“Light them all, Davie!  It’ll be dark then by London houses.”

Davie showed an old servant’s familiarity.  “He wasna sae grand when he left auld Scotland thirty years since!  I’m thinking he might remember when he had nae candles ava in his auld hoose.”

“Well, he’ll have candles enough in his new hall.”

Davie lit the last candle.  “They say that he is sinfu’ rich!”

“Rich enough to buy Black Hill,” said Mrs. Jardine, and turned to the fire.  The tutor joined her there.  He had for her liking and admiration, and she for him almost a motherly affection.  Now she smiled as he came up.

“Did you have good fishing?”

“Only fair.”

“Mr. Jardine and Mr. Touris have just returned.  They rode to Black Hill.  Have you seen Alexander?”

“No.  I asked Jamie—­”

“So did I. But he could not tell.”

“He may have gone over the moor and been belated.  Bran is with him.”

“Yes....  He’s a solitary one, with a thousand in himself!”

“You’re the second woman,” remarked Strickland, “who’s said that to-day,” and told her of Mother Binning.

Mrs. Jardine pushed back a fallen ember with the toe of her shoe.  “I don’t know whether she sees or only thinks she sees.  Some do the tane and some do the tither.  Here’s the laird.”

Two men entered together—­a large man and a small man.  The first, great of height and girth, was plainly dressed; the last, seeming slighter by contrast than he actually was, wore fine cloth, silken hose, gold buckles to his shoes, and a full wig.  The first had a massive, somewhat saturnine countenance, the last a shrewd, narrow one.  The first had a long stride and a wide reach from thumb to little finger, the last a short step and a cupped hand.  William Jardine, laird of Glenfernie, led the way to the fire.

“The ford was swollen.  Mr. Touris got a little wet and chilled.”

“Ah, the fire is good!” said Mr. Touris.  “They do not burn wood like this in London!”

“You will burn it at Black Hill.  I hope that you like it better and better?”

“It has possibilities, ma’am.  Undoubtedly,” said Mr. Touris, the Scots adventurer for fortune, set up as merchant-trader in London, making his fortune by “interloping” voyages to India, but now shareholder and part and lot of the East India Company—­“undoubtedly the place has possibilities.”  He warmed his hands.  “Well, it would taste good to come back to Scotland—!” His words might have been finished out, “and laird it, rich and influential, where once I went forth, cadet of a good family, but poorer than a church mouse!”

Mrs. Jardine made a murmur of hope that he would come back to Scotland.  But the laird looked with a kind of large gloom at the reflection of fire and candle in battered breastplate and morion and crossed pikes.

Supper was brought in by two maids, Eppie and Phemie, and with them came old Lauchlinson, the butler.  Mrs. Jardine placed herself behind the silver urn, and Mr. Touris was given the seat nearest the fire.  The boy James appeared, and with him the daughter of the house, Alice, a girl of twelve, bonny and merry.