"Oh, my!" pouted the girl, making believe to be very much afraid of him. That was the hardest part of the task confronting the Grange's latest tenant. He could awe and keep in check ten thousand turbulent and fanatical Pathans for many a year, but a clear-eyed English girl of twenty-two refused to be either awe-stricken or kept in restraint for as many minutes. Yet he must bend her to his will, for her own sake. He must force her away from Elmdale, from the hourly possibility of some ghastly revelation which would darken and embitter her life. The undertaking would go against the grain, but he dared not shirk it, and, once his mind was made up, he was not one whose resolution faltered. CHAPTER V GATHERING CLOUDS The Nuttonby carrier took the new tenant of the Grange into his circle of acquaintances with the ready camaraderie of his class. "Fine morning, sir," said he. "An excellent morning," said Armathwaite. "Have you brought my boxes?" "Yes, sir. They be rare an' heavy, an' all." "You and I can manage them between us, I have no doubt," and Armathwaite led the way to the gate. As they passed the dining-room, Bland stared candidly through the window, but the girl was not visible. "I didn't reckon on seein' Miss Meg to-day, sir," he said. "Miss Meg? Who's Miss Meg?" smiled the other. "Why, poor Mr. Garth's lass, to be sure." "Ah! My cousin thought you were under the impression that you recognized her. But you are mistaken. The lady you saw is Miss Marguerite Ogilvey." "Is she now? Well, that takes it! I could ha' sworn--Miss who, sir?" Armathwaite repeated the name, and Tom Bland scratched his head. He was elderly, and weather-tanned as the Nuttonby porter, but his occupation had quickened his wits; there are times when one should not reiterate an opinion. "You'll not have tried the beck yet, sir?" he said, twisting the conversation rather obviously. "I had a turn in the Swale meself last evenin'--this water runs into it, ye ken, an' the troot were risin' fine." "What flies did you use?" "Two March browns an' a black gnat. There's nowt like a March brown, to my thinkin'." "Can you tell me who owns the land in that direction?" and Armathwaite pointed to the wooded gill which cut into the moorland to the eastward. Bland gave some names, which Armathwaite entered in a notebook. He was wondering whether or not he should ask the man not to mention that he had seen a second occupant of the house, but decided that gossip would be stilled more quickly if the topic were left severely alone. He knew that Walker had told the carrier certain facts about himself. Possibly there would be some talk when next the two met, but, by that time, the Grange would have lost its highly interesting visitor, and Armathwaite smiled at the notion of the dapper young auctioneer trying to extract information from him.