word with him."

"You'll do nothing of the sort," said Armathwaite, springing to his feet, and upsetting a plate in his hurry. "If Tom Bland says he has seen you here, I'll tell him he's several varieties of a liar. At this moment Marguérite Garth simply doesn't exist. She's a myth. The lady in this room is Meg Ogilvey, whom Tom Bland has never heard of before. Now, understand, that I forbid you to move or show your face again at the window."

"Oh, my!" pouted the girl, making believe to be very much afraid of him. That was the hardest part of the task confronting the Grange's latest tenant. He could awe and keep in check ten thousand turbulent and fanatical Pathans for many a year, but a clear-eyed English girl of twenty-two refused to be either awe-stricken or kept in restraint for as many minutes. Yet he must bend her to his will, for her own sake. He must force her away from Elmdale, from the hourly possibility of some ghastly revelation which would darken and embitter her life. The undertaking would go against the grain, but he dared not shirk it, and, once his mind was made up, he was not one whose resolution faltered.

CHAPTER V

GATHERING CLOUDS

The Nuttonby carrier took the new tenant of the Grange into his circle of acquaintances with the ready camaraderie of his class.

"Fine morning, sir," said he.

"An excellent morning," said Armathwaite. "Have you brought my boxes?"

"Yes, sir. They be rare an' heavy, an' all."

"You and I can manage them between us, I have no doubt," and Armathwaite led the way to the gate. As they passed the dining-room, Bland stared candidly through the window, but the girl was not visible.

"I didn't reckon on seein' Miss Meg to-day, sir," he said.

"Miss Meg? Who's Miss Meg?" smiled the other.

"Why, poor Mr. Garth's lass, to be sure."

"Ah! My cousin thought you were under the impression that you recognized her. But you are mistaken. The lady you saw is Miss Marguérite Ogilvey."

"Is she now? Well, that takes it! I could ha' sworn—Miss who, sir?"

 Prev. P 45/167 next