.
Something other than his looks repelled her, yet there was nothing in
either manner or words to account for this feeling of repulsion on the
part of the guardian.

"In case anything should occur to make it necessary for us to look
further for a guide I shall remember you," she said slowly. "I suppose
I can reach you here at Compton?"

"N--n--no," was the hesitating answer. "But if you need me, I'll he
about. Mark what I tell you, Jan Grubb is going to get you into a fine
mess! You will be sorry you ever engaged him; that's all I've got to
say about it. Good night, lady."

"Good night, Mr. Collins," replied the woman coldly. His final words,
so full of rancor, had destroyed what little sympathy he had aroused in
her. Miss Elting stood aside while the man stepped toward the door.

At this juncture Harriet Burrell appeared in the doorway leading to the
hall. She had missed Miss Elting, and, not finding the guardian in her
room, had come downstairs in search of her. Harriet had not known that
the guardian was engaged.

"Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss Elting. I did not know--I thought you
were alone."

"It is all right. Come in, Harriet. What did you wish?"

Harriet did not reply. Instead, she gazed perplexedly at the
retreating form of Miss Elting's late caller.

"You'll be sorry you ever took up with that hound," flung back the
fellow, turning as he was about to step out on the veranda.

Miss Elting made no reply. Her lips tightened a little, then she
turned with a half-smile, regarding Harriet's frowning face quizzically.

"What does it mean, Miss Elting?" questioned the girl.

"I don't know, my dear. The man wanted to act as our guide. I am glad
he isn't the one who is to lead us over the mountains. I don't like
him at all. You heard what he just said?"

Harriet nodded.

"He was referring to Mr. Grubb."

"Oh!"

"I don't know what to make of it. What reason do you suppose he could
have for coming to me in this manner? It is all very strange."

"I don't know, Miss Elting. I am wondering."

"Wondering what?"

There was something in the set of the shoulders, in the swing of them
as the man walked away, in the poise of the head, that had impressed
Harriet Burrell as being vaguely familiar. Something of this must have
been reflected in the Meadow-Brook Girl's face, judging from the
guardian's next question.

"Of what are you thinking, dear?"

"I have seen that man before, Miss El