"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 Ron a.s.sented with a lofty superiority--

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

"He may be useful, though, for he looks a friendly little soul, and if we get intimate with him we must know his brother, too... These scones are the most delectable things! Do you think She will be shocked if we eat them all? I feel a conviction that I shall get into the way of calling her 'She'--with a capital S. 'She who must be obeyed!' I thought She would be softened by the sight of me hugging the jug, and offer to light a fire at once; but not a bit of it! Her cure was much more drastic. I'll accept it this time, as it suits my purpose, but when 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. "After all, 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 discreetly through the window, and held up a detaining hand. "Wait a moment until the 'Brither' has turned back towards the village. Then we'll sally out of the door and meet him face to face."

Ron picked up his grey cap,--a coat he disdained, though he also was far from warm,--and followed his sister into the bare entrance-hall, with its pungent mingling of odours. From the back of the house could be heard the jangling of milk-pails, and a feminine voice raised in shrill invective; but no one was in sight, and the conspirators emerged unseen from the door of the inn, and turned to the left, endeavouring somewhat unsuccessfully to appear unconscious of the approaching figure.

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

"Good afternoon!" cried the confederates, in eager response; then they pa.s.sed by, and were conscious, by the cessation of the crunching footsteps, that the "Brither" had halted to look after them as they went.

"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 the youth by her side; at the clean-cut, sensitive face beneath the deerstalker 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 graceful figure of the girl, with her vivid, healthful colouring, the little cap set jauntily on her chestnut locks, the breeze showing glimpses of the bright tartan lining of her cloak.

Starting under such promising auspices, brother and sister merrily continued their way along the winding road which skirted the border of the tarn. Fresh from London smoke and grime, the clear mountain air tasted almost incredibly pure and fresh. One wanted to open the mouth wide and drink it in in deep gulps; to send it down to the poor clogged lungs,--most marvellous and reviving of tonics!

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

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

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

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

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

At the door of the outlying cottages the fair-haired matrons stood to stare at the new arrivals. They all seemed fresh and rosy, and of an exquisite cleanliness; they each bore a linty-haired infant in their arms, or held by the hand a toddling mite of two or three summers; but they made no sign of welcome, and, when Margot smiled and nodded in her friendly fashion, either retreated hastily into the shadow, or responded in a manner painfully suggestive of Mrs McNab's contortion. Then came the scattered shops; the baker's, the draper's, (fancy being condemned to purchase your whole wardrobe in that dreary little cell!) the grocer and general emporium in the middle of the row; last of all, the post office and stationer's shop combined.

Brother and sister cast a swift glance down the road, but there was no male figure in sight which could by any possibility belong to a visitor from the South.

"You go in, and I'll mount guard at the door. Buy some postcards to send home!" suggested Ron; and, nothing loath, Margot entered the little shop, glancing round with a curious air. There was no other customer but herself; but a queer little figure of a man stood behind the counter, sorting packets of stationery. He turned his head at her approach, and displayed a face thickly powdered with freckles of extraordinary size and darkness. Margot was irresistibly reminded of an advertis.e.m.e.nt of "The Spotted Man," which she had once seen in a travelling circus, and had some ado to restrain a start of surprise.

The eyes looking out between the hairless lids, looked like nothing so much as a pair of larger and more animated freckles, and the hair was of the same washed--out brown. Whether the curious-looking specimen was fourteen or forty was at first sight a problem to decide, but a closer inspection proved the latter age to be the more likely, and when Margot smiled and wished him a cheery good afternoon, he responded with unusual cordiality 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 good excuse for deliberation. The great object was to dally in the post office 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 the while many inquiries; and the spotted man was delighted to expatiate on the beauties of his native land, the more so, as, presumably, it was not often that so lavish a purchaser came his way.

They were in the middle of the fourth packet of views, and the selected pile of cards had reached quite a formidable height, when a familiar whistle from the doorway started Margot into vivid attention, and a minute 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 the stout little person encountered outside the inn; yet in his thin, cadaverous face there was an intangible something which marked him out as a child of the same parents. The brother on whom Margot was now gazing was considerably the younger of the two, and might have been handsome, given a trifle more flesh and animation. As it was, he looked gaunt and livid, and his shoulders were rounded, as with much stooping over a scholar's desk.

"A fine big bundle for ye the day, Mister Elgood! I'm thinking the whole of London is coming down upon ye," the postmaster declared affably, as he handed over a formidable packet of letters. Envelopes white and envelopes blue, long ma.n.u.script envelopes, which Margot recognised with a reminiscent pang; rolled-up bundles of papers. The stranger took them over with a thin hand, thrust them into the pockets of his coat, with a muttered word of acknowledgment, and turned back to the door.

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

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

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

"That gentleman will be staying up at the Nag's Head with yourself,"

vouchsafed the spotted postmaster affably. "A fine gentleman--a ferry fine gentleman! They say he will be a ferry great man up in London. I suppose 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 was needing. The two penny packets of notepaper were certainly very cheap, the coloured tints and scalloped borders quite wonderful to behold; but she did not require any to-day, thank you. Perhaps another time. Good morning!"

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? You can 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 magnificent combination! Did you notice his walk?"

"Oh, I noticed him well enough. I noticed all there was to see. I have no 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 amus.e.m.e.nt!

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

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

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

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

"Do you remember the old story of Johnny-head-in-air, Ron?" she asked mischievously. "He had a fall. A fall and a dousing! If he isn't very careful, 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 a substantial meal, consisting of spiced salt beef, gooseberry pie, and cheese. Mrs McNab carved the joint at the sideboard, and directed the movements of the maid by a series of glares which appeared to be fraught with wondrous significance.

"Brither Elgood" took the head of the table, and beamed upon his companions with cherubic good-nature, while his brother sat on his left, immersed in thought and his dinner. An elderly man with a strong Glasgow accent came next, accompanied by a homely, kindly-looking wife.

(Margot sighed with relief to find that after all she was not the only lady of the company). Across from them sat a bowed old man, wearing a clerical collar with his tweed coat, and a thin, weedy-looking youth, evidently his son. An eminently staid and respectable company, but hardly 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 superfine smartness. There was no opportunity of talking to either of the brothers Elgood, separated as they were by the length of the table. The clergyman, Mr Moffat, remarked that it had been a fine day, an ex- ceptionally fine day! Mrs Macalister, the Glasgow lady, handed the mustard with the suggestion that it was always an improvement to a boiled round; but with these thrilling exceptions the newcomers were left to their own devices. Conversation even among the older residents was spasmodic and intermittent, and in no sense could the meal be termed sociable or cheerful.

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