“Then do not pretend to give an opinion about the Gaelic—­especially to a man who has travelled all over the world, though perhaps he cannot sail a yacht as well as you, Hamish.”

The two cousins soon became friends again, however.  And now, as they were approaching London, a strange thing became visible.  The blue sky grew more and more obscured.  The whole world seemed to be enveloped in a clear brown haze of smoke.

“Ay, ay,” said Hamish, “that is a strange thing.”

“What is a strange thing, Hamish?”

“I was reading about it in a book many a time—­the great fire that was burning in London for years and years and years, and have they not quite got it out yet, Colin?”

“I do not know what you are talking about, Hamish,” said the other, who had not much book-learning, “but I will tell you this, that you may prepare yourself now to open your eyes.  Oh yes, London will make you open your eyes wide; though it is nothing to one who has been to Rio, and Shanghai, and Rotterdam, and other places like that.”

Now these references to foreign parts only stung Hamish’s pride, and when they did arrive at London Bridge he was determined to show no surprise whatever.  He stepped into the four-wheeled cab that Colin Laing chartered, just as if four-wheeled cabs were as common as sea-gulls on the shores of Loch-na-Keal.  And though his eyes were bewildered and his ears dinned with the wonderful sights and sounds of this great roaring city—­that seemed to have the population of all the world pouring through its streets—­he would say nothing at all.  At last the cab stopped; the two men were opposite the Piccadilly Theatre.

Then Hamish got out and left his cousin with the cab, He ascended the wide steps; he entered the great vestibule; and he had a letter in his hand.  The old man had not trembled so much since he was a schoolboy.

“What do you want, my man?” some one said, coming out of the box-office by chance.  Hamish showed the letter.

“I wass to hef an answer, sir if you please, sir, and I will be opliged,” said Hamish, who had been enjoined to be very courteous.

“Take it round to the stage entrance,” said the man, carelessly.

“Yes, sir, if you please, sir,” said Hamish; but he did not understand; and he stood.

The man looked at him; called for some one:  a young lad came, and to him was given the letter.

“You may wait here, then,” said he to Hamish; “but I think rehearsal is over, and Miss White has most likely gone home.”

The man went into the box-office again; Hamish was left alone there, in the great empty vestibule.  The Piccadilly Theatre had seldom seen within its walls a more picturesque figure than this old Highlandman, who stood there with his sailor’s cap in his hand, and with a keen excitement in the proud and fine face.  There was a watchfulness in the gray eyes like the watchfulness of an eagle.  If he twisted his cap rather nervously, and if his heart beat quick, it was not from fear.