gave it and was in presence himself. All the gentlemen
his guests drank a toast for which the finest wine was poured in
especial goblets. Afterward each was given for a token the cup from
which he drank.... Before he died my father gave me this. But of
course I have to keep it secret. My uncle and all the world around
here are Whigs!"

"James Stewart!" quoth Alexander. "Humph!"

"Remember that you have not seen it," said Ian, "and that I never said
aught to you but _King George, King George!_" With that he restored
the goblet to the secret shelf, put back the drawer, and shut the
ambry door. "Friends trust one another in little and big.--Now let's
go see Aunt Alison."

They went in silence along a corridor where every footfall was subdued
in India matting. Alexander spoke once:

"I feel all through me that we're friends. But you're a terrible fool
there!"

"I am not," said Ian. His voice carried the truth of his own feeling.
"I am like my father and mother and the chieftains my kin, and I have
been with certain kings ever since there were kings. Others think
otherwise, but I've got my rights!"

With that they came to the open door of a room. A voice spoke from
within:

"Ian!"

Ian crossed the threshold. "May we come in, Aunt Alison? It's
Alexander Jardine of Glenfernie."

A tall, three-leaved screen pictured with pagodas, palms, and macaws
stood between the door and the rest of the room. "Come, of course!"
said the voice behind this.

Passing the last pagoda edge, the two entered a white-paneled parlor
where a lady in dove-gray muslin overlooked the unpacking of fine
china. She turned in the great chair where she sat. "I am truly glad
to see Alexander Jardine!" When he went up to her she took his two
hands in hers. "I remember your mother and how fine a lassie she was!
Good mind and good heart--"

"We've heard of you, too," answered Alexander. He looked at her in
frank admiration, _Eh, but you're bonny!_ written in his gaze.

Mrs. Alison, as they called her, was something more than bonny. She
had loveliness. More than that, she breathed a cleanliness of spirit,
a lucid peace, a fibered self-mastery passing into light. Alexander
did not analyze his feeling for her, but it was presently one of great
liking. Now she sat in her great chair while the maids went on with
the unpacking, and questioned him about Glenfernie and all the family
and life there. She was slight, not tall, with hair prematurely
white,