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CHAPTER VI

COMMENCING ACQUAINTANCE

Deb having, as a matter of course, laid supper for two in the now warm and cosy parlour, Olwen could not object. Reflection showed it as hardly possible that this egregious young man was anybody but the person he claimed to be. She had agreed to go to his mother for a month, and she could not well say: "I have decided not to come any further, as I have taken a strong dislike to your son."

Thus no course was open to her but to endure his society, and do her poor best to mend his manners.

On their return from the post she found a room upstairs had been prepared for her; and as there was a good fire there, she did not go down again until Flossie knocked at her door and said that supper was ready.

The parlour was empty when she entered it; and she seated herself once more in the porter's chair, to await her companion, her feet extended to the warmth of the wood-fire.

Her feet, like the rest of her, were small. They were also perhaps exceptionally slender. She had her vanities, like other girls of her age, and she could not help thinking they looked rather nice in their buckled shoes as she turned them this way and that in the flickering light. The door being ajar, she was unaware of the entrance of Mr. Guyse until she heard a chuckle, and, glancing up, saw him close beside her, his black head sleek and silky like a seal's, his large hands red with cold water. She drew back her feet and straightened herself in the chair with a "caught-in-the-act" haste which she instantly regretted, for his laughter increased as, pointing to her feet, he said, in tones of what was apparently meant for complimentary chaff:

"Now that's too bad! You might have given me a minute longer before ringing down the curtain. You're a hard-hearted little midget."

"Your repeated allusions to my size begin to be irritating, Mr. Guyse," said she, rising as she spoke and taking her place at table. "What is there for supper! It smells very good."

"Before we uncover, tell me what you'll drink? Old Dan's got some tolerable port."

"Thanks. I never take wine."

"Holy Moses! Never take wine!" He mimicked her sedate accent "Well, you are! I should have thought—— Is it hot spirits and water, then?"

"Water, please."

"Water, please! On a night like this, I'll trouble you! Comes of being brought up in a vicarage."

"To that I plead guilty. It had become a habit before I was old enough to object."

He flashed a look at her, as of appreciation, and uncovered the rump-steak. "Can your Majesty get her royal teeth into this?"

"Indeed she can! I really am like the Queen of Sheba in two respects. I have come from a far country—you can hardly judge how remote—and I have no more spirit left in me."

"Fate preserve me, then, when you are bucked up," he grinned, "if this is a specimen of one of your off days. This will do you good. Deb's steak and fried potatoes are not to be sneezed at, even by travelling royalties."

"She has provided spinach too," said Olwen, uncovering the dish. "Where does she get that, I wonder?"

"Ah! that's one of her secrets. They're just nothing but turnip-tops put through a sieve. Good fake, aren't they?"

"Excellent! Quite an idea!" She began to put questions concerning the Askwiths and the little town of Caryngston, not caring in the least whether or no the young man might be bored. She thought he was, for his mind appeared to be elsewhere. He seemed to wish not to be supposed to be watching her; yet the rays of his odd, gem-like eyes met hers every time she ventured a glance at him. At last he burst out suddenly:

"You sent that wire to a parson called Wilson. He's not your father?"

"No. As you know, my name is Innes. He is my grandfather."

"Both parents dead?"

She hesitated; then, to avoid further questioning, said: "Yes."

"So that's why you have to support yourself?"

"I don't know. I think I should have chosen to be independent in any case."

"Hallo, hallo! A suffragette?"

"If you mean a woman who wants a vote, yes indeed."

He was intensely amused. "The vote! A shrimp like you! Three of you would go to one elector. Oh gee, I forgot! No references to size permitted. But, you know, you look as if you were cut out for a man's waist-coat pocket."

She made a little sound of disgust. "Men are all alike," said she in scorn. "You are the second man who has told me that within a fortnight."

"Oh, indeed!" He looked oddly alert and angry. She thought he gave the impression of a dog who has pricked his ears. "I wonder who the other fellow was?"

"Your curiosity borders on impertinence, sir."

"If that's the kind of little thing you throw off when you're on half-time, I wonder what will happen to me when the machine is running full power? What may I say! What does one say to a girl, if one mayn't chaff and one mayn't pay compliments?"

"You might try treating a girl like a rational human being for a change, and try how that works."

"Oh, moonshine! Mighty interesting you'd find that! Would you like to know something about steers? Or split-oak fencing? Or rotation crops?"

"I believe all those things might be interesting, but I am bound to own that as yet I know nothing about them. We might talk of books perhaps!"

"Books? We're so likely to read the same kind, aren't we? How about Bennett's theory of chemical manures? Eh? Or would you prefer Plato for a start?"

"Plato with all my heart," said she composedly. "Do you read him in the original, or translated?"

He looked up and laughed as if pleased that she had scored a point "That's a good bluff," he said, with appreciation. "You'll get on, you will."

"But you don't answer my question. Can you read Plato in Greek?"

"No, I can't."

"Then we're quits. I never got beyond Xenophon. But I am rather keen on Plato when translated. Meanwhile, for a change, let me ask you one or two questions. Of whom does the family at the Pele consist? Your mother did not mention you. She said she was a widow, and I presumed that she lived alone."

"She doesn't. I live there too. If you'd known that, you wouldn't have come, would you?"

"No, I shouldn't," she answered simply and naturally; and could see at once that this was not the reply he had expected. He leaned back in his chair and stared without speaking.

"You might ring the bell," she suggested. With a start he rose and did as she asked.

When Deb appeared to change the plates, he put his elbows on the table and glanced up, a mocking gleam under his lids. "Deb, this young lady knows all about Plato. What d'you think of that?"

"Plato? What's that, Master Nin? Some kind of a silver polish! I haven't seen it advertised!"

His shout caused her to pause in the process of removing the dishes, and give him a smart slap across the shoulders. "You dare to laugh at me!" said she, beaming. "Oh, you're a rascal, if ever one was born in the north. There's Shino; and all these havering new fancies, and I nobbut thought Plato was another of 'em."

"Deb, you're priceless! I want to kiss you for that! Hang it, a man must kiss somebody, and Flossie says she's too old to be kissed any more!"

"Away with your nonsense, Master Nin! What do you suppose yoong lass thinks of 'e?" said Deb, somewhat tartly, escaping with her tray, while Olwen, with downturned lip, sat silent in her place crumbling bread and trying not to laugh. The lamplight gilded those tendrils of hair, so dear to Ben—like the bits that escape from the coif of a Ghirlandajo Madonna. It also accentuated the curves at the corners of her mouth, where a dimple lurked betrayingly.

Deb brought back an apple-pie, and a little brown ewer filled with thick cream. She placed the dish before Olwen, who cut a piece for her vis-à-vis in complete silence.

"No more questions to ask me?" he demanded at length. His voice sounded a little defiant, as if he resented her unspoken disapproval.

"I don't think so; yes, perhaps I have. Tell me something of your mother. What are her tastes, her habits, her opinions?"

"She has none. Absolutely none. That's why she ought to have a companion. You must tell her what to like, what to do, what to read, and so on. Perhaps I had better warn you that you won't find her very expansive. She has no use for me, which I dare say won't surprise you."

A pause. The polite protest for which he evidently waited did not come. "What does she do all day?" asked Olwen, after thought.

"Feeds her poultry. That's about all. There's another member of the household of whom I ought to tell you something—rather an important person—Sunia, my mother's ayah."

"Ayah! Mrs. Guyse has lived in India, then?"

"No; as a matter of fact, my mother never was in India. My father had a young sister, who married and went out there. She was left a widow very young and came back to England, bringing this woman with her. I was a child at the time, and Sunia has been with us ever since, because—well, because she can't bear to part from me, I believe. Bum taste, eh?"

This hint was no more successful in evoking a disclaimer than its predecessors had been. Olwen had revenge to take for his impudence, and she preserved a steady silence. After a somewhat lengthy pause, she inquired:

"Am I the first companion that your mother has tried?"

He lowered his gaze, which was fixed on her, to his plate.

"No," he said, "she had another. Not recently, though."

He did not change colour, but something in his voice sounded like embarrassment. She guessed, with a quick leap of her mind to a conclusion, that her predecessor had probably welcomed the "glad eye" in a manner she could not imitate, and it was possible that complications had ensued. For herself, she had no fears in this connection. A very few days would suffice to show the Demon Huntsman his place; and most probably her attraction—had he felt it, which, judging from his manner, seemed unlikely—would vanish when he found that in good earnest she declined to be romped with, flirted with, or teased.

Very soon after supper she excused herself on the plea of fatigue, and thought she detected relief in the alacrity with which he lighted her bedroom candle and set open the door.

CHAPTER VII

THE DARK TOWER

The morning broke with a clear sky, proving that, whatever his shortcomings, Ninian Guyse was a good weather-prophet. Exactly what he predicted had happened. About midnight the wind dropped, the snow ceased, and now the frost gripped the ground like iron, and the village lay surrounded by radiant whiteness, reflecting the first sunbeam on its crystalline surface.

Flossie awoke Miss Innes just as day was breaking, to say that "Muster Nin" begged that she would be quick, as he meant to drive her to the Pele in Mr. Askwith's sleigh as soon as they had breakfasted. No heavy luggage could be taken, but that could be sent for as soon as the roads permitted.

There was an exhilaration in the air which made Olwen feel optimistic, in spite of the biting cold which nipped her as soon as she crept out from the warmth of her bed. Dressing with no unnecessary delay, she hastened down to the parlour, whence came an appetising odour of frizzled "rashers."

Young Guyse was standing before the fire, apparently making himself agreeable to Flossie in the way she understood, while she set the teapot and the dishes of hot cake on the table.

He greeted Miss Innes with an odd mixture of bravado and nervousness, as though anxious to conciliate, conscious that he had somehow failed to do so, yet in his heart convinced that the swaggering male attitude must be the right one to adopt towards any young woman.

Her greeting was as frosty as the morning, and it seemed to depress him, for he sat down to table, accepted his cup of tea from her in silence, and ate for some time without speaking.

"Sorry," he remarked at length, apropos of nothing, "sorry we didn't hit it off better last night."

"Oh, pray don't trouble; what does it matter?" said she cheerfully.

He frowned impatiently. "We've got to live in the same house," he growled, with a shake of the shoulders expressing the irritation of the man wholly unaccustomed to snubs.

"Yes, but I am to be your mother's companion, not yours," she returned with a dry little smile.

His green eyes had a resentful light. "You've taken a regular grudge against me, I do believe," he muttered, "and I only meant to rag you a bit. Women can't take a joke."

"You see, women of my class are not accustomed to be ragged by strangers," she explained with a condescending kindness. "It seems that you did not know that. However, as I understand you to be apologising, we will say no more about it."

He stared at her more openly than he had done hitherto—glared at her might be nearer the truth. The sun sent a shaft of light in at the plant-blocked window, and showed her thick black brows and lashes, and their piquant contrast to her fair head. "If I hadn't your own word for it that you are a bank clerk," said he, "I should have taken you for a schoolmarm. You've given me a bad mark. Hadn't you better set me an imposition? I might write out 'Keep off the grass' fifty times, don't you think?"

She smiled patiently. "Don't be absurd, please, but tell me how long it ought to take us to reach the Pele."

"About two hours"—snappishly. "Afraid you won't like it when you get there."

"I'm determined to like it if I can. I hate to fail."

"So do I," he flung back. "I'm not used to it either."

"Indeed!" She could not resist the temptation to say that, with an air of innocent surprise, considering him with an appraising glance that the most conceited of men could not have thought flattering. "If I hadn't your own word for it that you are a gentleman, I should have taken you for a—well, for something else," she remarked; and then, as he started and crimsoned, she let her laughter have its way. "What's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander, sir," she said.

Suddenly he, too, laughed. "That's one to you," he conceded in a sort of unwilling admiration. "Well, I suppose it's up to me to make you revise your impressions, isn't it?"

"Impressions of you? Oh, why? I'm not sure that I have any," she replied briskly, pushing back her chair and rising. "I must be off and make ready for our start," said she.

This time he accepted the rebuff as final and made no answer. Olwen departed to make her arrangements, as it seemed likely that she might have to wait some days for the arrival of her trunk. She went to the back kitchen, where her luggage was, and asked Flossie to help her unlock a box and take out a change of linen and an evening frock. While they were thus busy Deb came in and sent Flossie away, saying that she would help Miss Innes herself. She provided a big cardboard box to hold the extra things, and while Olwen was packing them she said gruffly:

"You only coom for a visit oop t' Pele, loov, or is there talk of your biding there longer? You may think I taake a liberty, but 'tis no idle curiosity in me."

Olwen looked at the hard-featured, honest face and answered at once, explaining that she was on a month's trial, and was to stay on if she suited.

Deb listened gravely. "I'm not one to make mischief," said she, "and I shouldn't open me mooth, only I can see that you coom of a good home and a good breed. They're queer folk oop t' Pele, what with the nigger woman and all. Madam, she's a poor creature, and Muster Nin's a bit wild, as you see. Go careful, loov, and you'll be all right, but keep Muster Nin in his plaace."

Olwen was a little pale. "Thank you, Mrs. Askwith; it is kind of you to warn me. I have to earn my living, and I suppose I should find drawbacks everywhere of some kind. The—the Guyses are all right, are they not? There is nothing against them, I meant."

Mrs. Askwith's "No" came after a slight hesitation. She repeated it after reflection. "No, nothing against them. They are of the old gentry, and near kin to his lordship, poor though they be. You're not to be thinkin' over mooch of what I've said, loov. Only, go canny while you're there. If the Indian takes against you, you'll not be stopping very long."

Olwen sighed. "I'm afraid Mr. Guyse has taken against me, as you say, already," she replied; and as she recalled Nin's assertion of the ayah's devotion to himself, she thought she stood small chance of favour in that direction. "Well," she concluded, "it can't be helped. I must try and stay if I can. You will laugh if you see me back here at the end of my month."

"Or before," said Deb, with an admiring glance at the resolute little face. "You've got a home of your own, loov?" she asked anxiously.

"Oh, yes, indeed. I shall not stay if things are unpleasant," was the quick reply; and the assurance seemed to console the good woman. Nin began to shout for Miss Innes, and they had to break off talk and hasten to the door, where the sleigh stood waiting.

Olwen took a cordial leave of the Askwiths, who all assembled to see the departure. Just as she was being tucked warmly in under a fur robe Dr. Balmayne was seen crossing the square.

"Here's the doctor, come to return your knife," said she to young Guyse, who was taking his place beside her.

"Damn him!" said the young man quietly, checking his horse unwillingly as the other hurried up.

Seen by daylight, Balmayne was a good-looking man, youngish, with keen blue eyes and closely clipped fair beard. He gave back the knife and said a few words about the violence of the storm, his eyes fixed with interest upon the young lady in the motor veil of such a particularly charming shade of blue. As Ninian was evidently determined not to introduce him, he turned pointedly to her and addressed her direct. "You will have a cold drive," he said.

She bowed and would have replied, but Nin whipped up the horse and it sprang forward. "Sorry can't stop. Deloraine will take cold," he cried as they rushed off.

Balmayne was left standing by the porch of the Seven Spears.

Olwen sat silent, her mouth a little compressed, while they sped out of the town and took a winding moorland road. The snow was quite hard, the motion of sleighing, which was new to her, very pleasant. The bare, heaving country rose grandly on all sides. Caryngston disappeared beneath them incredibly soon. They were off together into the unknown, and her mind was working uneasily about the memory of Deb's words of caution.

Presently her driver turned with a short laugh. "Another specimen of my beastly manners, eh? I'm not going to be pushed into introducing you to that chap just because he comes cadging for it. He can ask 'em at the Seven Spears who you are and what's your business if he's so anxious to know."

She made no reply, not knowing what to say.

"Too angry to speak?" he demanded pleasantly.

"Angry—why should I be angry?"

"Because I wouldn't introduce that chap to you."

"Whether or no you will introduce me to your friends must be a matter for you and Mrs. Guyse to decide. It can have nothing to do with me."

"Tosh! I do seem to have put you on your high horse."

She was determined not to go on wrangling with him, and she held her tongue. When at last she spoke, after some interval, it was to ask him a question about the country they were passing through. He pointed out a few landmarks to her, but without much interest; and they drove mostly in silence until they came in sight of a square stone tower standing up on the skyline, grey among the whiteness of the setting.

"That's the Pele," said ha "Ever seen one before!"

"Never; but I have been told that Guysewyke is fine—that there is only one better along the border."

"Who told you that?"

"Oh, a friend at Bramforth."

"Well, the difference between ours and everybody else's is that we live in ours and nobody else does anything so lunatic. Our reason is an excellent one. It is simply that we can't afford to live anywhere else. The Guyse who first built this had an eye to a military situation, as you will understand when we get closer."

As they drew swiftly nearer, it could be seen that they were also approaching the westward edge of the high plateau across which they were driving. Beyond the Pele there seemed to be a drop of many hundred feet in the level of the country, and they went as though making straight for the verge, until they came, on the very brink, to a gateway with stone sideposts of square, rough-hewn blocks, surmounted by two panthers holding the Guyse shield under their paws.

Ninian checked his horse, alighted and opened the gate. They passed through upon what seemed at first like a narrow bridge, bordered on either hand by a low parapet of stone, with, a precipice beneath on both sides. As he fastened the gate behind them, Olwen looked about her, and could hardly believe her eyes.

The whole western edge of the plateau they had just left was a steep, almost precipitous cliff. A couple of hundred yards from its verge there arose out of the valley below a small conical hill, connected with the high land behind only by a narrow natural causeway, which was but just wide enough to carry the approach. Upon this isolated hill, forming an impregnable stronghold, the Pele was perched. No wonder that it had withstood the onslaughts of the ages.

The summit of the hill had been levelled and cut square. Bound it, like a crown, a quadrangular fortress wall had been built, enclosing a courtyard. At the western end of the causeway, where it met the fortress wall, was a small tower, or gatehouse, with an arch passing beneath. The gate was open; one saw through into what was in summer-time a circumscribed bit of garden ground. The Pele itself occupied the northwestern quarter of the enclosure.

Under the gatehouse arch, a sturdy short man with the black hair, high cheekbones and small, twinkling dark eyes of his Pictish origin, was busily shovelling away the drifts. He had worked diligently, and succeeded in making the passage clear, so that the sleigh, with the lady in it, could enter the quadrangle.

He greeted his master with an outburst of dialect too broad for the stranger to understand. Evidently some damage to property had been the result of the storm, for he pointed along the river valley, above which the stronghold towered. His tidings seemed to vex Ninian.

The girl was so occupied in observing the remarkable surroundings in which she found herself that all anxiety concerning her own reception or comfort faded from her mind. Seen from within, the fortress wall showed itself as on two sides, little more than a shell. On the eastern side, where the gatehouse was, there were still roofed and habitable quarters, in which, as she learned later, Ezra Baxter and his wife dwelt, the remainder serving as stables.

The Baxters, with the ayah, formed the entire staff at Guysewyke. Against the western wall, south of the Pele itself, was a small stone one-storey erection which had been built within the last fifty years as a kitchen. Along the south side were outhouses, fenced off by a trellis from the garden, and here, she guessed, madam kept her fowls.

Guyse, who had been collecting her things while Ezra talked, now turned towards the tower. "All right," he said to his man, "I'll come down with you as soon as I've had my dinner. Come along, Miss Innes."

The low doorway of the Pele Tower was rudely arched, Saxon fashion, with two long stones inclined towards each other at an angle, like a V upside down. The door itself, of grey oak with big black nails and iron ring, dated evidently from many centuries back. Guyse pushed it open, shouting for Sunia at the top of his voice.

Olwen found herself in a strange, almost terrifying place.

It was not unlike a cellar, the walls being of huge ashlar blocks of stone, and the small windows deeply splayed within, narrowing to something not much larger than a loophole. The roof was of stone, arched in what is known as a barrel vault. Evidently, in feudal times, the whole ground floor of the tower had been one chamber. Now a screen, or wall of black oak panelling, divided it in two, the northern half, through which they had entered, being a vestibule, the inner half, partly visible through an open door, seemed to be better lighted, and showed a glimpse of a table set for dinner.

On the hall floor were thick rugs; an iron stove, though its effect was not esthetic, made the place pleasantly warm, and there was a gate-leg table, covered with an untidy collection of whips, gloves, clothes-brushes, and so on.

There was a slight rattling of the curtains which covered the door by which they had entered, and a woman emerged, without noise.

She was small and withered, and wore a dull crimson saree over her head and draped about her shoulders. Below it appeared a thick wadded jacket and petticoat. Her eyes were like clear, deep coffee, and her skin like the same coffee with cream added.

"Sunia, this is Miss Innes," said the master of the house, in a tone which to Olwen suggested apology. It was as though he said, "This is all—hardly worth the trouble of fetching!" "How is my mother? Ready to see her?" he went on hurriedly.

"Madam well," said a soft, clear little voice. "She like see Missee Eenis. I take her up, then you have your deener. You hungry, my sahib—eh?"

"Hungry! As a wolf! Nearly ate Miss Innes on the way up. Some storm last night—what? Bad enough in Caryngston. Here, Ezra tells me, it was prime. Miss Innes wanted to come up last night in the dark, but I wasn't taking any risks."

"Poor Missee have a dreadful journey," murmured the ayah, her melting eyes on Olwen, who stood by the fire, her foot held to the blaze. "You come with me—yes?" she said, in the accents of one coaxing a shy child. Olwen met her gaze and smiled, with a quick sensation of liking, as she followed her guide to the curtain by the door. She found that the wall was double, and in its thickness a corkscrew stair twisted upward. On the next floor, although passages branched right and left, they did not pause, but ascended higher. On the second floor they went a little way along the narrow and icy cold stone passage, and the ayah, knocking, ushered her into a sitting-room. It was quite small, occupying only a fourth of the floor space, or being half as big as the vestibule. A good-sized casement window had been inserted, the stone walls had been plastered and hung with a light flowery paper. Near the fireplace, in an arm-chair, was seated a middle-aged woman, spare in figure, with faded fair hair and melancholy eyes. She rose as the girl entered, and said, with a little laugh of embarrassment, "Oh, here you are! How do you do?"

Olwen responded as cordially as she could, expressing her regret that Mrs. Guyse should have been put to the trouble and expense which the delay at the inn involved. "There was no snow at all when I left home," said she, "or I would not have started."

"The snow is often very bad here," said Mrs. Guyse languidly. "Quite a different climate. We did not expect you to come on last night, but I hope Mrs. Askwith made you comfortable; and then, you had my son to cheer you up. Very amusing, isn't he?"

There was something peculiar in the tone in which this was said, almost as though Ninian's mother were sneering. Olwen replied quite conventionally that Mr. Guyse had been very kind. She felt that her answer was listened for, not only by the lady but the ayah also; but neither seemed able to make much of it.

"It's dull for my son and me here in winter-time," went on Mrs. Guyse. "I hope you will brighten us up."

"I want very much to be useful," replied the girl, "and it will be a pleasure to catalogue the library."

"To catalogue the library?" echoed the lady, with an air of blank surprise.

"You said that was one of the things you wished me to do," began the girl, puzzled.

"Dear me, yes, of course. My memory grows bad. You don't look very big or strong."

"I'm not big, but I think I am very strong. For three years I have gone to work in all weathers, and only once in all that time been absent on account of illness."

"Well, we shall see. In the meantime, we had better have dinner as soon as you are ready. Ayah will show you your room."

"Up more stairs, Missee," said the Hindu softly. On the top floor were likewise four rooms, but not exactly the same size. This floor was probably an addition to the more ancient lower part. They came first to a kind of landing, or ante-room, small but adequately lighted.

Beyond was a larger room, facing to the west and south, and just now full of sunshine. The walls were not plastered, but covered up to within a couple of feet of the rafters, with tapestry hangings, above which point the naked stone was visible.

There was a black oak bedstead, its canopy upheld by the four evangelists, quaintly carved. Two or three oak chests stood round the walls. There was a small table with a still smaller mirror upon it; and a camp washingstand looked like a new importation. The cold made the girl flinch, but she comforted herself with the thought that cold is a thing to which one becomes accustomed. In fact, as she gazed around, her main preoccupation was the wonder as to how the articles of furniture had been conveyed into the room up the twisting stair by which she had ascended.

CHAPTER VIII

THE FIRST DAY

The ayah, who had set down the guest's things, closed the door behind her without a sound. As the girl removed her hat she was rapidly opening the bag and taking from it such things as she needed. Then, placing a chair before the tiny mirror, she invited Olwen to be seated, with a mute gesture of obeisance.

Hardly realising what was required of her the girl sat down. Kneeling before her, her new attendant swiftly unlaced her thick boots and held the little feet in her hands with a caressing touch, as though she would have chafed warmth into them.

"Too much cold," she muttered, relinquishing them as if unwillingly and putting on the buckled shoes. Then, rising before the girl had recovered from her astonishment, she took a linen wrapper which hung upon a chair, passed it over the young lady's shoulders, pulled out her hairpins, and let loose the rippling cascade of hair.

"You are very kind, but, please, I don't expect you to wait on me; I do all these things for myself," expostulated Olwen in some embarrassment.

"Missee, let ole ayah brush her hair—so long since me had pretty memsahib to dress," murmured the cooing voice. The brush passed through with a motion firm yet gentle; it tingled, as though there were hypnotism in the touch. It seemed to leave the mass burnished and gleaming with a new beauty. In a very few minutes all was deftly coiled once more, following the usual style in which its owner dressed it, but done twice as well as she could ever accomplish.

Hot water was in readiness, and having washed her hands the visitor, feeling strangely refreshed, was ready to follow her silent-footed guide down that weird winding stair. When they reached the front door they did not emerge into the hall, but walked on, in the thickness of the wall, to a small, tapestry-hung doorway which opened into the dining-room.

In this room two large windows had been cut;, one was semicircular and set just under the arch of the barrel vault at the south end. It was too high to afford a view, but the sun streamed down through it. On the west wall an oriel had been built out, and this commanded a fine prospect of the river valley below and the rising ground beyond.

As Olwen entered she came upon the mother and son unawares, and the last words of what they were saying were clearly audible to her. Mrs. Guyse had made some remark which ended with "all the easier to manage," and Ninian, before he realised the visitor's presence, replied with some bitterness, "I'm not so sure."

As they became conscious of her they fell silent. Nothing in the words themselves, but something in the silence, suggested that they had been talking of her.

They sat down to table, the ayah waiting upon them. Under the high window in the south wall was a hatch, communicating with the adjacent kitchen, and through this the dishes were passed by Mrs. Baxter. The food was abundant and very well cooked and served.

Both the Guyses seemed distressed that their guest drank only water; and after cheese had been served Sunia reappeared with a tray of coffee, which seemed to be an innovation from the manner in which Mrs. Guyse received it.

"Do Missee good. Missee must drink something," lured the Hindu in explanatory fashion.

Olwen was prompt in polite protest, but Ninian remarked that it was a jolly good scheme, and he couldn't think why they didn't always have it. When the ayah had left the room he said to his mother, "She seems to have taken to Miss Innes."

"Yes. A very good thing. She's so troublesome with her likes and dislikes," said Mrs. Guyse peevishly. She rose from the table and stood in an irresolute fashion, glancing first at Olwen, then at her son with much the expression a dog wears when he is wondering whether his master will take him for a walk.

"What are you going to do, Nin?" she asked.

"Got to go over to Lachamigg with Ezra. The blizzard has broken down the new fencing, and we'll have all the ground game in after those young trees."

"Oh! Then you can't entertain Miss Innes." She glanced vaguely at the girl who stood by the oriel in the sunshine, which turned her burnished hair into a nimbus. Madam cleared her throat. "Do you think you can amuse yourself for a while, Miss Innes? I am going to have my afternoon nap," she said with a silly little laugh.

"O please don't study me in any way; of course I don't want entertaining! Why, I've come here to be useful. Let me make you comfortable for your rest. Do you lie down in this room?"

"Oh, no, upstairs in my own boudoir. I never sit down here in winter. Don't come up. I would rather you did not. I shall come down to tea at five."

Olwen begged so earnestly to be allowed to carry her book and shawl upstairs that this was conceded. At the door of her sitting-room, however, the lady shut out her companion with decision, and Olwen, not daring to face the arctic cold of her bedroom, returned with reluctance to the dining-room, where Ninian still sat, finishing his pipe.

There was a shabby old sofa and two or three comfortable chairs by the fire, and on a sunny day such as this the room seemed eminently habitable. The girl went again to the western oriel and surveyed the scene beneath her. The tower stood on the sheer verge of the precipitous hill, but beneath this window there was a very narrow path, from which steps led downward. The whole hillside was thickly covered with trees, and the tops of these, snow-laden, appeared from above like a mountain range in miniature. Among the woods in the vale below there was a wide stream, now blocked with ice and snow, but, as she imagined, lovely in summer-time.

"That is a river down there in the valley?" she asked after a time of silent contemplation.

"It is a river. So kind of you to throw the poor dog a bone—I mean a word."

She glanced at the book in his hand. "Which is French for saying that I interrupt your reading!"

He tossed the book aside, rose and came to the window. "That's the Guyseburn. It runs into the Irthing. It's a bad-tempered stream; the one thing it will not stand is a bridge. I've tried several times to make a way across, just down below here, but it was whisked away every winter, so I must wait until I can afford something different. Lower down, where the cliff comes nearer the water, we have got one of these chain bridges, which is safe but wobbly. You won't like it much when you first cross, especially if the water's high."

"This is a wonderful place," she said, surveying the barrel vault; "more like a cathedral crypt than a dining-room. Have you always lived here?"

"Oh, no. Only for the last ten years. In my father's day it was used as a shooting-box, but when he died I had to come here and farm the little bit he had left us to keep the wolf from the door. He was a rare waster was my father, but a very fine gentleman. Would have suited you first rate."

"Oh! You think I like wasters?"

"I feel sure you like fine gentlemen."

"Do you? Well, I don't know myself. I never met one that I know of. My grandfather is very simple, you might say Spartan in his habits. My uncle, George Whitefield, is a successful manufacturer, loud and pushing. My own father was a Bohemian—a waster, too, perhaps you would call him, but I loved him best of all."

"Rum, that. Fancy your liking a man who didn't consider appearances! You, whose code is founded on prunes and prisms."

"Yes, I suppose I am very conventional. I am glad you have found it out so soon," she replied at once, declining provocation.

"My father used to say he was the fulfilment of the old saying in this country," went on Ninian—

"'No Guyse

Is ever wise

Until he dies.'

"Rather awful to be born with a name so easy to tack rhymes to. How do you like this?

"'Any Guyse

With green eyes

Will tell you lies.'"