"So he was there, pacing the beach," thought Ian. He lifted his glass and drank Mr. Wotherspoon's very good wine. That gentleman went on.
"It was surmised at Black Hill that you were helping on the event—the great event, perhaps—that has occurred. Indeed, in July, Mr. Touris, writing to me, mentioned that you had been seen beyond Inverness. But the Highlands are deep and you traveled rapidly. Of course, when it was known that the Prince had landed, your acquaintance assumed your joining him and becoming, as you have become, an officer in his army." He made a little bow.
Ian inclined his head in return. "All at Black Hill are well, I hope? My aunt—"
"Mrs. Alison is a saint. All earthly grief, I imagine, only quickens her homeward step."
"What grief has she had, sir, beyond—"
"Beyond?"
"I know that my aunt will grieve for the break that has come between my uncle and myself. I have, too," said Ian, with deliberation, "been quarreled with by an old friend. That also may distress her."
The lawyer appeared to listen to sounds from the street. Rising, he moved to the window, then returned. "Bonnet lairds coming into town! You are referring now to Glenfernie?"
"Then he has made it common property that he chose to quarrel with me?"
"Oh, chose to—" said Mr. Wotherspoon, reflectively.