"Give me the manuscript and get down from the
step-ladder. Come and look at the list of books I have made for Mr.
MacNairn."
I did as he told me, but I felt as if I were walking in a dream. My mind
seemed to have left my body and gone back to the day when I sat a little
child on the moor and heard the dull sound of horses' feet and the
jingling metal and the creak of leather coming nearer in the thick mist.
I felt as if Angus were in a queer, half-awake mood, too--as if two sets
of thoughts were working at the same time in his mind: one his thoughts
about Hector MacNairn and the books, the other some queer thoughts which
went on in spite of him.
When I was going to leave the library and go up-stairs to dress for
dinner he said a strange thing to me, and he said it slowly and in a
heavy voice.
"There is a thing Jean and I have often talked of telling you," he said.
"We have not known what it was best to do. Times we have been troubled
because we could not make up our minds. This Mr. Hector MacNairn is
no common man. He is one who is great and wise enough to decide things
plain people could not be sure of. Jean and I are glad indeed that he
and his mother are coming. Jean can talk to her and I can talk to him,
being a man body. They will tell us whether we have been right or wrong
and what we must do."
"They are wise enough to tell you anything," I answered.
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