A deeper gloom than ever seemed to fall over the party as this was said, and although they tried to feel cheerful, they knew it was a poor attempt. No one spoke for a long time. Ian sat with his head between his hands and Aline gazed into the empty fireplace at the dead ashes of the fire that had been lit when Ian came.
These days with Ian had made the Holwick life far more bearable for her. There were her Greek lessons and the fencing lessons, but bad as it would be to lose them it would be worse to lose her friend. He was generally very reserved with her; but if she was in trouble he always opened out. She glanced up. Ian had lifted his head and their eyes met. What would she do without him?
Audry held one of the foils and drew with it on the floor. The silence was oppressive.
At length Aline spoke. “Where shall you go, when you leave us? You cannot think how sadly we shall miss you.”
“I shall probably miss you more than you will miss me, sweet child,” and Menstrie looked at her with a strange longing pain in his heart. It was thirteen years since any one person had filled his life as this child had done, and now he was to lose her. “Surely,” he said to himself, “life is compact of most mysterious bitterness”; but he tried to be cheerful for the child’s sake and said, “Never mind, Aline, I shall come and see you again. I think I shall try and become a packman like your friend who gave you your necklace, if I can get some money somehow to begin, and then I can pay many visits to Holwick. I believe I could disguise myself well enough, as I do not think that any one here really knows me,—the few that saw me will have forgotten me. We can meet in this room and I shall be able to bring you news and some interesting things from far away.”
“Yes, do bring me a chatelaine,” said Audry. “I have always wanted one and Father has either forgotten or been unable to get it.”
“Is there anything you would like, birdeen?” said Ian, addressing Aline.
Aline thought for a moment; why should he bring her things, he was obviously poor and never likely to be anything else? What was the younger son of a yeoman who had been a wanderer, a smith and a soldier of fortune ever likely to have in the way of money? Even her own father who had been a small Laird had never been able to purchase her the necklace that he had so desired to do. “I do not want you to bring me anything,” she answered finally, “if only you can keep yourself safe,” and then she added hesitatingly, “Would a Greek Testament be expensive?”
“No, not at all,” said Ian. “Would you like one, little angel?”
“Yes, very much indeed; but oh, I am afraid it will be a long time between one visit and the next, and we shall not know what has become of you,” and Aline sighed.