Haystoun at the
Embassy in Paris within a week for the discussion of a particular
question.
CHAPTER XVII
THE BRINK OF THE RUBICON
The next evening Wratislaw drove in a hired dogcart up Glenavelin from
Gledsmuir just as a stormy autumn twilight was setting in over the bare
fields. A wild back-end had followed on the tracks of a marvellous
summer. Though it was still October the leaves lay heaped beneath the
hedgerows, the bracken had yellowed to a dismal hue of decay, and the
heather had turned from the purple of its flower to the grey-blue of its
passing. Rain had fallen, and the long road-side pools were fired by
the westering sun. Glenavelin looked crooked and fantastic in the
falling shadows, and two miles farther the high lights of Etterick rose
like a star in the bosom of the hills. Seen after many weeks' work in
the bustle and confinement of town, the solitary, shadow-haunted world
soothed and comforted.
He found Lewis in his room alone. The place was quite dark for no lamp
was lit, and only a merry fire showed the occupant. He welcomed his
friend with crazy vehemence, pushing him into a great armchair, offering
a dozen varieties of refreshment, and leaving the butler aghast with
contradictory messages about dinner.
"Oh, Tommy, upon my soul, it is good to see you here! I was getting as
dull as an owl."
"Are you alone?" Wratislaw asked.
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