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 civil war is permanently in progress; and what about charity and humility of mind? Suppose now, suppose for a moment that a family of strangers come to live in the house next your own in town, and you discover among other things that they are Dissenters. How does it influence your att.i.tude towards them?" He thrust his ruddy face nearer, staring fixedly into hers. "Answer me that! Feel just the same? Exactly the same? No cooling off in the intention to call? _Quite_ sure you never used the expression, 'only Dissenters!' and pa.s.sed by on the other side?"

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

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

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

The little man stood still in the middle of the road, throwing out his arms 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, and love 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 and ceremony; of Church government and ritual; how small they are, how unutterably trivial, compared to the great facts of the Fatherhood of G.o.d, and the sacrifice of Christ! Did the Power who made every one of us with different faces and different forms, expect us all to think mathematically alike? I cannot believe it! It is our duty to trust in G.o.d and love our brethren; to live together in peace, seeing the best in each other, acknowledging the best, thinking no evil! To see men who make a profession of religion quarrelling and persecuting each other for trivial differences, is a ghastly spectacle--a ghastly spectacle!" He walked on, swinging his short arms to and fro, then suddenly looked up with a keen glance into Ron's eager face.

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

Lads of nineteen and twenty make it so much a matter of principle to suppress all exhibition of feeling, that it is almost startling to come across one who is not ashamed to betray a little human emotion. Mr Elgood evidently found it so, for he continued to cast those quick peering glances until the inn was reached, and the little party separated, to prepare for the midday dinner.

Margot walked slowly up the steep staircase leading to her room, and sat herself down on the bed to think out the problem. More and more did she long to pierce through the armour by which the strange, silent man was enveloped; but how was it to be done? Opportunities were few and far between, and now, for the first time in her life, confidence in her own powers deserted her, and she was overcome by a strange new feeling of humility and doubt. Who and what was she, that such a man should stoop to accept her friendship; poor, unlettered girl that she was, while he was acknowledged as one of the leading intellects of the day? Yet deep in her heart the thought lingered that between this man and herself existed a certain affinity, which, given an opportunity, might bridge over greater gaps than that of intellect and learning. How was that opportunity to be gained? She might be willing to sacrifice much to attain it, but there was one thing that could never be thrown on one side--her natural maidenly pride and dignity! Not even for Ron's sake could she bring herself to make advances to a man who, so far from exhibiting any desire for her company, had gone markedly out of his way to avoid it.

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

The Chieftain's geniality and candour, his boy-like lightness of heart on the one hand, his pa.s.sion for right on the other, were fast developing a species of hero-worship in the lad's mind. Margot foresaw that, as time pa.s.sed by, the two would grow closer together, and that any chance of intimacy with the other brother would retreat helplessly into the background. Unless--! Her face flamed as a possible solution of the difficulty darted suddenly into her mind. Could she? Dared she risk it? Yes, she could. It would be difficult, but she could bring herself to face it, if after a few days' consideration it still seemed the only way out of the difficulty.

Margot rose from the bed, and began quietly to prepare for dinner. Her face looked grave and anxious, but it had lost its troubled, fretted expression. She had made up her mind what to do, and with the decision came rest and ease of mind.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

MUSIC HATH CHARMS.

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

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

The good la.s.sie nodded rea.s.suringly 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 the weather clears."

It was not a congenial task, for, truth to tell, Mr Macalister was not a beguiling object, with his lugubrious face, lack-l.u.s.tre eyes, and sandy, outstanding whiskers; nor did he in the first instance betray any grat.i.tude for the attention bestowed upon him. A stolid glance over his spectacles was his first response to Margot's overtures; his next, a series of grunts and sniffs, and when at last he condescended to words it was invariably to deride or throw doubt on her statements.

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

In the corner of the room Mrs Macalister sat meekly knitting, never venturing a look upwards so long as her spouse was in view, but urging Margot onward by nods and winks and noiseless mouthings, the moment that she was safe from observation.

It had its comic side, but it was also somewhat pathetic. These two good commonplace souls had travelled through life together side by side for over thirty years, and, despite age, infirmity, and "nearves", were still lovers at heart. Before the wife's eyes the figure of "Mr Macalister" loomed so large that it blocked out the entire world; to him, even in this hour of depression, "the wife" was the one supreme authority.

Fortunately for herself and her friends, Margot was gifted with sufficient insight to grasp the poetry behind the prose, and it gave her patience to persevere. Solution came at last, in the shape of the wheezy old piano in the corner, opened in a moment of aimless wandering to and fro. Margot was no great performer, but what she could play she played by heart, and Nature had provided her with a sweet, thrush-like voice, with that true musical thrill which no teaching can impart. At the first few bars of a Chopin nocturne Mr Macalister's newspaper wavered, and fell to his knee. Margot heard the rustle of it, slid gradually into a simpler melody, and was conscious of a heavy hand waving 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 to express any gratification, but that he had deigned to speak at all was a distinct advance, and equal to a whole volume of compliments from another man.

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

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

Margot essayed one Scotch air after another, and was instructed in the proper p.r.o.nunciation of the words; feigning, it is to be feared, an extra amount of incapacity to p.r.o.nounce the soft "ch," for the sake of giving her patient a better opportunity of displaying his superior adroitness.

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

"It's a small organ," he p.r.o.nounced judicially, "a ve-ry small organ.

Ye would make a poor show on a concert platform, but for all that, I'm not saying that it might not have been worse. Ye can keep in tune, and that's a mearcy!"

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

The broad, beaming smile, the sly little nod behind Mr Macalister's back, proclaiming triumph and delighted grat.i.tude--these sent Margot up to her room heartened and revived in spirits, for there is nothing on earth 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 breaking its way through the clouds overhead. She thrust her head out of the window, and opening her mouth, drank in great gulps of the fresh damp air, so sweet and reviving after the mouldy atmosphere of "the parlour."

Over the mountain tops in the direction from which the wind was blowing the clouds were slowly drifting aside, leaving broader and broader patches 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 the glen would be alight with sunshine. She would put on boots, cap, and cape, and hurry out to enjoy every moment that remained.

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

Margot threw open the door and was about to descend the narrow staircase, when she stopped short, arrested by an unexpected sound.

Some one was singing softly in a room near at hand, repeating the refrain of the ballad which she had taken last on her list. The deep ba.s.s 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! He had been indoors all the time, then, listening to her while she sang!

Margot's cheeks grew hot with embarra.s.sment, yet in the repeated strain there was a suggestion of appreciation, of lingering enjoyment which did away 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 in a picture in the lintel of the doorways, divided only by a few yards of boarded pa.s.sage. The strain came to an abrupt conclusion, frozen upon his lips by the shock of surprise and embarra.s.sment. For the third time in their short acquaintance Margot looked straight into his eyes; for the third time recognised in their depths something that in mysterious fashion seemed to respond to a want in her own nature; for the third time saw the lids drop, heard an unintelligible murmur of apology, and watched a hasty retreat.

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

There he was, a strong, well-built figure in knickerbockers and Norfolk coat striding rapidly up the hill path to the right,--trying, no doubt, to put as much distance as possible between himself and the objectionable girl who seemed ever to be appearing when she was not wanted. For a long minute Margot stood gazing miserably ahead, then turning resolutely to the left, came face to face with the Chieftain returning from the village with his pockets bulging with papers.

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

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

REVELATIONS.