They were used--until these late years--to seeing a laird
of Glenfernie about. When he was not there it was a missed part of the
landscape. When he was in presence Nature showed herself correctly
filled out. This laird was like and not like the old lairds. Big like
the one before him in outward frame and seeming, there were certainly
inner differences. Dale and village pondered these differences. It
came at last to a judgment that this Glenfernie was larger and kinder.
The neighborhood considered that he would make a good home body, and
if he was a scholar, sitting late in the old keep over great books,
that harmed no one, redounded, indeed, to the dale's credit. His very
wanderings might so redound now that they were over. "That's the laird
of Glenfernie," the dale might say to strangers.
It was dim, gray, late November weather. There poured rain, shrieked
a wind. Then the sky cleared and the air stilled. There came three
wonderful days, one after the other, and between them wonderful nights
with a waxing moon. Alexander, riding home from Littlefarm, found
waiting for him in the court Peter Lindsay, of Black Hill. This was a
trusted man.
"I hae a bit letter frae Mistress Alison, laird." Giving it to him,
Peter came close, his eye upon the approaching stable-boy. "Dinna look
at it here, but when ye're alone.
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