“Good night, Mr. Collins,” replied the woman coldly.  His final words, so full of rancor, had destroyed what little sympathy he had aroused in her.  Miss Elting stood aside while the man stepped toward the door.

At this juncture Harriet Burrell appeared in the doorway leading to the hall.  She had missed Miss Elting, and, not finding the guardian in her room, had come downstairs in search of her.  Harriet had not known that the guardian was engaged.

“Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss Elting.  I did not know—­I thought you were alone.”

“It is all right.  Come in, Harriet.  What did you wish?”

Harriet did not reply.  Instead, she gazed perplexedly at the retreating form of Miss Elting’s late caller.

“You’ll be sorry you ever took up with that hound,” flung back the fellow, turning as he was about to step out on the veranda.

Miss Elting made no reply.  Her lips tightened a little, then she turned with a half-smile, regarding Harriet’s frowning face quizzically.

“What does it mean, Miss Elting?” questioned the girl.

“I don’t know, my dear.  The man wanted to act as our guide.  I am glad he isn’t the one who is to lead us over the mountains.  I don’t like him at all.  You heard what he just said?”

Harriet nodded.

“He was referring to Mr. Grubb.”

“Oh!”

“I don’t know what to make of it.  What reason do you suppose he could have for coming to me in this manner?  It is all very strange.”

“I don’t know, Miss Elting.  I am wondering.”

“Wondering what?”

There was something in the set of the shoulders, in the swing of them as the man walked away, in the poise of the head, that had impressed Harriet Burrell as being vaguely familiar.  Something of this must have been reflected in the Meadow-Brook Girl’s face, judging from the guardian’s next question.

“Of what are you thinking, dear?”

“I have seen that man before, Miss Elting.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know.  My memory connects him with something unpleasant.  I wish I knew what it is, for I am positive there is something wrong with him.  Wait!  I know!  I know of whom the man reminds me.  Can’t you see it?  Don’t you know?” cried Harriet eagerly.

The guardian shook her head.

CHAPTER III

THE START THAT CAME TO GRIEF

“Who do you think it is, Harriet?”

Harriet Burrell whispered something in the ear of the guardian.  Again Miss Elting shook her head, this time with decision.

“Wrong, this time.  There isn’t the slightest resemblance that I could observe.  I thought of that, too.  But let’s not bother our heads about it any further.  We have things of greater importance to consider this evening, and, besides, we must go to bed soon; we are to make an early start in the morning, you know.”