He could see the water there, and a silver gleam that was White Farm.

He sat for a minute, pondering whether he should ride back the way he had come or, giving Fatima to Peter Lindsay, walk through the glen.

He looked at his watch, looked, too, at a heap of clouds along the western horizon.

The gleam in the vale at last decided him.
He left the saddle.
"Take Fatima around to White Farm, Lindsay.

I'll walk through the glen." His thought was, "I might as well see what like is Alexander's inamorata!" It was true that he had seen her quite long ago, but time had overlaid the image, or perhaps he had never paid especial note.
Peter Lindsay stooped to catch the reins that the other tossed him.
"There's weather in thae clouds, sir!" "Not before night, I think.