l in June nights so near the north. The
blazing wood showed forth the chief Glenfernie gathering-place, wide
and deep, with a great chimneypiece and walls of black oak, and hung
thereon some old pieces of armor and old weapons. There was a table
spread for supper, and a servant went about with a long
candle-lighter, lighting candles. A collie and a hound lay upon the
hearth. Between them stood Mrs. Jardine, a tall, fair woman of forty
and more, with gray eyes, strong nose, and humorous mouth.

"Light them all, Davie! It'll be dark then by London houses."

Davie showed an old servant's familiarity. "He wasna sae grand when he
left auld Scotland thirty years since! I'm thinking he might remember
when he had nae candles ava in his auld hoose."

"Well, he'll have candles enough in his new hall."

Davie lit the last candle. "They say that he is sinfu' rich!"

"Rich enough to buy Black Hill," said Mrs. Jardine, and turned to the
fire. The tutor joined her there. He had for her liking and
admiration, and she for him almost a motherly affection. Now she
smiled as he came up.

"Did you have good fishing?"

"Only fair."

"Mr. Jardine and Mr. Touris have just returned. They rode to Black
Hill. Have you seen Alexander?"

"No. I asked Jamie--"

"So did I. But he could not tell."

"He may have gone over the moor and been belated. Bran is with him."

"Yes.... He's a solitary one, with a thousand in himself!"

"You're the second woman," remarked Strickland, "who's said that
to-day," and told her of Mother Binning.

Mrs. Jardine pushed back a fallen ember with the toe of her shoe. "I
don't know whether she sees or only thinks she sees. Some do the tane
and some do the tither. Here's the laird."

Two men entered together--a large man and a small man. The first,
great of height and girth, was plainly dressed; the last, seeming
slighter by contrast than he actually was, wore fine cloth, silken
hose, gold buckles to his shoes, and a full wig. The first had a
massive, somewhat saturnine countenance, the last a shrewd, narrow
one. The first had a long stride and a wide reach from thumb to little
finger, the last a short step and a cupped hand. William Jardine,
laird of Glenfernie, led the way to the fire.

"The ford was swollen. Mr. Touris got a little wet and chilled."

"Ah, the fire is good!" said Mr. Touris. "They do not burn wood like
this in London!"

"You will burn it at Black Hill. I hope that you like it better