books.

Joseph was in great trouble because he had not been allowed to accompany
his master to his hiding-place, but he retained his self-respect and
kept himself so fine that his black court-dress and immaculate white
cravat made a blur before Stair's eyes in the upward phosphorescent
shining of the sea.

"The master sent no message by you, sir?" he would inquire, always with
a wistful hope that "His Excellency" might relent.

"You will find all that he wishes you to do set down in that letter,"
Stair would say, handing the document over.

"But--he said nothing about my coming to him?"

"Not a word, Joseph!" Stair would answer, as carelessly as might be.

"Then who looks after Mr. Julian? Who lays out his shirts and sees to
his studs? Oh, Mr. Stair, that it should come to this! Sometimes I
cannot sleep for thinking of it!"

"Mr. Julian looks after himself," said Stair, brusquely; "at present he
is wearing one of my grey woollen shirts, and I have not heard him
complain. Go home, Joseph, and look after the house. Keep the doors
locked, the guns loaded, and the dogs loose. Mr. Julian was never better
in his life!"

After this Joseph complained less, and probably slept better. It had
always been in his mind that perhaps this unknown Stair Garland might
supplant him in the personal service of his master. But when once he
understood that Stair was of a breed so extraordinary that he recognized
no difference in rank between himself and his guest, that instead of
proffering service, he exacted that Mr. Julian should do his fair share
of the work, and finally, that many of the books he carried were
designed for the enlightenment of Stair Garland, whom his master had
taken as a pupil, he ceased to be jealous and became again merely
serviceable.

Stair had his full share of the local thirst for knowledge, and the
determination to get it in one way or another. So with the
self-assertion without which a Scot ceases to be a Scot, he had fastened
upon those winter months with Julian Wemyss to fill in the lacunes of
Dominie McAll's instruction. A good good deal of classics, daily
readings in the French and German tongues, conversation after the
Socratic method--these were the pillars of Stair's temple of learning at
the Bothy. And because the root of the matter had always been in
him--which is the determination to excel--he progressed with a rapidity
that astounded his teacher.

Every morning Julian Wemyss said to himsel