It was only an episode, but it brought in the weirdness
of the moor and my childish fancies about the things hiding in the white
mist, and the castle frowning on its rock, and my baby face pressed
against the nursery window in the tower, and Angus and the library, and
Jean and her goodness and wise ways. It was dreadful to talk so much
about oneself. But he listened so. His eyes never left my face--they
watched and held me as if he were enthralled. Sometimes he asked a
question.
"I wonder who they were--the horsemen?" he pondered. "Did you ever ask
Wee Elspeth?"
"We were both too little to care. We only played," I answered him. "And
they came and went so quickly that they were only a sort of dream."
"They seem to have been a strange lot. Wasn't Angus curious about them?"
he suggested.
"Angus never was curious about anything," I said. "Perhaps he knew
something about them and would not tell me. When I was a little thing
I always knew he and Jean had secrets I was too young to hear. They hid
sad and ugly things from me, or things that might frighten a child. They
were very good."
"Yes, they were good," he said, thoughtfully.
I think any one would have been pleased to find herself talking quietly
to a great genius--as quietly as if he were quite an ordinary person;
but to me the experience was wonderful.
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