"Oh, come now, I always think I’m such an awful ass," Cummings protested. His conversation was still in the ejaculatory stage. But he was pleasantly excited. What boy of his age would be unsusceptible to the flattery of being sought after by an older man? A chance meal in an anglers’ inn, where space and table-cloths were equally limited, had given Brand his looked-for opportunity; a glass or two of Burgundy, and the discovery of a remote connection, warmed the acquaintance into friendship. Across the border such kinship made a closer tie than south of the Tweed, Brand asserted. The two men joined forces on the strength of the statement. Long walks and rides were the result—the first links in a chain which was to rivet more than one future. "Men of my age are not apt to make mistakes in character," the elder man continued, after a pause. Cummings, eagerly listening, failed to see the irony of his tone. "You say you haven’t brains enough for diplomacy; I beg to differ. That’s a career worthy of a man of influence, like you. With a good private income such as you have, and Calvert to back you—why, you could pull the strings of the world, if some one showed you how to set about it, and incidentally have a good time." "We’ve always gone in for the Army or the Church in our family, you see," said Cummings, simply disposing of the question. "As to what I’ve got in the money line it isn’t worth speaking of; two thousand a year doesn’t go very far in the Cavalry. Besides, of course my uncle might marry, and he’s not absolutely bound to leave me his money; in any case I never count on it, though I’m supposed to be his heir. Rather a low-down game waiting for a dead man’s shoes, don’t you think?" He stopped awkwardly, finding it rather difficult to frame the right words in the face of Brand’s mocking smile. By now they had left the main road, striking a sheep track across the narrow pass which separated Glune from distant Bruchill. Even the broad road had been singularly deserted; here, neither browsing cattle nor sheep broke the gloomy lines of the spurs, deepening from purple to indigo. Grey clouds hung low, heavy with tears. The silence was eerie; one of the two men felt its spell. To detach yourself from man is often to come near to God, but there was something sinister in this unsmiling landscape, which savoured more of the powers of darkness than of light. So far the two had walked in close companionship, but now, quickened by the wider life of the hills, and lashed by the mountain air, Cummings unconsciously set a pace which kept time with his rapid thoughts. Brand’s words fell meaninglessly in his ears, like pebbles thrown to lure a terrier but sucked in by the tide before the dog had time to reach them.