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, needing no powder.  She sat and talked with her hand upon Ian.  While she talked she glanced from the one youth to the other.  At last she said: 

“Alexander Jardine, I love Ian dearly.  He needs and will need love—­great love.  If you are going to be friends, remember that love is bottomless.—­And now go, the two of you, for the day is getting on.”

They passed again the macaw-and-pagoda screen and left the paneled room.  The August light struck slant and gold.  The two quitted the house and crossed the terrace into the avenue without again encountering the master of the place.

“I will go with you to the top of the hill,” said Ian.  They climbed the ridge that was like a purple cloud.  “I’ll come to Glenfernie to-morrow or the next day.”

“Yes, come!  I’m fond of Jamie, but he’s three years younger than I.”

“You’ve got a sister?”

“Alice?  She’s only twelve.  You come.  I’ve been wanting somebody.”

“So have I. I’m lonelier than you.”

They came to the level top of the heath.  The sun rode low; the shadow of the hill stretched at their feet, out over path and harvest-field.

“Good-by, then!”

“Good-by!”

Ian stood still.  Alexander, homeward bound, dropped over the crest.  The earth wave hid from him Black Hill, house and all.  But, looking back, he could still see Ian against the sky.  Then Ian sank, too.  Alexander strode on toward Glenfernie.  He went whistling, in expanded, golden spirits.  Ian—­and Ian—­and Ian!  Going through a grove of oaks, blackbirds flew overhead, among and above the branches. The cranes of Ibycus! The phrase flashed into mind.  “I wonder why things like that disturb me so!...  I wonder if there’s any bottom or top to living anyhow!...  I wonder—!” He looked at the birds and at the violet evening light at play in the old wood.  The phrase went out of his mind.  He left the remnant of the forest and was presently upon open moor.  He whistled again, loud and clear, and strode on happily.  Ian—­and Ian—­and Ian!