Glenfernie and Greenlaw, meeting, left each the saddle, went near to embracing, sat at last by a stone wall in the late sunshine, and felt a tide of liking, stronger, not weaker, than that of old days.
"You are looking after White Farm?"
"Yes. The old man fails. Jenny has become a cripple. Gilian and I are the rulers."
"Or servers?"
"It amounts to the same.... Gilian has a splendid soul."
"The poems, Robin. Do you make them yet?"
"Oh yes! Now and then. All this helps.... And you, Glenfernie, I could make a poem of you!"
The laird laughed. "I suppose you could of all men.... Gilian and you do not marry?"
"We are not the marrying kind. But I shouldn't love beauty inside if I didn't love Gilian.... I see that something big has come to you, Glenfernie, and made itself at home. You'll be wanting it taken as a matter of course, and I take it that way.... No matter what you have seen, is not this vale fair?"
"Fair as fair! Loved because of child and boy and man.... Robin, something beyond all years as we count them can be put into moments.... A moment can be as sizable as a sun."