Chapter 8

The same evening the earl and his guests were sitting in the June twilight—the long, late northern twilight, which is nowhere more lovely than on the shores of Loch Beg. Malcolm had just come in with candles, as a gentle hint that it was time for his master, over whose personal welfare he was sometimes a little too solicitous, to retire, when there happened what for the time being startled every body present.

Malcolm, going to the window, sprang suddenly back with a shout and a scream.

"I kent it weel. It was sure to be! Oh, my lord, my lord!"

"What is the matter?" said Mr. Menteith, sharply. "You're gone daft, man;" for the big Highlander was trembling like a child.

"Whisht! Dinna speak o't. It was my lord's wraith, ye ken. It just keekit in and slippit awa."

"Folly! I saw nothing."

"But I think I did," said Lord Cairnforth.

"Hear him! Ay, he saw't his ain sel. Then it maun be true. Oh my dear lord!"

Poor Malcolm fell on his knees by the earl's little chair in such agitation that Mr. Cardross looked up from his book, and Helen from her peaceful needle-work, which was rarely out of her active hands.

"He thinks he has seen his master's wraith; and because the earl signed his will this morning, he is sure to die, especially as Lord Cairnforth saw the same thing himself. Will you say, my lord, what you did see?"

"Mr. Menteith, I believe I saw a man peering in at that window."

"It wasna a man—it was a speerit," moaned Malcolm. "My lord's wraith, for sure."

"I don't think so, Malcolm; for it was a tall, thin figure that moved about lightly and airily—was come and gone in a moment. Not very like my wraith, unless wraith of myself as I might have been."

The little party were silent till Helen said,

"What do you think it was, then?"

"Certainly a man, made of honest flesh and blood, though not much of either, for he was excessively thin and sickly-looking. He just 'keerkit in,' as Malcolm says, and disappeared."

"What an odd circumstance!" said Mr. Menteith.

"Not a robber, I trust. I am much more afraid of robbers than of ghosts."

"We never rob at Cairnforth; we are very honest people here. No, I think it is far likelier to be one of those stray tourists who are brought here by the steamers. They sometimes take great liberties, wandering into the Castle grounds, and perhaps one of them thought he might as well come and stare in at my windows."

"I hope he was English; I should not like a Scotsman to do such a rude thing," cried Helen, indignantly.

Lord Cairnforth laughed at her impulsiveness. There was much of the child nature mingled in Helen's gravity and wisdom, and she sometimes did both speak and act from impulse—especially generous and kindly impulse—as hastily and unthinkingly as a child.

"Well, Malcolm, the only way to settle this difficulty is to search the house and grounds. Take a good thick stick and a lantern, and whatever you find—be it tourist or burglar, man or spirit—bring him at once to me."

And then the little group waited, laughing among themselves, but still not quite at ease. Lord Cairnforth would not allow Mr. Cardross and Helen to walk home; the carriage was ordered to be made ready.

Presently, Malcolm appeared, somewhat crestfallen.

"It is a man, my lord, and no speerit. But he wadna come ben. He says he'll wait your lordship's will, and that's his name," laying a card before the earl, who looked at it and started with surprise.

"Mr. Menteith, just see—'Captain Ernest Henry Bruce.' What an odd coincidence!"

"Coincidence, indeed!" repeated the lawyer, skeptically. "Let me see the card."

"Earnest Henry! was that the name of the young man whom you sent out to
India?"

"How should I remember? It was ten or fifteen years ago. Very annoying! However, since he is a Bruce, or says he is, I suppose your lordship must just see him."

"Certainly," replied, in his quiet, determined tone, the Earl of
Cairnforth.

Helen, who looked exceedingly surprised, offered to retire, but the earl would not hear of it.

"No, no; you are a wise woman, and an acute one too. I would like you to see and judge of this cousin of mine—a faraway cousin, who would like well enough, Mr. Menteith guesses, to be my heir. But we will not judge him harshly, and especially we will not prejudge him. His father was nothing to boast of, but this may be a very honest man for all we know. Sit by me, Helen and take a good look at him."

And, with a certain amused pleasure, the earl watched Helen's puzzled air at being made of so much importance, till the stranger appeared.

He was a man of about thirty, though at first sight he seemed older, from his exceedingly worn and sickly appearance. His lank black hair fell about his thin, sallow face; he wore what we now call the Byron collar and Byron tie—for it was in the Byron era, when sentimentalism and misery-making were all the fashion. Certainly the poor captain looked miserable enough, without any pretense of it; for, besides his thin and unhealthy aspect, his attire was in the lowest depth of genteel shabbiness. Nevertheless, he looked gentlemanly, and clever too; nor was it an unpleasant face, though the lower half of it indicated weakness and indecision; and the eyes—large, dark, and hollow—were a little too closely set together, a peculiarity which always gives an uncandid, and often a rather sinister expression to any face. Still there was something about the unexpected visitor decidedly interesting.

Even Helen looked up from her work once—twice—with no small curiosity; she saw so few strangers, and of men, and young men, almost none, from year's end to year's end. Yet it was a look as frank, as unconscious, as maidenly as might have been Miranda's first glance at Ferdinand.

Captain Bruce did not return her glance at all. His whole attention was engrossed by Lord Cairnforth.

"My lord, I am so sorry—so very sorry—if I startled you by my rudeness. The group inside was so cheering a sight, and I was a poor weary wayfarer."

"Do not apologize, Captain Bruce. I am happy to make your acquaintance."

"It has been the wish of my life, Lord Cairnforth, to make yours."

Lord Cairnforth turned upon him eyes sharp enough to make a less acute person than the captain feel that honesty, rather than flattery, was the safest tack to go upon. He took the hint.

"That is, I have wished, ever since I came home from India, to thank you and Mr. Menteith—this is Mr. Menteith, I presume?—for my cadetship, which I got through you. And though my ill health has blighted my prospects, and after some service—for I exchanged from the Company's civil into the military service—I have returned to England an invalided and disappointed man, still my gratitude is exactly the same, and I was anxious to see and thank you, as my benefactor and my cousin."

Lord Cairnforth merely bent his head in answer to this long speech, which a little perplexed him. He, like Helen, was both unused and indifferent to strangers.

But Captain Bruce seemed determined not to be made a stranger. After the brief ceremony of introduction to the little party, he sat down close to Lord Cairnforth, displacing Helen, who quietly retired, and began to unfold all his circumstances, giving as credentials of identity a medal received for some Indian battle; a letter from his father, the colonel, whose handwriting Mr. Menteith immediately recognized, and other data, which sufficiently proved that he really was the person he assumed to be.

"For," said he, with that exceedingly frank manner he had, the sort of manner particularly taking with reserved people, because it saves them so much trouble—"for otherwise how should you know that I am not an impostor—a swindler—instead of your cousin, which I hope you believe I really am, Lord Cairnforth?"

"Certainly," said the earl, smiling, and looking both amused an interested by this little adventure, so novel in his monotonous life.

Also, his kindly heart was touched by the sickly and feeble aspect of the young man, by his appearance of poverty, and by something in his air which the earl fancied implied that brave struggle against misfortune, more pathetic than misfortune itself. With undisguised pleasure, the young host sat and watched his guest doing full justice to the very best supper that the Castle could furnish.

"You are truly a good Samaritan," said Captain Bruce, pouring out freely the claret which was then the universal drink of even the middle classes in Scotland. "I had fallen among thieves (literally, for my small baggage was stolen from me yesterday, and I have no worldly goods beyond the clothes I stand in); you meet me, my good cousin, with oil and wine, and set me on your own beast, which I fear I shall have to ask you to do, for I am not strong enough to walk any distance. How far is it to the nearest inn?"

"About twenty miles. But we will discuss that question presently. In the mean time, eat and drink; you need it."

"Ah! Yes. You have never known hunger—I hope you never may; but it is not a pleasant thing, I assure you, actually to want food."

Helen looked up sympathetically. As Captain Bruce took not the slightest notice of her, she had ample opportunity to observe him. Pity for his worn face made her lenient. Lord Cairnforth read her favorable judgment in her eyes, and it inclined him also to judge kindly of the stranger. Mr. Menteith alone, more familiar with the world, and goaded by it into that sharp suspiciousness which is the last hardening of a kindly and generous heart—Mr. Menteith held aloof for some time, till at last even he succumbed to the charm of the captain's conversation. Mr. Cardross had already fallen a willing victim, for he had latterly been deep in the subject of Warren Hastings, and to meet with any one who came direct from that wondrous land of India, then as mysterious and far-away a region as the next world, to people in England, and especially in the wilds of Scotland, was to the good minister a delight indescribable.

Captain Bruce, who had at first paid little attention to any body but his cousin, soon exercised his faculty of being "all things to all men," gave out his stores of information, bent all his varied powers to gratify Lord Cairnforth's friends, and succeeded.

The clock had struck twelve, and still the little party were gathered round the supper-table. Captain Bruce rose.

"I am ashamed to have detained you from your natural rest, Lord Cairnforth. I am but a poor sleeper myself; my cough often disturbs me much. Perhaps, as there is no inn, one of your servants could direct me to some cottage near, where I could get a night's lodging, and go on my way to-morrow. Any humble place will do; I am accustomed to rough it; besides, it suits my finances: half-pay to a sickly invalid is hard enough—you understand?"

"I do."

"Still, if I could only get health! I have been told that this part of the country is very favorable to people with delicate lungs. Perhaps I might meet with some farm-house lodging?"

"I could not possibly allow that," said Lord Cairnforth, unable, in spite of all Mr. Menteith's grave warning looks, to shut up his warm heart any longer. "The Castle is your home, Captain Bruce, for as long as you may find it pleasant to remain here."

The invitation, given so unexpectedly and cordially, seemed to surprise, nay, to touch the young man exceedingly.

"Thank you, my cousin. You are very kind to me, which is more than I can say of the world in general. I will thankfully stay with you for a little. It might give me a chance of health."

"I trust so."

Still, to make all clear between host and guest, let me name some end to my visit. This is the first day of July; may I accept your hospitality for a fortnight—say till the 15th?"

"Till whenever you please," replied the earl, courteously and warmly; for he was pleased to find his cousin, even though a Bruce, so very agreeable; glad, too, that he had it in his power to do him a kindness, which, perhaps, had too long been neglected. Besides, Lord Cairnforth had few friends, and youth so longs for companionship. This was actually the first time he had had a chance of forming an intimacy with a young man of his own age, education, and position, and he caught at it with avidity, the more so because Captain Bruce seemed likely to supply all the things which he had not and never could have—knowledge of the world outside; "hair-breadth 'scapes" and adventurous experiences, told with a point and cleverness that added to their charm.

Besides, the captain was decidedly "interesting." Young ladies would have thought him so, with his pale face and pensive air, which, seeing that the Byron fever had not yet attacked the youths of Cairnforth, appeared to his simple audience a melancholy quite natural and not assumed. And his delicacy of health was a fact only too patent. There was a hectic brilliant color on his cheek, and his cough interrupted him continually. His whole appearance implied that, in any case, a long life was scarcely probable, and this alone was enough to soften any tender heart toward him.

"What does Helen think of my new cousin?" whispered Lord Cairnforth, looking up to her with his affectionate eyes, as she bent over his chair to bid him goodnight.

"I like him," was the frank answer. "He is very agreeable, and then he looks so ill."

"Was I right in asking him to stay here?"

"Yes, I think so. He is your nearest relation, and, as the proverb says, 'Bluid is thicker than water.'"

"Not always."

"But now you will soon be able to judge how you like him, I hope you will be very kind to him."

"Do you, Helen? Then I certainly will."

The earl kept his word. Many weeks went by; the 15th of July was long past, and still Captain Bruce remained a guest at the Castle—quite domesticated, for he soon made himself as much at home as if he had dwelt there all his days. He fluctuated a little between the Castle and the Manse, but soon decided that the latter was "rather a dull house" —the boys rough—the minister too much of a student—and Miss Cardross "a very good sort of girl, but certainly no beauty," which dictum delivered in an oracular manner, as from one well accustomed to criticize the sex, always amused the earl exceedingly.

To Lord Cairnforth, his new-found cousin devoted himself in the most cousinly way. Tender, respectful, unobtrusive, bestowing on him enough, and not too much of his society; never interfering, and yet always at hand with any assistance required: he was exactly the companion which the earl needed, and liked constantly beside him. For, of course, Malcolm, fond and faithful as he was, was only a servant; a friend, who was also a gentleman, yet who did not seem to feel or dislike the many small cares and attentions which were necessities to Lord Cairnforth, was quite a different thing. It was a touching contrast to see the two together; the active, elegant young man—for, now he was well-dressed, Captain Bruce looked remarkably elegant and gentlemanly, and the little motionless figure, as impassive and helpless almost as an image carved in stone, but yet who was undoubtedly the Earl of Cairnforth, and sole master of Cairnforth Castle.

Perhaps the wisest bit of the captain's proceedings was the tact with which he always recognized this fact, and paid his cousin that respect and deference, and that tacit acknowledgment of his rights of manhood and government which could not but be soothing and pleasant to one so afflicted. Or perhaps—let us give the kindest interpretation possible to all things—the earl's helplessness and loveableness touched a chord long silent, or never stirred before in the heart of the man of the world. Possibly—who can say?—he really began to like him.

At any rate, he seemed as if he did, and Lord Cairnforth gave back to him in double measure all that he bestowed.

As a matter of course, all the captain's pecuniary needs were at once supplied. His threadbare clothes became mysteriously changed into a wardrobe supplied with every thing that a gentleman could desire, and a rather luxurious gentleman too; which, owing to his Indian habits and his delicate health, the young captain turned out to be. At first he resisted all this kindness; but all remonstrances being soon overcome, he took his luxuries quite naturally, and evidently enjoyed them, though scarcely so much as the earl himself.

To that warm heart, which had never had half enough of its ties whereon to expend itself and its wealth of generosity, it was perfectly delicious to see the sick soldier daily gaining health by riding the Cairnforth horses, shooting over the moors, or fishing in the lochs. Never had the earl so keenly enjoyed his own wealth, and the blessings it enabled him to lavish abroad; never in his lifetime had he looked so thoroughly contented.

"Helen," he said one day, when she had come up for an hour or two to the Castle, and then as usual, Captain Bruce had taken the opportunity of riding out—he owned he found Miss Cardross's company and conversation "slow"—"Helen, that young man looks stronger and better every day. What a bright-looking fellow he is! It does one good to see him." And the earl followed with his eyes the graceful steed and equally graceful rider, caracoling in front of the Castle window.

Helen said nothing.

"I think," he continued, "that the next best thing to being happy one's self is to be able to make other people so. Perhaps that may be the sort of happiness they have in the next world. I often speculate about it, and wonder what sort of creature I shall find myself there. But." added he, abruptly, "now to business. You will be my secretary this morning instead of Bruce?"

"Willingly;" for, though she too, like Malcolm, had been a little displaced by this charming cousin, there was not an atom of jealousy in her nature. Hers was that pure and unselfish affection which could bear to stand by and see those she loved made happy, even though it was by another than herself.

She fell to work in her old way, and the earl employed as much as he required her ready handwriting, her clear head, and her full acquaintance with every body and every thing in the district; for Helen was a real minister's daughter—as popular and as necessary in the parish as the minister himself; and she was equally important at the Castle, where she was consulted, as this morning, on every thing Lord Cairnforth was about to do, and on the wisest way of expending—he did not wish to save—the large yearly income which he now seemed really beginning to enjoy.

Helen, too, after a long morning's work, drew her breath with a sigh of pleasure.

"What a grand thing it is to be as rich as you are!"

"Why so?"

"One can do such a deal of good with plenty of money."

"Yes. Should you like to be very rich, Helen?" watching her with an amused look.

Helen shook her head and laughed. "Oh, it's no use asking me the question, for I shall never have the chance of being rich."

"You can not say; you might marry, for instance."

"That is not likely. Papa could never do without me; besides, as the folk say, I'm 'no bonnie, ye ken.' But," speaking more seriously, "indeed, I never think of marrying. If it is to be it will be; if not, I am quite happy as I am. And for money, can I not always come to you whenever I want it? You supply me endlessly for my poor people. And, as Captain Bruce was saying to papa the other night, you are a perfect mine of gold—and of generosity."

"Helen," Lord Cairnforth said, after he had sat thinking a while, "I wanted to consult you about Captain Bruce. How do you like him? That is, do you still continue to like him, for I know you did at first?"

"And I do still. I feel so very sorry for him."

"Only, my dear"—Lord Cairnforth sometimes called her "my dear," and spoke to her with a tender, superior wisdom—"one's link to one's friends ought to be a little stronger than being sorry for them; one ought to respect them. One must respect them before one can trust them very much—with one's property, for instance."

"Do you mean," said straightforward Helen, "that you have any thoughts of making Captain Bruce your heir?"

"No, certainly not; but I have grave doubts whether I ought not to remember him in my will, only I wished to see his health re-established first, since, had he continued as delicate as when he came, he might not even have outlived me."

"How calmly you talk of all this," said Helen, with a little shiver. She, full of life and health, could hardly realize the feeling of one who stood always on the brink of another world, and looking to that world only for real health—real life.

"I think of it calmly, and therefore speak calmly. But, dear Helen, I will not grieve you to-day. There is plenty of time, and all is safe, whatever happens. I can trust my successor to do rightly. As for my cousin, I will try him a little longer, lest he prove

"'A little more than kin, and less than kind.'"

"There seems no likelihood of that. He always speaks in the warmest manner of you whenever he comes to the Manse; that is what makes me like him, I fancy; and also, because I would always believe the best of people until I found out to the contrary. Life would not be worth having if we were continually suspecting every body—believing every body bad till we had found them out to be good. If so, with many, I fear we should never find the good out at all. That is—I can't put it cleverly, like you, but I know what I mean."

Lord Cairnforth smiled. "So do I, Helen, which is quite enough for us two. We will talk this over some other time; and meanwhile"—he looked at her earnestly and spoke with meaning—"if ever you have an opportunity of being kind to Captain Bruce, remember he is my next of kin, and I wish it."

"Certainly," answered Helen. "But I am never likely to have the chance of doing any kindness to such a very fine gentleman."

Lord Cairnforth smiled to himself once more, and let the conversation end; afterward—long afterward, he recalled it, and thought with a strange comfort that then, at least, there was nothing to conceal; nothing but sincerity in the sweet, honest face—not pretty, but so perfectly candid and true—with the sun shining on the lint-white hair, and the bright blue eyes meeting his, guileless as a child's. Ay, and however they were dimmed with care and washed with tears—oceans of bitterness—that innocent, childlike look never, even when she was an old woman, quite faded out of Helen's eyes.

"Ay," Lord Cairnforth said to himself, when she had gone away, and he was left alone in that helpless solitude which, being the inevitable necessity, had grown into the familiar habit of his life, "ay, it is all right. No harm could come—there would be nothing neglected—even were I to die to-morrow."

That "dying to-morrow," which might happen to any one of us, how few really recognize it and prepare for it! Not in the ordinary religious sense of "preparation for death"—often a most irreligious thing —a frantic attempt of sinning and terror-stricken humanity to strike a balance-sheet with heaven, just leaving a sufficient portion on the credit side—but preparation in the ordinary worldly meaning— keeping one's affairs straight and clear, that no one may be perplexed therewith afterward; forgiving and asking forgiveness of offenses; removing evil done, and delaying not for a day any good that it is possible to do.

It was a strange thing; but, as after his death it was discovered, the true secret of the wonderful calmness and sweetness which, year by year, deepened more and more in Lord Cairnforth's character, ripening it to a perfectness in which those who only saw the outside of his could hardly believe, consisted in this ever-abiding thought—that he might die to-morrow. Existence was to him such a mere twilight, dim, imperfect, and sad, that he never rested in it, but lived every day, as it were, in prospect of the eternal dawn.

Chapter 9

This summer, which, as it glided away, Lord Cairnforth often declared to be the happiest of his life, ended by bringing him the first heavy affliction—external affliction—which his life had ever known.

Suddenly, in the midst of the late-earned rest of a very toilsome career, died Mr. Menteith, the earl's long-faithful friend, who had been almost as good to him as a father. He felt it sorely; the more so, because, though his own frail life seemed always under the imminent shadow of death, death had never touched him before as regarded other people. He had lived, as we all unconsciously do, till the great enemy smites us, feeling as if, whatever might be the case with himself, those whom he loved could never die. This grief was something quite new to him, and it struck him hard.

The tidings came on a gloomy day in late October, the season when Cairnforth is least beautiful; for the thick woods about it make the always damp atmosphere heavy with "the moist, rich smell of the rotting leaves," and the roads lying deep in mud, and the low shore hung with constant mists, give a general impression of dreariness. The far-away hills vanish entirely for days together, and the loch itself takes a leaden hue, as if it never could be blue again. You can hardly believe that the sun will ever again shine out upon it; the white waves rise, the mountains reappear, and the whole scene grows clear and lovely, as life does sometimes if we have only patience to endure through the weary winter until spring.

But for the good man, John Menteith, his springs and winter were alike ended; he was gathered to his fathers, and his late ward mourned him bitterly.

Mr. Cardross and Helen, coming up to the Castle as soon as the news reached them, found Lord Cairnforth in a state of depression such as they had never before witnessed in him. One of the things which seemed to affect him most painfully, as small things sometimes do in the midst of deepest grief, was that he could not attend Mr. Menteith's funeral.

"Every other man," said he, sadly, "every other man can follow his dear friends and kindred to the grave, can give them respect in death as he has given them love and help during life—I can do neither. I can help no one—be of use to no one. I am a mere cumberer of the ground. It would be better if I were away."

"Hush! Do not dare to say that," answered Mr. Cardross. And he sent the rest away, even Helen, and sat down beside his old pupil, not merely as a friend, but as a minister—in the deepest meaning of the word, even as it was first used of Him who "came not to be ministered unto, but to minister."

Helen's father was not a demonstrative man under ordinary circumstances; he was too much absorbed in his books, and in a sort of languid indifference to worldly matters, which had long hung over him, more or less, ever since his wife's death; but, when occasion arose, he could rise equal to it; and he was one of those comforters who knew the way through the valley of affliction by the marks which their own feet have trod.

He and the earl spent a whole hour alone together. Afterward, when sorrow, compared to which the present grief was calm and sacred, fell upon them both, they remembered this day, and were not afraid to open their wounded hearts to one another.

At last Mr. Cardross came out of the library, and told Helen that Lord
Cairnforth wanted to speak to her.

"He wishes to have your opinion, as well as my own, about a journey he is projecting to Edinburg, and some business matters which he desires to arrange there. I think he would have like to see Captain Bruce too. Where is he?"

The captain had found this atmosphere of sorrow a little too overpowering, and had disappeared for a long ride; so Miss Cardross had been sitting alone all the time.

"Your father has been persuading me, Helen," said the earl, when she came in, "that I am not quite so useless in the world as I imagined. He says he has reason to believe, from things Mr. Menteith let fall, that my dear old friend's widow is not very well provided for, and she and her children will have a hard battle even now. Mr. Cardross thinks I can help her very materially, in one way especially. You know I have made my will?"

"Yes," replied unconscious Helen, "you told me so."

"Mr. Menteith drew it up the last time he was here. How little we thought it would be really the last time! Ah! Helen, if we could only look forward!"

"It is best not," said Helen, earnestly.

"Well, my will is made. And though in it I left nothing to Mr. Menteith himself, seeing that such a return of his kindness would be very unwelcome, I insisted doing what was equivalent—bequeathing a thousand pounds to each of his children. Was I right in that? You do not object"?

"Most assuredly not," answered Helen, though a little surprised at the question. Still, she was so long accustomed to be consulted by the earl, and to give her opinion frankly and freely on all points, that the surprise was only momentary.

"And, by the way, I mean to leave the same sum—one thousand pounds —to my cousin, Captain Bruce. Remember that, Helen; remember it particularly, will you? In case any thing should happen before I have time to add this to my will. But to the Menteiths. Your father thinks, and I agree with him, that the money I design for them will be far better spent now, or some portion of it, in helping these fatherless children on in the world, than in keeping them waiting for my death, which may not happen for years. What do you think?"

Helen agreed heartily. It would cause a certain diminution of yearly income, but then the earl had far more than enough for his own wants, and if not spent thus, the sum would certainly have been expended by him some other form of benevolence. She said as much.

"Possibly it might. What else should I do with it?" was Lord Cairnforth's answer. "But, in order to get at the money, and alter my will, so that in no case should this sum be paid twice over, to the injury of my heir—I must take care of my heir," and he slightly smiled, "I ought to go at once to Edinburg. Shall I?"

Helen hesitated. The earl's last journey had been so unpropitious— he had taken so long a time to recover from it—that she had earnestly hoped he would never attempt another. She expressed this as delicately as she could.

"No, I never would have attempted it for myself. Change is only pain and weariness to me. I have no wish to leave dear, familiar Cairnforth till I leave it for—the place where my good old friend is now. And sometimes, Helen, I fancy the hills of Paradise will not be very unlike the hills about our loch. You would think of me far away, when you were looking at them sometimes?"

Helen fixed her tender eyes upon him—"It is quite as likely that you may have to think of me thus, for I may go first; I am the elder of us two. But all that is in God's hands alone. About Edinburg now. When should you start?"

"At once, I think; though, with my slow traveling, I should not be in time for the funeral; and even if I were, I could not attend it without giving much trouble to other people. But, as your father has shown me, the funeral does not signify. The great matter is to be of use to Mrs. Menteith and the children in the way I explained. Have I your consent, my dear!"

For an answer, Helen pointed to a few lines in a Bible which lay open on the library table: no doubt her father had been reading out of it, for it was open at that portion which seems to have plumbed the depth of all human anguish—the Book of Job. She repeated the verses:

"'When the ear heard me, then it blessed me; and when the eye saw me, it gave witness to me;

"'Because I delivered the poor that cried, and the fatherless, and him that had none to help him:

"'The blessing of him that was ready to perish came upon me, and I caused the widow's heart to sing for joy.'

"That is what will be said of you one day, Lord Cairnforth. Is not this something worth living for?"

"Ay, it is!" replied the earl, deeply moved; and Helen was scarcely less so.

They discussed no more the journey to Edinburg; but Lord Cairnforth, in his decided way, gave orders immediately to prepare for it, taking with him, as usual, Malcolm and Mrs. Campbell. By the time Captain Bruce returned from his ride, the guest was startled by the news that his host meant to quit Cairnforth at daylight the next morning, which appeared to disconcert the captain exceedingly.

"I would volunteer to accompany you, cousin," said he, after expressing his extreme surprise and regret, "but the winds of Edinburg are ruin to my weak lungs, which the air here suits so well. So I must prepare to quit pleasant Cairnforth, where I have received so much kindness, and which I have grown to regard almost like home—the nearest approach to home that in my sad, wandering life I ever knew."

There was an unmistakable regret in the young man's tone which, in spite of his own trouble, went to the earl's good heart.

"Why should you leave at all?" said he. "Why not remain here and await my return, which can not be long delayed—two months at most—even counting my slow traveling? I will give you something to do meanwhile: I will make you viceroy of Cairnforth during my absence—that is, under Miss Cardross, who alone knows all the parish affairs—and mine. Will you accept the office?"

"Under Miss Cardross?" Captain Bruce laughed, but did not seem quite to relish it. However, he expressed much gratitude at having been thought worthy of the earl's confidence.

"Don't be humble, my good cousin and friend. If I did not trust you, and like you, I should never think of asking you to stay. Mr. Cardross —Helen—what do you say to my plan"?

Both gave a cordial assent, as was indeed certain. Nothing ill was known of Captain Bruce, and nothing noticed in him unlikeable, or unworthy of liking. And even as to his family, who wrote to him constantly, and whose letters he often showed, there had appeared sufficient evidence in their favor to counterbalance much of the suspicions against them, so that the earl was glad he had leaned to the charitable side in making his cousin welcome to Cairnforth; glad, too, that he could atone by warm confidence and extra kindness for what now seemed too long a neglect of those who were really his nearest kith and kin.

Mr. Cardross also; any prejudices he had from his knowledge of the late earl's troubles with the Bruces were long ago dispersed. And Helen was too innocent herself ever to have had a prejudice at all. She said, when appealed to pointedly by the earl, as he now often appealed to her in many things, that she thought the scheme both pleasant and advisable.

"And now, papa," added she, for her watchful eye detected Lord Cairnforth's pale face and wearied air, "let us say good-night—and good-by."

Long after, they remembered, all of them, what an exceedingly quiet and ordinary good-by it was, none having the slightest feeling that it was more than a temporary parting. The whole thing had been so sudden, and the day's events appeared quite shadowy, and as if every body would wake up to-morrow morning to find them nothing but a dream.

Besides, there was a little hurrying and confusion consequent on the earl's insisting on sending the Cardrosses home, for the dull, calm day had changed into the wildest of nights—one of those sudden equinoctial storms, that in an hour or two alter the whole aspect of things this region.

"You must take the carriage, Helen—you and your father; it is the last thing I can do for you—and I would do every thing in the world for you if I could; but I shall, one day. Good-by. Take care of yourself, my dear."

These were the earl's farewell words to her. She was so accustomed to his goodness and kindness that she never thought much about them till long afterward, when kindness was gone, and goodness seemed the merest delusion and dream.

When his friends had departed, Lord Cairnforth sat silent and melancholy. His cousin good-naturedly tried to rouse him into the usual contest at chess with which they had begun to while away the long winter evenings, and which just suited Lord Cairnforth's acute, accurate, and introspective brain, accustomed to plan and to order, so that he delighted in the game, and was soon as good a player as his teacher. But now his mind was disturbed and restless; he sat by the fireside, listening to the fierce wind that went howling round and round the Castle, as the wind can howl along the sometimes placid shores of Loch Beg.

"I hope they have reached the Manse in safety. Let me know, Malcolm, when the carriage returns. I will go to bed then. I wish they would have remained here; but the minister never will stay; he dislikes sleeping a single night from under his own roof. Is he not a good man, cousin—one of a thousand?"

"I have not the slightest doubt of it."

"And his daughter—have you in any way modified your opinion of her, which at first was not very favorable?"

"Not as to her beauty, certainly," was the careless reply. "She's 'no bonnie,' as you say in these parts—terribly Scotch; but she is very good. Only don't you think good people are just a little wearisome sometimes?"

The earl smiled. He was accustomed to, and often rather amused by his cousin's honest worldliness and outspoken skepticisms—that candid confession of badness which always inclines a kindly heart to believe the very best of the penitent.

"Nevertheless, though Miss Cardross may be 'no bonnie,' and too good to please your taste, I hope you will go often to the Manse in my absence, and write me word how they are, otherwise I shall hear little—the minister's letters are too voluminous to be frequent—and Miss Cardross is not given to much correspondence."

Captain Bruce promised, and again the two young men sat silent, listening to the eerie howling of the wind. It inclined both of them to graver talk than was their habit when together.

"I wonder," said the earl, "whether this blast, according to popular superstition, is come to carry many souls away with it 'on the wings of the wind!' Where will they fly to the instant they leave the body? How free and happy they must feel!"

"What an odd fancy! And not a particularly pleasant one," replied the captain, with a shiver.

"Not unpleasant, to my mind. I like to think of these things. If I were out of the body, I should, if I could fly back to Cairnforth."

"Pray don't imagine such dreadful things. May you live a hundred years!"

"Not quite, I hope. A hundred years—of my life! No. the most loving friend I have would not wish it for me." Then, suddenly, as with an impulse created by the sad events of the day—the stormy night— and the disturbed state of his own mental condition, inclining him to any sort of companionship, "Cousin, I am going to trust you, specially, in a matter of business which I wish named to the Cardrosses. I should have done so before they left to-night. May I confide to you the message?"

"Willingly. What is it about?" and the captain's keen black eyes assumed an expression which, if the earl had noticed, he might have repented of his trust. But no, he never would have noticed it. His upright, honest nature, though capable of great reserve, was utterly incapable of false pretense, deceit, or self-interested diplomacy. And what was impossible in himself he never suspected in other people. He thought his cousin shallow sometimes, but good-natured; a little worldly, perhaps, but always well-meaning. That Captain Bruce could have come to Cairnforth for any other purpose than mere curiosity, and remained there for any motive except idleness and the pursuit of health, did not occur to Lord Cairnforth.

"It is on the subject that you so much dislike my talking about—my own death; a probability which I have to consider, as being rather nearer to me than it is to most people. Should I die, will you remember that my will lies at the office of Menteith and Ross, Edinburg?"

"So you have made your will?" said the captain, rather eagerly; then added, "What a courageous man you are! I never durst make mine. But then, to be sure, I have nothing to leave—except my sword, which I hereby make over to you, well-beloved cousin."

"Thank you, though I should have very little use it. And that reminds me to explain something. The day I made my will was, by an odd chance, the day you arrived here. Had I know you then, I should have named you in it, leaving you—I may as well tell you the sum—a thousand pounds, in token of cousinly regard."

"You are exceedingly kind, but I am no fortune-hunter."

"I know that. Still, the legacy may not be useless. I shall make it legally secure as soon as I get to Edinburg. In any case you are quite safe, for I have mentioned you to my heir."

"Your heir! Who do you mean?" interrupted Captain Bruce, thrown off his guard by excessive surprise.

The earl said, with a little dignity of manner, "It is scarcely needful to answer your question. The title, you are aware, will be extinct; I meant the successor to my landed property."

"Do I know the gentleman?"

"I named no gentleman."

"Not surely a lady? Not—" a light suddenly breaking in upon him, so startling that it overthrew all his self-control, and even his good breeding. "It can not possibly be Miss Helen Cardross?"

"Captain Bruce," said the earl, the angry color flashing all over his pale face, "I was simply communicating a message to you; there was no need for any farther questioning."

"I beg your pardon, Lord Cairnforth," returned the other, perceiving how great a mistake he had made. "I have no right whatever to question, or even to speculate concerning your heir, who is doubtless the fittest person you could have selected."

"Most certainly," replied the earl, in a manner which put a final stop to the conversation.

It was not resumed on any other topics; and shortly afterward, Malcolm having come in with the announcement that the carriage had returned from the Manse (at which Captain Bruce's sharp eyes were bent scrutinizing on the earl's face, but learned nothing thence), the cousins separated.

The captain had faithfully promised to be up at dawn to see the travelers off, but an apology came from him to the effect that the morning air was too damp for his lungs, and that he had spent a sleepless night owning to his cough.

"An' nae wonder," remarked Malcolm, cynically, as he delivered the message, "for I heard him a' through the wee hours walkin' and walkin' up and doun, for a' the world like a wolf in a cage. And eh, but he's dour the day!"

"A sickly man finds it difficult not to be dour at times," said the Earl of Cairnforth.