"Well, you know, I didn't come here with them. I didn't come here with
them--with my grandparents; that was so long ago I don't remember what
is back of it. Anyway, soon after I came I remember Colonel Goff. And
do you know," she went on, "he has been so good to me that--that I
cannot understand it at all--only I feel when I am with him that I am
drawn to him so! Oh, I have seen so much in him that others don't
see--and when I see him watching me so closely and saying nothing, it
hurts me."
She did not finish, but looked down the path, up which Colonel Goff,
himself, was riding towards us.
Elsie paled and then flushed quickly. He was smiling at us, his little
eyes twinkling kindly. He gave us a quick military salute.
"My word, a _tete-a-tete_, and a bloomin' fool it is who'd break in on
it. Hello, lassie--Jack!"
He got down from his horse, shaking hands with us gravely. I noticed
that he was watching Elsie, and she, knowing it, was reddening.
"You are a good guesser, Colonel," I said, with feigned lightness, for I
felt that he was taking it too seriously, "and pray tell me who would
not like to be with so fine a lassie?"
He looked at me quickly. "If you mean that, Jack," he said, in his
blunt, unseeing English way, "here is my hand."
Elsie broke into a little confused laugh. "The idea of pinning Mr. Jack
down like that," she said, looking bravely into Goff's eyes. "What else
could he say? Now give me that box of candy. I see it sticking out of
your pocket."
Goff pulled out the box of candy, and catching her to him, kissed her on
the cheek.
"She is my own lassie, Jack," he said, holding her an instant in his
arms. "I have loved her since she was so high." He paused. "Well,
perhaps it was because I was an exile in your country, and she is the
Scotch flower I found blooming here. Eh, lassie?"
Elsie kissed his cheek.
"You have been mighty good to me, Colonel Goff. But go your way.
Tammas said he wanted to see you if you came by and--well--Mr. Jack and
I want some candy!"
For a moment he looked at us queerly, trying to smile. He glanced into
my eyes, but I met his squarely and unflinchingly. He was not a man
whose mental action was quick. He saw but one side of things at a time.
I saw that he was embarrassed in his slow way. Very awkwardly he left
us, going up to Tammas's cottage. Elsie walked on with me.
The wind blew her hair around her temples and the reflection of the blue
hills of Scotland was in her eyes. "This is such an inconsistent world,
Jack," she said after a while. "I can't ever learn it, and I get so
lonely up here with only Tammas and Marget, I often wish that they would
tell me more of myself. I should so love to know who my father is."
"Did it ever occur to you that it might not be at all pleasant for you
to know? They love you and they want you to be happy."
She paled. "I had never thought of that. I had never thought of
that--oh, why didn't I think of it!"
"Elsie," I said, taking her hand in mine, and drawing her to me as I had
when she was a child, and I her big brother, "you have no better friend
than I. Tell me what it is that is troubling you?"
"You would hate me, Jack," she said, looking up quickly into my face
with great, earnest eyes.
"Hate you? Nonsense," and I laughed, pinching her ear. "Tell me," I
pleaded, smiling.
"Nay, nay, bide a wee--bide a wee," she said abstractedly falling into
her childhood's dialect as she so often did when she forgot. "And
first," she went on, "why, first I'd have to kind of explain it, Jack;
but it is like this now: suppose one was not satisfied with one's lot
and had those feelings I have been telling you of."