"But," cried Marjorie excitedly, "although you stop him—the clock, I mean—it will still be there; it won't fly away."
The little man regarded her for a moment. "Mademoiselle," he said and bowed, "he will be done—finished—dead. I will say no more." He turned to Alan. "Mr. Craik, I am sorry to be not obliging to you. Yes; and I confess I am nearly more sorry for myself. But I hope the time comes when you will understand and excuse. The good God preserve you and him—and Mr. Caw—from enemies." He bowed all round. "Adieu."
And so ended the little company's great expectations.
"I suppose there's nothing for it but to hang on," said Alan with a laugh, "and get used to the situation. I think you, Teddy, had better chuck your berth in London, live here, and help me to write that book on my Eskimo experiences."
"Very pleased," replied Teddy, "if you don't mind my having the jumps once a while."
"Oh, do come and stay with Mr. Craig," said Marjorie in her impulsive fashion, which annoyed Teddy chiefly because he was forced to confess it charming. He disapproved of the proprietary interest she seemed to take in his friend, and yet had circumstances been a little different, how he would have welcomed it!
"A very good notion," observed Handyside. "The clock can't have too many guardians, and I don't imagine you would care to bring in strangers."
"Not to be thought of," replied Alan. "But I'm sorry for Caw. Teddy and I must leave him alone for a few days. We're catching the two o'clock steamer. Things to see about in Glasgow, and on to London in the morning. I'm hoping the big dog may turn up to-day."
Marjorie gave her father a surreptitious nudge.
"I don't like intruding my services," said the doctor, "but I should be very glad to spend the nights here during your absence—"