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For nearly two hours Ian remained with Conall Ragnor. The Railway Mania was then at its height in England, and the older man was delighted with Ian's daring stories of its mad excitement. Ian had seen and talked with Hudson, the draper's clerk, who had just purchased a fine ducal residence and estate from the results of his reckless speculations.
In Rob's stories, as in all the finer work of genius, a man would find as much as, and no more than, he was capable of. Ian's opinion of Rob was even higher than Alister's. "What do you think, Ian, of the stories Rob of the Angels tells?" asked Alister, as they walked home. "That the Lord has chosen the weak things of the world to confound the mighty," answered Ian. "Tut! Rob confounds nobody."
When everything was just where it should be, she returned to the fire and sank into a chair thoughtfully. "How I should like some rides," she said; "but I suppose I can't have them, not unless Maxwell Davison's still in Oxford." Ian's face clouded. "He's not," he returned, shortly; and knocked the ashes out of his pipe, hesitating as to how he should put what he had to say about Maxwell Davison.
"What would mother say, Alister!" cried Ian across the narrowing water. In the joy of hearing his voice, Alister rushed again into the torrent; and, after a fierce struggle, reached the mound, where he scrambled up, and putting his arms round Ian's legs with a shout, lifted the two at once like a couple of babies. "Come! come, Alister! don't be silly!" said Ian. "Set me down!"
She looked up gratefully in Ian's face, already beginning to feel for him a reverence which made it easier to forego the right to put her arms round him. And therewith awoke in her the first movement of divine relationship rose the first heave of the child-heart toward the source of its being. It appeared in the form of resistance.
Alexander unfolded the paper. It was addressed to Señor Nobody. It lay upon his knee, and it was Ian's hand. His lips moved, his vision blurred. Then came steadiness and he read. What he read was a statement, at once tense and whimsical, of the predicament of the writer.
"What would you like to know about him?" asked Alister. "Anything you care to tell me," she answered. Now there was nothing pleased Alister better than talking about Ian; and he talked so that Mercy could not help feeling what a brother he must be himself; while on his part Alister was delighted with the girl who took such an interest in Ian: for Ian's sake he began to love Mercy.
Lord Ian's work was remarkably heavy, and he missed his dear Flowers. He was startled, therefore, when Hollyhock dashed into the room. 'Daddy Dumps, she exclaimed, 'do not be frightened now, and don't pass remarks on my swollen cheek.
"I shall be very glad; but isn't it late? and aren't you tired, grandmother?" "I shall sleep better after," she responded, gently. She then began to review the past; her own long unhappiness, Robert's silence, her uncertainty as to his fate, and the after hopelessness, made greater by Ian's conduct.
Two months passed, and they had Ian's answer when it was well on into the spring, and weather good for a sea-voyage was upon its way. Because of the loss of their uncle's money, and the good prospect of comfort in return for labour, hard but not killing, Ian entirely approved of the proposal. From that moment the thing was no longer discussed, but how best to carry it out.
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