hem handed him an inkhorn. He dashed it to the ground.

The meeting hissed like a cellarful of snakes. But Gourlay turned and
glowered at them, and somehow the hisses died away. His was the high
courage that feeds on hate, and welcomes rather than shrinks from its
expression. He was smiling as he faced them.

"Let _me_ pass," he said, and shouldered his way to the door, the
bystanders falling back to make room. Templandmuir followed him out.

"I'll walk to the head o' the brae," said the Templar.

He must have it out with Gourlay at once, or else go home to meet the
anger of his wife. Having opposed Gourlay already, he felt that now was
the time to break with him for good. Only a little was needed to
complete the rupture. And he was the more impelled to declare himself
to-night because he had just seen Gourlay discomfited, and was beginning
to despise the man he had formerly admired. Why, the whole meeting had
laughed at his expense! In quarrelling with Gourlay, moreover, he would
have the whole locality behind him. He would range himself on the
popular side. Every impulse of mind and body pushed him forward to the
brink of speech; he would never get a better occasion to bring out his
grievance.

They trudged together in a burning silence. Though nothing was said
between them, each was in wrathful contact with the other's mind.
Gourlay blamed everything that had happened on Templandmuir, who had
dragged him to the meeting and deserted him. And Templandmuir was
longing to begin about the quarry, but afraid to start.

That was why he began at last with false, unnecessary loudness. It was
partly to encourage himself (as a bull bellows to increase his rage),
and partly because his spite had been so long controlled. It burst the
louder for its pent fury.

"Mr. Gourlay!" he bawled suddenly, when they came opposite the House
with the Green Shutters, "I've had a crow to pick with you for more than
a year."

It came on Gourlay with a flash that Templandmuir was slipping away from
him. But he must answer him civilly for the sake of the quarry.

"Ay, man," he said quietly, "and what may that be?"

"I'll damned soon tell you what it is," said the Templar. "Yon was a
monstrous overcharge for bringing my ironwork from Fleckie. I'll be
damned if I put up with that!"

And yet it was only a trifle. He had put up with fifty worse impositions
and never said a word. But when a man is bent on a quarrel any spark
will do for an