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He opened his eyes. "Alexander !" Alexander rubbed with vigor. "I'm here. Eh, lad, but you gave me a fright!" In another five minutes he sat up. "I'm I'm all right now. Let's get our things on and go." They dressed, Alexander helping Ian. The blood came slowly back into the latter's cheek; he walked, but he shivered yet. "Let's go get Mother Binning's coffee!" said Alexander.
* His courage and affectation of foppery were united, which is less frequently the case, with a spirit of innate modesty. He is thus described in Lord Binning's satirical verses, entitled "Argyle's Levee:" "Six times had Harry bowed unseen, Before he dared advance; The Duke then, turning round well pleased, Said, 'Sure you've been in France!
When they were past, when he lifted himself again, the morning star was in the sky. Strickland, in the deep summer glen, saw before him the feather of smoke from Mother Binning's cot. The singing stream ran clearly, the sky arched blue above. The air held calm and fine, filled as it were with golden points. He met a white hen and her brood, he heard the slow drone of Mother Binning's wheel.
The day of the storm and the cave was over, but with no outward word their inner selves had covenanted to meet again. They met in the leafy glen. It was easy for her to find an errand to Mother Binning's, or, even, in the long summer afternoons, to wander forth from White Farm unquestioned.
* His courage and affectation of foppery were united, which is less frequently the case, with a spirit of innate modesty. He is thus described in Lord Binning's satirical verses, entitled "Argyle's Levee:" "Six times had Harry bowed unseen, Before he dared advance; The Duke then, turning round well pleased, Said, 'Sure you've been in France!
The bright sky arched overhead, the sun shone strongly, the air moved in currents without violence. "You see where that smoke comes up between trees? That's Mother Binning's cot." "Who's she?" "She's a wise auld wife. She's a scryer. That's her ash-tree." Their path brought them by the hut and its bit of garden. Jock Binning, that was Mother Binning's crippled son, sat fishing in the stream.
The face was very quiet, strangely like Elspeth again, the Elspeth of the springtime. All looked, all saw. "Gude guide us!" cried Mrs. Macmurdo. "And I wadna be some at the Judgment Day when come up the beguiled, self-drownit lassies!" Jock Binning's voice rose from out the craning group. "Aye, and I ken and I ken wha was the man!" White Farm turned upon him. He towered, the old man.
But the central strength let the image go. Alexander moved the ashes of the fire with his foot, shuddered in the place of cold and shadow, and, stooping, went out of the cave and on upon his search for Elspeth Barrow. He sought the glen through, and at last, at the head, he came to Mother Binning's cot. Her fire was burning; she was standing in the door looking toward him.
Ian and Alexander climbed the glen-side, avoiding Mother Binning's cot. Now they were in open country, moving toward Black Hill. The walk was not a short one. Daybreak was just behind the east when they came to the long heath-grown hill that faced the house, the purple ridge where as boys they had met. They climbed it, and in the east was light.
"Will you go back to Mother Binning's?" "That, too, is far." They had passed the cave a little way and were in mid-glen. It was dusk in this narrow pass. The trees hung, shadows in a brooding twilight; between the close-set pillars of the hills the sky showed slate-hued, with pallid feathers of cloud driven across. Lightning tore it, the thunder was loud, the trees upon the hilltops began to move.
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