Glenfernie seemed to brood with a mother-passion over Ian.

To an extent here he confided in Strickland.
The latter knew of the worry about Jacobite plots and the drawing of Ian into that vortex--Ian known now to be in Paris, writing thence twice or thrice during this autumn and early winter, letters that came to Glenfernie's hand by unusual channels, smacking all of them of Jacobite or High Tory transmissals.

Strickland did not see these letters.

Of them Alexander said only that Ian wrote as usual, except that he made no reference to sere leaves turning green or a dead staff budding.
In the room with only the loophole windows, by the firelight, Alexander read over again the second of these letters.

"So you have loved and lost, old Steadfast?
Let it not grieve you too much!" And that was all of that.