ofherself, but she knew that attics are not conducive to the continuanceof devotion. Love is a delicate plant, which needs care and nourishmentand discreet sheltering, if it is to remain perennially in bloom. Thesmile lingered on her lips, however; she rested her head against thecushions of her chair and cried gratefully--

"Oh, Margot, you do comfort me! You are so nice and human. Do youreally, truly think I am taking things too seriously? Do you think I amdepressing Jack? Wouldn't he think me heartless if I seemed bright andhappy?"

"Try it and see! You can decide according to the effect produced, butfirst you must have a tonic, to brace you for the effort. I've a newprescription, and we are going to Edgware Road to get it this veryhour. "

"Quinine, I suppose. Esther and the boys can get it at the chemist's, but really it will do roe no good. "

"I'm sure it wouldn't. Mine is a hundred times more powerful. "

"Iron? I can't take it. It gives me headaches. "

"It isn't iron. Mine won't give you a headache, unless the pins gettwisted. It's a finer specific for low spirits feminine, than anystupid drugs. A new hat!"

Edith stared, and laughed, and laughed again. 

"You silly girl! What nonsense! I don't need a hat. "

"That's nonsense if you like! It depresses me to see you going about inthat dowdy thing, and it must be a martyrdom for you to wear it everyday. Come out and buy a straw shape for something and `eleven-three', "(it's always "eleven-three" in Edgware Road), "and I'll trim it withsome of your scraps. You have such nice scraps. Then we'll have tea, and you shall walk part of the way home with me, and meet Jack, andsmile at him and look pretty, and watch him perk up to match. What doyou say?"

Edith lifted her eyes with a smile which brought back the youth andbeauty to her face. 

"I say, thank you!" she said simply. "You are a regular missionary, Margot. You spend your life making other people happy. "

"Goodness!" cried Margot, aghast. "Do I? How proper it sounds! Youjust repeat that to Agnes, and see what she says. You'll hear adifferent story, I can tell you!"

CHAPTER FOUR. 

MARGOT'S SCHEME. 

The sisters repaired to Edgware Road, and after much searching finallyran to earth a desirable hat for at least the odd farthing less than itwould have cost round the corner in Oxford Street. This saving wouldhave existed only in imagination to the ordinary customer, who ispresented with a paper of nail-like pins, a rusty bodkin, or a highly-superfluous button-hook as a substitute for lawful change; but Margottook a mischievous delight in collecting farthings and paying down theexact sum in establishments devoted to eleven-threes, to the disgust ofthe young ladies who supplied her demands. 

The hat was carried home in true Bohemian fashion, encased in a hugepaper bag, and a happy hour ensued, when the contents of the scrap-boxwere scattered over the bed, and a dozen different effects studied inturn. Edith sat on a chair before the glass with the skeleton frameperched on her head at the accepted fashionable angle, criticising freshdraperies and arrangement of flowers, and from time to time utteringsharp exclamations of pain as Margot's actions led to an injudicious useof the dagger-like pins. Her delicate finely-cut face and misty hairmade her a delightful model, and she smiled back at the face in themirror, reflecting that if you happened to be a pauper, it was at leastsatisfactory to be a pretty one, and that to possess long, curlingeyelashes was a distinct compensation in life. Margot draped an oldlace veil over the hard brim, caught it together at the back with apaste button, and pinned a cluster of brown roses beneath the brim, withjust one pink one among the number, to give the _cachet_ to the whole. 

"There's Bond Street for you!" she cried triumphantly; and Edith flushedwith pleasure, and wriggled round and round to admire herself fromdifferent points of view. 

"It _is_ a tonic!" she declared gratefully. "You are a born milliner, Margot. It will be a pleasure to go out in this hat, and I shall feelquite nice and conceited again. It's so long since I've felt conceited!I'm ever and ever so much obliged. Can you stay on a little longer, dear, or are you in a hurry to get back?"

"No! I shall get a scolding anyway, so I might as well have all thefling I can get. I'll have tea with you and the boys, and a littleprivate chat with Jack afterwards. You won't mind leaving us alone fora few minutes? It's something about Ron, but I won't promise not to getin a little flirtation on my own account. "

Jack's wife laughed happily. 

"Flirt away--it will cheer him up! I'll put the boys to bed, and giveyou a fine opportunity. Here they come, back from their walk. I musthurry, dear, and cut bread and butter. I'll carry down the hat, and putit on when Jack comes in. "

Aunt Margot's appearance at tea was hailed with a somewhat qualifiedapproval. 

"You must talk to _us_, mother, " Jim said sternly; "talk properly, notonly, `Yes, dear, ' `No, dear, ' like you do sometimes, and then go onspeaking to her about what we can't understand. She's had you allafternoon!"

"So I have, Jim. It's your turn now. What do you want to say?"

Jim immediately lapsed into silence. Having gained his point, he had noremark to offer, but Pat lifted his curly head and asked eagerly--

"Muzzer, shall I ever grow up to be a king?"

"No, my son; little boys like you are never kings. "

"Not if I'm very good, and do what I'm told?"

"No, dear, not even then. No one can be a king unless his father is aking, too, or some very, very great man. What has put that in yourhead, I wonder? Why do you want to be a king?"

Pat widened his clear grey eyes; the afternoon sunshine shone on hisruffled head, turning his curls to gold, until he looked like someexquisite cherub, too good and beautiful for this wicked world. 

"'Cause if I was a king I could take people prisoners and cut off theirheads, and stick them upon posts, " he said sweetly; his mother and auntexchanged horrified glances. Pat alternated between moods of angelictenderness, when every tiger was a "good, _good_ tiger, " and naughtychildren "never did it any more, " and a condition of frank cannibalism, when he literally wallowed in atrocities. His mother forbode tolecture, but judiciously turned the conversation. 

"Kings can do much nicer things than that, Patsy boy. Our kind KingEdward doesn't like cutting off heads a bit. He is always trying toprevent men from fighting with each other. "

"Is he?"

"Yes, he is. People call him the Peace-maker, because he prevents somany wars. "

"_Bother_ him!" cried Pat fervently. 

Margot giggled helplessly. Mrs Martin stared fixedly out of thewindow, and Jim in his turn took up the ball of conversation. 

"Mummie, will you die before me?"

"I can't tell, dear; nobody knows. "

"Will daddy die before me?"

"Probably he will. "

"May I have his penknife when he's dead?"

"I think it's about time to cut up that lovely new cake!" cried Margot, saving the situation with admirable promptitude. "We bought it for youthis afternoon, and it tastes of chocolate, and all sorts of goodthings. "

The bait was successful, and a silence followed, eloquent of intenseenjoyment; then the table was cleared and various games were played, inthe midst of which Jack's whistle sounded from without, and his wife andsons rushed to meet him. They looked a typical family group as they re-entered the room, Edith happily hanging on to his arm, the boys prancinground his feet, and the onlooker felt a little pang of loneliness at thesight. 

John Martin was a tall, well-made man, with a clean-shaven face anddeep-set grey eyes. He was pale and lined, and a nervous twitching ofthe eyelids testified to the strain through which he had passed, but itwas a strong face and a pleasant face, and, when he looked at his wife, a face of indescribable tenderness. At the moment he was smiling, forit was always a pleasure to see his pretty sister-in-law, and to-nightEdith's anxious looks had departed, and she skipped by his side as eagerand excited as the boys themselves. 

"Dad, dad, has there been any more 'splosions?"

"Hasn't there been no fearful doings on in the world, daddy?"

"Jack! Jack! I've got a new tonic. It has done me such a lot ofgood!"

Jack turned from one to the other. 

"No, boys, no, --no more accidents to-day! What is it, darling? Youlook radiant. What is the joke?"

"Look out of the window for a minute! Margot, you talk to him, anddon't let him look round. "

Edith pinned on the new hat before the mirror, carefully adjusting theangles, and pulling out her cloudy hair to fill in the necessary spaces. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkled; it was no longer the wornwhite wife, but a pretty, coquettish girl, who danced up to Jack's sidewith saucy, uplifted head. 

"There! What do you think of that?"

The answer of the glowing eyes was more eloquent than words. Jackwhistled softly beneath his breath, walking slowly round and round totake in the whole effect. 

"I say, that _is_ fetching! That's something like a hat you wore thesummer we were engaged. You don't look a day older. Where did you runthat to earth, darling?"

"Can't you see Bond Street in every curve? I should have thought it wasself-evident. Margot said I was shabby, and that a new hat would do megood, so we went out and bought it. Do you think I am extravagant?It's better to spend on this than on medicine, and three guineas isn'texpensive for real lace, is it?"

She peered in her husband's face with simulated anxiety, but his smilebreathed pleasure unqualified. 

"I'm delighted that you have bought something at last! You have notspent a penny on yourself for goodness knows how long. "

"Goose!" cried Edith. "He has swallowed it at a gulp. Three guineas, indeed--as if I dare! Four and eleven-pence three-farthings in EdgwareRoad, and my old lace veil, and one of the paste buttons you gave me atChristmas, and some roses off last year's hat, and Margot's cleverfingers, and my--pretty face! Do you think I am pretty still?"

"I should rather think I do!" Jack framed his wife's face in his hands, stooping to kiss the soft flushed cheeks as fondly as he had done in thetime of that other lace-wreathed hat six years before. Pat and Jimreturned to their dominoes, bored by such foolish proceedings on thepart of their parents, while Margot covered her face with her hands, with ostentatious propriety. 

"This is no place for me! Consider my feelings, Jack. I'm like a storyI once read in an old volume of _Good Words_, `Lovely yet Unloved!'When you have quite finished love-making, I want a private chat withyou, while Edie puts the boys to bed. They will hate me for suggestingsuch a thing, but it is already past their hour, and I must have tenminutes' talk on a point of life and death!"

"Come away, boys; we are not wanted here. Daddy will come upstairs andsee you again before you go to sleep. "

Mother and sons departed together, and Jack Martin sat down on thecorner of the sofa and leant his head on his hand. With his wife'sdeparture the light went out of his face, but he smiled at his sister-in-law with an air of affectionate _camaraderie_. 

"You are a little brick, Margot! You have done Edie a world of good. What can I do for you in return? I am at your service. "

Margot pulled forward the chair that her sister had chosen as the leastlumpy which the room afforded, and seated herself before him, returninghis glance with an odd mixture of mischief and embarrassment. 

"It's about Ron. The year of probation is nearly over. "

"I know it. "

"Two months more will decide whether he is to be a broker or a poet. Itwill mean death to Ronald to be sent into the City. "

"You are wrong there. If he is a poet, no amount of brokering willalter the fact, any more than it will change the colour of his eyes orhair. It is bound to come out sooner or later. You will probably thinkme a brute, if I suggest that a little discipline and knowledge of theworld might improve the value of his writings. "

"Yes, I will! What does a poet want with a knowledge of the world, inthe common, sordid sense? Let him keep his mind unsullied, and be aninspiration to others. When we were children, we used to keep birds inthe nursery, in a very fine cage with golden bars, and we fed them withevery bird delicacy we could find. They lived for a little time, andtried to sing, poor brave things! We threw away the cage in a fury, after finding one soft dead thing after another lying huddled up in acorner. No one shall cage Ronald, if I can prevent it! It's no usepretending to be cold-blooded and middle-aged, Jack, for I know you arewith us at heart. This means every bit as much to Ron as your businesstroubles do to you. "

Jack drew in his breath with a wince of pain. 

"Well, what is it you wish me to do? I am afraid I have very littleinfluence in the literary world, and I have always heard thatintroductions do more harm than good. An editor would soon ruin hispaper if he accepted all the manuscripts pressed upon him by admiringrelatives. "

"But you see I don't ask you for an introduction. It's just a piece ofinformation I want, which I can't get for myself. You know the_Loadstar Magazine_?"

"Certainly I do. "

"Well, the _Loadstar_ is--the _Loadstar_! The summit of Ron's ambition. It's the magazine of all others which he likes and admires, and theeditor is known to be a man of great power and discernment. It is saidthat if he has the will, he can do more than any man in London to helpon young writers. It is useless sending manuscripts, for he refuses toconsider unsolicited poetical contributions. He shuts himself up in afastness in Fleet Street, and the door thereof is guarded with dragonswith lying tongues. I know! I have made it my business to inquire, butI feel convinced that if he once gave Ron a fair reading, he wouldacknowledge his gifts. There is no hope of approaching him direct, butI intend to get hold of him all the same. "

Jack Martin looked up at that, his thin face twitching into a smile. 

"You little baggage! and you expect me to help you. I must hear somemore about this before I involve myself any further. What mischief areyou up to now?"

"Dear Jack, what can I do; a little girl like me?" cried Miss Margot, mightily meek all of a sudden, as she realised that she had ventured astep too far. "I wouldn't for the whole world get you into trouble. It's just a little, simple thing that I want you to find out from someone in the office. "

"I don't know any one in the office. "

"But you could find out some one who did? For instance, you know thatMr Oliver who illustrates? I've seen his things in the _Loadstar_. You could ask him in a casual, off-hand manner without ever mentioningour name. "

"What could I ask him?"

"Such a nice, simple little question! Just the name of the place wherethe editor proposes to spend this summer holiday, and the date on whichhe will start. "

Jack stared in amazement, but the meekest, most demure of maidensconfronted him from the opposite chair, with eyes so translucentlycandid, lips so guilelessly sweet, that it seemed incredible that anyhidden mischief could lurk behind the innocent question. Neverthelessseven years' intimacy with Miss Margot made Jack Martin suspicious ofmischief. 

"What do you know about this editor man? Have you seen him anywhere?He is handsome, I suppose, and a bachelor?"

"You're a wretch!" retorted Miss Margot. "I don't know the man fromAdam, and he may be a Methuselah for all I care; but if possible I wantit to happen that Ron and I chance to be staying in the same place, inthe same house, or hotel, or _pension_, whichever it may be, when hegoes away for his yearly rest. We are going to the country in anycase--why should we not be guided by the choice of those older and wiserthan ourselves? Why should we not meet the one of all others we aremost anxious to know?"

"Just so! and having done so, you will confide in the editor that Ronaldis an embryo Poet Laureate, and try to enlist his kind sympathy andassistance!"

Margot smiled; a smile of lofty superiority. 

"No, indeed! I know rather better than that! He will be out on aholiday, poor man, and won't want to be troubled with literaryaspirants. He has enough of them all the year round. We'll nevermention poetry, but we will try to get to know _him_, and to make himlike us so much that he will want to see more of us when we return totown. No one can live in the same house with Ron, and have anopportunity of talking to him day by day, without feeling that he isdifferent from other boys, and alone together in the country one cannever tell what may happen. Opportunities may arise, too; opportunitiesfor help and service. We would be on the look-out for them, and wouldtry by every means in our power to forge the first link in the chain. Don't look so solemn, old Jack, it's all perfectly innocent! You cantrust me to do nothing you would disapprove. "

"I believe I can. You are a madcap, Margot, but you are a good girl. I'm not afraid of you, but I imagine that the editor will be a match fora dozen youngsters like you and Ron, and will soon see through yourlittle scheme. However, I'll do what I can. In big offices holidayarrangements have to be made a good while ahead, so it ought not to bedifficult to get the information you want. Now I must be off upstairsto see the boys before they get into bed. Shall I see you again when Icome down?"

"No, indeed! I've played truant since half-past eleven, so I shall haveto hang about the end of the terrace until father appears, and go inunder his wing, to escape a scolding from Agnes. I had arranged to paycalls with her this afternoon. I wonder how it is that my memory is sodreadfully uncertain about things I don't want to do! Good-bye then, Jack, and a hundred thanks. Posterity will thank you for your help. "

Jack Martin laughed and shrugged his shoulders. He had a man's typicaldisbelief in the ability of his wife's relatives. 

CHAPTER FIVE. 

AN EXPLOSION. 

Relationships were somewhat strained in the Vane household during thenext few weeks, the two elder members being banded together in anunusual partnership to bring about the confusion of the younger. 

"I can't understand what you are making such a fuss about. You'll haveto give in, in the end. You a poet, indeed! What next? If you wouldcome down to breakfast in time, and give over burning the gas till oneo'clock in the morning, it would be more to the point than writing sillyverses. I'd be ashamed to waste my time scribbling nonsense all daylong!" So cried Agnes, in Martha-like irritation, and Ronald turned hiseyes upon her with that deep, dreamy gaze which only added fuel to theflame. 

He was not angry with Agnes, who, as she herself truly said, "did notunderstand. " Out of the storm of her anger an inspiration had flutteredtowards him, like a crystal out of the surf. "The Worker and theDreamer"--he would make a poem out of that idea! Already the wonderfulinner vision pictured the scene--the poet sitting idle on the hillside, the man of toil labouring in the heat and glare of the fields, castingglances of scorn and impatience at the inert form. The lines began totake shape in his brain. 

 "... And the worker worked from the misty dawn, Till the east was golden and red; But the dreamer's dream which he thought to scorn, Lived on when they both were dead... "

"I asked him three times over if he would have another cup of coffee, and he stared at me as if he were daft! I believe he _is_ half daft attimes, and he will grow worse and worse, if Margot encourages him likethis!" Agnes announced to her father, on his weary return from City. 

It was one of Agnes's exemplary habits to refuse all invitations whichcould prevent her being at home to welcome her father every afternoon, and assist him to tea and scones, accompanied by a minute _resume_ ofthe bad news of the day. What the housemaid had broken; what the cathad spilt; the parlourmaid's impertinences; the dressmaker'sdelinquencies; Ronald's vapourings; the new and unabashed transgressionsof Margot--each in its turn was dropped into the tired man's cup withthe lumps of sugar, and stirred round with the cream. There was noescaping the ordeal. On the hottest day of summer there was the boilingtea, with the hot muffins, and the rich, indigestible cake, exactly asthey had appeared amidst the ice and snows of January; and theaccompanied recital hardly varied more. It was a positive relief tohear that the chimney had smoked, or the parrot had had a fit. 

Once a year Agnes departed on a holiday, handing over the keys toMargot, who meekly promised to follow in her footsteps; and then, heigho! for a fortnight of Bohemia, with every arrangement upside down, and appearing vastly improved by the change of position. Instead of teain the drawing-room, two easy-chairs on the balcony overlooking thePark; cool iced drinks sipped through straws, and luscious dishes offruit. Instead of Agnes, stiff and starched and tailor-made, a radiantvision in muslin and laces, with a ruffled golden head, and distractinglittle feet peeping out from beneath the frills. 

"Isn't this fun?" cried the vision. "Don't you feel quite frivolous andContinental? Let's pretend we are a newly-married couple, and you adoreme, and can't deny a thing I ask! There was a blouse in Bond Streetthis morning... Sweetest darling, wouldn't you like me to buy it to-morrow, and show me off in it to your friends? I told them to send ithome on approval. I knew you couldn't bear to see your little girlunhappy for the sake of four miserable guineas!"

This sort of treatment was very agreeable to a worn-out City man, and asa pure matter of bargaining, the blouse was a cheap price to pay for therefreshment of that cool, restful hour, and the pretty chatter whichsmoothed the tired lines out of his face, and made him laugh and feelyoung again. 

Another night Mr Vane would be decoyed to a rendezvous at Earl's Court, when Margot would wear the blouse, and insist upon turning round thepearl band on her third finger, so as to imitate a wedding-ring, lookingat him in languishing fashion across the table the while, to the delightof fellow-diners and his own mingled horror and amusement. Then theywould wander about beneath the glimmer of the fairy-lights, listening tothe band, as veritable a pair of lovers as any among the throng. 

As summer approached, Mr Vane's thoughts turned to these happyoccasions, and it strengthened his indignation against his son torealise that this year a cloud had arisen between himself and hisdearest daughter. Margot had openly ranked herself against him, whichwas a bitter pill to swallow, and, so far from showing an inclination torepent as the prescribed time drew to a close, the conspirators appearedonly to be the more determined. Long envelopes were continually beingdispatched to the post, to appear with astonishing dispatch on thefamily breakfast-table. The pale, wrought look on Ronald's face as hecaught sight of them against the white cloth! No parent's heart couldfail to be wrung for the lad's misery; but the futility of it added tothe inward exasperation. Thousands of men walking the streets of Londonvainly seeking for work, while this misguided youth scorned a safe andsecure position!

The pent-up irritation exploded one Sunday evening, when the presence ofEdith and her husband recalled the consciousness of yet anotherdisappointment. Mr Vane had made his own way, and, after the manner ofsuccessful men, had little sympathy with failure. The presence of thetwo pale, dejected-looking young men filled him with impatient wrath. At the supper-table he was morose and irritable, until a chance remarkset the fuse ablaze. 

"Yes, yes! You all imagine yourselves so clever nowadays that you canafford to despise the experience of men who knew the world before youwere born! I can see you look at each other as I speak! I'm not blind!I'm an out-of-date old fogey who doesn't know what he is talking about, and hasn't even the culture to appreciate his own children. Because onehas composed a bundle of rhymes that no one will publish, he must needsassume an attitude of forbearance with the man who supplies the breadand butter! I've never been accustomed to regard failure as an instanceof superiority, but no doubt I am wrong--no doubt I am behind thetimes--no doubt you are all condemning me in your minds as a blunderingold ignoramus! A father is nothing but a nuisance who must be toleratedfor the sake of what can be got out of him. "

He looked round the table with his tired, angry eyes. Jack Martin satwith bent head and lips pressed tightly together, repressing himself forhis wife's sake. Edith struggled against tears. Agnes served the saladdressing and grunted approval. Margot, usually so pert and ready ofretort, stared at the cloth with a frown of strained distress. OnlyRonald faced him with steady eyes. 

"That is not true, father, and you know it yourself!"

"I know nothing, it appears! That's just what I say. Why don't youundertake my education? You never show me your work; you take theadvice of a child like Margot, and leave me out in the cold, and thenexpect me to have faith enough to believe you a genius without a word ofproof. You want to become known to the public? Very well, bring downsome of that precious poetry and read it aloud to us now! You can't saythen that I haven't given you a chance!"

It was a frightful prospect! The criticism of the family is always anordeal to the budding author, and the moment was painfully unpropitious. It would have been as easy for a bird to sing in the presence of thefowler. Ronald turned white to the lips, but his reply came asunwavering as the last. 

"Do you think you would care to hear even the finest poetry in the worldread aloud to-night? Mine is very far from the best. I will read it toyou if you wish, but you must give me a happier opportunity. "

Agnes laughed shortly. 

"Shilly-shally! I can't understand what opportunity you want. If it'sgood, it can't be spoilt by being read one day instead of another; ifit's bad, it won't be improved by waiting. This is cherry-pie, andthere is some tipsy cake. Edith, which will you have?"

Edith would have neither. She was still trembling with woundedindignation against her father for that cruel hit at her husband. Shesat pale and silent, vowing never to enter the house again until Jack'sfortunes were restored; never to accept another penny from her father'shands. She was comparatively little interested in the discussion aboutpoetry. Ron was a dear boy; she would be sorry if he were disappointed, but Jack was her life, and Jack was working for bread!

If she had followed the moment's impulse, she would have risen and leftthe room, and though better counsel prevailed, she could not control thespice of temper which made the cherry-pie abhorrent. 

Jack, as a man, saw no reason why he should deny himself the mitigationsof the situation; he helped himself to cream and sifted sugar withleisurely satisfaction, and sensibly softened in spirit. After all, there was a measure of truth in what the old man said, and his bark wasworse than his bite. If his own boy, Pat, took it into his head to gooff on some scatter-brain prank when he came of age, it would be a bigtrouble, or if later on he came a cropper in business-- Jack waited fora convenient pause, and then deftly turned the conversation to politics, and by the time that cheese was on the table, he and his father-in-lawwere discussing the mysteries of the last Education Bill with thesatisfaction of men who hold similar views on the inanities of theopposite party. Later on they bade each other a friendly good-night;but Edith went straight from the bedroom to the street, and clungtightly to her husband's arm as they walked along the pavement oppositethe Park, enjoying the quiet before entering the busy streets. 

"We'll never come again!" she cried tremulously. "We'll stay at home, and have a supper of bread and cheese and love with it! You shan't betaunted and sneered at by any man on earth, if he were twenty times myfather! What an angel you were, Jack, to keep quiet, and then talk asif nothing had happened! I was choking with rage!"

"Poor darling!" said Jack Martin tenderly. "You take things too much toheart. It's rough on you, but you must remember that it's rough on theold man too. You are his eldest child, and the beauty of the family. He hoped great things for you, and it is wormwood and gall to his proudspirit to see you struggling along in cheap lodgings. We can't wonderif he explodes occasionally. It's wonderful that he is as civil to meas he is; he has put me down as a hopeless blunderer!"

There was a touch of bitterness in the speaker's voice, for all hisbrave assumption of composure, and his wife winced at the sound. Sheclung more tightly to his arm, and raised her face to his with eagercomfort. 

"Don't mind what he says! Don't mind what any one says. I believe inyou. I trust you! The good times will come back again, dear, and wewill be happier than ever, because we shall know how to appreciate them. Even if we were always poor, I'd rather have you for my husband thanthe greatest millionaire in the world!"

"Thank God for my wife!" said Jack Martin solemnly. 

CHAPTER SIX. 

A MANAGING WOMAN. 

Meanwhile Ronald and Margot were holding a conclave on the third floor. "I must get away from home at once!" cried the lad feverishly. "I can'twrite in this atmosphere of antagonism. I breathe it in the air. Itpoisons everything I do. If I am to have only three more months ofliberty, I must spend them in my own way, in the country with you, Margot, away from all this fret and turmoil. It's my last chance. Imight as well throw up the sponge at once, if we are to stay here. "

"Yes, we must go away; for father's sake as well as our own, " repliedMargot slowly. She leant her head against the back of her chair, andpushed the hair from her brow. Without the smile and the sparkle shewas astonishingly like her brother, --both had oval faces, well-markedeyebrows, flexible scarlet lips, and hazel eyes, but the girl's chin wasmade in a firmer mould, and the expression of dreamy abstraction whichcharacterised the boy's face was on hers replaced by animation andalertness. 

"Father will be miserable to-night because he flared out at supper; buthe'll flare again unless we put him out of temptation. He likes his ownway as much as we like ours, and it's so difficult for parents torealise that their children are grown-up. We seem silly babies in hiseyes, and he longs to be able to shut us up in the nursery until we aresorry, as he used to do in the old days. As for our own plans, Ron, they are all settled. I was just waiting for a quiet opportunity totell you. I have been busy planning and scheming for some time back, but it was only to-night that my clue arrived. Jack, my emissary, slipped it into my hand after supper. Read that!"

She held out a half sheet of paper with an air of triumph, on which werescribbled the following lines:--

"Name, Elgood. Great walker, climber, etcetera. Goes every June withbrother to small lonely inn (Nag's Head)--Glenaire--six miles' drivefrom S--, Perthshire. Scenery fine, but wild; accommodation limited;landlady refuses lady visitors, which fact is supposed to be one of thechief attractions; Elgood reported to be tough nut to crack; chiefobject of holiday, quiet and seclusion; probably dates two or threeweeks from June 15. "

Ronald read, and lifted a bewildered face. 

"What does it all mean? How do this man's plans affect ours? I don'tunderstand what you are driving at, Margot, but I should love to go toScotland! The mountains in the dawning, and the shadows at night, andthe dark green of the firs against the blue of the heather--oh, wouldn'tit be life to see it all again, after this terrible brick city! Howclever of you to think of Scotland!"

"My dear boy, if it had been Southend it would have been all the same. We are going where Mr Elgood goes, for Mr Elgood, you must know, isthe editor of _The Loadstar_--the man of all others who could give you ahelping hand. Now, Ron, I am quite prepared for you to be shocked, butI know that you will agree in the end, so please give in as quickly aspossible, and don't make a fuss. You have been sending unknown poems tounknown editors for the last two years, with practically no result. It's not the fault of your poems--of that I am convinced. In ten years'time every one will rave about them, but you can't afford to wait tenyears, or even ten months. Our only hope is to interest some bigliterary light, whose verdict can't be ignored, and persuade him toplead your cause, or at least to give you such encouragement as willsatisfy father that you are not deluded by your own conceit. I'vethought and thought, and lain awake thinking, till I feel quite tiredout, and then at last I hit on this plan, --to find out where Mr Elgoodis going for his holidays, and go to the same place, so that he can'thelp getting to know us, whatever he may wish. Ordinary methods areuseless at this stage of affairs. We must try a desperate remedy for adesperate situation!"

"I'm sure I am willing. I would try any crazy plan that had apossibility of success for the next three months. But yours isn'tpossible. The landlady won't take ladies. That's an unsurmountableobjection at the start. "

But Margot only preened her head with a smile of undaunted self-confidence. 

"She'll take _me_!" she declared complacently. "She can't refuse meshelter for a night at least, after such a long, tiring journey, andI'll be such a perfect dear, that after twenty-four hours she wouldn'tbe bribed to do without me! You can leave Mrs McNab to me, Ron. I'llmanage her. Very well then, there we shall be, away from the maddingcrowd, shut up in that lonely Highland glen, in the quaint little inn;two nice, amiable, attractive young people with nothing to do but makeourselves amiable and useful to our companions. Mr Elgood can't beyoung; he is certainly middle-aged, perhaps quite old; he will be verytired after his year's work, and perhaps even ill. Very well then, wewill wait upon him and save him trouble! You shall bicycle to thevillage for his tobacco and papers, and I'll read aloud and bring himcups of tea. We won't worry him, but we'll be there all the time, waiting and watching for an opportunity. One never knows what mayhappen in the country. He might slip into the river some day, and youcould drag him out. Ronald, wouldn't it be perfectly lovely if youcould save his life!"

The two youthful faces confronted each other breathlessly for a moment, and then simultaneously boy and girl burst into a peal of laughter. They laughed and laughed again, till the tear-drops shone on Margot'slashes, and Ronald's pale face was flushed with colour. 

"You silly girl! What nonsense you talk! I'm afraid Mr Elgood won'tgive me a chance of rescuing him. He won't want to be bothered withliterary aspirants on his summer holiday, and he will guess that I wanthis help--"

"He mustn't guess anything of the kind until the end of the time. Youmust even never mention the word poetry. It would neither be fair tohim, nor wise for ourselves. What we have to do is to make ourselves socharming and interesting that at the end of the three weeks he will wantto help us as much as we want to be helped. I understand how to manageold gentlemen I've had experience, you see, in rather a difficultschool. Poor father! I must run down to comfort him before I go tobed. I feel sure he is sitting in the library, puffing away at hispipe, and feeling absolutely retched. He always does after he has beencross. "

Ronald's face hardened with youthful disapproval. "Why should you pityhim? It's his own fault. "

"That makes it all the harder, for he has remorse to trouble him, aswell as disappointment. You must not be hard on the pater, Ron. Remember he has looked forward to having you with him in business eversince you were born, and it is awfully hard on him to be disappointedjust when he is beginning to feel old and tired, and would be glad of ason's help. It is not easy to give up the dream of twenty years!"

Ronald felt conscience-stricken. He knew in his own heart that he wouldfind it next to impossible to relinquish his own dawning ambitions, andthe thought silenced his complaints. He looked at his sister and smiledhis peculiarly sweet smile. 

"You have a wide heart, Margot. It can sympathise with both plaintiffand defendant at the same time. "

"Why, of course!" asserted Margot easily. "I love them both, you see, and that makes things easy. Go to bed, dear boy, and dream of Glenaire!Your chance is coming at the eleventh hour. "

The light flashed in the lad's eyes as he bent his head for the good-night kiss--a light of hope and expectation, which was his sister's bestreward. 

Ron had worked, fretted, and worried of late, and his health itselfmight break down under the strain, for his constitution was not strong. During one long, anxious year there had been fear of lung trouble, andmental agitation of any kind told quickly upon him. Margot's thoughtsflew longingly to the northern glen where the wind blew fresh and coolover the heather, with never a taint of smoke and grime to mar its God-given purity. All that would be medicine indeed, after the year'sconfinement in the murky city! Ron would lift up his head again, like aplant refreshed with dew; body and mind alike would then expand injubilant freedom. 

Margot crept down the darkened staircase, treading with precaution asshe passed her sister's room. The hall beneath was in utter darkness, for it was against Agnes's economical instincts to leave a light burningafter eleven o'clock, even for the convenience of the master of thehouse. When Mr Vane demurred, she pointed out that it was the easiestthing in the world for him to put a match to the candle which was leftwaiting for his use, and that each electric light cost--she had workedit all out, and mentioned a definite and substantial sum which would bewasted by the end of the year if the light were allowed to burn in hallor staircase while he enjoyed his nightly read and smoke. 

"Would you wish this money to be wasted?" she asked calmly; and thusquestioned, there was no alternative but to reply in the negative. Itwould never do for the head of the house to pose as an advocate ofextravagance; but all the same he was irritated by the necessity, andwith Agnes for enforcing it. 

Margot turned the handle of the door and stood upon the thresholdlooking across the room. 

It was as she had imagined. On the big leather chair beside thetireless grate sat Mr Vane, one hand supporting the pipe at which hewas drearily puffing from time to time, the other hanging limp and idleby his side. Close at hand stood his writing-table, the nearer cornerpiled high with books, papers, and reviews, but to-night they hadremained undisturbed. The inner tragedy of the man's own life hadprecluded interest in outside happenings. He wanted his wife! That wasthe incessant cry of his heart, which, diminished somewhat by thepassage of the years, awoke to fresh intensity at each new crisis oflife! The one love of his youth and his manhood; the dearest, wisest, truest friend that was ever sent by God to be the helpmeet of man--whyhad she been taken from him just when he needed her most, when thechildren were growing up, and her son, the longed-for Benjamin, was athis most susceptible age? It was a mystery which could never be solvedthis side of the grave. As a Christian Mr Vane hung fast to the beliefthat love and wisdom were behind the cloud; but, though his friendscommented on his bravery and composure, no one but himself knew at whata cost his courage was sustained. Every now and then, when the longingwas like an ache in his soul, and when he felt weary and dispirited, andirritated by the self-will of the children who were children no longer, then, alas! he was apt to forget himself, and to utter bitter, hastywords which would have grieved _her_ ears, if she had been near tolisten. After each of these outbreaks he suffered tortures of remorseand loneliness, realising that by his own deed he had alienated hischildren; grieving because they did not, could not understand!

Except, perhaps, Margot! Margot, the third little daughter, whosecoming in the place of the much-desired boy had been a keendisappointment to both parents. The mother had been doubly tender tothe child, as if to compensate for that passing pang; but Mr Vanerecalled with contrition that he himself had remained indifferent andneglectful until two or three years later, when at last Ronald had madehis tardy appearance. Then ensued constant visits to the nursery, toexamine the progress of the son and heir; and after the dailyquestioning and inspection it was impossible to resist bestowing somelittle attention on the bewitching curly-headed, chubby-cheeked littledamsel who clung to his trouser leg, and raised entreating eyes from thealtitude of his knee. Mr Vane felt guiltily conscious of havingneglected this child, and now in the content of gratified ambition heproceeded to make good that neglect by petting her to her heart'sdesire, until as time went on it became an open question whether hisdaily visits were not paid even more to the girl than to the boy. Ronald remained his father's pride, but Margot was his joy, his pet, --inyears to come his comfort and companion. 

There was more of the dead mother in this last daughter than in eitherof the elder sisters; she had her mother's gift of insight andunderstanding. 

This was not the first time of many that she had crept downstairs afterthe household was in bed, to play David to his Saul, and to-night, as heturned his eyes to the doorway and recognised her slight figure, it wasnot surprise which he felt, but rather a shamed and uneasyembarrassment. "Margot! It's very late! Why are you not in bed?"

She shut the door and crossed the room to his side. 

"I wanted to talk to you!"

"To remonstrate, I suppose, for what I said at supper! You and Ron areangry, no doubt, and feel yourselves badly used. You have come to fighthis battles, as usual. "

"No. I don't want to fight at all. Just to talk to you a little while, and say I'm sorry. "

She seated herself on the arm of his chair as she spoke, and leant hershoulder carelessly against his; but he edged away, still sore andsuspicious. 

"Sorry for what?"

"For you! Because _you're_ sorry. Because I knew you'd be sittingalone, doing nothing else but being sorry. So I came down to put myarms round your dear old neck, and kiss your dear old head, and tell youthat I love you. Badly!"

Yes! Margot understood. In just such pretty simple words would his ownMargaret have chased away the black spirit years ago. Mr Vane puffedat his pipe, staring fixedly across the room, to conceal the suddenmoistening of his eyes, but his figure sank back into its old place, nolonger repulsing the caress. 

"It's a hard task for a lonely man to manage a family of children. Hegets all the kicks, and none of the thanks!"

"That's exaggeration, dear--which you are always protesting against inothers. We are tiresome and self-willed, but we know very well how muchwe owe to you, and your care for us. It hurts us as much as it hurtsyou when we disagree; but we've got to live our own lives, father!"

"And you imagine that you know better how to set about it than a man whohas lived more than twice as long, and has had ten times theexperience?"

Margot hesitated. 

"In a way--no; in a way--_yes_! We know ourselves, daddy, as even youcannot do, and it is impossible for one person, however kind and wise hemay be, to lay down the law as to what is to be the object of otherlives. We all have our own ambitions; what could satisfy one, wouldleave another empty and aching. Agnes, for instance, and me! Howdifferent we are! Her idea of happiness would be a house worked bymachinery, where every hour the same things happened at precisely thesame moment, and there were never any cataracts and breaks, and nobodyever came down late to breakfast. _I_ should like to have breakfast inbed, and a new excitement every single day! We are not all cut out ofone pattern, and we are not children any longer, dear. Sometimes youforget that. When _you_ were twenty-three, you were married, and had ahome of your own. "

"Ron is not twenty-one. "

"When you were twenty-one, did you want your own way, or were youwilling for other people to decide for you?"

Mr Vane sighed, and moved his head impatiently. 

"Here we are back again at the same old argument! It's waste of time, Margot. I can't alter my ideas, but I'll try to keep a tighter reinover myself for the next few months. We mustn't have any more sceneslike to-night. "

"No. " Margot spoke as gravely as himself. "We mustn't, daddy, for yoursake as well as ours, and therefore I think it wise to remove the causeof your irritation. You said we might go away to the country together, Ron and I, and we have decided on Scotland--on a glen in Perthshire, sixmiles from the nearest station, where the landlady of a quaint littleinn takes in a few boarders. It will be very primitive, I expect, andwe shall live on cream and porridge and mountain air, and grow brown andbonnie, and study Nature as we have never had a chance of doing before. Six miles from a station, daddy! There's seclusion, if you like!"

Mr Vane knitted his brow, uncertain whether to approve or object. 

"How did you come to hear of this place, if it is so out of the world?"

"Jack heard of some people who like it so much that they have gone backagain and again. " Margot paused for a moment, and then addedresolutely, "They go to fish. Probably they will be there again thissummer. They are two brothers--one of them is quite old. I don't knowanything about the other. Of course, wherever we stay we shall meetother people--but you don't mind that, do you, dear? You can trust usnot to associate with any one who is not what you would approve?"

"Oh yes. I am not afraid of you in that way, and Ron is sensible enoughwhere you are concerned. He'll take care of you. I wouldn't allow youto stay at a big hotel without Agnes or some older woman, but you arewelcome to your little inn, if it takes your fancy. If it rains allday, in Highland fashion, Ronald may discover that there arecompensations even in Regent's Park. How soon are you off?"

"The middle of June, if all's well, and we'll stay on as long as we arehappy and enjoying ourselves. Then there will be your holiday toconsider, dear. I thought it would be such a good idea if you took Jackwith you, while I went to the seaside with Edith and the boys. Jack andyou agree so well, and have so many tastes in common. You would makesplendid _compagnons de voyage_!"

Mr Vane drew back in his chair to stare at her beneath frowning brows. 

"If there is one thing in this world more objectionable than another, it's a managing woman!" he cried emphatically. "Don't you develop intoone, Margot, if you wish to keep any influence over me. I've seendanger signals once or twice lately, and I tell you plainly--I won'tstand it! Be satisfied with what you have gained, and carry Ron away toyour Highland glen, but leave my holiday alone, if you please. I'mquite capable of choosing a companion for myself if I need one. "

"Yes, dear, " said Margot meekly; but her smile showed no sign ofcontrition. She had heard this terrible indictment times withoutnumber, but as yet there had come no waning of her influence. As shefelt her way carefully up the dark staircase a few minutes later, shesmiled to herself with complacent satisfaction; for not only had theScotch trip received the parental sanction, but the first step was takentowards securing a holiday for poor tired Jack. Mr Vane might protest, but the idea once suggested would take root in his mind, and by the timethat it developed into action he would imagine that it was entirely hisown inspiration. What did it matter? For Jack's sake even more thanhis own it was better that he should be so deluded; and Margot washappily above the littleness of desiring to monopolise the credit forher ideas. So long as a point was gained, she was more than content toremain inconspicuously in the background. 

CHAPTER SEVEN. 

PREPARATIONS. 

Every one said that it would rain. It was most depressing. You hadonly to mention that you intended to spend your summer holiday in aHighland glen, to set the torrent of warning in full flow. "It willrain all the time. --It always rains in Scotland... You will besoaked... You will be starved... You will feel as if you have goneback to winter. You will miss all the summer in the South... You willget rheumatism... You will be bored to death. " On and on it went, eachnewcomer adding volume to the chorus, until it became quite difficult toremember that one was starting on a pleasure trip, and not on a perilousArctic exploration. 

"Take plenty of wraps!" urged the wise ones. "Don't imagine that youwill be able to wear pretty white things, as you do at home. Take oldthings that don't matter, for no one will see you, and you will neverwant to wear them again. You will shiver round the fire in theevenings. Be sure to take rugs. You won't have half enough blankets onthe bed. I was in the Highlands for a month two years ago, and we hadone fine day!"

"Well!" queried Margot of this last Job's comforter, "and what was_that_ like? Were you glad that you were there for that one day atleast?"

The speaker paused, and over her face there passed a wave ofilluminating recollection. She was a prosaic, middle-aged woman, butfor the moment she looked young, --young and ardent. 

"Ah!" she sighed. "That day! It was wonderful; I shall never forgetit. We went to bed cold and tired, looking forward to another dark, depressing morning, and woke in a dazzle of sunlight, to see themountains outlined against a blue sky. We ran out into the road, andheld out our hands to the sun, and the wind blew towards us, the soft, wet, heathery wind, and it tasted like--_nectar_! We could not goindoors. We walked about all day, and laughed, and sang. We walkedmiles. It seemed as if we could not tire. I--I think we were `fey. '"She paused again, and the light flickered out, leaving her cold andprosaic once more. "The rest of the time was most unfortunate. Icontracted a severe chill, and my sister-in-law had rheumatism in herankles. Now, my dear, be sure to take good strong boots--"

Margot and Ronald listened politely to all the good advice which waslavished upon them, but, after the manner of youth, felt convinced thatin their case precautions were needless. It was going to be fine. Ifit had been wet in previous years, all the more reason why this comingsummer should be warm and dry. The sun was going to shine; the cloudswere going to roll away; Mr Elgood was going to fall in love with Ronat first sight, and prove himself all that was wise, and kind, andhelpful. Delightful optimism of youth, which is worth more than all thewisdom of maturer years!

Margot set about her preparations unhampered by the financial troubleswhich befall less fortunate girls. Her father was lavishly generous tohis favourite daughter, supplementing her dress allowance by constantgifts. It was one of his greatest pleasures in life to see his prettyMargot prettily attired, a pleasure in which the young lady herselffully concurred. She had too much good taste to transport all thefrills and fripperies of London to a Highland glen; but, on the otherhand, she set her face firmly against the mustard-coloured tweedsaffected by so many women for country wear, choosing instead a soft dullblue, a hundred times more becoming. For headgear there was a littlecap of the same material, with a quill feather stuck jauntily through afold at the side, while neat, strong little boots and a pair of doeskingloves gave a delightfully business-like air to the costume. In therug-strap was a capacious golf cloak, displaying a bright plaid lining. This was waiting in readiness for the six-mile drive at the end of thejourney, and inside the large dress-box was a selection of well-chosengarments--a white serge coat and skirt for bright weather; cottons andlawns for the warm days that must surely come; a velveteen dress forchilly evenings, blouses galore, and even a fur-lined cloak. Margotfelt a thrill of wondering satisfaction in her own prudence, as shepacked this latter garment, on a hot June day, with the scent of rosesfilling the room from the vase on the toilet table. 

She packed sketching materials also, plenty of fancy-work destined toprovide presents for the coming Christmas, a selection of sixpennynovels, and one or two pet classics from her own library, whichtravelled about with her wherever she went. 

Ronald's preparations were more easy, for surely no stock-in-trade is sosimple as that of an author! His favourite stylographic pen, hisfavourite note-book, and that was an end of it so far as work wasconcerned. He took his half-plate camera with him, however; and the twohandsome free-wheel bicycles were carefully swathed for the journey. 

"I can't understand why you couldn't be content to go to some nicesouth-country place, instead of travelling to the other end of thecountry in this dusty weather, " Agnes opined, as she assiduously fixedthe label to every separate piece of the luggage which was piledtogether in the hall. "It's so foolish to waste time and money whenthere are nice places at hand. Now, there's Cromer--"

"You don't get heather-clad mountains at Cromer, Agnes, and we shan'thave promenades at Glenaire, nor bands, nor crowds of fashionable peoplequizzing each other all day long. We prefer the real, true, genuinecountry. "

"Oh, well, you'll be tired of it soon enough! Margot will hate it. Weshall have you hurrying back at the end of a fortnight, bored to death. I don't think that lock of yours is quite safe, Margot. I shouldn'twonder if you found some things missing when you arrive. The guardshave a splendid chance on these all-night journeys, " prophesied Agnescheerfully. She stared in surprise when Margot burst into a peal oflaughter, and repeated, "Poor old Agnes!" as if she, secure andcomfortable at home, were the one to be pitied, instead of the carelesstravellers into the unknown!

The sisters kissed each other in perfunctory manner, Ron shook hands, and nodded vaguely in response to half a dozen injunctions andreminders; then the travellers took their places in the cab, bendingforward to wave their adieux, looking extraordinarily alike the while--young and eager and handsome, with the light of the summer sun reflectedin their happy eyes. 

Agnes felt a little chill as she shut the door and walked back into thequiet house. All the morning she had looked forward to the hours ofpeace and quietness which would follow the departure of the two childrenof the household; but now that the time had arrived she was conscious ofan unwonted feeling of depression. The sound of that last pitying, "Poor old Agnes!" rang in her ears. Why "poor"? Why should Margotspeak of her as some one to be pitied? As her father's eldest unmarrieddaughter and the mistress of the house, she was surely a person to beapproved and envied. And yet, recalling those two vivid, radiant faces, Agnes dimly felt that there was something in life which Margot and Ronhad found, and she herself had missed. 

"I don't understand!" she repeated to herself with wrinkled brows. Avague depression hung over her spirits; she thought uneasily of heryears, and wondered if she were growing old, unconscious of the factthat she had never yet succeeded in being young. 

CHAPTER EIGHT. 

GLENAIRE. 

Margot and Ronald slept through their long journey with the fortitude ofyouth, enjoyed a delicious breakfast at Perth, took train again for acouple of hours, and finally set out on the last and most enjoyablestage of their journey--the six-mile drive to the head of Glenaire. 

The first portion of the road gave little promise of beauty, but withevery mile that was traversed the scenery began to assume a wilder and asterner aspect. The mountains were high and bare, with few trees upontheir banks, except here and there a patch of dark green firs. When thesun retired behind a cloud they looked somewhat grim and forbidding, butas it emerged from the shelter they became in a moment a soft, bloomingpurple; a wonder of beauty against the high, blue sky. In the valleywere rolling plains of meadowland, of richest, most verdant green, withhere and there a blaze of golden gorse or of thickly-growing rushes, tomark the presence of hidden water. 

At long intervals was seen a little white cottage, set back from theroad, where some lonely shepherd tended his sheep; and, at the sound ofwheels, little linty-headed children would rush out to the gate, andstand gazing at the strangers with big round eyes, which looked lightagainst the tan of their faces. 

What a life for young and old to live all the year round, looking out onthe grim bare hills; alone with God and Nature, and the dumb, patientanimals! Day after day alone, in a little niche between grey rocks;alone in the summer-time, when the winds blew soft, and the buttercupsmade splashes of gold across the green; alone in the winter, when themountains seemed to shut out the light, and the snow lay deep on theground. 

Margot looked with a shudder at the tall poles set here and there alongthe road. She had inquired as to their purpose, and had been informedthat they were so placed to act as landmarks; for when the drifts laydeep, the ends of the poles served to point out the direction of theroad, whereas without their aid the traveller would of a certainty belost on the moors. Poor little linty-locked ones, imprisoned in thetiny cot in those bitter days!

Margot's thoughts flew homeward, to the well-kept roads near her ownhome; to the grumbling and indignation of the family, if perchance arecent fall of snow had not been swept away as speedily as might be:"The road was thick with mud. Impossible to cross without splashingone's shoes. The snow was left to melt on the pavement--disgraceful!"The Southerner railed at the discomfort of a greasy roadway; theNortherner was thankful to escape death by the aid of a warning pole!

Suddenly and unexpectedly the road took a quick swerve to the right, andlo, a narrow glen leading apparently into the very heart of themountains. 

Glenaire village at last! A little group of cottages, two whitewashedkirks, a schoolhouse, a post office, a crowded emporium where everythingwas to be purchased, from a bale of wincey to a red herring or a coil ofrope; a baker's shop, sending forth a warm and appetising odour; asmithy, through the open door of which came out a glare of heat, astonishingly welcome after the long, chill drive; bare-footed childrenplaying at tares by the wayside; an old man in a plaid, smoking a pipeand turning on the new arrivals a kindly, weather-beaten face, --thesewere the impressions left on Margot's mind as the horses put on an extraspurt, knowing full well that rest and food were near at hand. 

After the little group of houses there came another stretch of road forperhaps three-quarters of a mile; a road which wound along betweenmoorland on the right, and on the left a straggling tarn, thicklysurrounded by rushes. The cone-shaped mountain at the head of the glentowered ever nearer and nearer, until it seemed as if it must beimpossible to drive a hundred yards farther. Seen in the broad light ofa summer afternoon it was wonderfully beautiful; but it was a wild andlonesome spot, and, given cloud or rain, its very grandeur and isolationwould increase the sense of gloom. 

Margot had time to shiver at an imaginary picture before an exclamationfrom Ron attracted her attention. There it stood! the little white inn, nestled beneath the shelter of a rock, so near to the head of the glenthat the road came to an abrupt ending but a few yards farther on. Adoor in the middle; two small-paned windows on either side; a row offive windows overhead; to the right a garden stocked with vegetables anda tangle of bright-coloured flowers; to the left the stable-yard. Thiswas the Nag's Head, and in the doorway stood the redoubtable Mrs McNabherself, staring with steely eyes at the daring feminine intruder. 

The one overpowering impression made by Mrs McNab was cleanliness! Shewas so obtrusively, aggressively, immaculately clean, that the like ofher had never before dazzled the eyes of the benighted Southernvisitors. Her lilac print gown was glossy from the press of the iron;the hands folded across the snowy apron were puffed and lined fromrecent parboiling; her face shone like a mirror from a generous use ofgood yellow soap. White stockings showed above her black felt slippers;her hair--red streaked with grey--was plastered down on each side of herhead, and, for greater security, tied with a broad black ribbon. Astiff white collar was fastened by a slab of pebble rimmed in silver, which proudly imagined itself to be an ornamental brooch. There was nota single feminine curve in her body; stiff and square she stood, like asentinel on guard, her lips pressed into a thin line; in her eyes asmouldering flame. 

Margot took her in, with one swift comprehensive glance, as the driverreined up his tired horses before the door. A temper; a quick temper, atemper easily provoked, but a kindly woman nevertheless. No countrybumpkin, but a shrewd, capable business woman, with two light blue eyesfixed stolidly on the main chance; a woman, moreover, blessed with asense of humour; else why those deep lines stretching from nose to chin;that radiating nest of wrinkles round the eyes?

Margot's courage revived at the sight. She sprang down lightly from herperch and advanced towards the house, smiling in her most fascinatingmanner. 

"How do you do, Mrs McNab? We have arrived, you see. So glad to behere at last!"

The mistress of the inn stared into her face, stolidly unmoved. 

"It was two brithers I was expecting. I'm no caring for leddies!"

"You like gentlemen better? Oh, so do I--_Much_!" cried Margot with agush. "But they need us to look after them, don't they? My brother isnot at all strong. The drive has been delightful, but rather cold, allthe same. I am afraid he may be chilled. " She stretched out a littleungloved hand, and laid it lightly on the hard red fist. "Feel! We_should_ love some tea!"

Mrs McNab looked down at the delicate little hand, up into the pleadingeyes, and over her set square face there passed a contortion, --there isreally no other word to describe it, --a contortion of unwillingamusement. The chin dropped, the lips twitched, the red lines which didduty for eyebrows wrinkled towards the nose. Similarly affected, anIrishwoman would have invoked all the saints in her calendar, and rainedwelcomes and blessings in a breath; an Englishwoman would have smiled agracious welcome; but Mrs McNab drew away from the beguiling touch, turned a broad back on her guests, and with a curt "Come yer ways!" ledthe way into the house. 

Behind her back Margot beamed and grimaced triumphantly to herconfederate. Victory was in the air! Mrs McNab could not refuse togrant a night's shelter to a tired and chilly traveller, and by to-morrow--Margot smiled to herself, recalling the contortion of the dourScotch face, --by to-morrow she was complacently satisfied that MrsMcNab would no longer wish to be rid of her unexpected guest!

CHAPTER NINE. 

THE BROTHERS ELGOOD. 

Inside the inn a mingling of odours greeted the nostrils. Furniturepolish, soft soap, various whiffs from the bar, which by good fortuneopened into the stable-yard, and was distinct from the house itself; asweet, heavy odour of milk from the dairy; a smell of musk from theplants ranged along the window-sills. In the dining-room the tableclothwas laid, with a large home-cured ham in the place of honour. The floorwas covered with oilcloth; the furniture was covered with horsehair. Onthe mantelpiece stood two large specimens of granite, and a last year'salmanac. Red rep curtains were draped across the window, so as toconceal all the view except a glimpse of the road. The walls were hungwith a fearsome paper, in which bouquets of deep blue flowers weregrouped on a background of lozenges of an orange hue. Over themantelpiece hung a coloured print of Queen Victoria; over the sideboarda print entitled "Deerstalking, " representing two Highlanders in plaidsand bonnets standing over the prostrate form of a "monarch of thewaste. " In the corner by the window were massed together quite animposing collection of "burial cards, " memorialising McNab connectionsdead and gone, all framed to match in black bands with silver beadings. 

Anything less homelike and inviting can hardly be imagined to welcometired travellers at the end of a long and chilly journey. Margotshivered as she crossed the portals, and rubbed her hands together indisconsolate fashion, even her cheery optimism failing at the sight. 

"It's so--_slippery_!" was the mental comment. "What an appalling roomto sit in! What must it be like in bad weather! And no fire! We'd dieof cold if we sat here all the evening. If the worst comes to theworst, I'll hug my hot bottle. What a mercy I remembered to bring it!"

Mrs McNab was speaking in hard, aloof accents, after the manner of onewho, having been interrupted in her work by unwelcome intruders, isstill determined to perform her duty toward them, as a matter ofdistasteful necessity. Shades of the obsequious landladies of theSouth! The tired guests quailed before the severity of this Northernwelcome. 

"If it's tea you're wanting, the kettle's on the hob. It will bewaiting for you before ye're ready for it. Ye'll be wanting a wash, I'mthinking. "

It was a statement, not a question, and, in response to it, brother andsister meekly ascended the staircase to the rooms allotted to their usein the front of the house--two whitewashed cribs, provided with nothingwhich was not absolutely necessary; a small, white-covered bed; a woodenchest of drawers, made to do duty for a dressing-table also, by thepresence of a small mirror set fair and square in the middle of acoarse-grained mat; a few pegs on the wall, a deal washstand, and acouple of chairs--that was all; but everything was exquisitely clean andorderly, and what did one want with luxurious upholstery when a peepthrough the open windows revealed a view which sent the blood racingthrough the veins in very ecstasy of delight? Purple mountains and ablue sky; golden yellow of gorse--a silver sheet of water, reflectingthe dark fringe of the pines--it was wonderfully, incredibly beautifulin the clear afternoon light. 

Margot thrust her head out of the window, forgetful of cold and fatigue. What joy to think of waking up every morning for a month to a scenelike this! Thirty mornings, and on every one of them the sun wouldshine, and the air blow clear and sweet. She would put on her thick, nailed boots, and clamber up the glen, to see what lay at the other sideof the pass; she would take her sketching materials, and sit on thatsunny knoll, trying to make some sort of a picture to send home to thepoor father in his smoky prison-house. On hot days she would wade inthe cool grey tarn... 

The little maid was knocking at the door, and announcing that tea wasready, while Margot was still weaving her rose-coloured dreams. It wasa cold douche in more ways than one, to return to the depressingatmosphere of the dining-room, but the meal itself was tempting andplentiful. Scones and toast, eggs and strawberry-jam, besides the solidflank of ham, and, better than all, plenty of delicious cream and freshbutter. 

Margot poured out tea for herself and Ron, and, taking the hot-water-jugon her knee, warmed her numbed hands on it as she ate. For the firstfive or ten minutes no time was wasted in talking; then, the first pangsof hunger being appeased, the two young people began to compareimpressions. 

"Do you suppose this is the only sitting-room? Do you suppose we shallhave to sit here in the evenings and when it rains? Fancy a long wetday, Ron, shining on horsehair chairs, with your feet on an oil-clothedfloor, gazing at funeral cards! I should go to bed!"

"It wouldn't be a bad idea. Rest cure, you know! If we are veryenergetic in fine weather, we may be glad of a rest; but there _is_another room. I caught sight of a sanctuary filled with woollen matsand wax flowers, with a real live piano in the corner. `The bestparlour, ' I should say, and the pride of Mrs McNab's heart. I don'tknow if she will allow you to enter. "

"She will; but she won't have a fire. It has been spring-cleaned, andhas a waterfall of green paper in the grate--I can see it all!" Margotdeclared, with a shudder. She hugged the hot-water-jug still closer, and shivered expressively. "I shall be obliged to raid the kitchen--there's nothing else for it!"

"You daren't!"

Margot laughed derisively, but her answer was checked by the suddenappearance of a man's figure pacing slowly past the window. Brother andsister sprang from their chairs, with a simultaneous impulse, rushedacross the room, and crouched behind the moreen curtains. "Is it?" theyqueried breathlessly of each other--"Mr Elgood? Can it be?"

If it were Mr Elgood, he was certainly not imposing, so far as lookswere concerned. A dumpy little man, of forty years or more, dressed ina baggy suit of grey tweed, with carpet slippers on his dumpy littlefeet. He had evidently started out of the inn to enjoy a smoke in theopen air, sublimely unconscious of the scrutiny that was levelled uponhim the while. His uncovered head showed a large bald patch, his facewas round and of a cherubic serenity. 

"I could twist him round like a teetotum!" whispered Margot, holding upa pert first finger and peering complacently. 

"He looks terribly commonplace!" sighed Ronald disconsolately. "Not inthe least the sort of man I expected. "

Together they peered and peeped, ducking behind the curtains as thestranger approached, and gazing out again the moment his back wasturned. Every now and then he halted in his promenade, stuck his handsinside his baggy pockets, and tilted slowly to and fro on the points ofhis carpeted toes. Anon he took his pipe from his mouth, and blew outbig whiffs of smoke, glancing around the while with an expression ofbeatific contentment. The whole appearance of the man was an embodimentof the holiday spirit, the unrestrained enjoyment of one who has escapedfrom work, and sees before him a pageant of golden idle hours. Margotand Ronald smiled in sympathy even as they looked. He was a plainlittle man, a fat little man, a middle-aged little man, but theyrecognised in him the spirit of abiding youth, and recognising, felttheir hearts warm towards him. 

"He is nice, Ron, after all! I like him!"

"So do I. A capital chap. But he can't possibly be Elgood of the_Loadstar_. "

Even as he spoke the last word the door was thrown suddenly open, andMrs McNab entered, carrying a plate of hot scones. She stopped shortto stare in surprise, while the two new arrivals hurried back to thetable, obviously discomposed at being discovered playing the part ofPeeping Tom. 

Seated once more before the tea-tray, Margot made an effort atcomposure; decided that honesty was the best policy, and said in hermost charming manner--

"We were looking at the gentleman who is walking up and down! Anotherof your guests, I suppose? It is interesting to see people who arestaying in the same house. "

Mrs McNab planted the scones in the centre of the table, and gatheredtogether the soiled plates with a wooden stolidity. To all appearancesshe might not have heard a word that had been said. Margot seized thehot-water-jug, and shivered ostentatiously, trusting to pity to prevailwhere guile had failed; and sure enough the pale blue eye turned on herlike a flash of steel. 

"What's ailing ye with the water-jug?"

"I'm ailing myself!" returned Margot meekly. "So cold! I can't getwarm. Tired out after the long journey. "

She tried her best to look delicate and fragile, but the healthy bloomon her cheeks contradicted her words, and the landlady's reply showed nosoftening of heart. 

"Cramped, more like! Better go ye're ways for a guid sharp trot, tobring the blood back to your veins. Ye'll be in time for theafternoon's post; but unless ye're expecting news of your own, ye neednafash for the rest. Mr Elgood's gane to fetch them. "

"Mr Elgood?" Information had come at last, and in the most unexpectedfashion. "The gentleman we have been watching?"

The thin lips lifted with a suspicion of scorn. 

"Oh, him! That's just the brither. The real Mr Elgood's away till thevillage. You passed it on the road. "

She disappeared into the "lobby, " and brother and sister nodded at eachother solemnly, the while they munched the hot buttered scones. 

"We'll go! As soon as we have finished. I long to see what he is like. I'm glad it is not--" Margot nodded towards the window, and Ronassented with a lofty superiority--

"Yes--he is not the type! A good sort, no doubt, but hardly anintellectual leader. One could not imagine him writing those grandarticles. "

"He may be useful, though, for he looks a friendly little soul, and ifwe get intimate with him we must know his brother, too... These sconesare the most delectable things! Do you think She will be shocked if weeat them all? I feel a conviction that I shall get into the way ofcalling her `She'--with a capital S. `She who must be obeyed!' Ithought She would be softened by the sight of me hugging the jug, andoffer to light a fire at once; but not a bit of it! Her cure was muchmore drastic. I'll accept it this time, as it suits my purpose, butwhen to-morrow comes, --we'll see!"

Margot nodded her head meaningly, pushed her chair back from the table, and picked up the golf cape which lay over the back of a chair. "Afterall, I believe `She' is right! It will do us good to have a scamper, and the unpacking can wait until the light goes. " She peered discreetlythrough the window, and held up a detaining hand. "Wait a moment untilthe `Brither' has turned back towards the village. Then we'll sally outof the door and meet him face to face. "

Ron picked up his grey cap, --a coat he disdained, though he also was farfrom warm, --and followed his sister into the bare entrance-hall, withits pungent mingling of odours. From the back of the house could beheard the jangling of milk-pails, and a feminine voice raised in shrillinvective; but no one was in sight, and the conspirators emerged unseenfrom the door of the inn, and turned to the left, endeavouring somewhatunsuccessfully to appear unconscious of the approaching figure. 

"Good afternoon! Good afternoon!" cried the stranger, in a full genialvoice. 

"Good afternoon!" cried the confederates, in eager response; then theypassed by, and were conscious, by the cessation of the crunchingfootsteps, that the "Brither" had halted to look after them as theywent. 

"He likes our looks! He is going to be friendly... I don't wonder!"soliloquised Margot, looking with fond eyes at the tall figure of theyouth by her side; at the clean-cut, sensitive face beneath thedeerstalker cap. 

"He was pleased to see us. All men admire Margot, " said Ron to himself, noting with an artist's appreciation the picture made by the gracefulfigure of the girl, with her vivid, healthful colouring, the little capset jauntily on her chestnut locks, the breeze showing glimpses of thebright tartan lining of her cloak. 

Starting under such promising auspices, brother and sister merrilycontinued their way along the winding road which skirted the border ofthe tarn. Fresh from London smoke and grime, the clear mountain airtasted almost incredibly pure and fresh. One wanted to open the mouthwide and drink it in in deep gulps; to send it down to the poor cloggedlungs, --most marvellous and reviving of tonics!

"It makes me feel--_clean_!" gasped Margot, at the end of a deeprespiration, and Ron's eyes lighted with the inward glow which showedthat imagination was perfecting the idea. 

Margot loved to watch the lad at moments like these, when he strodealong, forgetful of her presence, oblivious of everything but his ownthoughts; his face set, save for those glowing eyes, and now and then aninvoluntary twitch of the lips. In her own poor way she could grasp thetrend of his mind, could toil after him as he flew. 

That word "clean" had suggested wonderful thoughts. God's wind, blowingfresh over the ageless hills, untainted by the soil of the city; thewind of the moorland and the heights! Must not a man's soul perforce beclean who lived alone in the solitude with God? Dare he remain alone inthat awful companionship with a taint upon his life?... 

Ronald dreamt, and Margot pondered, making no excuses for the silencewhich is a sign of truest understanding, until the scattered villagecame in sight, and curiosity awakened once more. 

"Why did they have two churches, I wonder? There can't be enough peopleto fill even one, and every one is Presbyterian in the Highlands. Whydon't they all meet together?" cried Margot, in her ignorance. 

At the door of the outlying cottages the fair-haired matrons stood tostare at the new arrivals. They all seemed fresh and rosy, and of anexquisite cleanliness; they each bore a linty-haired infant in theirarms, or held by the hand a toddling mite of two or three summers; butthey made no sign of welcome, and, when Margot smiled and nodded in herfriendly fashion, either retreated hastily into the shadow, or respondedin a manner painfully suggestive of Mrs McNab's contortion. Then camethe scattered shops; the baker's, the draper's, (fancy being condemnedto purchase your whole wardrobe in that dreary little cell!) the grocerand general emporium in the middle of the row; last of all, the postoffice and stationer's shop combined. 

Brother and sister cast a swift glance down the road, but there was nomale figure in sight which could by any possibility belong to a visitorfrom the South. 

"You go in, and I'll mount guard at the door. Buy some postcards tosend home!" suggested Ron; and, nothing loath, Margot entered the littleshop, glancing round with a curious air. There was no other customerbut herself; but a queer little figure of a man stood behind thecounter, sorting packets of stationery. He turned his head at herapproach, and displayed a face thickly powdered with freckles ofextraordinary size and darkness. Margot was irresistibly reminded of anadvertisement of "The Spotted Man, " which she had once seen in atravelling circus, and had some ado to restrain a start of surprise. The eyes looking out between the hairless lids, looked like nothing somuch as a pair of larger and more animated freckles, and the hair was ofthe same washed--out brown. Whether the curious-looking specimen wasfourteen or forty was at first sight a problem to decide, but a closerinspection proved the latter age to be the more likely, and when Margotsmiled and wished him a cheery good afternoon, he responded with unusualcordiality for an inhabitant of the glen. 

"Good efternoun to ye, mem! What may ye be seeking, the day?"

Margot took refuge in the picture postcards, which afforded a goodexcuse for deliberation. The great object was to dally in the postoffice as long as possible, in the hope of meeting the real Mr Elgood;and to this end she turned over several packets of views, making thewhile many inquiries; and the spotted man was delighted to expatiate onthe beauties of his native land, the more so, as, presumably, it was notoften that so lavish a purchaser came his way. 

They were in the middle of the fourth packet of views, and the selectedpile of cards had reached quite a formidable height, when a familiarwhistle from the doorway started Margot into vivid attention, and aminute later a tall dark man stepped hastily into the shop. 

What a marvellous thing is family likeness! In height, in complexion, and feature alike this man appeared diametrically the opposite of thestout little person encountered outside the inn; yet in his thin, cadaverous face there was an intangible something which marked him outas a child of the same parents. The brother on whom Margot was nowgazing was considerably the younger of the two, and might have beenhandsome, given a trifle more flesh and animation. As it was, he lookedgaunt and livid, and his shoulders were rounded, as with much stoopingover a scholar's desk. 

"A fine big bundle for ye the day, Mister Elgood! I'm thinking thewhole of London is coming down upon ye, " the postmaster declaredaffably, as he handed over a formidable packet of letters. Envelopeswhite and envelopes blue, long manuscript envelopes, which Margotrecognised with a reminiscent pang; rolled-up bundles of papers. Thestranger took them over with a thin hand, thrust them into the pocketsof his coat, with a muttered word of acknowledgment, and turned back tothe door. 

Now for the first time Margot stood directly in his path, and waitedwith a thrill of curiosity and excitement to see whether he would echohis brother's welcome. In this Highland glen the ordinary forms andceremonies of society were hopelessly out of place, and it seemed as ifperforce there must be an atmosphere of _camaraderie_ between the fewvisitors whom Fate had thrown together in the spirit of holiday-making. 

Margot's prettiest smile and bow were in waiting to greet the faintestflicker of animation on the grave, dark face, but it did not come. MrElgood's deep-set eyes stared at her with an unseeing gaze--stared as itwere straight through her, without being conscious of her presence. Shemight have been a chair, a table, a post of wood by the wayside, for allthe notice bestowed upon her by the man whose favour she had travelledsome hundreds of miles to obtain. 

Another moment and he had left the shop, leaving Margot to draw out herpurse and pay for her purchases in a tingling of pique anddisappointment. 

"That gentleman will be staying up at the Nag's Head with yourself, "vouchsafed the spotted postmaster affably. "A fine gentleman--a ferryfine gentleman! They say he will be a ferry great man up in London. Isuppose you will be hearing of his name?"

Margot's response was somewhat depressed in tone. 

"Yes. She had heard of Mr Elgood... She would take four, not five, postcards of the Nag's Head. No; there was nothing else she wasneeding. The two penny packets of notepaper were certainly very cheap, the coloured tints and scalloped borders quite wonderful to behold; butshe did not require any to-day, thank you. Perhaps another time. Goodmorning!"

Outside in the road Ronald was pacing up and down, twirling his stick, and looking bright and animated. He came hurrying back to meet Margot, hardly waiting to reach her side before breaking into speech. 

"Well--well! You saw him? Did you notice the shape of his head? Youcan see it all in his face--the force and the insight, the imagination. The face of a scholar, and the body of a sportsman, A magnificentcombination! Did you notice his walk?"

"Oh, I noticed him well enough. I noticed all there was to see. I haveno complaints to make about his appearance. "

"What have you to complain of then? What has gone wrong?"

"He never noticed me!"

Ron laughed; a loud boyish laugh of amusement!

"Poor old Margot! That was it, was it? An unforgivable offence. Helives up in the clouds, my dear; compared with him, you and I aremiserable little earth-worms crawling about the ground. It will takesome time before he is even aware of our presence. We will have to makefriends with the brother, and trust by degrees to make him conscious ofour existence. It's worth waiting for!"

Ronald was plainly afire with enthusiastic admiration of his hero; butfor once Margot refused to be infected. 

"I'm not a worm!" she murmured resentfully. "Worm, indeed! I'm everybit as good as he!"

For twenty yards she walked on in silence, tilting her chin in petulantscorn. Then--

"Do you remember the old story of Johnny-head-in-air, Ron?" she askedmischievously. "He had a fall. A fall and a dousing! If he isn't verycareful, the same sad fate may await your wonderful Mr Elgood!"

CHAPTER TEN. 

AN EXCELLENT BEGINNING. 

Dinner was served at seven o'clock at the Nag's Head, and was asubstantial meal, consisting of spiced salt beef, gooseberry pie, andcheese. Mrs McNab carved the joint at the sideboard, and directed themovements of the maid by a series of glares which appeared to be fraughtwith wondrous significance. 

"Brither Elgood" took the head of the table, and beamed upon hiscompanions with cherubic good-nature, while his brother sat on his left, immersed in thought and his dinner. An elderly man with a strongGlasgow accent came next, accompanied by a homely, kindly-looking wife. (Margot sighed with relief to find that after all she was not the onlylady of the company). Across from them sat a bowed old man, wearing aclerical collar with his tweed coat, and a thin, weedy-looking youth, evidently his son. An eminently staid and respectable company, buthardly of thrilling interest!

Ronald's handsome, clear-cut face stood out like a cameo among them, while Margot's fluffy net blouse looked a garment of superfinesmartness. There was no opportunity of talking to either of thebrothers Elgood, separated as they were by the length of the table. Theclergyman, Mr Moffat, remarked that it had been a fine day, an ex-ceptionally fine day! Mrs Macalister, the Glasgow lady, handed themustard with the suggestion that it was always an improvement to aboiled round; but with these thrilling exceptions the newcomers wereleft to their own devices. Conversation even among the older residentswas spasmodic and intermittent, and in no sense could the meal be termedsociable or cheerful. 

As soon as it was over "the real Mr Elgood" darted upstairs to his ownroom, the remaining gentlemen strolled out of doors to smoke theirpipes, and Mrs Macalister escorted Margot to the best parlour acrossthe landing. 

It was a chill, yet fusty little apartment, the shrine of theaccumulated treasures of Mrs McNab's lifetime. Time was when she hadbeen cook to a family in Edinburgh, before McNab won her reluctantconsent to matrimony. Photographs of different members of "The Family"were displayed in plush frames on the mantelpiece, table, and piano-top. Mr Moncrieff in Sheriff's attire, "The Mistress" in black satin;Master Percy in cap and gown, Miss Isabel reclining in a hammock, MasterBunting and Miss Poppet in various stages of development. There wasalso a framed picture of "The House"; a tambourine painted with purpleiris by Miss Isabel's own hands; an old bannerette in cross-stitchpendent from the mantelpiece, a collection of paper mats, shaded fromorange to white, the glass-covered vase of wax flowers which hadattracted Ron's notice, one or two cheap china vases, a pot of muskplaced diametrically in the centre of a wicker table, a sofa, and two"occasional chairs" gorgeously upholstered in red satin and green plush. 

Mrs Macalister seated herself in the larger of the chairs, Margot tookpossession of the smaller, and heroically stifled a yawn. Anotherevening she would wrap herself in her golf cape and go out into theclear cool evening air; but now at last fatigue overpowered her; fatigueand a little chill of disappointment and doubt. How would it bepossible to become intimate with a man who sat at the opposite end ofthe table, shut himself in his own room, and was apparently oblivious ofhis surroundings? With characteristic recklessness Margot had put onher very prettiest blouse, hoping to make a good impression on thisfirst evening, but for all the attention it had received it might aswell have been black delaine! She sighed and yawned again, whereuponMrs Macalister manifested a kindly concern. 

"You're tired out, poor lassie! Ye've had a weary journey of it. FromLondon, I believe? I have a daughter married in Notting Hill. Willthat be anywhere near where you stay? I'm hoping she'll be up to visitus in the New Year, and bring the baby with her. I have five children. The eldest girl is settled in Glasgow. I say, that's something to bethankful for, to have a married daughter near by. There was a younglawyer paying her attention who's away to the Cape. If it had been him, I'd have broken my heart! It's bad enough to have Lizzie in London, where, if the worst comes to the worst, ye can get to her for thirty-three shillings, but I couldn't bear one of my girls to go abroad... "

"But the men have to go--it's their duty to the Empire; and somebodymust marry the poor things, " Margot declared, still stifling yawns, butroused to a sleepy interest in Lizzie and her sisters. She foresaw thatMrs Macalister would need but the slightest encouragement to divulgeher entire family history, and wondered whether time would prove her tobe more of a solace or a bore. As a rule, she herself preferred tomonopolise the larger share of a conversation, but to-night she was tootired to do more than offer the necessary remarks by the way. 

"Oh ay, that's right enough. I don't object to their marrying, so longas it isn't one of my girls. I sent Isabel off on a visit to a schoolfriend when young Bailey began to grow particular. A mother can managethese things, if she's any gumption, without letting the young peoplesuspect that there is any interference. They like their own way, youngpeople do, and Isabel is obstinate, like her father. Mr Macalister canbe led, but he'll never be driven. Ye have to ca' canny to get thebetter of him. "

Margot murmured a few words of polite but somewhat vague import, beingrather puzzled to decide in what light she was expected to view MrMacalister's characteristics. It occurred to her that as the good ladywas determined to talk, the conversation might be carefully directedinto more interesting channels, and valuable information gleanedconcerning the other guests of the house. 

"Have you been staying here long? Are you going to make a long visit?"she inquired; whereupon her companion began again with increased vigour. 

"We've been a matter of a week, and as for the future, it just depends!Mr Macalister's been failing for the past year. He's just unduly seton his business, and his nerves, " (she pronounced it "nearves") "are ina terrible condition. The doctor warned him he would have a collapse ifhe didn't get a rest at once. `Take him away where he can't get lettersand telegrams every hour of the day, ' he told me. `Take him to thequietest place you can find, and keep him there as long as ye can!' Sohere we are; but how long he'll put up with it, is past my knowledge. He begins to weary already, and of course no man will ever believe thatany one else will take his place. They're conceited creatures, my dear. Mr Macalister--"

"It is nice for him having so many companions. I suppose you know theother visitors quite well?" Margot felt that for one evening she hadheard as much as she cared for about Mr Macalister, and headed thesubject in the desired direction with unflinching determination. "TheMr Elgood who took the head of the table seems very agreeable. "

"Oh ay, he's a friendly wee body!" Mrs Macalister allowed, patronisingly. "There's no harm in him, nor in his brother neither, though he keeps himself to himself, and is always busy with his fishing, or writing, or what not. My husband went fishing with him one day, butthey didn't seem to hit it exactly. Mr Macalister is very genial-likewhen he's in health, and he can't do with any one who's stand-off. Healways says--"

"But Mrs McNab seems to prefer the younger brother. He must be nice, or she would not like him so much, " interrupted Margot once more; andMrs Macalister smiled with unruffled good-humour. 

"Oh ay, they're just two dour, silent bodies who understand each otherand each other's ways. He goes and has a crack with her now and then, and I've even heard them laugh, "--her voice took an awed and increduloustone--"but at the table he never raises his voice. Mr Macalister sayshe is very close. He couldn't get anything out of him at all, and allhis friends say Mr Macalister ought to have been a lawyer, for he'sjust wonderful for getting to the bottom of things. Of course when aman's run down, he isna at his best. Ye can't judge him, as I say, asyou can when he's in his usual--"

Margot groaned in spirit! To keep Mr Macalister out of theconversation was evidently a hopeless feat. She saw before her a longsuccession of interviews when she would sit caged up in this littleroom, listening to the expressions of his virtues and failings! To-night she felt a moral conviction that she would soon fall asleep underthe strain, and making an excuse of writing home, escaped to her ownroom, scribbled a few words on the back of a postcard, wrapped herselfin her golf cape, and went out into the road in search of Ron. 

It was still broad daylight, but now the sky was grey and colourless, and the mountains had ceased to smile. Like grim watching sentinelsthey stood on either side, closing in the Glen in a solitude that wasalmost awesome to behold. It seemed impossible to believe that twenty-four hours earlier one had been in the great city, and had consideredRegent's Park countrified! Margot hurried forward to meet Ron, who wasstrolling along by himself, the other men of the party being out ofsight. He looked at her with some anxiety, as she approached, and askedan eager question--

"What's the matter? Aren't you well? I thought you were not comingout. You look quite white!"

"I'm cold and tired, and--scarey! The beauty seems to have disappeared, and it's all so grim and grey. I made an excuse and came out to youwith a card to post--but we needn't take it to-night, it's too far tothe village. "

"Nonsense! the walk is just what you need. You are tired with sittingstill, and a sharp trot will warm you up, and help you to sleep. Comealong. I'll give you a start to the bend of the road, and race you tothe nearest tree. "

Margot was not in the least in the mood for running races, but as ameans of getting warm it was not to be despised, so she startedpromptly, running with swift, easy steps, and gradually quickening pace, as Ron gained upon her from the rear. She had not been educated at agirls' public school and been captain of the sports committee fornothing, and, given a short handicap, could often come off best. As thefollowing footsteps grew nearer and nearer she spurted bravely forward, the ends of her cape streaming wildly in the breeze, her uncovered hairruffled into curling ends. The tree was but a few yards distant; shewas laughing and panting, dodging from right and left, to prevent Ronfrom passing by from behind, when round a bend in the road a figureappeared directly in her path, the figure of Brither Elgood himself, hisround eyes bulging with surprise and curiosity. He came to an abruptstandstill in the middle of the road, and the racers followed hisexample, looking, if the truth were told, a trifle abashed to bediscovered in so childish an amusement. 

"Halloa! What is the matter? Is the Inn on fire?"

Margot laughed merrily. The voice, the tone, the manner, were those ofa friend of a lifetime, rather than an acquaintance of an hour. It wasimpossible to answer formally; moreover, the humour of the idea made itsappeal. 

"No, indeed! On ice, more likely! We were so cold that a race seemedthe only chance of getting warm! I hope we didn't startle you toomuch!"

"I like being startled, " returned Mr Elgood complacently. He stoodstill, swinging his cane, looking from brother to sister with bright, approving eyes. "I was afraid you were feeling tired after yourjourney, but evidently you have not yet reached the age of fatigue. That's right! Thats quite right! I am glad that you have joined us atthe Nag's Head. We are a respectable and harmonious party, but we needlife--young life! We may weary _you_, but you will refresh and enlivenus. In the name of our little company, I welcome you to the Glen?"

"Thank you, sir, " said Ron simply, while Margot, as usual, hastened toamplify his words. 

"I hope we shall be friends. I hope we shall all be friends. I wasdreadfully tired really, but I felt worse staying in the house, and inthat little parlour after dinner I nearly fell asleep. "

Mr Elgood's eyes lit up with a flash of humour. 

"But when a man's out of health you canna judge him! When he's in hisusual, Mr Macalister's a verra interesting character!" he saidsolemnly. Then, meeting Margot's start and smile, he began to laughagain, and to shake in his happy, jelly-like fashion. "Ah--ha, I know!I guessed what was in store for you, as I saw you led away. She's agood woman that; a good, kind, womanly woman. Her devotion does hercredit. When you and I get a wife, sir, we shall do well if we find onehalf so loyal and devoted. "

He looked at Ron as he spoke, bringing his eyebrows together in a quick, scrutinising glance; but Ron's face was blank and unresponsive. Enshrined in his heart was a dim figure, half goddess, half fairy, acreature of thistledown, of snow, of blossom tossed before the wind; alovely illusive vision who in due time was to appear and complete hislife. It was a violation of the shrine to suggest a Mrs Macalister!He stood still, his brows knitted, his lips pressed together in a thin, warning line. Margot was impatient at his lack of response, but all thesame he looked wonderfully handsome and interesting, and she could seethat Mr Elgood regarded him with awakened interest, conscious that herewas a character cut out of a pattern of its own, not made in the samemould as the vast majority of his fellows. 

They turned and walked together along the winding road. Evidentlyfriendship progressed quickly in this quiet glen, and guests livingbeneath the same roof accepted each other in simple, natural fashion, asmembers of a common household. Margot felt a sense of protection in thepresence of this little man, so much older than herself, so friendly, soabsolutely unsentimental in manner. His head was on a level with herown, and she read a frank admiration in his eyes, but it was anadmiration of which Agnes herself could not have disapproved. He wasthe kind of man one would have chosen for an uncle--an indulgentbachelor uncle with plenty of money, and a partiality for standingtreat!

"Tell me about the people in the Inn! I am always so interested inpeople!" she cried eagerly. "My brother likes other things better--books and pictures and mountains--but I like the living things best. Iknow a good deal about Mr Macalister's health, and about Lizzie, andIsabel, and their husbands and babies, and their lovers before they weremarried. They come from Glasgow--and the old clergyman is Scotch too, Isuppose. Is every one Scotch except ourselves and you? We come fromLondon--"

Mr Elgood's face shadowed quickly. 

"Yes! but don't mention it. Never mention it!" he cried quickly. "Ilive there, too, or as nearly live as is possible in the surroundings. Now for three or four weeks I've escaped, and my one endeavour is toforget that such a place exists. I ask every one as a favour never tomention as much as the name in my hearing. You'll remember, won't you, and be good enough to indulge me? For the moment Miss--Miss Vane, I ama Heelander, born and bred, a strapping young chieftain of five-and-twenty. The Elgood of Elgood, an it please you, in bonnet and kilt, andmy foot is on my native heather!"

He tilted his cap on one side, and threw a swagger into his walk, cleverly remindful of the swirl of tartan skirts, then turning uponMargot, queried quickly--

"Why do you laugh? It's rude to laugh! Is it so impossible to think ofme in the character?"

"I laugh because I'm pleased, " Margot answered, truthfully enough. "Ido love to pretend! Let's bury London and our lives there, and pretendthat we are _all_ Highlanders! We will be your guests up in yourmountain fastness, and you will take us about, and show us the scenes ofyour historic feuds with neighbouring clans, and we will swear to helpyou, if any new trouble should arise!"

"Right oh!" cried Mr Elgood, laughing. "I shall be only too proud. I'm a sociable beggar--during holiday time--and want to do nothing butsmoke and talk. To talk nonsense, of course. Nothing dull orimproving. " He cast a sudden, suspicious look at the girl's face. "Youare not clever by any chance, are you? I can't stand cleverness in thecountry. "

Margot laughed gaily. 

"I think I am--rather!" she declared audaciously. "I couldn't confessto being stupid, even to please a Highland chief, but it's in a veryfeminine way. I don't know anything about politics or science, and I'veforgotten almost all that I learnt at school, but I take an interest inthings, and understand people pretty well. I am generally clever enoughto get my own way!"

She laughed again, remembering the purpose of the moment, and its closeconnection with this newly-made acquaintance. Instinctively she turnedtowards Ron, and the two pairs of brown eyes met, and flashed a messageof mischief, affection, and secret understanding--a glance which madethe watcher sigh with a sudden realisation of his own lost youth, hisbald head, and increasing bulk. They were only a pair of children, these newcomers; kindly, affectionate, light-hearted children, whosecompanionship would be a tonic to a lonely, tired man. The broadcherubic countenance showed a passing shadow of wistfulness, as heslacked his pace and said in hesitating tones--

"I am afraid I have tacked myself on to you, without waiting for aninvitation. I will say good evening now, unless I can act as guide, orhelp you in any way. Have you any special object in your walk?"

"Only the post office in the village. Do please come with us if youwill! We should be delighted to have you!" cried Margot eagerly; andRon looked down into the little man's face with his beautiful dreamyeyes, and said simply, "Please come, sir, " with a sincerity which therewas no denying. 

Mr Elgood beamed with satisfaction. "Come awa, then, ma bonnie men!"he cried jauntily, and waved his stick in the air. 

For the very first evening Margot could not help thinking that they hadmade an excellent beginning!

CHAPTER ELEVEN. 

AN AWKWARD MEETING. 

Being a prudent damsel, and wise in her day and generation, Margot setbefore herself the subjugation of Mrs McNab as her first duty inGlenaire. To this end she repaired to her bedroom after breakfast onthe morning after her arrival, made her bed, carefully put away everyarticle of clothing, and tidied the oddments on the dressing-table; wentthrough the same performance in Ron's little crib adjoining her own, andsailed downstairs in a glow of virtuous satisfaction. 

Mrs McNab had apparently only one maid to help her to attend to hereight guests and to keep the inn in its present condition of immaculateorder and cleanliness, though a shaggy-headed man--presumably the masterof the house--could be seen through the staircase window, meeklybrushing boots, and cleaning knives in a corner of the flagged yard. Hehad a small, wizened face, to which the unkempt hair, tufted eyebrows, and straggling whiskers gave a strong resemblance to a Skye terrier dog. Margot watched him now and then for a minute or two as she passed upand down, and heard him speaking once or twice, but he "had the Gaelic, "and the sing-song voice and mysterious words sounded weirdly in herears. Sometimes, as he put the final polish on the boots, he wouldbreak into song, --a strange, tuneless song which quavered up and down, and ended on long-sustained notes. Once even she saw the slippered feetmove in jaunty dance-step to and fro, but at the sound of a clatter ofsaucepans from the kitchen close at hand he retired into his corner, andpolished with redoubled energy. Mrs McNab evidently kept her husbandin order, even as she did her house!

Elspeth, the maid, was a girl of eighteen or twenty, with a thin figureencased in a lavender print gown, and flaxen hair pulled so tightly backfrom her forehead that her eyebrows seemed to be permanently elevated bythe process. Her face shone from the effects of constant soaping, andwas absolutely void of expression. From morn till night she rushedbreathlessly from one duty to another, rated continuously by MrsMcNab's strident voice, with never so much as a bleat of protest. Whenwaiting at table, she snored loudly from nervousness, and the big redfist trembled as she carried the dishes to and fro, but her faceremained blankly expressionless as before. Margot smiled at herradiantly every time that they met, and mentally decided to bequeath toher half her own wardrobe before leaving the Glen. In comparison withsuch a lot of drudgery, her own life seemed inexcusably idle and self-indulgent!

It took a considerable amount of courage to beard in her own den a womanof whom the members of her own household stood in such evident awe, butthere was at least no nervousness apparent in Margot's manner as shetapped at the kitchen door at eleven o'clock that first morning, andthrust her pretty face round the opening to request permission to enter. Mrs McNab had descended from her work upstairs, and surely her heartmust be softened by the spectacle of those two immaculately tidy rooms!

"Mrs McNab, I'm cold! May I come in and warm myself by your fire?"

The mistress of the inn turned a stonily surprised face from the table, before which she stood chopping suet with a short-handled knife; she didnot suspend her work, but simply heightened her voice to make it heardabove the harsh, monotonous noise. 

"Cold, are ye? Havers! It's a fine June day. There's no call for anyone to feel cold, if they don't sit about idling away their time. Puton yer cloak, and go a turn down the Glen!"

Margot suppressed a thrill of indignation at that accusation ofidleness. Had she not made two whole beds, and even stooped to pickstray pins off the carpet? She pushed the door open and walked boldlyforward. 

"I'll go out as soon as I'm warm. If I caught a chill, I should give alot of trouble, and you have enough to do without fussing over me. Iknow you would be a good nurse, Mrs McNab--good housekeepers alwaysare. I know without being told that you have a cupboard chock full ofmedicines and mixtures, and plasters and liniments, and neat littlerolls of lint and oilskins. Is it this one?" She laid her hand on aclosed door, drawing the while nearer and nearer to the fire. "What aperfectly beautiful oak chest! That's genuine! One can see it at aglance. The lovely elbow-grease polish can never be imitated. Sodifferent from the faked-up, over-carved things glittering with varnishthat one sees so often nowadays. What a shame to keep it hidden away inthe kitchen!"

Mrs McNab pounded stolidly away at the suet. 

"I dinna ken where the shame can be!" she responded drily. "It's my ownchest, and my mither's before me, and it's a pity if I mayna keep itwhere it pleases meself. There's no call that I know of to turn out mythings, so that ither folks can have the fun of staring at them!"

Mrs McNab's manner was certainly the reverse of gracious, but, remembering the momentary softening of the grim face which she hadwitnessed the night before, Margot was determined not to be easilydiscouraged. Having gone so far, one could not retreat withoutirrevocably burning one's boats. Now or never victory must be wrestedfrom the enemy!

With a charming little air of domesticity she seated herself upon thepolished fender-stool at the side of the open grate, catching up herskirt so that it should not be caught by the blaze, and smiling acrossthe room in her most confiding fashion. 

"Please let me stay, Mrs McNab! It's such a lovely cosy kitchen, andmy brother is out, and I feel so lost! Couldn't I do something to help?Are those gooseberries in that basket? Do they need picking? I can'tcook, but I can pick gooseberries with any man living. Do let me! Yousaid I was idling away my time. Give me a chance to work!"

Mrs McNab grunted sourly. 

"There's no call for you to do anything of the sort. I never was one totake work upon myself that I couldna perform. The girl would havepicked them before now, if she didna go about making more work than shegets through. She can do them when she gets downstairs!"

Poor, struggling, machine-like Elspeth! Margot felt a pang of pity forher unappreciated efforts, and the determination to spare her one taskat least brought with it renewed courage. 

"Let me do them as a pleasure to myself! I should feel so proud whenthe pie came to table, if I had helped to prepare it, and it would be anexcuse to sit by this lovely fire. Please?"

"Kitchen work is no for the likes of you. Ye wouldna like it if yesoiled yer fine new gown!"

"If I asked you very nicely, perhaps you would lend me an apron!"

Mrs McNab threw down her chopper, and turned to wipe her hands on aroller towel. Perhaps she had come to the conclusion that as a puresaving of time it would be wise to give in without further demur;perhaps the twinkling appeal of the brown eyes touched a vulnerable spotin her heart; perhaps the service itself was of some value at themoment. 

Margot did not concern herself as to causes, but was content to realisethat she had won the victory. She meekly allowed herself to be tiedinto a coarse white apron, and set to work on the big basket of berrieswith nimble fingers. Picking gooseberries is not a task which requiresmuch skill or experience; perhaps quickness is the criterion by which itcan best be tested, and Mrs McNab's sharp glances soon discovered thather new apprentice was no laggard at the work. The little green ballsfell from Margot's fingers into the basin with quite extraordinaryquickness. She kept her eyes on her work, but her tongue wagged. 

Margot talked, and Mrs McNab grunted, but the grunts grew ever softerand less repellent. The first attempt at a joke was met with a sniff ofdisdain, but a second effort produced a dry cackle, and that was atriumph indeed! When the suet had been reduced to shreds, there wasbread to sift, and eggs to beat; and then Mrs McNab washed her handsand dropped her working apron preparatory to going upstairs to see after"the girl. " She made no demur at leaving Margot alone in the kitchen, for, having undertaken a task, she was plainly expected to carry itthrough. 

It was astonishing how much fruit one basket could hold! One wide-lipped basin had already been filled, and another pressed into theservice, yet even a vigorous tilt to the side failed to show any signsof the bottom of the basket. Margot had achieved her double purpose ofwarming herself and breaking the ice of her hostess's reserve, and nowwas in a fidget to be off to join Ron on the hillside; but the fear ofMrs McNab was strong upon her, and she dare not move until her task wascomplete. 

There she sat upon the low fender-stool, the big white apron concealingthe blue tweed dress, her pretty, flushed face bent over her work, toall appearances the most industrious of Cinderellas, while the pendulumof the old oak clock clicked noisily to and fro, and through the opendoor came a whiff of clean cool air, laden with the scent of flowers andsweet-briar, with the pungent aromatic odour of growing herbs, with theheavy sweetness of the dairy. 

Margot thought with a shudder of the gloomy underground regions inRegent's Park, where the servants of the house spent the greater part oftheir lives. In her own future spells of authority she determined to bevery, very indulgent to pleas for "outings"; nay, even to make it amatter of duty to plan days of sunshine and liberty for the patient, uncomplaining workers. 

The sun was beginning to peep forth from behind the clouds, and its raysdancing across the kitchen floor were an almost irresistible temptationto one newly escaped from town. Margot gave the basket an impatientshake, and, as another means to the desired end, popped a couple ofberries into her mouth. So sweet did they taste, so fresh and ripe, that another two soon followed suit, and henceforth she ate as steadilyas she worked. There could be no hesitation in so doing, for in fruit-picking it is an unwritten law that the worker is free to take his toll. 

It was while Margot's hand was raised to her mouth for the eighth orninth time that a footstep sounded on the flagged floor of the scullerybehind her back, and a man's voice and laugh startled her into vividattention. In both was a note which immediately recalled her companionof the night before, --the cheery, warm-hearted pseudo-chieftain of theGlen--yet in both rang a difference which told that the newcomer was nothe, but probably one closely connected by birth and association. 

_The_ Mr Elgood; the Editor; the all-powerful dispenser of Ronald'sfortunes! Margot felt convinced that it could be no one else, andexperienced a moment of keen anticipation, followed by a shock ofdisgust, as she grasped the meaning of his words. 

"Ah-ha! So I've caught you pilfering again. What will Mrs McNab saywhen she finds all her good fruit disappearing like this? You'll haveto bribe me not to carry tales. Better turn me into a confederate--eh?Are they ripe?"

A long thin hand descended over Margot's shoulder, the fingersdeliberately feeling after the plumpest and yellowest of the berries. _He had mistaken her for Elspeth_! Stupefaction mingled withwrath, --_Elspeth_! A vision of the square-built, flat-headed, hopelessly graceless figure rose before Margot's outraged vision, andresentment lighted into a blaze. Could any apron in the world be largeenough to cause a resemblance between two such diametrically differentfigures! Margot appreciated her own beauty in an honest, unaffectedfashion, as one of the good gifts which had been showered upon her, andfor the moment the sense of injury eclipsed that of embarrassment. 

With an impetuous movement she turned her face over her shoulder--thatvivid pink and white face which made such a startling contrast toElspeth's stolidity--and stared with widely-opened hazel eyes into thatother pair of eyes so near her own. 

It was the younger Mr Elgood sure enough, --but seen close at hand, withthat mischievous smile curling his lips, he had an extraordinaryyouthful and boyish appearance. Margot received an instantaneousimpression of kindliness and strength, of a glinting sense of humour, before the change came. Such a change! If she had been a wild animalprepared to spring, horror and dismay could not have been moreeloquently depicted upon his face. The eyes widened, the featuresstiffened into a mask, the outstretched hand fell limply to his side. He opened his lips to say something, several things, but the words wereunintelligible; a mere broken stammer of apology, as he wheeled roundand walked hastily from the room. 

The door slammed behind him; she heard his footsteps over the flaggedhall. Poor Margot! Never before in her life had she so keenly desiredto make a good impression; never had she so signally failed. It wasindeed an unpromising beginning to the campaign!

CHAPTER TWELVE. 

A MOORLAND WALK. 

A second time that day Margot came into close contact with Mr GeorgeElgood. She was strolling slowly up and down the road with "theChieftain, " waiting for Ron to make his appearance before starting for aramble over the countryside, when through the doorway of the inn outdashed the "Editor, " making in the same direction, in the headlong, unseeing fashion which was plainly a characteristic. When about twentyyards distant, he lifted his eyes from the ground, became suddenlyconscious of the two figures slowly strolling towards him, stopped shortin the middle of the path, and, wheeling round, darted quickly in theopposite direction. 

The cut was too glaring to be ignored. Margot's cheeks flamed withannoyance, which the sound of a low chuckle by her side did not help tosubdue. She reared her little head to its haughtiest angle, and spokein frosty accents. 

"I am afraid I am in the way. Pray don't let me interfere with yourplans. Won't you join your brother before he goes too far? He iswalking very fast--"

There was a note of satire in the last words which made the Chieftainchuckle once more. 

"Not I, " he replied easily. "I can have his society any time I like. Yours is infinitely more refreshing. Keeps up a pretty good pace, don'the? Scared, you know. Scared to death! Running to cover like afrightened hare!"

"Scared of what?"

"Of you?"

Margot had known the answer to the question before she had put it, but, woman-like, was none the less affronted. Accustomed to be sought afterand admired by mankind in general, it was a disagreeable experience tofind herself repelled by the man of all others whom she was most anxiousto ingratiate. Her face stiffened, and her rounded little chinprojected itself proudly, the while her companion looked on withtwinkling amusement. 

"That makes you feel pretty mad, don't it?" he inquired genially. "Youare not accustomed to that sort of treatment. Most of 'em run the otherway, don't they? I should, in their place! But you mustn't be hard onold George. When I said `you, ' I used the word as a plural, not asapplying with any special significance to your charming self. It iswomankind as a whole which he finds terrifying. Run a mile any dayrather than meet a woman face to face! You must not imagine that thereis anything unusual in his avoidance of yourself. It's always the sametale. "

Margot paused a moment, to reflect dismally that in this case there wassmall hope for the fulfilment of her scheme, then ventured the naturalfeminine question--

"Has he been crossed in love?"

"Who? George?" George's brother appeared to find somethingmysteriously ludicrous in the suggestion, for he shook with delightedlaughter. "Rather not! Never had enough to do with a woman to givehimself a chance. He's an old hermit of a bachelor, Miss Vane, absorbedin his work, and becoming more of a slave to it every year of his life. Even on a holiday he can't take it easy like other folks. He has somewriting on hand just now--a paper of sorts which he has undertaken tohave ready by a certain time, and it appears to his benighted intellectthat a holiday is an excellent opportunity of getting it through. Mad, you see; stark, staring mad, but an excellent fellow all the same. Oneof the very best. I have a large experience of men, but I've never metone to compare with him for all-round goodness and simplicity of heart. We all have our failings, and there are worse things than a littleshyness and reserve. If he avoids you like the plague, try to pity himfor the loss it entails upon himself, and take no offence! As I saidbefore, it's not a personal matter. He knows that you are a strangerand a woman, but I don't suppose he has the most glimmering idea of whatyou are really like!"

"Oh yes, he has. I was sitting in the kitchen this morning, and he cameand spoke to me under the impression that I was Elspeth! The impressionlasted until he got quite near. I was wearing an apron, but still, --Iwasn't pleased! When he saw my face instead of hers, he fled for hislife. But he _did_ see it! He knows quite well what I am like. "

"And in the depths of your little girl heart you think he is a strangefellow, not to want to see you again! You can't understand why heshould go out of his way to be kind to Elspeth, and avoid some oneinfinitely more attractive. Don't be offended, but that's a wrong viewto take of the case. In my brother's eyes Elspeth is more attractivethan yourself, for she is poor, you see, and ugly, and leads a life ofall work and no play. He might be able to do her a good turn. Besides, he has known her for several years, and has had time to becomereconciled to her existence, so to speak. Custom goes a long way withshy people. George would rather beard a den of lions than face thecompany in the inn parlour on a wet evening, but he is a welcome guestin the kitchen, and Mrs McNab adores him to the extent of submitting tomuddy boots without a murmur. He cracks jokes with her in a free-and-easy manner which strikes awe into the heart of tremblers like myself. It's my first visit to the Nag's Head, and I'm still in the stage ofabject submission. She's a wonderful woman!"

Margot smiled with returning composure. She divined her companion'sdesire to change the subject of conversation, and was quite willing tofurther his efforts. What she had already heard concerning GeorgeElgood supplied ample food for meditation. 

Viewed in dispassionate light, it was not wholly disconcerting, for ifthe citadel could but once be stormed, there seemed a certainty ofgaining sympathy and consideration. She must be content to wait inpatience, until the hermit had become reconciled to her existence; butRon, as a fellow-man, could venture on advances on his own account. 

She must talk to Ron in private, and try to instil into him some of herown energy and enterprise. He was a dear, wonderful fellow, butabsolutely wanting in initiative. Poets, she supposed, were alwaysdreamy, impracticable creatures, unfitted to attend to practicalinterests, and dependent upon the good offices of some adoring womanworking meekly in the background. 

Her eyes brightened eloquently as she watched her brother's approachalong the winding path. What a handsome young figure of manhood he madein his Norfolk jacket and knickerbockers, the close-fitting deerstalkercap showing the light chestnut hair, from which no barber's shears couldsucceed in banishing the natural kink and curl. No one would suspect, to look at him, that he cherished poetical ambitions! Margot wasEnglish enough to be thankful for this fact, illogical as it may appear. She was proud to realise that he looked a thorough sportsman, and inabsolute harmony with his surroundings, and instinctively her pride andaffection voiced themselves in words. The Chieftain might not be therose, but he was at least near the rose, and it would be well to enlisthis interest as well as that of his brother. 

"Doesn't he look splendid?"

Mr Elgood started, and for a moment his round face expressed theblankest bewilderment, then his eyes lit upon Ron, and comprehensiondawned. 

"Ah, yes, " he returned indifferently, "nice-looking lad! Pity he hasn'tmore to say for himself. What's he supposed to do? Business orprofession?"

"It's not decided. He has not long come down from Cambridge. He isquiet, but he is very clever, all the same. Much cleverer than mostboys of his age. "

"Humph!" The Chieftain's tone was distinctly sceptical. "Yes! Gooddegree?"

Margot's colour heightened in embarrassment. 

"Nothing special. Only a pass. It isn't in _that_ way that hiscleverness shows. "

"Just so! Just so! I've met men like that before. Well, don't spoilhim, that's all. Worship him in your heart, but not to his face. Looksto me as if he needed hardening up. A bit moony and sentimental. What?Don't mind my saying so, do you?"

"Not a bit!" returned Margot proudly; but she cared horribly, all thesame, and for the moment her liking for her companion suffered adistinct eclipse. "I know him, you see, and understand him as nostranger can do. He needs appreciation, for he is too apt to lose faithin himself, and he is not sentimental at all. He has plenty ofsentiment, but that's a different thing!"

"Yes--Um!" responded the Chieftain mischievously, his little eyestwinkling with amusement as they scanned the girl's flushed, injuredface. "Quite so! Sorry I spoke. He is, without doubt, an unusuallygifted young man. " He bowed towards Margot, with an inference tootransparent to be mistaken, and at which she was obliged to laugh, despite herself. 

Ronald joined them at this moment, and looked from one to the other withhis big, dreamy eyes. Margot was irritated to see that he looked evenmore absent-minded than usual, just when she was anxious that he shouldshow to most advantage. He asked no questions in words, however, butMr Elgood hastened to reply to the unspoken query in his eyes. 

"Your sister and I have been having an argument. I don't know how itcame about. Hate arguments myself, especially on a holiday. Besides, it's a waste of time. Whoever knew any one converted by an argument?Each one goes away more satisfied than ever that he is in the right, andthat his opponent is talking rubbish; present company excluded, ofcourse. So far as I can remember, we were discussing cleverness. Ifyou were asked for a definition of a clever man, what would you say?How would you describe him?"

Ronald stood in the centre of the road, his hands clasped behind hisback, his brows knitted in thought. Ninety-nine people out of a hundredwould have answered such a question off-hand with a few light words; Ronbent the weight of his mind to it, with whole-hearted earnestness. 

"Cleverness!" he repeated slowly. "It's a poor word! There's no depthin it. When a man is called clever, it means, I think, more an abilityto display a superficial knowledge than any real, stored-up wisdom. Itmay even be a double-edged compliment!"

"Scored!" cried the Chieftain gaily, as he waved his stick in the air, and led the way forward with a jaunty tread. "Proposed, seconded, andcarried that cleverness is a delusion to be sedulously avoided! Justwhat I always said. I've known clever people in my day--squillions ofthem, and, my hat! how stupid they were! That little lass dabbling inthe lake is wiser than the whole crowd. " He pointed to a fair-hairedchild wading by the side of the tarn. "The spirit of childhood--that'swhat we want! the spirit of joy in present blessings, and untroubledtrust for the future. That little lass has a life of hardship and toilahead--but what does she care? The sun shines to-day, and the funny weemannie fra the inn is going to gie her a bawbee for goodies. It's a badhabit which he has fallen into; a shocking bad habit, but he canna curehimself of it. " He threw a penny to the smiling, expectant child, thenturning sharply to the left, led the way across the low-lying groundtowards the base of the nearest hill. 

Margot noticed that, as he went, he turned from time to time quick, scrutinising glances at Ron's face, as though trying to satisfy a doubt, and classify him in his own mind. Evidently the lad's serious, somewhatpedantic manner of replying had invested him with a new interest, butwhen he spoke again it was only in reference to the afternoon'sexpedition itself. 

"I am not going to take you far, " he announced. "I object to walking, on principle. What I maintain is, that we were never intended to walk!If we had been, we should have had four legs, instead of two. I neverwalk if I can possibly induce something else to carry me. And climbingis another mistake. What is it that one admires about mountains? Theirheight and grandeur! Very well, then, where is the point of vantagefrom which to view them? The base, of course. Climb up to the top, andyou lose the whole effect, to say nothing of chucking away your valuablebreath. See that little path winding up the slope? That leads to themoors, and when you are once on the moors you can walk about on thelevel all day long, if you are so disposed, and the air goes to the headof even a lazy old fellow like myself, and makes me quite gay andfrisky. You two youngsters can go on ahead and engage in lightconversation, while I puff along in the rear. At my age and bulk eventhe most witty conversation palls when climbing a hillside. When youget to the end of the footpath sit down and wait till I arrive, and takeno notice of me till I get my wind. Then we'll start fair. Off withyou!"

Margot ran forward, laughing, and she and Ron were soon scrambling upthe hillside, side by side. 

"That's a good fellow. I like him! He will be very interesting whenone gets beneath the surface, " pronounced the boy thoughtfully. 

Margot nodded emphatically. 

"I'm going to love him! I feel it in my bones, and he is going to loveme too, but unfortunately he's the wrong man. He says that his brotherhates women, and will do all he can to avoid me, so you must take thingsinto your own hands, Ron! I can't help you, so you must help yourself. You will have to cultivate his acquaintance, and get him to take youabout, and talk to him, and try to get intimate. You will, won't you?Promise me that you will!"

She looked with anxiety into the lad's face as she spoke, for previousexperience had proved that Ron possessed the full share of thosefailings which are most characteristic of his temperament: a suddencooling of interest at critical moments; a shirking of responsibility, an inclination to drift. It was a part of the artistic nature, whichhad an irritating effect on more practical mortals. Now, as she feared, he remained as placidly unmoved by the intelligence as if it had nobearing whatever on his own prospects. 

"Oh, all right. I'll see! You can't rush things, if a fellow keeps outof your way. Our opening will come in time, if we leave it to chanceand don't worry. I believe I am going to do really good work here, Margot! I had an idea last night, after you had gone to bed, and I waswatching the stars through the pines. I won't read it to you yet, forit wants working up, but it's good--I am sure it is good! And thatlittle stream along from the house; I found a song motif inthat, --`_Clear babbling over amber bed_!' How's that for a word-picture? Shows the whole thing, doesn't it? The crystal clearness ofthe water; the music of its flow, the curious golden colour of therocks. I'm always pleased when I can hit off a description in a line. I'm glad we came, Margot! There's inspiration in this place. "

But for once Margot refused to be sympathetic. 

"You did not come for inspiration, you came for a definite, practicalpurpose; and if you write a hundred poems, it won't make up forneglecting it. Now, Ron, wake up! I shall be angry with you if youdon't do all you can for yourself. Promise me that you will try!"

"All right! All right! Do let us be happy while we have the chance, Margot. We had enough worry at home, and this place is perfect. Let usbe wise children, and take no thought for the morrow. What would Elgoodthink of you, beginning to worry about the future, the moment his backwas turned? She was a pretty illustration, wasn't she?--that littlebare-headed child. Did you notice her hair? Almost white against therusset of her skin. "

Margot grunted unsympathetically. She was out of breath with scramblingup the hillside, a trifle out of temper also, and consequently not inthe mood to enthuse over artistic contrasts. She did not speak againuntil the summit was reached, and she threw herself on the ground torest, and wait the arrival of the Chieftain. His gasps and grunts couldalready be heard in the distance, for, notwithstanding his varioushandicaps, he was surprisingly nimble, and in a few moments a roundscarlet face hove into sight, and a round grey body rolled over on theground by her side. 

"Piff! piff! whew-w! Don't look at me, please--I don't like--beingstared at by ladies--when my--complexion is flushed!" he gaspedbrokenly, mopping his face with a large silk handkerchief. "Everytime--I--come up here--I vow I'll--never come again; but when _I'm_ onceup, I--never want to go down!"

He flourished his handkerchief to the left, pointing out the widemoorland, beautiful in colouring with its bright rank greens, and thebloomy purple of heather undulating gently up and down like the waves ofan inland sea. 

The pure rarefied air fanned the heated faces of the climbers, and withevery moment seemed to instil fresh life and vigour. It was easy tobelieve that, once started, one would wander on and on over thiswonderful moorland, feeling no fatigue, possessed with the desire to gofarther and farther, to see what surprise lay beyond the next hillock. 

After all, it was Mr Elgood who made the first start. One moment helay still, puffing and blowing, bemoaning past youth, and bewailing lossof strength; the next, like an indiarubber ball, he had bounced to hisfeet, and was strutting forward, waving his short arms in the air, thewhite silk handkerchief streaming behind him like a flag. 

"_Allons, mes enfants_! No lolling allowed on the moors. Keep your eyeon that green peak to the right, and make for it as straight as a die. A few hundred yards away is a cottage where, if we are very polite andask prettily, the guid-wife will give us a cup of buttermilk, the Gaelicsubstitute for afternoon tea. In a certain spot, which shall benameless, I should as soon think of drinking poison in glassfuls, butafter a stretch on the moors it tastes like nectar! Take my word forit, and try!"

That was the first walk which Ron and Margot had ever taken over aScotch moor, and to the last day of their lives they remembered it withjoy. The air went to their heads so that they grew "fey, " and sang, andlaughed, and teased each other like a couple of merry-hearted children, while the Chieftain was the biggest child of the three. 

At times he declared that he was tired out and must turn back, buthardly were the words out of his mouth, than, lo, he was dancing animpromptu hornpipe with astonishing nimbleness and dexterity! He took alively interest in all that his companions did and said, and did nothesitate to put question after question in order to arrive at a fullerunderstanding of any case in point; but London, and all that took placein London, remained a forbidden topic. He was the Elgood of Elgood, andthey were "his bonnie men, " and life outside the Highlands had ceased toexist. 

Margot was delighted that the little man should have a chance of seeingRonald in one of his lightest, most boyish moods, for from theexpression of his face she feared that he had not so far previously beenfavourably impressed by the lad's personality. Now it was impossiblenot to admire and laugh as Ron played imaginary bagpipes on the end ofhis walking-stick, or droned out lugubrious ballads in imitation of astrolling minstrel who had visited the inn the night before. The balladdramatised the circumstances of the moment: the perilous ascent, thewandering of three strangers across the moor, the flowing bowl which wasto refresh and strengthen them for the return journey. Ron's knowledgeof the native dialect was so slight that he fell back upon the morestately phraseology of the early English poets, introducing a strangeScotch term now and again with irresistibly comic effect. 

The two listeners cheered him on with bursts of delighted laughter, while at an unexpected clever turn, or apt stringing together of words, the Chieftain would clap his hands and caper with delight. 

"Good! good!" he would cry. "Neat! neat!" while his twinkling eyessurveyed the boy with increasing respect. "Do you often improvise?" heasked, when the ballad came to an end, and when Ron replied truthfullyenough in the negative, "Well, I have heard many fellows do it worse!"was his flattering comment. 

Margot had expected more, and felt that more was deserved, for theballad had been quite a brilliant effort to be rattled off on the spurof the moment, but she could only hope that, in conclave with hisbrother, the Chieftain might be more enthusiastic, and manage to impressupon that absent-minded genius that the boy was worthy of his notice andstudy. 

In due time--a very short time, as it appeared--the cottage was reachedowned by the "guid-wife, " who was ready to give--not sell--draughts ofbuttermilk to the passers-by. Margot was a little chary of the firsttaste, but the keen moorland air had done its work, and she too found itas nectar to the palate. The guid-wife "had no English, " but the twowomen conversed eloquently with the language of the eyes, concerning thesleeping baby in its cradle, and the toddling urchins around the door. Here in the solitude this brave woman of the people reared her family, made their garments, tended them when they were sick, cooked for them, baked for them, washed for them, mended for them, and kept the three-roomed cot as exquisitely clean as hands could make it. The girl whodusted the drawing-room and arranged a few vases of flowers as her dutyin life, gazed at her with awe, and felt ashamed of her own idleexistence!

The buttermilk quaffed, Mr Elgood led the way to a thick patch ofheather some few hundred yards nearer home, came to a standstill, and, spreading his handkerchief under his head, lay down with greatdeliberation and crossed his arms in beatific content. 

"Now, if you want to discover what comfort means, find a soft patch foryourselves, and take a nap before we start for home. No upholsterer onearth ever manufactured a mattress to equal a bed of heather. If youdon't want to sleep, kindly keep your distance, and enjoy yourselveswith discretion, for if I'm awakened in the middle of my siesta, nothingshort of murder will appease me!"

He shut his eyes even as he spoke, and composed himself with a sigh ofcontent. Margot, nothing loath, took off her cap, and, spreading hercape over the bushes, nestled contentedly into its folds. Ron scornedthe idea of sleep, but as he was curious to test the comforts of theheather, down he lay in his turn; and so soft, so springy, so eminentlyluxurious did the new bed appear, that he felt no desire to rise. Presently his eyes dropped, rose heavily once or twice, and rose nomore. Margot's head burrowed more deeply into her cape. Deep regularsnores sounded from the bush where Mr Elgood reposed. All three werefast asleep!

The sun shone on them; the hum of a thousand insects rose from thegrass; high in the air a lark trilled his triumphant song. It was restindeed to sleep and dream in such surroundings!

CHAPTER THIRTEEN. 

THE TRUE CHURCH. 

Life flowed on very quietly and uneventfully at the Nag's Head duringthe next few days. The clergyman and his son were determined walkers, who set out each morning on a new expedition over the countryside, andat the evening dinner boasted of the number of miles they had traversed. What they had seen appeared to be of secondary importance, and theywere correspondingly depressed or elated according as they had fallenshort of, or surpassed previous records of distance. 

Mr Macalister sat in the garden, reading day-old editions of the"_Glasga He-rald_" from the front page to the last, while his wife madepilgrimages to the village shop to buy infinitesimal articles ofdrapery, and exchange details of domestic history with the good lady incharge of the emporium. 

Mr George Elgood went out fishing in a river two or three milesdistant, accompanied sometimes by his brother, but for the most part byhimself. He also sat at his bedroom window, writing by the hourtogether, and always and at all times he avoided his fellow-guests witha quiet persistence which could not be gainsaid. By the time thatMargot had been in the inn for four days, he had advanced to the pointof bidding her good-night and good morning, staring steadily at a pointabout a yard above her head, while on one historic occasion he evenbrought himself to remark that it was a fine day. Once also, looking upsuddenly at dinner, she met his eyes fixed upon her with an expressionof intent scrutiny; but he turned aside in evident perturbation at beingdiscovered, and though the little puss thereafter wore her prettiestdresses, and took special pains with the arrangement of her hair, theincident was never repeated. 

Goaded thereto by his sister's entreaties, Ronald had proposed himselfas the companion of a morning's fishing expedition, but he returned homebored and irritated, and could not be persuaded to repeat theexperiment. As Mr Elgood had left him at one point in the stream, andhimself repaired to another some two hundred yards distant, theopportunities for conversation had been limited, while not even a twitchof the line had rewarded his amateur efforts. 

Margot coaxed, reasoned, and finally stormed, but to no avail. In aquiet, amiable fashion, Ronald could be as obstinate as a mule, and hewas plainly determined to go his own way. The sun shone; thesurroundings were magnificent; he was free from the jarring dissensionsof home; in easy, light-hearted manner he was content to live for themoment, and shut his eyes to troubles ahead. 

"Remember what the Chieftain said to as the first day we were here!" heprotested vigorously. "We ought to cultivate the spirit of children; torejoice in the present, and trust for the future; whereas you want me tobegin worrying the very first thing. I do call it stupid of you, Margot!"

"But, my dear boy--remember September! September is coming, and if youdon't bestir yourself to take advantage of this last chance, you will bebemoaning your hard fate, and calling out that your life is ruined! Do, for goodness' sake, descend from the clouds and be practical for once!I'd help you if I could, but how can I, when the man refuses even tolook at me?"

Margot's voice took a plaintive tone as she uttered those last words. She was so unaccustomed to be ignored, that the editor's avoidancerankled in her mind. She found her thoughts persistently returning tohim in every period of leisure; when he was near, she was acutelyconscious of his presence; when he was absent, her mind followed afterhim, wondering where he was, what he was doing, and of what he wasthinking. Having once seen a glimpse of the real man when, in thecharacter of Elspeth, she had looked into his face, sparkling withyouth, kindliness, and humour, she understood that the abstracted figurewhich sat at the table at meal-times was but the shell of the realGeorge Elgood, and that, if the barriers of shyness and reserve couldonce be overcome, he would prove an even more fascinating companion thanhis brother. The desire to know him grew daily in intensity, while, unconsciously to herself, the personal element slowly predominated thethought of Ron and Ron's future. 

Now, as the brother and sister argued together, they were hurrying alongby the edge of the tarn on their way to service at the kirk, for thiswas Sunday morning, the fifth day after their arrival at the Glen. 

Ron, as usual, had been late in starting, and before the village wasreached his watch showed that it was already five minutes past the timewhen service began. They had been sternly directed by Mrs McNab to goto the kirk at the far end of the village, and inquire for the inn pew, but as it would take several minutes longer to traverse the length ofthe straggling street, Margot suggested that it would be wise to attendthe nearer of the two churches. 

"There can be no difference. They are both Presbyterian, " quoth she, inher ignorance; so in they went, to be met in the doorway by an elder inhis Sabbath "blacks, " his solemn face surrounded by a fringe of sandywhisker. The pews were very narrow and very high, shut in a box-likeseclusion by wooden doors; the minister, in his pulpit, was just givingout the number of the psalm, and the precentor, after tapping histuning-fork and holding it to his ear, burst forth into wailing notes ofsurprising strength and volume. Margot rose automatically to her feet, to subside in confusion, as the seated congregation gazed at her instolid rebuke. In this kirk it was the custom to sit while singing, andstand during prayers--a seemly and decorous habit which benightedSoutherners had difficulty in understanding. 

The singing of the metrical psalm sounded strangely in unaccustomedears. Of melody there seemed little or none. The notes ascended andfell, and quavered into odd, unexpected trills and shakes, but it wassung with an earnestness and an intensity which could not fail to beimpressive. The women, clean and tidy in their Sabbath bravery, satwith eyes fixed unwaveringly on their books; the children piped lustilyby their sides; at the door of the pews the heads of the differentfamilies peered over their spectacles at the printed words, theirsolemn, whiskered faces drawn out to abnormal length. 

In a corner by himself sat a weather-beaten old shepherd, singing withclosed eyes, his shaggy head waving to and fro in time with the strain. Up in this lonesome glen those words had been his stay and comfortduring a life of hardship. Like David of old, he had sung them on themountainside, and they had been as a guide unto his feet, a lamp untohis eyes. He needed no book and no spectacles to enable him to join hisnote to the strain. Margot looked at him with a thrill of understandingand reverence. A saint of God, a lowly dweller on earth, for whom waswaiting one of the "higher" places in the kingdom of heaven. 

The sermon was long and rambling, and somewhat difficult for Southernears to follow; there was a solemn collection taken in small boxessecured to long wooden handles, thrust in turns down the various pewswith somewhat comical effect; then the service was over, and Margot andRon came out into the village street, to find themselves face to facewith a stream of worshippers who were returning from the farther kirk. Foremost among the number was Mrs McNab, large and imposing to beholdin her Sabbath best, with her small husband ambling meekly by her side. Margot smiled at her in friendly fashion, and was dismayed to receive inreturn a glare of incredulous anger. What had she done to offend? Shecould not imagine what was wrong, and continued to stare blankly afterthe unbending figure, until presently her eye encountered another well-known face bent upon her with a smile. The Chieftain and his brotherwere close behind; so close that even the Editor's shyness could notattempt an escape. In another moment they were walking together, Margotbetween the two men, Ron on the outside, a few paces apart from therest. 

Margot glanced from one to the other with puzzled eyes. The Chieftainbeamed upon her frankly. The Editor looked, and looked away, knittinghis brows in embarrassment. 

"What have I done?" she cried eagerly. "Why is Mrs McNab so cross?All was peace and joy when we left the inn. I had done my very best tohelp her, and now--you saw how she scowled! How can I possibly haveoffended her in this short time?"

The Chieftain chuckled softly. 

"A good deal, I'm afraid! I'm sorry for you, after all your efforts atconciliation. It's bad luck that you should have stumbled upon anunforgivable offence. I'm afraid that there is no doubt that you willbe turned out of the inn, neck and crop. Not to-day, perhaps, as shewon't send out the trap, but certainly to-morrow morning. "

"I shan't go!" protested Margot defiantly. If eviction had beenprobable, she did not believe that the Chieftain would have taken it inso unperturbed a fashion; but it was evident that she had committed someoffence, and that he was aware of its nature. "But what have I done?"she continued urgently. "That's what I want to discover. There can'tbe any harm in going to church!"

"Oh, can't there, just? That's the whole crux of the matter. You wentto the wrong church!"

There was a pause of stunned surprise while Margot gasped, and Ron'ssleepy eyes brightened with curiosity. 

"The wrong church! How can that be? They are both ScotchPresbyterians? There is no difference between them?"

"Only this difference, that the members of one kirk are hardly onspeaking terms with the members of the other! That their leaders are atlaw together in the Courts, and that feeling runs so high, even in thissleepy hollow, that Mrs McNab, being a Free, refuses to sell milk tothe `Wees, ' and is shamed to the heart to think that a guest livingunder her house-roof should have condescended to attend their service. It will be all over the Glen this afternoon that the bonny lady fra theinn chose to give her offering of siller to the `Wees, ' and they willbear themselves haughtily in consequence. Mrs McNab feels that she hasbeen humiliated the day in the eyes of the neighbourhood. No wonder shelooks coldly upon you!"

Margot flushed with resentment and indignation, but before she couldspeak Ron burst into impetuous speech. 

"They quarrel? Up here? A handful of men and women among the greatmountains? How can they do it? How can they harbour ill-feeling?

"And what can they quarrel about? There must be such tiny, trivialdifferences. I am thankful I am not a Dissenter!" cried Margot proudly. "There are so many sects that one gets muddled among them all, and evenin the same one it appears that there are differences! I am thankfulthat I belong to the Church. "

The Chieftain looked at her quietly. 

"To which Church?"

"The Church of England, of course. "

"Oh!" He elevated his light eyebrows expressively. "Because itsmembers have no quarrels with one another?"

Margot frowned uneasily. 

"Oh, well--I suppose they have. But at the worst there are two parties, as compared to a dozen. You cannot deny that we are more united?"

"I should not boast too much about the unity of a Church in which civilwar is permanently in progress; and what about charity and humility ofmind? Suppose now, suppose for a moment that a family of strangers cometo live in the house next your own in town, and you discover among otherthings that they are Dissenters. How does it influence your attitudetowards them?" He thrust his ruddy face nearer, staring fixedly intohers. "Answer me that! Feel just the same? Exactly the same? Nocooling off in the intention to call? _Quite_ sure you never used theexpression, `only Dissenters!' and passed by on the other side?"

Margot's cheeks blazed. Her lids dropped, and the corners of her mouthdrooped in self-conscious shame. There was a moment's silence, then alow murmur sounded on her ear, and, looking up quickly, she saw theEditor's dark face turned upon his brother, with reproach written largein frowning brow and flashing eye. He was taking up the cudgels in herdefence; reproaching his own brother for forcing her into an awkwardposition. 

Margot's heart gave a leap of joy at the discovery; in the flash of aneye her mood, her outlook on life, the very scene itself, seemedtransfused with new radiance and joy. The sun seemed to peep outthrough the grey clouds, the underlying anxiety and worry of the pastdays took to itself wings, and disappeared. Her brown eyes thanked himwith a glance more eloquent than she was aware; she laughed softly, andher laugh was sweet as a chime of bells. 

"Yes, I have! I confess it. I've been narrow-minded and uncharitable, and a snob into the bargain. I've no right to throw stones... WhatChurch do you belong to, Mr Elgood?"

The little man stood still in the middle of the road, throwing out hisarms on either side, with a gesture wonderfully eloquent. His round, chubby face shone with earnestness and exaltation. 

"To the Church of Christ! The Church of loyalty, and obedience, andlove towards the brethren! To the Church of Christ, wherever I find it!When will Christians learn to remember the points on which they agree, rather than those on which they differ? The questions of form andceremony; of Church government and ritual; how small they are, howunutterably trivial, compared to the great facts of the Fatherhood ofGod, and the sacrifice of Christ! Did the Power who made every one ofus with different faces and different forms, expect us all to thinkmathematically alike? I cannot believe it! It is our duty to trust inGod and love our brethren; to live together in peace, seeing the best ineach other, acknowledging the best, thinking no evil! To see men whomake a profession of religion quarrelling and persecuting each other fortrivial differences, is a ghastly spectacle--a ghastly spectacle!" Hewalked on, swinging his short arms to and fro, then suddenly looked upwith a keen glance into Ron's eager face. 

There were no traces of dreaminess in the brown eyes at this moment; thedilated pupil gave to them an appearance of extraordinary depth andintensity; it was easy to see that the lad had been swept off his feetby the rugged force of the speaker's words, and was kindled into a likeenthusiasm. 

Lads of nineteen and twenty make it so much a matter of principle tosuppress all exhibition of feeling, that it is almost startling to comeacross one who is not ashamed to betray a little human emotion. MrElgood evidently found it so, for he continued to cast those quickpeering glances until the inn was reached, and the little partyseparated, to prepare for the midday dinner. 

Margot walked slowly up the steep staircase leading to her room, and satherself down on the bed to think out the problem. More and more did shelong to pierce through the armour by which the strange, silent man wasenveloped; but how was it to be done? Opportunities were few and farbetween, and now, for the first time in her life, confidence in her ownpowers deserted her, and she was overcome by a strange new feeling ofhumility and doubt. Who and what was she, that such a man should stoopto accept her friendship; poor, unlettered girl that she was, while hewas acknowledged as one of the leading intellects of the day? Yet deepin her heart the thought lingered that between this man and herselfexisted a certain affinity, which, given an opportunity, might bridgeover greater gaps than that of intellect and learning. How was thatopportunity to be gained? She might be willing to sacrifice much toattain it, but there was one thing that could never be thrown on oneside--her natural maidenly pride and dignity! Not even for Ron's sakecould she bring herself to make advances to a man who, so far fromexhibiting any desire for her company, had gone markedly out of his wayto avoid it. 

Ron himself was useless in such circumstances, a creature of moods, living for the moment only, content to forget the future in theenjoyment of present good. To drive him into the Editor's companyagainst his will could do no good, since he would certainly revealhimself in his worst light, and in aggravating, topsy-turvy fashion hehad taken a violent fancy for the wrong brother. 

The Chieftain's geniality and candour, his boy-like lightness of hearton the one hand, his passion for right on the other, were fastdeveloping a species of hero-worship in the lad's mind. Margot foresawthat, as time passed by, the two would grow closer together, and thatany chance of intimacy with the other brother would retreat helplesslyinto the background. Unless--! Her face flamed as a possible solutionof the difficulty darted suddenly into her mind. Could she? Dared sherisk it? Yes, she could. It would be difficult, but she could bringherself to face it, if after a few days' consideration it still seemedthe only way out of the difficulty. 

Margot rose from the bed, and began quietly to prepare for dinner. Herface looked grave and anxious, but it had lost its troubled, frettedexpression. She had made up her mind what to do, and with the decisioncame rest and ease of mind. 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN. 

MUSIC HATH CHARMS. 

For the next two days it rained incessantly, and Margot sat in thelittle parlour of the inn talking to Mrs Macalister, or ratherlistening while Mrs Macalister talked, and playing draughts with MrMacalister, who had relapsed into hopeless gloom of mind, and was withdifficulty prevented from rushing home by the first train. 

"The doctor said we were to keep him from the office for a good month atleast, and there's not three weeks of the time gone by. If he goes backnow, what will be the use of spending all this money on travelling andkeep, and what not? It will be all clean waste, " sighed the poor damesadly. "He's a bit fratchety and irritable, I'm free to admit, but youshould not judge a man when his nerves are upset. There's not a betterman on earth than Mr Macalister when he has his health. It's dull fora man-body to be shut up in an inn, without the comforts of home, andfeeling all the time that there's money going out. It is different whenhe can be out and about with his fishing and what not. --If you couldjust manage to amuse him a bit, like a good lassie!... "

The good lassie nodded reassuringly into the troubled, kindly face. 

"I'll do my best. I have an old father of my own, who has nerves too, and I am used to amusing him. I'll take Mr Macalister in hand till theweather clears. "

It was not a congenial task, for, truth to tell, Mr Macalister was nota beguiling object, with his lugubrious face, lack-lustre eyes, andsandy, outstanding whiskers; nor did he in the first instance betray anygratitude for the attention bestowed upon him. A stolid glance over hisspectacles was his first response to Margot's overtures; his next, aseries of grunts and sniffs, and when at last he condescended to wordsit was invariably to deride or throw doubt on her statements. 

"Tut, nonsense! Who told you that? I would think so, indeed!" followedby another and more determined retreat behind the _Glasgow Herald_. 

In the corner of the room Mrs Macalister sat meekly knitting, neverventuring a look upwards so long as her spouse was in view, but urgingMargot onward by nods and winks and noiseless mouthings, the moment thatshe was safe from observation. 

It had its comic side, but it was also somewhat pathetic. These twogood commonplace souls had travelled through life together side by sidefor over thirty years, and, despite age, infirmity, and "nearves", werestill lovers at heart. Before the wife's eyes the figure of "MrMacalister" loomed so large that it blocked out the entire world; tohim, even in this hour of depression, "the wife" was the one supremeauthority. 

Fortunately for herself and her friends, Margot was gifted withsufficient insight to grasp the poetry behind the prose, and it gave herpatience to persevere. Solution came at last, in the shape of thewheezy old piano in the corner, opened in a moment of aimless wanderingto and fro. Margot was no great performer, but what she could play sheplayed by heart, and Nature had provided her with a sweet, thrush-likevoice, with that true musical thrill which no teaching can impart. Atthe first few bars of a Chopin nocturne Mr Macalister's newspaperwavered, and fell to his knee. Margot heard the rustle of it, slidgradually into a simpler melody, and was conscious of a heavy handwaving steadily to and fro. 

"Ha-ha!" murmured Mr Macalister, at the end of the strain. "Hum-hum!The piano wants tuning, I'm thinking!" It was foreign to his nature toexpress any gratification, but that he had deigned to speak at all was adistinct advance, and equal to a whole volume of compliments fromanother man. 

"Maybe, " he added, after a pause, "if ye were to sing us a ballad itwould be less obsearved!"

So Margot sang, and, finding a book of Scotch selections, could gratifythe old man by selecting his favourite airs, and providing him with anexcuse to hum a gentle accompaniment. Music, it appeared, was MrMacalister's passion in life. As a young man he had been quite acelebrated performer at Penny Readings and Church Soirees, and had beentold by a lady who had heard Sims Reeves that she preferred hisrendering of "Tom Bowling" to that of the famous tenor. This anecdotewas proudly related by his wife, and though Mr Macalister cried, "Hoots!" and rustled his paper in protest, it was easy to see that hewas gratified by the remembrance. 

Margot essayed one Scotch air after another, and was instructed in theproper pronunciation of the words; feigning, it is to be feared, anextra amount of incapacity to pronounce the soft "ch, " for the sake ofgiving her patient a better opportunity of displaying his superioradroitness. 

Comparatively speaking, Mr Macalister became quite genial and agreeablein the course of that musical hour, and when Margot finished herperformance by singing "The Oak and the Ash, " he waxed, for him, positively enthusiastic. 

"It's a small organ, " he pronounced judicially, "a ve-ry small organ. Ye would make a poor show on a concert platform, but for all that, I'mnot saying that it might not have been worse. Ye can keep in tune, andthat's a mearcy!"

"Indeed, Alexander, I call it a bonnie voice! There's no call forsquallings and squakings in a bit of a room like this. I love to hear alassie's voice sound sweet and clear, and happy like herself, and that'sjust the truth about Miss Vane's singing. Thank ye, my dear. It's beena treat to hear you. "

The broad, beaming smile, the sly little nod behind Mr Macalister'sback, proclaiming triumph and delighted gratitude--these sent Margot upto her room heartened and revived in spirits, for there is nothing onearth so invigorating as to feel that we have helped a fellow-creature. The sunshine came back to her own heart, even as it was slowly breakingits way through the clouds overhead. She thrust her head out of thewindow, and opening her mouth, drank in great gulps of the fresh dampair, so sweet and reviving after the mouldy atmosphere of "the parlour. "Over the mountain tops in the direction from which the wind was blowingthe clouds were slowly drifting aside, leaving broader and broaderpatches of blue. Blue! After the long grey hours of rain and mist. The rapture of it was almost beyond belief! A few minutes more, and theglen would be alight with sunshine. She would put on boots, cap, andcape, and hurry out to enjoy every moment that remained. 

The strong-soled little boots were lifted from their corner behind thedoor, and down sat Margot on the floor, school-girl fashion, and beganto thread the laces in and out, and tie them securely into place. Thenthe deerstalker cap was pinned on top of the chestnut locks, and thestraps of the grey cape crossed over the white flannel blouse. Now shewas ready, and the sunshine was already calling to her from without, dancing across the floor, and bringing a delicious warmth into theatmosphere. 

Margot threw open the door and was about to descend the narrowstaircase, when she stopped short, arrested by an unexpected sound. Some one was singing softly in a room near at hand, repeating therefrain of the ballad which she had taken last on her list. The deepbass tones lingered softly on the words--

 "And the lad who marries me, Must carry me hame to my North Coun-tree!"

George Elgood was echoing her song in the seclusion of his own room! Hehad been indoors all the time, then, listening to her while she sang!Margot's cheeks grew hot with embarrassment, yet in the repeated strainthere was a suggestion of appreciation, of lingering enjoyment which didaway with the idea of adverse criticism. 

"Oh, the Oak and the Ash, "--the strain seemed to swell in volume, growing ever nearer and nearer. "And the lad who marries me--"

The door flew open, and they stood facing one another, each framed as ina picture in the lintel of the doorways, divided only by a few yards ofboarded passage. The strain came to an abrupt conclusion, frozen uponhis lips by the shock of surprise and embarrassment. For the third timein their short acquaintance Margot looked straight into his eyes; forthe third time recognised in their depths something that in mysteriousfashion seemed to respond to a want in her own nature; for the thirdtime saw the lids drop, heard an unintelligible murmur of apology, andwatched a hasty retreat. 

For a moment Margot stood motionless, an expression of wounded prideclouding the young rounded face, then very slowly descended thestaircase, traversed the length of the "lobby, " and stood outside thedoor, looking anxiously to right and left. 

There he was, a strong, well-built figure in knickerbockers and Norfolkcoat striding rapidly up the hill path to the right, --trying, no doubt, to put as much distance as possible between himself and theobjectionable girl who seemed ever to be appearing when she was notwanted. For a long minute Margot stood gazing miserably ahead, thenturning resolutely to the left, came face to face with the Chieftainreturning from the village with his pockets bulging with papers. 

His sudden appearance at this moment of depression had a peculiarsignificance to the girl's mind. Doubt crystallised into resolution;with a rapid beating of the heart she determined to grasp her courage inboth hands, and boldly make the plunge which she had been meditating forsome days past. 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN. 

REVELATIONS. 

At sight of Margot the Chieftain first beamed delight, and then screwedhis chubby face into an expression of concern. 

"Halloa! What's up? You look pretty middling doleful!" cried he, casting an eloquent glance towards the inn windows, then lowering hisvoice to a stage whisper, "Macalisteritis, eh? Too much stuffy parlourand domestic reminiscences? Never mind! Pack clouds away, and welcomeday! The sun is shining, and I have a packet of bull's eyes for you inone pocket and a budget of letters in another. No, you don't! Not onesingle one of them to read in the house--come and sit on a stone by thetarn, and we'll suck peppermints and read 'em together. Wonderful howmuch better you'll feel when you've had a good blow of fresh air. I wasprancing mad when I went out this afternoon, but now--a child might playwith me!"

He threw out his short arms with his favourite sweeping gesture, hiscoat flapped to and fro in the breeze, he stepped out with such a jauntytread on his short broad feet, that at sight of him Margot's depressionvanished like smoke, and she trotted along by his side with willingfootsteps. 

"That's better! That's better! Never saw you look melancholy before, and never want to again... `Shocking disappearance of dimples! A younglady robbed of her treasures! Thief still at large! Consternation inthe neighbourhood!' Eh! How's that? Young women who have been endowedwith dimples should never indulge in low spirits. It's a criminaloffence against their neighbours. Where's your brother?"

Margot laughed at the suddenness of the question. It was one of theChieftain's peculiarities to leap upon one like this, taking oneunawares, and surprising thereby involuntary revelations. 

"I don't know, " she answered truthfully. "Over the hills and far away, I suppose--studying them in a new aspect. He loved them yesterday inthe rain; to-day he felt sure that it would clear, and he wanted to seethe mists rise. He does so intensely love studying Nature. "

"Humph?"

Margot looked at him sharply, her head involuntarily assuming adefensive tilt. 

"What does `Humph' mean, pray?"

"Just exactly and precisely what it says!"

"It doesn't sound at all flattering or nice. "

"Probably not. It wasn't intended to be. "

"Mr Elgood, how can you! What can you have to say about Ron that isn'tto his credit? I thought you liked him! I thought you admired him!You must see--you _must_--that he is different from other boys of hisage. So much more clever, and thoughtful, and appreciative!"

"That's where the pity comes in! It's pitiful to see a lad like thatmooning away his time, when he ought to be busy at football or cricket, or playing tricks on his betters. What business has he to appreciateNature? Tell me that! At twenty--is it, or only nineteen?--he ought tobe too much engrossed in exercising his muscles, and letting off steamgenerally, to bother his head about effects of sun and mist. Sun andmist, indeed! A good wholesome ordinary English lad doesn't care a tossabout sun or mist, except as they help or hinder his enjoyment ofsport!"

"Ronald is not an `ordinary English boy'!"

"Hoity-toity! Now she's offended!" The Chieftain looked at hiscompanion's flushed cheeks with twinkling eyes, not one whit daunted byher airs of dignified displeasure. "Don't want me to say what isn'ttrue, do you? He's a nice lad--a very nice lad, and a clever one intothe bargain, though by no means the paragon you think him. That's whyI'm sorry to see him frittering away his youth, instead of making haywhile the sun shines. He'll be old soon enough. Wake up some finemorning to find himself with a bald head and stiff joints. Then he'llbe sorry! Wouldn't bother my head about him if I didn't like the lad. Have a peppermint? It will soothe your feelings. "

The parcel of round black bull's eyes was held towards Margot iningratiating fashion. It was impossible to refuse, impossible tocherish angry feelings, impossible to do anything but laugh and be happyin the presence of this kindest and most cheery of men. Margot took thepeppermint, and sucked it with frank enjoyment the while she sat by thetarn reading her letters. Having received nothing from home for severaldays, the same post had now brought letters from her father, Edith, andAgnes, to say nothing of illustrated missives from the two smallnephews. Mr Vane's note was short, and more an echo of her own lastletter than a record of his own doings. 

"Glad to know that you like your surroundings--pleased to hear that theweather keeps fine--hope you will enjoy your excursion, " etcetera, etcetera. 

Just at the end came a few sentences which to the reader's quick witswere full of hidden meaning. 

"Agnes is taking the opportunity of your absence to organise a secondspring cleaning. It seems only the other day since we were upsetbefore. I dined at the club last night. It is difficult to know whatto do with oneself on these long light evenings. --I would run away overSunday, if I could think of any place I cared to go to... Town seemsvery empty. "

"Poor dear darling!" murmured Margot sympathetically, at which theChieftain lifted his eyes to flash upon her a glance of twinklingamusement. He made no spoken comment, however, but returned to theperusal of his own correspondence, while Margot broke open the envelopeof Agnes's letter. 

Two sheets of handwriting, with immense spaces between both words andlines--"My dear Margot, " as a beginning--"Your affectionate sister, Agnes Mary Vane, " as a conclusion. Thrilling information to the effectthat the charwoman was coming on Friday. Complaints of the late arrivalof the sweep. Information requested concerning a missing mat which wasrequired to complete a set. Mild disapproval of the Nag's Head Inn. "Icannot understand what you find to rave about in such quarters. " A sighof impatience and resignation was the tribute paid to this letter, andthen Margot settled herself more comfortably on the stone, and preparedto enjoy a treat--a real heart-to-heart talk with her beloved eldestsister. 

Edith had the gift of sympathy. Just as Agnes never understood, Edithalways seemed able to put herself in another's place, and enter intothat person's joys and griefs. She herself might be sad and downcast, but in her darkest hour she could always rejoice in another's goodfortune, and forget her own woes in eager interest and sympathy. Now, sitting alone in the dreary lodging-house sitting-room in OxfordTerrace, she was able mentally to project herself into the far-offHighland glen, and to feel an ungrudging joy in the pleasure of others. Never a hint of "How I envy you! How I wish I were there!" Not amention of "I" in obtruding, shadow-like fashion from first to last, butinstead, tender little anecdotes about the boys; motherly solicitude fortheir benefit, and humble asking of advice from one younger and lessexperienced than herself; an outpouring of tenderness for her husband, and of a beautiful and unbroken trust and belief, which failure waspowerless to shake. 

"Jack is working like a slave trying to build up the ruins of the oldbusiness. It is difficult, discouraging work, and so far the resultsare practically nil, but they will come. Something will come! More andmore I feel the conviction in my heart that all this trouble andupheaval have been because God has some better thing in store for usboth. We have only to wait and be patient, and the way will open. --Idon't want to be rich, only just to have enough money to live simply andquietly. We are so rich in each other's companionship that we canafford to do without luxuries. Last night we had a dinner of herbs--literally herbs--a vegetarian feast costing about sixpence halfpenny, but with such lots of love to sweeten it, and afterwards we went out fora stroll into the Park, and I wore the hat you trimmed, and Jack madelove to me. We _were_ happy! I saw people looking at us with enviouseyes. They thought we were a pair of lovers building castles in theair, instead of an old married couple with two bouncing boys, having theworkhouse in much nearer proximity than any castle--but they were rightto envy us all the same. We have the best thing!"

The letter dropped on to Margot's knee, and she sat silent, gazingbefore her with shining eyes, her face softened into a beautifultenderness of expression. For some time she was unconscious that hercompanion had returned his own letters to his coat pocket, and was lyingalong the ground, his head resting upon his hand, watching her with avery intent scrutiny; but when at last her eyes were unconsciously drawntowards him, she spoke at once, as if answering an unspoken question. 

"What a wonderful thing love is!"

The Chieftain's light eyebrows were elevated in interrogation. 

"In connection with the `dear darling' previously mentioned, if one mayask?"

"That was my father. I love him dearly, but just now I was thinking ofthe other sort of love. This letter is from my eldest sister. She wasa beautiful girl, and could have married half a dozen rich men if shehad wished, but she chose the poorest of them all, a dear, good, splendid man, who has been persistently unsuccessful all the waythrough. Everything--financially speaking, I mean, --has been againsthim. They have had continual anxiety and curtailment, until at lastthey have had to let their pretty house and go into dingy lodgings. Myfather is very down on Jack. He is a successful man himself, and don'tyou think it needs a very fine nature to keep up faith in a person whoseems persistently to fail? But my sister never doubts. She loves herhusband more, and idealises him more, than on the day they weremarried. "

"And you call that man unsuccessful?"

Margot hardly recognised the low, earnest tones: her quick glancedownward surprised a spasm of pain on the chubby face, which she hadalways associated with unruffled complacency. It appeared that herealso lay a hidden trouble, a secret grief carefully concealed from theworld. 

"Isn't that rather a misuse of the word? A man who has gained and keptsuch a love can never be called a failure by any one who understands thetrue proportions of life. With all his monetary losses he is rich... And she is rich also... Richer than she knows. "

Margot's hand closed impulsively on Edith's letter and held it towardshim. 

"Yes, you are right. Read that, and you will see how right you are. There are no secrets in it--its just a word-photograph of Edith herself, and I'd like you to see her, as you understand so well. She's mydearest sister, whom I admire more than anybody in the world. "

Mr Elgood took the letter without a word, and read over its contentsslowly once, and then, even more slowly, a second time. When at last hehad finished he still held the sheet in his hands, smoothing it out withgentle, reverent fingers. 

"Yes!" he said slowly. "I can see her. She is a beautiful creature. Ishould like to know her in the flesh. You must introduce us to oneanother some day. I haven't come across too many women like that in mylife. It would be an honour to know her, to help her, if that werepossible. " He sighed, and stretching out his hand laid the letter onMargot's knee. "You are right, Miss Bright Eyes, love is a wonderfulthing!"

Margot glanced at him with involuntary, girlish curiosity, theinevitable question springing to her lips before Prudence had time toorder silence. 

"Do you--have you--did you ever--"

The Chieftain laughed softly. 

"Have I ever been in love, you would ask! What do you take me for, pray? Am I such a blind, cold-hearted clod that I could go through theworld for forty-five years and keep my heart untouched? Of course Ihave loved. I do love! It was once and for ever with me--"

"But you are not--"

"Married? No! She died long ago; but even if she had lived she was notfor me. She would have been the wife of another man; a good fellow; Ithink she would have been happy. As it is, we remember her together. She was a bright, sunshiny creature who carried happiness with herwherever she went... To have known her is the comfort of our lives--notthe grief. We have lived through the deep waters, and can now rejoicein her gain... Do you know there is something about yourself which hasreminded me of her several times! That is one reason why I like beingwith you, and am interested in your life. I should like you to think ofme as a friend, and come to me for help if you were ever in need ofanything that I could give. "

The colour rushed into Margot's cheeks, and her heart beat withsuffocating quickness. Here was the opportunity for which she hadlonged, offered to her without any preliminary effort or contriving onher own part! The place, the time, the person were all in readiness, waiting for her convenience. If through cowardice or wavering sheallowed the moment to pass, she could never again hope for another suchopening. Already the Chieftain was watching her with surprise andcuriosity, the softness of the last few minutes giving place to theusual alert good-humour. 

"Hey? Well! What is it? What's the trouble? Out with it! Anything Ican do?"

"Mr Elgood, " said Margot faintly, "you are very good, very kind; I ammost grateful to you. I hope you _will_ help me, but first there issomething I must say... I--I have been deceiving you from thebeginning!"

"What's that?" The Chieftain sat up suddenly and stared at her beneathfrowning brows. "Deceiving me? _You_? I don't believe a word of it!What is there to deceive me about, pray? You are not masquerading undera false name, I suppose? Not married, for instance, and passingyourself off as single for some silly school-girl freak?"

"Oh no! Oh no! Everything that I have told you about myself is true, absolutely true. "

"I knew it. You are not the sort that could act a lie. What's all thefuss about, then?"

"What I have told you is true, but--but--I have not told you _all_!"

"I should think not, indeed! Who expected that you should? I am not atall sure that I care to hear it. "

"Oh, but--I want to tell you!"

The Chieftain chuckled with amusement. He was evidently comfortablyconvinced of the non-importance of the forthcoming revelations, andMargot's courage suffered another ebb as she returned his unsuspiciousglance. 

"I--we--we knew that you were staying at the Nag's Head!"

The Chieftain cocked a surprised eyebrow, startled but unresentful. 

"You knew that we were here, before you arrived, and met us in theflesh? Is that so? I wonder how you heard! I make it a rule to keepmy holiday plans as secret as possible, for the very good reason that aholiday _is_ a holiday, and one wants a change of companionship as wellas scene. How in the world did you hear that we were bound forGlenaire? I'm curious!"

Margot's eyelids fell guiltily, but Nature had generously endowed thesesame lids with long black lashes, the points of which curled up in amanner distractingly apparent when shown in contrast with a flushed pinkcheek; so it happened that instead of being hardened by the sight, theChieftain drew a few inches nearer, and smiled with genial approval. 

"Well, out with it! _How_ did you hear?"

"I--asked!"

"Asked?" The brow became a network of astonished wrinkling. "Youasked? Whom did you ask? And why? What did you know about us, to giveyou interest in our comings or goings? This grows curiouser andcuriouser! I imagined that we were as absolute strangers to you as youwere to us. "

"It--it--there was the magazine--it was because of the magazine. "

"Oh, indeed! You knew the name through the magazine! I understand!"The Chieftain straightened himself, and the laugh died out of his eyes. For the first time in the history of their short acquaintance Margot sawhis face set in firm, hard lines, the business face which had been leftat home, together with the black coats and silk hats of City wear, andseeing it, trembled with fear. But it was too late to retreat; forbetter or worse she was bound to go forward and complete her half-finished revelations. 

"I wanted to get to know your brother, because he is the editor of the_Loadstar_, and I had heard people say that he was the most powerfulliterary man in London; that if he chose to take up any one who wasbeginning to write he could do more to help than any one else. We knowno literary people at home, and I wanted to. Badly!"

"I see! Just so. Written a novel, and want help to get it into print, "returned the Chieftain slowly. He had drawn down his lips into anexpression of preternatural gravity, but the hard look had disappeared. The murder was out, and he was not angry; he might pretend to be, butMargot was too sharp-witted to be frightened by a pretence. 

She drew a sigh of relief as she replied--

"No, indeed. Couldn't to save my life. It's--Ron! I was thinking ofhim, not of myself. He is a poet!"

The Chieftain groaned aloud, as if in pain. 

"Oh, I know you won't believe it, but he is! He writes wonderful poems. Not rhymes, but poems; beautiful poems that live in your mind. He willbe another Tennyson or Browning when he is a little older. "

The Chieftain groaned again, a trifle more loudly than before. 

"It's true! It really is true. You must have seen yourself that he isdifferent from other boys of his age. You heard him reeling off thoseimpromptu lines the other day, and said how clever they were! I haveseen you looking at his face when he has been thinking out some idea. Iknew what he was doing, and you didn't; but you guessed that he wasdifferent from ordinary people. "

"I saw that he was mooning about something, and wondered if he was rightin the head! If he'd been my boy, I should have taken care to keep hisnose so close to the grindstone that he would have no time to moon!Poet, indeed! Didn't you tell me that your father was a successfulbusiness man? What is he about, to countenance such nonsense?"

"He doesn't!" replied Margot sadly. "No one does but me, and that's whyI had to act. Father agrees with you. He doesn't care for books, andlooks down upon literary men as poor, effeminate sort of creatures, whoknow nothing of the world. He is ashamed that his only son writesverses. Ron detests the idea of business, but he has had to promisefather that he would go into his office if at the end of a year he hadhad no encouragement to persevere in literature. But how is a youngunknown poet to make himself known? The magazines announce that theycan accept no unsolicited poetical contributions; the publishers laughat the idea of bringing out a book by a man of whom no one has heard. Aboy might be a second Shakespeare, but no one would believe in him untilthey had first broken his heart by their ridicule and unbelief. Theyear is out in September, so matters were getting desperate, when atlast I--thought of this plan! I felt sure that if a man who was a realjudge of literary power met Ron face to face, and got to know him, hewould realise his gifts, and be willing to give him a chance. It was nouse trying in London in the midst of the full pressure of work, but inthe country everything is different. I knew a man who knew a man in theoffice of the _Loadstar_, and asked him to find out your brother'splans--"

As she was speaking Margot was conscious of a succession of stifledchuckles which her companion vainly tried to suppress. The Chieftain'samusement had evidently overmastered his threatened displeasure, andwhen at length she paused, he burst into an irresistible guffaw oflaughter, rubbed his hands together, and cried gleefully--

"Stalked him! Stalked him! Poor old George! Big game, and no mistake. Ran him to earth... Eh, what? Bravo, bravo, Miss Bright Eyes! Youare a first-class conspirator. "

He laughed again and again, with ever-increasing merriment, laughed tillhis eyes disappeared in wrinkles of fat, till the tears streamedhelplessly down his cheeks. His portly form shook with the violence ofhis merriment; he kicked the air with his short, fat feet. 

Margot stared at this strange exhibition in an amazement, whichgradually changed into annoyance and outraged dignity; so that when atlast the Chieftain sat up to mop his eyes with a large silk pocket-handkerchief, he beheld a very dignified young lady sitting by his sidein a position of poker-like rigidity, with her head tilted to anexpressive angle. 

"Sorry!" he panted hastily. "Sorry I smiled. A compliment, you know, if you look at it in the right light. It's such an uncommonly goodidea, and so original. `The Stalking of the Editor'--eh? Well, nowthat you have made such a rattling good beginning, why don't you go onand prosper? Here you are; there he is; the field is your own. Whydon't you go in and win?"

Margot's face fell, and her haughty airs vanished, as she turned towardshim a pair of widely-opened eyes, eloquent with plaintive surprise. 

"But I can't! How can I, when he runs away the moment I appear? I madeRon go fishing with him one day, but he went off and left him alone, andnow it's no use persuading any more. Ron says it is only waste of time!As for me, I have hardly spoken a word to him all this time, though Ifeel that if I did really know him, I--" she hesitated, knitting herbrows, and pursing her soft red lips--"I could make him understand! Idecided at last to confide in you, because you have been so kind andfriendly to us from the first that I felt sure you would be willing tohelp. You will, won't you? Even if personally you don't approve of aliterary career, will you give Ron a chance of living his life in hisown way? If your brother approved of his writings, and helped him to abeginning, even the very smallest beginning, father would be satisfiedthat he was not wasting his time. "

The Chieftain clasped his hands around his knees, and sat staring at herwith thoughtful gaze. His eyes rested upon the clear childlike eyes, the sweet lips, the broad, honest brow, as though studying them in a newlight, and with regard to some problem suddenly presented to the mind. Whatever was the question waiting to be decided, the answer was self-evidently favourable, for his eyes lightened, he stretched out animpetuous hand, and laid it upon her arm. 

"Right!" he cried heartily. "Right! I'll help you! The lad's a goodlad, and a clever lad; but what I do will be for your sake, not his!You are a dear girl! The dearest girl I have ever met--save one! Forthe sake of the bit of her that lives again in you, I am at yourservice. You shall have your chance. From to-day forward I will see toit that George makes a member of our party wherever we go. He has doneenough writing; it is time that he began to play. Make him play, MissVane! He has been old all his life; teach him to be young! He is thebest fellow in the world, but he is fast asleep. Wake him up! There isjust one condition, and that is, that you leave your brother and hisscribblings alone for the time being! Don't mention them, or anyquestion of the sort, but be content just to show yourself to George, your own bright, natural girl-self, as you have shown it to me. Learnto know one another, and forget all about the boy. His turn will comelater on! You promise?"

"Ye-es!" faltered Margot shyly. "Yes, I do; but you must promise too--that you will, that you won't, won't let your brother think--"

The Chieftain touched her arm once more, with a gesture of kindlyreassurement. 

"Don't you worry, little girl! He shall have no thoughts about you thatare not altogether chivalrous and true. It's not you who are going tomove in this matter, remember! You've given it over into my hands; itis I who am to pull the strings. No, you needn't thank me. It strikesme that we are going to work out pretty even over this business. If youwant help for your brother, I need it just as badly for mine. I haverealised for a long time that he needed a medicine which no doctor couldsupply. " He looked into her face with a sudden radiant smile. "Itstrikes me I might have searched a very long time before finding any oneso eminently fitted to undertake his cure!"

CHAPTER SIXTEEN. 

RASPBERRY-PICKING. 

Margot awoke the next morning with the pleasant feeling that somethingwas going to happen, and as she dressed, curiosity added an additionalsavour to the anticipation. What would happen? How would the Chieftainset to work? Would the Editor consider himself a victim, or yieldreadily to the temptation? Certainly he had so far manifested noanxiety to enjoy her society, had, indeed, seemed to avoid her at allpoints; and yet, and yet-- Margot possessed her full share of a woman'sdivination, and, despite appearances, the inward conviction lingeredthat if the first natural shyness could be overcome, he would soonbecome reconciled to her companionship, and might even--she blushed ather own audacity!--_enjoy_ the change from his usual solitude. 

Like a true daughter of Eve, Margot did her best to help on this happy_denouement_ by taking special pains with her toilette, putting on oneof her prettiest washing frocks, and coiling her chestnut locks in themost becoming fashion, and the consciousness of looking her best senther down to breakfast in the happiest of spirits. 

Other countries may carry off the palm for the cooking of the moreelaborate meals of the day, but surely no breakfast can touch thatserved in a well-ordered Scottish household. The smoothly boiledporridge, with its accompaniment of thick yellow cream; the new-laideggs; the grilled trout, fresh from the stream; the freshly baked "baps"and "scones, " the crisp rolls of oatcake; and last, but not least, thedelectable, home-made marmalade, which is as much a part of the meal asthe coffee itself. He must be difficult to please who does notappreciate such a meal as Mrs McNab served each morning to her guestsin the dining-room of the Nag's Head!

It was when Margot had reached the marmalade stage, and George Elgood, apersistent late-comer, was setting to work on his ham and eggs, that theChieftain fired the first gun of the assault. 

"When are you going to invite us all to come up and have tea with you inyour fairy dell, George?" he demanded suddenly. "What do you think ofthis fellow, Mrs Macalister, finding a veritable little heaven below, and keeping it to himself all this time? There's an easy ascent by thehead of the glen for those who object to the steeper climb; there'sshade, and water and everything that the most exacting person could wantfor an ideal picnic. To be in the country on a day like this, and notto go for a picnic seems to me a deliberate waste of opportunity, Whatabout this afternoon, eh? That will suit you as well as any other time, I presume?"

To say that the Editor appeared surprised by this sudden threatening ofhis solitude, would be to state the case too mildly. He lookedabsolutely stunned with astonishment, and his predicament was all themore enhanced by the fact that already murmurs of assent andanticipation welcomed the idea from his neighbours to right and to left. He stared incredulously into his brother's face, wrinkled his brow, andstammered out a laboured excuse. 

"I'm afraid I-- The dell is in no sense my property--No doubt it wouldmake a capital site for a picnic, but I--I have no right to pose ashost!"

"Rubbish, my boy! You are not going to get out of it so easily as that. We expect you to act as master of the ceremonies, and show us thebeauties you have kept to yourself so long. Yes, and to catch sometrout for us, too! What do you say to that, Mrs Macalister? How doesfreshly grilled trout strike you as an accessory to a picnic? We'llhave two fires, with the kettle on one, and the gridiron on the other, and Mrs McNab will send up a hamper of good things to complete thefeast. We'll leave George to manage that, as he knows how to get roundher; only do the thing well when you are about it; that's all I have tosay! We shall bring rattling big appetites, shan't we, Miss Vane?"

Margot's glance passed by his to dwell with remorseful commiseration onthe Editor's perturbed face. This was her own doing; a directconsequence of her appeal of the day before! The expression of thebrown eyes was wonderfully eloquent, and meeting them the Editorbestirred himself to smile back a grateful recognition. By this time, however, the murmur had grown into definite speech; Mrs Macalister wasstating at length her life's experience as to picnics, and laying downthe law as to what was necessary for their success; the clergyman andhis son were debating how to reach the dell from the farthest point ofthe day's expedition; Mr Macalister was slowly repeating--

"Trout! Grilled trout! It's a strange-like idea to have fish at apicnic!"

It was plainly too late in the day for the Editor to refuse aninvitation which had already been practically accepted! With a bettergrace than might have been expected he resigned himself to his fate, andthe smile which he sent round the table was very charming in its shycordiality. 

"I shall be delighted if you will honour me by coming so far; and nodoubt with Mrs McNab's help I shall be able to provide refreshments. Shall we say half-past four?"

"Four o'clock would be better. We want plenty of time to linger overtea, and ramble about afterwards, " said the Chieftain firmly; and therebeing no dissent from this amendment, the Editor nodded assent, and, gathering his papers in his hand, hurried out of the room. 

Margot followed on the first opportunity. She felt the eyes of theChieftain fixed on her face from across the room, and could imagine thetwinkle of humorous meaning with which they would be alight but she felttoo self-conscious and ill at ease to respond. Like a frightened littlerabbit she scuttled upstairs to her own room and remained there, busyingherself with odd pieces of work until the inmates of the inn had takenthemselves off for their morning's excursions, and quiet reignedthroughout the house. Then, and not till then, she opened her door andpeered cautiously at that other door across the landing. It was closelyshut, and taking for granted that within its portals the bewilderedscholar was making the most of his free hours, Margot crept quietly downthe staircase, and turned to the right towards the kitchen. It occurredto her that she might be able to help Mrs McNab in her preparations forthe afternoon, and by doing so relieve the pangs of her own conscience. All this work, and worry, and bewilderment, on her account--as aresponse to her appeal! She blushed guiltily, hardly knowing whether tofeel more gratified or annoyed with the Chieftain for so speedy ademonstration of his power; dreading the moment when they should meetagain, and she must perforce brave the mischievous messages of his eyes. 

The kitchen door was closely shut. Mrs McNab was too capable ahousewife to allow the noise and odour of culinary preparations toinvade the rest of the house; but by this time Margot was sure of herwelcome, for scarcely a day had passed by that she had not offered herservices, and been condescendingly permitted to shell peas, stone fruit, or whip up snowy masses of cream. Mrs McNab always accorded permissionwith the air of an empress conferring an order upon some humblesuppliant, but none the less Margot felt assured that she appreciatedthe help, and would have missed it, had it not been forthcoming. 

This morning she tapped on the door, opened it, and thrust her headround the corner, to behold a tableau which remained fixed irrevocablyin heart and memory. In the middle of the floor stood the mistress ofthe inn, arms akimbo, engaged in laying down the law in characteristic, downright fashion to some one who sat perched upon the dresser withhands thrust deep into knickerbocker pockets, and feet in rough climbingboots swinging nonchalantly to and fro; some one with a bright, almostboyish face alight with fun, laughter, and defiance. 

For the second time Margot beheld the real George Elgood denuded of hismask of shyness and reserve, and thrilled at the recognition. Thissunny, stone-flagged kitchen seemed fated to be the scene of unexpectedmeetings! She would have retreated in haste, but at the sound of herentrance Mr Elgood jumped hastily to the floor, and Mrs McNabauthoritatively waved her forward. 

"Here she is to speak for herself! Come yer ways, Miss Vane. I wassaying to Mr Elgood that maybe he'd listen to your advice, as he willnatak' mine. You're a leddy, and ken how such things should be done, andif there's any call to waste the morning, and run into daft-likeexpense, when everything a reasonable body need want is lying ready tohand--"

Margot looked from one to the other in bewilderment, her spirits risingwith the discovery that for the first time in their short acquaintancethe Editor met her glance with an expression of relief rather than ofdread. He was smiling still, and the boyish look lingered on his face, making him appear an absolutely different creature from the grave, formidable hermit to whom she was accustomed. 

Margot's eyes danced, and she answered as naturally as if she had beenspeaking to Ron himself. 

"I don't know in the least what I am giving an opinion about--but I amnot a `reasonable body, ' and as a rule the result of `daft-like expense'is very nice! I'm afraid that isn't what you wanted me to say, MrsMcNab, but I must be honest. Perhaps I may feel differently when I knowwhat I am talking about. "

"Your picnic!" cried Mrs McNab. 

"My picnic!" corrected the Editor. "I never gave a picnic before, andI'm weighed down by responsibility. My brother refuses to help me, andMrs McNab is a Spartan, and nips my suggestions in the bud. She thinkswe ought to be satisfied with bread and butter; I want cakes and fruit;I want her to bake, and she says she has no time to bake; I want to sendover to Rew on the chance of getting strawberries; she says she has noone to send. If you agree with me, Miss Vane, perhaps she will maketime; I know by experience that she is always better than her word!"

Mrs McNab sniffed ironically. 

"There's scones for ye, and good fresh butter--what do ye want forbye?Ye'd get nae mair if ye were at hame, and it's not going to kill ye, walking a couple of miles. I've something else to do on a Thursdaymorning than waste my time messing over things that aren't needed. "

Mr Elgood leant against the dresser, and surveyed her more in sorrowthan in anger. 

"Now what have you to do?" he demanded. "It's absurd to pretend thatthere is anything to clean, because you never give a thing a chance tobecome dirty. There is cold meat for lunch, as you yourself informedme, so there's no cooking on hand. This house goes by machinery, withElspeth to stoke up the motive power. What can be left for you? Ican't think of a single thing. "

"Maybe not. A man-body never kens what goes on under his nose, thoughhe'd be keen enough to find out if anything went wrong. It's the day Iclean my candlesticks and brasses. They don't go on shining bythemselves, whatever ye may think. "

"Candlesticks and brasses!" George Elgood repeated the words withgloomy emphasis, fixing the speaker with reproachful eyes. "Candlesticks and brasses! And you put such things as those before_me_, and the first--one of the first, favours I have ever asked! ... Abig plum cake, with almonds at the top, and a round of shortbread; itseems to me a most moderate request. There's not a soul in the inn whowill notice a shade of extra polish on the candlesticks to-night, butthey will all bear me a lifelong grudge if I don't give them enough toeat. Have you ever been to a picnic where you were expected to besatisfied with bread and butter, Miss Vane?"

Margot's shake of the head was tragic in its solemnity. 

"Never! and I don't intend to begin. I know where we can get somefruit, at any rate, for I heard the woman at the grocer's shop sayingthat she had raspberries to sell. That is far easier than sending overto Rew, and I'd be delighted to take a basket and bring back all I canget. While Mrs McNab makes the cakes!"

Mrs McNab sniffed again, but vouchsafed no further answer. MrElgood's face brightened, and he cried eagerly--

"That is kind of you! Raspberries are very nearly as good asstrawberries, and it would be splendid to get them so near at hand. I--er--" he frowned, with a momentary return to his old embarrassment--"Iwill come too, and carry the basket, for we must hope to have a fairlyheavy load. "

Margot could hardly believe in the reality of this sudden change ofposition, as she set out for the village ten minutes later, with GeorgeElgood by her side. He carried the basket lent by Mrs McNab, and swungalong with big easy strides, while she trotted by his side, a prettygirlish figure in her cool white frock. It was left to her to do thegreatest share of the talking; but one reassuring fact was quicklydiscovered, namely, that her companion's shyness seemed to consistmainly in the dread of breaking strange ground, for once the firstplunge over he showed none of the expected embarrassment or distress. If he could not be called talkative, he was at least an appreciativelistener; not a single point of her conversation missed its due share ofinterest; while his deep, quiet laugh proved an incentive to freshflights of fancy. For a whole ten days had Margot been waiting for heropportunity, and now that it had come she was keen to turn it to thebest possible advantage. Had the Chieftain been at hand to watch herwith his quizzical glance, she might have been tongue-tied and ill atease; even Ronald's presence would have brought with it a feeling ofself-consciousness; but in the kindly solitude of the mountain road shecould be herself, without thought of any one but her companion. Remembering the warning which she had received, she kept theconversation on strictly impersonal topics, avoiding even the mention ofRon's name, but never had ordinary topics seemed so interesting, or theway to the village so extraordinarily quickly traversed!

Inside the fusty grocer's shop the good Mrs Forsyth manifested none ofa Southerner's delight at the advent of a customer for her superfluousfruit; she appeared, indeed, to receive Margot's first inquiry in asomewhat flisty and off-hand manner, as though advantage were beingtaken of a careless word, which she had not expected to have taken inserious earnest. George Elgood, distinctly rebuffed, mutteredunintelligible words of apology, but already Margot was beginning tounderstand the dour Northern manner, and pressed the attack withundiminished eagerness. Thus coerced, Mrs Forsyth was forced toacknowledge that she wouldna deny that she had raspberries in thegarden; and that it seemed a pity they should waste, as she hadna thetime to "presarve. " There was no telling--maybe when the children camehame from school in the afternoon they wouldna be above picking abasketful, and taking it down to the inn. 

"But we want them now! We want as many as you can possibly spare, butwe must have them to take back with us now!"

"And who's to pick them for ye, I would ask?" demanded Mrs Forsyth withscathing directness. "I've the shop to mind, and the dinner to cook;it's not likely I can be out picking fruit at the same time, and there'snot anither soul in the house forbye mysel! I'm thinking you'll have towait, or do without!"

"We could pick them ourselves!" pleaded the Editor eagerly. "You wouldhave no trouble except to measure the fruit after it is gathered, andtell us what we owe! I don't care how much I pay. I want some fruitthis morning, and if I can't get it from you I shall have to drive overto Rew. That would cost five or six shillings for the trap alone, soyou see I shall get off well, even if you charge me twice the usualprice. "

But here again the benighted Southerner found himself brought up sharplyagainst an unexpected phase of Scottish character, for Mrs Forsyth wasdistinctly on her high horse at the thought of being offered more thanher due. She had her price; a fair-like price, she informed himloftily, and she stuck to it. She wasna the woman to make differencesbetween one person and anither. Justice was justice, and she would liketo meet the man who could say she had ever stooped to accept a bribe. 

So on and so on, while once again George Elgood hung his head abashed, and glanced in distress at his companion. In the delight afforded bythat appeal Margot felt equal to dealing with ten Mrs Forsyths, eachequally unreasonable and "kamstary. "

"We will leave the price to you; we will leave everything to you!" shecried gaily. "I know it's asking a great deal to be allowed to comeinto your garden and pick for ourselves, but we are rather in adifficulty, for this gentleman is giving a picnic this afternoon, andMrs McNab has no fruit to give us. It would be a favour not only tous, but to the whole party if you would say Yes. _Please_!"

The way in which Margot said "Please!" with head on one side, andupraised, beseeching _eyes_, was one of the most fatal of herblandishments. Even the redoubtable Mrs McNab had succumbed at thesight, and in her turn Mrs Forsyth also was overcome. She made nofurther objections, but led the way through the house into a longstretch of vegetable garden, the end portion of which was thicklyplanted with raspberry bushes. 

"Help yourself!" she said briefly. "You're welcome to all that's fit toeat. "

So the two who had been strangers, and had suddenly developed into akind of partnership of aim, set to work to fill the basket, which forbetter convenience was slung over a branch of one of the bushes. 

The sun shone down on them; the life-giving breeze blew round them; theywere alone together among the flowers and the scented herbs. Theyworked side by side, laughing over their efforts, comparing theirtakings, gloating over the quickly-filling basket like a couple ofchildren recognising each other as playmates, and disdaining theordinary preliminaries of acquaintanceship. 

"It's so kind of you to help me!" said the man. 

"It's so kind of you to let me!" returned the maid. 

"I--I have noticed that you seem always to be helping people. "

"I didn't think you noticed anything at all!"

He had not intended to say so much. She did not stop to consider whatshe was implying. Both blushed, relapsed into silence, and picked fruitassiduously for several moments, before beginning again--

"I am afraid this picnic will be a great bore to you. "

"Indeed, I think it is going to be a pleasure. I should have thought ofit before, but that sort of thing does not come easily to me. I havelived too much alone!"

"You have your work--you have been absorbed in your work. "

"Have I? I'm afraid that is not altogether true!"

Margot glanced up surprised, met the dark eyes fixed full upon her, andlooked hurriedly away. 

"I have been finding it increasingly difficult to be absorbed, " hecontinued dreamily. "I have heard you all laughing and talking togetherdownstairs, and my thoughts have wandered. Once you sang... Do youremember that wet afternoon when you sang? I did not seem able to writeat all that afternoon. "

The basket was full of fruit by now; Margot lifted it by one handle;George Elgood lifted it by the other. They walked down the sunlitgarden into the house. 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. 

TROUT FISHING. 

There was a short, somewhat embarrassed silence while Margot kept hereyes fixed on the scene of the late meal, the two smouldering fires, thepiled-up hampers and baskets, and the Editor drummed with his fingers, and chewed his moustache. 

"Er--" he began haltingly at last. "How do you think it has gone?"

"You mean the--"

"Picnic! Yes. My first entertainment. I feel responsible. Think theyenjoyed it at all?"

"I'm sure of it. Immensely! They thawed wonderfully. Think of theduet! To hear Mr Macalister singing was a revelation. It has been adelightful change from the ordinary routine. And the trout! The troutwas a huge success. How amiable of it to let itself be caught soconveniently!"

The Editor smiled, with the conscious pride of the experiencedfisherman. 

"There was not much `let' about it. He led me a pretty dance before hegave up the struggle, but I was on my mettle, and bound to win. Do youknow anything about fishing, Miss Vane?"

"I?" Margot laughed happily. "Just as much as I have gleaned fromwatching little boys fish for minnows in Regent's Park! I don't think Ihave ever particularly wanted to know more. It seems so dull to standwaiting for hours for what may never come, not daring to speak, in caseyou may scare it away! What do you think about all the time?"

He turned and looked at her at that, his lips twitching with amusement. Seated on the ground as they were, the two faces were very neartogether, and each regarded the other with the feeling of advancing astep further in the history of their acquaintance. 

"He really _is_ young!" decided Margot, with a sigh of relief. "It'sonly the frown and the stoop and the eyeglasses which make him look asif he were old. "

George Elgood looked into the pink and white face, and his thoughtsturned instinctively to a bush of briar roses which he had seen andadmired earlier in the day. So fresh, and fair, and innocent! Were allyoung girls so fragrant and flower-like as this? Then he thought of thelittle prickles which had stung his hand as he had picked a bud from thesame bush for his buttonhole, and smiled with latent mischief. Afterall, the remembrance did not lessen the likeness. Miss Margot looked asif she might--under provocation--display a prickle or two of her own!

"What do I think about?" he repeated slowly. "That is rather adifficult question to answer; but this good little river, I am thankfulto say, does not leave one much time for thought. There's a littlechannel just beyond the bridge that is a favourite place for sea trout. Would you like to see it?"

"Might I? Really? Oh, please!" cried Margot, all in a breath. Hervery prettiest "please, " accompanied by a quick rise to her feet whichemphasised the eagerness of her words. 

George Elgood lost no time in following her example, and together theywalked briskly away towards the head of the dell; that is to say, in theopposite direction to that taken by the other members of the party. George Elgood had picked up his fishing-tackle as he went--by an almostunconscious impulse, as it seemed--and unconsciously his conversationdrifted to the all-absorbing topic. 

"If we take a sharp cut across this hill--I'll give you a hand down thesteep bits!--we hit the river at the best spot. You have been grumblingat the wet weather, but you will see the good effects of rain, from afisherman's point of view. The river is full from bank to bank, rushingdown to the sea. It is a fine sight, a river in flood! I don't knowanything in Nature which gives the same impression of power and joy. That's where Norway has the pull. Her mountains can't compare with theSwiss giants, but everywhere there is a glorious wealth of water. Nocalm sleeping lakes, but leaping cataracts of rivers filling wholevalleys, as my little stream here fills its small banks; roaring anddashing, and sparkling in the sun. Norway is perfection, from afisherman's point of view; but there is plenty of sport to be foundnearer home. I have had no cause to complain for the last fortnight. This way--to the right! It's just a little rough going at first, but itcuts off a good mile. You are sure you don't mind?"

Margot's laugh rang out jubilantly. She scrambled up the steep mountainpath with nimble feet, easily out-distancing her guide, until thehilltop was reached, and she stood silhouetted against the sky, whilethe wind blew out her white skirts, and loosened curling tendrils ofhair. 

Below could be traced the course of the river, winding in and out indeep curves, and growing ever broader and fuller with every mile ittraversed. The sunlight which played on it, making it look like asilver ribbon, played also on the yellow gorse and purple heather; onthe long grey stretch of country in the distance; on that softer blueplain joining the skyline, which was the sea itself. A breath of saltseemed to mingle with the aromatic odour of the heather, adding tenfoldto its exhilaration. 

As Margot stood holding on to her hat, and waiting for her companion'sapproach, she felt such a glorious sense of youth and well-being, suchan assurance of happiness to come, as is seldom given to mortals toenjoy. It was written in her face, her radiant, lovely young face, andthe light in the eyes which she turned upon him made the shy scholarcatch his breath. 

"You did that well! Magnificently well!" he cried approvingly. "Butyou must take the descent carefully, please. There are one or twosudden dips which might be awkward if you were not prepared. I knowthem all. Shall I, --would you, --will you take my hand?"

"Thank you!" said Margot, and laid her hand in his with an acceptance assimple as if he had been her own brother. It was a very pretty littlehand, in which its owner felt a justifiable pride, and it lay like awhite snowflake in the strong brown palm stretched out to meet it. 

For just a moment George Elgood kept his fingers straight and unclasped, while he gazed downward at it with kindling eyes, then they closed in atight, protecting clasp, and together they began the descent. 

For the most part it was easy enough, but the awkward places came sooften and unexpectedly that it did not seem worth while to unloose thatgrasp until the bottom was safely reached. Margot had a dream-likesensation of having wandered along for hours, but in reality it was abare ten minutes before she and her guide were standing on level groundby the side of the rushing river. 

"Thank you! That was a great help, " she said quietly. George Elgood, with a sudden access of shyness, made no reply, but busied himself withpreparation. 

"I'll just make another cast, to show you how one sets to work. I takea pretty big fly--the trout like that. These are the flies--all sizes, as you see. I am rather proud of them, for I make them myself in thewinter months, when one can enjoy only the pleasures of anticipation. It's a good occupation for a leisure hour. "

"You make them yourself!" Margot repeated incredulously, stretching outher hand to receive one of the hairy morsels on her palm, and bendingover it in unaffected admiration. "But how clever of you! How can youhave the patience? It must be dreadfully finicky work!"

"It is a trifle `finicky, ' no doubt!" He laughed over the repetition ofthe word. "But it's a refreshing change to work with one's handssometimes, instead of one's brain. Now shall I give you your firstlesson in the art? Don't imagine for a moment that fishing meansstanding still for the hour together, with nothing more exciting thanthe pulling-in of your fish the moment he bites. That's the idea of theoutsider who does not know what adventure he is losing, what hope andsuspense, what glorious triumph! Like most things, it's the strugglethat's the glory of the thing, not the prize. Shall I soak this castfor you, and give you your first lesson?"

"Oh, please! I'd love it! It would be too kind of you!" cried Margoteagerly. She had not the faintest idea what "soaking a cast" mightmean, and listened in bewilderment to a score of unfamiliar expressions;but it is safe to affirm that she would have assented with equal fervourto almost any proposition which her companion made. 

There and then followed the first lesson on the seemingly easy, but inreality difficult, task of "casting, " the Editor illustrating his lessonby easy, graceful throws, which Margot tried in vain to imitate. Shegrew impatient, stamping her feet, and frowning fiercely with her darkeyebrows, while he looked on with the amused indulgence which oneaccords to a child. 

"Are you always in such a hurry to accomplish a thing at once?"

"Yes, always! It's only when you don't care that you can afford towait. "

"It sometimes saves time in the end to make haste slowly!"

"Oh, don't confound me with proverbs!" cried Margot, turning a flushed, petulant face at him over her shoulder. "I know I am impetuous andimprudent, but--the horrid thing _will_ twist up! Don't you think Imight have a demonstration this time? Let me watch, and pick up hints. I'm sure I should learn more quickly that way, and it would be lessboring for you. Please!"

At that he took the rod, nothing loth, and Margot seated herself on theground, a trifle short of breath after her exertions, and not at allsorry to have the chance of looking on while some one else did the work. She was intently conscious of her companion's presence, but he seemedto forget all about her, as wading slightly forward into the stream hecast his fly in slow, unerring circuit. How big he looked, how strongand masterful; how graceful were the lines of his tall lean figure!From where she sat Margot could see the dark profile beneath thedeerstalker cap, the long straight nose, the firmly-closed lips, thesteady eyes. It was the face of a man whom above all things one couldtrust. "A poor dumb body, " Mrs Macalister had dubbed him, scornfully;but Margot had discovered that he was by no means dumb, and that oncethe first barriers were broken, he could talk with the best, and bringinto his conversation the added eloquence of expression. She recalledthe lighting of his absorbed eyes as he had looked down at her own whitehand, and flushed at the remembrance. 

Margot had often pitied the wives and sisters of enthusiastic fishermenwho had perforce to sit mum-chance in the background, but to-day she wasconscious of no dissatisfaction with her own position. She possessedher full share of the girl's gift of building castles, and it would notbe safe to say how high the airy structure had risen before suddenly therod bent, and the Editor's intent face lit up with elation. The fishwas hooked; it now remained to "play" with him, in professionalparlance, till he could be landed with credit to himself and his captor. 

For the next half-hour Margot was keenly, vividly interested in studyingthe tactics of the game. The reel screamed out, as the captive made agallant dash for liberty; the Editor splashed after him, running hastilyby the side of the river, now reeling in his line, now allowing it fullplay; and at the distance of a few yards she ran with him, now holdingher breath with suspense, now clasping her hands in triumph, until atlast, his struggles over, the captive floated heavily upon the stream. 

It was the end for which she had longed throughout thirty of the mostexciting moments that she had ever known; but now that victory wassecured, woman--like she began to feel remorse. 

"Oh, is it dead? Have you killed it? But it's horrid, you know--quitehorrible! A big strong man like you, and that poor little fish--"

"Not little at all! It's a good six-pounder, " protested the fisherman, quick to defend his sport against depreciation. "No--he's not dead yet, but he soon will be. I will just--"

"Wait! Wait! Let me get out of the way. " Margot flew with her fingersin her ears, then pulled them out to cry--"Is it done? Is it over? CanI come back?"

"Yes; it is all right. I've put him in my bag. You will appreciate himbetter in his table guise. I'll take him back as a peace-offering toMrs McNab, for her own evening meal. We have already had our share atthe pic--"

Suddenly his hands fell to his sides, he straightened himself, andturned his eyes upon her, filled with puzzle and dismay. 

"The pic--"

"--Nic!" concluded Margot faintly. Rosy red were her cheeks; a weightas of lead pressed on her eyelids, dragging them down, down, beneath hisgaze. "I--I--_forgot_! We were to have gone to find them! Do yousuppose they are--hiding still?"

He laughed at that, though in somewhat discomfited fashion. 

"Rather not! Given us up long ago. It must be getting on for an hour. I can't think how I came to forget--"

Margot glanced at him shyly beneath her curling lashes. 

"It was the fish! A fisherman can't be expected to remember anythingwhen he is landing a trout!" she suggested soothingly. Nevertheless sheremembered with a thrill of joy that his forgetfulness had dated back toa time when there had been no fish in prospect. "Do you suppose theyhave gone home?"

"We will go and see. From that mound over there we can overlook thepath to the inn. Perhaps we had better keep a little in the background!It would be as well that they should not see us, if they happened tolook up--"

If it were possible to feel a degree hotter, Margot felt it at thatmoment, as she followed George Elgood up the little hillock to theright, and, pausing just short of the top, peered stealthily around. Asimultaneous exclamation broke from both lips; simultaneously they drewback, and crouched on their knees to peer over the heather. 

There they went!--straggling in a row in the direction of the inn, theparty of revellers who had been so basely deserted. 

First, the clergyman, with his hands clasped behind his back, his headbent in thought; a pensive reveller, this, already beginning to repent aheavy, indigestible meal; next, Mrs Macalister, holding her skirts incharacteristic fashion well up in front and sweeping the ground behind;a pace or two in the rear, her spouse, showing depression and wearinessin every line of his body. Yet farther along the two young men carryingthe empty hampers; last of all, at quite a little distance from therest, the figure of the Chieftain stepping out with a tread even moreconspicuously jaunty than usual, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, his head turned from side to side, as if curiously scanning thehillsides. 

At one and the same moment Margot and the Editor ducked their heads, andscrambled backwards for a distance of two or three yards. There was amoment's silence, then instinctively their eyes met. Margot pressed herlips tightly together, George Elgood frowned, but it was all in vain; nopower on earth could prevent the mischievous dimples from dipping in hercheeks; no effort could hide the twinkle in his eyes--they buried theirheads in their hands, and shook with laughter!

When at last composure was regained, George Elgood pulled his watch fromhis pocket, glanced at the time, and cried eagerly--

"There is still an hour before we need be back for dinner. As well behanged for a sheep as a lamb. Let us go back to the river, and try ourluck once more!"

CHAPTER NINETEEN. 

A TELEGRAM. 

It was a very shamefaced Margot who made her appearance at the dinner-table that evening; but, to her unspeakable relief, she found that therewas no cause for embarrassment. Instead of the meaning glances andjoking remarks which she had dreaded, she was greeted with the ordinarykindly prosaic welcome, and not even Mrs Macalister herself ventured aninnuendo. The Chieftain was the only one who alluded to the non-appearance of the searchers, and the manner in which he did so was atriumph of the commonplace. 

"Muddled up that hide-and-seek finely, didn't we?" he cried cheerily. "Afraid you had all your trouble for nothing. I happened to catch aglimpse of you heading off in the wrong direction, so turned into `It'myself, and rooted them all out of their lairs. Then we played somesensible, middle-aged, sitting-down games, and strolled home in time fora siesta before dinner. Very good picnic, I call it. Great success!We'll have another, one of these fine days. "

"'Deed yes, and we will!" assented Mrs Macalister genially. "It stirsa body up to have an outing now and then. I was thinking, why shouldn'twe drive over to B-- and see the old castle and all the sights? I'vebeen hankering to go ever since we arrived; but it mounts up when youdrive about by yourselves. If we shared two carriages between us, itwould make all the difference, and it seems foolish-like to be in aneighbourhood and not see what there is to be seen. You can getcarriages from Rew, they tell me, if you order them a day or twobefore. "

To the amazement of the company, it was George Elgood of all others whohastened to second the proposal. 

"A capital idea!" he cried. "B-- is one of the finest old ruins inScotland. Of course we must go; it would be worse than foolish to gohome without seeing it. I have been before, so I could act as guide, and those who possess cameras had better take them also, as the place isrich in subjects. "

The clergyman and his son pricked up their ears at this, photographybeing with them only a degree less absorbing a pastime than that ofwalking; Ron awoke suddenly to the remembrance that his half-platecamera had never been unpacked since his arrival; and the three viedwith each other in asking questions about the proposed excursion, and inurging that a date should be fixed. Before the meal had come to aconclusion, plans were mapped out, and a division of labour made, bywhich one person was held responsible for the hiring of carriages, another for the promised food, while George Elgood was left to arrangethe plan of campaign. 

"We are a happy family, we are, we are, we are!" hummed the Chieftain, under his breath, as he cast a twinkling glance across the table towhere Margot sat, as demure to outward seeming as she was excited atheart. 

"Why do you avoid me?" he demanded of her plumply, the next morning, when, after several unsuccessful attempts, he ran her to earth by theside of the tarn. "Scurry out of my way like a frightened bunnywhenever I come along. Won't do, you know! Not going to trouble myselfto do you good turns, if you round on me afterwards, and avoid me as ifI were the plague. What's it all about?"

"Nothing, " stammered Margot confusedly. "I only felt rather-- You _do_tease, you know, and your eyes twinkle so mischievously that I felt thatdiscretion was the better part of valour. "

"Well, don't do it again then, that's all, or I may turn rusty and upsetthe apple-cart. No reason that I know of why I should be ostracised, because I try to help my fellow-creatures. What are you doing overhere? Reading? What a waste of time! Much better come and chuckstones into the lake with me. "

Margot's brown eyes widened in reproof. 

"Don't you like books?"

"Hate the sight of 'em! Especially on a holiday. Never want to see asmuch as a line of print from the time I leave home to the time I return. Especially, "--his eyes twinkled in the mischievous manner to whichexception had just been taken--"especially poetry! Don't mind my sayingso, do you?"

"Not a bit, " returned Margot promptly, tossing her first stone into thelake with a vehemence which held more than a suspicion of temper. "Ofcourse I never--one would never--_expect_ you to like it. It would bethe last thing one would expect--"

"Too fat?"

She blushed at that, and had the grace to look a trifle distressed. 

"Oh, not that altogether. It's a `_Je ne sais quoi_, ' don't you know. One could tell at a glance that you were not a literary man. "

The Chieftain chuckled, bent down to gather a handful of stones, andraised a red smiling face to hers. 

"Well, well, we can't all be geniuses, you know! One in a glen is aboutas much as you can expect to meet in these hard times. But I can chuckstones with the best of 'em. That one was a good dozen yards beyondyour last throw. Put your back into it, and see what you can do. It'sa capital way of letting off steam. "

Margot was tempted to protest against the accusation, but reflectionprompted silence, since after all she _was_ cross, and there was nodenying it. 

She took the little man's advice, and "let off steam" by the vigour anddetermination with which she hurled pebbles into the lake, making themskim along the surface in professional manner for an ever longer andlonger space before finally disappearing from sight. 

The Chieftain cheered her on with example and precept, and, as usual, irritation died a speedy death in the presence of his bright, cheerypersonality. While they were still laughing and cheering each other onto fresh exploits, a lad from the post office passed along the road, andthe Chieftain wheeled round to call out the usual question--

"Anything for me? Is the post in already?"

The lad shook his head. He was a red-headed sociable-looking creaturewho seemed only too glad to enliven his walk by a chat _en route_. Histeeth showed in a cheerful smile as he replied--

"The post willna be here for an hour or mair. It's just a telegram!"

A telegram! It said much for the peaceful seclusion of the Glen thatthe very sound of the word brought a chill of apprehension to thelistening ears. No one received telegrams at the Nag's Head. One andall the visitors had sojourned thither with the aim of getting away asfar as possible from the world of telegrams, and electric trams, andtube railways, and all the nerve-shattering inventions of modern life. Their ambition was to outlive the sense of hurry; to forget that such athing as hurry existed, and browse along in peaceful uninterrupted ease. 

To-day, however, in that far-away world beyond the heather-cladmountains something must have happened of such importance to some memberof the little party that it could not wait for the leisurely medium ofthe post, but for good or ill had demanded instant attention. 

Margot and the Chieftain stood in silence for a moment before he askedthe second question. 

"Who is it for?--What's the name?"

"Macalister!"

The name was pronounced with the lengthy drawl to which the hearers weregrowing familiar. They looked at each other with sighs of relief, followed swiftly by contrition. 

"I hope nothing is wrong! I hope it's not bad news. Poor MrMacalister's `nearves'!"

"No, no! Nothing of the sort. Why imagine evil? Always look at thebright side as long as you can. Take for granted that it is good news, splendid news--the news he would like most to hear. Cut along, laddie!People pay for telegrams with the intention of getting them to theirdestination as quickly as possible. We'll defer the pleasure of aconversation to our next merry meeting. "

The red-headed one grinned complacently and continued on his way, whistling as he went. There was about him no suggestion of a harbingerof bad tidings; the sun shone from a cloudless sky, and awoke sparklingreflections in the water; the scene was one of unbroken peace andhappiness, and yet, and yet, --some shadow seemed to have fallen onMargot's soul, so that she could no longer take any interest in the merethrowing of stones. Her heart followed the footsteps of the messengerdown the winding path, and stood still as he entered the inn. 

"What is it, little girl? You look as if you had seen a ghost!"

The Chieftain stood observing her with an expression of kindly concern, for the pretty face had turned white beneath its tan, and the brown eyeswere wide and tense, as if beholding something hidden from ordinarygaze. She gazed fixedly, not back in his face, but past him down thelane towards the inn. 

"I'm--afraid! I _feel_ it is not good news. It means trouble--bigtrouble! It is hanging over me like a cloud!"

He looked at her swiftly, and his face changed. 

"Come then, " he said quietly, "we will go back. If it is trouble, wemay be able to help. I never ignore presentiments; they are sent to usall from time to time, and if we are faithful we obey them, like asummons. One came to me years ago. It was late at night, and I wasjust off to bed, when suddenly it came--the remembrance of a friend faroff; the insistent remembrance; the certainty that he needed me, andthat I must hasten to help. By all the laws of common sense I shouldhave shrugged my shoulders and gone to sleep; but what are we, to judgeby our own poor knowledge the great unknown forces of God? I went outthere and then, caught a midnight train, and was at his house by sevenin the morning. His wife met me on the stair and said, `How did youknow?' ... He lay dying in his bed, and all that night he had beencalling for me. There was something I could do for him, better than anyone else. He wished to place it in my hands before he went, and God hadmercifully provided the opportunity. Never say that anything isimpossible in this world, little girl! According to your faith so shallit be unto you. "

Margot did not answer except by a faint, strained smile. Her eyes werefixed upon the doorway of the inn, waiting for the reappearance of themessenger, but he did not come, and the delay lent weight to herapprehension. 

They spoke no more, but walked silently side by side, until they drewnear to the inn, when suddenly the silence of the Glen was broken by astrange, unaccustomed sound. What was it? Whence did it come? Fromsome animal surely; some animal in pain or fear, piteously making knownits needs! It could not be the moan of human woe! Yet even as shepassionately denied the thought, Margot recognised in her heart that itwas true, and darting quickly forward made her way into the inn parlour. The messenger still stood outside the door, waiting in stolid patiencefor instructions, and by his side was Mrs McNab, wiping floury hands inher apron, in evident perturbation of spirit. 

On the plush-bedecked sofa in the corner of the parlour the half-inanimate form of Mrs Macalister swayed helplessly to and fro, while oneither side stood two men--her husband and George Elgood--looking on inhelpless, masculine fashion. Her cap had fallen back from her head, herruddy face was bleached to a livid grey, from her lips came from time totime that pitiful, hopeless wail. At first it seemed to have nodefinite sound, but as one listened it took to itself words, --always thesame words, repeated again and again--

"My lassie! My Lizzie! Oh, my lassie!"

"Nay, dearie, nay! You mustna give way. She's better off. You must bestrong. We'll bear it together. "

It was Mr Macalister who spoke; but Margot hardly recognised the voice, hardly recognised the face, which, for all its pallor and quiver ofpain, was yet strong and calm. All trace of the peevish discontent thathad hung like a cloud over the man had vanished like a mist; his bowedback seemed to have straightened itself and grown erect; the whiningvoice was composed and full of courage. He had forgotten his nerves inthe presence of a great calamity; nay, more than that--he had forgottenhimself; his one care and anxiety was for his wife!

The tears smarted in Margot's eyes; she ran forward, dropped on herknees before the chair, and clasped her strong young arms round theswaying figure, steadying it with loving, gentle pressure. The wan eyesstared at her unrecognisingly for a moment, then, at the sight of hergirlish beauty, old memories returned, and the tears began to rain. 

"Lizzie's gone! Lizzie's gone! I'll never see her again. All in amoment, and me so far away. My little Lizzie!... I canna bear it!... "

"She never suffered, mother. She knew nothing about it. It's betterfor her than a long, painful illness. You must be thankful for hersake. " Mr Macalister looked down at Margot, and bravely essayed anexplanation. "It was an accident. We've just heard. Instantaneous, they say. The mother's sore upset, but she's a brave woman. She'llbear it bravely for all our sakes. We'll need to get back to Glasgow. "

"Yes. I'll help! I'll pack for her. Don't trouble about anything. I'll see that it is all right. You'll let me help you, dear, won'tyou?" Margot put up a tender hand, to straighten the cap on the poor, dishevelled head; and something in the simple, daughterly action seemedto reach the poor woman's heart, and bring with it the first touch ofcalmness. She sat up and looked blankly from side to side. 

"I--I'm sorry! I shouldna give way. I never lost a child before, yousee, and Lizzie was such a one for her mother. I wrote to her only lastnight. She leaves two bairnies of her own, but they are so young. They'll never remember her!" The pitiful trembling began again, whereupon George Elgood's hand held out a glass of water, and Margottook it from him to lift it to the quivering lips. 

"They will need you all the more, and you must be strong for theirsakes. That's what she would wish, isn't it?"

"Yes, yes. I must take care of the children. And Fred--poor Fred! buthe hasn't loved her as I have done for nearly thirty years. Father, when can we get back?"

"I'll see, my dearie. I'll see! Leave all to me. I'll settle it all, and this good lassie will pack your things. Ye need trouble fornothing, my lass, --ye need trouble for nothing. "

He laid his broad hand on his wife's shoulder with a gesture infinitelytender, then turned and went stumbling out of the room, while Margot'seyes met the tear-drenched ones above her with a flash of enthusiasm. 

"He is--_splendid_!"

Even at that moment Mrs Macalister showed a faint kindling of response. 

"Didn't I tell ye? When a man's out of health ye canna judge. Whenhe's in his usual, there's no one to touch Mr Macalister. "

With an instinctive movement Margot turned her head upward till her eyesmet those of George Elgood, and exchanged a flash of mutualunderstanding. It heartened her like a drink of water in a thirstyland, for underlying the pity and the kindliness she recognisedsomething else; something that existed for herself alone, and whichseemed to bring with it an electric thrill of happiness. 

Outside in the "lobby" the Chieftain was looking up trains in his own_Bradshaw_, and arranging with Mrs McNab for the long drive to thestation, while Mr Macalister was writing out a return message withtrembling fingers. 

"Come upstairs with me, dear!" said Margot gently. "You shall lie onthe bed while I do the packing. It's a long journey, and you must be asfresh as possible when you arrive. They will be waiting for you, youknow, and expecting you to comfort them. You have told me how they allrely upon you. You wouldn't like to fail just when they need you most!"

Mrs Macalister raised herself feebly from her chair, but her poor facequivered helplessly. 

"I'm a broken reed for any one to lean on. I can only remember thatLizzie's gone. There's no strength left in me. She was the flower ofthe flock. And me so far away!"

For the next hour the poor woman lay on the bed in her room, now sobbingin helpless paroxysms of grief, now relating pitiful, commonplaceanecdotes of the dead daughter so dearly beloved, a dazed helplesscreature, unable to do a hand's turn for herself, while her husbandcrept in and out, quiet, resourceful, comforting, full of unselfishcompassion. Margot had hard work to keep back her own tears, as heclumsily pressed his own services upon her, picking up odd garments, folding them carefully in the wrong way, and rummaging awkwardly throughthe drawers. 

The trap was to be ready to start by twelve o'clock, and ten minutesbefore the time Margot carried a sponge and basin of water to thebedside, bathed the poor, tear-stained face, brushed the stragglinglocks of grey hair, and helped to fasten bonnet and cloak. It waspathetic to see the helplessness into which grief had stricken thiscapable, bustling woman. She lifted her chin, to allow the strings ofher bonnet to be tied by Margot's hands, and sat meekly while the"dolman" was hooked. It was like dressing a big docile baby; like achild, too, the manner in which she clung to her husband's arm down thenarrow stair. 

Mrs McNab was standing below in the lobby, her hard face flushed to anunnatural red. She held a basket in her hand filled with dainty paperpackages containing fruit, sandwiches, and cakes. Unable to voice hersympathy, she had put it into deeds, striving to ensure some comfort forthe long journey ahead. 

Mrs Macalister smiled a pitiful travesty of a smile in acknowledgment, and her friends pressed her hand, mercifully refraining from speech. When it came to parting from Margot, however, that was a differentmatter. Mrs Macalister stooped from the seat of the trap to kiss thegirl's cheek once and again. 

"You're a guid lassie, " she said, trembling. "I would have been lostwithout you! The Lord bless you, my dear!"

"Ay! and she _shall_ be blessed!" added Mr Macalister's voice, deeply. 

Margot thrilled at the sound of those words, and stood back on the pathwatching the departing wheels through a mist of tears. They had gone, those two good, loving, simple creatures, and in all likelihood shewould never see them again; for a moment their lives had touched, butthe currents had swept them apart; they were as ships that had passed inthe night. To the end of time, however, she must be the better for themeeting, for in their need they had leant upon her, and she had beenable to help. They had blessed her in patriarchal fashion, and thesound of their words still rang in her ears--

"The Lord bless you!"

"Ay! and she _shall_ be blessed?"

CHAPTER TWENTY. 

CRITICISM. 

Out of sympathy and respect for Mr and Mrs Macalister, nothing morewas said about the next picnic party for several days after their tragicdeparture from the Glen, but the intervening time was, to Margot atleast, full of interest and excitement. One morning, for instance, asshe strolled from the breakfast-room to the road, as was the easy customof the hour, a hurried step followed in the same direction, and GeorgeElgood, staring hard in an opposite direction, advanced an opinion thatone lesson in fishing was mere waste of time, whereas two, or perhapsthree, might possibly convey some real knowledge of the art. Er--didMiss Vane feel inclined to pay another visit to the river?

Miss Vane, poking the gravel with the points of her shoes, was--er--yes!quite inclined, if Mr Elgood was sure she would not interrupt his sportMr Elgood, with equal eagerness and incoherence, assured Miss Vane thatshe would do nothing of the kind, and hurried back to the inn, murmuringvaguely concerning eleven o'clock. 

In the quiet of the riverside, however, he regained his self-possession, and once more proved himself to be the most interesting of companions, the most patient of instructors. Margot thought fishing a delightfuland absorbing pursuit, which was the more remarkable as she was ratherstupid than otherwise in mastering the initial movements. Mr Elgoodencouraged her, however, by saying that some of the cleverest "rods" ofhis acquaintance had been the slowest in picking up the knack. Thegreat thing was to have plenty of practice! She ought to come up everymorning for as much time as she could spare; meantime, as she had beenstanding so long, would she not like to sit down, and rest awhile beforewalking home?

Then they sat down side by side on the grassy bank, and talked togetheras a man and a maid love to talk in the summer of their youth, exchanging innocent confidences, comparing thoughts and opinions, marvelling that they are so much alike. 

Margot faithfully observed her promise to make no references to herambitions on her brother's behalf, and, truth to tell, her silenceinvolved little effort, for she was guiltily conscious of being so muchengrossed in her own affairs that even Ron's ambitions had faded intothe background. As for the lad himself, he was happy enough, wanderingabout by himself studying "effects" to transcribe to paper, or scouringthe countryside with the Chieftain, whom he frankly adored, despite themany exceedingly plain-spoken criticisms and exhortations received fromhis lips. 

"Your sister has been telling me about that rhyming craze of yours, " thelittle man said suddenly one day. "Likewise about her own very prettylittle scheme for the subjugation of my brother. Told you that she'dtold me, eh? Expect she did! She is pleased to believe she is adesigning little adventuress, whereas as a matter of fact she's as clearas crystal, and any one with half an eye could see through her schemes. Well! I laid down the law that neither she nor you are to worry mybrother about business matters during his holiday, for, to tell you thetruth, he has had his full share of worry of late. But what about me?I'm a plain, common-sense, steady-going old fellow, who might perhaps beable to give you a word or two of advice! What's all this nonsenseabout throwing aside a post that's waiting for you, and which means anincome for life, in order to live in an attic, and scribble verses formagazines? If you knew the world, young man, you would understand thatyou are blessedly well off, to have your way made smooth, and would notbe in such a hurry to meet disappointments half way. They will comesoon enough! At the best of it, you will have a hard row to hoe. Whymake it worse?"

Ronald flushed in sensitive fashion, but there was no hint of offence inhis manner, as he replied--

"It is hardly a question of an attic, sir. My father would notdisinherit me because I preferred literature to business. I might havea pittance instead of a fortune, but I should not have to fear want. And why should I not live my own life? If I am bound to meet troubles, surely it is only right to provide what compensations I can, and my bestcompensation would be congenial work! I don't want to be rich. Letsome other fellow take the post, and get his happiness out of it; itwould be slavery to me. "

"Humph! No boy likes the idea of putting his nose to the grindstone. They all kick a bit at the thought of an office desk, but nine out often enjoy the life when they get into the swing. It's a great secret ofhappiness in this world, to be kept so busy that we have not time tothink of ourselves. We need work for its own sake, even more than forwhat it brings; but our work must be worthy. There's no real successaway from that... About those verses now! It's a pleasant occupationfor you to sling them together--I haven't a word to say against it as arecreation--but that's a different thing from serious work. There'sonly one thing which justifies a man in cutting himself adrift from theworld, in opposition to the wishes of those who have his interests mostat heart, and that is, a strong and solemn conviction of a specialmission in life. Very well then! If you agree so far, let us proceedto consider the mission of a poet. There's only one justification forhis existence--only one thing that distinguishes him from theprofessional rhymester whom nobody wants, and who is the bane and terrorof society, and that is--_that he has something to say_! Now take yourown case--a lad without as much as a moustache on his face; the son of arich father, who has lain soft all his life, and had the bumps rolledflat before him. What do you imagine that you are going to teach theworld? Do you fondly believe that you have anything to say that has notbeen said before, and a thousand times better into the bargain?"

Ronald looked up and gazed dreamily ahead. He had taken off his cap, ashis custom was in these moorland tramps, which were becoming of dailyoccurrence, and his hair was ruffled on his forehead, giving an air ofeven more than ordinary youth to his face. The hazel eyes were dark, and the curved lips trembled with emotion; he was searching his soul forthe reply to a question on which more than life seemed to depend, andwhile he gazed at the purple mountains with unseeing eyes the Chieftaingazed at his illumined face, and felt that he had received his answer. 

The words of Wordsworth's immortal ode rushed into his brain, and herecognised that this ignorant lad possessed a knowledge which was hiddenfrom the world. Heaven, with its clouds of glory, lay close around him, ignorant of worldly wisdom though he might be. God forbid that the oneshould ever be exchanged for the other!

The Chieftain was answered, but like Ron he remained silent. Theywalked on over the short, springy grass, breathed the clear, freshbreeze, and thought their own thoughts. It was not until nearly a milehad been traversed that Ron turned his head and said simply, as ifanswering a question put but a moment before--

"I sing, because I must! It is my life. I have not thought of otherpeople, except in so far as their approval would justify me in myfather's eyes. You could no doubt judge better than I if what I have tosay has value or not. Will you read some of my lines?"

A curious sound broke from the Chieftain's lips, a sound somethingbetween a groan and a laugh. He frowned, pursed his lips, swung hisshort arms vigorously to and fro, shook his head with an air ofdetermined opposition, then suddenly softened into a smile. 

"It's a strange world, my masters! A strange world! You never knowyour luck! In the middle of my holiday, and a Scotch moor into thebargain! I'll try Timbuctoo another year! Nothing else for it. Wheredoes my brain-rest come in, I want to know! You and your verses--beplagued to the pair of you! Got some about you now, I suppose? Handthem over, then, --the first that come to the surface--and let me getthrough with it as soon as possible!"

He plumped down on the grass as he spoke, took out a large bandanahandkerchief and mopped his brow with an air of resignation, whileRonald fumbled awkwardly in his pocket. 

"I have several pencil copies. I think you can make them out. This isthe latest. A Madrigal--`To my Lady. '"

"Love-song?"

"Yes. "

"Ever been in love?"

"No. "

"What a pity when charming--poets--sing of things they don't understand!Well, well, hand it over! I'll bear it as bravely as I may--"

Ron winced, and bit his lower lip. It was agony to sit by and watch thecool, supercilious expression on the critic's face, the indifferentflick of the fingers with which the sheet was closed and returned. 

"Anything more?"

"You don't care for that one?"

"Pretty platitudes! Read them before a score of times--and somewhatmore happily expressed. If I were a poet--which I'm not, thankgoodness!--I could turn 'em out by the score. Ten shillings each, reduction upon taking a dozen. Suitable for amateur tenors, or thefashion-magazines. Alterations made if required... Anything else inthe lucky bag?"

"There's my note-book. They are all in there--the new ones, I mean, written since I came up here. You can read which you please. "

Ron took the precious leather book from his pocket, and handed it overwith an effort as painful as that of submitting a live nerve to thedentist's tool. As he sat on the ground beside his critic he dug hisheels into the grass, and the knuckles of his clenched hands showedwhite through the tan. The beginning had not been propitious, and heknew well that no consideration for his feelings would seal the lips ofthis most honest of critics. For a few moments he had not courage tolook at his companion's face, but even without that eloquent guide itwas easy to follow his impressions. 

A grunt, a groan, a long incredulous whistle, a sharp intake of breath--these were but too readily translated as adverse criticisms, but betweenthese explosions came intervals of silence less easy to explain. Rondeliberately rolled over on his side, turning his back on his companion, thereby making it impossible to see his face. Those who have nevertrusted their inmost thoughts to paper can hardly imagine the acutesuffering of the moment when they are submitted to the cold criticism ofan outsider. Life and death themselves seemed to hang in the balancefor the young poet during the half-hour when he lay on the heatherlistening to each sound and movement of his critic. At the end of halfan hour the interruption came. A yawn, a groan, the pressure of a heavyhand on his shoulder. 

"Now then, wake up, over there! Time to move on!"

Awake! As if it were possible that he could be asleep! Never in hislife had he been more acutely, painfully conscious of his surroundings. Ron rose to his feet, casting the while a tense glance at hiscompanion's face. What verdict would he see written on eye and mouth asthe result of that half-hour's study? He met a smile of bland good-humour; the cheery, carelessly complacent smile of the breakfast-table, the smoke-room, the after-dinner game; with not one trace of emotion, ofkindled feeling, or even ordinary appreciation! The black note-book wastossed into his hands, as carelessly as if it had been a ball; even acommonplace word of comment was denied. 

It was a bitter moment, but, to the lad's credit be it said, he met itbravely. A gulp to a tiresome lump in the throat, a slight quivering ofthe sensitive lips, and he was master of himself again, hastily stuffingthe precious note-book out of sight, and striving to display the rightamount of interest in his companion's conversation. It was not untilthe inn was within sight that Mr Elgood made the slightest allusion tothe verses which he had read. 

"Ah--about those rhymes!" he began casually. "Don't take yourself tooseriously, you know. It's a strange thing that young people constitutethemselves the pessimists of the world, while the old ones, who knowwhat real trouble is, are left to do the optimism by themselves. If youare bound to sing, sing cheerfully! Try to forget that `sad' rhymeswith `glad, ' and don't feel it necessary to end in the minor key. Thatrhyming business has a lot to answer for. I like you best when you arecontent to be your natural, cheerful self!"

"You think, then--you do think--some of them a little good?"

Ron's wistful voice would have melted a heart of stone. The Chieftainlaid a hand on his arm with a very kindly pressure. 

"There are some of 'em, " he said cheerfully, "which are a lot betterthan others. I'm not partial to amateur verses myself, but I don't mindtelling you for your comfort that I've seen worse, before now--considerably worse!"

Poor Ron! It was bitter comfort. In the blessed privacy of his ownroom he sat himself down to read over the pages of the little black bookwith painful criticism, asking himself miserably if it were really truethat they were feeble amateur efforts, tinged with pretence andunreality. Here and there a flush and a wince proved that theaccusation had gone home, when a vigorous pencil mark on the side of thepage marked the necessity for correction, but on the whole he couldhonestly refute the charge; could declare, with the bold yet humbleconviction of the true craftsman, that it was good work; work well done;work worth doing!

The dreamy brown eyes sent out a flash of determination. 

"I _can_!" said Ron to himself. "And I _will_!"

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. 

A MOUNTAIN MIST. 

Three days later a wagonette was chartered from Rew, to drive thediminished party to the scene of the haunted castle. Margot felt rathershy in the position of the only lady, but a mild proposition that sheshould stay at home had been so vigorously vetoed that she had nothingmore to say. 

"If one clergyman, plus one brother, plus one bald-headed veteran, aren't sufficient chaperons for one small girl, things are coming to apretty pass indeed!" protested the Chieftain vigorously. "If you stayat home, we _all_ stay, so that's settled, and the disappointment andupset will be on your head. Why all this fuss, I should like to know?One might think you were shy. "

Margot pouted, and wriggled her shoulders inside her white blouse. 

"I _am_ shy!"

"You are, are you? Hadn't noticed it before. Of whom, if one may ask?"

She turned at that, and walked back to the inn, nose in air, butthereafter there were no more demurs. 

It was indeed a very decorous little party which sat in two rows ofthree, facing each other in the wagonette during the eight-mile drive. The clergyman and the Chieftain, with Margot between them; and opposite, the three dreamers: the Editor, Ron, and young Mr Menzies, --eachapparently too much immersed in his own thoughts to care forconversation. Margot was quite thankful when the drive came to an end, outside castle walls, grim and grey, but imposing as ever, though theywere in reality but a shell, surrounding a plot of innocent green grass. There were isolated towers still standing, however, approached bywinding stone stairways, and short lengths of walks along the ramparts, and quaint little barred windows through which one could view thesurrounding country. When Margot thrust her pretty laughing facethrough one of these latter to greet her friends below, everyphotographer among them insisted upon snap-shotting her then and there, and for a good half-hour she was kept busy, posing in various attitudes, to give the desired touch of life to the pictures. 

Photography over, the next duties were to partake of lunch and to wanderround the small, and it must be confessed somewhat uninteresting littlevillage; then, --since the return home counted as one of the chiefattractions in the programme--the little party broke up into two, theclergyman and his son preferring the longer route, round by the roads, the other four to take the short--cut across the moors. 

A five-mile walk across the moors! Given health, settled skies, andcongenial society, it would be difficult to name a more exhilaratingoccupation for a summer afternoon; but, truth to tell, the weather hadtaken a decided turn for the worse since midday, and it needed someoptimism to set forth on a long exposed walk. 

The subject had been discussed at lunch with special reference toMargot, as the only lady of the party; but, as she aptly observed, shewas bound to get back somehow, and, as a choice of evils, preferred towalk through rain, rather than sit still to be soaked through andthrough on the seat of the wagonette. It was therefore decided to makean early start, and allow no loitering by the way; but when the villagehad been left about a mile behind an unexpected delay occurred. TheChieftain thrust his hands into his pockets, and stopped short in themiddle of the road, with an expression of dismay. 

"Eh, what! Here's a fine kettle of fish! Where's my bunch of keys?They were here as safe as houses, a few minutes back. I was jinglingtunes on them as we passed the school. You heard me jingling 'em!Dropped them on the road, I suppose, and walked on like a blind bat. Serves me right to have to turn back to find 'em. Can't lose my keys, you know. Got to find them somehow, or there'll be the mischief to pay. You'll have to go on, George, and take Miss Vane with you. There's notime for conundrums, if you want to get home dry. " He looked towardsRon with questioning eyebrows. "Feel inclined to keep me company? Idon't fancy that walk by my lonesome. "

"Of course I do. I should not think of leaving you behind by yourself, sir, " returned Ron eagerly. "We can't have far to go, and we can sooncatch up the others, if we make a sprint for it. Go on, Margot. We'llbe after you in no time. "

In the circumstances there was nothing else to be done, nor indeed, after a long morning spent in wandering about as a party, was Margotinclined to quarrel with the fate which provided an interesting _tete-a-tete_ for the walk home. She contented herself with expressing profusesympathy for the Chieftain's loss, and with prophesying cheerfully thatthe keys were certain to be found, then promptly dismissed the subjectfrom her mind, and gave herself up to the enjoyment of the moment. 

"I really think we are wise not to wait about, " George Elgood said, inaccents of self-vindication, as they moved on together. "The glass ishigh, but I don't like the look of things, all the same, and for yoursake shall be glad when we are nearer home. Are you pretty warmlydressed, if the rain should come on?"

"Don't I look it? I couldn't possibly have anything more suitable thanthis tweed coat and skirt. It doesn't matter how wet it gets. It won'tspoil. "

"I was thinking about your own comfort, not of the clothes. You nevercarry an umbrella with you, I notice!"

"I can't be bothered! Showers are such an everyday occurrence up here, that one would be doing nothing else. I rather like the feel of therain on my face, and besides, "--she laughed mischievously, "it's goodfor the complexion!"

"Is that so?" he asked gravely, his dark eyes dwelling on the soft, rounded cheeks, which grew a shade more pink beneath his gaze. Suddenlyhis lips twitched, with the one-sided, humorous smile which brought theyouth into his face. "I don't think the need in that direction is sopressing that it could not be postponed with advantage, for to-day atleast. Do you mind walking fairly quickly? I shall feel morecomfortable when we are nearer home. "

Margot was serenely indifferent whether it rained or not, but none theless she appreciated the Editor's care for her welfare, which showeditself in a dozen little graceful acts during the first part of theirwalk. For one unaccustomed to women's society he was marvellouslyobservant, and Margot felt a sweeter satisfaction in being so protectedthan in all her former independence. They climbed the hillside whichled to the moor and set out radiantly to traverse the grey expanse; greyand cheerless to-day in very deed, with a thick, blanket-like dampnessin the atmosphere of which dwellers in southern climes are happilyignorant. 

George Elgood turned up the collar of his coat, and Margot thrust herhands into her pockets, shivering slightly the while, but neither madeany complaint in words. As usual, it was left to Margot to do most ofthe talking; but though her companion's responses were short, they wereyet so sympathetic and appreciative, that there was never any difficultyin finding a fresh subject. Like most couples with whom friendship isfast making way for a warmer emotion, personal topics were the mostappreciated, and what was happening in the world--the discoveries ofscience, the works of the great writers--palled in interest beforesentences beginning with, "I think, " and, "Do you think?"

"I wish--"

"Have you ever wished--?"

They looked at each other as they spoke, with bright, questioningglances, which seemed ever to hail some precious new discovery of mind, drawing them closer and closer together. The hour of enchantment hadcome, when they moved in a world of their own, unconscious of externalaccidents. The moisture hung in dewdrops on the Editor's cap, Margot'shair curled damply on her forehead; but they felt neither cold nordiscomfort. It was unusually dark for the time of day, and had grownmysteriously darker during the last half-hour; but visitors to theHighlands become philosophically resigned to sudden and unpleasantatmospheric changes, and fall into the way of ignoring them as far aspossible. 

It was only when they reached a point in the moor from whence the groundsloped sharply downward towards the Glen that they awoke to theconsciousness of danger, for instead of a rolling stretch of greensurrounded by purple hills, they seemed to be looking down into acauldron of floating mist and steam, blocking out the view, confusingthe eyes, and slowly but surely concealing the familiar landmarks. 

Margot and the Editor stopped short with simultaneous exclamations ofdismay, then wheeled quickly round, to see what lay behind. Here indeedthe fog was much less dense, but the distance was already obliterated, while long, smoke-like tendrils of mist were closing in on every hand. The signs which they had noted had portended something worse than rain;something which the dwellers in moorland regions learn to fear and dreadabove all other phenomena, --a mountain mist!

George Elgood's face was eloquent with self-reproach. 

"This is my fault! Where were my eyes, that I did not see what washappening? The darkness should have warned me long ago. I am horriblyashamed of myself, Miss Vane!"

"You needn't be. It's as much my fault as yours. I did notice the dampon my face, but I thought it was rain. What are we to do?"

It was a simple question, but terribly difficult to answer. With everymoment those rolling masses of mist settled down more densely over thehillsides. To walk forward was to walk blindfold over a treacherouscountry; to return seemed hardly more propitious, though as a choice ofevils it was the one to be preferred. 

"We must go back. We can't have come more than two or three miles. Wemust get back, and drive round by the road. Probably we shall meetGeoffrey and your brother _en route_!"

Even as he spoke the Editor turned and led the way towards the littlevillage which had been left behind less than an hour before. There wasno time to waste, for the darkness was increasing, and the clammydankness of the air struck to the very marrow. 

"I shall never forgive myself if you suffer through this. It was mybusiness to look after you. There's only this slight excuse--that wewere mounting towards the highest part of the moor, which was naturallythe clearest. The mist seems to have gathered from all around. "

Margaret looked and shivered, but hastened to appease his anxiety. 

"I think we _did_ notice, but as we were expecting rain, a littlemistiness was natural. We could not tell that it was going to spreadlike this. Never mind! It will be quite an adventure to brag aboutwhen we are back in town. `Lost on the Scotch moors! Touristsdisappear in a mist!' It would make a thrilling headline, wouldn't it?"

She laughed as she spoke, but the laugh had rather a forced tone. Suddenly she became conscious that she was tired and chilled, that hercoat was soaked, and her boots heavy with damp. Though only a few pacesaway, the figure of her companion was wreathed with tendrils of mist;they were floating round her also; blinding her eyes, catching herbreath, sending fresh shivers down her back. A pang of fear shotthrough her at the thought of what might lie ahead. 

Like two grey ghosts they struggled onward through the gloom. 

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. 

LOST ON THE MOOR. 

George Elgood's haste to reach the end of the moor gave wings to hisfeet, so that Margot had much ado to keep pace. Contrary toexpectation, the fog did not lessen as they advanced, but closed in uponthem thicker and thicker, so that the ground beneath their feet becameinvisible, and progress was broken by sundry trips and stumbles overprojecting mounds of heather. The air seemed to reek with moisture, anda deadly feeling of oppression, almost of suffocation, affected thelungs, as the curling wreath of mist closed overhead. 

Half an hour earlier Margot had felt that any sort of adventure (ifexperienced in George Elgood's company) must of necessity be enjoyable, but during that swift silent retreat she was conscious of a dawning ofsomething perilously like fear. Her breath came in quickened pants, shekept her eyes fixed in a straining eagerness on the tall figure loomingdarkly ahead. If she once lost sight of him, what would become of her?It made her shudder to think of being left alone upon that shroudedmoor!

Every now and then as he walked, the Editor gave voice to a loud "coo-ee, " in hope that the echoes might reach the ears of his brother andRonald, who should by now be approaching in the same direction; but noreply floated back to his anxious ears. 

"Perhaps they have gone round by the road, " he suggested tentatively. "If they were some time in following, they may have seen the fog, andcome to the conclusion that discretion was the better part of valour. "

"Ron wouldn't go another way if he thought I was in danger! He promisedfather to take care of me. I know he will come. "

"Then we are bound to meet; unless--" George Elgood stopped shorthurriedly. It was not for him to open his companion's eyes to the factthat the direction which they were taking had become a matter ofspeculation, as one after another the familiar landmarks faded fromview. 

The two brothers might pass by within a few yards, or their paths mightdiverge by miles, but in either case they would be equally invisible. The only hope was to go on sending out the familiar cry, which would atonce prove their identity. "Not that we should be any better off withthem than without!" he told himself dolefully. 

Margot did not ask for a completion of the unfinished sentence, perhapsbecause she guessed only too truly its import. A few steps farther onher foot came in contact with a stone hidden beneath a clump of furze;she stumbled, tried in vain to recover herself, and fell forward on herknees. The shock and the severe pricking which ensued forced a cry ofdismay, and the Editor turned back hurriedly, and uttered a startledinquiry. 

"Miss Vane, where are you?"

"I'm here!" replied a doleful voice, and a dark form stirred at hisfeet. "I--_fell_! On a horrid bush! My hands are full of prickles. "

"I'll light a match while you get them out. It's my fault. I mighthave guessed what would happen. I'd like to kick myself for being sothoughtless. "

"Please don't! We don't want any more tribulations. I--I'm quite allright!" cried Margot, with tremulous bravery. The flicker of a matchshowed a pale face, and two little hands grimed with dust and earth. She brushed them hastily together, and peered up into his face. "It'spretty thick, isn't it?"

"Abominably thick! I have heard of the sudden way in which thesemountain mists come on, but I've never been in one before. I could kickmyself once more for not having noticed it sooner. I suppose I was toomuch absorbed in our conversation. "

The match died out, and there was a moment's silence, in which Margotseemed to hear the beating of her own heart. Then in the darkness ahand lifted hers, and placed it against an arm which felt reassuringlysolid. 

"You must let me help you along. A moor is not the easiest place in theworld to cross in the dark. You won't mind my shouts? I want to letthe other fellows know where we are, if they are within hearing. "

"Oh, I don't mind. I'll shout, too! They must be near. It seemsridiculous that we can't see each other. "

But still no answering cry came back, and Margot's sense of comfort inthe supporting arm gradually gave place to a revival of her first dread. She shivered, and swallowed a lump in her throat before daring afateful question. 

"Mr Elgood, do you know--have you the faintest idea where we aregoing?"

His arm tightened over her hand, but he made no attempt atprevarication. 

"No, I haven't! For the last five or ten minutes it has been purelyguess-work. "

"We may be going in the wrong direction, or round and round in acircle!"

"We may--I am afraid it is more than probable. I have been thinkingthat it might be better to stay where we are. We can't have strayedvery far out of the course as yet, but--" Again he stopped, and thistime Margot completed the sentence. 

"I know! It's not safe to wander about when we can't see what is ahead. I've been thinking the same thing. We had better sit down and wait. They will come to look for us. I'm sure they will come, and there's acottage somewhere near, where we have been for milk. That's anotherchance. If we keep calling the people, they may hear us. "

"Oh yes, yes! Some one will hear, or the mist will rise as suddenly asit fell. It will be only for a short time, " returned the Editorsturdily. "Now look here--the ground is soaking--you can't possibly siton it without something underneath. If you could spare your cape itwould serve us both as a rug, and I'm going to wrap you up in my coat. "

He loosened his arm, as if to take off the said coat forthwith, butMargot's fingers tightened their grasp in very determined fashion. 

"You are not! I won't wear it. I absolutely refuse to do any suchthing. How can you suggest such a horridly selfish arrangement--I towear your coat, while you sit shivering in shirt-sleeves? Never! I'drather freeze!"

"Put it the other way. Am I, a man, to hug my coat, and let a girl siton the soaking grass? How do you suppose I should feel? I'd ratherfreeze, too!"

Margot gave a quavering little laugh. 

"It seems to me we have a pretty good chance of doing it--coat or nocoat. If I am a girl, I'm a healthy one, and I must take my chance. Did you happen to put your newspaper in your pocket this morning? Thatwould be better than nothing. "

"Of course I did! That will do capitally. What a blessing you thoughtof it! There! Sit down quickly, and I'll pull a bit down under yourfeet. Can't I wrap that cape more tightly round you? And the hood?Hadn't you better have the hood up?"

"Yes, please! I had forgotten the hood. That will be cosy!"

Margot's cold cheeks flamed with sudden colour as she felt the touch ofcareful fingers settling the hood round head and face, and fumbling forthe hook under the chin. At that moment at least cold was not thepredominant sensation! There was a short silence while the Editorseated himself by her side, and felt in his pockets. 

"You won't mind if I smoke?"

"I shall like it, especially if you have fusees. I love the smell offusees! You don't ask me to have a cigarette, I notice, and yet it isfashionable for girls to smoke nowadays. How did you know that Ididn't?"

"I _did_ know! I can hardly tell why, but I am thankful for it, all thesame. I am too old-fashioned to care for smoking women. A girl losesher charm when she apes a man's habits. "

"Yes. I agree. I am sorry I am not a man, but as I'm a girl I preferto be a real one, and have my clothes smelling sweet and violety, instead of like a fusty railway carriage. But men seem to find smokesoothing at times. I wish I had a feminine equivalent of it just now. It's a little bit frightening to sit still and stare into this blankwhite wall. Couldn't you tell me something interesting to pass thetime?"

"It's a little difficult to be `interesting' to order. What particularkind of narrative would distract you best?"

"Oh--something about yourself. Something you have done, or felt, orplanned for another day. I'm so interested in people!" returned Margot, wrapping the folds of her cloak more closely round her, and slipping herhands deep down into the inside pockets. "Have you had any thrillingexperiences or adventures that you don't mind speaking about? The morethrilling the better, please, for my feet _are_ so cold!"

She shivered, in involuntary childish fashion, and George Elgood sighedprofoundly. 

"This is about the biggest adventure I've had. I was once snowed up fora night in a rest-house on one of the Swiss mountains, but we had everyordinary comfort, and knew exactly where we were, so that it didn'tamount to much, after all. I was going up with my guide, and metanother party of two brothers and a sister coming down, and we all tookshelter together, while one of the guides returned to the village, tolet the people in the hotel know of our safety. When the door was openthe prospect was sufficiently eerie, but we made a fire and brewed tea, and passed the time pleasantly enough. The worst part of it was that Ihad to give up the ascent next day, as there was too much snow to makeit prudent to go on. "

"Oh! Yes! Was she pretty?"

She felt, rather than saw, his start of surprise. 

"Who?"

"The sister. You said there was a girl in the other party. "

"I'm _sure_ I don't know! I didn't notice. "

"Don't you care how people look?"

"It doesn't interest me, unless I am already attracted in other ways. At least--" he hesitated conscientiously. "I _used_ not to be. I thinkI am growing more noticing. Geoff always said I needed to be awakenedto the claims of beauty. I understand now that it may be a greatadditional charm. "

How did he understand? Who or what had increased his power ofobservation? Margot hoped that she knew; longed to be certain, yetdreaded the definite information. In a little flurry of nervousness shebegan to talk volubly on her own account, hoping thereby to ward offembarrassing explanations. 

"I seem fated to come in for adventures. I went over to Norway onesummer, and the engines broke down half-way across the North Sea, and atthe same time all the electric lights went out. It was terribly rough, and we rolled for a couple of hours--the longest hours I have everknown! The partitions of the cabins did not quite reach to the roof, and you could hear the different conversations going on all round. In adreary kind of way I realised that they were very funny, and that Ishould laugh over them another day. Quite near us were two jollyEnglish schoolboys, who kept ordering meals all the next day, andshouting out details to a poor sister who was lying terribly ill in thenext cabin `Monica, we are having bacon! Have a bit of bread soaked infat?' Then Monica would groan--a heartrending groan, and they wouldstart afresh. `Buck up, Monica--try a muffin!' At lunch-time theypressed roast beef and Yorkshire pudding upon her, and she groanedlouder than ever. She _was_ ill, poor girl. In Norway there was analarm of fire in one of those terrible wooden hotels, and we all jumpedon each other's balconies to get to the outside staircases. It was soonextinguished, but it was a very bad scare. And now this is the third. Mr Elgood, do coo-ee again! Ron must be looking for me, unless he islost himself. "

The Editor put his hands to his mouth and sent forth a succession oflong-drawn-out calls, which seemed as though they must surely be heardfor miles around, but in the silence which followed no note of replycould be heard. In the face of such continued disappointment, Margothad not the courage to go on making conversation, but relapsed into adreary silence, which was broken only by the gentle puff-puff of theEditor's pipe. In the darkness and silence neither took note of time, or realised how it sped along. Only by physical sensations could it bechecked, but gradually these became disagreeably pressing. 

Margot's feet were like ice, her fingers so cold as to be almostpowerless; but as the minutes passed slowly by the active discomfort wasreplaced by a feeling of drowsy indifference. She seemed to have beensitting for years staring into a blank white wall, and had no longer anydesire to move from her position. It was easier to sit still, and waitupon Fate. 

Beneath the veil of darkness her head drooped forward, and she swayedgently from side to side. For some time these movements were so slightas to pass unnoticed by her companion, but as the drowsiness increasedthe muscles seemed to lose control, the swayings became momentarily morepronounced, until she tilted violently over, to recover herself with ajerk and a groan. Then indeed George Elgood was startled into anxiousattention. 

"What is it? What is the matter? Are you in pain?"

The inarticulate murmur which did duty for reply seemed only to whetanxiety still further. 

"Miss Vane, are you ill? For pity's sake tell me what is wrong!"

Another murmur sounded faintly in his ear, followed by anincoherent--"I'm only--asleep! So--very--tired!"

With a sharp exclamation the Editor leapt upwards, and the drowsy Margotfelt herself suddenly hoisted to her feet by a pair of strong arms. Thearms retained their hold of her even after she was erect, shaking her toand fro with almost painful energy. 

"But you _must_ not sleep! Margot, Margot, awake! I can't let yousleep. It is the worst thing you could do. Speak to me, Margot. Tellme you understand. Margot! Darling! Oh, do rouse yourself, and try tounderstand!"

Margot never forgot that moment, or the wonder of it. She seemed toherself to be wandering in a strange country, far, far away from thesolid tangible earth--a land of darkness and dreams, of strange, numbingunreality. Her eyes were open, yet saw nothing: impalpable chainsfettered her limbs, so that they grew stiff and refused to move; an icycoldness crept around her heart. Hearing, like the other senses, wasdulled, yet through the throbbing silence a sound had penetrated, bringing with it a thrill of returning life. Some one had called"_Margot_" in a tone she had never heard before. Some one had said, "_Darling_!"

Back through the fast-closing mists of unconsciousness Margot's soulstruggled to meet her mate. Her fingers tightened feebly on his, andher cold lips breathed a reply. 

"Yes--I am here! Do you want me?"

Something like a sob sounded in the Editor's throat. 

"Do I want you? My little Margot! Did I ever want anything before?Come, I will warm your little cold hands. I will lead you every step ofthe way. You can't sit here any longer to perish of cold. We will walkon, and ask God to guide our feet. Lean on me. Don't be afraid!"

Then the dream became a moving one, in which she was borne forwardencircled by protecting arms; on and on; unceasingly onward, with ever-increasing difficulty and pain. 

George Elgood never knew whether he hit, as he supposed, a straight roadforward, or wandered aimlessly over the same ground. His one care wasto support his companion, and to test each footstep before he took it;for the rest, he had put himself in God's hands, with a simple faithwhich expected a reply; and when at last the light of the cottagewindows shone feebly through the mist his thankfulness was as great ashis relief. 

As for Margot, she was too completely exhausted to realise relief; sheknew only a shrinking from the light, from the strange watching face; adeathly sensation as of falling from a towering height, before darknessand oblivion overpowered her, and she lay stretched unconscious upon thebed. 

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. 

PARTINGS. 

It was six days later when Margot opened her eyes, and found herselflying on the little white bed in the bedroom of the Nag's Head, withsome one by the window whose profile as outlined against the lightseemed strangely and sweetly familiar. She stared dumbly, with aconfused wonder in her brain. _Edith_? It could not possibly be Edith!What should bring Edith up to Glenaire in this sudden and unexpectedfashion? And why was she herself so weak and languid that to speak andask the question seemed an almost impossible exertion?

What had happened? Was she only dreaming that her head ached, and herhands seemed too heavy to move, and that Edith sat by the window near atable covered with medicine bottles and glasses? Margot blinked hereyes, and stared curiously around. No! it was no dream; she wascertainly awake, and through the dull torpor of her brain a remembrancebegan slowly to work. Something had happened! She had been tired andcold; oh, cold, cold, cold; so cold that it had seemed impossible tolive. She had wandered on and on, through an eternity of darkness, which had ended in the blackness of night. Her head throbbed with theeffort of thinking; she shut her eyes and lay quietly, waiting uponremembrance. 

Suddenly it came. A faint flush of colour showed itself in the whitecheek, and a tingle of warmth ran through the veins. She remembered nowupon whose arm she had hung, whose voice it was which had cheered heronward; in trembling, incredulous fashion she remembered what that voicehad said!

A faint exclamation sounded through the stillness, whereupon Edithlooked round quickly, and hurried to the bedside. 

"Margot! My darling! Do you know me at last?"

Margot smiled wanly. The smooth rounded face had fallen away sadly inthat week of fever and unconsciousness, and a little hand was pushedfeebly forward. 

"Of course. I'm so glad! Edie, have I been ill?"

"Yes, darling; but you are better now. After a few days' rest you willbe well again. You must not be nervous about your dear self. "

"And you came?"

"Yes, darling; Ron telegraphed, and father and I came up at once. Agnesis taking care of the boys. "

"So kind! I remember--it was the mist. Was--Ron--safe?"

"Yes, darling, quite safe. He and Mr Elgood arrived at the cottagevery soon after you, and were so thankful to find you there. "

"Is--is _everybody_ well?"

Again that faint flush showed on the cheeks; but Edie was mercifullyblind, and answered with direct simplicity--

"Every one, dear, and you are going to be quite well, too. You must nottalk any more just now, for you are rather a weak little girl still. Drink this cup of milk, and roll over, and have another nap. It is goodto see you sleeping quietly and peacefully again. There! Shut youreyes, like a good girl!"

Then once more Margot floated off into unconsciousness; but this time itwas the blessed, health-restoring unconsciousness of sleep, such sleepas she had not known for days past, and from which she awoke with restedbody and clearer brain. 

When the dear father came in to kiss and greet her, a thin white handcrept up to stroke his hair, and pull his ear in the way he loved, whereupon he blinked away tears of thankfulness, and essayed to befierce and reproachful. 

"So you couldn't be satisfied until you had dragged the whole familyafter you, to the ends of the earth! There's no pleasing some people. This is my reward for being such a fool as to think you could take careof yourself!"

"Ducky Doodles!" murmured Margot fondly. As of yore, she manifested notthe faintest alarm at his pretence of severity, but twitched his earwith complacent composure, and once more Mr Vane blinked and swalloweda lump in his throat. There had been hours during those last days whenhe had feared that he might never again hear himself called "DuckyDoodles, " and what a sad grey world that would have meant!

Then came Ron, a little embarrassed, as was natural in a lad of hisyears, but truly loving and tender all the same, and Margot's brown_eyes_ searched his face with wistful questioning. 

There was so much that she wanted to ask and to hear, and concerningwhich no one had as yet vouchsafed information. Ron could tell her allthat was to be told, which it was impossible to pass another nightwithout knowing, yet there he sat, sublimely unconscious that she wantedto be assured of anything but his own safety. With the energy ofdespair, Margot forced herself to put a question. 

"How are all--the others?"

"The Elgoods? They are all right. Awfully worried about you, you know, and that sort of thing. Afraid the governor might think they were toblame. The idea of your going down with pneumonia, and frightening usall into fits! I thought you were too healthy to be bowled over sosoon, but a London life doesn't fit one for exposure. The governor wasfurious with me for bringing you to the North. "

But for once Margot was not interested in her father's feelings. Sheturned her head on the pillow and put yet another question. 

"They did not catch colds, too?"

"Oh, colds!" Ron laughed lightly. "Of course, we all had colds; whatelse could you expect? We were lucky to get off so easily. The Elgoodsput off leaving until you were safely round the corner, but they are offfirst thing to-morrow. "

At this there was a quick rustle of the bedclothes. 

"Going? _Where_?" asked a startled voice, in which sounded anuncontrollable quiver of apprehension. "Not away for altogether?"

"Yes! Their time was up three days ago. It is awfully decent of themto have stayed on for so long. We shall meet in town, I suppose; butyour Editor man is no use to me, Margot. That little scheme has fallenflat. From first to last he has never troubled to show the faintestinterest in my existence, and has avoided the governor all he knew. TheChieftain is worth a dozen of him. He has kept the whole thing goingthis last week, amused the governor, looked after Edith, been a perfectbrick to me. I'm glad we came, if it were only for the sake of makinghis acquaintance, for he is the grandest man I've ever known; but yourscheme has failed, old girl. "

From Margot's expression it would appear that everything on earth hadfailed. Her face looked as white as the pillow against which sherested, and her eyes were tragic in her despairing sadness. Ronbestirred himself to comfort her, full of gratitude for so heartfelt aninterest. 

"Never mind! You did your best, and it's nobody's fault that he turnedout such a Diogenes. The governor has been awfully decent since he cameup, and I don't despair of getting the time extended. He is much moreamenable, apart from Agnes, and I fancy the Chieftain puts in a goodword for me now and then--not on the score of literature, of course--butafter they have been talking together, the governor always seems to lookupon me with more--more _respect_, don't you know, and less as if I werea hopeless failure, of whom he was more or less ashamed. That's a gainin itself, isn't it?"

"'Um!" assented Margot vaguely. "I suppose they drive over to catch theevening express? Did he--they--say anything about me?"

Ron started in surprise. 

"My dear girl, we have talked of nothing else _but_ you, for the lastweek! Pulse, temperature, sleep; sleep, temperature, pulse; every hourthe same old tale. You have given us all a rare old fright; but thankgoodness you are on the mend at last. The doctor says it is only amatter of time. "

"Did--they--send any message?"

"No! Edie said you were not to be excited. Awfully sorry to misssaying good-bye, and that sort of thing, but hope to meet you anotherday in town. "

Margot shut her eyes, and the line of curling lashes lookedastonishingly black against her cheek. 

"I see. Very kind! I'm--tired, Ron. I can't talk any more. "

Ron rose from his seat with, it must be confessed, a sigh of relief. Hewas ill at ease in the atmosphere of the sick-room, and hardlyrecognised his jaunty, self-confident companion in this wan and languidinvalid. He dropped a light kiss on Margot's forehead, and hurrieddownstairs, to be encountered on the threshold of the inn by GeorgeElgood, who for once seemed anxious to enter into conversation. 

"You have been to see your sister. Did she--er--was she well enough tosend any message before we go?"

"Oh, she's all right--quite quiet and sensible again, but doesn't botherherself much about what is going on. I told her you were off, but shedidn't seem to take much notice. Expect she's so jolly thankful to feelcomfortable again that she doesn't care for anything else. "

"Er--quite so, quite so!" repeated the Editor hastily; and Ron passed onhis way, satisfied that he had been all that was tactful andconsiderate, and serenely unconscious that he had eclipsed the sun ofthat summer's day for two anxious hearts!

There was little sleep for poor Margot that night, and in the morningEdith noticed with alarm the flushed cheeks and shining eyes whichseemed to predict a return of the feverish symptoms. She drew down theblind and seated herself by the bedside, determined to guard the doorand allow no visitors. The child had evidently had too much excitementthe day before, and must now be kept absolutely quiet. But Margottossed and fidgeted, and threw the clothes restlessly about, refusing toshut her eyes, and allow herself to be tucked up, as the elder sisterlovingly advised. Her eyes were strained, and every now and then shelifted her head from the pillow with an anxious, listening movement. Atlast it came, the sound for which she had been waiting--the rumble ofwheels, the clatter of horses' hoofs, the grunts and groans of theostler as he lifted the heavy bags to their place. Margot's brown eyeslooked up with a piteous entreaty. 

"They are going! You must be quick, Edie. Run down quickly and saygood-bye!"

"It isn't necessary, dear. I saw them before coming upstairs. Ron isthere, and father. "

"But you must! I want you to go. Quickly, before it is too late. Edie, you _must_!"

There was no denying so vehement a command. Edith turned silently away, confirmed in a growing suspicion, and yearning tenderly over the littlesister's suffering. It was the younger brother, of course!--the tall, silent man, whose lips had been so dumb, whose eyes so eloquent, duringthe critical days of Margot's illness, and who had been the girl'scompanion on the misty moor. What had happened during those hours ofsuspense and danger? What barriers had been swept aside; what newvistas opened? Edith's own love was too sweet and sacred a thing toallow her to pry and question into the heart-secrets of another, as isthe objectionable fashion of many so-called friends, but with her keenwoman-senses she took in George Elgood's every word, look, and movementduring the brief parting scene. 

He stood aside, leaving his brother to utter the conventional farewells;his lips were set, and his brows drawn together; but ever and anon, asif against his will, his eyes shot anxious glances towards the window ofthe room where Margot lay. Edith moved a few steps nearer, to give thechance of a few quiet words, if it was in his heart to speak, but nonecame. A moment later he had swung himself up beside his brother on thehigh seat of the cart, and the wheels were beginning to move. 

Edith went slowly back to her post, dreading to meet the gaze of thosedear brown eyes, which had lost their sparkle, and become so pathetic intheir dumb questioning. She had no reassuring message to give, andcould only affect a confidence which she was far from feeling. 

"Well, dear, they are off, but it is not good-bye--only _au revoir_, asyou are sure to meet again in town before long. Mr Elgood askedpermission to call upon me in town. Nice little man! He has been sowonderfully kind and considerate. I can't think why he should troublehimself so much for a complete stranger. The tall one looked sorry togo! He kept looking up at your window. He has a fine face--strong andclever. He must be an interesting companion. "

Margot did not answer; but five minutes later she asked to have thecurtain drawn, as the light hurt her eyes. They had a somewhat red andinflamed appearance for the rest of the day; but when Mr Vane commentedon the fact, the dear, wise Edie assured him that it was a commonphenomenon after illness, and laid a supply of fresh handkerchiefs onthe bed--table in such a quiet and unobtrusive fashion, that they mighthave grown there of their own accord. 

"Some day, " thought Margot dismally to herself, "some day I shall laughover this!" For the present, however, her sense of humour was strangelyblunted, and the handkerchiefs were needed for a very different purpose. 

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. 

A PROUD MOMENT. 

Margot's recovery was somewhat tedious, so that it was quite three weeksafter the departure of the brothers Elgood before she was strong enoughto face the journey home. In the meantime Edith remained in charge asnurse, while Mr Vane and Ron varied the monotony of life in the Glen bymaking short excursions of two or three days' duration to places ofinterest in the neighbourhood. 

Notwithstanding the unchanged position of affairs, they appeared to beon unusually good terms, a fact which would have delighted Margot if shehad been in her usual health and spirits; but she had become of late solanguid and preoccupied as to appear almost unconscious of hersurroundings. Once a day she did, indeed, rouse herself sufficiently toshow some interest in passing events, that is to say, when the postarrived in the morning; but the revival was but momentary, and on eachoccasion was followed by a still deeper depression. 

The elder sister was very tender during those days of waiting; verytactful and patient with little outbursts of temper and unreasonablechanges of mind. She knew that it was not so much physical as mentalsuffering which was retarding the girl's progress, and yearned over herwith a sympathy that was almost maternal in its depth. 

The little sister had proved herself such a true friend during thetrials of the last few years, that she would have gone through fire andwater to save her from pain; but there are some things which even themost devoted relative cannot do. 

Edith could not, for instance, write to George Elgood and question himconcerning his silence: could not ask how it came to pass that while hisbrother had written to Margot, to Ronald, even to herself, he remainedsilent, content to send commonplace messages through a third person. Asfor Margot herself, she never mentioned the younger of the two brothers, but was always ready to talk about the elder, and seemed unaffectedlypleased at her sister's appreciation of the kindly, genial little man. 

"But why was he so sweet to me?" Edith would ask, with puzzledwonderment. "From the moment I arrived he seemed to be on the outlookto see how he could help. And he took an interest in Jack, and askedall about him and his affairs. The astonishing thing is that I toldhim, too! Though he was a stranger, his interest was so _real_ and deepthat I could confide in him more easily than in many old friends. Hadyou been talking about us to him, by any chance?"

Margot turned her head on the pillow, and stared out of the window tothe ridge of hills against the skyline. Her cheeks had sunk, making thebrown eyes appear pathetically large and worn. There was a listlessnessin her expression which was strangely different from the vivacious, self-confident Margot of a few weeks ago. 

"Yes, I spoke about you one day. He liked you, because you were so fondof Jack. He was in love himself, and the girl died, but he loves herstill, just the same. He tries to help other girls for her sake. Hesaid he wanted to know you. If it were ever in his power to help youand Jack, he would do it; but sometimes no one can help. It makesthings worse when they try. You might just as well give up at once. "

"Margot! What heresy, dear! From you, too, who are always preachingcourage and perseverance! That's pneumonia croaking, not the gallantlittle champion of the family! What would Ron and I have done withoutyou this last year, I should like to know? Isn't it nice to see fatherand the boy on such good terms? I believe that also is in a greatdegree due to Mr Elgood's influence. The pater told me that hecongratulated him on having such a son, and seemed to think Ron quiteunusually gifted. It is wonderful how much one man thinks of anotherman's judgment! We have said the same thing for years past, and it hashad no effect; but when a calm, level-headed man of business drops aword, it is accepted as gospel. You will be happy, won't you, darling, if Ron's future is harmoniously arranged?"

"Ron will be happy!" said Margot shortly. At the moment it seemed toher as if such good fortune could never again be her own. She mustalways be miserable, since George Elgood cared so little for her that hecould disappear into space and leave her without a word. Formalmessages sent through another person did not count, when one recalledthe tone of the voice which had said, "_Margot_!" and blushed at theremembrance of that other word which had followed. 

Sometimes, during those long days of convalescence, Margot almost cameto the conclusion that what she had heard had been the effect ofimagination only; as unreal and dream-like as the other events of thatfateful afternoon. At other times, as if in contradiction of thesetheories, every intonation of the Editor's voice would ring in her ears, and once again she would flush and tremble with happiness. 

At last the day arrived when the return to town need no longer bedelayed. Mr Vane was anxious to return to his work, Edith to herhusband and children; and the doctor pronounced Margot strong enough tobear the journey in the comfortable invalid carriage which had beenprovided. 

Preparations were therefore made for an early start, and poor Elspethmade happy by such a wholesale legacy of garments as composed a verytrousseau in the estimation of the Glen. 

No one was bold enough to offer a gift to Mrs McNab, but when the lastmoment arrived Margot lifted her white face with lips slightly pursed, like a child asking for a kiss. As on the occasion of her firstappearance, a contortion of suppressed emotion passed over the dourScotch face, and something suspiciously like moisture trembled in thecold eyes. 

"When ye come back again, come back twa!" was the enigmatical sentencewith which the landlady made her adieu, and a faint colour flickered inMargot's cheek as she pondered over its significance. 

The journey home was broken by a night spent in Perth, and London wasreached on the afternoon of a warm July day. The trees in the Parklooked grey with dust, the air felt close and heavy after theexhilaration of the mountain breezes to which the travellers had becomeaccustomed; even the house itself had a heavy, stuffy smell, despite theimmaculate cleanliness of its _regime_. 

Jack Martin was waiting to take his wife back to Oxford Terrace, thechildren having already preceded her, and Margot felt a sinking ofloneliness at being left to Agnes's tender mercies. 

"Dear me, child, what a wreck you look! Your Highland holiday has beena fine upset for us all. What did I tell you before you started?Perhaps another time you may condescend to listen to what I say!" Suchwas the ingratiating welcome bestowed upon the weary girl on herarrival; yet when Margot turned aside in silence, and made no responseto the accompanying kiss of welcome, Agnes felt hurt and aggrieved. From morning to night she had bustled about the house, assuring herselfthat everything was in apple-pie order; arranging flowers, putting outtreasures of fancy-work, providing comforts for the invalid. "And shenever notices, nor says one word of thanks. I can't understand Margot!"said poor Agnes to herself for the hundredth time, as she seated herselfat the head of the table for dinner. 

"Are there any letters for me, Agnes?" queried Margot anxiously. 

"One or two, I believe, and a paper or something of the sort. You cansee them after dinner. "

"I want them now!" said Margot obstinately. She pushed back her chairfrom the table, and walked across the room to the desk where newly-arrived letters were laid out to await the coming of their owners. Three white envelopes lay there, and a rolled-up magazine, all addressedto herself. She flushed expectantly as she bent to examine thedifferent handwritings. Two were uninterestingly familiar, belonging tofaithful girl friends who had hastened to welcome her home; the thirdwas unmistakably a man's hand, --small and compact, the letters fine, andaccurately formed. 

A blessed intuition told Margot that her waiting was at an end, and thatthis was the message for which she had longed ever since her return toconsciousness. With a swift movement she slipped the envelope into herpocket, to be opened later on in the privacy of her room, and returnedto the table, bearing the other communications in her hand. 

"I should have thought that after six weeks' absence from home you mighthave been willing to talk to _me_, instead of wanting to read letters atyour very first meal!" said Agnes severely; and Margot laughed in good-natured assent. 

"I won't open them! It was only curiosity to see what they were. I'lltalk as much as you like, Aggie dear. "

It was, all of a sudden, so easy to be amiable and unselfish! Thenervous irritation which had made it difficult to be patient, even withdear, tactful Edie during the last weeks, had taken wing and departedwith the first sight of that square white envelope. The light came backto Margot's eyes; she held her head erect, the very hollows in hercheeks seemed miraculously to disappear, and to be replaced by the olddimpling smile. Mr Vane and Ron exchanged glances of delight at themarvellous manner in which their invalid had stood the journey home. 

The letters and parcel lay unnoticed on the table until the conclusionof the meal, but as Margot picked them up preparatory to carrying themupstairs to her own room, she gave a sudden start of astonishment. 

"Ron, it's the _Loadstar_! Some one has sent me a copy of the_Loadstar_. From the office, I think, for the name is printed on thecover. Who could it be?"

"The Editor, of course--as a mark of attention on your return home. Lazy beggar! It was easier than writing a letter, " laughed Ron easily, stretching out his hand as he spoke to take forcible possession, for themagazine was of more interest to himself than to Margot, and he feltthat a new copy was just what was needed to occupy the hours beforebedtime. 

Margot made no demur, but stood watching quietly while Ron tore off thewrapper, and flattened the curled paper. She was not in a reading mood, but the suggestion that George Elgood might have sent the magazine madeit precious in her sight, and she waited anxiously for its return. 

"It's mine, Ron. It was sent to me! I want to take it upstairs. "

"Let me look at the index first, to see who is writing this month! Youdon't generally care for such stiff reading; I say, there's a finecollection of names! It's stronger than ever this month. I don'tbelieve there is another paper in the world which has such splendidfellows for contribu--"

Ron stopped short, his voice failing suddenly in the middle of the word. His jaw dropped, and a wave of colour surged in his cheeks. 

"It--it can't be!" he gasped incredulously. "It _can't_! There must beanother man of the same name. It can't possibly be meant for _me_!... "

"What? What? Let me see? What are you talking about?" cried Margot, peering eagerly over his shoulder, while Ron pointed with a tremblingfinger to the end of the table of contents. Somehow the words seemed tobe printed in a larger type than the rest. They grew larger and largeruntil they seemed to fill the whole page--"_Solitude. A Fragment. ByRonald Vane_!"

"Oh, Ron, it is!" shrieked Margot, in happy excitement. "It _is_ you, and no one else! I _told_ you it was beautiful when you read it to methat day in the Glen! Oh, when did you send it to him?"

"Never! I never so much as mentioned my verses in his hearing. Thatwas part of the bargain--that we should not worry him on his holiday. Margot, it was you! You are only pretending that you know nothing aboutit. It must be your doing. "

"Indeed it isn't! I never even spoke of you to him. " Margot had thegrace to blush at the confession; but by this time Ron had turned overthe pages until he had come to the one on which his own words faced himin the beautiful distinct typing of the magazine, and the rapture of themoment precluded every other sentiment. He did not hear what Margotsaid, so absorbed was he in re-reading the lines in their delightful newsetting. 

"It _is_ good; but it is only a fragment. It isn't finished. Why wasthis chosen, instead of one of the others?"

"I told you you would ruin it if you made it longer. It is perfect asit is, and anything more would be padding. It is a little gem, worthyeven of a place in the _Loadstar_. Father, do you hear? Do youunderstand? Look at your son's name among all those great men! Aren'tyou glad? Aren't you _proud_! Aren't you going to congratulate us_both_?"

Mr Vane growled a little, for the sake of appearances; but though hiseyebrows frowned, the corners of his lips relaxed in a manner distinctlycomplacent. Even recognising as he did the herald of defeat, it wasimpossible to resist a thrill of pride as his eye glanced down theimposing list of names held open for his inspection. A great scientist;a great statesman; a leading author; an astronomer known throughout theworld; a soldier veteran, and near the end that other name, so dearlyfamiliar--the name of his own son! The voice in which he spoke wasgruff with emotion. "Humph! You are in good company, at least. Let mesee the verses themselves. There must be something in them, I suppose, but I am no judge of these things. "

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. 

"IN CORN. "

Meantime Margot had returned to the far end of the room, and adroitlyslipped the third letter out of her pocket, feeling that it would beselfish to delay reading the contents, as they must certainly cast somelight upon the present situation. Her heart sank a little as sherecognised that the attention was less personal than she had imagined, but even so, it was to herself that the magazine had been directed, andthat was an evidence of the fact that in publishing the poem herpleasure had been considered even more than Ronald's advancement. 

She tore open the stiff white envelope and read as follows:--

"Dear Miss Vane, --

"I hear that you are to arrive home this afternoon, and intend to takethe liberty of calling upon you after dinner, in the hope that you maybe able to give me a few minutes of uninterrupted conversation on asubject of great importance. If you are too much fatigued after yourjourney, pray have no scruples in refusing me admission, in which case Ishall take an early opportunity of calling again; but after the strainof the past few weeks I do not find myself able to wait longer than isabsolutely necessary for an interview. 

"Yours faithfully, --

"George Elgood. "

"Is that from Elgood? What does he say? What does he say? Let us seewhat he says!" petitioned Ron eagerly; but Margot returned the letter toher pocket, resolutely ignoring his outstretched hand. 

"He gives no explanation, but he is coming to-night. Coming to callafter dinner, and he asks me to see him alone, so I'll find out allabout it, and tell you afterwards. "

"Alone!" Ron's face was eloquent with surprise, disappointment, and adawning suspicion. "Why alone? It's more my affair than yours. I_must_ thank him before he goes. "

"I'll send for you, then. I suppose he wants to explain to me first. I'll be sure to send for you!" reiterated Margot hurriedly, as shedisappeared through the doorway. Her first impulse was, girl-like, tomake for her own room, to give those final touches to hair and dress, which are so all-important in effect, and that done, to sit alone, listening for the expected knock at the door, the sound of footstepsascending to the drawing-room. To meet George Elgood here! To see histall dark figure outlined against the familiar background of home, --Margot gasped at the thought, and felt her heart leap painfully at everyfresh sound. 

The postman, the parcels delivery, a van from the Stores, had allclaimed the tribute of a blush, a gasp, and a fresh rush to the glass, before at last slow footsteps were heard mounting the stairs, and Mary'svoice at the door announced, "A gentleman to see you, Miss Margot!" andin another minute, as it seemed, she was facing George Elgood across thelength of the drawing-room. 

The roles of invalid and anxious inquirer seemed for the moment to bereversed, for while she was pink and smiling, he was grave and of aghastly pallor. Nervous also; for the first words of greeting were anunintelligible murmur, and they seated themselves in an embarrassedsilence. 

"You--er--you received my letter?"

"Yes!" Margot gazed at the tips of her dainty slippers, and smiledsoftly to herself. In the interval which had passed since they lastmet, the Editor had evidently suffered a relapse into his old shynessand reserve. She had guessed as much from the somewhat stiltedphraseology of his letter, and was prepared to reassure him by her ownoutspoken gratitude. 

"Yes; I was so pleased!"

He gave a little start of astonishment, and stared at her with bright, incredulous eyes. 

"Pleased? You mean it? You did not think it a liberty--"

"Indeed I did not. I guessed what you had to tell me, and it made me sohappy. "

He leaned forward impetuously, the blood flushing his cheeks. 

"You had guessed before? You knew it was coming?"

"Not exactly, but I hoped--"

"_Hoped_!--Margot, is it possible that you have cared, too? It seemstoo wonderful to be true. --I never dreamt of such amazing happiness. Atthe best it seemed possible that you would be willing to give me ahearing. I did not dare to write, but this time of waiting has seemedas if it would never end... "

As he began to speak Margot faced him with candid eyes, but at the soundof his voice, and at sight of the answering flash of his eyes, her lidsquivered and fell, and she shrank back against the cushions of herchair. Astonishment overwhelmed her; but the relief, the thankfulness, the rapture of the moment obliterated everything else. She gave astrangled sob of emotion and said faintly--

"It--it has seemed long to me, too!"

At that he was on his knees before her, clasping her hands and gazing ather with an expression of rapturous relief. "Oh, Margot, my darling, was it because I was not there? Have you missed me? Not as I havemissed you--that is not possible, but enough to remember me sometimes, and to be glad to meet again. Have you thought of me at all, Margot?"

"I--I have thought of nothing else!" sighed Margot. She was generouswith her assurance, knowing the nature of the man with whom she had todeal, and her reward was the sight of the illumined face turned uponher. 

There, in a corner of a modern drawing-room, with a glimpse of a Londonstreet between the curtain folds, Margot and George Elgood found theEden which is discovered afresh by all true lovers. Such moments aretoo sacred for intrusion; they live enshrined in memory until the end oflife. 

It was not until a considerable time had flown by that Margot recalledthe events of the earlier evening, and with them still another claimheld by her lover upon her gratitude and devotion. Drawing back, so asto lift her charming face to his--a rosy, sparkling face, unrecognisableas the same white and weary visage of a few hours back, she laid herhand on his, and said sweetly--

"We went off at a tangent, didn't we? I don't know how we went off, andforgot the real business of the evening; but I never finished thankingyou! You must think me terribly ungrateful!"

George Elgood regarded her with puzzled, adoring eyes. 

"I haven't the least idea what you are talking about, but what does itmatter? What does anything matter, except that we love each other, andare the happiest creatures on earth? Business, indeed! Why need wetrouble ourselves to talk about business? Margot, do you know that youhave a dimple in the middle of your cheek? The most beautiful dimple inthe world!"

Margot shook her head at him with a pretence of disapproval, smiling thewhile, so as to show off the dimple to the best advantage. 

"You mustn't make me conceited. I am vain enough already to know thatyou love me, and have taken so much trouble to please me. It _was_ kindof you!"

"What was kind, sweetheart? There is no kindness in loving you. I hadno choice in the matter, for I simply could not help myself!"

"Ah, but you know what I mean! You have given me my two greatestdesires! I can't tell you how happy I was when I saw it. "

He stared at her for a moment, then smiled complacently. 

"You mean--my note?"

"No, I didn't mean your note. Not this time. I meant the magazine!"

"Magazine!"

The accent of bewilderment was unmistakably genuine, and Margot hastenedto explain still further. 

"The new number of the _Loadstar_ with Ron's poem in it!"

"Ron's poem!" The note of bewilderment was accentuated to one ofpositive incredulity. "A poem by your brother in the _Loadstar_! I didnot know that he wrote at all. "

Now it was Margot's turn to stare and frown. 

"You didn't know! But you _must_ have known. How else could it get in?You must have given permission. "

"My sweetheart, what have I to do with the _Loadstar_, or any othermagazine? What has my permission to do with it?"

"Everything in the world! Oh, I know exactly what has happened. Yourbrother has told you about Ron, and showed you his verses, and you putthem in for his sake--_and mine_! Because you knew I should be pleased, and because they are good too, and you were glad to help him. He islonging to come in to thank you himself. We shall both thank you allour lives!"

George Elgood's face of stupefaction was a sight to behold. Hisforehead was corrugated with lines of bewilderment; he stared at her inblankest dismay. 

"What _are_ you talking about, sweetheart? What does it all mean? Yourbrother has no need to thank me for any success which he has gained. Ishould have been only too delighted to help him in any way that was inmy power, but I have no influence with the _Loadstar Magazine_. "

"No influence! How can that be when you are the Editor?"

"I am the _What_?"

"Editor! You have every influence. You _are_ the magazine!"

George Elgood rose to his feet with a gesture of strongest astonishment. 

"I the Editor of a magazine! My dearest little girl, what are youdreaming about? There never was a man less suited to the position. Iknow nothing whatever of magazines--of any sort of literature. I am incorn!"

A corn merchant! Margot's brain reeled. She lay back in her chair, staring at him with wide, stunned eyes, too utterly prostrated bysurprise to be capable of speech!

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. 

AN INTERVIEW WITH THE EDITOR. 

Could it be believed that it was the _Chieftain_ who was the Editor, after all! That short, fat, undignified, commonplace little man! "Notin the least the type, "--so Ron had pronounced, in his youthfularrogance, "No one would ever suspect _you_ of being literary!" so saucyMargot had declared to his face. She blushed at the remembrance of thewords, blushed afresh, as, one after another, a dozen memories rushedthrough her brain. That afternoon by the tarn, for example, when shehad summoned courage to confess her scheme, and he had lain prone on thegrass, helpless and shaken with laughter!

No wonder that he had laughed! but oh, the wickedness, the duplicity ofthe wretch, to breathe no word of her mistake, but promptly set to workto weave a fresh plot on his own account! This was the reason why hehad extracted a promise that George was not to be told of Ron's ambitionduring his holiday, feigning an anxiety for his brother's peace of mind, which he was in reality doing his best to destroy! This was theexplanation of everything that had seemed mysterious and contradictory. He had been laughing in his sleeve all the time he had pretended tohelp!

George Elgood listened with a mingling of amaze, amusement, andtenderness to the hidden history of the weeks at Glenaire. Being in theframe of mind when everything that Margot did seemed perfect in hiseyes, he felt nothing but admiration for her efforts on her brother'sbehalf. 

It was an ingenious, unselfish little scheme, and the manner in whichshe had laid it bare to the person most concerned was delightfullyunsophisticated. He laughed at her tenderly, stroking her soft, prettyhair with his big man's hand, the while he explained that he was abusiness man pure and simple, and had made no excursions whatever intoliterature; that the "writing" with which he had been occupied wasconnected with proposed changes in his firm, and a report of a technicalcharacter. 

Margot flamed with indignation, but before the angry words had time toform themselves on her lips, the thought occurred that after all thehelp vouchsafed to her had been no pretence, but a very substantialreality. Ron's foot _had_ been placed on the first rung of the ladder, while as for herself, what greater good could she have found to desirethan that which, through the Chieftain's machinations, had already cometo pass? She lifted her face to meet the anxious, adoring gaze bentupon her, and cried hurriedly--

"He--he meant it all the time! He _meant_ it to happen!"

"Meant what, darling?"

"_This_!"

Margot waved her hand with a gesture sufficiently expressive, whereather lover laughed happily. 

"Bless him! of course he did. He has been badgering me for years pastto look out for a wife; and when we met you he was clever enough torealise that you were the one woman to fill the post. If he had said asmuch to me at that stage of affairs, I should have packed up and madeoff within the hour; if he had said it to you, you would have felt itincumbent upon you to do the same. Instead, he let you go on in yourillusion, while he designed the means of throwing us into each other'ssociety. Good old Geoff! I'm not at all angry with him. Are you?"

Margot considered the point, her head tilted to a thoughtful angle. 

"I'm--not--sure! I think I am, just a little bit, for I hate to betaken in. He was laughing at me all the time. "

"But after all, he has done what you wished! I envy him for being ableto give you such pleasure; but perhaps I may be able to do as much inanother way. Geoff tells me that Mr Martin has had financial troubles, and there is nothing I would not do to help any one who belongs to you. I'm out of my depths in poetry, but in business matters I can count, andin this case I shall not be satisfied until I _do_. "

Margot drew a long breath of contentment. "Oh, if Jack is happy, andRon is successful, and I have--_You_!--there will be nothing left towish for in all the world. Poor Ron! he is waiting eagerly to come into thank you for publishing his verse, and wondering why in the worldyou wanted to see me alone. Don't you think you ought just to read it, to be able to say it is nice?"

"No, I don't! You are all the poetry I can attend to to-night, and forgoodness' sake keep him away; I shall have to interview your fatherlater on, but after waiting all these weeks I must have you to myself alittle longer. "

"Oh, I won't send for him. I don't want him a bit, " cried Margotnaively, "but he will come!"

And he did!

Waiting downstairs in the study, an hour seemed an absurd length oftime, and when no summons came Ron determined to take the law in his ownhands and join the conference. The tableau which was revealed to him onopening the drawing-room door struck him dumb with amazement, and theexplanations which ensued appeared still more extraordinary. 

George Elgood speedily beat a retreat to the study, where Mr Vanelistened to his request with quiet resignation. Elderly, grey-hairedfathers have a way of seeing more than their children suspect, andMargot's father had recognised certain well-known signs in the manner inwhich he had been questioned concerning his daughter's progress duringthose anxious days at Glenaire. His heart sank as he listened to thelover's protestations, but he told himself that he ought to be thankfulto know that his little Margot had chosen a man of unblemishedcharacter, who was of an age to appreciate his responsibility, possessedan income sufficient to keep her in comfort, and, last but not least, ahome within easy distance of his own. 

Late that evening, when her lover had taken his departure, Margot stoledown to the study and sat silently for a time on her old perch on thearm of her father's chair, with her head resting lovingly against hisown. He was thankful to feel her dear presence, and to know that shewished to be near him on this night of all others, but his heart was toofull to speak, and it was she who at last spoke the first words. 

"I never knew, " she said softly, "I never knew that it was possible tobe as happy as this. It's so wonderful! One can't realise it all. Father dear, I've been thinking of you! ... I never realised beforewhat it meant to you when mother died--all that you lost! You have beengood, and brave, and unselfish, dear, and we must have tried you sorelymany times. We didn't understand, but I understand a little bit now, daddy, and it makes me love you more. You'll remember, won't you, thatthis is going to draw us closer together, not separate us one littlebit? You'll be _sure_ to remember?"

"Bless you, dear!" he said, and stroked her hand with tender fingers. "It is sweet to hear you say so, at least. I'm glad you are going to behappy, and if I am to give you away at all, I am glad it is to a strong, sensible man whom I can trust and respect; but it will be a sad day forme when you leave the old home, Margot. "

Margot purred over him with tenderest affection. 

"How I wish Agnes would marry!"

"What has that to do with it, pray?"

"Then you could live with me, of course! I should love it, " said Margotwarmly; and though her father had no intention of accepting such aninvitation, it remained through life a solace to him to remember that ithad been in the girl's heart to wish it. 

Next morning at twelve o'clock a daintily attired damsel ascended adusty staircase in Fleet Street and desired to see the Editor in hisden. The dragon who guarded the fastness inquired of her if she had anappointment, and, unsoftened by the charm of her appearance, volunteeredthe information that Mr Elgood would see no stray callers. 

"He will see _me_!" returned Margot arrogantly; and she was right, for, to the surprise of the messenger, the sight of the little printed cardwas followed by an order to "Show the lady in at once. "

A moment later Margot made her first entrance into an Editor's den, andround the corner of a big desk caught a glimpse of a decorous, black-coated figure whom at first sight it was difficult to associate with thelight-hearted Chieftain of Glenaire. As they confronted each other, however, the round face twinkled into a smile, which served as fuel tothe girl's indignation. She stopped short, ostentatiously disregardingthe outstretched hand, drew her brows together, and proclaimedhaughtily--

"I have come to let you know that you are found out. I know all aboutit now. You have been laughing at me all the time?"

"Well, --very nearly!" he assented smilingly. "You are such a nicelittle girl to laugh at, you see, and it was an uncommonly good joke!Do you remember the day when you confided to me solemnly that you hadjourneyed to Scotland on purpose to stalk me, and run me to earth?You'd have been a bit embarrassed if I'd told you the truth then andthere, wouldn't you now? And besides--I see quite enough of literaryaspirants all the year round. It was a bit hard to be hunted down onone's holidays. I felt bound to prevaricate, for the sake of my ownpeace. Then again there was George! Where would George have come in?If I had confessed my identity, should I have been kept awake, as I waslast night, listening to his rhapsodies by the hour together? By theway, we are going to be near relatives. Don't you want to shake hands?"

"I'm very angry indeed!" maintained Margot stubbornly--nevertheless herhand was in his, and her fingers involuntarily returned his pressure. "Are you--_glad_! Do you think I shall--do? Does he seem _really_happy?"

"Ah, my dear!" he sighed, and over the plump features there passed oncemore the expression of infinite longing which Margot had seen oncebefore, when, in a moment of confidence, he had spoken of his dead love. "Ah, my dear, how happy he is! There is no word to express suchhappiness! George has not frittered away his affections on a number ofsilly flirtations--his heart is whole, and it is wholly yours. Do youowe me no thanks for bringing you together? You wanted to help yourbrother; I wanted to help mine; so we are equally guilty orpraiseworthy, as the case may be. For myself I am very well satisfiedwith the result?"

Margot blushed, and cast down her eyes. 

"I'm satisfied, too!" she said shyly. "Much more than satisfied--andRon is enraptured. Have you seen him? He said he was coming to see youfirst thing this morning!"

"Have I seen him, indeed? I should think I had! I thought I shouldnever get rid of the boy. I told him straight that the magazine comesfirst to me, and that not even a prospective sister-in-law--withdimples!--could induce me to accept a line for publication otherwisethan on its own merits. But the boy has power. I can't tell yet howfar it may go, but it's worth encouraging. When he gave me hismanuscript book to read I was struck by one fragment, and wrote it outin shorthand, to publish as a surprise to you both. I like the lad, andwill be glad to help him so far as it is in my power. I can give him asmall post in this office, where at least he will be in the atmosphere;but after that his future rests with himself. What he writes that isworth publishing, I will publish, but it will be judged on its meritsalone, and without any remembrance of his private associations. He willhave his chance!"

He put out his hands and held her gently by the elbows, smiling at herthe while with the kindliest of smiles. 

"Now are you satisfied, little girl? From the moment that you looked atme with _her_ eyes, and asked my help, I have had no better wish than togive it. I did not set about it quite in your own way, perhaps, but theend is the same. Don't trouble any more about the lad, but let mesmooth the way with your father, while you devote yourself to George. His happiness is in your hands. Be good to him! He looks upon you asan angel from heaven! Be an angel for his sake! He sees in youeverything that is good, and pure, and womanly. Be what he believes!Humanly speaking, his life is yours, and these little hands will drawhim more strongly than any power in the world. It's a bigresponsibility, little girl, but I am not afraid! I know a good womanwhen I see one, and can trust George to your care. You will be veryhappy. I wonder if in the midst of your happiness you will sometimesremember--a lonely man?"

Margot twisted herself quickly from his grasp, and her arms stretchedout and encircled his neck. She did not speak, but her lips, pressedagainst his cheek, gave an assurance more eloquent than words. 

THE END.