Glenfernie took her hand and kissed it.  “Nothing is loss to you—­nothing!  For me, I am more darkly made.  So I hope to God I’ll not lose Elspeth!”

Her tears, that were hardly of grief, dropped upon his bent head.  “Eh, my laddie! the old love is there in the midst of the wide love.  But the larger controls....  Well, enough of that!  And do you mean that you have asked Elspeth to marry you—­and that she does not know her own heart?”

They talked, sitting before the fragrant garden, in the little room that was tranquil, blissful, and recluse.  At last he rose.

“I must go.”

They went out through the garden to the wicket that parted her demesne from the formal, wide pleasure-sweeps.  He stopped for a moment under the great tree.

“In a fortnight or so I must go to Edinburgh to see Renwick about that land.  And it is in my mind to travel from there to London for a few weeks.  There are two or three persons whom I know who could put a stout shoulder to the wheel of Jamie’s prospects.  Word of mouth is better with them than would be letters.  Jamie is at Windsor.  I could take him with me here or there—­give him, doubtless, a little help.”

“You are a world-man,” said his friend, “which is quite different from a worldly man!  Come or go as you will, still all is your garden that you cultivate....  Now you are thinking again of Elspeth!”

“Perhaps if for a month or two I plague her not, then when I come again she may have a greater knowledge of herself.  Perhaps it is more generous to be absent for a time—­”

“I see that you will not doubt—­that you cannot doubt—­that in the end she loves you!”

“Is it arrogance, self-love, and ignorance if I think that?  Or is it knowledge?  I think it, and I cannot and will not else!”

They came to the wicket, and stood there a moment ere going on by the terrace to the front of the house.  The day was now clear and vivid, soft and bright.  The birds sang in a long ecstasy, the flowers bloomed as though all life must be put into June, the droning bees went about with the steadiest preoccupation.  Alexander looked about him.

“The earth is drunk with sweetness, and I see now how great joy is sib to great pain!” He shook himself.  “Come back to earth and daylight, Alexander Jardine!” He put a hand, large, strong, and shapely, over Mrs. Alison’s slender ivory one.  “She, too, has long fingers, though her hand is brown.  But it is an artist hand—­a picture hand—­a thoughtful hand.”

Mrs. Alison laughed, but her eyes were tender over him.  “Oh, man! what a great forest—­what an ever-rising song—­is this same thing you’re feeling!  And so old—­and so fire-new!” They walked along the terrace to the porch.  “They’re bringing you Black Alan to ride away upon.  But you’ll come again as soon as Ian’s here?”

“Yes, of course.  You may be assured that if he is free of that Stewart coil—­or if he is in it only so deep that he may yet free himself—­I shall say all that I can to keep him free or to urge him forth.  Not for much would I see Ian take ship in that attempt!”