Then I sat and thought over past memories for a while and the shadows in
the room deepened.

"Why," I said, laggingly, after the silence--"why did I call the child
who used to play with me 'Wee Brown Elspeth'?"

"It was your own fancy," was his reply. "I used to wonder myself; but
I made up my mind that you had heard some of the maids talking and the
name had caught your ear. That would be a child's way."

I put my forehead in my hands and thought again. So many years had
passed! I had been little more than a baby; the whole thing seemed like
a half-forgotten dream when I tried to recall it--but I seemed to dimly
remember strange things.

"Who were the wild men who brought her to me first--that day on the
moor?" I said. "I do remember they had pale, savage, exultant faces. And
torn, stained clothes. And broken dirks and swords. But they were glad
of something. Who were they?"

"I did not see them. The mist was too thick," he answered. "They were
some wild hunters, perhaps."

"It gives me such a strange feeling to try to remember, Angus," I said,
lifting my forehead from my hands.

"Don't try," he said. "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."