The wish did not come to
consciousness. It was far down. He thought of himself as steel true to
Alexander. And in a moment the old love drew again. He put out his
hands across the board. "When are we going to see Mother Binning and
to light the fire in the cave?... There are not many like you,
Alexander! I'm glad to get back."
"I'm glad to have you back, old sworn-fellow, old Saracen!"
They clasped hands. Gray eyes and brown eyes with gold flecks met in a
gaze that was as steady with the one as with the other. It was
Alexander who first loosened handclasp.
They talked of affairs, particular and general, of Ian's late
proceedings and the lairdship of Alexander, of men and places that
they knew away from this countryside. Ian watched the other as they
talked. Whatever there was that had moved, down there in the abyss,
was asleep again.
"Old Steadfast, you are ruddy and joyous! How long since I was here,
in the winter? Four months? Well, you've changed. What is it?... Is it
love? Are you in love?"
"If I am--" Glenfernie rose and paced the room. Coming to one of the
narrow windows, he stood and looked out and down upon bank and brae
and wood and field and moor. He returned to the table. "I'll tell you
about it."
He told. Ian sat and listened. The light played about him, shook gold
dots and lines over his green coat, over his hands, his faintly
smiling face, his head held straight and high.
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