“Belike.”

“Ye’ve traveled.  See if ye can travel out of the ring of God!”

“What is the ring of God?  If it is as large as I think it is,” said Glenfernie, “I’ll not travel out of it.”

He looked out over moor and moss.  There breathed about him something that gave the old man wonder.  “Hae ye gold-mines and jewels, Glenfernie?  Hae the King made ye Minister?”

The wandering laird laughed.  “Better than that, White Farm, better than that!” He was tempted then and there to say:  “I love your granddaughter Elspeth.  I love Elspeth!” It was his intention to say something like this as soon as might be to White Farm.  “I love Elspeth and Elspeth loves me.  So we would marry, White Farm, and she be lady beside the laird at Glenfernie.”  But he could not say it yet, because he did not know if Elspeth loved him.  He was in a condition of hope, but very humbly so, far from assurance.  He never did Elspeth the indignity of thinking that a lesser thing than love might lead her to Glenfernie House.  If she came she would come because she loved—­not else.

They left the moor, passed through the hollow of the stream and by the mill, and began to climb the village street.  Folk looked out of door or window upon them; kirk-goers astir, dressed in their best, with regulated step and mouth and eyes set aright, gave the correct greeting, neither more nor less.  If the afternoon breeze, if a little runlet of water going down the street, chose to murmur:  “The laird is thick with White Farm!  What makes the laird so thick with White Farm?” that was breeze or runlet’s doing.

They passed the bare, gaunt manse and came to the kirkyard with the dark, low stones over the generations dead.  But the grass was vivid, and the daisies bloomed, and even the yew-trees had some kind of peacock sheen, while the sky overhead burnt essential sapphire.  Even the white of the lark held a friendly tinge as of rose petals mixed somehow with it.  And the bell that was ending its ringing, if it was solemn, was also silver-sweet.  Glenfernie determined that he would go to church.  He entered with the White Farm folk and he sat with them, leaving the laird’s high-walled, curtained pew without human tenancy.  Mrs. Grizel came but to morning sermon.  Alice was with a kinswoman of rank in a great house near Edinburgh, submitting, not without enjoyment, to certain fine filings and polishings and lacquerings and contacts.  Jamie, who would be a soldier and fight the French, had his commission and was gone this past week to Carlisle, to his regiment.  English Strickland was yet at Glenfernie House.  Between him and the laird held much liking and respect.  Tutor no longer, he stayed on as secretary and right-hand man.  But Strickland was not at church.