Ian had his crack with Davie, with Eppie and
Phemie and old Lauchlinson and others. They sat for a few minutes with
Mrs. Grizel where, in a most housewifely corner, she measured currants
and bargained with pickers of cherries. Strickland they came upon in
the book-room. With the Jardines and this gentleman the sense of
employed and employee had long ago passed into a larger inclusion. He
and the young laird talked and worked together as members of one
family. Now there was some converse among the three, and then the two
left Strickland in the cool, dusky room. Outside the house June flamed
again. For a while they paced up and down under the trees in the
narrow garden atop the craggy height. Then Ian mounted Fatima, who all
these years was kept for him at Black Hill.
"You'll come over to-morrow?"
"Yes."
Glenfernie watched him down the steep-descending, winding road, and
thought of many roads that, good company, he and Ian had traveled
together.
This was the middle of the day. In the afternoon he walked to White
Farm.... It was sunset when he turned his face homeward. He looked
back and saw Elspeth at the stepping-stones, in a clear flame of
golden sky and golden water. She had seemed kind; he walked on air,
his hand in Hope's. Hope had well-nigh the look of Assurance. He was
going away because it was promised and arranged for and he must go.
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