He was among them now, in the hall, his cages and rugs and boxes about him, and, with all the cheery bustling to and fro, he must feel himself dreadfully alone. Eppie, too, was chilled and knew, indeed, the childish, panic impulse to run away, but her imagination of his loneliness was so strong as to nerve quite another impulse. Once she saw him as so desolate she could not hesitate. With resolute gravity she took his hand, saying, “I am so glad that you have come, Gavan,” and, as resolutely and as gravely, she kissed him on the cheek. He flushed so deeply that for a moment all her panic came back with the fear that she had wounded his pride; but in a moment he said, glancing at her, “You are very kind. I am glad to be here, too.” His pride was not at all wounded. Eppie felt that at all events the worst of the ice was broken. “May I feed your animals for you while you rest?” she asked him, as, with Aunt Barbara, they went up-stairs to his room. Gavan carried the lemur himself. Eppie had the birds in their cage. “Thanks, so much. It only takes a moment; I can do it. My monkey would be afraid of any one else,” he answered, adding, “The journey has been too much for him; he has been very strange all day.” “He will soon get well here,” said Eppie, encouragingly--“this is such a healthy place. But Scotland will be a great change from India for him, won’t it?” “Very great. I am afraid he is going to be ill.” And again Gavan’s eye turned its look of weary anxiety upon the lemur. But his anxiety did not make him forget his courtesy. “What a beautiful view,” he said, when they reached his room, “and what beautiful flowers!” “I have this view, too,” said Eppie. “The school-room has the view of the moor; but I like this best, for early morning when one gets up. You will see how lovely it is to smell the pine-tree when it is all wet with dew.” Gavan agreed that it must be lovely, and looked out with her at the blue-green boughs; but even while he looked and admired, she felt more courtesy than interest. They left him in his room to rest till tea-time, and in the library Aunt Rachel and Aunt Barbara exclaimed over his air of fragility. “He is fearfully tired, poor little fellow,” said the general; “a day or two of rest will set him up.” “He looks a very intelligent boy, Nigel,” said Miss Rachel, “but not a cheerful disposition.” “How could one expect that from him now, poor, dear child!” Aunt Barbara expostulated. “He has a beautiful nature, I am sure--such a sensitive mouth and such fine eyes.” And the general said: “He is wonderfully like his mother. I am glad to see that he takes after Claude Palairet in nothing.”