“You might have felt sure of that,” Randal said.

The Captain’s modesty still doubted.

“You see, the circumstances were a little against me.  We met at a dull dinner, among wearisome worldly men, full of boastful talk about themselves.  It was all ‘I did this,’ and ’I said that’—­and the gentlemen who were present had always been right; and the gentlemen who were absent had always been wrong.  And, oh, dear. when they came to politics, how they bragged about what they would have done if they had only been at the head of the Government; and how cruelly hard to please they were in the matter of wine!  Do you remember recommending me to spend my next holiday in Scotland?”

“Perfectly.  My advice was selfish—­it really meant that I wanted to see you again.”

“And you have your wish, at your brother’s house!  The guide book did it.  First, I saw your family name.  Then, I read on and discovered that there were pictures at Mount Morven and that strangers were allowed to see them.  I like pictures.  And here I am.”

This allusion to the house naturally reminded Randal of the master.  “I wish I could introduce you to my brother and his wife,” he said.  “Unhappily their only child is ill—­”

Captain Bennydeck started to his feet.  “I am ashamed of having intruded on you,” he began.  His new friend pressed him back into his chair without ceremony.  “On the contrary, you have arrived at the best of all possible times—­the time when our suspense is at an end.  The doctor has just told us that his poor little patient is out of danger.  You may imagine how happy we are.”

“And how grateful to God!” The Captain said those words in tones that trembled—­speaking to himself.

Randal was conscious of feeling a momentary embarrassment.  The character of his visitor had presented itself in a new light.  Captain Bennydeck looked at him—­understood him—­and returned to the subject of his travels.

“Do you remember your holiday-time when you were a boy, and when you had to go back to school?” he asked with a smile.  “My mind is in much the same state at leaving Scotland, and going back to my work in London.  I hardly know which I admire most—­your beautiful country or the people who inhabit it.  I have had some pleasant talk with your poorer neighbors; the one improvement I could wish for among them is a keener sense of their religious duties.”

This was an objection new in Randal’s experience of travelers in general.

“Our Highlanders have noble qualities,” he said.  “If you knew them as well as I do, you would find a true sense of religion among them; not presenting itself, however, to strangers as strongly—­I had almost said as aggressively—­as the devotional feeling of the Lowland Scotch.  Different races, different temperaments.”

“And all,” the Captain added, gravely and gently, “with souls to be saved.  If I sent to these poor people some copies of the New Testament, translated into their own language, would my gift be accepted?”