"No one has known for a long time where you were.... Goodworth has an agent in Paris who says that Ian tried once to find out that."
"To find out where I was?"
"Yes."
Alexander gazed out of window, beyond the terrace and the old trees to the long hill, purple with heath, sunny and clear atop.
A servant came to the door. "Mrs. Alison has returned, sir."
Glenfernie rose. "I will go find her then.—I will ride over often if I may."
"I wish you would!" said Black Hill. "I was sorry about that quarrel with your father."
The old laird's son walked down the matted corridor. The drawing-room door stood open; he saw one panel of the tall screen covered with pagodas, palms, and macaws. Further on was the room, clean and fragrant, known as Mrs. Alison's room. This door, too, was wide. He stood by his old friend. They put hands into hands; eyes met, eyes held in a long look.
She said, "O God, I praise Thee!"
They sat within the garden door, on one side the clear, still room, on the other the green and growing things, the great tree loved by birds. The place was like a cloister. He stayed with her an hour, and in all that time there was not a great deal said with the outer tongue. But each grew more happy, deeper and stronger.