n active packman, for they
tell me you're never off the road."

At the mention of my name every eye turned towards me, and I felt,
rather than saw, the disfavour of the looks. No doubt they resented a
storekeeper's intrusion into well-bred company, and some were there who
had publicly cursed me for a meddlesome upstart. But I was not looking
their way, but at the girl who sat on my host's right hand, and in
whose dark eyes I thought I saw a spark of recognition.

She was clad in white satin, and in her hair and bosom spring flowers
had been set. Her little hand played with the slim glass, and her eyes
had all the happy freedom of childhood. But now she was a grown woman,
with a woman's pride and knowledge of power. Her exquisite slimness
and grace, amid the glow of silks and silver, gave her the air of a
fairy-tale princess. There was a grave man in black sat next her, to
whom she bent to speak. Then she looked towards me again, and smiled
with that witching mockery which had pricked my temper in the Canongate
Tolbooth.

The Governor's voice recalled me from my dream.

"How goes the Indian menace, Mr. Garvald?" he cried. "You must know,"
and he turned to the company, "that our friend combines commerce with
high policy, and shares my apprehensions as to the safety of the
dominion."

I could not tell whether he was mocking at me or not. I think he was,
for Francis Nicholson's moods were as mutable as the tides. In every
word of his there lurked some sour irony.

The company took the speech for satire, and many laughed. One young
gentleman, who wore a purple coat and a splendid brocaded vest, laughed
very loud.

"A merchant's nerves are delicate things," he said, as he fingered his
cravat. "I would have said 'like a woman's,' had I not seen this very
day Miss Elspeth's horsemanship." And he bowed to her very neatly.

Now I was never fond of being quizzed, and in that company I could not
endure it.

"We have a saying, sir," I said, "that the farmyard fowl does not fear
the eagle. The men who look grave just now are not those who live
snugly in coast manors, but the outland folk who have to keep their
doors with their own hands."

It was a rude speech, and my hard voice and common clothes made it
ruder. The gentleman fired in a second, and with blazing eyes asked me
if I intended an insult. I was about to say that he could take what
meaning he pleased, when an older man broke in with, "Tush, Charles,
let the fe