Inside the inn a mingling of odours greeted the nostrils. Furniture
polish, soft soap, various whiffs from the bar, which by good fortune
opened into the stable-yard, and was distinct from the house itself; a
sweet, heavy odour of milk from the dairy; a smell of musk from the
plants ranged along the window-sills. In the dining-room the tablecloth
was laid, with a large home-cured ham in the place of honour. The floor
was covered with oilcloth; the furniture was covered with horsehair. On
the mantelpiece stood two large specimens of granite, and a last year's
almanac. Red rep curtains were draped across the window, so as to
conceal all the view except a glimpse of the road. The walls were hung
with a fearsome paper, in which bouquets of deep blue flowers were
grouped on a background of lozenges of an orange hue. Over the
mantelpiece hung a coloured print of Queen Victoria; over the sideboard
a print entitled "Deerstalking," representing two Highlanders in plaids
and bonnets standing over the prostrate form of a "monarch of the
waste." In the corner by the window were massed together quite an
imposing collection of "burial cards," memorialising McNab connections
dead and gone, all framed to match in black bands with silver beadings.
Anything less homelike and inviting can hardly be imagined to welcome
tired travellers at the end of a long and chilly journey. Margot
shivered as she crossed the portals, and rubbed her hands together in
disconsolate fashion, even her cheery optimism failing at the sight.
"It's so--_slippery_!" was the mental comment. "What an appalling room
to sit in! What must it be like in bad weather! And no fire! We'd die
of cold if we sat here all the evening. If the worst comes to the
worst, 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 one
who, having been interrupted in her work by unwelcome intruders, is
still determined to perform her duty toward them, as a matter of
distasteful necessity. Shades of the obsequious landladies of the
South! The tired guests quailed before the severity of this Northern
welcome.
"If it's tea you're wanting, the kettle's on the hob. It will be
waiting for you before ye're ready for it. Ye'll be wanting a wash, I'm
thinking."
It was a statement, not a question, and, in response to it, brother and
sister meekly ascended the staircase to the rooms allotted to their use
in the front of the house--two whitewashed cribs, provided with nothing
which was not absolutely necessary; a small, white-covered bed; a wooden
chest of drawers, made to do duty for a dressing-table also, by the
presence of a small mirror set fair and square in the middle of a
coarse-grained mat; a few pegs on the wall, a deal washstand, and a
couple of chairs--that was all; but everything was exquisitely clean and
orderly, and what did one want with luxurious upholstery when a peep
through the open windows revealed a view which sent the blood racing
through the veins in very ecstasy of delight? Purple mountains and a
blue sky; golden yellow of gorse--a silver sheet of water, reflecting
the dark fringe of the pines--it was wonderfully, incredibly beautiful
in 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 scene
like this! Thirty mornings, and on every one of them the sun would
shine, 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 side
of the pass; she would take her sketching materials, and sit on that
sunny knoll, trying to make some sort of a picture to send home to the
poor father in his smoky prison-house. On hot days she would wade in
the cool grey tarn...
The little maid was knocking at the door, and announcing that tea was
ready, while Margot was still weaving her rose-coloured dreams. It was
a cold douche in more ways than one, to return to the depressing
atmosphere of the dining-room, but the meal itself was tempting and
plentiful. Scones and toast, eggs and strawberry-jam, besides the solid
flank of ham, and, better than all, plenty of delicious cream and fresh
butter.
Margot poured out tea for herself and Ron, and, taking the hot-water-jug
on her knee, warmed her numbed hands on it as she ate. For the first
five or ten minutes no time was wasted in talking; then, the first pangs
of hunger being appeased, the two young people began to compare
impressions.
"Do you suppose this is the only sitting-room? Do you suppose we shall
have to sit here in the evenings and when it rains? Fancy a long wet
day, Ron, shining on horsehair chairs, with your feet on an oil-clothed
floor, gazing at funeral cards! I should go to bed!"
"It wouldn't be a bad idea. Rest cure, you know! If we are very
energetic in fine weather, we may be glad of a rest; but there _is_
another room. I caught sight of a sanctuary filled with woollen mats
and wax flowers, with a real live piano in the corner. `The best
parlour,' I should say, and the pride of Mrs McNab's heart. I don't
know if she will allow you to enter."
"She will; but she won't have a fire. It has been spring-cleaned, and
has a waterfall of green paper in the grate--I can see it all!" Margot
declared, 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 sudden
appearance of a man's figure pacing slowly past the window. Brother and
sister sprang from their chairs, with a simultaneous impulse, rushed
across the room, and crouched behind the moreen curtains. "Is it?" they
queried breathlessly of each other--"Mr Elgood? Can it be?"
If it were Mr Elgood, he was certainly not imposing, so far as looks
were concerned. A dumpy little man, of forty years or more, dressed in
a baggy suit of grey tweed, with carpet slippers on his dumpy little
feet. He had evidently started out of the inn to enjoy a smoke in the
open air, sublimely unconscious of the scrutiny that was levelled upon
him the while. His uncovered head showed a large bald patch, his face
was round and of a cherubic serenity.
"I could twist him round like a teetotum!" whispered Margot, holding up
a pert first finger and peering complacently.
"He looks terribly commonplace!" sighed Ronald disconsolately. "Not in
the least the sort of man I expected."
Together they peered and peeped, ducking behind the curtains as the
stranger approached, and gazing out again the moment his back was
turned. Every now and then he halted in his promenade, stuck his hands
inside his baggy pockets, and tilted slowly to and fro on the points of
his carpeted toes. Anon he took his pipe from his mouth, and blew out
big whiffs of smoke, glancing around the while with an expression of
beatific contentment. The whole appearance of the man was an embodiment
of the holiday spirit, the unrestrained enjoyment of one who has escaped
from work, and sees before him a pageant of golden idle hours. Margot
and Ronald smiled in sympathy even as they looked. He was a plain
little man, a fat little man, a middle-aged little man, but they
recognised in him the spirit of abiding youth, and recognising, felt
their 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, and
Mrs McNab entered, carrying a plate of hot scones. She stopped short
to stare in surprise, while the two new arrivals hurried back to the
table, obviously discomposed at being discovered playing the part of
Peeping Tom.
Seated once more before the tea-tray, Margot made an effort at
composure; decided that honesty was the best policy, and said in her
most charming manner--
"We were looking at the gentleman who is walking up and down! Another
of your guests, I suppose? It is interesting to see people who are
staying in the same house."
Mrs McNab planted the scones in the centre of the table, and gathered
together the soiled plates with a wooden stolidity. To all appearances
she might not have heard a word that had been said. Margot seized the
hot-water-jug, and shivered ostentatiously, trusting to pity to prevail
where guile had failed; and sure enough the pale blue eye turned on her
like a flash of steel.
"What's ailing ye with the water-jug?"
"I'm ailing myself!" returned Margot meekly. "So cold! I can't get
warm. Tired out after the long journey."
She tried her best to look delicate and fragile, but the healthy bloom
on her cheeks contradicted her words, and the landlady's reply showed no
softening of heart.
"Cramped, more like! Better go ye're ways for a guid sharp trot, to
bring the blood back to your veins. Ye'll be in time for the
afternoon's post; but unless ye're expecting news of your own, ye needna
fash for the rest. Mr Elgood's gane to fetch them."
"Mr Elgood?" Information had come at last, and in the most unexpected
fashion. "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 the
village. You passed it on the road."
She disappeared into the "lobby," and brother and sister nodded at each
other 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 Ron
assented 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
passed 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. God'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 God? 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
advertisement 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 manuscript 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 amusement!
"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!"