Part 13 (2/2)

The piano wants tuning, I'm thinking!” It was foreign to his nature to express any gratification, but that he had deigned to speak at all was a distinct advance, and equal to a whole volume of compliments from another man.

”Maybe,” he added, after a pause, ”if ye were to sing us a ballad it would be less obsearved!”

So Margot sang, and, finding a book of Scotch selections, could gratify the old man by selecting his favourite airs, and providing him with an excuse to hum a gentle accompaniment. Music, it appeared, was Mr Macalister's pa.s.sion in life. As a young man he had been quite a celebrated performer at Penny Readings and Church Soirees, and had been told by a lady who had heard Sims Reeves that she preferred his rendering of ”Tom Bowling” to that of the famous tenor. This anecdote was proudly related by his wife, and though Mr Macalister cried, ”Hoots!” and rustled his paper in protest, it was easy to see that he was gratified by the remembrance.

Margot essayed one Scotch air after another, and was instructed in the proper p.r.o.nunciation of the words; feigning, it is to be feared, an extra amount of incapacity to p.r.o.nounce the soft ”ch,” for the sake of giving her patient a better opportunity of displaying his superior adroitness.

Comparatively speaking, Mr Macalister became quite genial and agreeable in the course of that musical hour, and when Margot finished her performance by singing ”The Oak and the Ash,” he waxed, for him, positively enthusiastic.

”It's a small organ,” he p.r.o.nounced judicially, ”a ve-ry small organ.

Ye would make a poor show on a concert platform, but for all that, I'm not saying that it might not have been worse. Ye can keep in tune, and that's a mearcy!”

”Indeed, Alexander, I call it a bonnie voice! There's no call for squallings and squakings in a bit of a room like this. I love to hear a la.s.sie's voice sound sweet and clear, and happy like herself, and that's just the truth about Miss Vane's singing. Thank ye, my dear. It's been a treat to hear you.”

The broad, beaming smile, the sly little nod behind Mr Macalister's back, proclaiming triumph and delighted grat.i.tude--these sent Margot up to her room heartened and revived in spirits, for there is nothing on earth so invigorating as to feel that we have helped a fellow-creature.

The suns.h.i.+ne came back to her own heart, even as it was slowly breaking its way through the clouds overhead. She thrust her head out of the window, and opening her mouth, drank in great gulps of the fresh damp air, so sweet and reviving after the mouldy atmosphere of ”the parlour.”

Over the mountain tops in the direction from which the wind was blowing the clouds were slowly drifting aside, leaving broader and broader patches of blue. Blue! After the long grey hours of rain and mist.

The rapture of it was almost beyond belief! A few minutes more, and the glen would be alight with suns.h.i.+ne. She would put on boots, cap, and cape, and hurry out to enjoy every moment that remained.

The strong-soled little boots were lifted from their corner behind the door, and down sat Margot on the floor, school-girl fas.h.i.+on, and began to thread the laces in and out, and tie them securely into place. Then the deerstalker cap was pinned on top of the chestnut locks, and the straps of the grey cape crossed over the white flannel blouse. Now she was ready, and the suns.h.i.+ne was already calling to her from without, dancing across the floor, and bringing a delicious warmth into the atmosphere.

Margot threw open the door and was about to descend the narrow staircase, when she stopped short, arrested by an unexpected sound.

Some one was singing softly in a room near at hand, repeating the refrain of the ballad which she had taken last on her list. The deep ba.s.s tones lingered softly on the words--

”And the lad who marries me, Must carry me hame to my North Coun-tree!”

George Elgood was echoing her song in the seclusion of his own room! He had been indoors all the time, then, listening to her while she sang!

Margot's cheeks grew hot with embarra.s.sment, yet in the repeated strain there was a suggestion of appreciation, of lingering enjoyment which did away with the idea of adverse criticism.

”Oh, the Oak and the Ash,”--the strain seemed to swell in volume, growing ever nearer and nearer. ”And the lad who marries me--”

The door flew open, and they stood facing one another, each framed as in a picture in the lintel of the doorways, divided only by a few yards of boarded pa.s.sage. The strain came to an abrupt conclusion, frozen upon his lips by the shock of surprise and embarra.s.sment. For the third time in their short acquaintance Margot looked straight into his eyes; for the third time recognised in their depths something that in mysterious fas.h.i.+on seemed to respond to a want in her own nature; for the third time saw the lids drop, heard an unintelligible murmur of apology, and watched a hasty retreat.

For a moment Margot stood motionless, an expression of wounded pride clouding the young rounded face, then very slowly descended the staircase, traversed the length of the ”lobby,” and stood outside the door, looking anxiously to right and left.

There he was, a strong, well-built figure in knickerbockers and Norfolk coat striding rapidly up the hill path to the right,--trying, no doubt, to put as much distance as possible between himself and the objectionable girl who seemed ever to be appearing when she was not wanted. For a long minute Margot stood gazing miserably ahead, then turning resolutely to the left, came face to face with the Chieftain returning from the village with his pockets bulging with papers.

His sudden appearance at this moment of depression had a peculiar significance to the girl's mind. Doubt crystallised into resolution; with a rapid beating of the heart she determined to grasp her courage in both hands, and boldly make the plunge which she had been meditating for some days past.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

REVELATIONS.

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