CHAPTER VI.
STORM BOUND IN THE OLD STONE TOWER.
“Good evening, gentlemen. You tarry late in the forest. Let me advise you to seek shelter as soon as possible, for unless all signs fail a storm is at hand.”
It was Mr. Mirrikh who thus addressed our little party, as we all stood there staring at him like a parcel of geese, without even a word of thanks for what he had done.
The voice recalled me to myself and I hurried forward to greet him, offering my hand which he grasped cordially.
“My dear sir, how can we thank you?” I said. “Let me introduce you—the Rev. Miles Philpot, Mr. Mirrikh. Maurice, surely you have not forgotten Mr. Mirrikh so soon!”
It was a brave effort on my part, but alas! It came to nothing. They could not help staring at that face—no one could help it—I, myself, could not.
Maurice muttered something and extended his hand also, but Mr. Mirrikh seemed not to see it, while the Doctor just blurted out:
“Gad, where did you spring from? I’m awfully obliged to you for what you did, don’t you know, but that face of yours”
“Yes, we are late!” I burst out in a voice which was intended to smother the Doctor’s impudent allusion, and did. “We were over at Ballambong and have been delayed, lost our way.”
He smiled at me kindly and then, without answering or even looking toward Philpot until it was done, took out the black cloth and quietly proceeded to ajust it about his face.
“Now sir, you may look at me without disgust,” he said, coolly, addressing himself to the Doctor. “Possibly you are not aware of the danger you have escaped?”
It was well timed and recalled Philpot to himself.
“Indeed I am, and owe you a big debt of gratitude,” he hastened to say. “Pardon my curiosity, I”
“Did you say you had missed your way, Mr. Wylde?” in-
