"The laird's coming! The laird's coming!" Men and women and dogs began
to stir.
Strickland, looking from the window of his own high room, saw the
riders in and out of the bronzing woods. Descending, he joined Mrs.
Grizel upon the wide stone step without the hall door. Davie was in
waiting, and a stable-boy or two came at a run.
"Two months!" said Mrs. Grizel. "But it used to be six months, a year,
two years, and more! He grows a home body, as lairds ought to be!"
Alexander dismounted at the door, took her in his arms and kissed her
twice, shook hands with Strickland, greeted Davie and the men. "How
good it is to get home! I've pined like a lost bairn. And none of you
look older--Aunt Grizel hasn't a single white hair!"
"Go along with you, laddie!" said Aunt Grizel. "You haven't been so
long away!"
The sun was half-way down the western quarter. He changed his
riding-clothes, and they set food for him in the hall. He ate, and
Davie drew the cloth and brought wine and glasses. Some matter or
other called Mrs. Grizel away, but Strickland stayed and drank wine
with him.
Questions and answers had been exchanged. Glenfernie gave in detail
reasons for his lengthened stay. There had been a business
postponement and complication--in London Jamie's affairs; again, in
Edinburgh, insistence of kindred with whom Alice was blooming,
"growing a fine lady, too!" and at the last a sudden and for a while
dangerous sickness of Tam Dickson's that had kept them a week at an
inn a dozen miles this side of Edinburgh.
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