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Chapter VIII
Themistwastoothick,”heanswered.“Theyweresomewildhunters,perhaps.”
“Itgivesmesuchastrangefeelingtotrytoremember,Angus,”Isaid,liftingmyforeheadfrommyhands.
“Don’ttry,”hesaid.“Givemethemanuscriptandgetdownfromthestep-ladder.ComeandlookatthelistofbooksIhavemadeforMr.MacNairn.”
Ididashetoldme,butIfeltasifIwerewalkinginadream.MymindseemedtohaveleftmybodyandgonebacktothedaywhenIsatalittlechildonthemoorandheardthedullsoundofhorses’feetandthejinglingmetalandthecreakofleathercomingnearerinthethickmist.
IfeltasifAnguswereinaqueer,half-awakemood,too—asiftwosetsofthoughtswereworkingatthesametimeinhismind:onehisthoughtsaboutHectorMacNairnandthebooks,theothersomequeerthoughtswhichwentoninspiteofhim.
WhenIwasgoingtoleavethelibraryandgoup-stairstodressfordinnerhesaidastrangethingtome,andhesaiditslowlyandinaheavyvoice.
“ThereisathingJeanandIhaveoftentalkedoftellingyou,”hesaid.“Wehavenotknownwhatitwasbesttodo.Timeswehavebeentroubledbecausewecouldnotmakeupourminds.ThisMr.HectorMacNairnisnocommonman.Heisonewhoisgreatandwiseenoughtodecidethingsplainpeoplecouldnotbesureof.JeanandIaregladindeedthatheandhismotherarecoming.JeancantalktoherandIcantalktohim,beingamanbody.Theywilltelluswhetherwehavebeenrightorwrongandwhatwemustdo.”
“Theyarewiseenoughtotellyouanything,”Ianswered
