Front matter (continued 2)

"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.'"

Instinctively she raised her look to his. The strong sunlight was upon both their faces, emphasising her curious colouring—the warm skin too dark for the hair and the heavy lashes. She thought that his eyes were like those of a leopard, green and golden, flashing an unspoken menace.

"I should think that rhyme is founded on fact," she remarked.

"Thought you'd say that. The first time you have been obvious, I will admit that much. Well, I must be off, or it will be dark by the time we get to the farm. Think you can live without me till five?"

"I'll have a try. It's a thing I've often done before. What time, if any, does the post go out?"

"If the drifts are not too deep the postman will arrive here to-morrow morning about ten, and he will take your letter back with him. I hear he couldn't get through this morning, but we will hope for better luck next time. Anyway, your folk won't be anxious. You sent a message from Caryngston, didn't you?"

With these words he went out into the vestibule. She heard him whistling for his dog, and presently the sound of the oak door banging.

"If what I wanted was change, indeed it seems that I have found it," was her reflection, as she sat down by the warm hearth.

As she did not, so far, know where the library was, and had no idea of the sort of cataloguing required, she felt unable to make any move in the direction of commencing her new work. Madam had definitely sent her off duty until five, and she had therefore no scruple in sitting down to begin a letter to Aunt Ada. She made this letter a good deal more sanguine than her present frame of mind, for she did not wish to let them know how depressed she felt, nor how out of place and forlorn. She dwelt upon the surprising nature of her situation from the architectural standpoint, the piquant experience of being weather-bound at the country inn, and her first experience of a sleigh drive.

She wrote until the last red streak died in the western sky above the thick woods across the Guyseburn. Then she laid down her pen, wondering a little that she was not frightened at finding herself alone in this vaulted chamber. So wondering, her eyes closed, and she slipped into dreamland, only awakened by the entrance of a stout, middle-aged woman carrying a lighted lamp.

"Eh, but I've woke ye up!" said she, standing with her hands on her hips and contemplating the small girl in the large chair.

"Nobbut a bairn, so you are," she went on, "but ayah says you're a real beauty." She looked critical, as though her own judgment did not endorse that of the Hindu. "Happen ye're tired out, after sooch a long drive in t' snaw?" she suggested.

Olwen was tickled by the woman's honesty, and laughed out "Perhaps I am," she admitted, "and you may be able to raise your opinion of my looks after a while in this good air. I'm a town-bred creature; all this wild moorland is like a fairy tale to me."

"Ah, ye'll soon get your fill o' that," said Mrs. Baxter calmly. "Dooll, that's what it is oop here. Woon day joost t' same as lasst, all the year roond."

"Why, it doesn't snow all the year round, surely! I just long to see this valley in summer-time."

"Oo, ay, it's fine soomer-time, I will say that," replied the north-country woman, taking a white cloth from a drawer and spreading it on one end of the table. As she laid tea she continued to talk, explaining that both she and her husband were born in that part of the world and were used to solitude, cold and monotony. In return, Olwen told her of her own town-life, and how she had never hitherto known what it was to live without taxi-cabs, telephones and typewriters.

Just as the deeply interested Mrs. Baxter had brought in the covered dishes of hot cake and the silver tea-pot, the front door was heard to bang, there was a sound of scraping and stamping feet, and with a wild scurry some big creature hurled itself against the door leading from the hall, which yielded, and a golden collie bounced in, rushed to the hearth, and stopped short at sight of a stranger there ensconced, backing, with shoulders hunched and a threatening growl.

"Eh, the brute!" cried Mrs. Baxter, catching him by the collar. "Muster Nin, here's Daffie showing his teeth at the yoong leddy."

Nin from without shouted some abuse, and the dog bounded back to his master. When they returned together soon after the man effected an introduction, made the dog shake a paw, and instructed Olwen to bestow a sweet cake upon him in token of alliance.

Madam now appeared, a shawl over her shoulders, entering, as Olwen had done, by way of the tapestry hangings.

What conversation there was at tea turned upon the broken fencing. Nin said the ground was as hard as iron, no repair was possible, but Ezra and he had done their best with some wire netting. Madam had evidently no conversation, apparently no ideas. Olwen remembered what her son had said of her, and felt a vague pity. She herself made little effort to talk, but what she did say fell flat, since the master of the house was apparently tongue-tied before his mother.

"Do you play billiards?" he suddenly asked.

"A very little. The Whitefields have a table, but I am much out of practice."

"Not much reach," said Nin, with another scornful glance at her lack of inches. "Well, the one solitary thing that is good here is the billiard table."

"A billiard-room—here?" cried Olwen, hardly polite in her surprise.

"A billiard-room here!" he mimicked derisively. "Come upstairs and you shall see. Knocking the balls about helps to keep one from suicide during the long winter nights."

"Only I don't play," said Madam.

"Well, I shan't cut holes in your table. I do just know how to hold a cue," said Olwen. "If you have a great deal of skill and patience you may be able to teach me to play."

"Good notion. Plenty of chance for flirtation in teaching a girl to play billiards. Shall have to allow you to stand on the table for your long shots, I should think," said the young man with apparently no sense of his own ill-breeding.

Olwen made no reply to this, glancing at Madam to see how she took this kind of language to her new companion upon the first evening.

Nin nudged his mother. "Look at her! She simply can't stand my cheek!"

"I don't wonder," rapped out his mother with sudden emphasis. "Why do you behave so intolerably?"

Ninian looked somewhat taken aback. "Crushed again," he said. "What chance has one poor man against two ladies? Daff, come here and take my part. Shall I teach you to bite the nasty cross things—eh?" He caressed the dog as it stood between his knees. "Sorry I introduced you to the school-marm, Daff. She likes poodle dogs, trained to walk on their hind legs and show off. She's got no use for simple rustics like you and me—have you, Miss Innes?"

"But perhaps rustics can be educated?" she suggested with a smile, unwilling to snub him too decidedly before his mother.

"Hallo!" with an instant change from bravado to soft insinuation. "Will the school-marm undertake our education?"

"That depends upon your wish to learn."

"I simply long to learn! I'll be a model pupil. When shall we begin? A lesson in manners after tea, a lesson in deportment after supper, a lesson in charm before breakfast, and——"

"A lesson upon holding your tongue in between each, I should think," cut in his mother suddenly, and evidently to his surprise.

"The first lessons would have to be language lessons," remarked Olwen demurely. "I couldn't tell you anything until we could understand one another. At present we don't."

"Now what, precisely, do you mean by that?" sharply.

She smiled provokingly. "I can't explain in words you would understand."

He turned himself round in his chair, leaned his elbow on its back, his chin in his hand, and stared fixedly.

"It's a deal," he then said. "When does the first lesson come off?"

"That," she replied with a very small smile, "will depend upon what time I have to spare after my other duties are all done."

CHAPTER IX

INDIAN MAGIC

Upon entering her bedroom to change her dress for supper, Miss Innes found it bright with firelight. On the bed her frock was laid out, her shoes were warming in the fender. Upon the rug before the hearth, the red glow of the flames intensifying the colour of her crimson saree, sat the Indian woman, cross-legged, her chin supported on her hand, gazing intently at something on the ground, near the fire. There was a warm, seductive sweetness in the air, like the faint breath of flowers.

Olwen, who had crept in with muscles drawn together to withstand the biting cold, felt as if she had entered a conservatory unawares.

"Oh, what a lovely fire!" was her first impetuous cry. Then, reprovingly, "You must not spoil me like this. I came here to help you, not to make someone else to wait upon."

The ayah raised her soft eyes to the expressive little face of the girl, who had knelt upon the hearth beside her. "Missee must be served," she said in her curious, caressing voice. "I know it, first minute I see her. The stars tell me. Sunia know about stars, she what you call witch woman, you sahibs."

What girl of two-and-twenty is wholly destitute of curiosity concerning veiled destiny? Olwen's eyes grew big. "What do you mean," she asked, half laughing, half in earnest, "by saying that the stars told you things about me?"

The ayah rose to her feet with the lithe movement of a creature without bones. She held her hands to Olwen, raised her to her feet, and they stood a moment, eye to eye.

Olwen felt her hands tingle.

"Missee make bargain with ole ayah? Ole ayah never seen Missee, never know Missee, all up to this night. If she can tell Missee things gone by, things what happen to her long ago, will Missee believe she know what going to happen one day?"

There was something uncanny here. The Celtic blood ran warm in Olwen. Her voice shook a little. "Sunia, what can you know about me?" she challenged smilingly.

The little brown hands were softly impelling her, so that she sank into a well cushioned chair which stood beside the hearth. The Hindu crouched before her, her face in darkness, save when a wandering gleam from the blazing logs caught her eyes and made them flicker.

"My missee born upon the fells," she murmured. "Her folks carried her south—away south—but she came back. She born for the north, she never stay in London town. She come north, always north, farther north, where she belong, where she stay, in her own place."

There was a silence, during which the girl held her breath, her senses lulled into a kind of stupor. She noted for the first time that two tiny earthen pots stood in the ashes of the hearth. From one of these ascended a minute, twisting jet of smoke, evidently the cause of the subtle perfume which hung upon the air. The vapour seemed to be binding her senses in some kind of enchantment; but the words already spoken by the woman made her eager to hear more.

Bending forward, Sunia touched first one little pot, then the other, with her tiny brown hand; then, sitting back on her heels, she closed her eyes, holding her arms rigidly extended. They were covered with glass bangles. and her movement caused these to ring or chime musically. The sound of them died away very gradually—as it seemed to the excited imagination of the girl, rhythmically—till all was still. The silence was intense when the woman began to mutter:

"Two beside her when first she set her feet to earth ... two who are divided by all but their love for her. Now one goes ... driven away ... the one she love most ... a man. He look back all a time ... but he go. And now the other she go too. More slow. Much more slow. She is alone. She is very much alone. I see her in a room with many others ... but quite alone; always a-lone!"

The voice died away. Olwen was agitated far beyond her expectations. It was, as far as she could tell, out of the question that this woman could know the details of which she spoke. She closed her eyes, leaning back in her chair; and the soft chime of the bangles, as the thin brown arms sank upon their owner's knees, sounded like the last chord of some dim fantasia.

"Have I seen true, Missee?"

"Yes. Quite true. Oh, Sunia, tell me more, if you can see! That one I loved—that one who went away—is he still living, or is he dead?"

"Dead," was the soft answer. "Missee when I see her, quite alone: till the north call and she have to come to the Pele. Now look! I take Missee farther—only a little. I not see very plain this night, because we only begin. When Missee give me her thoughts more I see better."

Leaning forward, she laid her hand again, quite gently, upon the little earthen pots, which had ceased to smoke. So far as Olwen could see, she put nothing into them, applying merely the tips of her fingers; but at once there ascended from each a thread of smoke, very distinct, ascending spirally. As the upward draught took them, the two smokes mingled, and rose, passing out of sight as if entwined.

"This one Missee's, that mine," said the sorceress. "My fate and hers have touched and come together. Never come undone now. Can't do. Me Missee's woman always."

As she spoke, the smoke vanished, the little pots contained only a morsel of grey ash.

Olwen did not speak for some long moments. She sat fascinated, hypnotised by the perfume and the weird prophecy.

After a while, she rallied her senses, and spoke with a desperate effort to be normal. "That must be nonsense. I have only come here for a month. Most likely, at the end of that time, I shall go away, and you and I will never meet again."

"We may have to part," replied Sunia gravely. "I thought I saw a parting, and that is bad. But not for long. If you go, you come back again. I very well can see that."

"You speak as if you were really a witch! I think I am afraid of you."

"No need. I only show you I Missee's woman," was the simple answer, "so you let me do things for you. I do everything for my Missee, and that make ole ayah very happy."

As she spoke, she arose, went to the basin, and poured hot water into it.

Arising with resolution, Olwen passed her hand over her eyes as if to clear away cobwebs. It needed a real effort of will-power to wrench herself back to everyday life. Only the fear of being late for supper this first evening enabled her to unfasten her serge frock and slip out of it. Sunia had lit more candles, so that the room was now full of light. She stood a moment, gazing approvingly at the rounded outlines of the girl's form. Then, making her sit down, she folded a huge towel about her, brought the basin to a chair near, and bathed face, throat and arms with water which, like the air of the room, was subtly perfumed. As she wiped the wet skin with the softest damask, she muttered that there was no time to-night to make Missee really beautiful, but later on she would massage her properly. She let down her hair once more and rearranged it, this time with a trifling difference of effect which was most becoming. She changed shoes and stockings, and finally put on the simple little frock of dull green velveteen.

Wholly subdued by the woman's spell, whatever it was, the girl made no further objections. As she submitted passively to her ministrations, it was with a feeling that all this had happened before; that in some previous incarnation she had been thus attended. She did not rebel, even when the woman came to her holding in her hands a gauze scarf, curiously embroidered in dull gold.

"Cold, down them stone steps. Missee put this over her shoulders," she murmured.

"Oh, what a lovely scarf!"

"Belonged a Begum once. Just right for my Missee," said the woman, adjusting it over the girl's shoulders. The mirror was too small for Olwen to see the full effect; but the glimpse she did obtain was satisfactory. The gold of the scarf was the gold of her hair.

"I will wear this scarf if it pleases you," she softly said, "Only you know it's yours, not mine."

"All a same," said the woman simply. "I just glad my Missee like it."

As she spoke, the big clock over the gatehouse tolled eight in its deep, sad tones. The ayah collected the hot-water can and other things, and carried them off into the adjoining room.

"Is that where you sleep, Sunia?"

"Yes, Missee. You and me on this floor. My Sahib, he sleep next room to Madam, underneath."

Olwen felt glad to know that she had someone near her, although the woman made her half afraid.

"Missee better go down," said Sunia, reappearing. "Take a light."

She put a candle in a glass shade into the girl's hand, and, turning away with a last inhalation of the curious fragrance of her chamber, Miss Innes went down the twisting stair a little shakily, feeling overexcited and queer. Yesterday seemed cut off from to-day by some impassable barrier.

As she reached the floor below her, she came face to face with young Guyse, candle in hand, obeying the supper-bell like herself. He stopped short, a startled look on his face, which disappeared almost at once, to give place to his usual cocksure smile.

"I thought at first you were a fairy," he said. "You are turned out, upon my word! Determined not to leave me a single loophole of escape, aren't you?"

"Unfortunately, you are not speaking my language. I can't understand a single word you say," was the stiff retort.

"Ah, that reminds me! I'll have my first lesson after supper."

"It's very cold here. Will you go first, or shall I?"

"Let me lead the way," he replied, turning on his heel.

Madam awaited them in the dining-room. She had made no change in her attire. "Oh, dear," said she fretfully, as Olwen came in, "you have made yourself smart!"

Olwen laughed, glad to expend some of her bottled-up excitement.

"This is Sunia's doing, the scarf is hers. She begged me to put it on. I thought it was her pretty way of telling me that my frock was a bit shabby for the occasion, so I did as she asked."

"Well, you look very nice, I must own. You pay for dressing, as they say. It is years since I have seen anybody prettily dressed."

Ninian made a restless movement

"In my husband's lifetime we had a house in town as well as a big country place," went on his mother. "Ninian doesn't realise at all how much I miss it."

Her son was very red. "Mother, what is the use of talking so? You know I can't help it."

Madam sighed deeply, but as the ayah now entered, with a silver entrée dish in her hand, they sat down to table and the subject dropped. It had one good effect, for it made Ninian exert himself to talk, so as to turn the current of Madam's thoughts. Olwen was grateful to him for making conversation, for her own fancy was so full of the fortune-telling as to make it impossible for her to fix her thoughts on anything else. Later, when the ayah had left the room, she could no longer resist speaking of what had occurred. "Is not your Sunia a clairvoyante?" she asked. "She has been saying most extraordinary things to me."

Madam stared in faint surprise. "What kind of things?"

"About my childhood and early life. Things she could not possibly have known. She spoke of my parents, 'divided in everything but their love for me.' That is, unfortunately, true, but she could not have known it by any ordinary means."

As she spoke, she caught Mr. Guyse's eye. There was an expression in it which held her attention, but which she could not analyse. It was rather like pity. As their eyes met, he rose from table with a nervous laugh. "She's an old humbug," he said. "Don't listen to her, don't let her bore you. Shall I tell her to let you alone?"

"Oh, please don't tell tales of me! She has been so kind, she has done all she could for me. I—I didn't mind her saying that, only it seemed a bit uncanny."

He gave her another self-conscious look, then turned away and lit his pipe without replying.

"Let's go to the billiard-room," he said at length. "Come along, Ma."

Mrs. Guyse rose with evident unwillingness, and began to look for her shawl. Olwen found it, and put it over her shoulders. "The room will be as cold as a well," said she fretfully. "Understand, Nin, that I go off to bed in an hour's time."

"All right," replied her son shortly.

They mounted to the floor immediately above, and the puzzle as to where they kept the library was solved. This great apartment had evidently been the refectory or banqueting hall. It had been altered into a library by the Tudor Guyse, who had cut windows so recklessly; and Madam's dead husband had turned it into a billiard-room.

It covered the whole floor space of the tower, except for a small bit at the north end. On this side were three arched doors, enriched with ball-flower moulding, the easternmost leading to the chapel, the western to the priest's room, the central one to a small windowless space known as the dungeon.

Above the fine bookcases was oak panelling, on which hung a few inferior oil paintings of dead Guyses.

Near the south end of the west wall was a very large oriel, with a window seat and table and chairs. So large was the apartment that the full-sized billiard table looked quite small in it, and left plenty of space for settles and arm-chairs round about the Tudor fireplace, with the Guyse arms carved above.

The existence of this noble room delighted Olwen. It changed the whole character of the place. Here was an ideal spot for reading or writing. There were several fine screens in stamped leather, which would exclude draughts. The western oriel, commanding a view of the lovely Guyseburn Dale, would be utterly delightful in summer-time.

Ninian seemed pleased at her naïve admiration. He displayed to her the poor bare little chapel, destitute of all plenishing, and the two other apartments. Olwen wondered how the priest could close his eyes at night, if there were a prisoner in solitary confinement next door to him. Young Guyse laughed, and said that the Border folk, priests and laity alike, were a hard-bitten lot, and that in those days compassion was hardly counted as a virtue. It was as badly out of fashion as discipline and obedience are now.

"I must own that I believe my ancestors to have been a set of bloody-minded thieves," he remarked with candour.

"They're but little changed now," observed his mother, from her seat by the fire.

"Thanks, Ma, don't lose a chance," he flung back negligently, going to the rack to choose cues.

He found that Olwen had somewhat underrated her own skill. He gave her a big handicap, and she actually beat him. Mrs. Guyse, who at first sat languidly reading the paper, presently sat up, and at last even left her place to watch them. They all three became quite animated, and when Madam suddenly recollected herself and said she was going to bed at once, it was more than half-past ten.

Olwen, though the game was not finished, put away her own cue, and began to collect the lady's workbag and cushions.

"Oh, stay and finish your game! Don't let Ninian be able to say that I took you off before the end," said the hostess pettishly.

"But please I am very tired," said Olwen, "I am quite ready to say good night."

She said it with so much firmness that Ninian, who had flung down his cue and marched upon her with the evident intention of sharp protest, said not a single word, but allowed them both to disappear, through the narrow door, with a candle to guide the steps of Madam on the dark stairs.

When they reached the lady's own quarters, the girl followed her into the sitting-room, and, setting down the candle, asked modestly for a few directions.

"I'm very anxious, of course, to do exactly as you wish," said she. "At what hour is breakfast, and should you expect me to make the tea or coffee?"

Madam stood irresolutely by the table, twisting her hands together as if worried almost beyond endurance. Her face was set in obstinate lines. "To come down to breakfast I absolutely decline," said she in a desperate voice. "I haven't done such a thing for years, and it can't be expected of me."

Olwen was so astonished that she stood with her mouth open.

"I suppose you have no objection to breakfasting with my son? You seem to be extremely particular," said Madam after a pause.

"I am here to carry out your orders," was the girl's reply. "I shall do as you wish, of course. At what hour does Mr. Guyse breakfast?"

"At eight o'clock."

"And you would like me to be down and to breakfast with him?"

"He would," was the surprising answer.

Olwen shrugged her shoulders. "Then," she went on, as steadily as she could, "at what time should I come to you? Is there anything you would like me to do, or shall I begin at once upon the library books?"

With a weary gesture, the lady dropped into a chair.

"Really, Miss Innes, I cannot be bothered like this. I am tired—I wish to sleep. Go to bed, for goodness' sake, and when I am up to-morrow perhaps I shall have some orders for you. I am usually dressed about eleven."

"Thank you," was the meek response. "That was all I wanted to know. I am sorry to be importunate, but I feel a little strange at first."

"Yes, yes, I know. Good night. I hope you will be comfortable. Sunia says your bed is soft, but comfort in this jail of a place seems a thing one can't even imagine." She turned, with a harsh laugh, upon the girl as she withdrew. "When I married Ninian's father I had never put on my own stockings in my life! I was a millionaire's daughter! And now—look at me! Look at my house! Look at my clothes! Even the sight of a girl from a town upsets me!"

CHAPTER X

A QUEER HOUSEHOLD

Extract from a letter to Miss Grace Holroyd, dated January 12:

"Since the first scrawl I sent you, telling you of my safe, though delayed, arrival, and trying to describe this extraordinary place, I have begun two letters and torn up both in despair. The truth is that ever since I got here my mind has been rushing round and round, mixing and curdling itself more like milk in a churn than anything I can think of. This is Friday. I arrived here on Tuesday, and I find myself just as bewildered, just as unable to give such an account of my environment as may sound sane and well considered, as I was the first day.

"I was always conscious of living, at Bramforth, in too deep a groove; but little did I guess how far I was sunk therein or how hard would be the process of re-adjustment.

"Having written that down, I pause to wonder whether it is true. Was my groove so deep? or is the eccentricity of the Guyses to blame for my mental confusion? Sometimes I incline to one view, sometimes to the other; but I am beginning to feel quite sure that, strange as this Pele-place is, the trio of persons who dwell therein are far, far more improbable.

"First, there is the Indian ayah, striking so bizarre a note of contrast to begin with, that it makes one quite giddy. She is the only one who took to me from the first. Judging from what I hear, she is by no means agreeable to everybody, so I ought to consider myself lucky, I suppose.

"Her affection takes the form of waiting upon me hand and foot. One would fancy she had been languishing in a far country for years, buoyed up solely by the hope of being one day permitted to lace my boots! Picture me, Gracie, after such a youth as you know of, hardly allowed so much as to wash my own hands! I lie now under a carven canopy, in a nest of down so thoroughly warmed for me at night that I sleep a kind of charmed slumber from dusk to dawn. When I awake, it is to find my handmaid at my side with tea—such tea!—and cream—such cream! While I sip in luxury, she re-kindles the fire, which usually has not quite gone out all night, so cunningly does she bank it down.

"In front of this fire she prepares my bath, and—now I beg of you not to blush—she insists upon bathing me herself, rubbing me from head to foot with a kind of wondrous massage. She then dresses my hair, and I go down to breakfast all in a glow, ready for anything, even the Guyse ménage!

"I remember hearing your dear wise mother say that if you give your household staff thoroughly comfortable quarters and plenty of good food they would never grumble at work, however hard. Perhaps that is Sunia's idea about me. I am, indeed, well fed and lodged.

"I breakfast alone with the young man of whom I told you—the one who brought me here. He goes off to work on his farm immediately after. He works very hard, I think, for he has only Ezra Baxter, a man named Kay, and one or two farm labourers to help him.

"At about eleven o'clock, Madam, as Mrs. Guyse is called by everyone in the house, makes her appearance. When we reach her, we are at the thickest of the mystery. I cannot understand her one bit. She is not merely in no want of a companion, she even seems, quite unmistakably, to be bored by my presence, to look upon me as an incubus, for whom occupation or amusement must somehow be found.

"Is it not quaint? She wrote to me herself, she offered me unusually high terms, she was apparently most anxious for me to come at once. Now that I am here she does not in the least know what to do with me. I have to make work, for her main idea seems to be to contrive how little of my company she need endure, to plan reasons for keeping me out of her sight.

"The idea of her having a companion came, I suppose, from her son. Sometimes I think he suggested it merely to give him somebody to tease. One could hardly blame him; a winter here must be an ordeal. There is, however, another possible reason. I have guessed that he fears the isolation here is telling upon Madam's mental faculties, and that she must be taken out of herself, even if she doesn't like the remedy! They were apparently very rich in former days, and the poor lady's fallen fortunes have no doubt preyed upon her mind.

"I can't flatter myself that I have made much headway yet. So far, I have merely made a preliminary examination of the library which, while anything but up to date, seems valuable, and contains what even my ignorance knows to be rare editions.

"Let me give you an example of my difficulties.

"The day after my arrival, Mr. Guyse suggested a sleigh drive. I assented, supposing, of course, that Madam would go too. I found, however, when the time came, that she had not the least intention of so doing. I therefore excused myself, pointing out to the young man that I could not go out and leave her alone the whole afternoon. Upon this, to my surprise, Madam lost her temper, turned to me and asked what use I should be if I could not do as I was told? She expected me to take her place and accompany her son when she could not. She never went out when the snow was on the ground. Of course, I felt ashamed of having made a fuss, and I went obediently, but neither of us enjoyed it. He and I do not get on a bit. His idea of making himself agreeable is either to chaff or to flirt, and I hate both. This obliges me to be so grim and stony when I am with him that you would think I had never unbent in my life. I have the uncomfortable feeling that, if I so much as smile frankly at him, he will take advantage of it to make some personal remark about my dimple or some such folly. Well, to continue, I suppose that he brought some kind of pressure to bear upon his mother after that drive, for the following day she said she was coming with us, and come she did. Alas! My triumph was short-lived. Nemesis has overtaken me. She promptly took cold, and this morning we decided to send for the doctor. Young Guyse has some grudge against the doctor, so the matter has not endeared me in that quarter, as you may imagine. However, as I prefer him out of temper, that doesn't matter much.

"Saturday.—If I had dispatched this yesterday it would have ended with an emphatic declaration that I meant to look out for another post at once. Last night, however, something happened to shake my resolution.

"As poor Madam was too seedy to come downstairs, I went up to her after supper to see if I could do anything to amuse her. She had already informed me that if there is one thing she dislikes more than another it is having anyone read aloud to her! So I took my little patience cards. You know, a long experience with grandfather has made me quite a compendium of Barnes.

"I had noticed a green baize writing-board down in the billiard-room, and I succeeded in arranging this across the arms of her chair, so that she could handle the cards conveniently. We started with an easy game, and before we had been going ten minutes I knew I had lighted upon something that took her fancy.

"She grew quite interested, displaying a childish eagerness. Then, just as she was beginning to chatter to me more naturally than she has ever done, that hateful young man must needs come pounding on the door to know if I wasn't coming down to play billiards with him.

"He marched in—nobody can shout through these oaken doors—and I saw her expression change and a nervous look creep into her face, as it does when she sees him. 'You had better go,' she said uncertainly.

"It came to me all in a minute that she needed a champion; and I got up and went to him, saying decidedly that I could not go, as he must see, for we were in the middle of a most interesting game.

"'Oh, tosh!' he said easily, 'come along. I've had the room warmed on purpose for you.'

"'I'm sorry you took the trouble,' I replied, 'but surely you understand that when your mother wants me I must be with her.'

"She was making little anxious sounds and coughing significantly. 'Go with him. I can spare you quite well,' she muttered; but my blood was up. I went to the door, and he, thinking he had gained his point, followed me out into the passage, or rather the tunnel. He had a candle in his hand, so he could see my face.

"'Mr. Guyse,' I said, 'when you brought me here you told me that your mother was badly in need of distraction—that she suffered from ennui. Now that I have watched her for several days, I am sure that you did a right and necessary thing in persuading her to have somebody to live with her. She leads too solitary an existence, and it is telling on her health and spirits. To-night, for the first time, she has seemed glad of my company, and interested in what we are doing. You couldn't be so selfish as to want me to leave her to herself?"

"He flushed angrily. 'And what price me? Is it good for me to be everlastingly alone?' he began; and then quite suddenly he broke off and grinned at me as if it were a huge joke.

"'Right as usual, teacher,' he said. 'Yes, it's true. I knew she ought to have somebody about. You go right on, and never mind me.'

"I was quite astonished and a little touched. 'I felt you were only thoughtless,' I said. He remarked that I was evidently born to be the mistress of a reformatory, but he evidently bore no malice and cleared off without further ado. As I went back I thought over the speech I had made, and it did sound horribly priggish! I never spoke so to anybody before. Isn't it astonishing how different one is with different people? I don't think I ever struck you as a sanctimonious little hypocrite; did I, Gracie, my beloved?

"Madam looked so surprised when I came back that I could not help laughing a little as I sat down by her.

"'Please, Miss Innes,' said she faintly, 'go down and have a game with poor Nin; he is so lonely.'

"'He may be lonely there, but you are lonely here,' said I. 'Was I engaged to look after him or you?'

"'He'll be very angry,' she began, but I assured her that he was not—that he had said he thought me quite right.

"'Oh, he may not show it to you, but it is I who will hear of this again,' said she.

"'Nothing of the kind,' I said. 'I'll see to it that he shan't tease you.' (Rather cheek on my part!) 'He doesn't mean to be unkind, but men are inconsiderate. If I explain matters to him he will be more reasonable.'

"She looked unhappy and undecided, and then said, in a kind of burst, 'I am so anxious for you and him to get on together. I don't want you to go away.'

"Well, that was putting things in a new light. Apparently she thinks that if I don't make myself agreeable to the master of the house he will tell her to give me notice. The thought made me quite angry. The ingenuous speech had also shown me something else. I had not supposed that Madam liked me, and her unconscious admission bucked me to a surprising extent.

"'Then you don't want me to go away?' I asked; and she replied hurriedly, 'No, indeed! I am most anxious, very anxious, that you should stay.'

* * * * *

"So that was settled, and just for the moment I mean to stay and to keep up, if I can, my new role of mistress of a reformatory! I worked it splendidly at breakfast, and was able to refuse a sleigh drive on the plea that I must not be out when the doctor calls. In spite of his rage that this said doctor, who is young and good-looking, should be coming at all, Mr. Guyse was fain to admit that this was a just excuse. He looked at me curiously, as if in wonder that anyone so severely proper as I could contrive to exist!

"So far, so good! The difficulty will be to keep it up if we see much of each other, for he is madly provoking, and, as you know, I have a tongue!

"Well, I must end this rigmarole, and go and brush my hair in preparation for receiving Dr. Balmayne, whose impending arrival is exciting me to an extent that I cannot expect you to understand until you have lived the best part of a week in a dark tower, cut off from all intercourse with the world outside.

"You see, we met the doctor on our way up here, and I thought he looked interesting. He stared at me as if he thought I was not quite proper, and, seeing what young Guyse is, I can hardly wonder. However, I hope to persuade him of my moral rectitude, and also (perhaps) of my rare personal charm, this afternoon! Best love and farewell—Your chum-girl, OLWEN."

CHAPTER XI

MISS LILY MARTIN

The sight of Dr. Balmayne's little run-about car creeping slowly along the snowy road across the moor was indeed in the nature of an event. From Tuesday until Saturday only a few farm carts had dared the track. The doctor stopped at the outer gateway, crossing the causeway on foot, so his approach was not visible from the Pele itself. Olwen had, however, been out to feed the chickens, their mistress being actually in her bed; and Mrs. Baxter ran into the courtyard in some excitement to announce the arrival, descried by herself from the vantage ground of the Gatehouse.

Mr. Guyse being out, Olwen had no hesitation in going to the archway to greet the doctor. She stood, in fur cap and big coat, smiling and rosy, under the fangs of the rusty portcullis.

"Well," said Balmayne, drawing off his glove to greet her, "so you are still alive!"

She laughed gaily. "Did you expect to see my head fixed upon a spike outside the battlements?" she inquired. "No; I find Castle Terribil strange enough, but possible."

"Good!" he answered. "Strange, but possible! You seem to have a fine taste in adjectives."

"I have felt like ransacking a dictionary for them since I came here, whenever I am wrestling with the difficulty of conveying to my wholly Philistine relations anything like the impression this place produces!"

He stopped midway as they strolled across the quadrangle, gazing up at the almost unbroken wall of the Pele, grim and grey, on that side pierced only by the loopholes which lighted the newel stair.

"It's still fine, you know," he said half grudgingly. "When it was first built it possessed, of course, the supreme attribute of architecture—that of complete fitness for its intended purpose. But even now that this is so no more—now that it is no praise of a dwelling that it shall also be a fortress—it is still wonderful, still dignified."

"Like some people one knows, it turns its most forbidding face to the approaching stranger," she replied. "On the other side, where it overlooks the valley, the Tudor Guyses opened out windows quite recklessly."

"They had no hesitation in adapting it to their needs. We are afraid to do that now, the spell of the past is too strong for us."

"Humph! Somebody or other, not so many generations back, perpetrated that!" observed the girl, pointing the finger of scorn to the low ugly kitchen huddled against the south wall, its chimney sulkily asmoke.

He laughed. "Well, that's not encouraging, I own. And so you are finding existence possible?"

"I am having an experience," was her reply, "and I was rather in search of that. However, it is early days yet—— I suppose the snow doesn't lie all the year round, even here. As regards Mrs. Guyse, I fear her bad cold IB my fault. I urged her to go for a sleigh drive, and she is so unused to fresh air that it gave her cold, so I am feeling rather a failure just at present."

"Your theory was right, but in practice it went back on you," he replied amused. "A thing which does sometimes happen, even in these anything but tropical climes——"

"When a vessel is, so to speak, snarked," she concluded. "Yes, you have helped me to a word. Mrs. Guyse is, so to speak, snarked. Really she is a good deal like the Bellman, in being courteous and grave, but the orders she gave are enough to bewilder a crew—oh, I'm talking nonsense, but really it is such a queer household! The poor lady resented my coming, but, as a fact, she is in sad need of a companion."

"Yes," he replied reflectively, laying his hat and gloves on the hall table, for they had entered the Pele while they talked, "but her last experience in that direction was a bit shattering, wasn't it?"

She gave a startled glance. "Was it? I didn't know. Tell me."

He coloured slightly. "I beg your pardon. I thought you might have been told something of it by this time. However, as the Guyses have said nothing, I have no business to be discussing their affairs."

"Certainly, you are right," but she said it reluctantly. She had the idea that this man might supply her with a clue, tell her something which might form a key to the characters of the strange people among whom she found herself.

"Will you wait a moment while I let Mrs. Guyse know?" she said, and vanished from his sight behind the curtain which hid the stair-foot.

When she returned, he stood with his back to the stove, contemplating the barrel vault. It was never anything like full daylight in the vestibule owing to the primitive nature of the fenestration.

"Have you seen the well yet?" he asked.

"No," she replied with vivid interest. "Where is it?"

"Almost under your feet where you stand. Get Guyse to show you. It's beautiful water, and was the sole source of supply until they came to settle here, ten years ago, when he brought water up the hillside into the courtyard."

"What a place!" she laughed.

"Have you ever thought to wonder how they conveyed any furniture to the upper floors?"

"I did, but never made inquiries. Now one thinks of it, how could they have got a billiard-table in?"

"Pulled out all the mullions of the big south window and hauled the table up with ropes outside the wall. That was Ninian's father all over."

"They must have done the same thing all over the house!"

"I believe they did, except for such things as had been carried up in pieces and put together on the spot. You know, in the old times when there was raiding on the border, the cattle were all driven in here, where we stand, the women and children being accommodated above. Sometimes there were too many beasts for this place, and on one occasion, at least, some of them were stabled in the Gatehouse with the garrison—but perhaps Guyse has told you all this?"

"No, indeed, we don't have very much to say to one another."

"Well, the legend is that the attacking enemy made a breach in the masonry of the Gatehouse tower, and that a bull jumped out through the hole and fell into the ravine. That is why they call the causeway the Bull-drop."

"I didn't know it was so called."

"Yes, it is; and the legend goes on to assert that when another bull shall drop into the ravine there shall occur the birth of a fair-haired Guyse, and the Guyses of Guysewyke shall come into their own again."

"Does that mean, get back their lands?"

"The folk hereabout think it means that title and all shall pass to the elder branch. The present Lord Caryngston, you know, belongs to the junior line, the title having been conferred on his great-grandfather."

"The present Mr. Guyse has quite black hair."

"You haven't seen his brother?"

"His brother? I didn't know he had one."

"Oh, yes, they are twins, and Wilfrid is as fair as he is dark. Well, I must not keep you here chattering but go and see my patient! Lead on, please."

They proceeded up the newel, Olwen's brain busy with the facts just learned.

Dr. Balmayne, while not recommending any more sleigh drives at present, urged his patient to as much change of air as the Pele could afford. He said the banqueting hall was the only really airy room in the house, and that she ought to spend the greater part of her time in it. Olwen eagerly said that she was quite sure that could be arranged; but as she marked the obstinate fold of the lady's pale lips, she guessed that, in face of the patient's opposition, no orders of the doctor could be carried out.

As they passed from the bedroom to the sitting-room, the doctor asked, "What has become of the ayah?"

"Oh, I don't expect she is far off; but she asked me to bring you upstairs, she is very anxious not to seem to be usurping any prerogative of mine."

"Dear me!" he said in a tone of great surprise. "She must have altered very much of late."

"Why, was she jealous of the last companion? But I forgot, I ought not to ask you that question."

They had reached the hall once more. "Oh," he said, "there can be no harm in my saying that the Hindu was very jealous of Miss Martin, and they never got on well."

"Why, she is kindness itself to me—almost too kind! She overwhelms me with devotion. She has some sort of superstitious idea that it is her destiny to serve me. Look here!" she held out her hands, the nails beautifully manicured; then, turning her back to display her head, "Are you a judge of hair-dressing? What do you think of this for a winter's morning in the wilds of the Border? Why do you look at me like that?"

In fact, his expression was that of consternation. "I—I am surprised—what you tell me surprises me. What can be the woman's object? For she does nothing without an object."

"To induce me to stay, I should think," laughed Olwen. "She may have found that it is not easy to detain anybody young in this weird spot."

"That may be," he said slowly, but not as if he were convinced. "Are you an orphan?" he asked abruptly; and her reply that she was caused him to furrow his brow. He said nothing, however, picking up his hat and gloves slowly from the table.

Looking up, he caught her anxious eyes, and a smile kindled in his own. "Certainly the coiffure is tip-top, but Sunia had fine material to work upon, if I may be pardoned the remark." Tone and manner were alike just right, and she laughed with a clear mind.

"Shall you be coming again?" she wished to know.

"Oh, yes. Mrs. Guyse must not leave her room until I have seen her. It is a great thing for her to have your society; but I—I feel"—he dropped his voice—"as if I ought perhaps to utter one word of warning. The ayah is not to be trusted; and——"

She smiled up at him with limpid eyes. "Are you going to echo Mrs. Askwith's warning to 'keep Muster Nin at a distance'?" she replied in the same undertone. "Well, you needn't be uneasy. We are not hitting it off. I have had to administer one or two snubs, and he now says he thinks I was born to be the mistress of a reformatory."

They went out together into the frosty twilight. When they had gone some steps she remarked: "The hall is not a safe place in which to talk. You never know where the ayah is. However, she is welcome to have overheard all that we have said to-day."

"Mrs. Askwith's advice was good; I am in a position to tell you that it was by no means unnecessary. But I think you are all right; you seem to have plenty of sense. Would it be an impertinence if I asked how you happened to come here?"

"Oh, very simply. I advertised, and Mrs. Guyse answered my advertisement. It wasn't quite what I wanted, but they pay well, and I thought it would be a beginning. I don't expect to be here very long, and if it grows in any way uncomfortable I shall leave."

"Good!" he said; and added after thought, "I wish you were not quite so isolated. You have literally no neighbours. There is nobody nearer than the vicarage at Lachanrigg, and Mr. and Mrs. Baines are both over seventy, so during the winter they might as well not exist as far as the Pele is concerned."

They strolled out across the Bull-drop. Just as they reached the outer gate Ninian Guyse rode up, mounted on Deloraine.

"Hallo!" said he, with a swift glance at the two. "Risked your precious Fordette on these roads, eh?"

"Don't you sneer at my tin-kettle! She's as game a little machine as ever hummed along these God-forsaken tracks," replied Balmayne. "Well, I've seen your mother, and she ought soon to be all right. Just a slightly relaxed throat which has sent up her temperature. I am telling Miss Innes to persuade her to pass more time in your billiard-room, or library, whatever you call it. It is spacious and airy, and while she goes out so little, she must take all the air she can get indoors."

"Yes, the doctor has put an idea into my head," chimed in Olwen, as the doctor shook hands, and hastened to where his chauffeur was cranking up the motor. "Good-bye, doctor, and thank you! I'll expect the medicine by the postman to-morrow and yourself the day after—and I'll remember all your directions!"

The car started. Ninian, after standing, a moment as if in profound thought, took Deloraine's bridle, and Olwen and he walked across the causeway.

"Dr. Balmayne has been telling me that they call this the Bull-drop," said she conversationally.

"Oh, indeed! What more has he been telling you, I wonder?"

"Something extremely interesting—that there is a well under the floor of the hall. I do so want to see it!"

"There's nothing to see."

"Oh, if it's any trouble, it really doesn't matter in the least. Please forget that I mentioned it, and let me say a word about Madam. I have been wondering why she doesn't use the billiard-room more; it is much the nicest room in the house, and not a bit draughty, and I believe I have discovered the reason."

He turned his face to her, but the gathering night hid his expression. "You have noticed that my mother doesn't like the billiard-room?"

"Evidently she doesn't like being there."

"And you think you know why?"

"Yes. I think it is because she is not comfortable there. There is no sofa upon which she can lie down."

"I wonder if by any chance you are right," he mused, speaking for the first time since she had known him quite earnestly and naturally. "It might be worth trying."

"Exactly what I was going to suggest," she broke in eagerly. "Of course, I can see that no sofa could be carried upstairs. But I have been studying the catalogue from Barton's, the big Leeds people, and they have those canvas lounges which fold up. With the cushions off the dining-room sofa and some pillows we could make one of those quite comfy for her. The one I liked is only thirty shillings, carriage paid. We could move back the settle, put up the big leather screen, set a table close by, and she would be almost as cosy as she is upstairs."

He checked Deloraine in the courtyard and began to unsaddle him. "It's a rattling good idea. I'll write and order the thing to-night."

"Oh, thanks! I am glad you don't snub my poor little plan!"

"Why should I snub it?"

"Somehow I thought you would."

"You think you know all about me, don't you?"

"On the contrary, how can I know anything except what you have shown me?"

He made no answer, and in the dusk she escaped, hurrying upstairs to tell Sunia what the doctor had said and to prepare a fomentation for Madam's throat.

CHAPTER XII

A CONFIDENCE: AND SOME SPYING

Madam lay nearly flat on her back under the canopy of her great fourpost bed. Her sunken eyes followed Miss Innes curiously as she measured a dose of medicine into a glass.

Approaching the bed the girl stopped, slipped an arm under the thin shoulder-blades and, lifting her patient, administered the draught.

"That's to lower your temperature," said she encouragingly. "You will feel much better when you are less feverish."

As she rearranged the bed and rinsed the glass, she gave news of the beloved fowls. Kitty, one of the buff Orpingtons, regardless of the time of year, had insisted upon "going broody," and Mrs. Baxter, having tried various cures in vain, had at last given her a "clutch" of eggs. Madam speculated sadly upon the problem of keeping the chickens alive when hatched.

Olwen hopefully suggested that the weather might be very different in six weeks' time.

"It won't. Not for months and months. You don't know this place. This accursed place," added Madam faintly under her breath.

"Oh, don't call it that! I find it extraordinarily fascinating. Nothing else like it anywhere, is there?"

"Let's hope not. Ah, it's all very fine for you to laugh. If you had been through all I have undergone——" She broke off, muttering to herself. Olwen could see that she was under the influence of fever, and spoke soothingly.

"I'm sorry. I hardly know why I laughed. Laughter comes easily to me, I think."

"You're lucky. I never had a merry nature; and, if I could have seen into my future——"

She moved restlessly, while Olwen sat down near with her knitting.

Silence fell. How intense silence could be in that place! The thick walls shut off each room in a solitude of its own. No sounds of daily life arose to the listening ear; one might be isolated from everyone else in the world. As Olwen meditated on this the hush was broken by the voice of Madam, who began to speak in a low, monotonous narrative.

"I was born in a palace—a mansion on Streatham Hill, standing in a great park. My father rose from small beginnings to be one of the richest men in England. He was very ambitious for me, his only child. In the course of business he had come across Lord Caryngston, and had been able to oblige his lordship pretty substantially. It was arranged, in return, that her ladyship should present me at Court and invite me to her house to meet her friends. That was how I came to know Ninian Guyse. My father did not like the match, but he wanted me to be happy, and I was spoiled and wilful. I was head over ears in love. What a fool! Ah, what a fool! Ninian Guyse was as deep in debt as I in love, and only wanted my fortune."

"Oh, don't say that!" cried the girl.

The wistful eyes were turned upon her face. "It's true," she said defiantly. "Why should I not say it? Oh, I suppose you mean I ought not to say it to you! But that will be all right, as long as you don't tell Ninian." The drawn face assumed a look of deep cunning. "Not a word to my son, or to ayah. Understand? Why not our little secrets, you and me? ... Where was I? Oh, yes, we were married, you know, and as long as my father lived he exercised some kind of control, but, to my deep misfortune, he died, and then there was nothing to hold my husband. He went from bad to worse. I would not live with him at last. The twins and I usually lived in London and he at Danley, our Yorkshire place. He was an excellent jockey, and he sometimes rode his own horses. That was how he caught his death ... riding a race he felt certain of winning. He meant, if he pulled that off, to turn over a new leaf, or so he said. He just failed, and standing about afterwards he took a chill."

"And died?"

"Yes. It turned to pneumonia, and he made no sort of fight. Disappointment had beaten him down. I think he was sorry just at the end; but it was too late then, he had taken everything from me—my love, my fortune—and flung it all away. Until he was dead I had no idea how completely he had ruined us. It was the twins' last term at Rugby; they were going to Oxford that autumn. When he found out how things were, Ninian said we must sell all our other houses, and the yacht and the racing stables, and come and live here. I wanted to sell this horrible place too, but Ninian would not hear of it. So terribly masterful—just like his father. He always was a farmer at heart; he loves the land. Wilfrid is so different——"

At the mention of the name of this beloved son the whole tone of Madam's voice changed. Colour stole into her cheeks, a thrill into her voice. "Do you see that photo on the dressing-table, in the silver frame! Bring it to me."

Olwen brought the picture to the bedside. Unless it was flattered, Wilfrid Guyse was indeed a handsome man. There was a likeness—even a strong likeness—to his twin, especially in general outline; but his hair was evidently fair and his expression wholly different. There was no bravado, no sign of a sneer, in these clear, well-opened eyes. The carriage of the head was fine, with the unconscious confidence of race.

"Do you like it?" The acme of maternal pride surged beneath the quiet question.

Olwen started. The portrait had fascinated her. "Like it? Oh, yes. There is a great likeness to his brother, is there not?"

Mrs. Guyse laughed in pure scorn. "Wait until you see them together," said she. "Nobody would look at poor Nin while Wolf was present. Though I say it, he is all the fondest mother could desire."