my room. It was a big room in a wing
of the house looking out on the garden and the sea. I saw that it had
been cleaned and made ready against my coming; clearly the old man
expected me.

He put the candle on the table and laid back the covers of the bed. And
suddenly I determined to have the matter out with him.

"Andrew," I said, "why did you add that significant word to my uncle's
letter?"

He turned sharply with a little whimpering cry.

"The master, sir!" he said, and then he stopped as though uncertain
in what manner to go on. He made a hopeless sort of gesture with his
extended hands.

"I thought your coming might interrupt the thing.... You are of his
family and would be silent."

"What threatens my uncle?" I cried, "What is the thing?"

He hesitated, his eyes moving about the floor.

"Oh, sir," he said, "the master is in some wicked and dangerous
business. You heard his talk, sir; that would not be the talk of a man
at peace.... He has strange visitors, sir, and the place is watched. I
cannot tell you any more than that, except that something is going to
happen and I am shaken with the fear of it."

I looked out through the musty curtains before I went to bed. But
the whole world was dark, packed down in the thick mist. Once, in the
direction of the open sea, I thought I saw the flicker of a light.

I was tired and I slept profoundly, but somewhere in the sleep I saw my
uncle and a priest of Tibet gibbering over a ladle of molten silver.

It was nearly midday when I awoke. The whole world had changed as under
some enchantment; there was brilliant sun and afresh stimulating air
with the salt breath of the sea in it. Old Andrew gave me some breakfast
and a message.

His manner like everything else seemed to have undergone some
transformation. He was silent and, I thought, evasive. He repeated the
message without comment, as though he had committed it to memory from an
unfamiliar language:

"The master directed me to say that he must make a journey to Oban. It
is urgent business and will not be laid over."

"When does my uncle return," I said.

The old man shifted his weight from one foot to the other; he looked
out through the open window onto the strip of meadow extending into the
loch. Finally he replied:

"The master did not name the hour of his return."

I did not press the interrogation. I felt that there was something here
that the old man was keeping back; but I had an impression of