“We supposed that he would be here through the autumn—­certainly until after your return.  Then, three days ago, comes Peter Lindsay with the note for you, and word that he was gone.  Lindsay thought that he had received letters from great people and had gone to them for a visit.”

Alexander spread the missive that had been given him upon the table.  “It’s short!” He held it so that Strickland might read: 

GLENFERNIE,—­Perhaps the leaf is not yet wholly sere. 
Be that as it may be, I’m leaving Black Hill for a time.

IAN RULLOCK.

“That’s a puzzling billet!” said Alexander. “’Glenfernie—­Ian Rullock!’”

“What does he mean by the leaf not dead?”

“That was a figure of speech used between us in regard to a certain thing....  Well, he also has moods!  It is my trust that he has not answered to some one’s piping that the leaf’s not dead!  That is the likeliest thing—­that he answered and has gone.  I’ll ride to Black Hill to-morrow.”  The sun set, twilight passed, candles were lighted.  “Have you seen any from White Farm?”

“I walked there from Littlefarm with Robin Greenlaw.  Jarvis Barrow was reading Leviticus, looking like a listener in the Plain of Sinai.  They expected Gilian home from Aberdeen.  They say the harvest everywhere is good.”

Alexander asked no further and presently they parted for the night.  The laird of Glenfernie looked from his chamber window, and he looked toward White Farm.  It was dark, clear night, and all the autumn stars shone like worlds of hope.

The next morning he mounted his horse and went off to Black Hill.  He would get this matter of Ian straight.  It was early when he rode, and he came to Black Hill to find Mr. Touris and his sister yet at the breakfast-table.  Mrs. Alison, who might have been up hours, sat over against a dour-looking master of the house who sipped his tea and crumbled his toast and had few good words for anything.  But he was glad and said that he was glad to see Glenfernie.

“Now, maybe, we’ll have some light on Ian’s doings!”

“I came for light to you, sir.”

“Do you mean that he hasn’t written you?”

“Only a line that I found waiting for me.  It says, simply, that he leaves Black Hill for a while.”

“Well, you won’t get light from me!  My light’s darkness.  The women found in his room a memorandum of ships and two addresses, one a house in Amsterdam, and one, if you please, in Paris—­Faubourg Saint-Germain!”

“Do you mean that he left without explanation or good-by?”

Mrs. Alison spoke.  “No, Archibald does not mean that.  One evening Ian outdid himself in bonniness and golden talk.  Then as we took our candles he told us that the wander-fever had him and that he would be riding to Edinburgh.  Archibald protested, but he daffed it by.  So the next day he went, and he may be in Edinburgh.  It would seem nothing, if these Highland chiefs were not his kin and if there wasn’t this round and round rumor of the Pretender and the French army!  There may be nothing—­he may be riding back almost to-morrow!”