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diff --git a/43811-8.txt b/43811-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index b8c4322..0000000 --- a/43811-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,18640 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Merkland, by Mrs. Oliphant - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Merkland - or, Self Sacrifice - -Author: Mrs. Oliphant - -Release Date: September 25, 2013 [EBook #43811] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MERKLAND *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - Every attempt has been made to replicate the original as printed. Some - typographical errors have been corrected; a list follows the text. - Archaic spellings (i.e. rebelious, rebelion, contemn, gallopping, - tryste, knawing, bideing...) have been preserved. (etext transcriber's - note) - - -[Illustration: The Prodigal's Solemn Pledge in Mrs. Catherine's little -room. - -See page 92] - - - - - MERKLAND, - - OR, - - SELF-SACRIFICE. - - BY THE AUTHOR OF - - "MARGARET MAITLAND." - - [Illustration] - - "Lord, look upon mine offering--I bring thee back seven-fold. Lord - of Mercy! cast me not away for evermore!--See page 292. - - [Illustration: decoration] - - STRINGER & TOWNSEND, NEW YORK. - - - - - MERKLAND, - - OR, - - SELF SACRIFICE. - - BY - - THE AUTHOR OF - - "PASSAGES IN THE LIFE OF MRS. MARGARET MAITLAND," &C. - - NEW YORK: - STRINGER & TOWNSEND. - 1854. - - - - - MERKLAND; - - OR, - - SELF-SACRIFICE. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - - -"But may not Mrs. Catherine's visitor belong to another family? The name -is not uncommon." - -"You will permit me to correct you, Miss Ross. The name is by no means a -common one; and there was some very distant connexion, I remember, -between the Aytouns and Mrs. Catherine. I have little doubt that this -girl is his daughter." - -"Mother! mother!" exclaimed the first speaker, a young lady, whose face, -naturally grave and composed, bore tokens of unusual agitation. "It is -impossible; Mrs. Catherine, considerate and kind as she always is, could -never be so cruel." - -"I am quite at a loss for your meaning, Anne." - -"To bring her _here_--to our neighborhood," said Anne Ross, averting her -eyes, and disregarding her step-mother's interruption, "where we must -meet her continually, where our name, which must be odious to her, will -be ringing in her ears every day. I cannot believe it. Mrs. Catherine -could not do anything so barbarous." - -Mrs. Ross, of Merkland, threw down her work, and pushed back her chair -from the table: - -"Upon my word, Anne Ross, you turn more absurd every day. What is the -meaning of this?--_our_ name odious! I should not like Lewis to hear you -say so." - -"But Lewis does not know this terrible story," said Anne. - -"And never shall," replied Mrs. Ross. "Neither can your brother's crime -make my son's name odious to any one. I fancied you knew that Norman was -called by your mother's name; and this Aytoun girl, if she knows -anything of it at all, will have heard of him as Rutherford, and not as -Ross." - -"But Mrs. Catherine--she at least cannot be ignorant, cannot have -forgotten: who could forget this? and my mother was her friend!" - -"The friendship has descended, I think," said Mrs. Ross, with a sneer, -"as you seem to imagine feuds should. I suppose you think this girl's -brother, if she has one, would be quite doing his duty if he demanded -satisfaction from Lewis, for a thing which happened when the poor boy -was a mere infant? But be not afraid, most tender and scrupulous sister. -People have better sense in _these_ days." - -Anne Ross turned away, grieved and silenced; her conversations with her -step-mother too often terminated so: and there was a long pause. At last -she said, timidly, as if desirous, and yet afraid of asking further: -"And my father never knew how he died?" - -Mrs. Ross glanced hurriedly at the door: "He did not die." - -Anne started violently. "Norman, my brother? I beseech you to tell me, -mother, is he not dead?" - -"Ah, there is Duncan back, from Portoran," said Mrs. Ross, rising. -"Letters from Lewis, no doubt. How slow they are!" And she rang the bell -vehemently. - -The summons brought in a maid, struggling with the buckle of Duncan's -letter-bag, which was opened at length, and gave to Mrs. Ross's -delighted eyes the expected letters from her only son: but Anne sat -apart, shivering and trembling with a great dread--a secret, most sad -and terrible; a tale of dishonor, and crime, and misery, such as might -chill the very heart to hear. - -"And there's a letter from the Tower, Miss Anne," said the maid, giving -her a note. "Duncan got it at the Brig, from Johnnie Halflin, and -Johnnie was to wait, till Duncan got back with the answer, if there was -to be any." - -"There is no answer, May," said Anne, glancing over the brief epistle; -and May withdrew reluctantly, having obtained no news of Maister Lewis, -or his wanderings, wherewith to satisfy her expectant audience in the -kitchen. - -The letter of Lewis was a long one, and Anne had time to travel -listlessly again and again over the angular and decided characters of -her ancient friend. - - "My friend," said the singularly-folded black letter-looking note, - "you will come to the Tower to-morrow. I am expecting Alison Aytoun - at night; and seeing the world has gotten two new generations (to - keep within the truth) since I myself was done with the company of - children, I am in need of your counsel how we are to brighten the - bed-chamber and other apartments, so as will become the presence of - youth. For undoubtedly in this matter, if I am like any mortal - person, it is like Issachar in the prophecy (not to be profane,) - for there is Elspat Henderson, my own woman, that would have out - the old red satin curtains (that are liker black than red now, as - you will mind,) to put upon the bed, and Euphan Morison, her - daughter, is for no curtains at all, for the sake of health, (pity - me, Anne, that have doctors among my serving-women!) and Jacky, - Euphan's daughter (bethanked that she has but one!) has been - gathering dahlias and sunflowers, and such other unwholesome and - unyouthful things, to put in the poor bairn Alison's room, - wherewith I have near brought a fever upon myself, first with the - evil odor of them, and then with flying upon the elf Jacky. So mind - you come to the Tower, like a good bairn, as you are, and have - always been, as early in the day as you can; and before twelve of - the clock, if possible, seeing that I have many things to say to - you. - -"CATHERINE DOUGLAS." - - - -For the third or fourth time, Anne's eyes had travelled down to that -firm and clear signature, when an exclamation from her step-mother -roused her. "Lewis will be home before his birthday! Lewis will be here -on Friday! I believe you are more concerned about that girl coming to -the Tower. Do you hear me, Anne? On Friday your brother will be home." - -There were only two days to prepare for his coming; and before Anne had -finished her hasty perusal of the letter which Mrs. Ross permitted her -to see, the house was full of joyful bustle and unwonted glee--for the -frigid soul of its mistress melted under the influence of her son, as if -his words had been very sunbeams. By nature she was neither amiable nor -generous; but the mother's love, in its first out-gushing, almost made -her both. - -And she had known the details of that dark mystery too long, and had too -little liking for her husband's unhappy son, to sympathize at all with -Anne's horror and agony. And so Mrs. Ross, of Merkland, bustled and -rejoiced in her selfish gladness, while Anne, longing to ask, and yet -afraid of rude repulse or angry reprimand, sat silently, with a heavy -heart, beside her. At length, when they were about to separate for the -night, Anne took courage. - -"Mother," she said, "I do not wish to disturb you, in so happy an -occupation as this, but only one word--Norman, poor Norman, you said he -did not die." - -"Upon my word, Anne, I think you might choose a better time for those -disagreeable inquiries," said Mrs. Ross, impatiently. - -"He is my brother," said Anne, "and with such a dreadful history. -Mother, is Norman alive?" - -"How can I tell?" cried Mrs. Ross. "You ought to desire most earnestly, -Anne, both for his sake and your own, that he may be peacefully dead. -Your father, I know, received a letter from him, secretly, after the -ship was lost. He had escaped the wreck; but that is seventeen years -ago." - -"And did he confess?" said Anne, eagerly. - -"Confess! Criminals do not generally do that. No, no, he professed his -innocence. I may find you the letter sometime. There, will not that do? -Go to your room now." - -"And will you not tell Lewis?" said Anne. - -"Tell Lewis!" exclaimed Mrs. Ross, "why should I grieve my boy? He is -but his half-brother." - -Anne turned away without another word and went quietly up stairs--not to -her own apartment first, but to a dusty attic lumber-room, seldom -entered, except by herself. In one dark corner stood a picture, its face -to the wall. Anne placed her candle on the floor, and kneeling down -turned the portrait--a frank, bold, generous face, half boy, half man, -with its unshadowed brow and clear eyes, that feared no evil. - -"Lewis is but my half-brother also," said Anne Ross, replacing the -picture with a sigh; "but Norman was my mother's son." - -The house and small estate of Merkland were situated in one of the -northern counties of Scotland, within some three or four miles of a -little post-town which bore the dignified name of Portoran. The Oran -water swept by the side of its small port, just before it joined its -jocund dark-brown waters to the sea, and various coasting vessels -carried its name and its traffic out (a little way) into the world. The -parish in which Merkland stood, boasted at least its three Lairds' -houses--there was Strathoran, the lordliest of all, with its wide acres -extending over three or four adjacent parishes. There was the Tower, -with its compact and richly-cultivated lands, the well-ordered property -of Mrs. Catherine Douglas; and, lastly, there was Merkland--the home of -a race of vigorous Rosses, renowned in former generations for its hosts -of sons and daughters, and connected by the spreading of those strong -and healthful off-shoots, with half of the families of like degree in -Scotland. The children of the last Ross of Merkland had not been -vigorous--one by one, in childhood, and in youth, they had dropped into -the family grave, and when the infant Anne was born, her worn-out mother -died, leaving besides the newborn child, only one son. His mother's -brother long before had made this Norman, his heir. At the same time, in -consideration of his independent inheritance, and his changed name, he -had been excluded from the succession to his father's lands. So Mr. Ross -of Merkland, in terror lest his estate should have no worthier -proprietor than the sickly little girl whose birth had cost her mother's -life, married hastily again. When Lewis and Anne were still only -infants, Norman Rutherford left his father's house to take possession of -his own--and then some terrible blight had fallen upon him, spoken of in -fearful whispers at the time, but almost wholly forgotten now. A -stranger in the district at the time our history begins would only have -learned, after much inquiry, that Norman, escaping from his native -country with the stain of blood upon his hands, proved a second Jonah to -the ship in which he had embarked, and so was lost, and that grief for -his crime had brought his father's grey hairs in sorrow to the grave. -But the difference of name, and the entire silence maintained by his -family concerning him, had puzzled country gossips, and restrained the -voice of rumor, even at the time. Now his remembrance had almost -entirely passed away, and in another week Lewis Ross, Esq., of Merkland, -would be of age. - -But the whole dreadful tale in all the darkness of its misery had been -poured into Anne's ears that day. She had known nothing of it before. -Now, her stepmother thought, it was full time she should know, -because--a reason that made Anne shrink and tremble--Mrs. Ross felt -convinced that the girl who was so soon to be a visitor at the Tower, -could be no other than the daughter of the murdered man. - -"The south room, May--he had it when he was a boy," said Mrs. Ross, as -Anne entered their breakfast-room the next morning. "I wish there had -been time to get some of the furniture renewed; but I dare say Lewis -will like to see it as he left it. Do you not think so, Anne?" - -"He was always such a kindly heart," interposed May. - -Mrs. Ross looked dubious. - -"You must remember, May, that my son is no longer a boy. This day week -he will take the management of his affairs into his own hands. He left -us a youth, but he returns a man." - -"And I was just thinking that myself, ma'am," said May; "and Duncan says -it behoves us to call the young Lord by his own name, Merkland,--and not -Mr. Lewis; but I always think the old way's the kindliest." - -"Lewis will be changed, if he does not like the kindliest best," said -Anne. - -"Ah, that may be," said Mrs. Ross; "but there is something due to--Well, -where were we. Ay, the south room. I know you keep it in good order, -May, but we must have it on Friday shining like--" - -"Like a new pin, ma'am," said May, as Mrs. Ross paused for a simile; -"and so it shall, and you may trust that to me." - -"Yes, Lewis will be quite a man," said Mrs. Ross, leaning back in her -chair with a smile. "I should think he would be a good deal browned, -Anne--I have been thinking so all the morning." - -"Oh! and he'll have a lordly presence," said May, "like his father -before him. The Rosses have always been grand men to look upon. They say -the young Laird--" - -"Was not in the least degree like what my son will be," said Mrs. Ross, -stiffly, while Anne grew pale. "You will see that my orders are strictly -attended to, May, and let Duncan come to me whenever we have had -breakfast. Take your place, Anne." - -Discomfited by her abrupt dismissal, May took her departure, muttering -between her teeth: - -"One would think it was a crime to speak a good word of the old lady's -bairns! Well, if one but knew what became of him at last, I would like -to see the man in all Strathoran like the young Lord." - -"Anne," said Mrs. Ross, somewhat sternly, as May withdrew, leaving -Anne's heart vibrating painfully with her indiscreet reference; "was it -to-day that Mrs. Catherine expected her visitor?" - -"Yes, mother." - -"And to-day you are engaged to go to the Tower?" - -"Yes," said Anne. "But I can send Duncan with an apology, if you wish -it. I did not know that Lewis was likely to arrive so soon when I -received Mrs. Catherine's note." - -"Send Duncan! no, indeed!" said Mrs. Ross. "There would be little profit -in wasting _his_ time to save yours. Duncan is the most useful person -about Merkland." - -"And I the most useless," said Anne, sighing. "It grieves me deeply, -mother, that it should be so." - -Mrs. Ross threw back her head slightly, expressing the peevish scorn -which she did not speak, and Anne returned to her tea-making; and so -they sat till their joyless meal was ended: each the sole companion and -nearest connexion of the other, and yet so utterly separated in all that -constitutes true fellowship. - -The clear light of the October sun was shining on the waters of Oran, -and its tinted, overshadowing leaves, when Anne emerged from among the -trees that surrounded Merkland, and took her solitary way to the Tower. -Her heart was heavy within her, her step irregular, her brow clouded. -The great secret of the family had fallen upon her spirit with all the -stunning force of a first grief, and vainly she looked about her for -comfort, finding none. - -How many times had May's admiring mention of the "young Laird" called -forth upon her lips a sad smile of affectionate sorrow for the dead -brother whom she never saw. How often had she marvelled at the old -nurse's stern summary of his end: "He died a violent death!" How often -lingered with sorrowful admiration over his picture in the attic -lumber-room! And now his name had become a name of fear! The stain of -blood was upon him! A Cain! a murderer! - -Not dead! Anne's hasty steps passed quick over the narrow pathway, with -its carpeting of fallen leaves. In what pain--what misery, must that -blighted life have passed! Whither might that guilty soul have -wandered, seeking, in crowd or in solitude, to hide itself from its own -fearful consciousness, and from its angry God! In privation, in danger, -in want in sin, unfriended and accursed, and alone, with none to speak -to him of mercy, of hope, of Divine forgiveness! And this was her -brother! her mother's son! - -It was like some dreadful dream--but not like a dream could it be shaken -off. How often in her childish imaginings, long ago, had she dreamed of -the dead Norman living again, her friend and protector! Now how bitter -and strong that unavailing wish, that God had indeed stricken him in his -early youth, and laid him in the peaceful family grave unstained. Again -and again those dark particulars rolled back upon her in bitter waves, -swelling her grief and horror up to agony. And that the daughter of the -slain man should come here--here, to have daily intercourse with the -nearest kindred of her father's murderer! The idea was so terrible, that -it produced a revulsion. She tried to believe that it was not so--that -it could not be possible. - -Again and again she stopped, and would have turned back, and yet a -strange fascination drew her on. There was a link of terrible connexion -between herself and this girl, and Anne's spirit throbbed to bursting -with undefined and confused purposes. She could not trust herself alone, -therefore she put force upon her struggling heart, as she had learned to -do long years ago, and passed on to the Tower. - -For the step-daughter of Mrs. Ross, of Merkland, had small reason to -think of this many-sided world as a place of happiness. In a household -which had barely means enough to support its station, and provide for -the somewhat expensive wanderings of its heir, she was the one -dependent, and Anne had ripened into some three-and-twenty years, and -was no longer a girl. She felt how useless she was in the eyes of her -clever step-mother; she felt the lethargic influence of having no aim, -and deep down in that hidden heart of hers, which few others knew, or -cared to know, sorrow and pain had been dwelling long, like Truth, in -the well of their own solitary tears. - -She was now proceeding to the house of her most dear and especial -friend: an ancient lady, whose strong will swayed, and whose warm heart -embraced all who came within their influence, and whose healthful and -vigorous spirit was softened in a manner most rare and beautiful by -those delicate perceptions and sympathies which form so important an -element in the constitution of genius. Mrs. Catherine Douglas had seen -the snows of sixty winters. For more than thirty of these, her strong -and kindly hand had held absolute dominion at the Tower, yet of the few -admitted to her friendship and confidence, Anne Ross, the neglected -step-daughter of Mrs. Ross, of Merkland, an ill-used child, a slighted -woman, held the highest place. - -The Tower was a gray, old, stately place, defiant alike of storm and -siege, with deep embrasures on its walls meant for no child's play, and -a court-yard that had rung to martial music centuries ago, in the days -of the unhappy Stuarts. Deep woods stretched round it, tinted with -autumn's fantastic wealth of coloring. The Oran ran so close to the -strong, heavy, battlemented wall, that in the old warlike days, it had -been the castle-moat, but the drawbridge was gone, and there was -peaceful access now, by a light bridge of oak. A boat lay on the stream, -moored to an over-hanging rock, by which Mrs. Catherine herself was wont -to make the brief passage of the Oran. It was a favorite toy of Anne's -also, in her happier moods, but she was too heavy of heart to heed it -now. - -"Mrs. Catherine is in the library, Miss Anne," said Mrs. Euphan Morison, -the portly, active housekeeper, whose medical propensities so frequently -annoyed her mistress; and threading the dark passages familiarly, Anne -passed on alone. - -"Mrs. Catherine is in the library, Miss Anne," repeated a dark, thin, -elfin-like girl, who sat on the sill of a deep window, reading, and -hiding her book beneath the stocking which she ought to have been -knitting, as she threw furtive glances to the door of the housekeeper's -especial sanctum: "but there's gentlemen with her. It's a business day." - -"I suppose you may admit me, Jacky," said Anne. "Mrs. Catherine expects -me." - -"Mr. Walter Foreman's in, Miss Anne," said Jacky. - -"And what then?" said Anne, smiling. - -"And Mr. Ferguson, the factor from Strathoran," said the girl, gravely, -taking up, with a look of abstraction, some dropt loops in her neglected -stocking. - -"Then I will go to the drawing-room," said Anne. "Tell me, Jacky, when -Mrs. Catherine is disengaged." - -"And Miss Anne," said Jacky, starting, as Anne was about to pass on, -"the young lady's coming." - -"So I have heard," said Anne. - -"And she's to get the mid-chamber," said Jacky, "and the chairs have -come out of the big room in the west tower. You never saw them, Miss -Anne. Will you come?" And Jacky jerked her thin, angular frame off her -seat, and threw down book and stocking. - -"What have you been reading, Jacky?" said Anne. - -The sharp, dark face owned an involuntary flush, and the furtive eyes -glanced back to the housekeeper's closed door. "It was only the Faery -Queen." - -"The Faery Queen! Jacky, these are strange studies for you." - -"There's no harm in it," muttered the girl, angrily. - -"I did not say there was," said Anne; "and you need not transfix me with -those sharp eyes of yours, because I wondered. But, Jacky, your mother -would not be pleased with this." - -"It's not the chief end of woman to work stockings," murmured the girl. - -"No, surely," said Anne; "nor yet to read poems. Come, Jacky, let me see -the mid-chamber." - -Jacky seized the book, deposited it in a dark niche below the window, -and glided away before Anne up the broad stone stairs, to the room which -the united skill of the household had been decking for a bower to little -Alice Aytoun. The mid-chamber, as its name imports, occupied the front -of the building, between the two round towers, that rose grimly with -their dark turrets on either side. It was a room of good proportions, -with two deep windows, looking out on the windings of the Oran, and -commanding a view of the little town, seated on the point where the -river poured itself into the sea. The country looked rich and gay in its -russet coloring, and here and there you could see the harvest labourers -in a half-reaped field--for the harvests were late beneath the northern -sky of Strathoran. A little way below, the unpretending house of -Merkland stood, peacefully among its trees; on the left hand, the plain -church and substantial Manse basked in the sunbeams; and the broad sea, -flashing beneath the light, belted its blue breadths around the -landscape. Anne stood at the window, and looked out, as in a dream; dim, -misty, spectral visions floating before her, in which were ever mingling -her unhappy wandering brother, and the unconscious girl who should look -forth on that same scene to-night. - -"It's not so much here," said Jacky, glancing round, and looking -complacently on a great bunch of dahlias and hollyhocks, rudely inserted -in an uncouth china vase. "The room's just as it always is, except the -flowers--will you come in here, Miss Anne?" - -Anne followed, thinking little of the arrangements which she came to -superintend. The room they entered was small and rounded, occupying as -it did, a corner of the eastern tower. Its deep-set window was toward -the sunrising--towards the hills, too, and the sea--and Anne paused upon -the threshold, in wonder at the unwonted preparations made for this -youthful visitor. In one end of the room stood a great wardrobe of -richly-carved oak. There was an ancient piano, also, and little tables -laden with well-chosen books, and the antique chairs looked richly sober -in their renovation, heightening the air of olden romance which hung -about this lady's bower. The blooming plants in the window were the only -things new, and pertaining to the immediate present. Graceful and pure -in its antique delicacy, the small apartment was a bower indeed. - -"But Mrs. Catherine," said Jacky, "would let me put no flowers -here--only a big branch of barberries that I slipped in myself." - -The branch of barberries was, indeed, projecting fantastically from the -rich frame of the mirror on the wall. - -"I think you may let Mrs. Catherine have the whole merit of this, -Jacky," said Anne, taking it down; "and do you have a ramble through the -garden, and find something more fragrant than those sunflowers. You will -get some roses yet--run, Jacky. Mrs. Catherine--" - -"Is troubled with undutiful bairns," said the lady herself entering the -room. "Wherefore did you not come to me, Anne, and me in urgent need of -counsel? And wherefore did you not open the door, you elf, Jacky, unless -you be indeed a changeling, as I have always thought you, and were -feared for learned words? Come down with me this moment, Anne! You can -fiddle about these trifling things when there is no serious matters in -hand. I am saying, Come with me!" - -Mrs. Catherine Douglas was tall and stately, with a firm step, and a -clear voice, strong constitutioned, and strong spirited. In appearance -she embodied those complexional peculiarities which gave to the fabled -founder of her house his far-famed name--black hair, streaked with -silver, the characteristic pale complexion, and strongly-marked -features, harmonising perfectly in the hue--she was dark-grey. It seemed -her purpose, too, to increase the effect by her dress. At all times and -seasons, Mrs. Catherine's rich, rustling, silken garments were grey, of -that peculiar dark-grey which is formed by throwing across the sable -warp a slender waft of white. In winter, a shawl of the finest texture, -but of the simple black and white shepherd's check, completed her -costume. In summer, its soft, fine folds hung over her chair. No -rejoicing, and no sorrow, changed Mrs. Catherine's characteristic dress. -The lustrous silken garment, the fine woollen shawl, the cap of old and -costly lace remained unchanged for years. - -"It is a new vocation for me, child," said Mrs. Catherine, as Anne -followed her down stairs, "to set myself to the adorning of rooms; but -when my serving-women must have their divers notions concerning them, I -should put to my own hand, unless I had wanted the stranger to be -terrified with the aspect of my house--which I do not, for--Look back, -child, is that elf Jacky behind you with her sharp eyes. But I have -matters more important on my hand to-day." - -They reached the library door as Mrs. Catherine spoke, and she entered, -while Anne lingered behind. Another voice, the brisk one of Walter -Foreman, the young Portoran writer, began to speak immediately, but was -summarily interrupted by Mrs. Catherine's clear tones: - -"I tell you you're a fool, Walter Foreman, as was your father before -you--it's in the blood. You say he was a kinsman. Ay, doubtless, as if I -did not known that. And was not James Aytoun as near of kin to him as -me, and Ralph Falconer nearer. To think of any mortal, in his senses, -passing over the promising lads, to leave siller to me! Me, that have an -abundance for my own turns, and none to be heir to either my land or my -name. Speak not to me. Walter Foreman, I say the man was crazy!" - -"But even if he were," said Mr. Walter Foreman, as Anne entered the -library, "you would surely never think, Mrs. Catherine, of contesting -the validity of a will made in your own favor." - -"And who said I would not, if it seemed right in my own eyes?" said Mrs. -Catherine, indignantly. "Come here, Anne; you are not blinded with the -sight of siller, as this youth is. Robert Falconer, the merchant (the -third son of old Falcon's Craig,) is dead, and passing over his own near -kin, that needed it (besides leaving the most part of his siller to -hospitals, which may be was right, and may be not, I have not time to -enter upon it,) the auld fool--that I should speak so of a man that is -gone to his account--has left by his will a portion of siller, ten -thousand pounds, no less, to me: me, that have no manner of use for it; -that know not even what to do with it. I am thankful to you, Mr. -Ferguson, you would learn me an easy way of putting it out of my hand; -but I must consider, first, with your permission, whether I have any -right to take it in." - -Mr. Ferguson, the Strathoran factor, smiled. "It is not often, Mrs. -Catherine, that people receive legacies as you do." - -"No--neither, I am hoping, are there many left like this," said Mrs. -Catherine; "but truly, gentlemen, that is no fault of yours, that I -should fall upon you for it. Come back to me this day week, Mr. -Ferguson; and you can come also, Walter Foreman, unless your father, who -has more discretion, has the time to spare; and in that space, I will -have taken counsel what I should do." - -Mr. Ferguson and the young lawyer took their leave; and Mrs. Catherine -turned to Anne: "Heard you ever the like of it, child? To leave siller -to me! You did not know the man; but Ralph Falconer, of Falcon's Craig, -is his grand-nephew, and James Aytoun is also allied to him by the -mother's side: and I, that am but his cousin, three times removed, and -having my own share of this world's goods, and none to come after -me--undoubtedly the man was crazy!" - - - - -CHAPTER II. - - -The October sun rose brilliantly upon ancient Edinburgh, throwing the -strong radiance of its russet gold upon the noble outline and antique -grandeur of the historic city, and shone joyously into a family room, -where a small household round their breakfast table were discussing the -journey which that fair-haired, smiling girl, half-timorous, -half-exultant, was to undertake that day. The white hair upon the -mother's placid forehead was belied by the fresh cheek and dewy liquid -eye, from which time had not taken the brightness. Her son was entering -upon the strongest years of manhood, with sense and intelligence shining -in his face. Her daughter was a girl, just emerging from the child's -mirth and unrestrained gaiety, into those sensitive, imaginative years, -which form the threshold of graver life-- - - "Standing with reluctant feet, - Where the brook and river meet, - Womanhood and childhood sweet." - -"But, mother," exclaimed Alice Aytoun, suddenly, "Miss Douglas will see -at once that Bessie has not been my maid at home." - -"_Miss_ Douglas!" cried her mother. "Alice, did I not tell you that you -were on no account to call her _Miss_. Remember always, Mrs. Catherine. -And she knows very well that we are not able to keep a maid for you, and -will understand that Bessie is for a companion on the way, and in some -sense a protector. If you stay long, you can send her home." - -"And be alone in the strange place, mother," said Alice, the sunshine -fading, for a moment, from her face. - -"How long will it be strange, Alice?" said her brother. "How many -acquaintances will you make in a week?" - -The sunshine flushed back again. - -"And Mrs. Catherine--is she very eccentric, mother? I hope I shall like -her." - -"I hope still more, Alice," said Mrs. Aytoun, smiling, "that she may -like you. Mrs. Catherine has many friends who could serve James; and -then, you know, she has no heir. So be as fascinating as possible." - -"Mother!" exclaimed James, "this worldly wisdom sounds strangely from -your lips. We do not send Alice away to pay court to Mrs. Catherine -Douglas for her estate's sake." - -"By no means," said Mrs. Aytoun. "I have heard Mrs. Catherine spoken of -often as a most kind, loveable person, in her own peculiar way; and I -accepted her invitation to Alice gladly, not because she has an estate -unheired, but because--for various reasons, indeed--but the other, by -the way. You are a landless laird yourself, James, and I am not quite so -stoical as to despise a good inheritance." - -"Do you know any of Mrs. Catherine's neighbors, mother?" said Alice, -whose attention, sadly distracted by anticipation, had altogether -wandered during this discussion of motives. "The people I am likely to -meet, do you know any of them?" - -"No," said Mrs. Aytoun, "I never was at the Tower; and my mother left -the neighborhood young, and died so soon, too, that I have had very -little connexion with her friends or native place. Indeed, it surprised -me, that Mrs. Catherine should remember our relationship at all: but she -is one of the most generous persons possible, I have heard often; and no -doubt wishes to give you a glimpse, Alice, of the world you should enter -on now." And Mrs. Aytoun gave a very quiet sigh. - -"Nonsense, mother!" said her son, energetically. "Alice stands in no -need of generosity: and I should fancy a set of North Country lairds -could be very little superior to the society we have here, landless -though we be." - -"There are most gentlemanly and intellectual men in the North Country, -James," said Mrs. Aytoun, quietly shifting her premises. - -"No doubt of it, mother; but not better than we have in Edinburgh." - -Mrs. Aytoun drew her hand over her daughter's fair curls, and made no -answer; confessing to herself, that a North Country laird would be, in -her eyes, a more suitable partner for her Alice, than any rising W.S., -or poor advocate of all James Aytoun's friends. - -Alice's trunks were standing, corded and ready. Little Bessie, the -daughter of a woman who had been Mrs. Aytoun's nurse in better times, -and who was her humble agent and assistant in all emergencies now, sat -in the kitchen in all the glory of a new shawl and bonnet, a brevet -ladies-maid; and it was nearly time to start. Mrs. Aytoun had yet to -pack some small, forgotten tendernesses in a basket, with tremulous -mother-anxiety, half-pleased, half-sorrowful, while James stood, watch -in hand, warning her of the flight of those quick moments and of the -possible starting of the coach before her cares were at an end. - -At last, they left the house, established Alice in the cosiest corner, -set little Bessie by her side, gave the guard all manner of instructions -to attend to their comfort, and waited till the vehicle should start. - -"Mind, Alice," whispered Mrs. Aytoun, anxiously; "always to call her -Mrs. Catherine," and, in a moment more, Alice had lost sight of the -compelled smile on her mother's pale face, and had started on her first -journey from home. - -She was seventeen only, and her heart was bounding high within her. The -October morning was so bright and invigorating, the beautiful world so -new and so unknown. A transitory qualm passed over the unclouded, -youthful spirit, as she thought it not right, perhaps, to rejoice at -leaving home, but that passed speedily. A temporary anxiety as to the -unknown Mrs. Catherine, whom she was hastening to see: but that -disappeared also. The brilliant dreams that had been rising by day and -night, since that momentous invitation came, floated together in -indistinct brightness before her. The red October sunbeams, the bracing -October breeze, the beautiful landscapes on that northern road--though -these danced but indistinctly in her eyes, a part of the exhilaration of -spirit, yet scarcely things rejoiced in for their own beauty--filled up -her gladness to overflowing. The little heart at her side danced too, in -its degree, as blithely, for after the young lady herself, in the great -house to which they journeyed, was not the young lady's maid next in -dignity. - -At one of the stages of the journey, a hypochondriac old gentleman, who -had been the only other tenant of the coach, became faint, and declared -himself unable to remain in the inside; whereupon, after some delay, an -outside passenger was prevailed upon to exchange. A by no means -unpleasant exchange, for the new comer was a young man of good looks, -and frank, prepossessing manners, to whom the innocent, youthful face, -with its blue eyes and fair curls might, or might not, have been an -inducement to descend. - -The beauty of the road became more articulate after that, as the polite -stranger, apparently well-acquainted with the way, took care to point -out to his young fellow-traveller its various points of interest, and -imperceptibly, Alice scarce knew how, they glided into confidential -conversation. For Strathoran, the stranger said, was his home and -birth-place, whither he was returning after a long absence, and Mrs. -Catherine Douglas was one of his oldest friends--he had known her all -his life. So the hours went on, quick and pleasantly, and the long miles -gradually dwindled down. Her new friend talked, Alice thought, as few -could talk, and interspersed his comments on their present road so -gracefully, with anecdotes of other roads, world-famed and wonderful, -which she had read of often, but which he had seen. - -He told her of her kinswoman, too, and of the Tower, and hinted how her -own gentle presence would brighten the old walls and recall its youth -again, till Alice, with all these magic influences about her, began to -discover that this journey, instead of the weary means of reaching a -wished-for destination, was in itself a young Elysium, unthought of, -and delightful--the first homage rendered to the youthful woman, no -longer a child: the first sign of her entrance into that fair world of -more eventful life, whose air seemed now so golden with smiles and -sunshine. - -The dim lights of Portoran began to blink at last through the mists of -the October night, and by and bye, the coach stopped at the door of the -principal inn, in the main street. Already Alice could perceive various -individual loungers without, touching their hats as they caught a -glimpse of her companion, and while she herself began to wonder how she -was to travel the remaining five or six miles to the Tower, the head of -a tall and gaunt, elderly woman, dressed in stiff old-fashioned -garments, looked in at the coach window. - -"Is Miss Aytoun here?" said a harsh voice. - -Alice answered timidly to her name. - -"Quite safe; but very weary I am afraid," said the gentleman, "Mistress -Elspat, you have forgotten me, I see. How are they all at the Tower?" - -"Bless me, Mr. Lewis, is't you?" said the stately Mrs. Elspat Henderson, -own woman to Mrs. Catherine Douglas, of the Tower. "Who would have -thought of meeting you here? They're a' well, Sir. I left Miss Anne -there even now; but the carriage is waiting for the young lady. The -carriage is waiting, Miss Aytoun." - -And, beginning to tremble, with a revulsion of all her simple -apprehensions and timidity, Alice Aytoun was transferred to Mrs. -Catherine's comfortable carriage, and leaving Lewis Ross at the inn -door, looking after her, rolled away through the darkness to the Tower. - -It was not a pleasant change; to leave the cheerful voice and vivacious -conversation of Lewis, for those formal questions as to her journey, and -the terrified stillness of little Bessie, as she sat tremulously by Mrs. -Elspat's side. Alice had scarcely ever seen before the dense darkness of -starless nights in so wide and lonely a country, as she looked out -through the carriage window, and saw, or fancied she saw the body of -darkness floating round about her, the countless swimming atoms of gloom -that filled the air, her bounding heart was chilled. The faint autumnal -breeze, too, pouring its sweeping, sighing lengths, through those -endless walls of trees; the excited throb of her pulse when in some -gaunt congregation of firs, she fancied she could trace the quaint -gables and high roof of some olden dwelling-place; the disappointment of -hearing in answer to her timid question that the Tower was yet miles -away! Alice sank back into her corner in silence, and closed her eyes, -feeling now many fears and misgivings, and almost wishing herself at -home. - -At last the voice of the Oran roused her; there was something homelike -in its tinkling musical footsteps, and Alice looked up.--Dimly the massy -Tower was rising before her, planting its strong breadth firmly upon its -knoll, like some stout sentinel of old. The great door was flung wide -open as they approached, and a flood of light, and warmth, and -kindliness beaming out, dazzled and made denser the intervening gloom. -Foremost on the broad threshold, stood a young lady, whose graver and -elder womanhood, brought confidence to the throbbing girlish heart; -behind stood the portly Mrs. Euphan Morison--the elfin Jacky, and -furthest back of all, a tall figure, enveloped in the wide soft folds of -the gray shawl, Mrs. Catherine's characteristic costume. Little Alice -alighted, half stumbling in bashful awkwardness, the young lady on the -threshold came forward, took her hand, and said some kindly words of -welcome. Jacky curtsied; the tall figure advanced. - -"I have brought ye the young lady--Miss Aytoun, ma'am," said Mrs. Elspat -Henderson, and Alice lifted her girlish face, shy and blushing, to the -scrutiny of her ancient kinswoman. Mrs. Catherine drew the young -stranger forward, took her hand, and looked at her earnestly. - -"A right bonnie countenance it is," she said at last, bending to kiss -the white forehead of the tremulous Alice. "You are welcome to my house, -Alison Aytoun. Anne, the bairn is doubtless cold and wearied. Do you -guide her up the stair." - -Up the fine old staircase, into the inner drawing-room, which was Mrs. -Catherine's especial sanctum, with its warm colors, and blazing fire, -and shining tea equipage. Little Alice had to close her blue eyes -perforce, dazzled as they were, that no one might see the happy dew that -gathered in them. The contrast was so pleasant, and forthwith the -bounding of that gay heart, and all its bright dreams and sunshiny -anticipations came flushing back again. - -"And so you had a pleasant journey," said Mrs. Catherine, kindly, when -after half an hour which Alice had spent arranging her dress, half in -awe, and more than half in pleasure, in the beautiful apartment called -her dressing-room, they were seated at table--Anne Ross presiding over -the massy silver tea-pot, and hissing urn: "and were not feared to -travel your lane? Jacky, you elf! what call had you to open that door, -and let in a draft upon us? The bairn will get her death of cold." - -"If you please, Miss Anne," said Jacky, resolutely holding the door of -the outer room open, as she kept her ground. - -"Come in, ye fairy, and shut the door," commanded Mrs. Catherine. - -The girl obeyed, casting long sharp glances from under her dark -eye-brows at the wondering Alice. - -"If you please, Miss Anne, my grandmother says--" - -"What, Jacky?" - -Jacky had paused to ascertain who it was that the young stranger was -like, and muttered a private memorandum of her discovery before she went -on. - -"It's the little picture in the west room--my grandmother says, Miss -Anne, that Mr. Lewis--but she bade me say, Merkland--" - -"What of him, Jacky?" said Anne, rising hastily. - -"If ye please, Miss Anne, he came to Portoran in the coach with a young -lady to-night." - -"Came to Portoran to-night!" repeated Anne, "then you must let me leave -you immediately, Mrs. Catherine. I must hasten to tell my mother, if -indeed Lewis is not at home already." - -"Away with you down the stairs, you elf," cried Mrs. Catherine, "and see -if the horses are put up yet; and if they're not, let Simon be ready to -drive Miss Ross to Merkland. Anne, doubtless you must go, but mind the -bairn Alison is not used to such company as a staid auld wife like me, -and be soon back again." - -"I will bring Lewis to see you to-morrow, Mrs. Catherine," said Anne, as -she hastily bade Alice good night. - -"It must have been your brother who travelled with me, Miss Ross," said -Alice. "He said he had been abroad, and knew Mrs. Catherine--and he was -very kind. Will you thank him for me?" - -Anne Ross felt herself shrink and tremble from the touch of the small -soft hand, the innocent frank look of the girlish face--the child of the -slain man, whose blood was on Norman's hand. - -A strange contrast--the little throbbing happy heart, whose slight -fears, and shy apprehensions, scarcely graver than a child's, had -trembled and palpitated so short a time before, in the same vehicle -which carried down to Merkland, so grave a burden of grief, so few -hopes, so many sorrows, in Anne's maturer spirit--for before _her_ there -lay no brilliant heritage of unknown good to come. One vision was in her -very heart continually--a wandering, sorrowing, sinning man, buffeting -the wind, striving through the tempest, enveloped with every physical -attribute of misery, and carrying its essence in his soul. It is only -those who have mourned and yearned for such, who can know how the sick -heart, in its anxious agonies, conjures up storm, and blast, and -desolation, to sweep around the beloved head, of whose sin and -wanderings it knows, yet knows not where those wanderings are--the pain -without, symbolizing and heightening the darker pain within, with one of -those touches of tragic art, which grief does so strangely excel in. - -Lewis had not arrived when Anne reached Merkland, but he came shortly -after; and the stir of joy incident on his arrival united the family -more closely together than was usual for them. Mrs. Ross's cold bright -eyes were wet with tears of joy that night, and her worldly spirit -melted into kindliness; and the presence of Lewis gave his only sister a -greater share in the household and its rejoicings. He stood between her -step-mother and her, the nearest relation of each, linking them -together. Lewis had been two years away. He had gone, a fairhaired -youth, with a gay party from Strathoran, who, seizing the first -opportunity of restored peace, set out to those sunny continental -countries from which mere tourists had been excluded so long. He was a -man now, bronzed and bearded, and with the independent manners of one -who had been accustomed in all matters to guide and direct himself. -There were various particulars of that same independence which jarred -upon Anne's delicate feelings. A considerable remainder of boyish -self-importance, and braggadocio--a slight loudness of tone, and -flippancy of expression; but there was the excitement of his -home-coming, to excuse these faults in some degree. - -"And the Duncombes, Lewis," asked Mrs. Ross, when the first burst of -welcome was over, and they were seated by the fireside, discussing his -journey--"where are they now?" - -"Oh, Duncombe's in Gibraltar," said Lewis, "with his regiment of course. -Duncombe can't afford to choose his residence--he must have his full -pay. A dull life they have of it, yonder." - -"And how does Isabel Sutherland like that, Lewis?" said Anne. - -"Isabel Sutherland? Mrs. Duncombe, do you mean? Why you don't think -_she's_ one of the garrison! She's not such a fool, I can tell you!" - -"Where is she then, if she is not with her husband?" said Anne, -wonderingly. - -"What an innocent you are, sister Anne!" said Lewis, laughing. "Why, -she's one of the 'unattached,' as Gordon says. I left her in Paris with -Archie. You have no idea what a moody, gloomy fellow Duncombe's grown. I -should think he was enough to frighten anybody!" - -"He was always a bilious-looking man," said Mrs. Ross; "and yet Isabel -ran away with him." - -"Ah! there's no accounting for the taste of young ladies," said Lewis, -lightly. "I should think she would be more likely to run away _from_ -him, than _with_ him, now. But you should see their _menage_ in Paris! -Archie's the man for all that." - -"How do you mean, Lewis?" said Anne. - -"You used to like him--eh, Annie?" said Lewis. "Don't break your -heart--it's all up with that now. But, I can tell you, he makes the -money fly finely." - -Anne's face flushed deeply--perhaps with the faintest shadow of pain at -that intelligence, more than did merely belong to her regret for the -folly of an old neighbor and early companion--but certainly with a -painful feeling of the levity and carelessness of Lewis. - -"Well, Lewis," said Mrs. Ross; "I should think Archibald Sutherland -could afford it pretty well. The old people must have saved a great -deal, they lived so quietly. Strathoran is a good estate. Archie does -not need to be so frugal as you." - -"Frugal!" echoed her son. "I wish you only saw. But, unless you did, -with your quiet Scotch notions, you could have no idea of it. If Archie -Sutherland is not poorer than we are, I'm mistaken." - -"Oh!" said Mrs. Ross; "that will be the reason they are thinning the -woods. Then why don't they come home and economize?" - -"Come home!" cried Lewis. "Home to this dull Strathoran after Paris! -It's not such an easy thing, I can tell you, mother. But, to be sure, -one never knows the true reason. I've heard Archie often wishing for -home--perhaps he is afraid of falling in love with Anne." - -"At all events, Lewis," said Anne, gravely, "whatever Archie Sutherland -fears, you are not afraid of giving me pain." - -"Don't be absurd, Anne," said Mrs. Ross. "The poor boy's first night at -home, to begin with these airs of yours!" - -Lewis saw the painful flush upon Anne's face--the look of deep -humiliation with which she turned away her head, and his heart smote -him. - -"I did not think you were so easily hurt. Nonsense, Anne! It was mere -thoughtlessness, I assure you. I would not give you pain for anything." - -Alas! there were many things for which Lewis Ross would have been -content to pain any one in the world. But Anne was easily mollified, and -he ran on: - -"I met a little fairy of a girl in the coach, to-day. She was going to -the Tower, to visit Mrs. Catherine. Hallo! what's the matter, Anne?" - -"Nothing," said Anne, forcing a smile on the lip which she had felt -quiver a moment before. - -"How pale you were!" said Lewis. "I thought you were ill. I must go up -to see Mrs. Catherine to-morrow. How does she wear, the old lady? She -must be getting very ancient now. But that girl is a pretty little -thing. Who can she be--do you know, Anne? I thought of her being a -companion, or something of that kind; but there was a little maid with -her." - -"A relative of Mrs. Catherine's," said Anne, faintly. - -"A relative--oh! What if she cuts you out!" said Lewis.--"I should have -thought you sure of a good place in Mrs. Catherine's will, Anne. But -there is no saying what a little fairy like that may do." - -Anne Ross felt the pang of dependence bitterly that night. Lewis was too -like his mother to make it light to her; and portionless, with her plain -face, and fastidious taste, what could she ever look for but dependence. -Marriage, that necessity, often enough an unhappy one, to which so many -young women in her position must look, as to a profession, for home and -means, could never be a matter of mercenary convenience to Anne, and -honorable earning of her own bread was an impossibility. And from her -own sombre prospects she could turn for relief to so few of the things -or people around. Lewis, so carelessly unfeeling and indifferent, so -blunted in perception--Norman, whose very life was so great a dread to -her, remaining before her mind's eye for ever--and even the sunny, -youthful face at the Tower, which had lifted its blue eyes so trustfully -to her own--why did its remembrance, and Lewis's light words of comment -on its girlish comeliness, strike so deep a chill of fear into her -heart? Ah! clouds deeply gathering, heavily brooding over this nook of -still and peaceful country, what new combinations were your dark mists -to form? - -Alice Aytoun by this time was snugly settled in the Tower, and had -already written a little note, overflowing with innocent pride and -joyousness to her mother at home, describing that most cheerful of all -inner drawing-rooms, and dwelling fully upon the glories of her own -apartments, the carved wardrobe, the old piano, the beautiful flowers; -mentioning, too, in the postscript, in the very slightest manner, a -"young gentleman," who had pointed out all the places to her on the way, -and who turned out to be Miss Ross's brother, though who Miss Ross was, -Alice did not stay to particularize. And after the letter was written, -Mrs. Catherine, whose eyes had been lingering on the youthful face with -most genial kindliness, began to play with her in talk, half childish, -and wholly affectionate, as with some toy of unknown construction, whose -capabilities she did not yet quite see. Jacky, too, with those quick, -sidelong glances, as she went jerking in and out at every possible -opportunity, had commenced her study of the young stranger's character, -and quickened by admiration of the simple pretty face, was advancing in -her study as quickly as her mistress. The minds of the stately old lady -and the elfin girl came to conclusions strangely similar. There rose in -them both an instinctive impulse of kindly protection, natural enough in -Alice Aytoun's aged kinswoman, but contrasting oddly with the age and -position of Jacky Morison. - -Anne and Lewis visited the Tower next day. In the Sutherlands, of whom -Lewis brought tidings so unfavorable, Mrs. Catherine was deeply -interested, and listened while he spoke of them, with many shakings of -her head, and doubts and fears. - -"Trysted to evil," she exclaimed, as Lewis told her in his careless way, -of Mrs. Duncombe's Paris life. "Did I not say nothing good could come of -the bairn that left the sick bed of her mother, for the sake of a -strange man; ay, and made the sick-bed--a death-bed by the deed. Lewis, -is't the lad's fault, think you, or is't hers?" - -"Oh, I don't know that there is much fault in it," said Lewis. "It's not -a formal separation, you know; only Isabel's living with her brother, -because it is, beyond dispute, pleasanter to live in Paris than in -Gibraltar. You don't know really--you can have no idea." - -"Think you so?" said Mrs. Catherine, quickly, "but maybe there are folk -living who knew such places and things, before you were born! Why does -Isabel Sutherland not return to the house of her fathers, if she cannot -dwell with the man she left father and mother for?" - -"There is no accounting for these things," said Lewis, with a slight -sneer. - -"Lewis Ross," said Mrs. Catherine, "hold your peace; you are but a boy, -and should leave that to your elders. Anne, I am sore grieved for Archie -Sutherland; if evil comes to the lad, it will be as hard to me, as if -evil were coming upon you." - - - - -CHAPTER III. - - -During the following week there were great preparations and much bustle -in Merkland, for Lewis's birthday was to be celebrated with unwonted -festivities, and all Mrs. Ross's energies were aroused to make an -appearance worthy the occasion. All the Lairds' families round about had -received invitations to the solemn dinner-party, at which Lewis Ross -was, for the first time, to take his father's place. There was to be a -dinner, too, in the Sutherland Arms, at Portoran, of the not very -extensive tenantry of Merkland, at which the landlord and his underlings -laughed in their sleeves, contrasting it secretly with the larger -festivities which had hailed the majority of the youthful Sutherland of -Strathoran, whose continued absence from his own home, gave occasion for -so many surmisings. But yet, on a small scale, as they were, these same -Merkland festivities were a matter of some moment in the quiet -country-side. Alice Aytoun's gay heart leaped breathlessly at the -thought of them, and many anxious cogitations had risen under her fair -curls, touching that pretty gown of light silk, which was her only gala -dress. Whether it was good enough to shine in that assemblage of rural -aristocracy, and how it would look beside the beautiful robes which, -Bessie reported, the Misses Coulter, of Harrows, had ordered from -Edinburgh for the occasion. Alice had serious doubts--her only -consolation under which was Bessie's genuine admiration; and thought -within herself, with a sigh, that if she had to go to _many_ parties, -the same dress would not do always, and her mother, at home, could not -afford to order beautiful robes for her, as Mrs. Coulter could; however, -that was still in the future, and but a dim prospective evil. - -Lewis Ross, in those busy days, had many errands to the Tower, and on -his fine horse, looked, as Alice thought, the very impersonation of -youthful strength, and courage, and gay spirits. And Merkland was a -pretty house, with its deep bordering of woods, and its quiet -home-landscape, of cultivated fields and scattered farm-houses. Alice -almost thought she preferred its tamer beauty, to the wide expanse of -hills and valleys, of wandering river, and broad sea, upon which she -looked out, from the deepest window of her chamber in the eastern tower. - -All the parish was stirred to welcome Lewis, and other parishes -surrounding Strathoran, added the pressure of their kindliness. He was -in the greatest request everywhere. From gay Falcon's Craig to the sober -Manse, from drowsy Smoothlie to the bustling homestead of Mr. Coulter, -of Harrows, everybody delighted to honor the youthful heir of Merkland. -Lewis did all that goodwill and good horsemanship could do, to renew his -acquaintance with them all. He gallopped to Falcon's Craig, and spent a -gay night with the bold Falconers. He met Ralph by appointment next day, -to follow the hounds. He made a visit to Smoothlie, and curbed his horse -into compulsory conformity to the sober paces of Mr. Ambler's -respectable pony, as that easy, quiet old gentleman, who was conjoined -with Mrs. Ross in the guardianship of her son, accompanied him to -Merkland. And Lewis inspected the stock at Harrows, and dropped in at -the Manse, to chat awhile with Mrs. Bairn's father; yet, with all these -labors on his hand, did yet insist, in the excess of his brotherly -solicitude, on accompanying his reluctant sister Anne to the Tower, the -day before he became of age. - -Mrs. Catherine sat in her library, that day, in grave deliberation--with -young Walter Foreman, and Mr. Ferguson, the Strathoran factor, again -beside her. The table was strewed with papers, and the two gentlemen -were pressing something to which she objected, upon the firm old lady. - -"The siller is mine," she said, "be it so. The man (I will say no ill -of him, seeing he was a kinsman of my own, but that he was a fool, which -is in no manner uncommon) is dead, and his will can have no more -changes; frail folk as we are, that can never be counted on for our -steadfastness, till we are in our graves! But allowing that the siller -is my own--is it a lawful purpose, I ask of you, Mr. Ferguson, to build -up with it, the foolish pleasures of a prodigal--alack, that I should -call his mother's son so! while I may have other righteous errands to -send it forth upon?" - -"It is to build up the old house of Strathoran. It is to save your -friend's son," said the factor, with an appealing motion of his hand. - -Mrs. Catherine was moved, and did not answer for a moment. - -"The lad was left well in this world's goods," she said, at last. "A -fairer course was never before mortal man. An honorable name, a good -inheritance, the house of his fathers over his head, and a country-side -looking up to him. What could he seek more, I ask you, Mr. Ferguson? And -where is the lad? Revelling in yon land of playactors, and flunkies, and -knicknackets: consorting with a herd of buzzing things, that were worms -yesterday, and will be nothing in the morn. Speak not to me; I have seen -suchlike with my own eyes. He must have his feasts, and his flatterers, -forsooth! and the good land, that God gave him, eaten up for it. -Bonnie-dyes, and paintings, and statues said he? And if it were even so -(and the youth, Lewis Ross, says otherwise,) should he take the poor -man's lamb for that, think ye?--the farmer's honest gains, that he toils -for, with the care of his mind, and the sweat of his brow?" - -The lawyer and the factor exchanged glances. - -"I beg you to do us justice, Mrs. Catherine," said Mr. Ferguson, -deprecatingly: "that was done in no case but in Mr. Ewing's; and the -land is really worth considerably more now than when he got his former -lease." - -"And whose praise is that?" said Mrs. Catherine, sharply. "Not the -laird's, who never put a finger to the land. Do you not know well -yourself, Robert Ferguson, that Andrew Ewing's lease had but four years -to run, when by the good hand of Providence, giving him a discreet wife, -with siller, he was set on improving the land? Has he not spent his -profits twice told upon it? And, before he has time to reap a just -harvest, the prodigal must come in, to take a tithe off the gains of the -honest man. I take ye to witness, that the welfare of the lad, Archie -Sutherland, Isabel Balfour's son, lies near my own heart, but I cannot -shut my eyes to this evil." - -"It was done in no other case," repeated Mr. Ferguson. - -"Was there any other lease out," retorted Mrs. Catherine, "that the -hunger of siller could have its aliment on? You are a discreet man, Mr. -Ferguson, and you, Walter Foreman, with your business-breeding, should -have some notion of the value of siller. Is it not a deep sea that ye -are asking me to throw this portion into? A hungry mouth that, the more -ye fill it, will but gape and gaunt the more? So far as the siller is -mine, have I not gotten it to use it well, as my light goes?--to succour -the widow and fatherless, maybe--not to pamper the unnatural wants of a -waster and a prodigal?" - -"Mrs. Catherine," said the factor, "hear me speak before you make this -decision. I do not, by any means, defend Strathoran. I have taken it -upon me, indeed, both to warn and to entreat him to give up this -ruinous--I will not say criminal course, he is embarked on: and I have -received from him, in return, letters that would melt your heart. Why he -persists in what he acknowledges to be wrong, I cannot tell; and I do -not defend him. He has got into the vortex, I suppose, and cannot -extricate himself. But his father built up my fortunes, Mrs. Catherine, -and so long as anything can be done, I will not forsake his son. This -seasonable relief may save him: without this, his affairs are hopelessly -entangled, and Strathoran must cease to be the home of the Sutherlands." - -Mrs. Catherine leaned her head upon her hand, and did not speak. At -length, looking up, she saw, through the opposite window, Anne Ross and -Lewis coming up the waterside, to the Tower. - -"You will leave me a time, for further thought," she said, slowly. "Put -the papers out of yon keen gallant's sight, or go into another room. You -will hear tidings of your prodigal from Lewis, Mr. Ferguson; and -doubtless you know him well enough, Walter, being birds of a feather. -Euphan Morison, send lunch for the gentlemen into the dining-parlor, and -tell Miss Ross I am waiting for her, in the little room." - -So speaking, Mrs. Catherine rose and left the library, her face shadowed -with deeper gravity than was its wont--her step slow and heavy, and -proceeded through many winding passages, to a locked door, in the -furthest angle of the western wing. She opened it with a key which hung -from her neck, and entered a small apartment furnished with the most -meagre simplicity. It contained but two chairs and a small table, and -from the deep diamond-paned window, you could only see the steep side of -a hill, rough with whins and crags, which sprang sheer upward from the -back of the Tower. Upon the wall hung a fine portrait--a noble, -thoughtful, manly face, resembling Mrs. Catherine's except in so far as -its flush of strong manhood was different from the aspect of her -declining years. It was her brother, whose untimely death had cast its -heavy shadow over her own womanly maturity; and the room was Mrs. -Catherine's especial retirement, whither she was wont to come in her -seasons of most solemn and secret prayerfulness, or at some crisis when -her deliberations were grave enough to require the entire attention of -her whole earnest mind. Upon the table lay a large Bible--other -furniture or adornments there were none. In elder days, when the -Douglases of the Tower professed the faith of Rome, it might have been -called the lady's oratory; in these plainer times it was only "the -little room;" yet was surrounded with the awe, which must always environ -the strugglings of a strong spirit, however faintly known to the weaker -multitude around. Mrs. Catherine paced up and down its narrow limits, -moved in her spirit, and expressing often her strong emotion aloud. - -"Isabel Balfour," she murmured to herself, stopping as she passed, to -turn upon the picture a look of deep and sorrowful affection. "Ay, -Sholto, it is her bairn, her firstborn, the son of her right hand. If ye -were here, Sholto Douglas, where you should have been, but for God's -pleasure, what would you spare for Isabel's son, that should have been -yours also, and a Douglas? I envied you your bride and your bairns, -Strathoran, for _his_ sake that I left lying in foreign earth, and now -your home is left to you desolate--woe's me! woe's me!" - -Mrs. Catherine turned away and paced the room again, with quick and -uneasy steps: "Unrighteous? I know it is unrighteous; but if he had been -Sholto's son, what would I not have done for him, short of sin? and he -_is_ Isabel's--" - -A footstep approached, through the passage, as she spoke, and -controlling herself instantly, Mrs. Catherine opened the door to admit -Anne Ross. - -"What is the matter?" exclaimed Anne, as she entered. "What has -happened, Mrs. Catherine, that you are here?" - -"Nothing, but that I am in a sore strait, and am needing counsel," said -Mrs. Catherine, closing the door; "sit down upon that seat, child, that -I may speak to you." - -Anne silently took the chair, and Mrs. Catherine seated herself at the -other side of the small table, with her dead brother's picture looking -down upon her from the wall. - -"Anne," she said, gravely, "you have heard the history of Sholto -Douglas, and I need not begin and tell it here again. Look upon him -there, in the picture, and see what manner of man he was. And you have -heard of Isabel Balfour, the trysted bride of the dead, and how, when he -had been in his grave but two twelvemonths, she was wedded to -Strathoran. I blamed her not, Anne, though I myself was truer to the -memory of my one brother; but wherefore am I speaking thus? There are -two lads, Anne, to whom I may do service. One is, as I have heard, an -honorable and upright young man, born to better fortune than he has -inherited, and toiling manfully, as becomes the son of a good house; -besides that, there is a kindred of blood between us. And the other is a -rioter, wasting his substance, and dishonoring his name in a strange -country. I am in a strait between, the two, which will I help, and which -will I pass by?" - -"Mrs. Catherine," said Anne, anxiously, "what can I say? I fear that I -can see whom you mean; but how can I advise?" - -"The well-doing lad is James Aytoun, the brother of the bairn Alice," -said Mrs. Catherine, "who is working an honorable and just work to win -back the inheritance of his fathers. The rioter is Isabel Balfour's one -son--that might have been your first-born, Sholto Douglas! and I am in a -sore struggle between my reason and my liking. The boy has gotten in to -my inmost heart, as if he had been truly Sholto's son, and I cannot see -him fall." - -There was a long silence--for many motives deterred Anne from -attempting, what at any time she would have done with reluctance, to -offer counsel to the clear and mature judgment of Mrs. Catherine; and -she rightly judged that her ancient friend had all the strength of -secretly-formed resolution to combat the scruples which Anne could not -help sympathizing with, though in her also, so many kindly feelings -pleaded for Archibald Sutherland--a prodigal, indeed, but still the -frank and joyous comrade of her childish days, the "young Strathoran" of -her native district. - -At last, Mrs. Catherine rose. - -"It must be done," she exclaimed. "Bear me witness, Anne, that I do it -against my judgment. I take the siller to feed the false wants of the -waster, that should help the honorable man in his travail. I do it, -knowing it is ill, but I cannot see the lad a ruined man. Let us away. I -will blind myself with no more false reasonings; the thing is wrong, but -we must do it--come!" - -Anne followed without speaking. Mrs. Catherine locked the door, and, -leaning on her heavily, led her up stairs. Alice Aytoun was in the -drawing-room; Mrs. Catherine sent Anne thither, and went herself to seek -for something in her own room. She had intended offering substantial -help to James Aytoun, and now, when the warmth of her feelings for -Archibald Sutherland baulked her benevolent intent, she turned with an -involuntary impulse to make some atonement to Alice. - -It had been a very dull morning for Alice--Mrs. Catherine was unusually -grave at breakfast, and since breakfast Alice had been alone--then she -saw Lewis and Anne walking arm-in-arm up Oranside to the Tower, and for -a long half-hour had waited and wondered in tantalising loneliness, -vainly expecting that they would join her, or she be summoned to them. -But they did not come, and Alice, wearied and disappointed, was venting -some girlish impatience on the piano, and indulging in a sort of -fretful wish for home--quiet, affectionate home, where such slight -neglects and forgetfulness never could take place--but, while the -thought was being formed, Anne stood beside her. - -"Oh! Miss Ross," exclaimed Alice, "I thought you were never coming," and -through the fair curls the slightest side-glance was thrown to the -closed door, which testified that Anne now came alone. "I saw you coming -up by the water, and I have waited so long." - -"Mrs. Catherine had some business with me," said Anne: "and Lewis, I -think, is detained below with other visitors. And what do you think of -our Strathoran now, Miss Aytoun?" - -"Oh! a great deal," said Alice; "only I have not seen Strathoran -itself--Mr. Sutherland's house--yet. I am to go to Falcon's Craig, Mrs. -Catherine says, after to-morrow. Miss Falconer was here -yesterday--riding." - -"And you liked her, did you not?" said Anne, smiling. - -Alice looked dubious. - -"Yes, very well. But is she not more like a gentleman than a lady, Miss -Ross?" - -"Tell her so yourself to-morrow," said Anne, "and she will think you pay -her a high compliment." - -Alice shook her head. - -"I should not mean it for that, Miss Ross; but Mrs. Catherine said you -would perhaps go with me to Falcon's Craig. Will you? I should be half -afraid if I went alone." - -"Feared for Marjory Falconer!" said Mrs. Catherine, entering the room. -"If once she knew her own spirit, it is not an ill one; and I see not -wherefore she should scare folk. I know well _you_ are not feared, Anne. -See, bairns, here are some bonnie dyes to look at, while I am away. Ye -are to wear them the morn's night, Alison Aytoun, according to your -pleasure. They belong to yourself. And see you go not away, Anne, till I -come back again. I will send Lewis up to hold you in mirth. For myself, -I have things to make me up, other than mirthful." - -Alice advanced timidly to the table as Mrs. Catherine left the room. -What might be within that mysterious enclosure of morocco? Anne -smilingly anticipated her. Rich ornaments of pearls, more beautiful than -any thing the simple, girlish eyes had ever looked upon before. Alice -did not know how to look, or what to say; only her heart made one great -leap of delight--all these were her own! How pleased and proud, not for -the gift alone, but for the kindness that gave it, would be the mother's -heart at home! - -Mrs. Catherine descended slowly, and, resuming her seat in the library, -called the young lawyer and the factor to her presence, and dismissed -Lewis to the pleasanter company up stairs. Mr. Ferguson, one of those -acute, sagacious, well-informed men, who are to be met with so -frequently in the middle class of rural Scotland, came with looks of -anxious expectation, and Walter Foreman, of whom his independent client -did not deign to ask counsel, took his place again, with secret pique, -fancying himself at least as good an adviser as the plain and quiet -stepdaughter of Mrs. Ross, of Merkland. - -"Mr. Ferguson," said Mrs. Catherine, "I have made up my mind. You shall -have the siller. Thank me not. I do that which I know is wrong, and -which I would have done for no mortal but Isabel Balfour's son. You can -get the papers made out at your convenience, and tell me the name of his -dwelling. I will write to the ill-doer myself." - -"Oh!" exclaimed Mr. Ferguson, eagerly, "I beg you will not give yourself -so much trouble, Mrs. Catherine. I will myself write to Strathoran -immediately, and tell him of your kindness." - -"Doubtless," said Mrs. Catherine: "but wherefore should I not have my -word of exhortation, as well as another? Write me down Archie -Sutherland's address. I could get it from Lewis Ross, but I do not -choose that; and let the siller be paid to Mr. Ferguson, Walter -Foreman--that is, when the papers are ready--for mind that I do not -_give_ this siller, I only lend it." - -"On the lands of Lochend and Loelyin," said Mr. Ferguson. "Of course, -Mrs. Catherine." - -A slight smile of triumph hovered about the factor's mouth.--Mrs. -Catherine perceived it. - -"On which I will have the annual rent paid to a day," she said, with -some sternness, "as if I were the coldest stranger that ever heard of -Archie Sutherland's needs or ill-doings, and, I trow, that is a wide -word. If I had not purposed so, I might have given him the siller, for -what is it to a woman of years like me? Truly, my own spirit bears me -witness, that I would give that threefold, if it were mine to give, with -a light heart, to restore the prodigal to the house of his fathers, as -innocent as he went away. Let the business be done, Walter Foreman; -doubtless, you will be taken up with the ploy to-morrow, and will be -putting it off till after that." - -"We can get it done immediately," said Walter, somewhat sullenly. - -"What ails you, sir?" said Mrs. Catherine. "Should I have taken counsel -with you on the secrets of my own spirit, think you?--I that am given to -take counsel of no man. Be content, Walter Foreman--you are not an ill -gallant, but have overmuch favor for your own wisdom, as is common at -your years. If you live to count threescore, you will be an humbler -man." - -"Our success is a most fortunate thing for Strathoran," said Mr. -Ferguson, as they left the Tower. "But the letter--I would not receive -such a letter as Mrs. Catherine will write, on such a subject, for the -half of his estate." - -Walter Foreman shrugged his shoulders. - -"And yet she has the greatest regard for him. Mrs. Sutherland was -betrothed to Mrs. Catherine's brother, when he died, people say; and it -is her strange adoration of his memory that makes her so fond of young -Strathoran. A singular consequent, one would think." - -"Mrs. Catherine is altogether singular," said Mr. Ferguson, "and not to -be judged as people of the world are." - -And when the night was far spent, and Alice had carried her bounding -heart, and her new possessions, into her own bright apartment, and was -electrifying little Bessie there, with a glimpse of the wonderous beauty -of those pearls, and trying them on before the mirror on the walls, and -listening with bursts of gay laughter to Bessie's guesses of their -value--sums immense and fabulous to the simplicity of both, yet, -nevertheless, in truth, not greatly exceeding their true worth--Mrs. -Catherine sat in the library alone, writing her letter, her strong -features swept by deep emotion often, and her steady hand shaken. The -course which the young man was pursuing, was in every way the most -repulsive to her feelings. Sin it appeared in the eyes of her strong, -unswerving, pure religion--dishonor to her nice sense of uprightness and -independence. His foreign residence and likings shocked her warm, -home-affections, her entire nationality, and the possible alienation of -his lands from the name and family in whose possession they had been so -long, alarmed alike fear and prejudice; for Mrs. Catherine, boasting her -own pure descent from the "dark-grey man," was no enemy to the law of -entail. His sister, too, and her separation from the husband for whom -she had left her mother's sick-bed--all these things poured in upon Mrs. -Catherine's mind, increasing her agitation, and hallowed, as all her -fears were, by that strange visionary tenderness, so thoroughly in -unison with her strong character, despite its romance, which clung -around those who might have been the children of that dearest brother -Sholto, whose mortality, so much as remained of it, lay treasured in yon -lone burying-ground in far Madeira, upon whose sunny shore he died. - - "Archibald Sutherland," wrote Mrs. Catherine, "I have been hearing - tidings of you, which have carried a sword into my inmost heart; - and though I might well write in anger, seeing that though I am not - of your kin, you were in my arms a helpless bairn, before you were - in the arms of any mortal--it is in grief rather that I speak to - you. Wherefore is there neither firelight nor candlelight in the - house of Strathoran? Is the home of your fathers not good enough - for a son that puts in jeopardy their good fame? Is the roof that - sheltered Isabel Balfour in her bridal days, too mean for Isabel - Sutherland? or wherefore is it, that with your fair lands and good - possessions you are dwelling in a strange and ungodly country? - Father and mother you have none to warn you. Answer to me, Archie - Sutherland, who have known you all your days, wherefore it should - be so. Think you that among the flattering fools that are about - you, there is one that would lose a night's sleep, if Strathoran - and all belonging to it, were swept into the sea? Come back to your - own dwelling-place: witless and prodigal as you have been, there is - not a hind in the parish but would lament over the desolate house - of your fathers. Think you that it is a small thing, the leal - liking and respect of a whole countryside, come down to you as a - heritage? or is it your will to give up that for the antics of a - papistical and alien race? I say to you, come back to your own - house, Archie Sutherland. There is neither healthfulness nor - safety--let alone good fame and godliness, a man's best plenishing - for this world and the next--in the course you are running now. - - "Think not that I write this because I have served you with siller. - Over the son of Isabel Balfour, the sister of Sholto Douglas has a - right of succor and counsel, warning and reproof. Boy! if you had - been my own--if in God's good pleasure you had borne the name of my - own brother--the dearest name upon this earth to me--what is there - that you might not have claimed at my hands? What is there now, - that would be for your own good, that I would hesitate to do?--but - far be it from me, who mind your mother's travail for the new birth - in you, the which in all mortal seeming has not yet been granted to - her prayers--to prop up your goings in a way of ill-doing. Of what - good is it to the world, I ask you, Archie Sutherland, that you - have been made upon it, a living man with a mind within you, and a - heaven over you? Who is the better for the light that God has put - into your earthen vessel? A crowd of dancing, singing fools, that - know not either the right honor, or the grave errand of a man into - this world. Shame upon you, the son of a stalwart and good house, - to be wasting in bairnly diversion, the days you will never see - again, till you meet them before the Throne. Listen to me, Archie - Sutherland--return to your own house, and to such a manner of life - as becomes an honorable and upright man, and I give you my - word--the worth of which, you may be known--that for disentangling - you from the unhealthful meshes of borrowed siller, the means shall - not be to seek. - - "Unto your sister Isabel, I have ever been a prophet of evil; - nevertheless, she bears the name, and, in a measure, the - countenance, of Sholto's Isabel and mine. If she will not return to - the lawful shelter and rule of her own house, let her come to - Strathoran, or, if it likes her, to the Tower. Do you think, or - does she think, that the very winged things that are about you, - their own sillie selves, honor the wife for disregarding her - natural right? The bond was of her own tieing; she liked him better - than father and mother once--does she like him less now than she - likes ill-fame, and slight esteem? If it is so, let her come home - to me, her mother's earliest and oldest friend. Bairns!--bairns! - there is more to provide for than the pleasure of the quick hours - that are speeding over ye. Purity before God, honor in the sight of - men: are your spirits blinded within ye, that you cannot perceive - the two? - -CATHERINE DOUGLAS." - - - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - - -The festive morning dawned at last, a vigorous, red October day, and all -about and around Merkland was bustle and preparation. - -"Duncan," cried Bell the cook, her face looming, already red and full, -through a mist; "when was that weary man, Bob Partan, to send up the -turbot?" - -"Punctual at eleven," said the laconic Duncan. - -"Eh! man, Duncan," said May, "have ye tried on your new livery -yet?--isn't it grand?" - -"Hout, you silly fool," responded Duncan, "has the like o' me leisure, -think you, to be minding about coats and breeks?" - -"Eh!" exclaimed Bell, "what has possessed me! There's no clove in a' the -house and they need to be in--I kenna how mony things. You maun off to -Portoran, Duncan, gallopping; there's not a minute to be lost." - -"Duncan," cried Johnnie Halflin, the boy at the Tower, who, with sundry -other articles, had been lent for the occasion, "I've casten doun a jar -o' the Smoothlie honey, and it's broken twa o' the bottles. Man, come -afore the leddy sees't." - -"Duncan," said Barbara Genty, Mrs. Ross's own especial attendant. "You -are to go up to the parlor, this minute. You were sent for half an hour -ago." - -"Conscience!" exclaimed the overwhelmed Duncan, "is there two of us, -that ye are rugging and riving at a man in that gate? Get out o' my -road, ye young sinner, or there shall be mair things broken than -bottles! I'm coming, Bauby. Woman Bell, could ye no hae minded a'thing -at once?" - -Above stairs, Mr. Lewis's servant, who had left Merkland a loutish lad, -and returned glistening in Parisian polish and refinement, a superfine -gentleman, was condescendingly advising with Mrs. Ross, as to the -garniture of the dinner-table. Things were so arranged in the Hotel -de ----, John said; for Monsieur Charles, Mr. Sutherland's major-domo, -had a style of his own. But for the country, John fancied this would do -very well. Mrs. Ross had dismissed Anne, an hour before, to her own -room, as useless; and half-offended with the airs of her son's dignified -servant, was yet not above hearing the style of the Hotel de ----, and in -some degree making it her model, certain that Parisian fashion had not -penetrated to any other house in the district, and well-pleased to take -the lead. For the gay parties at Falcon's Craig, and the stately -festivities at the Tower, had an individuality about them which had -always been wanting in Merkland, and Mrs. Ross had resolved to outshine -all to-day. - -Anne, meanwhile, sat up stairs, busied with her ordinary work. She was -the seamstress of the family, and the post was not by any means a -sinecure. - -The guests began to arrive, at last. Mr. Ambler, of Smoothlie, emerged -from his dressing-room, neat as elderly, finical gentleman could be, -with his carefully arranged dress, and wig, savoring of olden times. Mr. -Ambler had been in India once, and alluded to the fact on all occasions; -albeit, an indulged only son, with the snug enough of his lairdship to -fall back upon, he had returned in the same vessel which took him out. -But though Mr. Ambler was too fond of slippered ease to try his fortune -under the burning sun of the East, his voyage supplied him with an -inexhaustible fund of conversation, innocently self-complacent, in which -India and its wonders had a place all incompatible with his brief -experience of them. - -Dashing in, full gallop, came the Falconers--the gay, bold brother and -sister, fatherless and motherless, and entirely unrestrained in any way, -whose wild freaks afforded so much material for gossip to the -countryside. Then in a methodical, business-like trot, came in the sleek -horses and respectable vehicle of Mr. Coulter, of Harrows; the Manse -gig; the stately carriage of Mrs. Catherine, and other conveyances, -whose occupants we need not specify by name. The room was filled. Alice -Aytoun had never in her life been at so great a party. - -She could distinguish on yonder sofa, in the corner, Mrs. Bairnsfather's -black satin gown, side by side with the strong thrifty hued silk of Mrs. -Coulter, of Harrows. The Misses Coulter, in their Edinburgh robes, were -near their mamma. They were very well-looking, well-dressed girls; but -Alice's own silk gown bore a comparison with theirs, and their ornaments -were nothing like those delicate pearls. The discovery emboldened little -Alice Aytoun, and took away her sole existing heaviness. She was fully -prepared to enjoy herself. - -The stately dinner, and all its solemnities, were over at last. The real -pleasure of the evening was commencing; the company forming into gay -knots; and Lewis doing the honors, with so rare a grace, that his mother -almost forgot her own duties in admiration of her son. Alice Aytoun -admired him, too. The pretty little stranger had become a sort of centre -already, with the gayest and most attractive of all those varied groups, -about her--and Lewis let no opportunity pass of offering his homage. -Even on Mrs. Catherine's strong features, as she sat near her charge, -there hovered a mirthful smile. Mrs. Catherine herself was not -displeased that the _debut_ of her little stranger should be so much a -triumph. - -"A pretty girl--there is no doubt of that," said the good-humored Mrs. -Coulter. "James, do you not think she is like our Ada? See, the heads of -the two are together, and Jeanie is behind them, with young Walter -Foreman. I declare that lad is constantly hovering about Jeanie. Ah, -Mrs. Bairnsfather, we have many cares who have a family!" - -"No doubt," said the little, fat, round-about Mrs. Bairnsfather, the -childless minister's wife, whose cares, diverted from the usual channel -of children-loving, expended themselves upon the many comforts of -herself, and her easy, comfortable husband. "You must be troubled in -various ways now that the young people have got to man's estate, and -woman's. But what were you calling Miss Adamina, Mrs. Coulter? I noticed -a change in the name." - -Mrs. Coulter looked slightly confused. - -"You see, Mrs. Bairnsfather, it is a cumbrous name--four syllables--and -we must have some contraction. When they were all bairns, they used to -call her Edie, poor thing; but that would not do now; and at school she -got Ada, and it really is a prettier name, and quite a good diminutive: -so we just adopted it." - -"Dear me! is that it?" said Mrs. Bairnsfather. "When I got the last note -from Harrows I saw it was 'A. M. Coulter.' And that's it!" - -"Yes," said Mrs. Coulter. "Ada Mina--they are two very pretty names." - -Mrs. Bairnsfather coughed a short sarcastic cough of wonder, and Mrs. -Coulter continued: - -"Oh! there is John beside little Miss Aytoun. Is he not like his father, -Mrs. Bairnsfather? James, did you not say that Miss Aytoun was a -relative of Mrs. Catherine's?" - -"Ay, my dear," said Mr. Coulter. "Mrs. Catherine told us so herself--you -recollect? or was it to me she said it? So it was--when she was looking -at yon new patent plough of John's." - -"I wonder," said Mrs. Bairnsfather, "who is likely to get the Tower? In -the course of nature, it cannot be very long in Mrs. Catherine's hands, -and it's a good estate." - -"Wonderfully improved in my time," said Mr. Coulter. "Mrs. Catherine is -not without a notion of the science of agriculture, which, to the shame -of landed proprietors, is generally so much neglected. The low lands at -Oran Point were but moor and heather in my memory, but they grow as fine -barley now as any in the country." - -"Well, I suppose no one can say that Mrs. Catherine neglects her carnal -interests," said Mrs. Bairnsfather, with a professional sigh. Her -husband was known among his shrewd parishioners to be greatly more -observant of temporal than spiritual matters, and his wife, conscious of -a failing in that respect, was wont to assume at times a technical -solemnity. - -"I believe Mrs. Catherine is a very excellent woman in every respect," -said the good-humored and uncensorious Mrs. Coulter, "and cares as -little about money, for money's sake, as any one can possibly do; but -she thinks it a duty to use well and improve what Providence has given -her, as you do yourself, James, though, to be sure, we have more motive, -with a young family rising round us." - -"I was very much struck yesterday," said Mr. Coulter, "with the contrast -between the Tower fields, and the adjoining lands within the bounds of -Strathoran. There is a place where the three estates meet--Mrs. -Catherine's, Mr. Sutherland's and mine. You recollect the little burn, -my dear, which that silly maid of yours fell into last Hallow-e'en? -well, it is there. Mrs. Catherine's stubble-fields stretch to the very -burnside--mine are turnips--uncommonly fine Swedes; but, on the other -side, spreading away as far as you can see, is the brown moor of -Strathoran, miles of good land wastefully lost, besides breeding by the -thousand these small cattle of game, to destroy our corn." - -"Ay," said Mrs. Bairnsfather, mysteriously, "I hear the Sutherlands are -not in the best way." - -"Poor things! they are young to be out in the world alone," said Mrs. -Coulter; "and Isabel was a wilful girl at all times. I gathered from -what Lewis Ross said, that they were living very gaily; but perhaps you -have heard more?" - -Mrs. Bairnsfather shook her head. - -"It is a melancholy thing to think of the downfall of an old family!" - -"Hout! Mrs. Bairnsfather," said Mr. Coulter; "you are taking it too -seriously. Strathoran can stand a good deal. It will take more than one -lad's extravagance to bring down the family, I trust; and young -Sutherland used to have good sense and discretion. I spoke to him of -draining Loelyin before he went away, and he really had very just ideas -on the subject. No, no; let us hope there will be no ruin in the case." - -Mrs. Bairnsfather shook her head again. - -"I have no objection to hope the best, Mr. Coulter; but it is no -uncommon thing to be disappointed in hopes; and, if what I hear be true, -there is more room for fear." - -"What's this," said Mr. Ambler, approaching the little group, as he made -a leisurely, chatting, circuit round the room--"hoping and fearing, Mrs. -Bairnsfather? Is it about these happy-looking young people of ours, and -the future matches that may spring from their pairings--eh, Mrs. -Coulter?" - -Mrs. Coulter smiled, and glanced over to where Walter Foreman lingered -by her Jeanie's side. They were a handsome couple, and Walter had a nice -little improvable property, inherited from his mother. There was no -saying what might come to pass. - -"No, Mr. Ambler," said Mrs. Bairnsfather, "we were speaking of poor -young Strathoran;" and, from the depths of her fat bosom there came a -mysteriously pathetic sigh. - -"Strathoran! what's happened to the lad?" exclaimed Mr. Ambler. "Lewis -Ross left him well and merry--no accident I hope; but Lewis has not been -a week at home yet: there is little time for any change in his -fortunes." - -"Ah, Mr. Ambler," said Mrs. Bairnsfather, "it is not aye well to be -merry. I have heard from those who know, that young Mr. Sutherland's gay -life is putting his lands in jeopardy; they say he'll spend a whole -year's income sometimes in a single night, poor ill-advised lad! I -happened to mention it to Mrs. Catherine, but she turned about upon me, -as if _I_ was to be any better of Strathoran's downfall, which I am sure -I never meant, nor anything like it." - -"Bless me!" said Mr. Ambler, "I am concerned to hear that--I am grieved, -do you know, to hear that. Is it possible? Why, I always thought Archie -Sutherland was a wise lad--a discreet lad of his years." - -Mrs. Bairnsfather shook her head. - -"Archibald Sutherland ruined!" continued Mr. Ambler, "no, it's surely -not possible--it must have been an ill-wisher that said that. Why, -Strathoran is as big as Falcon's Craig and Smoothlie put together--ay, -and even ye might slip in a good slice off Merkland. Ruined! it's not -possible. When I came home from India I heard of old Strathoran -saying--I do not recollect the amount, I always had a bad memory for -figures--but a great sum every year. It must be a false alarm, Mrs. -Bairnsfather." - -"Very well, gentlemen," said Mrs. Bairnsfather, "it's no concern of -mine; but a little time will show that I am correct." - -"Bless me!" repeated Mr. Ambler, "then the lad must go to India, that is -clear--he may do great things in India. You see when I was there myself, -there was the best opening for a lad of talent that could possibly be; -but I had a yearning for home. I was always uncommonly fond of home, and -so I am only a country Laird, when I might have been a Nabob. But if he -were once in India I would have no fear for him--he would soon get up -again." - -"India, Mr. Ambler!" exclaimed Mr. Coulter, "no doubt there are fortunes -to be made in India; but _I_ fancy it's a shame to us to send our sons -away to seek gold, when it is lying in our very fields for the -digging--agriculture--" - -"What's that you're saying, Mr. Coulter?" exclaimed the Laird of -Smoothlie. "Gold! where is't man? we'll all take a hand at that work, if -it were but for poor auld Scotland's sake, who has ever been said to -have but a scanty providing of the precious metal." - -"There are harvests lying in the cold breast of the great Strathoran -moor," said the agriculturist, energetically, "of more import to man, -Mr. Ambler, than if its sands were gold. If what we hear of Archibald -Sutherland is true, _he_ may never be able to do it now; but a sensible -man, with sufficient capital, might double the rent-roll of Strathoran." - -Mr. Ambler looked slightly contemptuous. - -"Well, well, Mr. Coulter, I'll not gainsay you; but to tell the truth, -I've no notion of making young lads of family and breeding amateur -ploughmen--I beg your pardon, Mr. Coulter, I mean no affront to you--you -look upon it as a science, I know, and doubtless so it is; but--you see -if Archie Sutherland could fall in with such an opening, as was waiting -ready for me when I went to India, he might be home again, a wealthy -man, before your harvests were grown." - -"James," interposed Mrs. Coulter, "you are not looking at our young -people--how happy they all seem, poor things. I do not think you have -seen my Ada, Mr. Ambler, since she returned from Edinburgh." - -Mr. Ambler adjusted his spectacles, with a smile. "No, I dare say not. -Is that her with Lewis Ross? No, that's Mrs. Catherine's little friend. -Ay, ay, I see her--like what her mother used to be, in my remembrance. -Mrs. Coulter, you must have great pleasure in your fine family." - -Mrs. Coulter smiled, well pleased. - -"Do you know, Mr. Ambler," said Mrs. Bairnsfather, "who that Miss Aytoun -is?" - -"Who she is? No, indeed, except a very bonnie little girlie. She is -that, without dispute; but Mr. Foreman will know. Mr. Foreman, can you -tell Mrs. Bairnsfather who that young lady is, at Lewis Ross's hand?" - -"Miss Aytoun, ma'am, a relative of Mrs. Catherine's," said the lawyer. - -"We know that," said Mr. Ambler. "Is that all her history? -Aytoun--Aytoun--I have surely some associations with that name myself." - -"Very likely," said Mr. Foreman, dryly. "She comes from the south -country; her mother lives in Edinburgh, I believe, and is of a good -family. I do not know anything further of the young lady, Mrs. -Bairnsfather; that is, nothing at all interesting." - -"Which means," said Mrs. Coulter aside to her husband, as their little -group increased, and the conversation became more general, "that Mr. -Foreman knows something very interesting about that pretty little girl. -Mrs. Catherine is a client of his. Perhaps he thinks of Miss Aytoun for -Walter. James, will you call Jeanie to me?" - -And so, in quiet talk, in that bright drawing-room, these ladies and -gentlemen--all possessing their average share of kindliness--had decided -upon the ruin of Archibald Sutherland, who sat this same night in yonder -brilliant Parisian saloon, with the fatal dice trembling in his hand, in -all the wild, delirious gaiety of a desperate man; and in their flood of -easy conversation, had touched upon another centre of crime and misery, -darker and more fatal still, the facts of which lingered in the -lawyer-like memory of Walter Foreman's father, and even attached some -dim associations, in Mr. Ambler's mind, to Alice Aytoun's name. Strange -domestic volcano, over which these slippered feet passed so heedlessly! -How often, in quiet houses, and among quiet people, are mighty sins and -mighty miseries passed by as lightly! - - - - -CHAPTER V. - - -Sleepy, weary, and uncomfortable, the household of Merkland reluctantly -bestirred itself next morning. Mrs. Ross rose ill-humored from very -weariness. Duncan, and May, and Barbara, were all more than ordinarily -stupid; and Mr. Ambler, of Smoothlie, with all his neatness and -finicality, was still in the house. The imperturbable Mr. Ambler was -first in the breakfast-parlor, joking Anne on her pale cheeks, and Lewis -on his last night's conquests--fully prepared to do justice to the -edibles of the breakfast-table, and not, in any degree, inclined to -forgive the sleepiness which had mangled these delicate Oran trout, and -sent up the eggs hard-boiled; for Mr. Ambler, by right of his -comfort-loving old bachelorship, was excused everywhere for discussing -matters of the table more minutely than ordinary strangers were -privileged to do, and had besides, as Lewis Ross's guardian, a familiar -standing at Merkland. - -"Bless me, Madam," said Mr. Ambler, "your cook must have been up all the -hours of the night. Sleepy huzzies! Why, I myself was not in bed till -two o'clock, and here I am, as fresh as ever I was. And just look at -this trout--as beautiful a beast as was ever caught in water--broken -clean in two! It's quite shocking!" - -"Are there never any such incidents in Smoothlie, Mr. Ambler?" asked -Mrs. Ross, somewhat sharply. - -"Accidents, Madam! Do you call _that_ an accident--the massacreing of a -delicate animal like a trout? No, I send Forsyth to the kitchen every -morning to superintend; and Forsyth, by long practice, has arrived at -perfiteness, as the old proverb says.--Better try a bit of one though, -Lewis, mangled though they be, than hurt your stomach with these eggs; -they're indigestible, man--like lead. Send me your plate; here is not a -bad bit." - -"There is a kipper beside you, more carefully cooked, Mr. Ambler," said -Anne, smiling. - -"Thank you, Anne, my dear; but I never take kippered trout when I can -get fresh, fit for the eating. Lewis, man, what makes you yawn so much? -It's very ill-bred." - -Lewis laughed. Mrs. Ross looked displeased. "Poor boy, he is fatigued. -No wonder, after all his exertions yesterday." - -"Fatigued! Nonsense. What should fatigue him?" said Mr. Ambler. "Take my -word for it, Mrs. Ross, it's just an idle habit, and not genuine -weariness. A young man, like Lewis, fatigued with enjoying himself!--on -his one-and-twentieth birthday, too! Who ever heard the like? When I -was in India (which is neither the day nor yesterday) I have seen me up -till far on in the night, and yet astir and travelling a couple of hours -before sunrise.--What would you say to that, Lewis? No; so far as I can -see, our young generation are more likely to be spoiled by indolence -than overwork." - -"Indolence! that's quite too bad, Mr. Ambler," said Lewis.--"Bear me -witness, Anne, how I have been running about since I arrived at -Merkland. I don't think I have had a couple of hours to myself since I -came home." - -"Lewis," said Mr. Ambler, "what was yon I heard last night of Archie -Sutherland? That little round body, Mrs. Bairnsfather, was enlightening -us all as to Strathoran's affairs. She says the lad is ruined." - -Lewis shrugged his shoulders. - -"I can't say, Mr. Ambler. I am not so deeply read in economics as the -good lady. Archie's an extravagant fellow: but--oh! if I say any more, I -shall have Anne upon me. Never mind, he's a fine fellow, Archie." - -"Anne?" said Mr. Ambler, inquisitively. "Ay, what is Anne's special -interest in Archie Sutherland? Well, I will ask no questions." - -"My special interest in Archie Sutherland, is a figment of my brother's -lively imagination, Mr. Ambler," said Anne, quietly, "produced by what -inspiration I do not know; but repeated, I suppose, because it annoys -me." - -"Well, you can pay him back in his own coin," said the old gentleman. -"Oh, you need not look innocent, Lewis. Do you think nobody noticed you -last night hanging about that pretty little girl of Mrs. Catherine's? -Bless me! Anne, my dear, what is the matter?" - -Anne had turned very pale, and felt a deadly sickness at her heart, as -she saw the color rising over Lewis's cheek, and the conscious smile of -pleasure and embarrassment hovering about his lip. But Mrs. Ross spoke -before she could render any reason for her change of countenance. - -"Miss Aytoun, indeed! Upon my word, Mr. Ambler, your ward is indebted to -you--after all the pains that have been bestowed upon him, and all the -advantages he has had, to think he could be attracted by yon little -animated doll. Nonsense! Lewis will look higher, I confidently hope." - -"Upon my word, you dispose of me very summarily," said Lewis, half -laughing, half angry. "Mr. Ambler, will you put my mother in remembrance -of those cabalistic forms of yesterday, which made me master of my own -person and possessions. I suppose I may be very thankful, though, that -you did not make me over to Miss Falconer--eh, Mr. Ambler?" - -"Miss Falconer would not take you, Lewis," said Mr. Ambler, coolly. "I -will trouble you for the toast, Anne, and--yes, I will take the -marmalade, too--do not alarm yourself, Lewis, you are in no danger from -Miss Falconer." - -Lewis looked piqued. It was more agreeable to feel himself a prize, than -to be told so very coolly that he was in no danger from Miss Falconer, -and the pleasant flattery of those blue eyes of Alice Aytoun's, which -had looked up to him so gladly last night, returned upon him in -consolatory fascination. His mother's interference, too, excited a -spirit of opposition and perversity, which stimulated the remembrance; -and when Mr. Ambler had happily ridden away, Lewis beguiled Anne into -going out with him, and, before long, their walk terminated at the door -of the Tower, whither Alice Aytoun had seen them approaching, from her -high window, and glided softly into the drawing-room, with her gay heart -fluttering, that she might at once meet and welcome Miss Ross. - -"Anne," said Mrs. Catherine, "Alison Aytoun has a petition to make to -you. She wants you to protect her when she goes to Falcon's Craig. I, -myself, as you know, am not given to visiting; besides that, at this -time, I am taken up with graver matters. I would like you to take the -bairn there to-morrow." - -"Oh, if you please, Miss Ross," pleaded Alice. - -"For the Tower is dreary enough for a young thing," continued Mrs. -Catherine, "At all seasons. Lewis, they are always quickening the speed -of travel: how soon could a letter be answered from Paris?" - -"Oh, in a week or two," said Lewis, carelessly. "A fortnight, I dare -say. But no one ever accused me of punctuality, Mrs. Catherine, so I -cannot say exactly." - -"The more shame to you," said Mrs. Catherine. "A silly youth bragging of -a short-coming! Truly, Anne, I count it an affliction that folk must -bear with the lads through their fool-estate, before ye can find an -inkling of sense in any man. Alison, has Miss Ross consented to take -charge of you? and will you go, Anne?" - -"I shall be very glad," said Anne, as Alice hung round her. "But is not -Marjory related to Miss Aytoun?" - -"It's past counting, that kindred," said Mrs. Catherine; "we could -reckon it in my generation, that is with Alison's grand-mother and the -last family of Falconers passing the father of Ralph and Marjory, who -was an only son, and died young--a poor peasweep he was, that might -never have been born at all, for all the good he did!--and it was only a -third or fourth cousinship then. I want the bairn to go to Falcon's -Craig, more for a diversion to her, than any other thing: and doubtless -we must have festivities of our own, also. I will borrow your French -serving-man from you, Lewis, to teach us a right manner of rejoicing." - -"You shall have him, with all my heart," said Lewis, with some offended -dignity; "only, I fear John would not take his orders from Mrs. Morison. -He is too sensitive." - -"Set him up!" exclaimed Mrs. Catherine. "Sensitive, truly! Then you must -e'en keep him and humor him yourself, Lewis. I am plaguit enough in my -own household. There is Euphan Morison waylaying me with herbs. I caught -her my ownself, this very morning, wileing the bairn Alison into -poisoning herself with a drink made from dockens: the odor of them has -not left me yet." - -"It was only camomile," whispered Alice. - -"Never you heed what it was," said Mrs. Catherine. "Unwholesome trash -that she calls good for the stomach, as if a bairn like Alison had any -call to know whither she had a stomach or no! I have no patience with -them. Jacky, you evil spirit, what are ye wanting now?" - -"If you please," said Jacky, "It's Mr. Foreman--" - -Mrs. Catherine started. - -"Where is he?" - -"And a strange man with him, dressed like a gentleman," continued Jacky. -"They're in the library, Mrs. Catherine." - -Mrs. Catherine rose hurriedly. - -"Bairns, you will tarry till I come back. I am not like to be long." - -Mr. Foreman, the acute, and sagacious writer of Portoran, was seated in -the library when Mrs. Catherine entered, and a man of equivocal -appearance, bearded like the pard, who had been swaggering round the -room, examining, with an eye of assumed connoisseurship, the dark family -portraits on the wall, turned round at the sound of her step to make an -elaborate bow. Mrs. Catherine looked at him impatiently. - -"Well, Mr. Foreman, have you brought me any tidings?" - -"I have brought you no direct tidings, Mrs. Catherine, but this,"--Mr. -Foreman looked dubiously at the stranger--"this _gentleman_, whom I met -accidentally in Portoran, is charged with a mission, the particulars of -which I thought you would like to know, being deeply interested in Mr. -Sutherland." - -"Maiden aunt," murmured the stranger. "Ah! I see." - -"You seem to have clear eyes, Sir," said Mrs. Catherine, sternly. "Mr. -Sutherland will be a friend of yours, doubtless?" - -"Ah! a fine young fellow--most promising lad!" was the answer. "Might be -a credit to any family. I have the honor of a slight acquaintance. -Nothing could be more edifying than his walk and conversation, I assure -you, Madam." - -"I will thank you to assure me of what I ask, and trouble your head -about no more," said Mrs. Catherine. "Are the like of you acquaint--I am -meaning, is Archibald Sutherland a friend of yours?" - -"Very intimate. My friend Lord Gillravidge and he are. Astonishing young -man, Madam, my friend Lord Gillravidge--missed church once last year, -and was quite overcome with contrition--so much comforted by Mr. -Sutherland's Christian friendship and fraternity--quite delighted to be -a spectator of it, I assure you." - -"I was asking you about Archibald Sutherland, Sir," said Mrs. Catherine, -standing stiffly erect, as the stranger threw himself into a chair -unbidden, "and in what manner the like of you were connected with him. I -am waiting for your answer." - -"A long story, Madame," said the stranger, coolly, "of friendly interest -and mutual good offices. I have seen Mr. Sutherland often with my friend -Lord G., and was anxious to do him a service--my time being always at my -friend's disposal." - -"Mr. Foreman," exclaimed Mrs. Catherine, "know you the meaning of all -this? You are a lawyer, man; see if you cannot shape questions so as -they shall be answered." - -"Your friend Lord Gillravidge is intimately acquainted with Mr. -Sutherland?" interrogated Mr. Foreman. - -"Precisely--delightful; dwelling together in unity, like--" - -"And Mr. Sutherland is in embarrassed circumstances?" continued Mr. -Foreman, impelled by an impatient gesture from Mrs. Catherine. - -The stranger turned round with a contraction of his forehead and gave a -significant nod. - -"A most benevolent young man--kind-hearted people are always being -tricked by impostors, and made security for friends--merely -temporary--does him infinite credit, I assure you, Madam." - -"Assure me no lies!" exclaimed Mrs. Catherine. "What have you to do--a -paltry trickster as you are--with the lad Archie Sutherland: answer me -that?" - -"Madam!" exclaimed the stranger, rising indignantly, and assuming an -attitude. - -"The lady is aware of Mr. Sutherland's embarrassments," interposed Mr. -Foreman, "and is putting no inquiries touching the cause. Your friend, -Lord Gillravidge, Mr. ----" - -"Fitzherbert, Sir," said the stranger. - -"Mr. Fitzherbert has served Mr. Sutherland in a pecuniary way?" - -Mr. Fitzherbert bowed. - -"And you are charged with a mission of a peculiar kind to Strathoran. -Might I beg you to explain its nature to Mrs. Catherine Douglas, a lady -who is deeply interested in your friend's friend, Mr. Sutherland." - -The stranger looked perplexed, gracefully confused, and hung back, as if -in embarrassment and diffidence. - -"The fact is, Madam, I am placed in quite a peculiar position--a mission -strictly confidential, intrusted to me--friendly inquiries--which I have -no authority to divulge. I beg I may not be questioned further." - -"Mr. Fitzherbert, fortunately, was less delicate with me, Mrs. -Catherine," said Mr. Foreman. "Mr. Sutherland, Madam, is in treaty for -the sale of Strathoran--for some portion of the estate, at least, and -this gentleman is commissioned to report upon it, as he tells me, before -the bargain is completed." - -"Not fair--against all principles of honor," exclaimed Mr. Fitzherbert. -"A mis-statement, Madam, I assure you; merely some shooting-grounds. Mr. -Sutherland is no sportsman himself, and my friend, Lord Gillravidge, is -a keen one. Amicable exchange--nothing more." - -Mrs. Catherine stood firmly erect; gazing into the blank air. The shock -was great to her; for some moments she neither moved nor spoke. - -"I appeal to yourself, Madam," resumed the stranger. "_I_ investigate -farms and fields. I, fresh from the most refined circles: do I look like -a person to report upon clods and cattle?" - -The voice startled Mrs. Catherine from her fixed gravity. - -"I will come to you by-and-by, Mr. Foreman," she said. "Gather the story -as clear as may be--at present, I cannot be troubled with strangers." - -A slight, emphatic motion of her hand conveyed her desire that the -friend and emissary of Lord Gillravidge should be dismissed as speedily -as possible, and turning, she left the room. - -"Spoilt it all," exclaimed Fitzherbert, as the door closed, "never have -any commerce with lawyers--bad set--Scotch especially--keen--ill-natured. -What harm would it have done you, old gentleman, if I had pleased the -old lady about her nephew, and got her, perhaps, to come down with -something handsome? I always like to serve friends myself--wanted to -put in a good word for Sutherland--but it's all spoiled now." - -"You expect to see more of Strathoran, I suppose," said Mr. Foreman; -"good sport on the moor, they tell me, Mr. Fitzherbert, and you say Lord -Gillravidge is a keen sportsman." - -"Keen in most things," said the stranger, with an emphatic nod. -"Sharp--not to be taken in--simple Scotch lad no match for -Gillravidge--serves him right, for thinking he was. But I say, old -gentleman, don't be ill-natured and tell the aunt--let him have a fresh -start." - -"It is to be a sale, then?" said the lawyer, "is your friend really to -buy Strathoran?" - -The stranger laughed contemptuously. - -"Has Sutherland got anything else, that you ask that? all the purchase -money's gone already--nothing coming your way, old gentleman--all the -more cruelty in you preventing me from speaking a good word for him to -his aunt." - -"Was the bargain concluded when you left?" said Mr. Foreman. - -"Very near it," was the reply. "Why, he's been plunging on deeper in -Gillravidge's debt every night. _I_ say it was uncommonly merciful to -think of taking the land--an obscure Scotch place, with nothing but the -preserves worth looking at; but Gillravidge knows what he's about." - -Half an hour afterwards, Mrs. Catherine re-entered the library. The -obnoxious visitor was gone, and Mr. Foreman sat alone, his brow clouded -with thoughtfulness. He, too, had known Archibald Sutherland's youth, -and in his father had had a friend, and the kindly bond of that little -community drew its members of all ranks too closely together, to suffer -the overthrow of one without regret and sympathy. - -"Is it true--think you it is true?" said Mrs. Catherine. - -"I can think nothing else," said Mr. Foreman, gravely; "there is but one -hope--that strange person who left the Tower just now tells me that the -bargain was not completed. Mr. Ferguson's letter, telling Strathoran of -the advance you were willing to make, Mrs. Catherine, may have reached -him in time to prevent this calamity." - -"I cannot hope it--I cannot hope it," said Mrs. Catherine, vehemently. -"It is a race trysted to evil. Do you not mind, George Foreman, how the -last Strathoran was held down all his days, with the burdens that father -and grandsire had left upon him? Do you not mind of him joining with his -father to break the entail, that some of the debts might be paid -thereby? and now, when he has labored all his life to leave the good -land clear to his one son, must it be lost to the name and blood? George -Foreman, set your face against the breaking of entails! I say it is an -unrighteous thing to give one of a race the power of disinheriting the -rest; to put into the hands of a youth like Archie Sutherland, fatally -left to his own devices, the option of overthrowing an old and good -house--I say it is unrighteous, and a shame!" - -Mr. Foreman made no answer--well enough pleased as he might have been -that in this particular case, the lands of Strathoran had been -entailed, he yet had no idea of committing himself on the abstract -principle, and Mrs. Catherine continued: - -"What is he to do? what can the unhappy prodigal do, but draw the prize -of the waster--want. I cannot stand between him and his righteous -reward--I will do no such injustice. Where did you meet with the -ne'er-do-weel that brought you the tidings, Mr. Foreman? a fit messenger -no doubt, with his hairy face, and his lying tongue." Mrs. Catherine -groaned. "You are well gone to your rest, Isabel Balfour, before you saw -your firstborn herding with cattle like yon!" - -"I think," said Mr. Foreman, "that you are anticipating evil which is by -this time averted, Mrs. Catherine. At the very crisis of Strathoran's -broken fortunes, your seasonable assistance would come in; and, on such -a temperament as his, I should fancy the sight of the precipice so near -would operate powerfully. I know how it has acted on myself, who ought -to have more prudence than Mr. Sutherland, if years are anything. I came -here to advise you to withdraw your money, when there was such imminent -danger of loss--and here I am, building my own hopes and yours on the -fact of its being promised." - -Mrs. Catherine was pacing heavily through the room. - -"What care I for the siller," she exclaimed, sternly. "What is the -siller to me, in comparison with the welfare of Isabel Balfour's son? -Doubtless, if all the rest is gone, there is no need for throwing away -that with our eyes open; but what share in my thoughts, think you, has -the miserable dirt of siller, when the fate of the lad that might have -been of my own blood, is quivering in the balance? George Foreman, you -are discreet and judicious, but the yellow mammon is overmuch in your -mind. What is it to me that leave none after me--that am the last of my -name?" - -"I think we may depend on the last statement of that strange -messenger--that Fitzherbert," said Mr. Foreman, endeavoring gently to -lower the excitement of his client, "that he came down to examine, and -would have his report to make, before the transaction was finished. Your -letter must reach Strathoran, Mrs. Catherine, before this fellow can -return. Depend upon it, the immediate danger is averted. Mr. Sutherland -has good sense and judgment: he must by this time have perceived the -danger, and receded from it." - -Mrs. Catherine seated herself in gloomy silence. - -"And if he has," she said, after a long pause, "if he has saved himself -for this moment, what then? He has sown the wind, and think you he can -shun its harvest? What has he to trust to? principle, honor, good fame, -the fear of God, the right regard to the judgment of his fellows which -becomes every man--has he not thrown them all away? What is there then, -to look to in his future, if it be not a drifting before every wind, a -running in every stray path, a following of all things that have the -false glitter upon them, whatsoever ill may be below? I am done with -hope for the lad: there is nothing to guide him, nothing to restrain -him. I must e'en take fear to my heart, and look this grief in the -face." - -"He is quite young," said Mr. Foreman; "there is abundant time and room -for hope, Mrs. Catherine. I feel assured we have erred on the side of -fear. A shrewd lad, like Strathoran, surely could not be fascinated to -his destruction, in society which can tolerate that man, Fitzherbert. -Depend upon it, we have overrated the dangers; and that, by this time, -Mr. Sutherland has taken warning, and withdrawn. A pretty counsellor I -am, after all!--I should have sent Walter--coming here to advise you to -withdraw your money, and now felicitating myself that it is given." - -Mrs. Catherine became more cheerful at last, before the kind-hearted -Portoran writer took his departure, and admitted the chances in favor of -his hopes. Archibald _had_ been shrewd and sensible, and could not -surely be so ruinously involved as to put his whole estate in peril; -nevertheless, dreary visions, such as he had read in books of modern -travel, of haggard gamesters risking their all upon a cast--staking -wealth, and hope, and honor, in the desperate game, and marking its loss -with the ghastly memento of blood, the hopeless death of the -suicide--rose darkly before the lawyer's eyes, as he rode home--home, to -pleasant competence and unobtrusive refinement, and to a family of sound -principle and cultivated intellect, in whose healthful upbringing and -clear atmosphere fictitious excitement had no share. - -And Mrs. Catherine went up stairs, gravely, to her cheerful inner -drawing-room, and looking on the youthful faces there--the peaceful -household looks, suggesting anything rather than misery and -crime--forgot her terrors for Isabel Balfour's son, warm as her interest -in him was. - -Haggard, desolate, hopeless, with no roof which he could justly call his -own to shelter him, and with a dreary blank before him, where the -teeming dreams of a bright future were wont to be, Archibald Sutherland -stood that night, in the strange alien country, a ruined man. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - - -Tiresome as the manifold preparations for a feast may be, there is -something especially dreary and full of discomfort in the bustle of -setting to rights, which comes after: dismantled rooms undergoing a -thorough purification, before they can once more settle down into their -every day look and aspect; servants, in a chaos and frenzy of -orderliness, turning the house into a Babel--a kitchen saturnalia; -mistresses toiling in vain to have the work concluded bit by bit; and -all this without the stimulant of expected pleasure to make it bearable. - -Mrs. Ross rather liked such an overturn, and had it commenced gaily in -the first relief of Mr. Ambler's departure; so that when Lewis and Anne -returned from the Tower, there was no place of refuge for them, save in -the small library, which Lewis had already appropriated as his own -peculiar place of retirement. - -Mrs. Ross had long taken a malicious pleasure in excluding Anne from all -share in the economies of Merkland, in which, indeed, her own active -habits and managing disposition could brook no divided empire; and it -was not, therefore any super refinement of feeling which called Anne -Ross out after her daily task was over, into the silent evening air, -upon the quiet side of Oran. It is true that there were delicate tones -of harmony there, which few ears could appreciate as well as her own; -but the first yearning of these human spirits of ours, is for the -sympathy of other human spirits, and it is oftenest disappointment in -that, which at once makes us seek for, and susceptible to, the mild pity -and silent companionship of the wide earth around us. - -A long invigorating walk she had, the little river modulating its voice, -as she could fancy, to bear her musings gentle company. Strangely -accordant was that plaintive harmony of nature. Wan leaves dropping one -by one, the stillness so great that you could hear them fall: the wide -air ringing with its tremulous, silent music; the pleasant voice of Oran -blending in low cadence, "most musical, most melancholy." These -graduated tones had been significant and solemn to Anne's spirit all her -life long--from the dreamy days of childhood, so strangely grave and -thoughtful, with all their shadowy array of haunting ghosts and angels, -those constant comrades of the meditative child--up through the long -still years of youth, unto this present time of grave maturity, of -subdued and chastened prime. Other and mightier things, springing from -heaven and not from earth, the presence of that invisible Friend, whose -brotherhood of human sympathy circles His people, no less tenderly than -His divine strength holds them up, were with her in her solitude; and -the lesser music of His fair universe wrought its fitting part in the -calming of the troubled spirit; pensive, shadowy, calm, and full of that -strange spiritual breath, which Time has, in his momentary lingering -between the night and day. - -A lonely unfrequented path, winding by Oranside, to a little clump of -houses, not very far off, almost too few to be dignified by the name of -hamlet, ran close to the high, encircling hedge, which shut in at that -side the grounds of Merkland. Not far from the principal entrance was a -little gate, across which the branches nearly joined, and which was -never used, except by Anne herself, in her solitary rambles. She -lingered at it, before she entered again--her dark dress scarcely -distinguishable from the thick boughs behind her, as she leant upon the -lintel. There was some one approaching on the road, whom Anne regarded -with little interest, thinking her some resident of the hamlet, -returning to her home; but as the passenger came in front of Merkland, -she suddenly stopped, and standing still upon the road, gazed on the -quiet house. Her head was turned towards the gate, and Anne, startled -into attention, looked upon it wonderingly--an emaciated, pale face, -that spoke of suffering, with large, dark, spiritual eyes, beaming from -it, as eyes can beam only from faces so worn and wasted. Wistfully the -long, slow look fell upon Merkland; standing there, so firm, serene, and -homelike, its light shining through the trees. And then Anne heard an -inarticulate murmur, as of muttered words, and the cadence of a deep, -long sigh, and the stranger--for the wan face, and thin, tall figure, -were too remarkable to have escaped her notice, had the passer-by been -other than a stranger--went forward upon the darkening path, scarce -noting her, Anne thought, as the figure glided past her, like a spirit. - -The image would not leave her mind. The pale, worn face--the wistful, -searching eyes--haunted her through that night, and mingled with her -dreams. Strange visions of Norman, such as now filled her mind -continually, received into them this stranger's spiritual face. Dangers, -troubles, the whole indefinite horde of dreaming apprehensions and -embarrassments clung round those wistful eyes, as round a centre. Anne -could scarcely believe next morning, when she awoke, with the -remembrance so clear upon her mind, that it was not some supernatural -presence, lingering about her still. - -The morning was very bright and clear, and cold, for October was waning -then into the duskier winter; and Anne, remembering her engagement with -Alice, laid her work by early, and prepared to walk up to the Tower. She -met Lewis, booted and spurred, at the door. - -"Are you going to the Tower, Anne?" he asked. - -"Yes," was the answer. - -"Well, don't be surprised if you find me at Falcon's Craig, before you." - -"At Falcon's Craig, Lewis! What errand have you there?" - -"May I not make a friendly call as well as yourself?" said Lewis, gaily. -"Besides, I shall take care of you, on the way home. How do I know that -the Strathoran roads are quite safe for young ladies?" - -"But I thought you were afraid of Miss Falconer?" said Anne. - -"Oh, Mr. Ambler relieved me of that fear, you know. She wouldn't have -me, he said. Very fortunate, for she will never get the offer." - -"Mr. Ambler was quite right," said Anne, uneasily. "But, Lewis do not -go, pray--take another morning for your call at Falcon's Craig. Your -mother will be grieved and irritated--do not go to-day." - -"My mother!" Lewis drew himself up with all the petulant dignity -peculiar to his years. "Upon my word, Anne, you are perfectly mistaken -if you think I have come home to be restrained and chidden like a -schoolboy! Grieved and irritated! because that pretty little Miss Aytoun -happens to be of the party, I suppose. You are a foolish set, you women, -forcing things upon a man's consideration, which, if you had but let him -alone--." Lewis drew himself up again, and let the end of his sentence -evaporate in a smile. - -"I was not thinking of--I mean it is not for Miss Aytoun," said Anne, -anxiously; "but your mother wants to consult you, Lewis. There are so -many matters of business to attend to that you should manage yourself. -Do not go to-day." - -"Don't fear me!" said Lewis, confidently. "I will attend to my business, -too. We shall soon see who is strongest in that respect. Here, Duncan!" - -Duncan had brought his master's horse to the door, and stood at some -distance, holding the bridle. - -"Good morning, Anne!" cried Lewis, as he mounted and cantered gaily out. -"I am off to Falcon's Craig." - -Anne would gladly have broken her appointment now, had that been -possible, but, as it was not, she too set out on her way to the Tower. A -comfortable pony-carriage--Mrs. Catherine's favorite vehicle--stood at -the gate as she entered, and up stairs in her bright dressing-room Alice -Aytoun was hastily wrapping herself in the costly furs--Mrs. Catherine's -latest present--which she had already spent so much time in admiring. - -"Child," said Mrs. Catherine, during the moment in which they were left -alone together, "let Lewis come to me the morn; or is he with you -to-day?" - -"He spoke of meeting us at Falcon's Craig, and returning with us," said -Anne. - -"Bring him to me, then, when you come back," said Mrs. Catherine. "I am -feared there is little hope for the lad, Archie Sutherland, child, and I -am solicitous to hear from Lewis what kind of friends his sister Isabel -has. If the lad is ruined (which the Almighty avert, if it be His -pleasure!) what is the wilful fool of a girl to do? A man may win back -good fame, even if it be once lost--and _that_ is a sore fight--but a -woman can never; and if she be left in that narrow place, with an -evil-speaking world that judges other folk as it knows it should be -judged itself, I say to you, child, what is the inconsiderate fuil to -do?" - -"Captain Duncombe will surely come to take care of his wife," said Anne. - -"What know you about Captain Duncombe?" exclaimed Mrs. Catherine. "I -will go myself to bring Isabel Balfour's ill bairn home to my own house, -child--the fittest place for her to be. I will leave her to the tender -mercies of no ill-conditioned man, well though she may deserve it; that -is if things come to the worst with Archie. Bring Lewis to me when ye -come back, child. I would know what kind of folk she has her friends -among." - -In a few minutes after, attended by Johnnie Halflin, the two young -ladies drove over the bridge on their way to Falcon's Craig. - -The road was pleasant, and Alice was so very gay and full of happiness, -that Anne's heart expanded in involuntary sympathy. The girl had been so -tenderly guarded through all her seventeen years, so hedged about with -domestic love and protection, and did so trustingly rely now upon the -kindness of all about her, that few could have been harsh enough to -disappoint the reliance of the youthful spirit, or teach it suspicion. -It was, besides, an altogether new enjoyment to Anne, to have anything -loveable looking up to her as Alice did. It suited her graver nature to -be trusted in, and leaned upon. The depths in Anne's spirit began to -stir; tenderness as of a mother's to spread its protecting wing over the -"little one" beside her. Might _she_ not make some secret -atonement--might she not by tenderest care, and sympathy, and counsel, -in some slight degree, make up the loss which her brother's hand had -inflicted upon that unconscious girl? - -They reached Falcon's Craig at last. It was a great, rambling, gaunt, -old house, standing high and bare, with inartistic turrets, and -unsightly gables, on the summit of a rock. The perpendicular descent -behind was draped with clinging shrubs and ivy, but the situation gave -a bleak, cold, exposed look to the house. Nor had any precautions been -taken to amend this. Trees and shrubs before the door grew rough and -unkempt as nature had let them grow. The grass upon the lawn waved high -and rank, great rows of hollyhocks and sunflowers shed their withered -leaves and ripe seed below the windows. The much-trodden path, at the -further end which led to the stables, and the presence of one or two -lounging grooms, told the enjoyments of the Laird of Falcon's Craig, and -explained, in some degree, the inferior cultivation of the neighboring -fields--fields over which Mr. Coulter, of Harrows, with a good-humored -desire to see all around him as prosperous as himself, shook his head -and groaned. - -The visitors alighted, and were shown into Miss Falconer's heterogeneous -drawing-room. The lady herself lay upon a sofa near the fire, with a -newspaper in her hand. Alice Aytoun did not like the appearance of the -reclining figure, in its bold, manlike attitude, and kept close to -Anne's side. - -"Anne Ross!" exclaimed Miss Falconer, springing up with an energy which -made the room ring; "why, I should as soon have thought of Merkland -coming to see me bodily, as you. How do you do? How are you, little Miss -Aytoun? Tired of the Tower yet?" - -"No," said Alice, drawing back, instinctively. - -"Don't be afraid; I won't hurt you," said Miss Falconer, with a laugh. -"Well, Anne, how do you get on in Merkland? Mrs. Ross will be good and -dutiful now, when Lewis is at home." - -"You must ask Lewis himself," said Anne; "he is here now, is he not?" - -The face of Alice, which had been somewhat in shadow, brightened. - -"Oh, yes, Lewis is here," said Miss Falconer; "gone with Ralph to these -everlasting stables. Take notice, Miss Aytoun, that when gentlemen come -to Falcon's Craig, it is Ralph's horses and dogs they come to see, and -not his sister. I say this, that you may not be jealous." - -Little Alice blushed, and drew up her slight young figure, with some -budding dignity. "I have nothing to be jealous of, Miss Falconer." - -Miss Falconer laughed again. "Well, we will not say anything before -Anne. Anne is taking lessons from Mrs. Catherine, in state and gravity. -How did you come? In that little phæton, I declare, with these two sober -ponies, that I have known all my life. You never ride now, Anne?" - -"I do not remember that I ever did," said Anne. "We keep few horses in -Merkland; and besides, Marjory, there are not many ladies of your nerve -and courage." - -"Miss Aytoun," said Miss Falconer, gaily, "do you ever flatter? Anne, -you see, knows my weak point, and attacks me accordingly. She thinks I -rather pride myself on these two unsafe qualities of nerve and courage. -Well, and why should we be cooped up within four walls, and sentenced to -do propriety all our lives? The bolder a man is, the more he is thought -of; but let one of us hapless women but stir a step beyond the line, and -we have 'improper, indecorous, unwomanly,' thundered in our ears from -every side." - -"Then you will not acknowledge the proverbial truth of what everybody -says?" said Anne. - -"Not a bit," said Miss Falconer, boldly. "Why should not I follow the -hounds as briskly, and read that political article," she pointed to the -paper she had thrown down, "with as much interest as my brother? I do, -it is true; but see how all proper mammas draw their pretty behaved -young ladies under their wings, when I approach. You all desert me, you -cowards of women; I have only men's society to fall back upon." - -"But did you not tell us just now that you liked that best?" ventured -little Alice Aytoun. - -"No, not I. Perhaps I do, though; but I did not say it." - -"Then, after all," said Anne, "the mistake is not in what we quiet -people call decorous, and proper, and feminine; but only that you, with -your high spirits and courage, have the misfortune to be called Marjory, -instead of Ralph; that is all; for here, you see, are Miss Aytoun and -myself, and all the womankind of Strathoran to back us, who have no -ambition whatever to follow the hounds, nor any very particular interest -in the leading article. It is merely an individual mistake, Marjory. -Acknowledge it." - -"Not I," exclaimed Miss Falconer; "it is a universal oppression of the -sex. They try to reason us down first, these men; and failing that, they -laugh us down: they will not be able to accomplish either, one of these -days. There! how you turn upon me, with that provoking smile of yours, -Anne Ross. What are you thinking of now?" - -"Do you remember a little poem--I think of Southey's," said Anne, -smiling--"about the great wars of Marlbro' and Prince Eugene, long ago? -I was thinking of its _owerword_, Marjory--'What good came of it at -last? said little Wilhelmine.'" - -"Ah, that is just like you," said Miss Falconer; "coming down upon one -with your scraps of poetry, when one is speaking common sense. Oh, you -need not raise your eyebrows! I tell you I am speaking quite reasonably -and calmly; and we shall see, one day." - -"But, Miss Falconer," inquired Alice, timidly, "what shall we see?" - -"See! Why, a proper equality between men and women, as we were created," -said Miss Falconer, vehemently. "No more bandaging up our minds, as they -do the feet of the poor girls in China--oppressing us for their own -whims, everywhere! No more shutting us out of our proper share in the -management of the world--no more confining us in housekeepers' rooms and -nurseries; to make preserves, and dress babies!" - -"Are the babies to be abolished, then?" said Anne. "For pity's sake, -Marjory, do not sentence the poor little things to masculine nurses. -Farewell to all music or harmony, then. If we are to dress babies no -more, let it be ordained, I pray you, that there shall be no more babies -to dress!" - -"Nonsense, Anne!" exclaimed Marjory Falconer, loudly; "you want to -ridicule all I say. You are content with the bondage--content to be -regarded as a piece of furniture, a household drudge, a pretty doll." - -"Hush!" said Anne; "spare me the abjective. I am in no danger of your -last evil. And see how Miss Aytoun looks at you." - -"Never mind," said Miss Falconer; "Miss Aytoun will sympathise with me, -I am sure; every true woman must. See how they smile at our -opinions--how they sneer at our judgment--'Oh, it's only a woman.' I -tell you, Anne Ross, all that will be changed by-and-bye. We shall have -equal freedom, equal rights--our own proper dignity and standing in the -world." - -"And how will it change our position?" said Anne. - -"How obtuse you are! Change our position! Why it will make us free--it -will emancipate us--it will----" - -"Particulars, particulars, Marjory?" - -Miss Falconer paused. - -"We shall not be thought unfit any longer to do what men do; our equal -mental power and intelligence shall be recognised. We shall have equal -rights--we shall be free!" - -Anne looked up smiling. - -"'And what good came of it at last? said little Wilhelmine.'" - -Miss Falconer started from her seat in anger, and walked quickly through -the room for a moment, Alice looked on in wonder and alarm. At last -Marjory approached the table, looked Anne in the face, half smiling, -half angry, and replied, in a burst: - - "'Nay, that I cannot tell,' quoth he, - But 'twas a glorious victory?'" - -Conversation less abstract followed, when Lewis and Ralph joined them; -and not long after, Anne and Alice resumed their places in the phaeton, -and turned homewards, Lewis riding by their side. Anne's spirits had -wonderfully lightened during their drive, and now she defended Marjory -Falconer, almost gaily, against the laughing and half-contemptuous -attacks of Lewis. - -"Marjory arms all the silly lads in the parish with flippant -impertinences about women and their rights, Miss Aytoun," she said. "I -did not mean you, Lewis, so there is no occasion for drowing yourself -up. Yet Marjory has some strength, and much kindliness of spirit. And -when she has once got rid of those foolish notions, which she will when -she has matured a little--" - -Anne stopped abruptly. She had noticed before the tall, stooping figure -of a woman advancing towards them, and could recognise now, as the -passenger approached, the wan face, and wistful, melancholy eyes, which -had made so deep an impression upon her imagination, when she saw them -on the previous night, looking so sorrowfully on Merkland. A very -remarkable face it was, which the stranger now lifted to them, as she -passed slowly on, speaking in its emaciated lines of mental struggle -more than bodily sickness; and with its strange habitual look of wistful -search, as if its eyes had been exercised by constant watching, and had -sought about vainly for some hope or gladness never to be found again. -Anne met her steadfast, melancholy look for a moment; in another she had -passed on. - -"What is the matter, Anne?" said Lewis. - -Anne drove on awhile, in silence. - -"Did you not observe that face?" - -"What face? I saw a woman passing, who stared at you, as you did at her; -don't be sentimental, Anne: some shopkeeper's wife, from Portoran, who -has been at the mill. What were you saying of Marjory Falconer? Go on." - -Anne went on. - -"She will mature by-and-by, and come out of these follies a sensible -woman. You shake your head, Lewis. She will never be of the gentlest; -but sensible, and kindly, and vigorous, I believe she will be, one day. -There is often some eccentricity about strength, in its development." - -"Hear, hear," cried Lewis. "Do you observe how Anne turns her periods, -Miss Aytoun? Marjory will keep a chair for you, Anne, in some of her -feminine colleges, when she has accomplished the rights of women. Moral -philosophy! I hope they will give you an LL.D." - -They reached the mill as Lewis spoke. It stood near the spot Mr. Coulter -had spoken of "where three lairds' lands met;" and the burn was -intercepted for the uses of the mill, just before it joined its waters -to the Oran. - -Anne drew up her ponies at the end of the little bridge, which gave -access to the miller's dwelling. Alice had never seen this picturesque -corner of the Oran banks, and Anne proposed giving her a glimpse of the -bright interior of Mrs. Melder's pleasant house: she was anxious herself -to ask the miller's wife if she knew anything of the singular stranger, -whose appearance had interested her so much. - -So Johnnie Halflin scrambled down from his perch behind, to hold Lewis's -horse, much wondering what motive they could have for calling on Mrs. -Melder; and Alice lingered on the grassy bank, that sloped down to the -riverside, from Mrs. Melder's door, to ask questions and to admire. The -grey mill buildings, and mighty revolving wheel, and rush of foaming -water, as the bairn, like some brown mountain urchin, ran, boisterous, -from its labors into the placid Oran, giving life and animation to the -stream it increased, were worthy of admiration even more genuine than -that of Alice, whose little heart was beating very pleasantly, from -various causes, which she had not skill, if she had had inclination, to -analyze. - -But the cottage door was suddenly flung open, a loud scream startled -them, and, turning round alarmed, they saw a child flee out, its little -frock blazing, its face distorted with pain and fear. Alice screamed, -and clung to the arm of Lewis, Lewis called to the boy, and sprang -irresolutely forward himself, not knowing what to do; Johnnie Halflin -scampered off in terror, holding firmly the bridle of his charge, and -the child, blinded with fear, and scorched with pain, flew forward -madly. Anne snatched from the carriage a large, rough plaid, threw -herself before the little girl, and wrapped it closer round her. The -child struggled--Anne pressed the long, wide folds closer and closer -round her, extinguishing the flames with her hands. The terrified -miller's wife ran to her assistance--so did Lewis, and at last, very -much frightened, and considerably scorched, but with no serious injury, -the child was carried into the house, where Alice followed timidly, -pressing the small hand of the sufferer within her own, and murmuring -kindly words to still its weeping. It was a little girl of some six -years, and moaned out its childish lamentations in broken words of some -strange, sweet, foreign tongue. The remnants of its burnt dress, too, -were not like the ordinary garments of peasant children, and Mrs. Melder -herself had no family. - -"God be thankit ye were passing by, Miss Anne!" exclaimed Mrs. Melder. -"I am the silliest body mysel that was ever putten in a strait. Eh! do -ye no hear my heart beating?--and the stranger bairn!" - -"Whose is it, Mrs. Melder?" asked Anne, as they undressed the moaning -child, and laid her on the wooden bed which formed part of the furniture -of the homely apartment. - -"And that is just what I cannot tell ye, Miss Anne," said the miller's -wife. "It was left wi' me by ane--ye wad meet her on the road. She wasna -put on like a lady, but she wasna a common body either--it was clear to -see that. We've had a dreary house, Robert and me, since little Bell -(ye'll mind her, Miss Anne?) was ta'en from us, two years syne come -Martinmas, and the stranger leddy had heard tell o't, and thocht, as she -said, that I wad be guid to the child--as I will, doubtless, puir, -innocent thing!--who could be otherwise?" - -"And where did she come from?" inquired Anne, as she assisted in -applying some simple remedies. - -"The bairn? Na, how can I tell you that Miss Anne, when I dinna ken -mysel?" - -"No, no; I mean the lady," said Anne, hurriedly. "I saw her--a very -remarkable-looking person she is. Is the child her own?" - -"Na; she _said_ no, any way," said Mrs. Melder. "Whaever it belongs to, -they think shame o't, that's sure. Woes me, Miss Ross! the ill that -there is in this world! She has been living at the brig for a day or two -back, and the bairn wi' her. I am doubtful it was but a foolish thing, -taking a bairn when one kens nought of its kindred. But the house was -dreary. Where there has been a babe in a dwelling, it makes great odds -when the light of its bit countenance is lifted away, and my heart -warmed to the puir wee thing, sent out from its own bluid. So I took it, -ye see, Miss Ross, and Robert he didna oppose. It's to bide two -years--if we're all spared as long--and the stipend for it is twenty -pound, and the siller's lying in Mr. Foreman the writer's hands--so we -canna come to any loss. It's an uncommon bairn a'thegither o't, and -speaks in a tongue neither Robert nor me can make onything of. It maun -have come from some far part--was ye speaking, my lamb?" - -Anne beckoned Lewis forward as the child murmured again some incoherent -words. - -"What language is it?--I do not recognize the tongue." - -"It is Spanish," said Lewis. "Strange! Where did the child come from, -Mrs. Melder?" - -The miller's wife repeated her story, and, promising to call at the -house of the doctor on their way homeward, and send him up to the little -patient, her visitors left her, and proceeded on their way, disturbed by -no further incident, except in Anne's mind, by the strange excitement of -interest with which this story moved her. She could not banish the -stranger's pale face from her mind, nor forget the pitiful look of the -little child, in whose soft features she thought she could trace some -resemblance, moaning out its feeble complaint in that strange language, -uncomprehended, and alone. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - - -These days passed on in suspense and anxiety to Mrs. Catherine. -Uncertain what to believe or disbelieve, concerning the young man in -whose fortunes she was so deeply interested, her strong spirit chafed -and struggled in its compulsory inactivity. Nor did Lewis's report of -Mrs. Duncombe's friends, in any degree still her anxiety. Fashionable -ladies stood low in Mrs. Catherine's opinion at all times; and her -strong nationality aggravated tenfold her dislike to fashionable ladies -in Paris--French or semi-French. Had it not been for Alice, Mrs. -Catherine herself would have been on her way to Paris ere now. But -unwilling to send the girl abruptly home, and riveted besides by a -hundred little ties, which made her absence from the Tower (she had not -left it since her sorrowful journey, thirty years' ago, from Sholto's -island grave) seem an impossibility; she waited--we are constrained to -admit, not patiently--for further tidings, inclined to hope sometimes -that Mr. Foreman's benevolent surmise might be well-founded; and anon, -cast down, and venting her grief in a show of bitter indignation at "the -prodigal that could sell his birthright." - -Many solitary hours were spent during that anxious fortnight (for mails -travelled tardily thirty years ago) in the little room--and many -wrestlings of secret, silent prayer these narrow walls were witness to. -Jacky, gliding hither and thither in her elfin ubiquity, could hear Mrs. -Catherine's step shake the floor; and listened in tremulous awe and -reverence sometimes to those often-repeated words, the burden of Mrs. -Catherine's anxiety: "Isabel Balfour's one son--that might have been -_your_ firstborn, Sholto Douglas!" But Jacky, with a sentiment of honor -peculiar to herself, kept her knowledge of Mrs. Catherine's trouble, -jealously within her own mind, and in the intervals of her heterogeneous -occupations, and no less heterogeneous studies, wove dreams of that -young Laird of Strathoran, over whom Mrs. Catherine prayed and -mourned--and creating for his especial service, some such wondrous -vassal as the Genii of Aladdin, conjured Sholto Douglas back to life and -lands again, and made the prodigal his heir and son. - -Little Bessie, Alice Aytoun's maid, did not know what to make of that -strange, thin, angular girl, with her dark keen face, and eccentric -motions, and singular language. Bessie, plump, rosy and good-humored, -looked on in wondering silence as Jacky sat on the carpet in the -library, bent almost double over some mighty old volume from those heavy -and well-filled shelves--was inclined to laugh sometimes, yet checking -herself in mysterious reverence, revolved in her mind the possibility -of Mrs. Catherine's frequent epithet "you elf"--having in it some shadow -of truth. Bessie had read fairy tales in her day, and knew that in these -authentic histories there were such things as changelings--could this -strange Jacky be one? The flying footsteps, and bold leaps and -climbings, which Bessie did not venture to emulate, gave some color to -the supposition, so did these out-of-the-way studies and singular -expressions; but Jacky withal was not malicious, nor evil-tempered, and -Bessie paused before condemning her. On consulting Johnnie Halflin on -the subject, she found him as much puzzled as herself. - -"For ye see," said Johnnie, "she was never at the schule--and look till -her reading! I was three--four year at it mysel, the haill winter; for -ye ken in this part, Bessie, it's no' like a toun--there's the beasts to -herd all the summer and other turns, till the shearing's by; but I wad -rather hae a day's kemping with that illwilly nowt that winna bide out -o' the corn, than sit down to the books wi' Jacky. She kens best herself -where she learnt it." - -"And look how she speaks," ejaculated Bessie. - -"Speaks! ye have not heard her get to her English--it's like listening -to the leddies. No Mrs. Catherine ye see, for one canna think what words -_she_ says--ye just ken when ye hear her, that ye maun do what ye're -bidden in a moment; but Jacky! ye would think she got it a' out of -books--whiles, when ye anger her--" - -"Eh, Johnnie! yonder she is, coming fleeing down the hill," cried little -Bessie in alarm, as a flying figure paused on a ridge of the steep -eminence above them, and drew itself back for a final race to the -bottom. "Look! ye would think she never touched the ground." - -"Whist, whist," said Johnnie, apprehensively, "she can hear ony sound -about the place, as quick as Oscar, and Oscar's the best watch in the -parish--be quiet, Bessie." - -The youthful gossips were standing, during their gloaming hour of -leisure, at the back of a knot of outhouses, barns, and stables, and -Jacky came sweeping down upon them out of breath. - -"Are you there, Johnnie Halflin? is that you, Bessie? Has my mother been -in the barn yet?--whisht, there she's speaking." - -"No, it's Jean," said the lad; "the cow's better, and Jean said she -would never let on there had been onything the matter wi't, or else the -puir beast would be killed wi' physic. Ye needna tell on her, Jacky--ye -wadna like to harm a bonnie cow like yon, yoursel." - -"And we'll no' tell on you," added Bessie. - -"I'm no caring," was the quick response, "whether ye tell on me or -no--only if you do, Bessie, I'll never be friends with ye again; and if -you do, Johnnie, ye'll catch grief. Guess where I've been." - -"Scooring ower the hills on a heather besom," said Johnnie, "seeking the -fairies--they say ye're one yoursel." - -A sweep of Jacky's energetic arm sent Johnnie staggering down the path. - -"I have been down at Robert Melder's mill, and there's a bairn there--a -little girl--Bessie, ye never saw the like of it!" - -"Is't a' dressed in green, and riding on a white powny?" said Mrs. -Catherine's youthful servingman, returning to the charge. - -"Ye're a fuil," retorted Jacky, flushing indignantly, "how do the like -of you ken what's true and what's a fable? There was a lady once, that -led a lion in her hand--_you_ dinna ken what that means--and if there -were gentle spirits lang syne in the air, what do you ken about them? -Bessie, come with me the morn, and see the little bairn. I like to hear -her speak; she says words like what you hear in dreams." - -Jacky's companions indulged in a smothered laugh. - -"Has she wings?" asked the lad. - -"I will throw ye into the Oran, Johnnie Halflin," cried Jacky, in wrath; -"if ye do not hold your peace in a minute. Miss Anne saved her life, and -she speaks a strange language that naebody kens; and she's from a -strange country; and she's like--" - -"Oh, I saw her mysel," interrupted Johnnie, "a bit wee smout, wi' her -frock burning--saved her life! how grand we're speaking! I could have -done't mysel, a' that Miss Anne did, and made nae work about it--only I -had Merkland's horse to haud." - -"I have seen a face like it," said Jacky, thoughtfully, "a' but the -eyes." - -"Eh, and isna Mr. Ross a fine young gentleman?" said little Bessie. -Bessie was glad to seize upon the first tangible point. - -"How would ye like to bide constant in Strathoran, Bessie," said Johnnie -Halflin, "down bye at Merkland? Eh, disna Mr. Lewis gie weary looks up -at the easter tower?" - -Bessie bridled, and drew herself up with pleased consciousness, as her -mistress's representative. - -"I wonder at ye, Johnnie! how can ye speak such nonsense?" - -"Is't Miss Aytoun Mr. Lewis looks up for?" inquired Jacky. - -Her companions answered with a laugh. - -"I think," said the boy, "for my ain part, that there's not a young -leddy in a' Strathoran like Miss Aytoun. She's out-o'-sight bonnier than -Miss Anne." - -Jacky pushed him indignantly away. - -"A fine judge you are. Like a big turnip your ain sel. A clumsy Swede, -like what they give to the kye. But, Bessie, do you think Mr. Lewis is -in--" Jacky hesitated, her own singular romance making it sacrilege to -speak the usual word in presence of those ruder comrades: "do ye think -Mr. Lewis _likes_ Miss Alice? he's no courting her?" - -Bessie smiled, blushed, and looked dignified. - -"O, Jacky, how do I ken?" - -"Does Miss Alice like _him_?" - -"Jacky, what a question! Miss Alice disna tell me." - -Jacky looked at her inquisitively, and finishing her share of the -conversation in her own abrupt fashion, shot into the byre to see the -ailing cow, from whence she soon after stole into the Tower, where an -irksome hour of compulsory stocking-knitting, in the comfortable -housekeeper's-room of Mrs. Euphan Morison, awaited Mrs. Euphan's -reluctant daughter. The room was a very cosy room in all things, but its -disagreeable odor of dried and drying herbs; and Jacky, after a reproof -from her mother, so habitual that it had sunk into a formula, took her -customary seat and work. Bessie joined her, by-and-bye, with some little -piece of sewing that she had to do for Miss Aytoun, and Johnnie Halflin, -less dignified, betook himself to the kitchen fire, to read, or joke, or -doze the evening out. - -The time drew near when Mrs. Catherine's doubts concerning Archibald -Sutherland were to be solved. The strong old lady grew nervous on these -dim mornings, and opened her letter-bag with a tremor in her hand; but -when the latest day had come, there was still no letter from Paris. -Impatiently she tossed them out. There were two or three letters of -applicants for her vacant farm, the closely-written sheet of home-news -for Alice, business-notes of various kinds, but nothing from the -prodigal, whose interests lay so near her heart. She lifted them all -separately again, turned out the bag--in vain. Her clear eye had made no -blunder in its first quick investigation. Mrs. Catherine's brow -darkened. Alice hardly dared to approach timidly, and withdraw her own -letter from the little heap. Not that the face of her kinswoman -expressed anger, but it bore the impress of some unknown mental -struggle, which Alice, in the serene light of her girlish happiness, did -not even know by name. - -So Alice stole up stairs to the fireside of her bright dressing-room, to -read the long mother's letter, overflowing with tender counsel and -affection, and to weave fair dreams--dreams of joy and honor to that -gentle mother, and all things pleasant and prosperous to James--round -one unacknowledged centre of her own. Pleasant are those bright -dream-mists of youthful reverie, with their vague fairy-land of -gladness--pleasant to weave their tinted web, indefinitely rich and -glorious, over that universe of golden air, with its long withdrawing -vistas--the wealthy future of youth. - -But Mrs. Catherine sat still alone, her head bent forward, her keen eyes -looking into the blank depths of a mirror on the wall, as though, like -the hapless lady in the tale, she could read the wished-for tidings -there. The door opened slowly. Jacky, with some strange intuitive -knowledge of her mistress's anxiety, had been on the outlook from the -window of the west room, and had now glided down stairs to report. Mrs. -Catherine raised her head sharply as the girl's prefatory "If you -please!" fell on her ear. - -"What ist', you elf?" - -"If you please," continued Jacky, "it's Mr. Ferguson, the Strathoran -factor, gallopping up the waterside like to break his neck!" - -Mrs. Catherine started to her feet. - -"Take him to the library--I will be down myself in a moment. Are you -lingering, you fairy? Away with you!" - -Jacky vanished, and Mrs. Catherine walked hastily through the room. - -"He will have gotten tidings!" And then she was still for a moment, in -communion with One mightier than man, nerving herself for the "tidings," -whatever they might be. - -Jacky stood at the open door as Mr. Ferguson gallopped up, but he did -notice the unusual haste with which he was hurried into the library. A -cold dew was on his honest forehead; regret and grief were in his kindly -heart; the familiar ordinary things about him bore a strange look of -change. The difference was in his own agitated eyes, but he did not -think of that. Mrs. Catherine stood before him, calm and stern, in the -library. - -"Mr. Ferguson, you have gotten tidings?" - -The firm, strong figure reeled in Mr. Ferguson's dizzy eyes. - -"Mr. Ferguson, you are troubled. Has the prodigal done his worst? Sit -down and calm yourself. I am waiting to hear?" - -The factor sat down. Mrs. Catherine did not, but, clasping her hands -tightly together, stood before him and waited. - -"I have bad news, Mrs. Catherine," said Mr. Ferguson; "worse news, a -hundred times, than ever I suspected--than ever you could expect. -Strathoran is fallen--ruined! No hope--no possibility of saving him! It -is all over!" And the strong man groaned. - -"How and wherefore?" said Mrs. Catherine, sternly. - -"He has sold his estate--parted with his home and his land to some -titled sharper in Paris. Sold! he has done worse--still more -dishonorable and fatal than that, he has _gambled_ it away; what his -father spent years to redeem, and set free _for him_, he has staked on -the chances of a game. Bear with me, Mrs. Catherine, if I speak -bitterly. The young man has disappointed all my hopes--ruined -himself--what will become of him?" - -Mrs. Catherine stood with her head bowed down, but otherwise firmly -erect, and silent. - -"What will he do?" repeated the distressed factor, "what can he do? land -and name, fortune and character, all lost. What has he left, as he -says, but despair--with his prospects too, his fair beginning. O, it is -enough to make a man distracted! What have they done, that unhappy race, -that they should be constantly thus--father and son, a wise man and a -prodigal, the one wasting his substance and his inheritance, the other -denying himself the lawful pleasures of a just life to win it back -again." - -"Comfort yourself, Robert Ferguson," said Mrs. Catherine, bitterly, as -drawing forward a chair with emphatic rapidity, she seated herself at -the table, "there will be no son of the name again to waste years in -building up the house of Strathoran: their history has come to an -end--fitly ended in a rioter and a prodigal." - -The factor looked up deprecatingly, the very words which his excitement -brought to his own lips, sounding harsh from another's. - -"Mrs. Catherine, Mr. Archibald is young. When other lads were leaving -school or entering college, he was launched upon the world his own -master, with a great income and a large estate.--You know how easily the -light spirit of youth is moved, but you cannot know how the way of a -young man is hedged in with temptations--Mrs. Catherine!" the factor -raised his hand in appeal. - -"Speak not to me," said Mrs. Catherine, "I know! yes truly, I know more -than you think, or give me credit for. Temptations! and what is -obedience that has never been tried, or strength that has not been -exercised in needful resistance? I bid ye listen to me, Robert -Ferguson--was there not a test appointed in Eden? and would you set -youself to say that the fool of a woman (that I should say so, who am of -her lineage and blood!) might be justified for her ill-doing, because -the fruit hung fair upon the tree, and tempted the wandering eye of her? -Think better of my judgment and bring no such pleas to me." - -"What can I bring? What can I say?" said Mr. Ferguson, in a low voice. -"Is he to be left to live or die, as he best can, in yon strange -country? Are we to let him sink into a professional gamester, like the -men who have ruined him? I speak wildly.--He would never do that. I -myself must seek, in some other place, a livelihood for my family; and I -will get it; for my work is clear before me, and it is known that I can -do what I undertake; but for him, Mrs. Catherine, with no friend in this -wide world but yourself, who can give him efficient help--with not an -acre but these poor lands of Loelyin and Lochend, which are still -entailed; and, worse than all that, with his best years lost, his -principles unsettled, and a stain upon his name--what is to become of -him?" - -"He will drink the beverage he has brewed," said Mrs. Catherine, -harshly. "He will have the reward of the waster, as I have told you -before now. Let him take his wages--let him want now, as he has sinfully -wasted. It is his righteous hire and reward." - -"And you can see that, can think of that, and not stretch out a hand to -him?" cried the factor, nervously, as he rose from his chair. "Except my -hand and my head, Mrs. Catherine Douglas, I have no inheritance; and -your estate yields gold to you, greater every year; but, before I see -want come to Strathoran's son, I will labor night and day. The -professions are open to him yet.--His mother's uncle was a Lord of -Session; his father's cousin was the greatest physician in Edinburgh. I -bid you good morning, Mrs. Catherine. I have to write to Mr. Archibald, -without loss of time." - -"Sit down upon your seat, this moment," said Mrs. Catherine, -authoritatively, "and do not speak to me like a fool, Robert Ferguson. -Let me hear Archie Sutherland's story, the worst and the best of it; and -spend a pound of your own siller on the rioter, at your peril! As if I -did not know one lad at the college was enough for any man. Sit down -upon your seat, and tell me the whole story, as I bid you, this moment; -or I vow to you, that your young advocate, if he had his gown the morn, -shall get no pleas of mine!" - -Mr. Ferguson sat down, well pleased, and taking out a letter, laid it -silently before Mrs. Catherine. The letter was long, blurred, uneven, -and written, as it seemed, in hurried intervals, with breaks and -incoherent dashes of the pen between. It was not either very clear or -very coherent; but it told how rent and distracted the writer's heart -and spirit were, and what a ceaseless struggle raged and contended -there. The large soft folds of Mrs. Catherine's shawl shook as if a wind -had stirred them, but she did not speak; the moisture gathered thick -beneath her large eyelid, but was not shed, for Mrs. Catherine was not -given to tears. At last she closed the letter carefully, occupying much -more time in the operation than was necessary, and endeavored to assume -her former caustic tone to hide her graver emotions. "A fine story to -come to a gentlewoman withal! well, Mr. Ferguson, and what is it your -purpose that I should do for your rioter?" - -"I do not know--I have not been able to think," said the factor, himself -moved even to weeping: "that something must be done, and that -immediately, is clear. If I had not been coming to you for assistance, -Mrs. Catherine, I should have come for advice, for how to proceed I -cannot see." - -There was a considerable pause--at length, Mrs. Catherine started from -her seat and resumed her quick pacing of the room. - -"Wherefore are we losing time--send a message home, to Woodsmuir to bid -them put up a change of apparel for you; ride into Portoran and get what -siller will be needful--do not be scrupulous--and go your ways this very -day, or, if it be too far spent, at the latest the morn, to the -prodigal. I would go myself, but the witless youth, as I see by his -letter, is feared for me, and you can maybe travel with less delay. -Bring him home. Strathoran can shelter him no longer, but the -dwelling-place of Sholto Douglas can never be closed upon Isabel -Balfour's son. I say to you, lose no time, Robert Ferguson." Mrs. -Catherine rang the bell energetically. "Write to your wife about the -needful raiment. Archie Sutherland has slept in young Robert's cradle. -She will not grudge the trouble." - -Mr. Ferguson did not wait to reflect, but with all speed, drew paper and -ink towards him and began to write. - -"Let Andrew or Johnnie be ready in a moment to ride to Woodsmuir," said -Mrs. Catherine, as Jacky appeared at the door; "and tell your mother to -send in refreshments for Mr. Ferguson. Begone, you imp--what are you -waiting for?" - -"If you please," said Jacky, "it's Mr. Foreman himsel in the gig--will I -bring him in?" and, without waiting for an answer, the girl disappeared. - -"Mr. Foreman himself," repeated Mrs. Catherine. "What new trouble is -coming now?--they are ever in troops." - -Mr. Ferguson raised his head uneasily and paused in his writing. The -excited curiosity of both suggesting some further aggravation of the -great misfortunes they already knew. - -Mr. Foreman entered the room gravely, and with care in his face--greeted -Mrs. Catherine in silence, and starting, when he saw Mr. Ferguson, -asked; "It is true, then?" - -"True?--Ay, beyond doubt or hoping," said Mrs. Catherine, bitterly. "The -prodigal has made an end of his house and name. I was right, Mr. -Foreman, and you were wrong. The hairy fool had been sent on no less an -errand than to see the value of the prey. Grant me patience!--how am I -to see daily before me, some evil animal, such as could herd with cattle -like you, reigning in the house of the Sutherlands?" - -"How have you heard, Mr. Foreman?" said the factor, anxiously. "Has Mr. -Archibald written to you himself?" - -"No," said Mr. Foreman, "I have got my information from a most -disagreeable source. I received a letter to-day from the solicitors of -Lord Gillravidge, touching the conveyance of the property. Have you the -intelligence direct from Mr. Sutherland? I came up immediately to let -Mrs. Catherine know." - -"I have a letter," said Mr. Ferguson. "It is indeed all over. He has -lost everything except the entailed lands of Loelyin and Lochend, and -the farm of Woodsmuir, upon which my own house stands, and it, you know, -is mortgaged to its full value. All the rest is gone. Mr. Archibald is -ruined." - -There was a pause again, broken only by the sound of Mrs. Catherine's -footsteps, as she walked heavily through the room.--These grave, kind -men, Archibald Sutherland's factor and agent, who had known him all his -life, were almost as deeply affected with his sin and misfortune as -though he had been an erring son. Mr. Foreman broke the silence by -asking: - -"What do you intend to do?" - -"Mrs. Catherine advises me to start immediately for Paris," said Mr. -Ferguson. "We all of us know how bitterly Mr. Archibald will reproach -himself, now that all self-reproach is unavailing. I will endeavor to -bring him home--to the Tower, I mean; and then--I do not well know what -we are to do. But we must try to rouse his mind (it is a vigorous one, -if it were but in a purer atmosphere,) to shape out for itself another -course. I was about to ride into Portoran to make immediate preparation -for my journey." - -"Your letter, Mr. Ferguson," said Mrs. Catherine, as Jacky again -appeared at the door. "Let Andrew--is it Andrew?--lose no time! Here, -you elf! Have you anything else to advise, Mr. Foreman? I myself would -start in a moment, but that I think Mr. Ferguson would do it better. The -lad's spirit is broken, doubtless, and I might be over harsh upon him. -Give me Archie's letter." - -Mrs. Catherine's large grey eyelid swelled full again, and she seated -herself at the table. - -"I have nothing else to advise," said Mr. Foreman, abstractedly. "I -think it is very wise, and you should start at once, Mr. Ferguson. -But--" The lawyer paused. "Is it not possible to do anything? Could no -compromise be made? Better mortgage the land (it was mortgaged heavily -enough in his grandfather's time--I remember how old Strathoran was -hampered by paying them off,) than suffer it to pass altogether out of -his hands. Could nothing be done? Mrs. Catherine, if such an arrangement -were possible, would you not lend your assistance?" - -Mrs. Catherine raised her eyes from the letter. - -"To what end or purpose? That he might have the freedom of losing the -land again, if it were won back to him by the spending of other folks' -substance? George Foreman, it is not like your wisdom to think of such a -thing. A penniless laird--a shadow, and no substance--with a false rank -to keep up, and nothing coming in to keep it up withal? I will not hear -of it! Gentlemen, I have made up my mind; out of yon hot unnatural air -of artificial ill, the lad must come down to the cold blast of poverty, -if he is ever to be anything but a silken fule, spending gear unjustly -gotten, in an unlawful way. I say I will have no hand in giving back -plenty and ease to Archie Sutherland, till he has righteously wrought -and struggled for the same. Bring him back to my house, Robert -Ferguson. He has lost the home and the lands of his fathers. Let him see -them in the hands of an alien, and then let him gird his loins to a -right warfare, and win them back again. With God's blessing, and man's -labor, there is nought in this world impossible. I hope to live to see -him win back his possessions, as I have seen him lose them. If he does -not, he deserves them not." - -"Write to him so," said Mr. Ferguson, eagerly. "It is the spur he needs. -Let me have a letter, so hopeful and encouraging, to carry with me, Mrs. -Catherine. Mere reproach would do evil, and not good. You are perfectly -right. A struggle--a warfare--that is the true prescription. Write to -Mr. Archibald yourself--it will have more effect than anything I can -say." - -Mr. Foreman sighed, and felt almost inclined to withdraw his adherence -from those reformers who aim at the abolition of entails. At length, and -slowly, he signified his consent. - -"Yes--yes: Mrs. Catherine is right. I believe it is the wisest way. -But--" - -Mr. Foreman paused again. A strange master in Strathoran--the kindly -union of the country broken in upon by one who, if they judged rightly, -had done grievous ill to Archibald Sutherland. A painful film came over -the lawyer's eyes. It seemed like treason to the trust reposed in him by -"Old Strathoran" thus to suffer his son's downfall. - -"You are losing time," said Mrs. Catherine. "Robert Ferguson, the day is -wearing on. Ye will not be able to leave Portoran the night. Start with -the first coach the morn's morning. Do not tarry a moment. Mind how long -the days will be to a spirit in despair; and come to me when you are -returning from Portoran if there is time. I will write to the unhappy -lad." - -Thus dismissed, both gentlemen took their leave, the factor receiving a -parting adjuration to "take sufficient siller--be not scrimpit. Ye will -have many charges in so long a journey; and, as I have said, Robert -Ferguson, lay out a pound of your own siller upon this dyvour at your -proper peril! I will visit your iniquity upon the head of your young -advocate, if ye venture to do such a thing.--Mind!" - -Mrs. Catherine seated herself at her library table as the factor and the -lawyer rode away together, and began to write to Archibald Sutherland--a -hurried letter, swiftly written. It ran thus: - - "I have heard of your transgression and calamity, Archibald - Sutherland, and write as I need not tell you, in sore grief. - Nevertheless, I have neither time nor leisure to record my - lamentations, nor do I think that tears from old e'en--the which - are bitter in the shedding--are things to make merchandise of for - the mending of young backsliders. At this moment, I have other - matters in hand. I see by your letter to Mr. Ferguson (a better man - than I fear you will ever be), that you are yourself cast down, and - in grief, as it is meet you should be. See that it be for the sin, - and not for the mere carnal consequences, and so there will be the - better chance for a blessing on your repentance. - - "And boy, rise up and come back to the country that brought you - forth, out of that den of sin and iniquity. The house of your - fathers is open to you no longer--the house of Sholto Douglas can - never be shut upon Isabel Balfour's son. Come back to me--you shall - not be my heir, for the lands of my fathers must descend to none - that cannot keep them firmly, and guide them well; but whatsoever - is needful for you to begin your warfare, lies ready for your - claiming. I say your warfare, Archie Sutherland, for I bid you not - come home to dally through an idle life or waste more days.--Come - home to fight for your possessions back again--come home to strive - in every honorable and lawful way to win back the good land you - have lost--come home, I say, Archie Sutherland, to redeem your - inheritance by honest labor, and establish your house again, as it - was established by the first Sutherland that set foot on Oranside. - The road is clear before you. You have gotten all the siller wasted - now that you can get to waste. I command you, as there is anything - in this life you set a value on, to throw these evil things behind - you, and gird yourself for a warfare--a warfare that will be - neither light nor brief, but that will be--what your past life has - not been--just and honorable, a work for a man, not a witless and - sinful dalliance for a silly youth, a play for a fevered bairn. - - "I have a burden of years upon me as you know, and may have but a - small distance between me and the kirkyard of Strathoran, therefore - I lay my charge upon you to be speedy with your labor. My kin and - youthful neighbors are round about me, Archie Sutherland, (all but - Sholto my one brother, that I left lying in the cold earth of a - strange country,) but they are dwelling in silent cities, where no - living thing can tarry. Boy! let me see hope breaking upon you, - before I lay down my head beside them. My time is short. Turn to - this work, Archie Sutherland, that I may carry better tidings with - me, to your father and your mother, in the good land where they are - resting from their labor. To your warfare I command you, young man, - that I may see your prosperity as I have seen your down-come. Come - home to the house of your mother's oldest friend, come home without - delay (and I charge you that what honor remains to your name may be - preserved--to bring home to me that wilful girl, your sister - Isabel) to your just work, that I may not go down with a sore heart - to my last dwelling-place. - -"CATHERINE DOUGLAS." - - - -Mr. Ferguson returned to the Tower on his way to Woodsmuir, and received -this letter, with many messages and charges besides, especially -addressed to Isabel Sutherland, whom Mrs. Catherine, in the excitement -of her grief for Archibald, had almost forgotten. Mr. Ferguson was to -leave Portoran with the night-coach for Edinburgh; and, again, the -perforce quietude of waiting fell upon the aged lady of the Tower. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - - -Other two weary slow-paced weeks wore through, before Mrs. Catherine -heard any further tidings of her prodigal. At last Mr. Ferguson's -hurried intimation of his arrival in Paris came at once to satisfy and -to stimulate her anxiety--for Mr. Ferguson's brief epistle said -emphatically that it was _well_ he had lost no time in setting out upon -his journey, and that he found "Mr. Archibald" in sorest need of some -steadfast friend about him. A few days after there came a more explicit -letter. Mr. Ferguson had found poor Archibald Sutherland in the strong -grip of despair. Loss of fortune had brought loss of friends--not one of -all his former guests or flatterers remained to comfort him in his -poverty; and save for the jealous solicitude with which he guarded his -sister, Mr. Ferguson believed that his reckless desperation would have -laid him ere now in the grave of the suicide. But Isabel, wilful, -impetuous and admired as she was, bound her fierce guardian to his hated -life--still courted in these gay circles, for the wit and beauty which -all this burden of calamity could not diminish, the ruined man stalked -by her side everywhere, like some intruding spectre, casting a blight -upon the smiles that woke no congenial sunshine in his ghostly face. The -treachery which he had felt surrounding himself--the warning of Mrs. -Catherine's letters had awakened him to a wild anxiety for Isabel: he -could not bear her absence from him. Regardless of sneers and -inuendos--regardless of contempt and indifference, he followed his -sister wherever she went, and scowled away from her in his gaunt pride -and anger, whosoever ventured upon any show of admiration. But no human -spirit could bear that fierce tension long; and when his factor's home -face looked in upon him, so clear, upright, and manlike, with all its -respectful kindliness of sympathy, the heart of Archibald Sutherland -burst from its compulsory hardihood, and melted into very weakness. None -knew or could appreciate better than he, the thoroughly honorable -character of Mr. Ferguson--none better knew the warm kindliness of that -pleasant home of Woodsmuir, which the factor had left for the -discomforts of a long journey and a strange country, to aid and succor -_him_--him, the prodigal, the destroyer of his father's house. Tears, -strange to the eyes of the broken man, fell copiously over Mrs. -Catherine's letter--a time of strange incoherence followed, and when Mr. -Ferguson wrote again, it was from the sick room where Archibald -Sutherland lay, prostrate in body and mind, in the wild heat of fever, -struggling for his life. - -Mr. Ferguson wrote with unwonted pathos of that strange phantom of -terror for Isabel, which haunted his patient's mind by night and -day--the one consistent thread through all that delirious chaos--of how -the wilful sister in the pride of her wit and beauty heard it first from -her brother's raving lips with indignant anger, haughtily blaming the -manly watcher by that brother's bedside whose place she did not offer to -take; but how, at last, the "weeping blood of woman's breast" was -reached by that wail of agony, and Isabel gave up her gaieties, and took -her place in the sick room, soothing the sufferer by her very presence. -But Mr. Ferguson did not tell, how unweariedly he himself watched by -that bed of fever, and when doctor and attendant despaired, still hoped -against hope--nor how, when feeble, and pale, and worn out, the -convalescent could raise his head again, it was the strong arm of his -Strathoran factor that held him up--it was the kindly tongue of home -that gave thanks for his recovery. - -But long weeks had lengthened into months during Archibald's illness, -and the dark short days of December were rising, in their chill -alternations of frost and rain, upon the northern skies of Strathoran, -when Mr. Ferguson returned home. He came alone, for Captain Duncombe had -joined his wife and brother-in-law in Paris, and was to be their escort -to England. Captain Duncombe had got a considerable accession of -fortune, by the death of some friend, during the time of Archibald's -convalescence, and had managed to effect an exchange into a regiment -stationed near London, whither his wife had no objection to accompany -him. The saturnine Captain was something touched by his hapless -brother-in-law's emaciated appearance, and had no objection to travel -leisurely home for his convenience, though protesting many times, with -unnecessary fervor, that, when once at home, he could do nothing for -him; and Mr. Ferguson, whose own affairs imperatively called for his -presence, and whose strength had been wasted by long confinement, -reluctantly left his patient, and returned to Strathoran alone. - -In the meantime, changes had taken place there: bevies of English -sportsmen had arrived with Lord Gillravidge at his newly acquired -property--gamekeepers and grooms, a whole village full, overbrimmed its -quiet precincts. Rough Ralph Falconer, condescendingly noticed at first, -in acknowledgment of his kindred pursuits, was shrinking from the -neighborhood already fairly over-crowed and put down, endeavoring to -hide his mortification under bitter laughter. Bitterly upon them, -"pilgarlic dandies," "hairy fuils," "idle cattle," poured the full flood -of Mrs. Catherine's derision. The countryside was stirred with unwonted -excitement. An Englishman, alien to their blood, and contemptuous of -their Church--the supplanter, besides, of an old and long established -family, in a district peculiarly tenacious of hereditary loves and -hatreds,--the new Lord of Strathoran had all the strongest feelings of -his neighbors arrayed against him. - -The new Lord of Strathoran was supremely indifferent. The countryside -and its likings and dislikings, were not of the remotest consequence to -him. - -And little Alice Aytoun was beginning to receive gentle and tender hints -from Edinburgh, that the original limits proposed for her visit, had -been considerably overpassed. She had forgotten, in the unconscious -selfishness of a light heart, how lonely the Edinburgh parlor would be, -during the long days which her mother spent there alone--for Alice's -_entree_ into the festivities and party-givings of that quiet district, -which her inexperience called "the world," had been a triumph--and with -so much homage laid at her little feet, and so much girlish delight and -laughing wonder, in receiving that strange, new tribute of admiration, -it was scarcely wonderful that the Edinburgh parlor, with its quiet -dwelling at home, and brief domestic circle, seemed almost sombre in the -contrast. It was arranged, however, that Alice should return home after -the new year, and, her conscience eased of some compunctions it had, -respecting neglect of her mother, Alice looked forward to the especial -merry-makings of that blythe season with a light heart. - -Meanwhile, Anne Ross's ingenuity was vainly exercised in devising -expedients to occupy her brother, and divert him from those frequent -visits which it had become his pleasure to pay at the Tower. Lewis found -numberless errands--alleged consultations with Mrs. Catherine, at which -his mother fumed silently in sullen dignity--pretences for advising with -the shrewd factotum of Mrs. Catherine's finely-cultivated home-farm, -concerning those fields immediately adjoining Merkland which Mr. Coulter -advised, putting on some scientific regimen--or even a rare fungus, or -delicate moss to show to Miss Aytoun, who began to be interested in that -beautiful science of botany which Lewis himself had taken up so -suddenly. - -These visits, and the too certain end to which they tended, pained Anne -deeply, overpowered her, indeed, sometimes with sick bewilderment, the -more that in the present state of matters, she was perfectly powerless. -Any step of her's might precipitate Lewis, so jealously alive to -interference as he was, and make that certain, which was now only feared -and deprecated, so Anne, like her friend in the Tower, had to wait -perforce for the regular course of events, and with an anxiety still -more intense and painful than Mrs. Catherine's. What but woe and mishap -could come from this unhappy intercourse? What but pain and -disappointment and sorrow to these two youthful hearts. - -Anne could perceive that it annoyed her step-mother; that Mrs. Ross, -with her overweening partiality for, and pride in her only son, was -inclined to take his attention to Alice Aytoun as a personal slight and -injury to herself. But it was not because a connection so terrible -existed between the families already--Alice had no friends to elevate -the standing, nor portion to increase the wealth of her future partner, -and therefore Mrs. Ross frowned upon the growing devotion of Lewis, and -already, in many a peevish altercation and sarcastic allusion, had -brought in Alice Aytoun's name--fanning thereby the flame which she -hoped to extinguish. - -And during these months, the little girl, so strangely brought to Oran -Mill, was learning the tongue of her new home rapidly. A strange -junction, the liquid Spanish, which fell on Jacky's visionary ear so -pleasantly, "like the words folk hear in dreams," made, mingled with -these soft syllables of the homely, Scottish tongue, broken from what -harshness soever might originally be in them, by the child's voice of -lisping music. Mrs. Melder had been told to call her Lilias, and -affection had already contracted the name into the familiar diminutive -of "Lilie." A strange exotic lily the child seemed with her small, pale -features and olive-tinted cheek, and flood of dusky silken hair, and she -had become already a wonder in the parish. - -Mrs. Coulter sent for the miller's wife on some small pretext of -business, that she might see her little lodger, and Lilie returned from -Harrows laden with fruit, and toys, and sweetmeats, and leaving little -Harry Coulter, the agriculturist's Benjamin, struggling with desperate -energy to follow her, and hopelessly in love. Lilie had even been taken -to the Tower, and half smothered with caresses from Alice, had received -from Mrs. Catherine strange looks of musing melancholy, and one abrupt -expression of wonder-- - -"Who was she like?" - -Miss Falconer herself had gallopped a couple of miles out of her way, -and stopped at the Mill, with her horse in a foam, to make acquaintance -with the little Donna. Jacky had constituted herself her bodyguard and -attendant, and carried her off whole days on solitary rambles among the -hills. There were few of all the circle round who were not interested in -the stranger child. - -But no one received so great a share of Lilie's regard, or was so -powerfully attracted towards her, as Anne Ross. There was a new pleasure -now in the long walks, which had a half hour's playful intercourse with -Lilie to make them cheerful; and Anne again and again repeated her -inquiries concerning the stranger who had left the child with Mrs. -Melder, without however eliciting anything new. - -"She wasna put on like a lady," repeated the miller's wife. "My ain -muckle shawl, wi' the border, was worth twa o' the ain she had on, and -naething but a printed goun. But I have seen folk in silks and satins, -Miss Anne, that had a commoner look--no that she was bonnie--but you saw -her yoursel." - -"Yes," said Anne; "she was a very remarkable looking person." - -"Na' but the eyes of her! They made me that I near sat down and -fainted--they had sic a wistful, murning look in them. The bairn's are -no unlike. Haud up your head, Lilie, my lamb--only it wad tak watching -and sorrow, if I'm no far mistaken, to gie her yon look. Waes me, Miss -Anne! it spoke o' a sair heart!" - -"But Lilie's are bright and happy," said Anne, drawing the child closer -to her, and looking affectionately upon the little face, from which -shone eyes deep enough in their liquid darkness to mirror forth great -sorrows. "We must not let grief come near Lilie." - -"Lilie blythe--blythe?" said the child, clinging to her side. "Lilie no -like happy. Blythe is bonnier! Lilie go the morn--up--up!" - -"To the hills, Lilie?" - -"Up--up!" said the child, imitating with feet and hands the motions of -climbing. "Lilie look away far--at the water." - -"At the Oran, Lilie?" - -"Where he go to?" asked Lilie, pointing through the window to the brown, -foaming water--"rinning fast? Where he go to?" - -"To the sea, Lilie," said Anne. - -"Yes--yes," said the child. "Lilie once sail upon the sea; row--row--in -a big boat. Lilie likes to look at it." - -"Were you alone, Lilie?" said Anne. "Was no one with you?" - -The child did not understand. - -"A big boat--big--big--bigger than yon!" Lilie had seen Mrs. Catherine's -little vessel on the Oran, and had been greatly interested in it. "Lilie -ran about," and the child eked out her slender vocabulary with the -universal language of signs, "and saw the sea; but the water did not -come upon Lilie." - -"And was there no one to take care of Lilie?" said Anne.--"No one to put -on her little frock, and to comb these pretty curls?" - -The child looked up thoughtfully for a moment, and then, hiding her face -in Anne's lap, burst out into a passion of tears, moaning out in her own -language a lamentation over her "good nurse, her Juana," with all the -inconsolable vehemence of childhood. - -"She has done that before," said Mrs. Melder. "Can ye make onything o' -the words, Miss Anne? I hae gotten to ken the sound o' them, though -neither Robert nor me can make ony sense o' the outlandish tongue. -Lilie, my lamb, whisht, like a guid bairn, and dry your eyes. See what a -bonnie book Miss Anne has brocht ye, and pictures in't! - -"There's mony o' the neighbors wonder at us," continued Mrs. Melder, as -the child, when its fit of weeping was over, clambered up upon the table -in the window, and sat there, in enjoyment of the picture-book, "for -taking a bairn we ken naething about; and ye may think it foolish too, -Miss Anne. But the house was waesome wi' Robert out a' day, and the bit -thing had a pitiful look wi't, and the leddy--for she bid to be a leddy, -though she was plain enough put on--pleaded wi' me in sic a way that I -couldna withstand it; and we're clar o' a' loss, wi' the siller being in -Mr. Foreman's hand; and the bairn--puir wee desolate thing, cast off by -its ain bluid--is a fine bairn, now that she's learning to speak in a -civilized tongue. My ain Bell, if the Almighty had spared her, would hae -been about Lilie's age. Eh, Miss Anne! a young lady like you canna ken -what a sore dispensation that was! But we maun hae our ain way." - -"And do you think the lady could be Lilie's mother?" said Anne, after a -pause. - -"It's hard to say," said Mrs. Melder; "but I am maistly inclined to -think no, Miss Anne, for ye see the bairn disna greet after her the way -she did the now, when ye asked her wha came hame wi' her; and the leddy -hersel, though she beggit me to be careful o' the bairn, did not keep -her in her sight till the last moment, as a mother would have done; and -when she went by the Mill, Robert says--for he was watching--that she -never stopped to look back; sae I think she may have been a friend -further off, Miss Anne, but she couldna be Lilie's mother." - -"Strange!" said Anne, "that any friend, above all a mother should send -away a child so interesting!" - -"Ay, Miss Anne," said Mrs. Melder; "but the like o' you disna ken. There -are bitterer things in this world than even grief.--One canna tell. It -may be a shame and a disgrace to some decent family, that that wee -thing, pleasant as she is, has ever drawn breath--and the lady may be -some kin of the mother's, bringing it away out o' the sight o' kent folk -and friends. The like of that is ower common. Eh, pity me! there's nae -counting the wiles o' the enemy! There's Strathoran, ye see, and the -gentlemen that's in't playing at their cartes and their dice, they tell -me, on the very Sabbath day itsel! Is't no enough to bring a judgment on -the country-side? If auld Strathoran--honest man--could but look down -into his ain house now, I canna think but what it would make his heart -sair--even _yonder_. He was a guid man, auld Strathoran, though he did -put Mr. Bairnsfather into the parish." - -"Was that wrong, Mrs. Melder?" said Anne. - -"The Apostle says we're no to speak evil o' the ruler o' our people," -said Mrs. Melder; "but, eh, Miss Anne, he's wersh and unprofitable. When -I was in my trouble and sorrow (and who can tell how dark the earth is, -and a'thing in't, when one is bereaved o' their first-born--their only -lamb!) Robert brought the minister, thinking he could speak a word o' -comfort to me; and what think ye he said, Miss Anne? No that I was to -look to my Lord that had gathered my lamb to his ain bosom, out of a' -the ills o' this world, but that I was to be reasonable and calm, and -bear the trouble wi' fortitude, because it couldna be helpit. That was -a' the comfort he had to speak to a distracted woman, whose only bairn -was in its grave! But he never had ony little ones himsel." - -"And you do not come to the Church, now?" said Anne, holding out her -hand, as Lilie descended from the table, and came to her side again. - -"Na; we were once gaun to the Meeting, Robert and me, for the Seceder -minister preaches guid doctrine, but we couldna think to leave the Kirk. -My father was an elder for twenty year--sae we aye waited on till Mr. -Lumsden came to Portoran. Eh, Miss Anne, he's a grand man! They say -there's no the like o' him in the haill Presbytery!" - -"What is this, Lilie?" cried Anne. - -Lilie had brought her new "Shorter Catechism," that much-prized -text-book of Presbyterian Scotland, to point out the lessons which she -was to repeat to Robert Melder, on the Sabbath afternoon, according to -the venerable and excellent custom of such religious humble households; -and insisted upon repeating her former "questions" and the first Psalm -she had learnt in her new language. - -Anne took the book, well pleased, and listened, while Lilie repeated -that beautiful proposition in which all Scotland for centuries has -learned to define the chief end of man, and then, with some slight -stammering and uncertainty, went on: - - "That man hath perfect blessedness, - Who walketh not astray." - -The first verse was repeated, and Lilie stayed to remember the second. - -"Eh," cried Mrs. Melder, "hasna she come uncommon fast on? but I wish ye -would speak to Jacky Morison, Miss Anne, she's learning the bairn -nonsense ballants and--" - - "He shall be like a tree that grows, - Near planted by a river," - -burst out Lilie triumphantly. - - "Which in his season yields his fruit, - And his leaf fadeth never. - And all he doth shall prosper well--" - -The child paused--accomplished the next three lines with prompting, and -then made a stop. - -"Lilie no mind now--Lilie show you the tree." - -Anne suffered herself to be drawn out--the tree which Lilie fancied must -be the one meant in the Psalm, was an oak which stood upon a swelling -hillock close by the Oran. When they came near, the child's wandering -attention was caught by some carving on the rude and gnarled trunk. - -"What's that?" she asked. - -Anne read it, wonderingly: - - "Norman R. R. Marion L." - -Beneath were two longer lines: - - "Like autumn leaves upon the forest ways, - The gentle hours fall soft, the brightest days - Fade from our sight." - -and a date. The carvings were near the root, and might have been done by -some one sitting on the grassy bank below. Anne had some difficulty in -deciphering them, and when she had led her little charge home, returned -alone to trace the moss-grown characters again. The date was seventeen -years before--Norman R. R. Could it be possible that some other bore -that name--or was it indeed a record of some bygone pleasant musing of -her unhappy brother's, before name, and fame, and fortune were lost in -that dark crime--before the mark of Cain was sealed upon his brow. - -And were there yet greater depths in this calamity than she knew, and -more sufferers; the Marion who shared his happier thoughts--who was she? -or how had Norman's blight, so much more dreadful than death, fallen -upon her? - -The dusky December weeks passed on, and, on the last night of the year, -a tall man, closely enveloped in a plaid, walked softly up the dark -avenue towards the house of Strathoran. He seemed to know its turns and -windings well, as keeping under covert of the thickest trees, he -hastily approached the house;--once near it, he crossed the path quickly -to gain the obscurity of its shadow, and then walked round it several -times without manifesting any desire of entering. It was a very dreary -night--the ground was thoroughly soaked with recent rains, and heavy -clouds drifted in dark masses over the sky, of whose dull leaden -surface, and wading afflicted moon you could see occasional glimpses, as -these gloomy hosts of vapors were parted by the wind. A fitful glance of -the moon fell now and then upon the stranger's face. It was pale and -resolute, and rigid, like the face of one undergoing some terrible -surgical operation, to endure which manfully his every nerve was -strained. He paused at last opposite a brilliant window, and retreating -backward, raised himself by aid of a tree, so that he could look in. -Through the closed curtains he could see a party of gentlemen sitting at -their wine--the sound of their laughter, and gay voices, reached him on -his watch. With keen eyes he surveyed the unconscious revellers, marked -every face, took in, as it seemed, every particular of the scene, and -then descending, took his way again through the solitary avenue, and -turning as before into a side path, reached the highway unseen. Onward -he went, walking very quickly for full two dreary miles, and arrived at -last not at any dwelling of man, but at a solitary graveyard, still and -solemn, lying upon Oranside, in the midst of which rose the ruined walls -of an ancient chapel, moss-grown, and clad with clinging ivy.--The alarm -which called forth the parishioners of more southern districts, night -after night, to watch their dead, had not reached the distant stillness -of Strathoran, and the stranger entered unmolested and unseen. He -directed his steps to the chapel, climbed the broken stair, and entered -the small unroofed apartment, with its ruined walls, and trailing ivy, -and floor of lettered flags, bearing upon them the names of those who -slept below--for this was the burial-place of the long-descended -Sutherlands of Strathoran. Another uncertain glance of the wan moon -directed him to a marble tablet in the wall, by the side of which he -stood long in the dreary silence, motionless and still, himself like -some dark statue, mocking the dead with empty honor. Hugh Sutherland and -Isabel his wife, lay underneath the watcher's feet; and the son to whom -they had left so fair a heritage, and who had visited their grave two -twelvemonths since, bearing a name of universal honor, and looking forth -upon a smiling future, through natural tears that became him well--stood -there now, tearless and stern in the thick gloom of night--a houseless, -joyless man. - -"I have obeyed," said Archibald Sutherland, leaning upon the ruined -wall. "I have returned to see my father's house in the hands of an alien -to his blood--and now what remains?" His knees were bent upon the stone -that covered the dust of father and of mother--his brow pressed to the -tablet that chronicled their names; and the ruined man in his extremity, -poured out his full heart into the ear of One who heareth always, and -never more certainly than when the voice of supplication rises to Him -"out of the depths." "Who shall stand before thee if thou markest -iniquity? yet is there forgiveness with thee, that thou mayest be -feared, and plenteous redemption." - -Yes, _that_ remained--omnipotent, over all, in His tender mercy, the God -whose plentiful redemption encircles with its arms of divine compassion -its every returning prodigal--the loving-kindness that turns no -supplicant away. The sympathy most wonderful and strange of all, which -"touches"--the heart of the Incarnate God with "a fellow-feeling for our -infirmities!"--these remained--greater than all sorrows of the earth. - -So with less sternness in his pale face, and less despair in his heart, -Archibald Sutherland retraced his steps, and turned to the humble -fisher's house far down the Oran, the inhabitants of which had recently -come to the district, and knew not either the name or the quality of the -stranger whom they had reluctantly agreed to shelter for the night. - -He had hovered that same evening in cover of the darkness, in the -neighborhood of the Tower--had passed the hospitable walls of Woodsmuir, -and looked through the bare trees at Merkland; but drawing back in -painful shame, had not dared to enter, or make himself known to any of -them all--they all had households, kindred, warm friends about them. He -only was alone. - -The next night, with his plaid wrapped as closely about him as before, -and serving as a disguise, he passed along Oranside in the darkness, -turning his steps to the Tower. He could not delay longer--already -perhaps in the bitter pain of last night's trial, he had delayed too -long, and in passing those wide-spreading fields and plantations, once -his own, but in which now the meanest hind dwelling among them had more -share than he, he felt that last night's trial might be indefinitely -prolonged. He came to the Tower at last, and found it also gay and full -of light. The hall-door was open, and within stood a knot of servants. -The door of Mrs. Euphan Morison's snug room was ajar, and showed Duncan -from Merkland, and Mr. Coulter's grave man-servant sitting comfortably -by the fireside, while the Falcon's Craig groom, and Mr. Foreman's lad, -and one or two younger attendants, stood among Mrs. Catherine's -maid-servants in the hall listening to the music above. - -"Jacky, ye monkey, shut that door," cried Mrs. Euphan Morison, "Idle -hizzies clavering nonsense, and decent folk like to get their death o' -cauld. I wad advise ye to tak hame some o' that horehound-balsam wi' -ye, Duncan--it's uncommon guid for hoarseness. I made it with my ain -hand." - -Jacky darted forward to do her mother's bidding; and Archibald felt the -girl's keen eye pierce his disguise in a moment.--She paused, looked at -him. "If ye please, will I tell Mrs. Catherine?" - -"Yes--but wait, Jacky, let me go up stairs." - -Jacky went gravely forward before him, and drawing his plaid more -closely over his face, Archibald followed her unobserved.--The girl led -him to a small apartment which opened into that well-remembered -drawing-room, and without saying a word, left him there. He sat down and -waited. Ah! these gay sounds of mirth and music, how bitterly they mock -sick hearts. A sort of hope had inspired him, as he felt himself once -more in shelter of these stately walls, but now, within hearing of the -sounds of pleasure and rejoicing, his heart again sank within him. There -was no place for him--homeless and hopeless, there. As he listened, a -simple voice began to sing--words chiming strangely in with his changed -fortunes. - - "Like autumn leaves upon the forest ways, - The gentle hours fall soft, the brightest days - Fade from our sight. - A dimness steals upon the earth and heaven, - Blended of gloom and light; - Shuts its soft eyelid o'er day's azure levin, - And shades with its soft tints the glories of sweet even - To sober-toned night. - - "From his deep cradle the woods among - His russet robes waving free, - The Oran with his kindly tongue, - Is travelling to the sea. - He rushes to the ocean old, - In sparkling wave and foam, - And out into that trackless wold - Bears the kind voice of home. - Wayfaring man, far, on the sea - Listen how he calls to thee! - - "Warm household lights are shining out - His rugged channel o'er. - Ill plants of malice, and guile, and doubts - Ne'er blossom on his shore. - There is Peace in her matron's gown and hood. - Her footsteps never roam, - And Hope is in pleasant neighborhood - And strength is strongest at home - Thy foot is weary, thy cheek is wan, - Come to thy kindred, wayfaring man - - "Oran's ringing voice he hears, - The great sea waves among, - To yon far shore the ripple bears - The Oran's kindly tongue. - Yet he labors on, and travels far, - For years of toil must glide, - Before he sees the even star - Rise calm on Oranside. - Speed thy labor o'er land and sea, - Home and kindred are waiting for thee! - - "The gentle hours fall soft, the brightest days, - Like autumn leaves upon the forest ways, - Fade from our sight. - And night and day he labors as he can, - Far from home's kindly light. - His foot is weary, and his cheek is wan, - Ah! pray, young hearts, for the sad wayfaring man - Laboring this night." - -The air was very simple beginning and ending in a low pathetic strain, -and with a quicker measure for the intervening verses--but the music was -but a soft chiming breath, bearing along the words. Archibald Sutherland -leaned his head upon his hands, the burden floating dizzily through his -mind. Alas! for him, beginning his wayfaring so painfully, neither home -nor kindred waited. He heard a step approach--a hand gently open the -door of communication, and raised his head, a sad calmness possessing -him.--Among the gay hearts, divided from him only by that wall, there -might be some one, whose prayer of gentle pity, would indeed rise for -the wayfaring man. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - - -Anne Ross was seated near Mrs. Catherine's piano when Alice Aytoun took -her place at it timidly, and placing a sheet of manuscript music before -her, began her song. Anne started in tremulous wonder as it commenced. -Most strange to hear these words repeated by a living voice at -all--stranger still that they should fall from Alice Aytoun's. With -breathless interest she listened as the lines flowed on. The wayfaring -man in toil, and danger, and sorrow, hearing in the ripple of the great -sea, far away in some strange country, the kindly call of the Oran to -home and kindred. Her cheeks grew pale--her lips quivered. How could -this be twined into Norman's history?--or was Alice unconsciously -murmuring out the low, sad prayer of its conclusion for her father's -murderer? - -The tears were swelling in Anne's eyes as the song concluded; and Ralph -Falconer who stood near had addressed to her some sneering compliment on -her sensibility, when Jacky stole behind her chair, and whispered -something in her ear. Anne recollected herself instantly, and, -approaching Mrs. Catherine, communicated to her Jacky's intelligence. -Mrs. Catherine started--rose from her seat--wavered a moment, and then -restraining her emotions, sat resolutely down again. - -"See, Anne, there is the key of the little room. Take the dyvour -there--I will come myself when I can. Tell him that--." Anne turned to -obey. "And, child,--bid Euphan Morison have a good fire kindled in the -red room, and tell Andrew he is to hold himself ready to wait on Mr. -Archibald--and, child--be kindly to the unhappy youth. It behoves me to -be stern myself, but there is no such bondage upon you." - -When Archibald Sutherland lifted his head it was Anne Ross who stood -before him, her eyes shining wet, her face full of sympathetic sorrow. -She held out her hand, and advanced towards him. - -"Mr. Sutherland--Archibald." - -"Anne!" said the broken man. They shook hands; there needed no more -speech; perfect and cordial sympathy, of no exaggerated sort, but such -as does sometimes, and should always subsist between those who have -passed childhood and early youth together, was between them in a moment. -There was no story told--no compassion claimed; but, in the pressure of -Anne's hand, and the subdued kindness of her look, the full heart felt -itself eased, and leaned upon the unexpressed sympathy as with the -confidence of nearest kindred. There were no words; but Anne knew how -Archibald's spirit was wading like the moon in clouds and darkness; and -Archibald felt that Anne, in the confidence of ancient kindness, was -ready to hope and believe all things for his final deliverance and -welfare. - -"You will not go in," said Anne, gently. "There is a large party, and -some strangers." - -"No--no," said Archibald. "I regret now that I came at all to-night. I -would be a strange spectre, disturbing your merrymaking, Anne." - -"Merrymaking! With some of us, at least, there is not much of that," -said Anne. "Lewis is home, Archibald; you must see _him_. But now will -you come with me to the little room? Mrs. Catherine will come herself -immediately." - -"To the little room?" - -"Yes; the house is full, and all the other apartments are occupied," -said Anne; "that is all. Mrs. Catherine has been looking for you, -Archibald." - -They left the room together, and, to the great wonder of the congregated -listeners in the hall, descended the stair, and turned through a dark -passage to Mrs. Catherine's place of especial retirement--the little -room. Archibald entered, and Anne, leaving him, hastened to Mrs. Euphan -Morison's apartment, to convey to her Mrs. Catherine's orders, in -immediate execution of which a reluctant maid was hurried up stairs. - -And Archibald Sutherland seated himself alone, fearing the interview -which Mrs. Catherine made still more important and solemn by ordaining -that it should take place _there_. The firm, dark face of Sholto Douglas -looked down upon him from the wall, and fascinated his restless eyes. -There seemed a lofty purity of reproof in those fine lineaments, over -which the pallor of death had fallen, before Mrs. Catherine's only -brother had told out an equal number of years with himself. Sholto -Douglas, in his early prime of manhood, laid in a foreign grave, the -odor of a stainless name, and strong faith, numbering him among those -just, who shall be held in everlasting remembrance. Archibald -Sutherland, in the wreck of hope and fortune, and good fame, preserving -barely life. Ah! who would not rather have chosen the solitary grave in -far Madeira, in which all sin and uncertainty lay dead, and where, above -flowery sod, and gray headstone, there blossomed one sublime and -stedfast hope, as sure and true as heaven. - -Archibald could not bear, what seemed the cold reproving scrutiny of -that noble pictured face, and laying his arms upon the table, he bent -down his head upon them. He fancied he could hear the music and gay -voices still. Anne had left him. Mrs. Catherine lingered in her coming; -even in this household, the only one in the cold world around him, in -which he thought himself secure of welcome, the ruined man was nothing; -bitter thoughts swelled up within his worn and wearied spirit, despair -came back like a flood upon his heart; exhausted in health, broken in -mind, disgraced in name--what remained for the once joyous heir of -Strathoran, but poverty, neglect, and death. - -Large gray eyes, made larger by the dew that swelled beneath their lids, -were looking on him, as thus he sank further and further, into that -horror of great darkness. Mrs. Catherine, whose slow step he had not -heard approaching, in the tumult of his own thoughts, stood by him -silently; her strong features moved by the contest between severity and -tenderness. - -"Archibald Sutherland," she said, harshly. The young man started, but -did not lift his head. "Archie, my man!" Her large hand was upon his -hair, stroking it softly, as if the head it covered had been a child's. -He looked up. "You have sinned against your own spirit, and in the sight -of God; but you are home in your own country, and under a kindly roof. -Archie Sutherland, give me your hand, and let bygones be bygones between -us." - -There was a silence of some minutes, during which, Mrs. Catherine -grasped Archibald's trembling hand in one of her's, and with the other, -smoothed down his dark hair, wet as it was, with the cold dew of mental -pain. "Archie!" she repeated, "there have many waves passed over your -head since I laid my hand upon it last; waves of sorrow and shame, and -waves of sin, Archie Sutherland--but yet--be silent, and listen to -me--yet I pray, as I prayed when we parted, that the blessing of the God -of our fathers may be about you, boy, at this time, and for ever! Look -up, and hear me. Let trouble, and toil, and hardship come, as the Lord -will; lift up your head in His presence, Archie Sutherland, and plight -me your word, that in your further warfare, manfully and honestly, and -in the strength of His name, ye will resist sin. I fear no other thing -in this earth, be it the sorest pain that ever wrung mortal flesh; but -with a deadly fear do I tremble for that! That you will strive against -it night and day, that you will give place to it--no, not for an -hour--that wherever ye may be, in joy, or in tribulation, in peace, or -in strife--ye will remember the One name whereby we can be saved, and -resist iniquity, if need be unto blood. Your word, Archie Sutherland, I -am waiting for your word." - -And solemnly, with lifted hand, and tremulous voice, the word was -plighted. "With all the strength of a sad man, honestly, and in truth. -Remembering the One name whereby we can be saved, and in the strength of -Him who has overcome sin. God succor me!" - -The flush faded from his thin cheek, his hand fell. Mrs. Catherine stood -still by his side, in the same attitude, her hand lying fondly upon his -hair, and there was again an interval of silence. "The angel that -redeemed me from all evil, bless the lad. Archie, be of good cheer. Who -kens the ways of the Lord? We are tried, but we are not forsaken." - -Mrs. Catherine seated herself opposite him, and looked into his face. -"You are white and thin, Archie, spent with that weary trouble--and you -have been walking upon the damp road in the night air, like an imprudent -lad, as you are, and will have wet feet, doubtless. Go up to your room -like a good heart, and change them, and then, Archie, my man, we are all -friends together. Come in, and see Lewis Ross, and the rest of them, for -I have a houseful to-night." - -"I am not fit for any company," said the young man. "I should go in -among them like a ghost. Mrs. Catherine, I have obeyed you to the -letter. Last night, I saw my father's house in the possession of -strangers. Last night, I saw that man in my father's seat. I have not -shrunk from the full trial, and now there is no probation so hard, no -struggle so bitter, but I am willing to embrace it, if I may but have a -prospect of redeeming what I have sinfully lost; although it be only to -die when all is done, beneath the roof where my fathers have lived and -died before me." - -A sympathetic light kindled in Mrs. Catherine's eye; but the wasted -young man beside her, needed soothing and rest, as she saw, and after -her own fashion she comforted him. "Archie, I am in years, and there is -no wish so near my heart, as to see your work done before I go hence; -but to do your work you must be strong, and to be strong, ye must rest; -this is no a time to speak of dying. I ken no man in this world, that -has a chain to life as strong as you have yourself, Archie Sutherland, -if it be the Lord's will, and truly, I have little hope of a man, with a -labor before him, turning to death for ease and idleness. I doubt not, -there are many years before you yet, blyther than these; but we will -have time to speak of that hereafter. Go up to your room, Archie. It -will mind ye of your school days, to have Andrew about you again, and -come down when you are ready, to the little east room to me. You must -even be a good bairn, and do my bidding to-night." - -Mrs. Catherine rose. Archibald rose too, in obedience. The strong old -lady took the arm of the weak and exhausted young man, and half -supporting him, went with him herself to the door of the red-room, where -a cheerful fire was shining upon the warm color of curtains and -furniture, while Andrew, with his grey hair dressed, and his best livery -donned, in honor of the company, stood waiting at the door: the same -room, with all its arrangements perfectly unchanged! the same friendly -and well-known face, that had been wont to hover about him in kindly -attendance in those joyous boyish days! The prodigal had returned -home--the despairing man had entered into an atmosphere rich and warm -with hope. Archibald threw himself into the old fire-side chair, and hid -his face again in his hands, overpowered with a momentary weakness, from -whose tears the strength of steadfast resolution and grateful purpose -sprang up boldly, rising over bitterness and ruin and grief in sober -triumph, the beginning of better days. - -But Archibald did not make his appearance in Mrs. Catherine's -drawing-room that night. With the shame of his downfall strong upon him, -and feeling so bitterly the disruption of all the ties which formerly -bound him in kindly neighborship to these prosperous people, who knew -his fall and humiliation alone, and did not know his painful struggles -and sore repentance, he shrank from meeting them; and when, having -entered the little east-room, he told Mrs. Catherine what pain her kind -wish to cheer him would inflict upon him, she did not repeat her -commands. - -"But I will meet ye half-way, Archie," she said, "Robert Ferguson, your -good friend and honorable steward is laboring at this time redding up -the tangled odds and ends of your affairs, and it is meet you should -see him and render him right thanks for his good service. You ought to -have gone to Woodsmuir first. I know not any mortal you are so much -indebted to. Go your ways to the library and shut the door--I will send -over for Mr. Ferguson. Na--you shall not stir over my door in a damp -night till you have won back your strength again--and Mr. Foreman is -here, Archie; would you like me to send him down? or are you able to -stand it?" - -"Quite able," said Archibald, hastily. "Ask Mr. Foreman to come to me, -Mrs. Catherine. With all your kindness, I yet cannot rest till I see -something definite before me. I have lost too much time already, and Mr. -Foreman is an old and kind friend. I do not deserve so many. Let him -come to me, if, indeed, he will come--I need counsel sorely." - -Mrs. Catherine made a gesture of impatience. "And I am trysted with -these young fools, and cannot win down beside you to put in my word. Mr. -Foreman will come blythely, Archie--go your ways, and be careful of -shutting the door, that you may not be disturbed. Andrew, let Johnnie -Halflin ride to Woodsmuir without a moment's delay. If he tarries on the -road, it will be at his peril; and give my compliments to Mr. -Ferguson--or stay--Archie, write a word yourself." - -Established in the library, Archibald wrote a hasty note to Mr. -Ferguson, and in a moment after heard Johnnie Halflin, with many -arguments, persuading an unwilling pony to face the damp, chill blast, -which swept so mournfully through the naked woods, and over the sighing -Oran, and at last gallopping off on the road to Woodsmuir, the footsteps -of his shaggy little steed sounding in unsteady leaps, as it struggled -to turn its head from the wind, and regain its comfortable stable. - -Various groups in Mrs. Catherine's drawing room were whispering already -reasons for her absence. - -"I am afraid, Mrs. Catherine is not well," said Mrs. Coulter, -sympathetically. "Her face has had a look of trouble all the night." - -"Perhaps it is some unpleasant visitor," suggested Mr. Bairnsfather. "I -thought she was agitated." - -"Mrs. Catherine agitated," cried Walter Foreman, "you might as soon -shake the Tower." - -"Hold your peace, Sir," said his father. "These young men are constantly -speaking of things they don't comprehend. Mrs. Catherine feels much more -deeply than you will ever do." - -Walter looked up amazed. His father's eyes were uneasily fixed upon the -door; his face anxious and full of care. - -"Ay," said Mrs. Bairnsfather, shaking her head pathetically, "it has -been a great grief to her this downcome of young Strathoran. A fine -life he led in Paris, by all accounts; he will surely never come home, -to be a burden on Mrs. Catherine." - -Mr. Foreman turned round impatiently, as if to answer, but evidently -checking with some difficulty an angry reply, looked again towards the -door. - -"Poor Archibald," said the kindly Mrs. Coulter, "this is not a time for -his friends to desert him. Dear me, there is Mr. Ambler persuading -Jeanie to sing. Jeanie, my dear, mind what a cold you have got." - -"Just, 'Auld Robin Gray,' for the benefit of the seniors," said Mr. -Ambler, "the first notes will call Mrs. Catherine back again." - -Jeanie Coulter seated herself at the piano, Walter Foreman took his -place behind her. The "seniors" prepared to listen--the younger part of -the company to whisper and exchange smiles and glances, the long ballad -being too much for their patience. - -"Do you think it can be young Strathoran who has arrived?" whispered -Mrs. Bairnsfather. - -Mrs. Coulter nodded impatiently, resenting the interruption of Jeanie's -song. - -"Not that new fangled nonsense, Jeanie my dear," said Mrs. Catherine, -entering. "You ken the tune Lady Anne wrote it for--a right breath to -carry forth the story on--not that--as if sick hearts were like to play -with a melody, and did not just seek the needful breath of music to send -forth their sorrows withal." - -"You knew Lady Anne, Mrs. Catherine?" said Jeanie Coulter, playing with -the keys, and finding this a proper opportunity for the hesitation and -coyness necessary to set off her pretty voice and tasteful singing. - -"Ay, I knew Lady Anne--you all ken that; sing your ballad, Jeanie -Coulter, and do not keep us waiting. Mr. Foreman, I have a word to say -to you." - -The word was said. Mr. Foreman in haste, and not without agitation, left -the room, and Mrs. Catherine herself stood near the piano listening to -the music. Jeanie Coulter did the ballad--than which it seems to us, -there is no history of more perfect beauty and pathos in all the stores -of our Scottish tongue, rich though it be in such--full justice. The -tremulous sad music stole through the room, arresting even Alice, though -she was rising then nearly to the climax of her girlish happiness--"I -wish I were dead, but I'm no like to dee." What strange avalanche of -trouble could ever bring such words as these from Alice Aytoun's lips? -It was impossible. - -Yet under that same roof was one, whose youthful beginning had been more -prosperous than Alice Aytoun's, schooling himself to patience, as again -and again the pain of his past transgressions came back upon him like a -flood. Agent and factor had both taken their place beside him in the -library--the lamp shone upon the somewhat sharp profile of Mr. Foreman, -with its deepset acute eyes and deliberative look--upon the healthful, -hardy, honest face of Mr. Ferguson, browned by exposure, and instinct -with earnest sympathy and kindness--and upon Archibald Sutherland's wan -and downcast countenance, with its mark of past sickness, and present -melancholy humility; they were discussing his future career. - -"I will tell you what I propose for myself, Mr. Archibald," said Mr. -Ferguson, "My occupation is gone, as you know, in respect to the estate -of Strathoran. Now there is Loelyin and Lochend the entailed lands--you -will remember that Alexander Semple is in them, and there are three -years of his lease to run; but Semple has little capital and no -enterprise, and I think would be glad to get rid of his lease and try a -more productive farm. It is poor land." - -Archibald looked up vaguely, not seeing what the factor's remarks tended -to: - -"The land is poor but improvable," continued Mr. Ferguson; "and the farm -of Woodsmuir, which I have occupied myself, is in excellent condition. I -believe that with capital and perseverance, the value of these entailed -lands might be more than doubled, and Mr. Coulter, a practical man of -high authority, bears me out." - -Archibald shook his head sadly: - -"We have no capital, Mr. Ferguson." - -"We have thought of that," said Mr. Ferguson; "but your friends--Mrs. -Catherine for example--have, and this would be no temporary relief, but -a certain benefit." - -"I see," said Archibald; "and yet it is impossible. My most kind -friends, do not think it is pride--of all things there is none that -would become me worse than that; but I am quite unfit for this trial. I -question if now, with my mind excited and unsettled as it has been, I -could endure the placid routine of a farmer's life anywhere. I have -rather been looking forward to unceasing labor of a more engrossing -kind, as the only wholesome discipline for me; but _here_ it is -impossible--to live within sight of Strathoran, to reap the bitter -fruits of my folly day by day, without intermission, upon my own -alienated land--it would kill me--I could not do it, I could do anything -but that." - -The factor had been waiting eagerly, with his hand lifted.--"Certainly -not--surely not--we never could think of such a thing, Mr. Archibald. -You must hear out my plan. What I propose is, that I, who have some -knowledge of agriculture, and a taste for it, should take these farms -into my own hand. I have consulted Mr. Coulter, and I will have the -full benefit of his advice; and I am confident of Mrs. Catherine's -assistance. In such an investment, capital is perfectly secure, and -subject to no vicissitudes--very few, at least; and I fully believe, -that, carefully and scientifically cultivated, we may quadruple the poor -two hundred a year it yields now: so that, in addition to your own -success, which I have no doubt is certain, if you throw your whole -strength into any profession, there will be, in not very many years, a -property of seven or eight hundred a year waiting for you. The original -property, Mr. Archibald, with opportunity of adding to it, perhaps, bit -by bit, from the rest of the estate--" - -Archibald Sutherland extended his hand silently, and grasped his -factor's. "My punishment is to be overpowered with undeserved kindness," -he said, his voice trembling. "My obligations to you already transcend -thanks, Mr. Ferguson, and yet you increase them." - -Mr. Ferguson resumed his statement hastily, as if ashamed of the emotion -which wet his own eyes, and brought a kindred tremor to his voice. "I -have grown grey in the district, Mr. Archibald, and would like ill to -leave it now. My whole family were born in Woodsmuir. I have long been a -theoretical farmer, you know; and now I will get some of my favorite -crotchets put into practice. We shall come into collision Mr. Coulter -and I," continued the factor, with a kind of hysterical attempt at a -joke, which broke down woefully; "but we will, at least, have a fair -field for our respective hobbies; and the prospect of so great an -increase, Mr. Archibald, is worth working for." - -"Yes, to the worker," said Archibald; "but what justice can there be Mr. -Ferguson, in you devoting years to increase my income? The fruit of your -improvements is clearly your own--not mine." - -"There! there!" said Mr. Foreman, breaking in impatiently.--"The fact -is, Ferguson, that you should have just put in your proposal without any -preface to make it hazy. Mr. Ferguson takes Alexander Semple's place, at -Alexander Semple's rent, Mr. Sutherland--that's his proposal--continues -so, till his improvements are fairly and honestly paying, and then -remains your tenant at the advanced rent: we will see that he does not -offer you too little. As for the capital, that is our concern; I will -undertake that." - -Archibald Sutherland said some incoherent words of thanks, he did not -himself know what--neither did his hearers, as Mr. Ferguson shook his -grey eye-lash free of some encumbering moisture, and Mr. Foreman -coughed, and cleared his throat. There was a brief pause. - -"And for yourself, Mr. Archibald?" said the lawyer. - -"For myself, I do not know. I have formed no definite plan. Give me your -counsel: I am ready to do anything." - -"The bar?" suggested Mr. Foreman. - -"Medicine?" ventured the factor. - -Archibald shook his head. "I am no longer a youth, and could ill spare -years now for study. Do you know what a great work I am pledged to Mr. -Foreman? No less than winning back what I have lost, and doing it in -Mrs. Catherine's lifetime. You smile. It looks like a sick fancy, does -it not?--yet it is a fancy that stirs me in every vein. I must work, -gentlemen--I must work; how hardly I do not care; work for mere -mercenary gain. I shall not gain honor with my schoolfellow Robert, Mr. -Ferguson; that is beyond my reach. I must toil to the utmost of my -strength to regain my birthright. I can afford to lose no time." - -Mr. Foreman had smiled gravely when Archibald began, but the smile -settled down into a look of earnest attention before he concluded. He -thought the hope futile, no doubt; but it was a hope: and his was not -the hand to snatch it rudely from the grasp of a fallen man. - -"Business?" said Mr. Ferguson, half aloud. "He must be embarked in -business--but how?" - -"Listen to me," said Archibald, becoming stronger, as it seemed, when -his own fate came under discussion. "My friends, I must go abroad; I can -neither rest nor work well at home--at this time, at least. Let me go -alone, as humbly as may be. I will put myself under mercantile training -at first, if you think it necessary. My own idea is--I have some poor -pride, perhaps, in letting you see that I am not too proud for my fallen -fortunes--that I should get a clerk's situation in some commercial house -abroad--I do not care where--and work my way upward, as I can. I have no -money; and what bare influence I could command, would help me little, I -fancy. Let me make this experiment, with no adventitious help of -patronage or introduction. If I fail, I will promise to return upon your -hands again, trusting that your kindness will counsel the unhappy waif -once more; but I hope not to fail. All the details remain to be -considered.--When or how I am to endeavor to begin, I have not thought; -and for whatever your kindness and better knowledge can suggest, I am in -your hands." - -Neither of his grave counsellors spoke for some minutes; at last, Mr. -Foreman said: "You are right, Mr. Archibald. I thought of that myself, -formerly, but imagined foolishly, that you would shrink from trade. Your -resolution is proper and wise; but remember--I do not wish to discourage -you, but there are only a very few, who rise from the class of clerks -into that of merchant princes. We are apt, in these days, to form -mercantile romances for ourselves; there are some very wonderful -instances, I grant, but they are rare." - -"As in all other professions," said Mr. Ferguson, watching the changes -of Archibald's face anxiously; "but talent and vigor still more rarely -remain in the humblest class. You are wearied, Mr. Archibald; let us -adjourn this discussion. We can meet in Portoran in a day or two, if you -are able," continued the factor, turning with all the solicitude of a -nurse to his late patient, "if you are sure you are able." - -And with that agreement, Archibald, indeed thoroughly exhausted and worn -out, parted with his kind advisers and retired to his room, where he -fell asleep in dreamy peace, and strange unwonted quiet, in the -pleasant, ruddy twilight, which the fire made, as it glimmered in its -shooting lights, and depths of fantastic shadow, through the familiar -room. - -The slight excitement of Archibald's arrival over, Anne returned to the -company, with Alice Aytoun's song still ringing in her ear. Strange it -was, how every passing event seemed to have some link of incoherent -connection with Norman's terrible history. The stranger child in Mrs. -Melder's cottage; the unconscious Alice; the magic threads were -extending themselves in all directions. Anne almost feared to see new -faces, to make new friends. Norman's image was growing before her eyes, -filling up the whole horizon of that dim future. If she should meet -himself! the wandering Cain might, with a strange fascination, such as -she had read of, seek his own birthplace, ere he died; the idea was -fearful--a constant haunting dread, surrounding her like a mist wherever -she went. - -The evening wore on, and as the guests began to disperse, Anne, in -virtue of her standing in the household, had various parting courtesies -to pay; to stand at the hall door, while Mrs. Coulter's carriage was -packed with the many members of her family; to see Miss Falconer away, -and Mrs. Bairnsfather; and when she returned to look for Lewis, the -drawing-room was nearly empty. Lewis was not there, neither was Alice -Aytoun. The door communicating with the little east room was ajar, and -Anne entered, seeking her brother. The room was dimly lighted with one -candle. Who stood at its further end? Lewis Ross and Alice Aytoun, hand -in hand. Anne stood silent, on the threshold, in chill, fear and -apprehension, her head bent forward, her eyes fixed upon them. Little -Alice, drooping, blushing, leaning on her companion. Lewis, triumphant, -proud, meeting his sister's gaze with a smiling defiance. Anne stood -still, seeing all, and could not speak. In another moment, Alice had -glided towards her, thrown her slight arms round her waist, and was -clinging to her like a child. - -"Anne, be her sister," said Lewis, with unusual emotion. Anne smiled a -sickly smile, as in a painful dream, laid her hand unconsciously upon -the girl's fair hair, felt Alice start, and shiver at the touch of her -cold fingers, and then, hastily disengaging herself, left the room, her -very brain reeling, leaving Lewis enraged, and Alice grieved and -alarmed, in the very fulness of her joy. It was all over now; the fatal -engagement was made, and what remained but to blight the girlish -gladness, and pour upon Lewis's startled ears, the knowledge of that -fatal crime, which stood like a spectre between his betrothed and him. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - - -Lewis Ross and his sister walked home together in silence and -alienation. Lewis was sullenly indignant, while Anne, still overpowered -by that whirl of agitation, pain and fear, felt grateful for Duncan's -officious attendance with his lanthorn, which precluded any conversation -of a private kind, between her brother and herself. In her first shock -and bewilderment, she knew not what to do--whether to communicate her -secret at once, or to delay until she herself knew the terrible story -more perfectly. She determined on the latter course, before they reached -Merkland, and pained still further by her brother's averted looks, and -sullen silence, whispered: "Lewis, forgive me, I knew not what I was -doing," as they entered the house. Lewis took no notice, but went -angrily into the parlor, in which his mother usually sat. A fit of -ill-humor had prevented Mrs. Ross from accompanying them to the -Tower--the same cause had afflicted her with headache, and sent her to -her room, full two hours before they returned home, and to Anne's -satisfaction, there was no family intercourse of any kind that night. - -Once safe in the shelter of her own apartment, she sat through the dead -hours of that chill January night, laboring to form some plan for her -further proceedings. She could not concentrate her mind upon -them--shooting off, now here, now there, those floods of distempered -thoughts refused that bondage--now called back from a long and vivid -picturing of Norman's desolate and hopeless way, and Norman's blighted -life--now from recalling in strange caprice the girlish gaiety and sunny -future of Alice Aytoun, dwelling upon its bright particulars, as if to -exaggerate the gloom that now lowered over the gladness of those -youthful days. The host of indefinite and conflicting purposes, which -terminated all these discursive wanderings of thought, would not be -reconciled. Crowding about her like so many phantoms, they even stifled -the voice of her appeal to that One counsellor from whom it was Anne -Ross's constant wont to seek wisdom and guidance. Confused words, -meaningless and often repeated, swelled up from her heart, constantly--a -mere vacant cry of agony--for her mind was wandering all the while, from -point to point, in aimless and bewildered speed. - -With but the slight difference, that, for an hour or two, these confused -thoughts, remaining as active as before, took upon them the yet more -fantastic garb of dreams; her mind continued in the same state of -excited agitation during the whole night, and it was only when the chill -morning began to break, grey and faint, through the dark clouds of the -east, that springing from her feverish sleep and unhappy fancies -together, Anne girded herself for the work that lay before her. To see -Mrs. Catherine, and ascertain beyond doubt that Alice was the daughter -of that Aytoun who fell by Norman's hand--that seemed her first step. To -learn as fully and clearly as might be the particulars of the tragedy -itself, and if possible, to get possession of Norman's letter to her -father, which Mrs. Ross had mentioned, and which, with foolish -procrastination for which she now blamed herself, Anne had shrunk from -seeking. If she had but accomplished these necessary preliminaries, Anne -hoped that her mind might acquire more coherence, and that she might be -able to resolve what was best to be done, for making known the secret to -Alice and Lewis--the two individuals most deeply concerned. - -Dressing herself hastily, she left Merkland, and took the path up -Oranside, which led to the Tower. Anne was privileged to have admittance -at all times, and knew that Mrs. Catherine was, comparatively, an early -riser. The path was damp and slippery--the morning coming in, in -clinging garments of wet mist, grey, drizzling and disconsolate, with -blasts of thin rain, sweeping now and then in her face. - -Mrs. Catherine was seated in her small dressing room, which was -immediately over "the little room"--and like it looked out upon the bare -ascent of the hill behind the Tower. She was dressed, all but the large -soft grey shawl which her stately attendant Mrs. Elspeth Henderson was -carefully unfolding; and seated in an easy chair by the fireside, was -having her usual half-hour's gossip with her "gentlewoman." - -"And so you think Anne Ross is looking ill, Elspat," said Mrs. -Catherine; "it's my hope you and your wise daughter have no design upon -the poor bairn. Mind, I will have no doctoring of my Anne. I believe -Euphan Morison is crazy!--my best cow in the deadthraw with her -abominations! I will not have it, Elspat, though she is your daughter. -My household shall be poisoned with physic at the will of no woman." - -"Euphan walks according to her lights, Madam," responded Mrs. Elspat; -"but if ye ask my opinion, I would say that Miss Ross needit spiritual -physic, and no temporal: the bitter herbs o' repentance and grace, and -no camomile and wormwood--though I hold with Euphan doubtless that the -last are of service in their place." - -"Hold with Euphan--a great authority truly!" said Mrs. Catherine. -"Spiritual physic, bitter herbs--ye are all fools together, the whole -household and lineage of you! Not that I am saying we are, any of us, -above grace and repentance--forbid that such a profane thing should come -from my lips, but--Elspat Henderson what are you groaning at?--the bairn -Anne is more simple and devout than the whole tribe of you." - -Mrs. Elspat Henderson looked meek and injured. - -"It would ill become me, Madam, to maintain that anything is, when it's -your pleasure to say it _is not_. Nevertheless, it's my privilege to -lift up my testimony to the iniquity of human-kind, all and haill. We -are all perverse, yea we have gone out of the way--we have together -become unprofitable; there is none--" - -"Woman, woman, hold your peace," said Mrs. Catherine, "as if I was like -to hold inherent ill of light import--me that have seen its outbreaking, -time after time, in lives that the world called pure, and no less in my -own. Carry your testimony to your Maker's presence, Elspat Henderson, -and mind that ye stand sole there, and cannot glide out of your ain -private evil in the cover of a '_we_.' And what is your special ill-will -at Anne Ross? what is her misdeed the now?" - -Mrs. Elspat gave a prolonged sigh. - -"That ye should have so puir an opinion of me, as to throw such a blame -on your auld and faithful servant. _Me_, a special ill-will at the young -lady! it's my hope I will never be so far left to mysel, frail vessel as -I am." - -Mrs. Catherine groaned. - -"Is it your purpose to drive me out of all patience, Elspat Henderson? -Truly, if the three of you are no enough to banish peace from any -mortal, I am no judge. What cause of censure have you, then, if I am no -to say ill-will against my Anne? What has she done?" - -Mrs. Elspat coughed solemnly. - -"Miss Ross has been looking uncommon white and thin, Madam, since ever -the day that Miss Aytoun came to the Tower; and if ye'll notice yoursel -how she looks steadfast at Miss Alice, and syne grows white, as if she -would swarf away, you'll see that what I am saying is true, neither less -nor mair." - -Mrs. Catherine seemed struck, and did not answer immediately. Her -attendant approached with the shawl. Mrs. Catherine took it, and wrapped -it round her. - -"Ay!" she exclaimed at last, "and what does your wisdom make of that?" - -"If there is a sore evil under the sun," said Mrs. Elspat, oracularly, -"it is envy, and a jealous ill-will at folk better gifted and better -likit than oursels. Far be it from me to lay a hard word upon a young -lady like Miss Ross, but--" - -"Elspat Henderson!" said Mrs. Catherine, angrily, "your learned daughter -will be waiting on you for her breakfast. Go your ways down the stair, -and, between this time and the morn, look me out the Psalm that gives a -righteous reward to him that slanders his neighbor privately. I know -well David, honest man, let his pen fall ajee when he wrote it 'him,' -and no 'her'--and see that you coin no more scandal out of the ill mists -of your own brain to rouse my wrath withal. You may leave the room, Mrs. -Elspat Henderson--I have no further need of you." - -The cowed attendant withdrew, and Mrs. Catherine seated herself in -stately indignation. By-and-by her face grew calmer, graver. The -suggestion awakened a new train of thought, and roused anxieties and -fears, hitherto, in the pre-occupation of her mind, never dreamed of. -Anne Ross's light tap at the door came when she was deeply engaged in -these, and Mrs. Catherine rose and opened it with some anger remaining -in her face. - -"Child!" she exclaimed; "at this time in the morning--through the -mist--and with trouble in your face! What is the matter?" Anne entered, -and sat down to recover her breath, and re-arrange her thoughts. Mrs. -Catherine closed the door carefully, and, resuming her seat, looked in -Anne's face and waited. - -"There is nothing the matter, Mrs. Catherine," said Anne, smiling -faintly; "that is--they are all well in Merkland, and I--I just wanted -to consult you--to ask your advice." - -"Speak out, child," said Mrs. Catherine. "It is something not common -that has brought you here this morning. Tell me what it is. Does it -concern Archie?" - -"No, no," said Anne. "Something far more--I mean just a little matter -connected with ourselves--I should say myself, rather, for neither Mrs. -Ross nor Lewis know my errand, Mrs. Catherine--" - -"Child, speak out," exhorted her friend. - -"You will think it very foolish," said Anne, a sickly ray of hope -breaking upon her as the time of certain knowledge drew so near, "I only -wanted to ask you about Miss Aytoun's family. I mean--Miss -Aytoun--Alice--is her father alive?" - -Mrs. Catherine regarded her for a considerable time in silence. Anne -felt the long, firm look a death knell to her last hope, and returned it -with a strange, callous steadiness, such as comes occasionally in the -extremity of trial, imparting to the sufferer a fictitious strength. - -"Her father is not alive. Wherefore do you ask me, child?" - -The unnatural flicker of hope rose again. - -"Where did he die, and how? I beseech you to tell me, Mrs. Catherine!" - -"Anne," said Mrs. Catherine, gravely; "for what purpose do you seek to -know? Wherefore do you question me so?" - -"Where did he die, and when, and how?" repeated Anne.--"Answer me, Mrs. -Catherine--do not hesitate--I am prepared." - -Mrs. Catherine paused long before she answered. - -"The place was a country place--far south from this; the time was -seventeen years ago; the way was--" Mrs. Catherine paused again. "To -what purpose is this questioning, child? It is a matter that concerns -you not." - -"The way was--?" repeated Anne, clasping her hand eagerly. - -"The way was--he was killed," said Mrs. Catherine, in abrupt haste. -"Shot, as men shoot beasts. Anne Ross, I brought the bairn Alison to my -house, because she was an innocent bairn that I wanted to do a kindness -to, and not because of her parentage." - -Anne heard the words, but did not discern their meaning, and sat, in the -blind, fainting sickness that possessed her, repeating them to herself, -unconsciously. - -"Child, child!" said Mrs. Catherine, in alarm. "What ails you? What have -you heard? I am meaning, why have you come to me with such a question?" - -"One other--only one," said Anne, recollecting herself. "Mrs. Catherine, -who was it--who was the murderer?" - -Mrs. Catherine made an appealing motion with her hand, and did not -answer. - -But Anne was perfectly self-possessed again. - -"Was it Norman?" - -Mrs. Catherine did not speak; it was not necessary. The answer was far -too legibly written in the long, steadfast look of grief and sympathy -which she fixed upon her companion's face. - -And so they sat in silence for some minutes, too deeply moved and -engrossed for words. At length Anne started up. - -"That is all," she said, hurriedly. "I must go now. I have much to do." - -Mrs. Catherine rose also, took her hand, and led her back to her seat. - -"You shall not leave my house, child, till I hear more of this. Who was -so cruel as to tell you this sorrowful story? and what is it that you -have to do?" - -Anne sat down again, mechanically. - -"Child," said Mrs. Catherine; "I have never spoken Norman's name in your -hearing, nor suffered it to be spoken. Who has told you a terrible -story, which was buried in grief and forgetfulness long ago, when the -unhappy lad found his grave under the sea? It is not known in the -countryside, for the deed was done far from here, and your father hung -back, and took no note, outwardly, of the miserable boy's fate. He was -right maybe. I would not have done the like--but that is little matter. -Who told you?" - -"Found his grave under the sea!" murmured Anne, unconsciously. - -"What say ye, child?" - -"It was Mrs. Ross," said Anne, "when Miss Aytoun came first to the -Tower, she told me that she feared this was _his_ daughter. Oh! Mrs. -Catherine, why did you not keep her separate from us? If we had not been -brought so much together, this could not have happened." - -"Child," said Mrs. Catherine, "there is something on your mind yet, -which is not known to me; the story is a woeful story, dark enough to -cause sore grief; but it is over and past, and there is some living -dread upon you. What has happened?" - -Anne looked up--she could not find words to communicate her "living -dread"--she only murmured "Lewis." - -Mrs. Catherine started. "Lewis? Child what is it ye mean? No that there -is anything--No, no, what makes me fear that--there can be no liking -between the two." - -"There is, there is," said Anne. - -Mrs. Catherine rose, and walked through the room uneasily. - -"It must be put to an end--immediate--without delay. I brought the bairn -here to do her a kindness, no to give her a sore heart. Child, Lewis -must not enter my house again till Alison Aytoun is home. She is but a -bairn--it can have gone no further than the slight liking of a boy and a -girl. Where were my eyes that I did not see the peril? Child, it must -end this very day--better the pang of a sudden parting--better that each -of them should think they were slighted by the other, than that it -should ever come to an explanation between them, and then to the -rendering of reasons--it must go no further." - -"It is too late," said Anne; "there has already been an explanation -between them. Mrs. Catherine, they are engaged." - -Mrs. Catherine paced up and down the small apartment with quick steps. - -"I am compassed with troubles! no sooner seeing my way out of one, than -another opens before me. Anne, my puir bairn, I am a selfish fool to -think of my own gray head, when the burden falls the heaviest on your -young one. What will we do? there is a purpose in your eye as I can -see--tell me what it is." - -Anne did not know how to proceed: she could not betray Norman's secret -even to Mrs. Catherine. - -"I will tell Lewis," she said, "and perhaps, Mrs. Catherine--I do not -know what is best to be done with poor Alice, so happy and young as she -is--perhaps you will tell her--not all--but something to excuse Lewis." - -Mrs. Catherine shook her head. - -"It will not do. It will not do. If I excuse Lewis, she will think it is -but some passing thing that awhile will wear away.--No, child, no, if -the bairn hears anything, she must hear all." - -"I will tell Lewis," said Anne; "but I must first learn the whole of -this dreadful story more perfectly. I thought of going to old Esther -Fleming: she was Norman's nurse, Mrs. Catherine--is she likely to know -of this?" - -"I mind much of it myself," said Mrs. Catherine, "but you will get it -better from Esther Fleming than from any other mortal. I have been taken -up with many diverse things, but Norman and her own son were year's -bairns, and Norman was the light of Esther Fleming's eyes. Your father -made no endeavor to help the miserable young man, child. I know what you -would say--there was no time--and it is true--for the deed had not been -two days done, when he was on the sea--be thankful, child, that he -perished in the sea and did not die a shameful death." - -Anne trembled--the consciousness of her secret overpowering her as if it -had been guilt. Alas! over the head of the murderer the shameful death -impended still. - -"Did the family know?" she asked, her mind becoming strangely familiar -with the subject: "could they know of Norman's relationship to Lewis?" - -"No," said Mrs. Catherine. "When Arthur Aytoun died, his wife was a -young thing, feeble in her health, and oppressed with many troubles; for -I have heard that he was far from a good man. James Aytoun was but a -bairn then, and Alison was not born; besides that, they were strangers -in that countryside, as well as Norman--being from the south--and would -know little of him but his name. Mrs. Aytoun is a woman of a chastened -spirit, child; she knows the unhappy lad has answered for his guilt -langsyne before his Maker; and think not that she will keep his name in -the mother's heart of her, in any dream of vengeance." - -Anne could not answer: her secret lay upon her like a cloud, weighing -her down to the very earth. - -"I must tell the bairn," continued Mrs. Catherine, as if consulting with -herself; "ay, I must tell the bairn, that she may know, without having -any sick month of waiting, that there is a bar between Lewis and her -that cannot be passed over--that there is a stern and terrible -conclusion put to the dreams of their young love.--Child! it is a sore -weight to lay upon a spirit innocent of all sorrow." - -Anne assented silently. - -"And you will have a harder battle with the youth," said Mrs. Catherine. -"Child, there are bairns in this generation that would fain inherit the -rights and possessions of their fathers, without the ills and the -wrongs. Take heed of Lewis, lest he endeavor to hold this black deed -lightly. I will not have it. The blood that a Ross spilt must never be -joined in near kindred to another Ross. There is a deadly bar between -the houses. Forgiveness there may be, full and free--I doubt it not--but -union never. Mind, there can be no softening--no forgetting. The spirit -that was sent to its account in violence and haste, by Norman's hand, -would rise to bar that ill-trysted betrothal. It must end." - -Anne rose. - -"I will go," she said. "I parted from Lewis last night in anger, because -I had no kind word to say to Alice when he bade me be her sister. I must -hasten now to learn these terrible details more accurately. Lewis might -refuse to believe a story which came so suddenly upon him, and came for -such a purpose, if I did not know it all. I must go now." - -"You will get it best from Esther," said Mrs. Catherine. "I know she has -brooded, in secret, over his sin and his death, since ever his sun set -in yon terrible waves of blood-guiltiness. Anne, my bairn!" Mrs. -Catherine paused, laid her hand upon Anne's drooping head, and went on, -her voice sounding low and solemn. "The Lord uphold and strengthen you -for your work; the Lord guide you with the uplifting of His countenance, -and give you to walk firm in the midst of tribulation, and not to falter -or be weary in the way." - -Once out again upon Oranside, Anne felt the oppression of her terrible -secret grow upon her to suffocation. "He is alive! he is alive!"--the -words came bursting to her lips; she felt tempted, in the strange, -almost irresistible, insanity of the moment, to proclaim it aloud, as -she hurried along; running sometimes, with a sick feeling of escaping -thereby from the phantom that overshadowed her inmost heart. The crime -itself seemed to become dimmer, in its far distance. The thought that -Norman was alive, laden with his fearful burden of remorse and -blood-guiltiness, abiding perchance the shameful death of the murderer, -filled her whole being almost to frenzy, and, with its circle of -possibilities, curdled her very blood with terror. - -Mrs. Ross and Lewis were about sitting down to breakfast, when Anne -returned to Merkland, and the domestic horizon was anything but clear. -Lewis, forgetful of his last night's sullen petulance, was in high -spirits--spirits so high as to aggravate his mother's ill-humor. She -grudged that he should have found so much pleasure at the Tower; and, -sneering at Mrs. Catherine, whose unquestioned superiority had always -galled her, kept up a biting war of inuendo and covert sarcasm. - -"A pleasant morning for walking, Miss Ross," she said, as Anne took her -seat at the table. - -"Why, Anne, have you been out?" exclaimed Lewis. "You have good taste -certainly, so far as weather goes. Where do you go to, so early in the -morning?" - -"Oh, no doubt she has been at the Tower," said Mrs. Ross. "Duncan and -May will be going next. We are possessed with a Tower fever. I presume -you were making tender inquiries after Mr. Sutherland, Miss Ross? At -this time, of course, it is quite sentimental and romantic to entertain -a friendship--nay, perhaps, something warmer than friendship--for the -interesting unfortunate." - -"I might have asked for poor Archibald," said Anne, "if I had thought of -him at all; but I did not remember even that he had come home." - -"Then you have been at the Tower?" - -Anne hesitated. "I did go in to see Mrs. Catherine," she said, -falteringly. - -Lewis looked up gratefully, and smiled upon her with a smile which said, -"I thank you;" before which Anne shrank, and turned away her head. - -"I do not know how we shall get on in the ordinary affairs of life," -continued Mrs. Ross, "while this Tower madness lasts. I should like to -know wherein the fascination lies. One can understand a passing -infatuation, in a boy like Lewis; but for you, Anne, who should have -some idea of propriety and decorum, to be visiting the house, where you -knew that young man had arrived at night, so very early in the -morning--I really am amazed; I do not understand it." - -Anne blushed painfully: Lewis drew himself up in towering indignation. -"Passing infatuation!"--"a _boy_ like Lewis!" - -There was a fortunate diversion made, however, by the entrance of May, -with letters, and until their meal was ended, there was a cessation of -hostilities, though Mrs. Ross still kept up a fugitive fire, hitting -right and left, Lewis and Anne alternately. The breakfast over, Lewis -rose to leave the room. - -"Oh!" exclaimed his mother. "I suppose you are going to the Tower." - -"Yes, mother," said Lewis, gravely, "I am going to the Tower; and when I -return I shall have something to tell you, which, as it will be of -great importance to me, I hope you will receive calmly, and in a more -gentle spirit." - -He left the room. Mrs. Ross followed him with her eyes in astonishment, -and then going to the window, watched him turn up Oranside. Anne sat in -terror, lest she should be questioned as to the mystery of Lewis' words, -but fortunately, she was not. Mrs. Ross sat down, and took her sewing. -Anne had done so before, and the two ladies pursued their work in -silence. - -The needle trembled in Anne's excited fingers; she felt the acceleration -of her pulse, she heard the loud, quick throbbing of her heart. The -silence became awful; she fancied Mrs. Ross could hear her fingers -stumbling at every stitch. "Mother," she said, looking up at last. "I -have a great favor to ask of you." - -Mrs. Ross glanced at her impatiently. "Well; what is it?" - -"You spoke to me once, of a letter--a letter," continued Anne, growing -bolder, as she steadied her voice, "which my unhappy brother, Norman, -wrote to my father; you said I might see it some time, mother!" - -"Upon my word, girl, I believe you want to drive me mad," exclaimed Mrs. -Ross, angrily. "You see me half distracted, with the wilfulness and -regardlessness of Lewis, and you bring in your own foolish fancies, and -your brother's shameful story, as if I had not enough to vex me without -that. Try to come down to ordinary life a little, and do not torment me -with your chimeras." - -"This is no chimera," said Anne, "nor whim, nor fancy, nor anything of -the kind; it is of the gravest importance that I should see that letter. -It is not even curiosity, though I need hardly be blamed for feeling -deep interest in the history of my brother. For the sake of my father's -memory, and for the sake of Lewis, the two bonds between us, give me -Norman's letter. I will ask nothing further of you; this I must beg and -plead for, this you must give me." - -Mrs. Ross stared angrily in her face, resenting, and yet something -impressed by the very strange tone of command, which, impelled by the -vehemence of her feelings, mingled with Anne's entreaty. At last she -rose, and walking quickly to her desk, opened it, and took from an inner -drawer a small key, which she threw upon the table. - -"There! let me have no further heroics; that is the key of an old bureau -of your father's, which you will find up stairs among the lumber. The -letter is in some of the drawers. At least, don't let me have any -further trouble about it. I yield to you now, only to take away from you -the power of tormenting me at another time." - -Anne did not pause to note the ungracious manner in which her petition -was granted; but laying by her work nervously, she took the key, and -hurried upstairs. The old bureau, of dark carved wood, stood dusty and -damp in a recess, and Anne had to draw aside boxes of mouldering papers, -and articles of broken furniture, before she reached it. The picture -stood in her way; she knelt down again, delaying in her very eagerness, -now, that the long wished-for letter was within her reach, to look upon -the portrait; so bold, and frank, and open, in its flush of manly -boyhood. Was that the face of a murderer? - -Her fingers trembled so with haste and agitation, that she could -scarcely open the many drawers, and examine their contents. In the last -of all she found the letter, wrapped in a large sheet of paper, within -which was something written, in the tremulous scratchy hand, which Anne -knew to be her father's. With Norman's letter before her, she yet paused -to read the comment of the dead--a comment which startled her into wild -agitation, and still wilder hope. - -"To my children, Anne and Lewis Ross: - - "I am a dying man, and will never see either of you arrive at years - to be trusted with such a secret; but I charge you, when this - packet comes to your hands, to give earnest heed to it, as you - value the last words of your father. I am standing in the presence - of my Lord, with death at my door, a hoary-headed man, bent to the - grave with trouble, and I leave to you who come after me, my solemn - conviction that Norman Rutherford, your brother, is innocent of the - crime laid to his charge. The whole course of his past life is - before me, and my eyes are clear with looking upon death face to - face. This blood is not upon Norman's hand. Listen to his own - words, children; and believe with me that his words are true. A - frail and stricken man, I have done nothing to clear him of the - imputed guilt; but as a special heritage, I leave this work to you. - His blood is in your veins; he is your nearest kindred. Children of - my old age, save my son Norman! As you would have a blessing on - your own youth and prosperity, remember the desolate exile in his - wanderings, and clear his name and fame. My eye is waxing heavy, - and my hand weak--it is the beginning of death. Anne, sole child of - his mother! Lewis, heir of my name! my charge is upon you. I appeal - you to the throne of Him, who, in the fulness of His glory, forgot - not this fallen world, but left a heavenly kingdom to save and die - for it--if you disregard the last petition my lips will ever utter - on this earth. My son Norman is innocent of this blood--clear him - of the blot upon his name--bring him back to die peacefully in his - own land, and the blessing of the God who binds up the - broken-hearted, be about you all, for evermore. - -LAWRENCE ROSS." - - - -Anne laid down the letter, her eyes full of grateful tears, almost -joyful in their tremulous solemnity. There was sorrow, and labor, and -darkness in the way--there was not crime. The blessed belief came into -her soul in solemn sunshine--the cloud rolled off her head. A strange -invigoration was in every vein. Norman was _alive!_ alive to receive the -triumphant acquittal of justice--alive to be saved! She opened his -letter, her tears falling thick upon it: other drops had fallen there -before--the tears of the old man's agony. She read it. - - "Before you see this, they will have told you that I am a murderer. - It is not so, father: believe a despairing man, it is not so. - Arthur Aytoun has done me wrong: but I would not have put a hair of - his head in peril. I would have guarded him with my own life. - Wherever he is, be it in joy or misery, he bears me witness, before - God, that I am innocent of his blood. Father my heart is like to - burst. What can I say to you--my hand is clean. I am innocent!--I - am innocent! there is no blood upon my soul. And yet I dare not - venture to trust myself to a trial, with every circumstance against - me. I have nothing for it but flight. To-night I go further away--I - know not where--under cover of the darkness, like a felon and a - criminal, as men will call me. It gnaws at my very heart. I would - rather have died a thousand times--a cold-blooded, cowardly - murderer! Father, father! you will not believe it of your son! - - "They would find me guilty if I remained--they could not fail to - find me guilty--and the disgrace of a fugitive will be less upon - our house and name than the disgrace of a convicted murderer, dying - a shameful death. It is like a coward to fly. I am a coward. I do - not dare to meet that fatal judgment. I could not bear to hear - myself called guilty, with my innocence strong in my heart. I have - a suspicion, too--a terrible fear and suspicion--and I must fly. - Father, I can say no more, even to you. I am a sinful man before - God; but my hand is as pure of blood, as when I stood beside you on - Oranside, before death had ever entered Merkland. They know in - Heaven--if they can see my unhappy fortunes--my mother, Lawrence, - Edward--they know that I am innocent. I do not know what I say. My - thoughts are wandering like a sick man's. Father, I am innocent! - - "Marion is with me--she is my wife. We have escaped from the sea in - peril of our lives--they will tell you I have perished in it--I - would I had, but for Marion. Father, you may never hear from me, or - of me, again; but again remember, I am innocent--this blood does - not stand between God and me. Why this fearful cloud has covered - us, He knows who sent it. It may depart yet, in His good time. For - this unjust world, farewell, father. We will meet where there are - no false accusations--where God himself shall vindicate the right. - I become patient--I become trustful. Father, pray--pray that I may - live to be cleared of this horror--that the curse may be taken from - my name--that I may be acknowledged guiltless. - -N. R. R." - - - -Norman Rutherford's sister was kneeling before his portrait--her clasped -hands holding her forehead, her eyes raining hot tears, her soul poured -out before God. Norman was _alive_--could be prayed for, hoped for, -toiled for. The curse was turned into a blessing. The path was wintry -still, and bare, and laborious; but that horrible spectre of blood was -gone; and the majestic presence of justice, and the clear rays of hope, -were on the way instead. She was able for all labor, all patience, all -sorrow in his cause. Norman was innocent. - -Anna rose at length, folded the precious letters carefully, placed them -in her bosom, and then hastily descended the stair, and set out again -for the old nurse's cottage, to learn, according to her original -intention, the particulars of this dark history there. The Oran moaned -no more, but only murmured plaintively, between his banks, the kindly -song of home; and Anne, as she passed under the trees, almost with a -light heart, murmured to herself the prayer of Alice Aytoun's song--for -the wayfaring man. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - - -Esther Fleming, Norman Rutherford's nurse, lived in a cottage by -herself, not far from Merkland. When the first Mrs. Ross's first son was -born, Esther had entered her service as "bairns'-maid," had left it -again to be married, and after a brief period of two years had returned -a youthful widow, with one boy infant of her own, between whose birth -and Norman's there was but some brief intervals of weeks. Esther had -remained the head of Mrs. Ross's nursery through the vicissitudes of all -the succeeding years; had received into her charge infant after infant -of Mrs. Ross's family, and with grief, less only than the mother's, had -seen the tender blossoms fall one by one into the family grave: but -Norman was peculiarly her own--a tie especially tender attached the -generous, manly boy, to his foster-mother; and when her own handsome -sailor-lad, returned from his first voyage, stood up to measure his -height with that of his playmate and comrade, Esther's overflowing eye -looked with scarce less partial pride upon Norman Rutherford than upon -William Fleming. When Mrs. Ross herself died, the little Anne became -the object of Esther's devoted and unceasing care, although her removal -from Merkland to the cottage she now occupied took place before the -second marriage of Mr. Ross; but even after that event, bitterly as the -faithful servant resented it, Esther continued, for her delicate -nurseling's sake, to hold her footing in Merkland, and to pay daily -visits to her old dominion in the nursery, asserting against all comers, -and in face of the new darling, Lewis himself, the rights and privileges -of "Miss Anne." But when Anne was still a child, a blight fell upon -Esther Fleming; the self-same blight, which brought the gray hairs of -Norman Rutherford's father in sorrow to the grave. The old nurse, -stronger, or more tenacious of life, had borne her sorrow silently, and -marked it more by her utter seclusion from the rustic society round her, -than by any other demonstration. She had a little niece living with her, -to manage her small domestic concerns, and except through this girl and -Anne, Esther had no intercourse with the world--the very brief and quiet -world--about her. Her house stood on a high bank of the Oran, with a -pathway winding before it; and the grassy descent, dark with old trees -and bushes, shelving steeply down behind. Within, the little dwelling -consisted of two apartments, perfectly clean and neat (as is, indeed, -much more usual in our Scottish cottage than southern readers give us -credit for,) though without any attempt at ornament, except the two or -three small profile portraits of children, which hung over the -mantlepiece of the outer room, the only existing memorials of the dead -sons and daughters of the house of Merkland, which Esther had rescued -from their disgrace, in the lumber-room, after Mr. Ross's death. - -The nurse herself, in her gown and petticoat of dark print, and white -cap bordered with narrow lace, and carefully-kept hood of black velvet, -sat sewing by the fire, making shirts for her sailor son, then far away -in a man-of-war, toiling upon the sea. Esther was alone, so there was no -obstacle in the way of Anne's errand. - -"Esther," she said, when she had delayed nervously for some time, in -indifferent conversation, "I have come to ask you about a very grave -matter, of which I only heard recently. A secret, Esther--you know--" - -She paused. Esther looked up gravely in her face, and then, rising, -closed the door. - -"Mr. Norman?" she asked in a very low voice. - -"Yes," said Anne. "You know it all, Esther?" - -"God be thanked that has put it in your heart to ask," said the nurse, -solemnly. "Yes, Miss Anne, I ken. It has been lying heavy on my heart -since ever that cloud fell upon my boy. I have looked to you--I have aye -looked to. Ye are like your mother, and will not falter. Oh, Miss Anne! -if ye but kent how it has lain upon my heart!" - -Anne looked at her inquisitively, uncertain how far her knowledge went, -or whether it was safe to speak to her of Norman, as alive. - -"Ye are doubtful of me, Miss Anne," said Esther. "I see it in your eye. -What of this story do ye ken yoursel? Have ye heard it _all_?" - -Anne faltered. - -"I do not know, Esther. I have heard--" - -"Let me tell ye what _I_ ken," interrupted the nurse, "and then ye can -give me your full trust. I claim nothing less from your mother's bairn. -Miss Anne, your brother Norman lies under the reproach of a black -crime--the blackest that man can be blotted wi'. Folk think that he is -dead, and he is guilty; he is not either the one nor the other. He is a -living and an innocent man!" - -Anne's whole frame thrilled with joy as the words were said.--Solemn as -was the testimony of the dead, and deeply as her hapless brother's -self-defence moved her, the words seemed surer and more hopeful when a -living voice pronounced them. - -"I want you to tell me everything, Esther," she said, eagerly.--"I have -Norman's letter, and my father's testimony, but, except these, I have -heard little. This morning I was in despair, because I knew that Norman -lived, and believed that he was guilty. Now, I can do anything. His -innocence is all I care for. Tell me what can be done to prove his -innocence--rather, I should say, tell me every circumstance, -Esther--tell me all you know." - -"I care about his innocence also," said Esther. "Yes, living or dead, I -care about that first. But, Miss Anne, ye dinna ken--ye canna fathom how -dearly I care about himsel. He was laid in my arms a helpless, greeting -bairn, the first day o' his life; wi' my ain hands I put his first -mortal claes about him--my boy!--my gallant, mirthful boy! And to think -of him spending his best years toiling in a strange country, wi' a dark -end hanging ower him, his name cursed, and his lands lost!--and him an -innocent man! Oh! I have thought upon it till my heart was like to -burst!" - -"Why did you not tell me?" said Anne. "We have lost years! Esther, there -might have been something done long ago, if you had only told me." - -"I durstna," said the nurse. "I was feared to whisper to mysel that he -was living, for fear of trouble; but now, Miss Anne, now, ye have your -work before ye--and a strange work it is for a young lady. But ye maunna -shrink or fail." - -"I will not--do not fear me," said Anne. "Only tell me, Esther--tell me -everything you know--let us lose no more time." - -"It's a lang story," said Esther, "and ye maun let me tell ye my ain -way, Miss Anne, as I have thought it ower in my ain spirt, money a time, -looking for this day. Maybe, if ye haena patience wi' me, I may mak it -no sae clear. It's a lang story, and, to understand it right, ye bid to -ken his nature. I maun begin at the beginning." - -Anne assented, and Esther went on. "Miss Anne, he was the sweetest bairn -that was ever putten into mortal hands for earthly upbringing. I think I -can see him before me yet; aye the head o' them a' in their wild plays, -and never out o' mischief; but, for a' that, as gentle as a lamb. I used -to tell them, when they came in to me wi' torn claes and dirty shoes, -and blythe, black faces, that they were the plagues o' my life--eh! Miss -Anne, the ill o' thae idle words--they were its very joy and sunshine; -my blythe callants!--my bonnie, brave, pleasant bairns! - -"For Mr. Norman was alike in age wi' my Willie, and the twa were like -brithers; they lay in the same cradle, and were nursed in the same -arms--puir, feckless, withered arms, as they are noo!--and I had a -conceit that they were like ane an ither, though Mr. Norman was head and -shouthers higher than Willie, and had eyes like stars in a frosty nicht, -and hair as dark as the clouds; and Willie was blue-e'ed and -fair-haired, like his father before him. Ony way, they were like in -spirit; the very look of them was heartsome in a house. - -"But there was ane thing special, Miss Anne, about your brother; a -thought o' pleasure never entered his head; he had a sunshine within -himsel that keepit him aye cheery; and the bits o' dawting, and good -things, and makings o', that ither bairns fecht for, he heeded not, -though I never saw a laddie that liket better the quietest mark of -kindliness: only, if there was onything like a privilege or an honor, he -would aye have it wared on the rest; no jealous and grudging, like as ye -will see some bairns, that are learned to pretend to do the like, and no -to be selfish; but with a blythe spark shining in his eye, enjoying the -good thing, whatever it was, far mair than if he had gotten it himsel. - -"It might be because Mr. Lawrence was aye delicate, and bid to get his -ain way; but the maist of it, without doubt, was in the nature. My ain -Willie was a kindly callant, as need to be; but I have seen him (who was -only a poor man's son, and no equal to the young Laird,) standing out -against Mr. Lawrence in his pets, when Mr. Norman gaed way, in his -blythe, frank manner, without sae much as a thought about ony pride o' -his ain; and I have kent him, money a time, when ony o' them were in the -wrang, taking the blame upon himsel. - -"Ye will think I am dwelling on thae auld stories ower lang, Miss Anne; -but I see them--I think I can see them on Oranside, Mr. Lawrence -sitting, white and thin, on the bank, watching them; and my ain twa, my -beautiful laddies! as wild in their innocent play as twa foals on a lee; -and the cut fingers, and the torn clothes, and the fa's into Oran: waes -me! what were a' their bits o' tribulations but just another name for -joy? - -"Weel, Mr. Lawrence died, as ye ken. If he was petted whiles, it was wi' -sickness and suffering--pain that the young spirit could ill bear, and -that awfu' cough; but he was a blessed bairn, and departed as calm and -pleasant as an angel gaun hame--as truly he was, puir lamb!--out of a -world that had held nothing but ill to him; and the other bairns dwined -away from the house o' Merkland. Eh! Miss Anne, ane canna read thae sore -and sorrowful dispensations! To think that there should be sae mony -blythe families round about, wi' no ane wee head lifted out among them, -and a' the Mistress's lilies gathered--a' but Mr. Norman; and ye wad -have thought the rest had left a portion of their life to him, as that -strange lassie, Jacky Morison, was saying to me out of a book of -ballants, about three knights--aye as the ane was killed, the spirit and -the strength of him entered into the other; but that's a fule story. So, -as I was saying, ye might have thought it was so wi' Mr. Norman; for, -the mair death there was in the house, the stronger and fuller of life -_he_ grew. Ye may think, Miss Anne, how the Mistress's heart was bound -up in her one son, growing among tears and troubles, like a strong young -tree by the waterside. - -"And then she died hersel. He wad be haill eighteen then, maistly a man; -and ye wad have thought his heart would burst. For months after that, he -used to come in and sit beside me in the nursery, never speaking a word. -We were the truest mourners in Merkland, him and me, and maybe it made -us like ane anither a' the better. - -"It was a dreary year, that first year after your mother died; but there -were drearier years to come. The twelvemonth was just out, when it began -to be whispered in the countryside that Merkland was courting a new -wife. I could have felled the first body that said it to me, and Mr. -Norman flew upon Duncan, in the greatest passion I ever saw him in, for -dauring to hint at sic a word; but the rumor rose, for a' that (folk -said it was because Mr. Norman had been put aside from inheriting -Merkland, because he was to take his uncle's name, and sae noo there was -nae heir,) till I put it to the Laird my ain sel--ye may think it bauld, -Miss Anne, but I had been about the house a' his married life.--That -very night--for I wasna likely to bide wi' a strange woman in my -mistress's seat--I was sorting my bits of odds and ends to gang away; -and looking at you, sleeping in your wee bed, and murning for ye, an -innocent lamb, left to the cold mercies of a stepmother, when Mr. -Norman came in. I saw, by the white look of him, in a moment, that he -had been hurt and wounded to the very heart (and so he was,) for his -father had tell't him. Eh! Miss Anne, to think that he could tell the -fine, manly, grown-up lad, that nae mortal could help being proud o'; -and that was liker being marriet himsel than hearing tell o' his father. - -"So he sat down by the fireside and covered his face wi' his hands, and -did not say a word to me--only I heard him moaning to himsel, 'O, -mother, mother!' Nae wonder--we were wearing our murnings still, and she -had been but ae twelvemonth gone. - -"So the marriage-day came at last. I had flitted into this house the -week afore--and there were mony folk at the wedding, only Mrs. -Catherine, and Strathoran's lady, and some more, wouldna come; and when -they sought Mr. Norman, he wasna to be found far or near--where think ye -he spent that day, Miss Anne? at his mother's grave! - -"Ye're wearying on me--it's just because it's a' sae clear in my ain -mind--I canna help it; but I am coming to the time noo. Mr. Norman ye -ken, had an inheritance o' his ain by the mother's side. Your uncle, Mr. -Rutherford, of Redheugh, was a bachelor gentleman, and died three or -four years before your mother--and Mr. Norman was his heir. He was to -take both the land and the name, and I have heard it was a better -property than Merkland, only it was far south by this, on the ither side -o' Edinburgh. Mr. Norman was to bide wi' his father till he came of age, -and a sore and weary time it was, for this Mrs. Ross couldna bear the -sicht of him, and he likit her as ill. I maistly wished for his ain sake -that the time was come, though it was a sore thought to me that I was to -have the sight o' him, gladdening my auld e'en (I wasna sae auld then -either nae mair). - -"And at last his one-and-twentieth birthday came, and he gaed away. I -did not see him after that for a whole year. The light of my eyes was -ta'en from me, Miss Anne--I had little pleasure of my life, for both my -boys were away. - -"Willie had served out his prenticeship, and was sailing second-mate in -a timber ship to the Baltic; but that time he had ta'en a langer voyage, -to India and thereaway, and didna came hame till the year was out. The -very next day after Willie came, Mr. Norman arrived on a visit at -Merkland, and the first body he came to see, after his father, was just -my very sel--and what do ye think he had been devising in the kindness -of his heart for my Willie? There was a schooner lying at Leith on sale, -and Mr. Norman had made an offer for't, for Willie's sake, and no ither, -to make him captain; and when they had rested themsells a week at hame, -Mr. Norman took Willie away to Leith wi' him to see the ship. Weel, Miss -Anne, every thing was bright for baith o' them when they gaed away; but -when they got to Leith, and had near settled about the boat, my puir -Willie, being maybe ower proud and uplifted about the honor, and the -grand prospect, was careless o' himself: and the first word that came to -me was, no that he was captain of Mr. Norman's ship, but that he was -pressed, and ta'en away to some of the muckle English sea-towns on the -east coast, to be a common man afore the mast in a man-o-war." - -Esther paused to wipe her eyes with her apron. - -"Eh, Miss Anne, thae sore and humbling providences! just when ane -thought every thing was prosperous and full of promise to be cast down -into the very depths--my heart was sick within me. I had no more spirit -for onything, but just gaed about the house like a ghaist, and caredna -to spin, as the lass says in the sang. Mr. Norman did his endeavor to -free my puir laddie, but it couldna be--and ye may think what a clould -fell upon me, dwelling here alane, and my son far away in the dangers o' -the war, where, if he were spared, I couldna see him for years. - -"Mr. Norman came seldom back to Merkland after that. He liked Mrs. Ross -but little at all times, and I think he reproached himsel for no being -carefu' enough of Willie, though I never blamed him--no for a moment; -but onyway he was altogether pairted from his ain auld hame--no that he -forgot us; there was aye the tither bit present coming to me, at -New-year's times, and his birth-days and the like; and many fine claes -and toys, and things, to yoursel, Miss Anne, that ye didna get the half -o'-- - -"So three years ran out, and ane day when I happened to be up at -Merkland, on some errand concerning yoursel, ye came, to me, Miss Anne, -wi' a paper in your hand, to let me hear ye read (ye were six years auld -then.) So I got the paper--ye had slipped it out o' the lockit book-case -in the library, the time your papa was writing a letter, and didna see -ye. I mind the very words ye said--because I likit to see the -papers--and so I did, to see what word there was about the war, and if -there was ony tidings of Willie's ship. Sae I got it, and began to read -it, the time Mr. Lewis and you were playing at my fit. - -"Eh! Miss Anne: I mind the bits of words that came in upon me now and -then, when I was looking at that awful paper, as if I had heard them in -a fever. There was the haill story of the murder in't; of how Mr. Norman -and Mr. Aytoun had had a bitter quarrel the night before, and parted in -anger--and how, the next morning. Mr. Aytoun was found lying dead in a -lone place by a waterside--and how a man, gaun to his work, had met Mr. -Norman coming, like from the same place, just about the time the deed -bid to hae been dune--and there was mair than that still--a gun was -found in the wood, and the gun was Mr. Norman's, and when the officers -gaed to take him up, he had fled, no man kent whither. My e'en were -reeling in my head, but I could read it for a' that--I didna lose a -word; and in anither place there was mair news--the murderer, as they -daured to ca' him, had been traced into a Holland boat, and there was -certain word of it, that it was wrecked, and all on board lost, so he -had come, they said, to speedy punishment. I ken not now, how I had -strength to do it; but I rose up the moment I was done, and went down -into the library mysel'--what cared I at that time, if I had met a' the -leddies in the land?--to put it back secretly into the book-case again. -Your father was sitting in the library, Miss Anne, a changed man; the -white on his face was the white of death, and he was trembling like as -with the cauld, and had the darkest woe in his e'e, that I ever looked -upon. I put down the paper on the table, and he started, and looked up -at me. There was never a word said between us; but we were equal in our -terrible sorrow. He kent that, and so did I. - -"I know not how I gaed hame that day; it was a bonnie day in June, but I -thought that the sky, and the earth, and the trees, were a' black alike, -and the running of the Oran was hoarse and loud, like the wild sea that -was flowing over my dear, dear bairn. It was before my eyes night and -day, sleeping and waking. I kent he couldna have done it out of evil -counsel or malice, but he might have done it in passion. The sinking -ship, and the storm, and the black sky, and my pleasant laddie in the -midst, wi' bluid on his hand, and despair in his soul; oh, Miss Anne! - -"A month past in that way. I dauredna face Merkland, and he never came -near me, and I thought not there was any hope for Mr. Norman; I never -doubted he was dead. In the beginning of July, I got a letter from -Willie, telling me his ship was lying in Leith Roads, and I was to come -and see him. So I put up a bit bundle, and took some lying siller, and -set out upon the road. I wanted to buy some bits of things the puir -laddie needed, and so I couldna afford to tak the coach, but walked -every step, and a weary road it was. So Willie met me in my cousin's -house in the Citadel, and whenever our first meeting was ower, he came -after me to the room I was to sleep in, and shut the door, and I saw -there was trouble in his face. So I did not doubt he had heard. -'Mother,' he said to me, 'I have news to tell you.' - -"'Oh, Willie!' said I. 'I ken, I ken; it has near broken my heart.' - -"So Willie went to the door again, and saw it was safe shut, and said -he, 'Mother, what do ye ken?' - -"'About Mr. Norman, my dear laddie,' said I; 'that he has been left to -himself, and done a terrible crime, and died a terrible death. Oh, that -we had but kent that he repented; oh, that we had ony token that the -Lord had visited his soul.' - -"'Mother,' said Willie, very low, 'do ye need me to tell you that he -didna do it? Do you no ken that yoursel? O, mother! mother! him that -wouldna have harmed the worm at his fit.' - -"'Ane disna ken--ane canna tell,' said I; 'he never did it wi' purpose -and counsel, Willie; but he may have been beguiled by passion. God send -that it hasna been counted to him.' - -"'Mother,' said Willie. 'Whisht! mind that a precious life is hinging -on't. I have seen Mr. Norman.' - -"Miss Anne, I thought I would have fa'en at his feet, for what could I -think, but that it was the unquiet spirit my puir laddie had seen. - -"'Mother,' said Willie, 'God has saved him out o' the sea, near by a -miracle. Mr. Norman is a living man, and an innocent man. The hand that -saved him will clear him in its ain guid time; but he bade me tell you. -He couldna bear, he said, that folk that had kent him, and likit him -weel should think he had done that crime; and he minded me that folk -could pray for a living man, and couldna for a dead, and bade me tell -you, mother.' - -"'O, Willie!' said I, 'wherefore did he flee?--the right would have been -proved, if he had but waited for the trial.' - -"'I canna tell ye, mother,' said Willie, 'but he said every thing was -against him; and it was borne in on my mind, that he knew wha had dune -the deed, and that it was ane he likit weel and was willing to suffer -for--ye ken his nature--but mind, that was only a fancy o' my ain, for -he did not mint a word of it to me.' - -"'And where was he, Willie?' said I, 'where was my dear laddie?--was he -out of peril?" - -"'It was in a town on the Holland coast,' said Willie, 'a bit sma place, -less than Portoran. They had travelled there on fit, from the place -where the boat was cast away; and Mr. Norman was waiting till there -should be some ship sailing from Rotterdam to India. He said to me, -mother, that he would never daur write hame again; but if he died he -would cause that word should be sent baith to Merkland and you--but as -lang as ye didna hear, ye were to mind and pray for him, as a living and -sorrowful man, and no to think he was dead.' - -"'My laddie!' said I, 'my dear bairn!--oh, that the Lord would bring -forth His righteousness as the noonday, and His judgment as the morning -light. Ye said _they_, Willie--was there onybody wi' him?' - -"'Yes, mother,' said Willie; 'Mr. Norman was married the nicht before he -fled, and there was a young lady with him. She didna belang about -Strathoran--I never saw her before, but Mr. Norman said that in the -wreck, she was braver than him, though she was a bit genty, -delicate-looking thing. Mr. Norman took me in to see her, and tell't her -I was his foster-brother and friend. He is aye like himsel, thinking on -pleasuring me, in the midst o' a' his ain trouble--and she gaed me her -hand wi' a sorrowful smile, that made me like to greet--and whiles when -he was speaking to me, when his grief was like to get the better of him, -she put her bit little hand on his arm, and said, "Norman, Norman," and -then he aye calmed down again.' - -"So that was a' that Willie had to tell, and in little mair than a week -after that, his ship sailed again, and when I was on my road hame, I -went first of a' to the place where the deed was done. Its on the south -side o' the Firth, far down--but I could find out naething there, except -that everybody blamed Mr. Norman, and naebody would believe but what he -was the murderer. - -"And since then, Miss Anne--it's seventeen years past in the last -July--I have been a bereaved woman, for Willie never came hame but ance, -when the war was ended, and that was just for a while, for he had -pleased his captain unco weel, and was made gunner in the ship, and he -had got used wi' their life, and liked it, so he just gaed back. He said -to me, I mind, that he might aye be in the way of hearing tidings of Mr. -Norman, and would come hame without delay if there was ony guid word. -But word, guid or bad, there has been nane since that time, Miss Anne; a -weary time it has been to me--but your brother is a living man, and the -work is not too late." - -"What can be done?" said Anne; "what can be done?" - -She felt an impulse to rise and hurry to the work at once. She felt it a -sin to lose a moment. Yet all the difficulties rose up before her. What -steps to take--what to do! - -"Miss Anne," said Esther; "I have pondered it, and ower again pondered -it in my ain mind since I came hame frae that weary journey, and often I -have been on the point of gaun away back again, to see if I could hear -onything mair. But what I would bid ye do, would be to gang, or to get -some of thae keen writer chiels to gang, cannily, without letting on -what they want, to do their endeavor to find out if onybody else in that -countryside had an ill-will at Mr. Aytoun: he was a wild man, I heard, -and nae doubt had enemies--and if ony other man had been seen leaving -the wood that awful morning bye Mr. Norman. There's been a lang time -lost, but I've thought often, it might maybe put the real sinner aff his -guard, and so he micht be easier found. Miss Anne, that is the way, sae -far as I can see. Ye maun try and find the true man that did it, living -or dead." - -"And bring disgrace and ruin into some other peaceful family, Esther," -said Anne, sadly. "It is a terrible alternative!" - -"Miss Anne," said Esther, "my dear laddie Norman maun be saved, if I -should gang away mysel. I aye waited for you. I had no thought ye wad -falter. The work is a sore and painful work, but if ye will not do it, -that have better power, I will try myself." - -"I had no thought of faltering, Esther," said Anne. "I only said it was -a very sad and terrible alternative, and so it is--if William was -correct--if we are to endeavor to prove the guilt of one whom Norman was -willing to sacrifice name and fame for, it is only so much the more -painful. Yet I do not falter--you say truly, Norman must be saved--if it -is within human power to clear his name, he shall be saved. But, oh! for -guidance--for wisdom!" - -When Anne left the house, Esther accompanied her to the door, earnestly -urging upon her the necessity of losing no time. To lose no time!--no, -surely; when, for all Alice Aytoun's sunny lifetime, Norman had been an -outcast and an exile. - -And the "Marion!"--who was this who had not deserted him in the midnight -of his calamity? this who had been bolder amidst the perils of the wreck -than he, and who had gone with him to the unknown far country, the -outcast's wife? Anne's imagination no longer pictured him alone, abroad -beneath sweeping blast and tempest. A calmer air stole over the picture. -It might be from some humble toiling home--not bright, yet with a -chastened sunshine of hope and patience about it still--that the tidings -of restored honor and fortune should call the exile, and the exile's -household, rejoicing to their own land. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - - -Lewis Ross found but a cold welcome at the Tower from its aged mistress. -Why she addressed him with so much reserve, and without even the -familiar harshness of her usual manner, Lewis could not understand, and -it roused his indignation mightily. He, an independent man, a landed -proprietor of influence, a travelled, educated gentleman, to be -over-borne by the caprices and prejudices of a set of old women! His -dignity was hurt, his petulant pride roused. He certainly _was_ -conscious of doing simple Alice Aytoun some considerable honor, and did -not fancy there was anything unnatural in his mother thinking that he -might have done better--but to control his liberty--to think that by all -this coldness and discouragement, they could change the current of his -inclination and affections--it was quite too much. Lewis did not feel by -any means inclined to submit to it. He felt, too, that Archibald -Sutherland shrank from his not very delicate questionings, and that, -beyond all doubt, he himself, Lewis Ross, of Merkland, important person -as he was, was decidedly _de trop_ in the Tower. - -Even Alice felt it, as she sat in her corner by the window, that -delicate embroidery, which she wished to finish for a cap to Mrs. -Catherine, before she returned home, trembling in her small fingers, and -her heart beating loud and unsteadily. Mrs. Catherine had been so tender -to herself this morning, almost as if she knew--it was so strange that -she should be cold to Lewis. Mrs. Catherine left the room for a moment: -Lewis approached the window, and whispered a petition, that she would -meet him at "the little gate." Alice did not say no. "Immediately," -whispered Lewis. "I have a great deal to say to you." - -Alice laid down her embroidery, and leaving the room, stole tremulously -up stairs, to put on her bonnet and shawl, and steal tremulously down -again, and out to her first tryste. The little gate stood on a shady -by-way, or "loaning," which ran by Oranside through the grounds of -Strathoran and the Tower. Lewis joined her immediately. He had much to -say to her--much that was very pleasant to hear, if it was not very -wise, nor even very connected and relevant, for Lewis, spite of his -boyish pride and self importance, felt truly and deeply, so far as -little Alice was concerned, and had not escaped the ameliorating effect -of that influence, which, according to the gay old epicurean of our -Scottish ballad-writers, "gives one an air, and even improves the -mind."--The youthful couple wandered through the loaning, unconscious in -their own dreamy happiness of the chill wind that swept through its high -bare hedges, till nearly an hour had passed. But Alice suddenly saw, -through the gap in the hedge, Miss Falconer riding quickly to the Tower; -she came, by appointment, to bid Alice good-by, and so that most -pleasant ramble must, of necessity, be terminated. Alice accompanied -Lewis a little further down the lane, lest Marjory's quick eye should -discover him, and then they parted. - -She was to leave the Tower in a week; but too pleasantly absorbed to -think even of that, Alice went lightly along the dim loaning, with its -high rustling hedges, and borders of wet herbage. Only one little grief -lay within the glad heart, which began to throb now with deeper -happiness--Anne; why would not Lewis Ross's sister acknowledge, last -night her agitated, shame-faced, simple embrace? It was the only way -which Alice could think of, for intimating to Anne the connexion now -formed between them; and she trembled again, to remember the cold hand -that had been laid upon her head, the look of sharp silent pain, that -had fallen upon Lewis and herself as they stood together, in the first -confidence of their betrothal--Anne, who had always been so kind and -gentle to her! It made Alice uneasy, as she went dreamily forward, until -brighter imaginations came to the rescue, and Anne's neglect sank into -the background, in presence of that more immediate sunshine, the warmer -devotion of Lewis. - -Loud gay voices startled her, when she had nearly reached the little -gate, and looking up, she saw a couple of gentlemen approaching, whom -she immediately knew to belong to Lord Gillravidge's not very orderly -household at Strathoran. The aforesaid little gate was the boundary of -Mrs. Catherine's property, so Alice was then in the grounds of -Strathoran--the gentlemen were returning home. Alice proceeded quickly, -eager to pass them, for their loud tone startled her, and she was near -enough to hear a rude compliment aimed at herself, which sent the -womanly blood to her cheek in indignation. They met at last, and -suddenly extending their arms, the strangers barred her passage. Little -Alice's heart beat like a frightened bird. She ran to each side of the -road, only to shrink back again from the rude hands extended towards -her; she looked back to see if there was any chance in flight, she -lifted her simple face imploringly to them, and said; "Pray, let me -pass; pray, gentlemen, let me pass." They laughed at her; poor little -Alice was in despair. - -One of the strangers was the "hairy fule," who had visited Mrs. -Catherine. Jacky's expressive description of him: "A man, dressed like a -gentleman," was emphatically correct. The other was a simple, foolish, -fair-haired lad, who, besides some boyish admiration of the pretty girl, -thought this interruption of her progress a pleasant frolic, and good -fun. There was no other way of entering the precincts of the Tower, -except by the gap in the hedge, which the timid Alice did not dare to -venture on, and so she renewed her prayer. "Pray, let me go on; pray, -gentlemen, let me pass." - -A crash of the boughs behind her, made Alice turn her head.--Marjory -Falconer, riding-whip in hand, came springing through the gap. "What is -the matter, Alice?" cried Miss Falconer; "who obstructs you? Gentlemen, -be so good as give way." - -The gentlemen laughed. The house of Falconer, like the house of Seton in -old days, was of prompt ire, and its sole daughter did it no discredit. -"This is great impertinence," exclaimed Marjory; "pass immediately, -or--" she gave an emphatic flourish of her whip. - -A louder laugh than before bade her defiance; in another moment an -unhesitating cut of the ready whip made the younger of the two spring -aside. Alice flew past, and Marjory lingered for an instant to sweep a -few short, sharp lashes over the amazed Fitzherbert, whose strange -grimace of rage sent his young comrade into a fit of laughter, and -earned for Marjory a full forgiveness of his own individual stroke. -"There!" cried Marjory Falconer, as she closed the gate behind her, her -face shining with mingled mirth and anger. "You can boast that you have -had the honor of being horse-whipped by a lady." - -Little Alice was running on, in a great tremor, to the Tower.--"What is -the matter?" said her deliverer, laughing, as she overtook her. "What a -trembling, frightened bird you are, little Alice Aytoun. Why, we have -had an adventure: only, to be correct, it should have been Lewis Ross -who delivered you, and not I: is it so? Ah, I am afraid he has been -doing damage here, this same Lewis Ross. It is a great shame--these men -monopolize everything; one cannot even get a nice little girl kept to -oneself." - -Alice drew herself up. It was not quite proper that she, the head elect -of an important house like Merkland, with a shadow of matronly dignity -upon her fair brow already, should be spoken of as a little girl. "I was -so glad you came, Miss Falconer. It was very foolish, perhaps; but they -frightened me." - -"And you had no whip, even if you had been bold enough to use it," said -Miss Falconer, laughing, as she gathered up the train of her -riding-habit, which had escaped from her hand, and bore sundry marks (no -uncommon thing, however) of its contact with the damp path. "You may be -thankful it was my indecorous, unfeminine self, and not any of the -proprieties. Suppose it had been Jeannie Coulter--why, they would have -caught you both." - -"But Miss Coulter is a very nice girl; is she not?" said Alice. - -"Oh! exceedingly--as nice a girl as could be; and will be as -good-looking, and proper, and sensible a Mrs. Walter Foreman as it will -be possible to find in the country; as proper, and not quite so -good-looking, and more sensible, than you will be, when you are Mrs. -Lewis Ross; for she has come to years of discretion, you know, and you -are only a little girl." - -Alice did not like all this. "I wonder at you, Miss Falconer! I am sure -it is far better to be what you call proper than--" Alice hesitated; "I -mean, no one thinks Mrs. Catherine, and Mrs. Coulter, and Miss Ross -weak, because they are always like what ladies should be." - -Miss Falconer laughed. "Well done, my little Mentor; but, for all that, -confess that I was of more service to-day, with my good stout arm, than -if I had been always like what ladies should be. Miss Lumsden is staying -with me at the Craig: I had a bold purpose of getting my poor mother's -old phæton hunted up, and driving her over to see you; but we cannot -compass a vehicle, we Falconers, so I had to give it up. It is just as -well. Miss Lumsden (she's John Lumsden's sister, of Portoran,) would -have been shocked. I shall take your advice, little Miss Aytoun; I shall -abstain from shocking people unnecessarily, after this, when I can help -it." - -This was better: the little matron elect was pleased to have her advice -taken, and so ventured further. "And, Miss Falconer, don't be -angry--wouldn't it be better not to speak so? I don't like--I mean Anne -Ross does not like--she says it makes foolish people laugh, and be -impertinent." - -Miss Falconer's face became crimson. Miss Falconer drew up her tall, -handsome figure, to its full height, and looked haughty for a moment. -Alice was afraid. - -"There! that will do. You will be able to give gentle reproofs, -by-and-by, beautifully: only you must not experiment on me much, you -know, lest I should grow angry. No, no; do not lift up those blue eyes -of yours so pitifully. I am not angry now--but I am sometimes, and I -should not like you to see me so." - -The straightforward little Alice looked up in wonder, fancying that the -blunt, strong, unschooled mind beside her, might be in the habit of -giving way to ungovernable and wild fits of passion, such as she had -read of; it was all a mistake. Marjory Falconer was by no means so rude -and unfeminine as she gave herself credit for being, and had bitter -compunctions of outraged delicacy sometimes, after those masculine -speeches, which revenged her womanhood completely. But the little world -of Strathoran did not know that--did not know either how the strong and -healthful spirit of the motherless, ill-educated girl was forcing itself -through a rough process of development, and, like other strong plants, -was rank and wild in its growth, and needed vigorous pruning--pruning -which it would not fail, by-and-by, to manage for itself, with an -unhesitating hand. - -So the youthful people of Strathoran laughed, and the elders hung back, -and called her improper and unfeminine; and thus the original evil was -increased by the grievance of which she herself complained; she was left -to the company of men--men, moreover, of that rude, uncultured, -sportsman class, her own superiority over whom she felt bitterly, and -asserted with characteristic vehemence. - -Alice Aytoun saw, when her visitor was gone, still more visibly than she -had done in the morning, that Mrs. Catherine was sad.--She could not -help observing the long, wistful looks bestowed upon herself--the -hundred little indulgences which Mrs. Catherine gave her that day, as -she would have given them to a sick child; and Alice wondered. These -steadfast, compassionate looks became painful at last, and there was so -great a chill of gravity and sadness about the stranger, Archibald -Sutherland, that Alice, carried that tremulous happiness of hers--so -much deeper, and yet so much less exuberant than it had been one little -month ago--into her own pretty room. - -Bessie sat there sewing, and disconsolate. Johnnie Halflin had protested -vehemently last night that "the Tower wadna be like itsel when she gaed -away." The Falcon's Craig groom had particularly distinguished little -Bessie by his notice. Mr. Foreman's lad from Portoran had bidden her "be -sure and come soon back again," when he shook hands with her. Jacky, -with her eldritch voice, had attempted to sing 'Bessie Bell' in her -honor--and to leave it all! So little Bessie sat sentimental and -despondent in the room, with some vision of breaking hearts, and never -being happy again, while her youthful mistress sat down by the window, -and looked over to Merkland. - -Ah! that breadth of hazy air which hovered between the house of Merkland -and Alice Aytoun's chamber window, how full of beautiful shapes it -was--and how instinct with gladness! Mrs. Catherine dined at four--never -later, except on some very great and solemn occasion; and when dinner -was over that day, and the darkness of the long January night had begun, -Mrs. Catherine took her youthful kinswoman by the arm, and led her away -from the dining-room without speaking. They did not go up stairs; they -went away through that dim passage, and stopped at the door of the -little room. Alice was terrified. Mrs. Catherine unlocked the door, drew -the girl in with her, and closed it again in silence. Alice's heart -began to beat loud, in awe and terror. What strange discipline was this? - -There was a fire burning brightly; the waning gloaming without gave the -whins, that almost touched the window, a ghostly look. The gray crag -above seemed to be looking in with a pale, withered, inquisitive face. -Mrs. Catherine seated herself on one of the chairs and bade Alice take -the other. The firelight fell warm and bright upon that fine dark -portrait on the opposite wall. There was a lamp upon the table, but it -was not lighted. Alice sat trembling, silent, apprehensive. What could -Mrs. Catherine have to tell her? - -"Alison," said Mrs. Catherine, "do you see that picture?" - -"Yes," said Alice, timidly. - -The light was hovering about it, shooting now a spark of radiance into -the eye, and now moving in a strange, fantastic smile upon the lip. -Alice had heard from some of the visitors at the Tower of Mrs. -Catherine's brother, and knew that this was his portrait. - -"Ye ken who it is?--my one brother, Sholto Douglas," said Mrs. -Catherine. "Look at him well. Do you see how strong, and full of health, -and strength, and youth that face is, Alison? Look at him well." - -Alice looked again wonderingly at the fine face of Sholto Douglas. To -her, as to Archibald Sutherland, it looked loftily calm and pure, -removed far above all the changeful hopes and fears of this "pleasing, -anxious being." - -"Alison," said Mrs. Catherine, "I want to tell you the history of Sholto -Douglas. Sit quiet, and do not tremble, but listen to me." - -Alice tried not to tremble--she could scarcely help it. The ghostly -inquisitive crag, behind which she could fancy some malicious elf -watching them--the dark whins pressing close to the window--the dreary -sough of the wind as it swept through the bare trees without, and the -long passages within, moaning so _eerie_ and spirit-like--the calm, -unmoved face looking down from the wall--the comparative gloom of this -sacred and mysterious apartment--she could not repress the involuntary -thrill of fear and wonder. - -"Sholto Douglas was my one brother--we were the sole children of our -name," said Mrs. Catherine, her utterance so slow and marked the while, -that it was easy to recognise this as the history of her great sorrow, -"and I cannot tell you how dear we were to one another. You are a bairn, -yourself, of too gentle and quiet a spirit. You cannot know the loves -and griefs of harsher natures. - -"We were never separate a day; we were bairns; we grew up into youth; we -passed to manhood and to womanhood hand in hand. In his earliest flush -of strength and manliness, Sholto was arrested on the way. I am a woman -now laden with years, and drawing near to the grave, but, bairn, there -is no earthly motive that would rouse me to any work or labor like the -remembrance of my brother Sholto, that I left lying in foreign earth, -thirty years ago. - -"That is not the matter I have to speak of first. When Sholto Douglas -was in the strength of his youthful manhood he was trysted in solemn -betrothal, whereof I myself was a witness, to Isabel Balfour, the mother -of the young man who came to my house last night. She was a gentle, -pleasant, gladsome girl, like your own self, Alison Aytoun. I liked her -well before for her own sake, and I liked her dearly then for Sholto's. -The day was set for the bridal--the whole kindred were stirred to do -them honor--there was nothing in their way, but joy, and blessings, and -prosperity, as we thought in our vain hope. Alison! between them there -was the stern and sore shadow of death, and they knew it not! - -"A week before his bridal day, Sholto came home from Edinburgh a -stricken man. I read it in the doctor's face that came to see him first. -I saw it in the blood they took from him, till he was worn and wasted to -a shadow. The burning heat of his inflammation was on him the day that -should have been his bridal day--and when he rose from that bed it was -only to sink into the terrible beauty of decline--with all its dreams of -health, and wild hopes, and sick delusions. Be thankful, bairn, that no -such weird is laid upon you. - -"I saw him dying before me day by day. Into my heart there had never -mortal man entered but Sholto, my one brother; and in his prime of -youth, with hopes thick about his brow like the clusters of his hair, -was the Lord parting him from me. I could not hope--when Isabel leant -upon his chair, and looked into his face--his cheek with its bright -color, and his glorious e'en--and smiled and rejoiced, and said he would -be well, I turned from her, my heart within me sick unto death. I knew -he was a doomed man--I saw there was no hope. - -"They said at last that the air of some sunnier country would heal him -of his trouble, and I prepared for the journey; anxiously I pleaded with -Isabel to go with us, that he might have the comfort of her presence. -Her kindred would not let her--she thought it not needful herself, -neither did he: they would meet again, he said, so soon in health and -gladness. I turned away from him--my heart was bursting. I kent they -would never meet again--I kent that I took him away to die. - -"Alison, I saw the parting of the two. I saw the sick hope in Isabel -Balfour's face, and the wan courage in Sholto's--their hearts misgave -them at that moment. There is a shadow of fear upon all partings, and it -was deepened upon theirs. As for me, my sky could not well be darker--it -was not fear with me, but a deadly knowledge. I kent they would never -meet again. - -"And so I went away with him--guarding the young man that had been so -strong and healthful, from every blast of wind, as ye would guard a sick -bairn. I went with him to Italy--to France--syne when he got no -stronger--I took him away to that sunny island in the sea, where so many -are sent to die. His doom was upon him--the light was in his eye more -glorious than ever, the hectic was burning on his cheek. What was the -soft air and the beautiful days, in comparison with the might of death. -He died. I saw him laid in the cold earth of a foreign country, far away -from the grave of his fathers, and turned in my desolation to come back -to my own country, my lane. - -"Alison! you do not ken the blackness of darkness, the shadow of that -terrible wing of death. Think of it--think of my desolate journey--think -of my first parting with my one brother. Could ye have borne a woe like -that?" - -Alice was weeping--she had forgot herself and Lewis for the moment. Her -gentle heart could not fathom the stern depths of suffering, which still -swelled in Mrs. Catherine's larger spirit, but she recognized the -sovereignty of grief, and answered with her tears: - -"And there was the bride to come home to--the desolate bride, that had -been dreaming vain dreams of pleasantness and hope to come. A year -before you would have thought that if ever there were two fated to a -bountiful and gladsome lot, it was Sholto Douglas and his trysted bride. -Now, she was stricken down in her first agony, and he was lying in his -stranger grave. - -"Know you, Alison, that there are woes like that wherever there are -living men?--that there is some shadow on every lot, how fair soever, -may be its beginning?--that even the like of you, in your youth and -smiles, have a weird to watch and weep through, every one of you for her -own self, and not another?" - -Alice looked up--the tears stealing over her cheeks, the "hysterica -passio" swelling up in its "climbing sorrow" in her tightened breast. -Her blue eyes looked fearfully and anxiously in Mrs. Catherine's face. -This most sad history, Alice felt, was the preface of some personal evil -to herself, some misfortune to Lewis. She could not speak--she only -looked imploringly in sad fear and wonder into the face of her -kinswoman. - -"My poor bairn!" said Mrs. Catherine, "you can think how Isabel mourned -in her dark solitude? ye can feel for Isabel?" - -Alice started up, all her gay hopes and girlish happiness floating away -before that blast, as such light things will float, and threw herself -unconsciously at Mrs. Catherine's feet, kneeling there in incoherent -grief and terror, and burying her fair head in the lap of her kinswoman: -"What is it--what is it? I will bear it--tell me what it is." - -Mrs. Catherine's hand lay upon her fair hair in grave kindness. Mrs. -Catherine bent down. "Alison! wherefore did ye not tell me of this -unhappy tryste, that has been made between Lewis Ross and you?" - -Alice could not look up; trembling through all her slight figure, she -waited for the next words. - -"My bairn! my poor fatherless bairn! if there was but any weight on my -gray head that could keep off this sore stroke from your's! It is your -appointed weird; ye must be strong, and listen to me. In the fulness of -their joy and hope, it pleased the Lord to sunder for ever, in this -world, the two I have told you of. Alison! there lies as deadly a bar -between Lewis Ross and you; a bar that can never be passed, or lifted -away in this life. You may hear of his welfare and prosperity, and he of -yours; but in this world you must be strangers. It cannot last a day, -this link between you; you cannot go a step further in this perilous -road, Alison!" - -One great convulsive throb had shaken the slender frame that leant upon -Mrs. Catherine's knee. There was a moment's pause, and then Alice rose, -her tears dashed away, yet still noiselessly welling out, and a -momentary flush of womanly pride inspiring her girlish figure. "He might -have told me himself," she exclaimed, passionately. "He need not have -been afraid; I--I am not so foolish--I can bear it--my heart will not -break; he had no right to think--he might have told me himself!" - -Mrs. Catherine rose, and put her arm round her. The girl turned away, -and endeavored to release herself; endeavoring vainly also to hide the -large hot tears, that, spite of pride and resentment, were falling -passionately again. - -"Alison," said Mrs. Catherine, "the youth did not ken himself. I cannot -deny him justice, though I have little wish that you should think of him -more. He did not know himself. It will fall as heavily on him as it does -on you." - -Alice endeavored again to free herself, her tears flowing more gently, -and the weight and oppression at once lifted off her youthful heart. So -long as change did not come upon either herself or Lewis, what were -external obstacles to them, in their triumphant hope and affection? But -injured pride, and outraged feelings, made her reject Mrs. Catherine's -offered kindness. Why should she interpose between these two? - -"Alison," said Mrs. Catherine, "listen to me. If Lewis's heart were -brimming full with the greatest love that ever was in the heart of -mortal man, and if you yourself were clinging to him as never woman -clung before, yet must ye part: there is no hope--no choice. Before ever -you were born, there was a deadly bar laid between Lewis Ross and you. -It cannot be passed: there is no hand in this world that can lift it -away: it is as unchangeable as death. Bairn, I am speaking to you most -sorrowfully. I would not, for all my land, have laid this burden on your -young head, if there had been either help or choice: there is none. You -must be parted. Alison, look at me." - -Alison looked wistfully through her tears at the strongly-marked stern -face, now so strangely moved and melted. She saw the steadfast, -sorrowful, compassionate look, in which there was no hope; and, yielding -to the pressure of the encircling arm, leaned her head upon Mrs. -Catherine's shoulder, and nestled into her breast like a grieved child. - -By-and-by, they had returned to their original positions. Mrs. Catherine -seated herself in her chair again, and Alice glided down passively, and -lay like a broken lily, with her head hidden in Mrs. Catherine's lap. -She was stunned and overpowered. The gentle heart lay in a kind of -stupor, a dead and vacant sleep; she hardly felt it beat. The hope, and -shame, and anger, the very wonder and grief, seemed gone; yet in her -crushed apathy, she listened--the faintest word, uttered near, would not -have been lost on the ears so nervously awake to every sound. She was -waiting for further confirmation of the strange fate pronounced upon -her. - -"Are you content?" said Mrs. Catherine, lifting the fair head tenderly -in her hand--"are you content to believe me, my poor bairn, and to give -up the gladness of your youth? Speak to me, Alison. I have maybe been -harsher than I should be with your gentle nature, and I am asking you to -make a sore sacrifice. For the sake of your kindly mother, Alice; for -the sake of your honorable and upright brother James: for the memory's -sake of your dead father, whom you never saw, I ask you to give up this -stranger lad. He was nothing to you three months ago. They have -nourished you, and cherished you, all the days of your life. Believe me, -Alison, my bairn, that what I have told you is true; and, for their -sake, give up this Lewis Ross. The bar between you is deadly and -unchangeable: you cannot pass it over, were you to wait a lifetime." - -Alice lifted her wan cheek from Mrs. Catherine's knee, and looked up -with sad, beseeching eyes. "What is it? Tell me what it is?" - -"It might do you ill, but it could not do you good," said Mrs. -Catherine. "Take my word, Alison, and give me your promise. It is a -thing that cannot change--that nothing in this world can make amends -for. Alison, it is your weird--it has been laid on you, to prove what -strength you have. You must make the sacrifice, hard though it be." - -"I have not any strength," murmured poor little Alice, in her plaintive, -complaining voice: "I am not strong, and there is no one with me. Mrs. -Catherine, what is it? Tell me what it is?" - -"Bairn," said Mrs. Catherine, "you would need to be strong to listen to -the story, and I have withheld it to spare you. You are but a frail, -young, silly thing, to have such troubles shadowing you; but it may be -most merciful, in the end, to let you ken it all. Listen to me." Mrs. -Catherine paused for a moment, and then resumed: "You have heard tell of -your father, and how he died a violent death? Alison Aytoun, did you -ever hear who it was that killed him?" - -Alice shivered, and glanced up in trembling wonder. Mrs. Catherine went -on: "The name of him was Norman Rutherford. He was a young man, as -gallant and as generous as ever breathed mortal breath. Why he was left -to himself in so dreadful a way, I cannot tell. It will never be known -on this earth. Alison Aytoun, are you hearing me? Norman Rutherford, -your father's murderer, was the nearest kindred of Lewis Ross; he was -his brother!" - -A long, low cry of pain, involuntary and unconscious, came from Alice -Aytoun's lips. She turned from Mrs. Catherine's lap, and covered her -face with her hands. There was nothing more to say or to hope; and the -mist and film of her first sorrow blinded and stilled the girlish -heart, which beat so gay and high when that dull morning rose. - -By-and-by, she had wandered up stairs, and was in her own room alone. -The room was dim, and cheerless, and cold, she thought; and Alice laid -herself down upon her bed, and hid her sad, white face in the pillow, -and silently wept. The girlish light heart sank down under its sudden -burthen, without another struggle. "I am not strong," murmured little -Alice; "and there is no one with me." - -There was no one with her. Never before had any misfortune come to her -youthful knowledge, which could not be shared. Now the shrinking, -delicate spirit, half child, half woman, had entered into the very -depths of a woe which must be borne alone. The dull, leaden darkness -gathered round her; the tears flowed over her white cheek in a -continuous stream; and into the dim, disconsolate air the plaintive -young voice sounded sadly, instinctively calling on its mother's name. -Alice was alone! - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - - -When Anne entered Merkland after her visit to the nurse's cottage, and -was proceeding, as usual to her own room, she was stopped by Duncan. - -"Miss Anne," said Duncan, significantly, "Merkland is in the parlor." - -"Well, Duncan," said Anne, "what of that? Does Lewis want me?" - -"Na, I'm no saying that," said the cautious Duncan; "but I just thought -within mysel that maybe ye were wanting to see the Laird; and he's in -the parlor, and so's the mistress. Mr. Lewis has been hame this -half-hour." - -Anne comprehended. The clouds of the morning had broken into a storm, -and Duncan, with whom "Mr. Lewis," partly as a child of his own -training, and partly as the Laird of Merkland, was a person of the very -highest importance, and not to be teased and incommoded by "a wheen -woman," desired her interposition to receive the tempest upon her own -head, and avert it from Lewis, as was the general wont, when Anne made -her appearance in the midst of any quarrel between the mother and son. - -"I will return immediately, Duncan," she said, as she ran up stairs to -take off her cloak and bonnet. - -Duncan turned away satisfied. - -"A wheen, silly, fuils o' women, as they are a', the haill sect o' -them," he soliloquized, fretfully; "wearing the very life and pith out -o'the lad, wi' their angers, and their makings o'. First the one and -then the other. Ane would need lang tack o' patience that ventured to -yoke wi' them, frae Job himsel, honest man, doun to Peter Hislop, the -stock farmer at Wentrup Head. 'Deed, and the twa are in no manner -unlike, when ane has a talent for similarities. They were baith rich in -cattle, and had a jaud of a wife to the piece o' them. Clavering, -ill-tongued randies, wearing out the lives of peaceable men." - -When Anne entered the room, she found Lewis pacing back and forward in -it, in haste and anger, while Mrs. Ross sat leaning back in her chair -with the air of a besieger, who has thrown his last bomb, and waits to -see its effect. - -"I cannot believe it,--I will not believe it!" exclaimed Lewis, as Anne -entered. "If it had been so, I should have heard it before. Oh! I know -you could not have kept this pleasure from me so long, mother! and I -declare to you that this stratagem--I say this unworthy stratagem--only -strengthens my determination. Anne," continued Lewis, perceiving her as -he turned, in his hasty progress from one end of the room to the other, -"you have heard this story--this phantom of Norman--the murderer, as he -is called--which my kind mother has conjured up to frighten me. Join -with me in telling her it is not true--that we are not to be -deceived--that we do not believe this!" - -Mrs. Ross endeavored to toss her head as contemptuously as was her -wont--it would not do; the motion was spasmodic. She was reaping the -fruit of her own training, and the ingratitude and rude anger of her -only son, from whom, indeed, she did not deserve this, stung her to the -heart. - -"Lewis," said Anne, "you are behaving very unjustly to your mother. Be -calm, and do not give way to anger so unseemly." - -"Oh! do not interrupt him," said Mrs. Ross, "let him go on; it is -pleasant to insult his mother." - -Lewis turned from her angrily. - -"This is not a time for any absurd punctilio, Anne. Let me hear you say -this is not true--this story--this scheme. I will not submit to it. Am I -a boy, I wonder, that I am to be frightened by such a--" - -Mrs. Ross rose. The darling son--the only child--to turn on his mother -thus! - -"Lewis!" she said, her features twitching, her voice husky. "Beware!" - -"Lewis!" said Anne; "I cannot bear this either; it is mere madness; sit -down quietly and listen. Mother, I beg of you to sit down; forgive him -this; he does not know--he cannot comprehend. Lewis, when your mother -told you this very terrible story, she believed it true." - -Mrs. Ross had been regarding Anne, whose support she deserved as little -as she did the insults of her son, with a face in which wonder and shame -were strangely blended. Now she darted up a sharp, keen glance. - -"_Believed_ it true! This from you, Anne Ross--this from you!" - -"Bear with me, mother," exclaimed Anne; "and you, Lewis, be still and -hear me. I believe with my whole heart that our brother, Norman -Rutherford, is innocent of this terrible deed; but, in the judgment of -the world, he is condemned long years ago. Every one thinks him guilty. -Not your mother only, but Mrs. Catherine, and all who know the story, -except myself and one other. Lewis, I do not say how unbecoming and -unnatural this passion is, but your mother has only told you, what I -have been eager to tell you through all these anxious months. So far as -common belief goes, you have heard rightly." - -"But it is not true," said Lewis, doggedly, throwing himself into a -chair; "you admit it is not true. A scheme--a--" - -"Mother, leave this to me," cried Anne, trembling as she saw the -contortion of Mrs. Ross's face. "It is no scheme, Lewis. You do us cruel -wrong in using such a word. It is true in every particular, but in the -one which has given it all its bitterness to me. It is not true that -Norman is guilty. It is true, that for seventeen years--for all Alice -Aytoun's sunny lifetime--he has been expiating, in a foreign country, -the crime of another man. Do not sneer, mother; I cannot bear it. Do not -turn away Lewis; I will not be disbelieved. My brother Norman is -innocent; the two hearts that knew him, and loved him best, have put -their seal upon his truth, one bearing witness in the clearsightedness -of nearly approaching death, the other cherishing it in her inmost heart -as the one hope of her waning years. Lewis, here is your father's latest -words and testimony. Read it, and believe that it is true." - -"What is true?" exclaimed Lewis, starting up, without, however, taking -the letters which Anne held out to him. "What is the meaning of all -this, Anne? My mother tells me first, that this Norman killed the father -of Alice Aytoun, and then you come in, and tell me all the story is -true, and yet that Norman is innocent; what do you mean? I am not to be -treated as a schoolboy. I shall not submit to these mysteries; tell me -plainly what you mean." - -Anne looked anxiously at Mrs. Ross. "Have you told him all? Does he know -all, mother?" - -"I don't understand you, Anne," said Mrs. Ross, sullenly. - -Anne stood between them, baited by both, her patience nearly breaking -down. "Does he know all?" she repeated; "does he know that Norman is -alive? Lewis, have you heard that?" - -Lewis walked through the room hastily, and did not answer. He had heard -it--it was clear; and Anne fancied that, like herself, the thousand -apprehensions connected with that secret were overwhelming Lewis, that -grief and fear for their unhappy brother were swelling up in his heart, -too great for speech. - -"Lewis," she continued, "you ask me what I mean--I will tell you. This -morning, and for many a sorrowful and dreary morning before this, I knew -the history of Norman, as you know it now. I knew that the stain of a -great crime was upon his name. I believed that Alice Aytoun's father had -fallen by his hand. I knew that justice had set its terrible mark upon -him, and that the world thought him already dead; yet, all the while, I -knew he was alive, still wandering, Cain-like, with his guilt and his -condemnation upon his head. Lewis! since Alice Aytoun came to the Tower, -this has haunted me night and day, waking and sleeping; it has tinged my -every thought and every dream; it has never left my mind for an hour. -You thought I wished to put obstacles between Alice Aytoun and you; you -were right, I did so. I endeavored in every possible way to keep you -separate. I schemed as I never schemed before; you know now the reason. -I wanted to preserve you both; to save her young heart from this cloud, -and to keep you even from knowing it, because it was your mother's wish -you should not know. Our plans are not the best, and Providence has -mercifully baulked mine. Lewis, with you I am sure, as with me, the one -circumstance in Norman's calamity that makes it bitter, is the crime. -What happened last night, driving me, as it did, almost to absolute -despair, drove me also to exertion. And this morning, I found these -precious letters--look at them, Lewis--which clear Norman, and which -leave to us my father's dying charge, to redeem the fame of his unjustly -accused son. Lewis, take the letters; they are addressed to you no less -than to me, and if we but discharge our trust faithfully, all will be -well." - -Something moved by Anne's earnestness, Lewis took the letters, and sat -down to examine them. Anne threw herself, exhausted, into a chair; the -mental excitement of the morning, and its sudden transition from despair -to hope, had worn her out. Mrs. Ross glanced from the one to the other -angrily, and cast keen glances at the yellow tear-blotted letters in her -son's hand. He had laid down his father's cover, and was reading with -kindred keenness, Norman's incoherent self-defence. The young man's -sharp, cold scrutiny, was little like that of one, whose present -happiness depended upon the truth of this; his steady hand, and -business-like demeanor, revealed no deeper interest in that cry of -agony, than if its writer had been the merest stranger, and not a -much-suffering brother. Anne watched him also, with compressed lips, and -anxious eyes; she thought his indifference firmness, or tried to think -so, though very differently, she knew, that utterance of Norman's -distress had entered into her own heart. - -He finished the letters; but there came no exclamation of hope or -thanksgiving from the steady lip of Lewis. He folded them up carefully, -and laid them on the table. Anne waited in breathless anxiety. "Well," -he said, coldly, "and what do you think you can make of these?" - -"Lewis!" exclaimed Anne. - -"Ah! I thought you would be disappointed. It's not at all wonderful that -you should think these letters could do a mighty deal of themselves, for -you've no experience, you know nothing of the world; and yet, I thought -you had better sense, Anne. They're not worth a rush." - -Anne looked at him in amazement; she would not understand his meaning. - -"They prove nothing--nothing in this world," said Lewis, with some -impatience. "An incoherent attempt to deny a crime, which nobody could -suppose he would like to acknowledge, and simply my father's belief, -that what his son said was true, to support it; it is quite nonsense, -Anne; nothing could be founded upon such things." - -"Yes; I hope you will see the folly of that romantic stuff," said Mrs. -Ross; "a man sacrificing himself entirely, rather than venture to stand -a trial! Depend upon it, Anne Ross, your brother Norman had his senses -better about him than you; he fled, because he knew that his only chance -of escape was in flight, you may take my word for that. And now that you -are satisfied, Lewis; now that you have received the testimony of some -one you can credit, that your mother has not told you a lie; you will -not hesitate, I trust, to take the only honorable step that remains for -you, and immediately give up your very foolish engagement with this -girl." - -Lewis looked up indignantly. - -"I am old enough certainly to manage that for myself. I shall make my -own decision." - -Mrs. Ross rose, lowering in sullen anger, and left the room; and Anne, -pale and excited, rose to claim her letters. The youth's heart was moved -within Lewis Ross at last, in spite of all his premature prudence, and -worldly wisdom; he met his sister's inquisitive, searching look, with -his own face more subdued and milder. - -"Well, Anne?" - -Anne lifted the letters. - -"Is it possible, Lewis--is it possible, that you can have read these, -and remain unconvinced? Has my father's charge no weight with you? Has -Norman's distress no power? I cannot believe it--you feel as I do, -Lewis, that Norman is not guilty." - -"I don't know, Anne--I can't see it," said Lewis, leaning his head on -his hand. "Here is every chance against him--every circumstance, and -nothing in his favor but these two incoherent rambling letters. He was -an excitable nervous person himself, and my father was an old man, -almost in his dotage. I have my mother's authority for saying so--and -what is their mere assertion against all the evidence?" - -"What evidence, Lewis?" - -"Oh, I have seen it all!" said Lewis, waving his hand: "my mother had -the papers ready for me when I came in; she has hoarded them up, I -fancy, to let me have the pleasure. If you had not said it, Anne, I -should never have believed that the Norman Rutherford she told me of was -any brother of ours; but since he is--the evidence it seems to me is -irresistible. No, I can't say these letters convince me. It may be all -very well to maintain a friend's innocence to the world, but between -ourselves, you know, I see nothing in them." - -Anne turned from him impatiently. - -"Well!" exclaimed Lewis, "upon my word you bait and badger a man till he -does not know his own mind. What would you have me do, Anne? Shall I go -away and labor to find this Norman, and beg him to take Merkland off my -hands, and permit me to remain his very humble servant? What do you -mean? what would you have me do?" - -"I would have you do the duty of a son and a brother," said Anne; "and -if you will not do it, I warn you, Lewis, that I take this work upon -myself, however unsuitable it may be for a woman. You have a special -stake in it, Lewis--you must see that, till this mystery is cleared, -Alice Aytoun is unapproachable to you; the brother of her father's -accused murderer can be nothing to her, but a stranger whom she must -shrink from and avoid. I know how this will crush poor Alice, but she is -far too gentle and good a girl to go to any passionate extreme. You -would speak of prejudice, and revenge, and arbitrary custom, Lewis: it -is nonsense to say that; but were it only custom and prejudice, Alice -will be ruled by it. She will not see you again." - -"Will she not?" exclaimed Lewis, triumphantly, "we shall soon see. I -don't mean to do anything tragical or high-flown, Anne, there's an end -of it. Thanks to the difference of name, Alice knows nothing of this, -and I do not see the remotest occasion for her ever knowing. I shan't -tell her certainly. I intend to write to her mother to-day--you need not -look horrified--this shall not keep me back an hour. Why should it? _I_ -had no hand in her father's murder; and as for Norman, I am very sorry, -but I cannot help him in any way. If he has not deserved this by his -guilt, he has by his folly; and it's not to be expected, I fancy, that I -should entirely sacrifice myself for the sake of a half-brother whom I -never saw--more particularly as the chances are, that the sacrifice -would do him no good, and only waste my time, and make me unhappy." - -"And have you no fear of Mrs. Aytoun and her son?" inquired Anne, in a -low voice. - -"No; the difference of name is very fortunate--how should any one -suppose that a Rutherford in the east was the brother of a Ross in the -north? Besides, if they _had_ any suspicion, I hope they are -sufficiently anxious about Alice and her happiness, to keep it to -themselves. We are not in the age of feuds now, sister Anne: don't -trouble yourself about it." - -"If we are past feuds, we are not past nature," said Anne, hastily. -"Lewis, I saw Mrs. Catherine this morning. I could not rest till I had -ascertained whether there was any hope, that Alice was not this man's -child. Mrs. Catherine knew the reason of my inquiries and agitation, and -exclaimed immediately that you must not see Alice again; before this -time Alice knows all, and however you might hope to weaken the -impression it will make upon her--and you could not succeed even in -that, for Alice with all her gentleness would do nothing so abhorrent to -natural feeling and universal opinion, were her heart to break--you know -very well that it would be folly to attempt moving Mrs. Catherine.--She -will not permit your engagement to continue, Lewis--you may be sure of -that." - -Lewis burst forth into indignant exclamations: "Who dared to interfere -between Alice and him? who would venture, for a crime done before her -birth, to hinder their happiness?" - -"Lewis," said Anne, "this is quite useless. I do not want to interfere -between Alice and you. I believe the great obstacle is removed, and that -with but proper exertion on your own part, you may at once secure your -purpose, and deliver our poor Norman; but, as for daring and venturing, -would Mrs. Catherine hesitate, think you? would Alice Aytoun's brother -be afraid? Lewis, you are mistaken: it may break poor Alice's girlish -heart--far too young for such a weight--but it will not make her -rebelious; it will lead her to no unwomanly extreme: she will submit!" - -Lewis was for a time passionate and loud, inveighing against them all -for keeping him in ignorance, blaming Anne for telling Mrs. Catherine, -and indulging in a thousand extravagances. Anne stood calmly beside him, -and bore it all, too deeply bent on her own object to heed these -effusions of passion. - -"And supposing it possible," exclaimed Lewis, sitting down again, after -his passion had nearly exhausted itself--"supposing it possible to prove -Norman innocent, what then? I don't see how my position is at all -bettered. What will I have to offer Alice? Some poor thousand pounds, -perhaps, that may be doled out to me as the younger brother's -portion--no house, no certain means of living. I suppose you would have -me get a school in Portoran, or apply for a situation in the Bank, or go -into a writer's office in Edinburgh," continued Lewis, bitterly, "and -think I was anticipating love in a cottage, when I spoke of Alice -Aytoun!" - -Anne could have said much--could have begged and prayed him to believe -that the landless Lewis Ross, who had saved his brother, would be a -nobler man by far than the Laird of Merkland, who had left his nearest -relative to languish out dishonored days in a strange country, uncared -for and unsuccored: but she began to know better the material she had to -work upon. - -"Norman has his own land, Lewis," she said. "Had he remained at home, -and had all been well with him, you still would have inherited Merkland. -I know that certainly." - -"Is it so?" said Lewis, eagerly. "If it is legally so--if the estate is -settled on me to the exclusion of Norman, of course that puts the matter -in quite a different aspect. And so you think he is innocent?" - -Lewis took the letters in his hand again. - -"I do not _think_ he is innocent, Lewis," said Anne. "I may take your -licence of strong speaking, in respect to this. I never had a -doubt--never a fear. I _felt_ that he was innocent. The joy was almost -too much for me this morning. Lewis, do not think at all--open your -heart to feel the agony of Norman's, and you will know that he is not -guilty!" - -"Sit down, Anne," said Lewis, more gently. "I want to look at these -letters again." - -Anne sat down. Lewis opened the papers and read them over carefully once -more. He did not say any thing when he had finished, but remained for -some time in silence. Their own internal force of truthfulness did not -carry conviction to the cold, logical understanding of Lewis; he did not -let his own heart have any influence in the judgment: he thought of -legal evidence, not of moral certainty. - -"And what would you advise should be done?" he said at length, as he met -Anne's eye. - -Anne repeated to him all the further particulars which she had learned -from Esther Fleming, together with the nurse's suspicion that Norman -knew who was the murderer, and was content thus far to suffer in his -stead. Lewis's interest was excited by the idea of discovering the true -criminal, but flagged again when Anne told him how bootless Esther's -inquiries had been, and how widely spread was the conviction of Norman's -guilt--and again he repeated, almost listlessly: "What would you have me -do?" - -"I would have you go to this place yourself immediately, Lewis," said -Anne. "I would have you set out at once without the loss of any more -time, and yourself go among the people.--You will find many of them, no -doubt, who remember the story--it is not of a kind to be forgotten. Act -upon Esther's suggestion--endeavor to find the real criminal--go over -the whole neighborhood--spare no labor--no trouble. It may be a work -demanding much time and much patience. Never mind that, the result is -worth the toil of a lifetime, and you, Lewis, you have a special stake -in it--there is a definite reward for you." - -But the work, albeit he had a special stake in it, looked very different -in the eyes of Lewis. He did not answer for some time, and then said: -"It's entirely out of the question to go myself. I could not do it. I -have neither time nor patience to expend so, but I'll tell you what I'll -do, Anne--I'll write to Robert Ferguson--I saw him this morning leaving -Woodsmuir to return to Edinburgh; he is a cool, shrewd, lawyer-like lad. -I'll trust it to him." - -"But think of the danger to Norman in making this secret known," -exclaimed Anne. - -"We need not tell him that," said Lewis, "there is no occasion whatever -for trusting him with that. He can have some hint of what has occurred -lately, and that it is a matter of some importance to us. I will write -to him to-day. Does that satisfy you, Anne?" - -There was no choice; she was compelled to be satisfied with it. The -lawyer, no doubt, might manage it best, yet Anne had an instinctive -confidence, in a search which should be guided, not by business-like -acuteness alone, but by the loving energy of a heart which yearned over -the outcast Norman, the desolate exiled brother. And Lewis spoke so -coldly, "of _some_ importance"--how the strange limitation chilled her -heart. - -"And I want you to do something for me in return, Anne," said Lewis, -looking at his watch. "After dinner, come up with me to the Tower, and -tell your story to Mrs. Catherine and Alice, your own way. You can do it -better than I could, for you have more faith in it than I--altogether," -he continued, rising, with a laugh: "You are more a believing person -than I am, I fancy, Anne--no doubt it is quite natural--you women -receive whatever's presented to you--it's all very right that you -should--but something more is required of _us_." - -Alas! poor Lewis! He did not know how incomparably higher that faculty -of belief was than his meagre and poor calculations; nor could -comprehend the instant and intuitive apprehension, which darted to its -true conclusion at once, and left him weighing his sands of legal -evidence so very far behind. - -The evening was gusty, wild and melancholy, one of those nights that -make the fireside lights look doubly cheerful; and just as little Alice -Aytoun crept disconsolately up stairs in the darkness, Lewis and Anne -left Merkland for the Tower. They had not much conversation on the way, -for Anne was busied, chalking out a plan of procedure for herself, -should Robert Ferguson's mission fail, and Lewis had lighter fancies, -unwillingly obscured by some tinge of the truths he had learned that -day, to keep him silent. There were no lights in the accustomed windows -when they reached the Tower. Mrs. Catherine's own sitting-room was dark, -and from the windows of the dining-parlor, there came only the red -glimmer of firelight. Archibald Sutherland sat there alone, as Mrs. -Catherine and Alice had left him, and had been too deeply engaged with -his own thoughts to heed the gathering darkness. - -"Mr. Archibald is in the dining-parlor," said Jacky, opening the door, -as she spoke, to admit Lewis, and gliding back instantly to Anne's side. -With natural delicacy, the servants had followed Mr. Ferguson's example, -and when they could no longer call the broken man "Strathoran," returned -to the kindly name of his boyhood. - -"And if ye please, Miss Anne," continued Jacky, looking up wistfully -into Anne's face. "Mrs. Catherine is in the little room." - -Anne hesitated--Jacky's keen eyes were fixed upon her anxiously. "May I -go in, I wonder, Jacky?" - -"If ye please, Miss Anne--" began the girl. - -"What, Jacky?" - -"Miss Alice is no weel--I saw her gaun up to her ain room, slow and -heavy. Mostly ye canna hear her foot, it's like a spirit's--the night it -was dragging slow and sad-like, and I heard her say--" - -Jacky paused. - -"What did you hear her say?" - -"It was in her ain room--I wasna listening, Miss Anne, I just heard -it--she said 'there is no one with me'--low, low--like as if she was in -grief. Miss Anne, will ye go up to Miss Alice? There was naebody near -her but me, and she wasna wanting me. Will ye go, Miss Anne?" - -Jacky's keen eyes was softened with an involuntary tear. - -"I must see Mrs. Catherine first," said Anne, passing on hurriedly to -the little room. Jacky seated herself in the window-seat near the -library-door, in meditative solitude; the strange, chivalrous girl's -heart within her beating high with plans of help and aid to that -gentle, weeping Alice, whom all the stronger spirits round her seemed -instinctively to join in warding evil and trouble from. - -The door of the little room was at once opened to Anne, and she found -Mrs. Catherine within, the trace of a tear even visible upon her sterner -cheek. - -"The poor bairn, child!" she exclaimed. "The poor, bit, silly, gentle -thing! I could almost have seen yourself suffering, sooner than her. If -stronger folk feel it even more painfully, there is aye a kind of -struggle with their sorrow; but yonder, there was no strength to make -resistance, child. The trouble sank down, like a stone, to the bottom of -the bairn's heart. I cannot get away from my eye the bit, wan, -unresisting, hopeless look of her." - -"Mrs. Catherine!" exclaimed Anne, "I must go to her instantly. I bring -hope. Do not look at me in anger. I am speaking words of truth and -soberness: the matter does not stand as you think--as I thought this -morning. Mrs. Catherine, Norman is innocent." - -Mrs. Catherine made an emphatic motion with her hand, as if commanding -Anne to go on; and waited breathlessly. - -"Mrs, Catherine, I have his own words to build upon. I have the recorded -conviction of my father. Do you think they could be deceived, to whom he -was dearest upon earth? My father, Esther, Marion his wife, who went -with him, they all believed him innocent--the last, by sharing his fate. -You could not but believe his own words. He did not do it, Mrs. -Catherine. He is innocent." - -Mrs. Catherine laid her hands upon Anne's shoulders, and gazed with -earnest scrutiny into her face. - -"His own words--sharing his fate--what does the bairn mean? Child, I -thought there was some other terror upon your mind, this morning, that -ye did not tell me. Is Norman Rutherford alive?" - -"Mrs. Catherine, his secret is safe with you," said Anne, drawing the -letters from her bosom. "Norman is alive, unjustly condemned, and -innocent. We must prove that first: but take these, and let me go to -Alice." - -"Sit down upon that seat, and wait," said Mrs. Catherine, peremptorily. -"I must see the ground of your hope myself, before ye sicken the silly -bairn with what may be but a false sunshine. Give me the papers, child." - -The lamp was speedily lighted, and Mrs. Catherine seated herself to -examine them. How different was the keen interest inspiring the strong -face which bent over them, the eyes that traced their incoherent lines -so rapidly, from the cold examination of Lewis. How different the -conclusion. - -"The Lord be thanked!" burst from Mrs. Catherine's lips, as she came to -the end of Norman's letter. "The Lord, in His infinite tenderness, be -thanked for the comfort. Gowan, what are ye lingering for? Go to the -bairn, and give her the good news. It is meet that I should be alone. -Hear ye, child, go to the bairn." - -Anne needed no urging--she left the room instantly, and hurried up -stairs. - -Alice's gay bower was dark--the fire burning dull and low: the very -flowers drooping like their mistress. Anne passed through the opened -door hastily, to the still darker and chiller bed-chamber within, where -she could see the girl's slight figure lying on the bed. Alice was -roused by the approaching footsteps, and said, as Anne drew near her: - -"Not now, Bessie; leave me, I do not want you now." - -Anne advanced, and gently drew the hidden cheek from the wet pillow. - -"It is not Bessie," she said: "it is I, Alice, Anne Ross, your sister." - -Alice raised her head. - -"My sister! Ah! you do not know." - -Her hair was thrown back in a momentary attempt at pride, and then Alice -hid her face again in her hands. It was as Mrs. Catherine said; the -gentle little heart could offer no resistance to this dull, dead weight -of sorrow. - -"I do know, Alice!" said Anne. "Look up now, and do not weep. Lewis is -waiting to see you. Mrs. Catherine knows he is here--Alice!" - -"Is it not true?" whispered Alice; "is it not true? You would not call -me Alice if it were true. Oh! Miss Ross, tell me." - -"It is not true; we have found out that we were wrong," said Anne, -soothingly. "Rise, now, and let me be your maid instead of Bessie, and -you shall hear it all when you are able." - -Alice had half risen, and was already clinging to Anne like a child. - -"Tell me now; I am able. Oh! Miss Ross, why did Mrs. Catherine tell me -that? why did you let her? I could not bear it. If it were to come back -again I should die--I know I should die!" - -Anne smiled sadly. And yet it might have been so; the gentle and weak -may droop their heads like flowers, and die; the stronger must live on, -bearing undying griefs through long lifetimes: it is so appointed. Very -sad was this plaintive, murmuring sorrow from lips so young. Sadder -still was the conscious life of that other more perfect woman of the -ballad: "I wish I was dead, but I'm no like to dee." - -Jacky was hovering not far off with lights, and Anna lifted her little -patient tenderly, put her dress in order, and led her down to the -cheerful fireside of Mrs. Catherine's inner drawing-room, where Lewis -joined her by-and-bye, and from the warm and hopeful air of which, glad -lights went flashing back again over the fair horizon of Alice Aytoun's -life. - -"Child," said Mrs. Catherine, as they parted, "I perceive it will be a -hard work and a sore; but let me see you fainting, if you daur! Make no -scruple to ask whatsoever aid is needful from me--ye ken that. You -cannot see the truthfulness of it, child, as I do, that ken the lad. Be -of good cheer, and never doubt that the Lord will bring light out of -this great darkness in his own time." - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - - -Within a week after these agitating events, Archibald Sutherland, in -company with the anxious and attentive factor, rode into Portoran, to -meet the third individual of their council, Mr. Foreman, and engage in a -final consultation. During the days which had intervened since -Archibald's return, there had already been much discussion and -deliberation between the two good men, who took an interest so kindly in -his changed fortunes. Mr. Ferguson, who had a distant kinsman, the most -inaccessible and hypochondriacal of nabobs, and under whose ken had -passed various bilious, overgrown fortunes accumulated in the golden -East, gave his voice for India. Mr. Foreman, whose brother had grown -comfortably rich, on the shores of that river "Plate," whose very name -in mercantile mouths, seems to savor so pleasantly of golden harvests, -spoke strongly in favor of South America. Mr. Foreman had been -consulting with his minister, of whose business head, and clear -judgment, the good lawyer was becomingly proud, and slightly given to -boast himself; and it happened that, at that very time, Mr. Lumsden had -heard from his brother, the clever manager and future junior partner of -Messrs. Sutor and Sinclair's, great commercial house in Glasgow, that -Mr. Sinclair, the partner in Buenos Ayres, was in urgent want of an -intelligent and well-educated clerk, and had written to his partner and -manager, desiring them, either to send one of the young men in their -Glasgow office, or to employ one of higher qualifications, if need were, -and send him out without delay. Now it happened, wrote Mr. Lumsden's -brother, that the house of Sutor and Sinclair had divers other branches, -in different parts of the world, and their clerks of experience having -been drafted, one by one, to these, they were now left with none of -sufficient age, or acquirements, to suit the fastidious Mr. Sinclair, -whose letter had conveyed a delicate hint, that if it were possible, he -should desire a young man of some culture and breeding to fill the -vacant post. Mr. Lumsden's brother further explained, that this was a -quiet stroke at the less polished Mr. Sutor, who had previously sent a -clerkship, in the shape of a great hearty, joyous, enterprising cub, of -true Glasgow manufacture and proportions, born to make a fortune, but -unfortunately, not born either to be or look anything beyond the honest, -genial, persevering, money-making man he already was. Mr. Sinclair's -health was delicate; his mind, considering that he was a clever and very -successful merchant, pre-eminently so; and the choice of his -confidential clerk, puzzled Mr. George Lumsden and his principal sadly. - -Mr. Foreman, on hearing of this, had written without delay to his -minister's brother, desiring to know whether poor Archibald--the ruined -laird--might have any chance of suiting so peculiar a situation. His -name, Mr. Foreman wrote somewhat proudly, was a sufficient voucher for -his personal acquirements; he had been unfortunate, but the youthful -madness which occasioned these misfortunes had been bitterly repented -of, and there was little doubt that his ability, and earnest endeavor to -redeem his lost ground, would carry him to the head of whatever he -attempted. When Mr. Ferguson and Archibald entered Mr. Foreman's private -room, they found him waiting in nervous expectation for an answer to -this letter. He knew the mail had come in; he had dispatched a messenger -to the post-office half an hour ago, and was fuming now over the -vexatious delay. In the meantime, however, he managed to explain the -matter to his visitors. - -"From all that I can hear, Mr. Archibald, is just the thing for -you--without office drudging, and with a man who could understand and -sympathize with your feelings. I do think we have been fortunate in -hearing of it." - -Archibald shook his head. "You are too ambitious for me, Mr. Foreman. I -would rather--it may be a sort of pride, perhaps, though pride sits ill -on me--I would, indeed, rather not have my feelings sympathized with by -strangers. I should prefer no manner of distinction. - -"Well, well!" said Mr. Foreman, "neither there will be; only the -situation is a superior one, and you would have in it the best possible -opening." - -"Don't think me ungrateful," said Archibald. "I shall be very glad of -it, if you think me at all likely to have the necessary qualifications. -But in business, you know, I want experience entirely. I almost want -even elementary knowledge." - -"No fear of that," said Mr. Ferguson, "a good head and clear mind soon -master the details of business--but India!" - -"Ah! has the little wretch come back at last?" cried Mr. Foreman, -darting into the outer office, and seizing upon his messenger, who, -lingering only to watch the progress of one most interesting game at -"bools," which came to a crisis just as he was passing, had returned -from the post-office with his load of letters. These were examined in a -moment; one bearing the square Glasgow post-mark selected, the others -tossed over in an indiscriminate heap to Walter, and Mr. Foreman, -opening his letter hurriedly, re-entered the room reading it. It was -decidedly favorable. Much of sympathy and compassion for the young man -shipwrecked so early, much of regret for the downfall of an old house -(for Mr. Lumsden was a north countryman, and knew the Sutherland family -by name) were in it; but these Mr. Foreman kept to himself. The prudent -manager of Messrs. Sutor and Sinclair's Glasgow house, was rather -dubious, as to a young man, who had managed to ruin himself at -five-and-twenty, being quite a suitable person for a merchant's trusted -and confidential clerk; but proposed that Mr. Sutherland should come, -for a month or two, to the Glasgow counting-house, to acquire a -knowledge of the business, and enable them to form a better judgment of -him, on personal knowledge. Mr. Lumsden's words were quite kind, and -perfectly respectful, yet Mr. Foreman delicately softened them as he -read, and when he had concluded, looked triumphantly from Archibald to -Mr. Ferguson. - -"Well, gentlemen; what do you say?" - -The factor gave in his adhesion; his own vague hope from India could not -stand before a definite proposal like this. "It looks well, Mr. -Archibald; upon my word, I do think it looks well." - -"It is quite above my expectations," said Archibald. "I am perfectly -ready to enter upon my probation at once--without delay. I accept your -friend's offer without the least hesitation, Mr. Foreman; write him, I -beg, and tell him so, and let the time be fixed for the commencement of -my apprenticeship--and then, if I satisfy my new employers--then, for -the shores of that luxurious Spain in the west, and such prosperity as -Providence shall send me there. Nay, nay; you look sorrowfully at me, as -if I mocked myself; I do not--my second beginning is more hopeful than -my first. I will do no dishonor--I trust--I hope I shall do no further -dishonor to your kindness, or my father's name: only let us have it -settled upon, and begun as early as possible, Mr. Foreman. I have no -time to lose." - -"I am glad! I am delighted!" exclaimed the honest lawyer, "to see you -take it so well. If the first disagreeables were but over!" - -"Never mind the first disagreeables, Mr. Foreman," said Archibald, -cheerfully. "I shall be the better of difficulties to begin with--if I -only were begun." - -"We will not linger about that," said Mr. Foreman, catching the -contagion of his client's cheerfulness, which, to tell the truth, was -more in seeming than reality. "I shall write to Mr. Lumsden at once." - -Other arrangements had to be made before they left Portoran--the -transfer of Alexander Semple's lease to Mr. Ferguson being the principal -matter which occupied them. Semple was a soft, spiritless man, of -indolent temper; and no enterprise, and the bleak, unprofitable acres -were certain to remain as unprofitable and bleak as ever during his -occupancy. Already many times Mr. Coulter had sighed over them, and -poured into the ears of their listless tenant vain hints, and unheeded -remonstrances. Mr. Coulter was most pleasantly busied now devising the -means for their fertilization, and, in company with Mr. Ferguson, had -already taken various very long, wearisome, and delightful walks, partly -from a neighborly regard for the interests of the broken man, and partly -from his own entire devotion to his respectable and most important -science, advising with the new farmer as to the various profitable and -laborious processes necessary for these unpromising and barren fields. -The rental Archibald Sutherland insisted should remain in the factor's -hands, or in Mr. Foreman's hands, or in the Portoran branch of the -British Linen Company's Bank, if his zealous friends insisted on that, -his own resolution being to spend nothing beyond the income he worked -for, however small that might be at first. His own tastes had always -been simple, and money the mere bits of gold and scraps of paper--had -become precious in his eyes. There was little fear either that he should -ever be a worshipper of the golden calf--the unrighteous Mammon. But -Strathoran--his home--his birth-place--the house of his fathers! - -He saw its turrets rising from among the trees as he turned his horse's -head from the pleasant threshold of Woodsmuir, to which he now paid his -first visit. These fair slopes and hollows, the brown moor running far -northward, the gray hills in the distance, with the red glory of the -frosty January sunlight on their bare, uncovered heads. What were they -now to him? What? Dearer, more precious than ever; the aim to which he -looked forward through a dim vista of hard-working years; a prize to be -won; a goal to be attained; a treasure to be brought by his own toil! -Was there no sickening of the heart, as the young man, born and nurtured -in that proud old house of Strathoran, the heir of all its inherited -honors, looked forward to the lifetime of toil that lay before him, -obscure, ignoble, unceasing? The office in Glasgow where he should be -put on trial, and have the strange new experience of unknown masters, on -whose favor depended all his prospects; the still more dim and unknown -counting-house of Buenos Ayres, with its exile and estrangement from -home-looks and language. Was not his heart sickening within him? No! Who -that has felt his pulses quicken, and his heart beat, at the -anticipation of a clear and honorable future, filled only with -unencumbered labor, a healthful frame, a sound mind, and a great aim in -view, could ask that question? Sickness, deadly and painful, overpowered -Archibald Sutherland's heart when he looked _behind_; that wild -lee-shore of weakness, those fierce rocks of temptation and passion upon -which his fortune and his honor had made disastrous shipwreck. These are -the things to sicken hearts and crush them, not the bracing chill air -that swept the path to which he began to bind his breast. The hill was -steep, the way long, rough, laborious. What matter? There was hope, and -mental health, and moral safety in his toils; a definite aim at its -summit; an All-guiding Providence, giving strength to the toiler, and -promising a blessing upon every righteous effort, to uphold and bear him -on. - -The cloud that had passed over that little, blue-eyed, gentle girl at -the Tower--the new interest which occupied the mind of Mrs. Catherine, -were known to Archibald in some degree, and interested him deeply. But -the great secret--that Norman lived yet to be toiled, and hoped, and -prayed for--was not communicated to either Archibald or Alice. They knew -only that their friends believed him unjustly accused, and intended to -labor for proof of that--proof which might be difficult enough to find, -after the lapse of so many years--but the fact of the engagement between -Lewis and Alice, was quite sufficient to account for the suddenly -awakened anxiety concerning Norman's innocence. - -The first week of the new year was past: the next day little Alice was -to return home. They were all sitting in Mrs. Catherine's inner -drawing-room, about her cheerful tea-table--Mrs. Catherine herself, -Alice, Anne, Archibald, and Lewis. The spirits of the young people had -risen; they were all hopeful, courageous, and conversing with that -intimate and familiar kindliness which unites so much more closely and -tenderly on the eve of a parting than at any other time. Alice was to -sing to them--to sing as Anne and Archibald begged--that song of the -'Oran' which had moved them so deeply on the night of the new year. The -sweet young voice had grown more expressive since that time; the gentle, -youthful spirit had passed through greater vicissitudes in that week -than in all its previous bright lifetime, and, therefore, the song was -better rendered--its tinge of sadness--its warm breath of hope-- - - "Ah, pray, young hearts, for the sad wayfaring man!" - -Anne met Archibald's eyes with a supplicating glance in them as the -melody ended. Her own were wet with sympathetic tears. Yes, for him who -must count so many years of toil before he could see the evening star -rise calm on the home-waves of Oran, she echoed the prayer, but more -deeply, and with a thrill of still devouter earnestness, for that exiled -brother who already had borne the burden of the long laborious day, so -far from home and all its comforts, so far from hope and honor. - -Alice sang again, a pretty little pastoral song of the district, which -was a favorite with Lewis. He was leaning over her chair, and Anne, -approaching Mrs. Catherine, took the opportunity of asking her about -this ballad--whether it really had any connexion with Norman, or was but -linked to him, by her own fancy. - -"It is Norman's song," said Mrs. Catherine. "Ye know, child, that I like -ballads that have the breath of life in them. Langsyne, Norman left that -with me; the author of it was some student lad about Redheugh, that he -liked well, and it has lain bye me ever since. I desired the bairn -Alison to learn it. I am an auld fuil to heed such bairnly things, -child; but it pleased me to hear her father's daughter singing that. -There was a kind of forgiveness and peace in it to the memory of the -unhappy callant.--It was a foolish fancy, was it not, for an auld wife? -But silence! let us hear her." - -And so, next morning, little Alice, very sadly, and with many tears, -went away; Lewis and Anne accompanying her to Portoran. Alice wore a -little ring of betrothal upon her slender finger, and carried with her a -letter from Mrs. Catherine, stating all the circumstances of her -engagement, and their conviction that they could prove to Mrs. Aytoun's -satisfaction the innocence of Norman. It had been thought best that -Lewis should not write himself, until Mrs. Catherine had explained his -peculiar position to the mother and brother of Alice; and they had -arranged that he should follow her, very shortly, to Edinburgh, to -present himself to her family, and urge his suit in person. - -Very sad also was the leave-taking of Bessie and her friends at the -Tower. Johnnie Halflin had bought a pretty little silk handkerchief for -her, which Bessie, in simple fidelity, vowed never to part with. Jacky -had bestowed a book, and some very beautiful moss, from a gray, old -tombstone in the graveyard on Oranside, which, tradition said, covered -the last resting-place of the heroine of an old, pathetic ballad, -current in the countryside. Bessie let the book slide thanklessly to the -bottom of her little "kist," and was sadly at a loss what to do with the -moss, which however, was finally thrust into the same repository. Poor -Jacky had chosen her parting presents unhappily. - -And at last, they were away. The frost had broken, through the night, -and it was another of those dull, drizzling, melancholy winter days. -Lewis placed Alice, carefully wrapped up, and protected from the cold, -in the corner of the same coach in which she had seen him first. Little -Bessie was seated by her side, and leaving the Tower and all its -pleasant neighborhood lying dark behind her, Alice Aytoun was whirled -away home. - -It cost her no inconsiderable amount of exertion and self-denial to have -the tears and sadness sufficiently overcome to meet her mother's -greeting as she wished to do. But Alice schooled herself bravely, like a -little hero, and conquered. They were home, in the old familiar room, by -the well-known fireside. Mrs. Aytoun was smiling, as she had not smiled -before since Alice went away. James was half-ashamed of being so -unusually joyous. They had all her news to hear, all her three months' -history over again, in spite of the long recording letters. - -"And what is this?" said Mrs. Aytoun, taking her daughter's small white -hand, upon which glittered the little token ring. "Is this another of -those delicate gifts of Mrs. Catherine's?" - -Little Alice could not answer; the blood flushed over her face and neck. -She stammered and trembled. Mrs. Aytoun looked at her, in alarm and -wonder. - -"Read this letter, mother," whispered Alice, at last, putting Mrs. -Catherine's letter into her mother's hands, and sinking upon a stool at -her feet. "It will tell you all." - -James had left the room, a minute before. Mrs. Aytoun, somewhat -agitated, opened the letter, and Alice laid her head upon her mother's -knee, and hid it in the folds of her dress. Mrs. Aytoun read: - - "I herewith send back to you, kinswoman, your pleasant bairn, who - has been a great comfort and solace to me, though my old house was - maybe too dark a cage for a singing bird like her. I am by no means - confident either whether I will ever undertake the charge of any - such dangerous gear again; for in the ordinary course of nature, - the bit gay spirit and bonnie face of her have been making mischief - in Strathoran; and besides having my door besieged by all manner of - youthful company, there is one lad, who, I am feared, has crossed - my threshold too often, maybe, for your good pleasure. - - "The lad is Lewis Ross, of Merkland, a gallant of good outward - appearance and competent estate, with no evil condition that I can - specially note about him, except having arrived at that full period - of years, when it is the fashion of young men to give themselves - credit for more wisdom than any other mortal person can see. In - other things, so far as I can judge, the two are well enough - matched: for Lewis is the representative of a family long settled - in the countryside, and has his lands free of any burden or - encumbrance, besides being in all matters of this world a prudent, - sensible, and managing lad. - - "I would have put in a reservation, however, till your pleasure was - known, but doubtless the deliberate ways of age differ from the - swift proceedings of youth; and the two had plunged themselves - beyond power of redemption, before I had any inkling of the matter. - I see no good way of stopping it now, and I think you may trust - your Burd Alice in the hands of Lewis Ross, without fear. - - "And now, kinswoman, there comes a graver and darker matter into - the consideration. I will not ask you if ye mind the beginning of - your widowhood. It is pain and grief to me to say a word that may - bring that terrible season back to ye, even in the remembrance; - only it has so happened, in the wonderful course of Providence, - that it should have an unhappy connection with the troth-plighting - of these two bairns. Kinswoman you are younger than me, and have - seen less of this world's miseries, though your own trials have not - been light. But what think you of a young man, in the bloom of his - years and his hopes, with a pleasant heritage and a fair name, - suddenly covered with the shame and dishonor of a great - crime--threatened with a shameful death--exposed to the hatred of - all men, that bore the love of God and their neighbors in honest - hearts,--and him innocent withal? What think you of a - lad--generous, upright, honorable--as true and single-minded a - youth as the eye of day ever looked upon, suddenly plunged into a - horror of darkness like this--knowing himself everywhere condemned, - yet, in his true and honest heart, knowing himself guiltless? I - say, what think you of this? Was there ever a darker or more - terrible doom, in this world of ills and mysteries? - - "I knew him--kinswoman, from his birth-year to the time of his - blight, I knew this unhappy heart: the truthfulness of him--the - honoring of others above himself, that was inherent in his simple, - manly nature--the strength of gentleness and patience, that might - have been crowning an old and wise head, instead of being yoked - with the impetuous spirit of youth! All this I knew; and yet, - painfully and slowly, I also was permitted to believe that his pure - hand had blood upon it--that he had done this crime. - - "My eyes are opened. I am humbled to the ground in my rejoicing, - that I should have dared, even in my own secret spirit, to malign - the gracious nature I knew so well. Kinswoman, the violent death of - your husband, by whom or wherefore done I know not, brought this - sore doom undeserved upon Norman Rutherford. The bridal tryst of - your pleasant bairn Alice, will clear his dishonored name again. - - "You think he killed your husband. I am not given to hasty - judgment, nor am I easily misguided. He did not do it; and when I - tell you that your bairn Alison is plighted to a near kinsman of - Norman Rutherford's, I lay my charge upon you not to let your heart - sink within you, or suffer the bairn's bit gentle spirit to be - broken again. I pledge you my word, that they will seek no further - consent from you, till Norman's righteousness is clear to your eyes - as the morning light. There are two urgent reasons pressing them--I - am meaning Lewis Ross, and his sister, my own Anne,--on this work; - the winning of your pleasant bairn and the clearing of their - brother's lost fame and honor. - - "For he is their brother, their nearest kin. Again, I charge you, - think of this terrible doom laid upon a gallant of as clear and - lofty a spirit as ever was in mortal knowledge; and let the - mother's heart within you have compassion on his name. Shut not - your mind against the proof--it may be hard to gather--and take - time and patience; but if mortal hands can compass it, it shall be - laid before you soon or syne. - - "Lewis Ross (trusting you will receive him) will shortly tell you - of this himself, with his own lips; and having maybe some right of - counsel, in virtue of my years, and of our kindred, it is my prayer - that you put no discouragement in this way. - - "Be content to wait till the proof is brought to you; and break not - the gentle spirit of the bairn, by crossing her in the first - tenderness of her youth. - -CATHERINE DOUGLAS." - - - -Mrs. Aytoun was greatly agitated. James had entered the room, and stood -in silent astonishment, as he looked at Alice clinging to her mother's -knee, and the letter trembling in Mrs. Aytoun's hand. "Mother--Alice--what -has happened? What is the matter?" - -Mrs. Aytoun handed the letter to him in silence, and, lifting her -daughter up, drew her close to her breast: "My Alice! my poor, simple -bairn! why did I let you away from me?" - -The girl clung to her mother, terrified, ashamed, and dizzy.--She -trembled to hear some fatal sentence, parting her for ever from Lewis. -She fancied she could never lift up her blushing face again, to speak of -him, even if that terror were withdrawn: she could only lean on that -kind breast, and cling, as is the nature of such gentle, dependent -spirits. Anne Ross's words were true.--Had Mrs. Aytoun but said that she -must never see Lewis again, poor little Alice would have submitted -without a struggle, and would have been right; she was safe in that wise -guidance--she was not safe in her own. - -But Mrs. Aytoun's motherly lips gave forth no such arbitrary mandate. -She rose, still holding Alice within her arm. "James," she said, "that -letter is a most important one: read it carefully.--We will join you -again by-and-by." - -And leading and supporting her drooping daughter, Mrs. Aytoun went to -her own room, and, seating herself there, began to question Alice. - -And then the whole stream came flowing forth, hesitating and broken; how -Lewis had travelled with her, and had been constantly at her side, ever -since that momentous journey; how Anne had been her patient, kind, -indulgent friend; how at last, upon that eventful New year's night, -Lewis and herself had been alone together--and then--and then--there -followed some incoherent words, which Mrs. Aytoun could comprehend the -purport of; how Anne came in, looking so chill and pale, and -horror-stricken; how Mrs. Catherine next day took her into the little -room, and almost broke the gentle heart that was beating so high now, -with anxiety and suspense; how Anne returned at night with voice as -tender and hand as gentle as her mother's telling her that Norman was -innocent; and then, how glad and happy they had all been together -again--and then--if her mother could only see him--if she could only see -Anne--they could tell her so much better! - -Mrs. Aytoun was still anxious and pale, but her tremor of agitation was -quieted. - -"She must be a very kind, good girl, this Anne, Alice." - -Alice breathed more freely--if her mother had been very angry, was her -simple reasoning, she would not have spoken so. - -"She is very good--very kind, mother--like you, gentler than Mrs. -Catherine; but she is not a girl, she is older than--than Lewis." - -Mrs. Aytoun smiled. - -"How old is Lewis?" - -The simple little heart began to beat with troubled joy. - -"He is twenty-one, mother. It was his birthday just a week after I went -to the Tower." - -Mrs. Aytoun did not speak for some time. - -"Alice," she said at last, "I must see this Lewis, and consult with -James, before I make any decision--in the meantime you will be very -patient, will you not?" - -"Oh, yes, yes--I do not care how long--only--if you saw him, mother, if -you just saw him, I know how you would like him!" - -"Would I?" said Mrs. Aytoun, smiling: "well, we shall see; but now dry -your eyes, and let us go back to James again." - -They returned to the parlor. James sat at the table, the letter lying -before him, and his face exceedingly grave. He was very much disturbed -and troubled. He did not well see what to do. - -For some time there was little conversation between them--the mother and -son consulted together with their grave looks. Little Alice, again -sadly cast down, sat silent by the fireside. At last her brother -addressed her with a sort of timidity, blushing almost as she did -herself, when he mentioned the name. - -"Alice, when does Mr. Ross come to Edinburgh?" - -Mr. Ross! so cold it sounded and icy--would not Lewis be his brother? - -"In a fortnight," murmured Alice. - -"A fortnight! then, mother, I think my best plan is to go down to -Strathoran myself and make inquiries. In a matter which involves two -such important things as the happiness of Alice, and the honor of our -family, there is no time for delay. I shall start to-morrow." - -"Can you spare the time?" said his mother--while Alice looked up -half-glad, half-sorrowful--it might keep Lewis from coming to -Edinburgh--at the same time, James was so sure to be convinced by -Lewis's irresistible eloquence, and the gentler might of Anne. - -"I must spare it, mother," was the answer, "my ordinary business is not -so important as this. What do you think--am I right?" - -"Perfectly right, James," said his mother, promptly, "I was about to -advise this myself; and if you find anything satisfactory to report, you -can bid this Lewis still come. I shall want to see who it is, who has -superseded me in my little daughter's heart." - -"Oh, no, mother--no, no," cried Alice, imploringly. "Do not say that." - -James Aytoun rose and laid his hand caressingly upon his little sister's -fair hair. She had been a child when he was rising into manhood. He -thought her a child still--and with the grave difficulties of this, very -unexpected problem, which they had to solve, there mingled a -half-mirthful, half-sad, sort of incredulous wonder. Little Alice had -done a very important piece of business independently and alone. Little -Alice had the sober glory of matronhood hanging over her fair, girlish -forehead. Little Alice was engaged! - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - - -Several days before Alice left the Tower, Lewis had written to Robert -Ferguson, the youthful Edinburgh advocate, of whose very early call to -the bar his father was so justly and pleasantly proud, telling him all -they knew and guessed of Norman's history, except the one circumstance -of his escape from the shipwreck; and explaining, in some slight -degree, the immediate reason of their anxiety to clear their brother's -name from the foul blot that lay upon it. Very shortly after Alice -Aytoun's departure, an answer came to the letter of Lewis. - -With quick interest, partly in that it was one of the first cases in -which his legal wisdom had been consulted, and partly from the kindly -feeling of neighborship, which is so warm in Scotland, the young lawyer -embraced the search, and promised to go down instantly to the parish in -which the deed was done, or even to engage the assistance of an acute -writer, of experience in his craft, if Lewis thought that desirable. Mr. -Robert, however, with a young man's abundant confidence in his own -power, fancied that he could accomplish the work quite as well alone. -"He would go down quietly to the village," he said, "taking care to do -nothing which might put the true criminal, if he still lived, upon his -guard; and as soon as he had procured any information, would report it -to Lewis." - -The letter was satisfactory--the warm readiness of belief in Norman's -innocence pleased Anne. In such a matter, however strong one's own faith -may be, it is a great satisfaction to hear it echoed by other minds. - -In the afternoon of that day, Anne went, by appointment, to the Tower, -to communicate Robert's opinion to Mrs. Catherine.--She made a circuit -by the mill, to see Lilie; for Mrs. Catherine and Archibald, she knew, -had business in Portoran, and would not return early. It was a clear, -bright, mild day, with a spring haze of subdued sunshine about it, -reminding one, pleasantly, that the year "was on the turn." Lilie was -not at home. - -"And I wish ye would speak to that outre lassie, Jacky Morison, Miss -Anne," said Lilie's careful guardian. "She had the bairn away this -morning, and trails her about to a' kinds of out o' the way places; in -the wood, and on the hills; and I'm not sure in my ain mind, that it's -right to let the bairn wi' the like o' her." - -"Jacky is sure to be very careful," said Anne. - -"Na, it's no sae muckle for that," said Mrs. Melder; "though I have a -cauld tremble whiles when I think o' the water. Jacky's no oncarefu. -It's a great charge being answerable for a stranger bairn, Miss Anne; -but Lilie's learning (it's just a pleasure to see how fast she wins on) -a' manner o' nonsense verses; and has her bit head fu' of stories o' -knights and fairies, and I kenna a' what. It's Jacky's doing and no -ither. I am at times whiles far frae easy in my mind about it." - -"No fear," said Anne, smiling. "Jacky will do Lilie no harm, Mrs. -Melder." - -"To be sure," said Mrs. Melder, thoughtfully, "she's no an ill scholar, -to be sic a strange lassie; and has been lookit weel after at the -Tower. She was here the other day, when the minister was in--that's Mr. -Lumsden--he had a diet[1] in my house, Miss Anne--and it wad have dune -ye gude to have heard her at the questions. No a slip; and as easy in -the petitions as in man's chief end. They say," continued Mrs. Melder, -somewhat overpowered, "that she can say the hundred and nineteenth psalm -a' out, without missing a word." - - [1] A diet of examination. One of the periodical visits made by - Scottish clergymen in former times, during which the household, - and especially its younger members, were examined on the "Shorter - Catechism," the universal text-book of Scottish Theology. - -Leaving the miller's kindly wife a good deal reassured by these signs of -Jacky's orthodoxy, Anne proceeded towards the Tower. The highroad was -circuitous, and long; and the direct and universally-used path ran along -the northern bank of the river, through the grounds of Strathoran. The -little green gate, near which Alice had met Mr. Fitzherbert, was at the -opposite extremity of this by-way, where it entered the precincts of the -Tower.--As she drew near the stile, at which the narrow path was -admitted into the possessions of the fallen house of Sutherland, Anne -heard voices before her. One of them, whose loud tone was evidently full -of anger and excitement, she recognised at once as Marjory Falconer's; -and having heard of her former adventure with Mr. Fitzherbert, and -gallant defence of little Alice, Anne hurried forward, fearing that her -friend's prompt ire, and impetuous disposition, had involved her in some -new scrape. It was evident that Marjory had some intention, in raising -her voice so high. Anne could hear its clear tone, and indignant -modulation, before she came in sight of the speaker. - -He would venture to take the airs of a chieftain upon him--he, an -English interloper, a mushroom lord! "Pull away the branches, George: -never mind, let them indict you for trespass if they dare." - -Anne had quickened her pace, and was now close to the stile. Miss -Falconer, her face flushed, her strong, tall, handsome figure swelling -stronger and taller than ever, as she pulled, with an arm not destitute -of force, one great branch which had been placed with many others, -across the stile, barring the passage, stood with her head turned -towards Strathoran, too much engrossed to notice Anne's approach. The -Falcon's Craig groom was laboring with all his might to clear away the -other obstructions, his broad face illuminated with fun, and hot with -exertion, enjoying it with his whole heart. Miss Falconer went on: - -"A pretty person to shut us out of our own country--to eject our -cottars--honester men a hundredfold than himself; a chief forsooth! does -he think himself a chief? I would like to see the clan of Gillravidge. -Pull away these barriers, George; if Mrs. Catherine does not try -conclusions with him, I do not know her." - -"Marjory," said Anne, "what are you doing?--what is the matter now?" - -"Anne Ross, is that you?--the matter!--why, look here--here is matter -enough to make any one angry--_our_ road, that belonged to us and our -ancestors before this man's race or name had ever been heard of--look at -it, how he has blocked it up--look at this 'notice to trespassers'--'to -be prosecuted with the utmost rigor of the law'--very well, let them -prosecute!" continued Marjory, raising her voice, and sending a -flashing, keen glance towards a corner of the adjoining plantation, "let -them prosecute by all means--in five minutes more, they shall have some -trespassers. These paltry little tyrants--these upstart Englishmen, -daring, in a lowland country, and on poor Archibald Sutherland's lands, -to do what a highland chief would not venture on, on his own hills!" - -"It must be some mistake, Marjory," said Anne, "it is impossible any one -could do this with the intention of insulting the whole countryside. It -must be a mistake." - -"Mistake, indeed!--throw it into the Oran, George, throw it over the -water," cried Miss Falconer, as the groom raised in his arms an immense -piece of wood, the last barrier to the passage. "We shall see that -by-and-by--come, Anne." - -Marjory mounted the style, and sprang down in the Strathoran grounds on -the other side. "Come, Anne, come." - -"Had we not better go the other way?" said Anne. "It is but subjecting -ourselves to impertinence, Marjory. Nay, do not look contemptuous. I am -not afraid of accompanying you, but I do think that Lewis and Ralph -might manage this better than we can." - -Marjory threw back her head with an indignant, impatient motion. "Don't -be a fool, Anne. Come, I am going to the Tower. Lewis and Ralph indeed!" - -"Well," said Anne, "if they could not do it better, it would be at least -more suitable. We shall only expose ourselves to impertinence, Marjory. -Let us go round the other way." - -"Very well," said Miss Falconer, turning away; "I will go alone." - -Anne crossed the stile. It was annoying to be forced into any -altercation, such as was almost sure to ensue upon their meeting any of -the dependents of Lord Gillravidge; at the same time, she could not -suffer Marjory to go alone. George lifted a large, empty basket, and -followed them, his hot, merry face shining like a beacon as he passed -beneath the bare and rustling boughs. - -Miss Falconer, with the large basket full, had been visiting a widow, -whose only son had met with a severe accident, while engaged in his -ordinary labor. The widow had some claim on the household of Falcon's -Craig--some one of those most pleasant and beneficial links of mutual -good-will and service which unite country neighborhoods so healthfully, -subsisted between the poor family and the great one, and as, on any -grand occasion at Falcon's Craig, the brisk services of Tibbie Hewit, -the hapless young mason's mother, would have been rendered heartily and -at once, so the accident was no sooner reported to Miss Falconer, then -she set out with her share of the mutual kindliness. We cannot tell what -was in the basket, but Tibbie Hewit's "press" was very much better -filled when it went away empty, than when Miss Falconer entered her -cottage. - -"What a pity I have not my whip," said Marjory, as, drawing Anne's arm -within her own, they passed on together. "You should have seen that -cowardly fellow who stopped little Alice! what a grimace he made when he -felt the lash about his shoulders! I say, Anne,"--Miss Falconer's voice -sank lower--"did you see them hiding in the wood?" - -"Who, Marjory?" - -"Oh! that ape with the hair about his face, and some more of them. I -should not have pulled down their barricade, I dare say, if I had not -seen them. But you do not think I would retreat for _them_?" - -"I do think, indeed," said Anne, looking hastily round, "that retreat -would be by far our most dignified plan. Suppose they come down to us, -Marjory, and we, who call ourselves gentlewomen, get involved in a -squabble with a set of impertinent young men. I do think we are -subjecting ourselves to quite unnecessary humiliation." - -A violent flush covered Marjory Falconer's face--one of those -overpowering rebounds of the strained delicacy and womanliness which -revenged her _escapades_ so painfully--the burning color might have -furnished a hundred fluttering blushes for little Alice Atoun. But still -she had no idea of yielding. - -"Perhaps you are right, Anne. I did not think of that; but at least we -must go on now. And think what an insult it is!--to all of us--to the -whole country. We cannot suffer it, you know. Mrs. Catherine, I am sure, -will take steps immediately." - -"Very likely," said Anne. - -Anne was revolving the possibility of crossing the Oran by the -stepping-stones, which were about a quarter of a mile along, and so -escaping the collision she dreaded. - -"There, you see!" exclaimed Marjory, triumphantly; "there is a proof of -the way we are dealt with, the indignities they put upon women! Neither -Lewis nor Ralph would have the public spirit to resist such a thing as -this. Oh! I can answer for Ralph, and I know Lewis would not. But one -can be quite sure of Mrs. Catherine--one is never disappointed in her. -Yet you will hear silly boys sneer at her, and think her estate would be -better in their feeble hands, than in her own strong ones. I ask you, -what do you think of that, Anne Ross--can you see no injustice there?" - -"Injustice?" said Anne, laughing. "No, indeed, only a great, deal of -foolishness and nonsense; both on the part of the silly boys, and--I beg -your pardon, Marjory--on yours, for taking the trouble of repeating what -they say." - -"Oh, very well!" said Miss Falconer, coloring still more violently, yet, -with characteristic obstinacy plunging on in the expression of her pet -opinions. "Yes! I know you think me very unwomanly; you pretend to be -proper, Anne Ross--to set that sweet confection of gentleness, and -mildness, and dependence, which people call a perfect woman, up as your -model; but it's all a cheat, I tell you! You ought to try to be weak and -pretty, and instead of that, you are only grave and sensible. You ought -to be clinging to Lewis, as sweet and timid as possible; instead of -that, you are very independent, and not much given, I fancy, to -consulting your younger brother. You're not true, Anne Ross; you think -with me, and are only quiet to cover it." - -"Hush!" said Anne; "do not be so very profane, Marjory.--Do you remember -how the Apostle describes it; those words that charm one's ear like -music, 'the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit.' Are not the very -sounds beautiful? Mildness and gentleness are exceeding good things; but -I do not set any sweet confection before me, for my model. Marjory! do -you remember those other beautiful words; 'Strength and honor are her -clothing; she opens her mouth with wisdom, and in her lips is the law of -kindness?' There is nothing weak about that, and yet that seems to me a -perfectly womanly woman." - -Marjory Falconer did not answer. - -"But I feel quite sure," said Anne, smiling, "that when she opened her -mouth with wisdom, she never said a word about the rights of women; and -that when her husband went out to the gate, to sit among the elders, she -did not think her own position, sitting among her maidens, a whit less -dignified and important than his, or envied him in any way indeed. When -you are tempted Marjory with this favorite heresy of yours, read that -beautiful poem--there is not a morsel of confectionery about it; you can -see the woman, whose household was clad in scarlet, and whose children -rose up and called her blessed, and know her a living person, as truly -as you know yourself. You call me quiet, Marjory; I intend to be -demonstrative to-day, at least, and I do utterly contemn and abominate -all that rubbish of rights of women, and woman's mission, and woman's -influence, and all the rest of it; I never hear these cant words, but I -blush for them," and Anne did blush, deeply as she spoke; "we are one -half of the world--we have our work to do, like the other half--let us -do our work as honorably and wisely as we can, but for pity's sake, do -not let us make this mighty bustle and noise about it. We have our own -strength, and honor, and dignity--no one disputes it; but dignity, and -strength and honor, Marjory, are things to live in us, not to be talked -about; only do not let us be so thoroughly self-conscious--no one gains -respect by claiming it. There! you are very much astonished and -horror-stricken at my burst. I cannot help it." - -"Very well! very well!" exclaimed Miss Falconer, clapping her hands. -"Utterly contemn and abominate! Hear, hear, hear! who could have -believed it of quiet Anne Ross?" - -Anne laughed. "Quiet Anne Ross is about to dare something further, -Marjory. See; when did you cross the stepping-stones?" - -They had reached them; three or four large, smooth stones, lay across -the stream, at a point where it narrowed; the middle one was a great -block of native marble, which had been there, firm in its centre, since -ever the brown Oran was a living river. The passage was by no means -perilous, except for people to whom a wet shoe was a great evil. It is -not commonly so with youthful people in the country; it was a matter of -the most perfect unconcern to Marjory Falconer. - -"When did I cross the stepping-stones? Not for a good twelvemonth. I -challenge you, Anne; if we should stumble, there is no one to see us but -George. Come along." - -And Marjory, in the close-fitting, dark-cloth pelisse, which her old -maid at Falcon's Craig congratulated herself "could take no scather," -leaped lightly from stone to stone, across the placid, clear, brown -water. Anne, rejoicing in the success of her scheme, followed. So did -George, somewhat disappointed, at losing the expected fun, of a -rencontre with "some o' the feckless dandy chaps at Strathoran," and the -demolition of the barricade at the other end of the way. - -They had to make a considerable circuit before they reached the road; -but Anne endured that joyfully, when she saw through the trees the -hirsute Mr. Fitzherbert, and some of his companions, assembled about the -second stile--Marjory saw them too--the deep blush of shame returned to -her cheek in overpowering pain: she did not say anything, but did not -feel the less for that. Did Anne, indeed, need to scheme, for the -preservation of her dignity? - -Little Lilie came running forth from Mrs. Euphan Morison's room, to meet -them, as they crossed the bridge. Lilie had wonderful stories to tell of -her long rambles with Jacky. The delicate moss on the tomb of the -legendary maiden in the graveyard of Oranside, received more admiration -from the child's quick sense of beauty, than it could elicit from the -common-place mind of Bessie; for Lilie thought the graveyard was "an -awfu' still place--nae sound but the water rinning, slow--slow; and the -branches gaun wave wave; and the leaves on the wind's feet, like the -bonnie shoon the fairies wear; and a' the folk lying quiet in their -graves." - -They were lingering without--the air was so very mild and balmy, as if -some summer angel had broken the spell of winter for one day. Marjory -leant against a tree; her clear, good face, more thoughtful than usual. -Anne had seated herself on a stone seat, beside the threshold, and was -bending over Lilie, and her handful of moss; while Jacky, like a brown -elf, as she was called, hovered in the rear. Mrs. Catherine had not yet -returned from Portoran. - -"If ye please will ye go in?" asked Jacky. - -"No, let us stay here, Anne," said Miss Falconer. "Jacky, how did Mrs. -Catherine go?" - -"If ye please, she's in the phaeton," said Jacky. - -"In the phaeton? oh!" exclaimed Miss Falconer, in a tone of -disappointment; "and those steady wretches of ponies--there is no chance -of anything happening to them--there is no hope of them running away." - -"Hope, Marjory?" said Anne. - -"Yes, hope! If Mrs. Catherine could only be caught in that shut-up -by-way herself. Anne, I would give anything, just to find her in it." - -"Here she comes," said Anne, as the comfortable brown equipage, and its -brisk ponies, came smartly up towards the door, driven by Archibald -Sutherland. "Ask her to walk to the little gate with you, Marjory--she -will do it. But be careful not to speak of it before Archibald." - -"Thank you for the caution," said Miss Falconer, in an undertone. "I -wont; but I had forgotten--" - -The vehicle drew up. Mrs. Catherine alighted, and, at Marjory's request, -turned with her to the little gate, from the shady dim lane beyond which -the barricaded stile was visible, which shut passengers out from the -sacred enclosure of Strathoran. - -Archibald sat down on the stone seat at the threshold, by Anne's side. -Lilie was very talkative--she had seen the little ruined chapel on -Oranside for the first time that day. - -"There's grass upon the steps," said Lilie, "and they're broken--and -then up high it's a gray, but the branches, and they're like the lang -arms of the brown spirits on the muir that Jacky kens about. Ye would -think they had hands waving--" - -Anne patted the child's head, bidding her describe this at another time: -but Lilie was i' the vein. - -"And upon the wall there's something white, printed in letters like a -book--and down below, Oh, ye dinna ken what I found!--Jacky's got it. It -was a wee, wee blue flower, growing in a corner, where it could see -naithing but the sky. Would that be the way it was blue?" - -Anne could give no satisfactory answer, and Lilie went on. - -"Jacky was to keep it for me, but I'll give it to you, because it's -pretty,--like the Oran, in the gloaming, when the sky's shining in the -water. There's no flower but it--no--" said Lilie, comprehending in one -vast glance the whole wide sweep of hill and valley round her--infinite -as it seemed to the child's eyes; "no in the world--only it, and folk -were sleeping below it. Jacky says the angels plant them--is that true? -wait till I get it." - -The child darted away, and returned in a moment, bringing a small, wild, -blue violet, one of those little, shapeless flowers, whose minute, dark -leaves have so exquisite a fragrance. Anne took it from her, smiling, -and repeating: "It will return in spring," offered it to Archibald. He -received it with some emotion.--This sole flower in the world, as Lilie -said, brought to him from the grave of father and of mother--the only -spot of earth in Strathoran where he was not a stranger. He accepted the -emblem, fragrant of their memories, as it seemed, fragrant of hope and -life in the dreary winter-time, and, with its promise breathing from its -leaves: "It will return in spring!" - -They were both silent and thoughtful: Archibald absorbed with these -remembrances and anticipations, while Anne, sympathizing fully with him, -was yet half inclined to blame herself for her involuntary exhilaration. -The weight was lifted off Anne's heart. It was no longer a dread and -horror, that secret life of Norman's but a thing to be rejoiced in, and -to draw brightest encouragement from--a very star of hope. - -The sound of wheels upon the road recalled her thoughts. Mrs. -Catherine's ponies had been led away by Johnnie Halflin. It was a shabby -inn-gig, driven by one of the hangers-on of the 'Sutherland Arms,' in -Portoran, which now drove up, and took the phaeton's place. A young man, -with a pleasant, manly face, alighted, and, looking at Anne and -Archibald dubiously, stood hesitating before them, and, at last, with -some embarrassment, asked for Mrs. Catherine. - -Jacky darted forward to show him in, and, in a few minutes, reappeared, -breathless, with the stranger's card in her hand.--Archibald had gone -in--Anne had risen, and stood looking towards the little gate, waiting -for Mrs. Catherine and Miss Falconer. - -"Oh! if ye please, Miss Anne--" exclaimed Jacky. - -"Well, Jacky, what is it?" - -Jacky held up the card--"Mr. James Aytoun." "If ye please, Miss Anne, I -think it'll be Miss Alice's brother." - -Anne hastened forward to tell Mrs. Catherine, somewhat disturbed by the -information. She feared for Lewis. Lewis was not so confident in the -truth of these letters as she, and might, betray his doubt to Alice -Aytoun's brother, a lawyer, skilled in discerning those signs of truth -in the telling of a story, which Lewis would lack in his narrative. - -Jacky stole back to the library: the fire was getting low, she persuaded -herself, and while she improved it, she could steal long glances at the -stranger, and decide that he was "like Miss Alice, only no half so -bonnie." When the mending of the fire was complete, she slid into a -corner, and began to restore various misplaced books. James watched her -for a minute or two with some amusement. Alice had spoken of this dark, -singular, elfin girl. She lingered so long that he forgot her. At last a -voice alarmed him, close at his ear. - -"If ye please--" - -He looked up--Jacky was emboldened. - -"If ye please--Miss Alice--" - -"What about Miss Alice?" asked James, kindly. - -"Just, is she quite well, Sir?" said Jacky, abashed. - -"Quite well, I am much obliged to you," said James. - -Jacky hovered still. Somewhat startled James Aytoun would have been, had -he divined the eager question hanging upon her very lips: - -"Oh, if ye please, will they no let her be married on Mr. Lewis?" but -Jacky restrained her interest in Alice Aytoun's fortunes, sufficiently -to say: "Mrs. Catherine is coming, Sir!" and to glide out of the room. - -"James Aytoun!" exclaimed Mrs. Catherine, as Anne interrupted the -indignant declamation of Marjory Falconer, to inform her of the -stranger's arrival. "Ay! that is like a man; I am pleased with that. The -lad must have, both sense and spirit.--Send down to Merkland for Lewis -without delay, child, and come in with me to the library; the lad's -business is with you, more than me. I like the spirit of him; there has -been no milk-and-water drither, or lingering here. Come away." - -They entered the house. "Marjory Falconer," said Mrs. Catherine, "go up -the stair, and wait till we come to you. Say nothing of yon to Archie; -but, be you sure, I will stand no such thing from the hands of the evil -pack of them--hounds!" - -Marjory obeyed; and Mrs. Catherine and Anne entered the library. The -young man and the old lady exchanged looks of mutual respect. James -Aytoun's prompt attention to this important matter, brought the full -sunshine of Mrs. Catherine's favor upon him. She received him after her -kindest fashion. - -"You are welcome to my house, James Aytoun; and it pleases me, that I -can call a lad who give such prompt heed to the honor of this house -kinsman. Are you wearied with your journey? or would you rather speak of -the matter that brought you here at once?" - -"Certainly," said James, smiling in spite of himself, at this abrupt -introduction of the subject, "I should much rather ascertain how this -important matter stands, at once. Your letter surprised us very greatly, -Mrs. Catherine; you will imagine that--and of course I feel it of the -utmost consequence that I should lose no time in making myself -acquainted with the particulars." - -"Wise and right," said Mrs. Catherine, approvingly, "and spoken like a -forecasting and right-minded man. Sit down upon your seat, James Aytoun, -and you shall hear the story." - -James seated himself. - -"Perhaps it would be well that I saw Mr. Ross?" - -"I have sent for Lewis," said Mrs. Catherine. "He will be here as soon -as he is needed. This is his sister, Miss Ross, of Merkland. Anne, you -are of more present use than Lewis--you will stay with us." - -They gathered round the table in silence. James Aytoun felt nervous and -embarrassed--he did not know how to begin. Mrs. Catherine saved him from -his difficulty. - -"James Aytoun, it would be putting a slight upon the manly and -straightforward purpose that brought you here, if we were going about -the bush in this matter, and did not speak clearly.--Your father was -murdered--shot by a coward hand behind him. The whole world has laid the -act upon Norman Rutherford. I have believed the same myself for eighteen -years. Listen to me! I am not given to change, nor am I like to alter my -judgment lightly; but now I declare to you, James Aytoun, that, far more -clearly than ever I held his guilt, do I believe, and am sure, that -Norman Rutherford was not the man." - -James was uneasy under the gaze of those large, keen eyes, and did not -wish either to meet the earnest look of Anne Ross, who seemed to be -watching so eagerly for his opinion. - -"I shall be most happy, Mrs. Catherine," he said, "to find that you have -proof--that Mr. Ross has proof--sufficient for the establishment of -this. I have certainly no feelings of revenge; but the crime which -deprived Alice and myself of a father must of necessity keep the two -families apart. I could not consent to any further intercouse between -Mr. Ross and my sister on any other terms than those you mention. But -the evidence is fearfully strong, Mrs. Catherine. Since my mother -received your letter, I have examined it again thoroughly, and so far -as circumstantial evidence can go, it is most clear and overwhelming. I -shall be most happy to be convinced that the world has judged -erroneously; but you will excuse me for receiving it with caution; if -this unhappy young man--I beg your pardon, Miss Ross--had been brought -before any court in Scotland, with the evidence, he must infallibly have -been found guilty." - -"Anne," said Mrs. Catherine, "you have the letters." - -Anne drew them from her breast--she had a feeling of insecurity when -they were not in her own immediate possession. - -"Had we not better wait till Lewis comes?" - -"No," said Mrs. Catherine. "What Lewis cares for, is the winning of the -bairn Alice--what you care for, first and most specially, is the -clearing of your brother's disgraced name. Norman is safest in your -hands, Anne. Read the letters." - -"Mr. Aytoun," said Anne, with nervous firmness, "we have no systematic -proof to lay before you. Anything which can directly meet and overcome -the evidence of which you speak, remains still to be gathered--and it is -possible, that this, on which we build our hopes, may seem but a very -feeble foundation to you. In law, I suppose, it could have no weight for -a moment: but yet to those who knew my brother Norman, and were -acquainted with his peculiar temperament and nature, it carries absolute -conviction.--I scarcely hope that it can have the same power of -convincing you--but I pray you to receive as certainly true, before I -read this, the judgment which all his friends pronounced upon my unhappy -brother, before this dishonor came upon him. They call him the most -truthful and generous of men: they distinguish him for these two -qualities above all his compeers. Mrs. Catherine, I speak truly?" - -"Truthful as the course of nature itself, which the Almighty keeps from -varying. Generous as the sun that He hath set to shine upon the just and -the unjust. Do not linger, Anne: read Norman's letter." - -Anne lifted the letter, and glanced up at James before she began to -read--his eyes were fixed upon her, his face was full of grave -anxiety--convinced or unconvinced, she was sure at least of an attentive -listener. She began to read--her voice trembling at first, as the quick -throbbings of her heart almost choked it, but becoming hysterically -strong, as she went on; her mind agitated as Norman's was when he wrote -that letter, eager like him, by what repetitions or incoherent words -soever, that were strongest and most suitable for the urgent purpose, to -throw off the terrible accusation under which he lay: it was like no -second party reading an old letter; it was the very voice and cry of one -pleading for life--for more than life--for lost good fame and honor. - -James Aytoun's eyes were steadily fixed upon her; and as she closed the -letter, her whole frame vibrating, he drew a long breath--that most -grateful of all sounds to the ears of a speaker who desires to move and -impress his audience. Anne looked up eagerly and anxious. He had covered -his face with his hand. Neither of them spoke; until, at last, James -raised his head: - -"May I see that letter, Miss Ross? Can you give it me?" - -Anne had omitted the sentence in which Norman mentioned his escape. She -folded it in, and handed him the letter. He read it again carefully, and -yet again. Besides the earnest agony of its words, there was a mute -eloquence about that yellow, timeworn paper. Blisters of tears were on -it: tears of terrible grief--tears of tremulous hope. Its very -characters, abrupt and broken as they were, spoke as with a living -voice. Nothing false--nothing feigned, could be in the desperate energy -of that wild cry, the burden of Norman's self-defence: "I am innocent! I -am innocent!" - -"Miss Ross," said James Aytoun, "there never was man convicted from -clearer evidence than that which has persuaded the world of your -brother's guilt. I cannot comprehend it--my faith is shaken. I confess -to you, that I feel this letter to be true--that I can no longer think -of him as the murderer." - -Anne tried to smile--she could not. A stranger--a man prejudiced against -Norman--the son of the dead. The tears came over her cheeks in a burst -of joy. She thought it the voice of universal acquittal: she forgot all -the difficulties that remained--Norman was saved. - -The library-door opened, and Lewis entered. Mrs. Catherine rose, and -presented him to James: the two young men shook hands with an -involuntary cordiality, at which they were themselves astonished. Anne -was conquering herself again; but joy seemed so much more difficult to -keep in bounds, and restrain, than sorrow was. She had little experience -of the first--much of the other. She started up, and laid her hand on -Lewis's arm. - -"Lewis, Lewis! the way is clearing before us. Mr. Aytoun gives us his -support. Mr. Aytoun thinks him innocent!" - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - - -Lewis Ross was undergoing a process of amelioration. From his earliest -days he had been taught to consider himself the person of greatest -importance in Merkland; and the pernicious belief had evolved itself in -a very strong and deeply-rooted selfishness, to which the final touch -and consummation had been given by his foreign travel. Thrown then, with -his natural abilities, always very quick and sharp, if not of the -highest order, upon the noisy current of the world, with no other -occupation than to take care of himself--to attend to his own -comforts--to scheme and deliberate for his own enjoyments, the -self-important boy had unconsciously risen into a selfish man, having no -idea that a supreme regard for his own well-being and comfort was not -the most reasonable and proper centre, round which his cares and hopes -could revolve. - -He returned home. The home routine was going on as before. The servants, -his mother, Anne, all did homage to the superior importance of Lewis. He -received it as his due. These were but satellites; he, himself, was the -planet of their brief horizon. Little Alice helped the delusion on; her -simple heart yielded with so little resistance to his fascinations. - -All at once the dream was rudely broken. Anne, his quiet, serviceable -sister, he suddenly found to be absorbed by the concerns of this unknown -Norman, whose very name was strange to him. His own little Alice must -consider the pleasure of her mother and brother before his. Lewis was -suddenly stopped short in his career of complacent selfishness. The -people round him were ready to risk all things for each other. Mrs. -Catherine's wealth and lands were nothing to her, as she said, in -comparison with the welfare of Archibald Sutherland, who had no nearer -claim upon her than that of being the son of her friend. Anne's whole -soul was engrossed with anxiety for the deliverance of Norman: her own -self did not cost her a thought. Mr. Ferguson and Mr. Foreman were -spending time and labor heartily in the service of the broken laird, who -could make them no return: and worst of all, they expected that Lewis -also should join in that Quixotry, as a necessary and unavoidable duty, -without even thinking that by so doing he would deserve any particular -praise. In the fastnesses of his self-content, Lewis was shaken. - -Then came James Aytoun, the stranger, to whom this Norman, whose very -name inspired Anne, was, and could be nothing, except, indeed, a -detested criminal--the supposed murderer of his father. He came, he saw: -and lo! he was deeper into the heart of the struggle than Lewis had ever -been: believing Norman's innocence--declaring his intention of joining -Robert Ferguson immediately, and assisting in his investigations; -consulting with Anne in frank confidence, and with a far more genuine -sympathy than had ever been awakened in the colder heart of Lewis. - -The young Laird of Merkland was overpowered: the contagion of James -Aytoun's hearty, manly feeling, of his ready and quick belief, smote -Lewis with a sense of his own unenviable singularity. The cloak of self -he had been wrapped in began to loosen, and drop away; he began to -realise the sad lot of his exiled brother, continually waiting for the -kind search, and acquitting justice, which should bring him home again; -and growing sick with deferred and fainting hope, as year after year -went by, and there came no kindly token over the sea. The letter, -instinct now with the breath of earnest belief, which had carried it -into those other hearts, began to operate upon Lewis. He sat down -between James Aytoun and Anne; he took a part in their consultations; he -forgot himself, in thinking of Norman. The divine rod had stricken the -desert rock once more, and the freshness of new life--a life for -others--a life for the world, dawned upon Lewis Ross. - -Anne and James were already conversing like intimate friends. Lewis, -with his natural frankness, was soon as deep in the subject as they. -Anne's face brightened as she looked upon him. Mrs. Catherine sent him -now and then a word of kindly harshness, more affectionately than was -her wont. Their plans were being laid. - -"And I would ask of you, James Aytoun," said Mrs. Catherine, "for what -reason that ill-favored buckie of a gig is standing at my door? and what -business the cripple helper from the Portoran inn has among my servants? -I must take order with this." - -"The man is waiting for me," said James. "I must return home to-morrow, -Mrs. Catherine--and the day is waning. I must get into Portoran soon." - -"You must not think," said Mrs. Catherine, "of crossing my threshold -this night again. Hold your peace, young man: there is no voice lifted -under this roof with authority but mine, and I will not have it. Jacky!" -Jacky made her appearance at the door--"let the man that drove Mr. -Aytoun up, get his dinner, and then tell your mother he is not to -wait--Mr. Aytoun does not return to-night. And now, young folk, are you -nearly through with your consulting? I have a visitor waiting for me up -the stair." - -"You decide to go with me to-morrow, Mr. Ross?" said James. - -"Yes, certainly," said Lewis. "I will not do much good I dare say; but I -shall, at least, be on the spot." - -"You are done, are you?" said Mrs. Catherine. "James Aytoun I have -another matter to speak to you about. Has a stranger in the country--the -purchaser of an old estate--any shadow of a right to shut up a road -which has been the property of the folk of this parish of Strathoran, -since beyond the memory of man?" - -"No," said James, "no proprietor has--of however long standing he may -be." - -"Not myself say you?" said Mrs. Catherine, "that is another thing, James -Aytoun. My house has held this land for many generations. I have a -right of service from the people; but an upstart--a laird by purchase, -by purchase, said I?--by cheatry and secret theftdom, nothing better! -There is a creature of this kind upon the lands of Strathoran, and the -way by the waterside is blocked up this day--a kirk road! a by-way as -old as the tenure of my lands!--the cattle never did a worse thing for -their own peacefulness. The road shall return to the folk it rightfully -belongs to, if I should have the whole reprobate pack of them before the -Court of Session!" - -"Who is the proprietor?" said James. - -"Lord Gillravidge," answered Lewis. - -"Lord Gillravidge? Hold your peace, Lewis Ross, when folk are not -speaking to you, as one of your years should. The house of Strathoran -has been a sinful house, James Aytoun, and Providence has sent upon it a -plague of frogs, as was sent upon Egypt in the time of Israel's -captivity--puddocks that have the gift of venom over and above the -native slime of them. The proprietor is Archibald Sutherland, who is -dwelling in my house at this moment; but the lad has let his possessions -slip through his fingers, and the vermin are in them. I would take the -law with me. What should be my first step, James Aytoun, for the -recovery of the road?" - -"Throw down the barricade," said Lewis. - -"Lewis Ross, I have told you to hold your peace--though I will not say -but what there are glimmerings of discernment breaking through the -shell; tell Alice from me, James Aytoun, that the youth, if he were once -through this season of vanity, gives promise of more judgment than I -looked for at his hands. It is not my wont to wait for other folk's -bidding, Lewis--the barricade is down before now; but what order is it -right that I should take, if the cattle put it up again?" - -"Had you not better try a remonstrance, Mrs. Catherine," said James. "It -may have been done in ignorance." - -"Remonstrance! a bonnie story that I should condescend to remonstrate -with the hounds. Where are you going, Anne? Did I not bid ye remain with -us?" - -"You forget that Marjory is up stairs, Mrs. Catherine," said Anne. - -"I forget no such thing--the bairns are mad! counselling me with their -wisdom in my own house--and that minds me that I am forgetting the -comfort of the stranger like a self-seeking old wife as I am. James -Aytoun, I will let you see your room--and you, bairns, remain where you -are, and dine with him. You are like to be near kindred--it is right you -should be friends." - -Mrs. Catherine led James Aytoun away, and Anne and Lewis joined Marjory -in the drawing-room, where, the fumes of her indignation scarcely over, -she had been firmly shutting her lips for the last hour, lest some hint -of the shut-up by-way should escape them, to pain the landless -Archibald. - -They spent the evening pleasantly together. James Aytoun was fresh from -that peculiar society of Edinburgh, whose intellectual progress is the -pulse of Scotland, healthful, strong, and bold, as its beatings have -been for these past centuries. His own compeers and companions were the -rising generation--lawyers, physicians, clergymen, literati, whom the -course of some score years would find in the highest places there. The -intellectual life and activity which breathed out from his very -conversation, stimulated Lewis. These pursuits of science and -literature--those professional matters even, to the consideration of -which intellect so elevated and acute was devoted, gave the country -laird a new idea of the pleasure and dignity of life. Labor--healthful, -vigorous, energetic, manly labor--not vacant ease of frivolous -enjoyment, was the thing esteemed in that lettered community of -beautiful Edinburgh, the names of whose toiling, daring, chivalrous, -intellectual workmen, would be household words to the next wave of -Scottish population--would have risen into the mental firmament ere -then, stars for a world to see. - -It was a particularly happy thing for Lewis at this especial time, his -encounter with James Aytoun; the unselfish breadth of his good mind and -heart, the generous start to exertion, the clear health and readiness of -all his well cultured faculties, and his frank and instinctive energy, -carried with them all the better part of Lewis Ross's nature. Their -visitor, with his intelligent conversation, and well-cultivated mind, -pleased and made friends of them all; but conferred especial benefit and -invigoration upon Lewis. - -The next day they left the Tower together. Lewis, with his old -self-confidence, believing himself sure to help on the search mightily -by his presence; but yet so much more earnest and unselfish in his -desire to see the truth established, that Anne's heart rejoiced within -her. Mrs. Ross was sulkily reconciling herself to the obvious necessity. -She was by no means interested in the result of the investigation, and -was inclined to hope that it would be unsuccessful, and that Lewis might -be released from his engagement, yet, nevertheless, prepared herself, -with much sullenness and ill-humor, for "the worst." - -Anne accompanied Lewis, in the morning, to the Tower, to bid James -good-by, and charge him with various kindly messages, and some little -tokens of sisterly good-will for Alice. At Mrs. Catherine's desire she -remained. Mrs. Catherine had already despatched Andrew with the -following missive to Strathoran: - -"Mrs. Catherine Douglas, of the Tower, desires that Lord Gillravidge -will explain to her, at his earliest leisure, his motive for shutting up -the by-way upon Oranside--a thing both unreasonable and unlawful, and -which she has no thought of submitting to for a day. The path belongs to -the people of the parish, who had dwelt upon the land for centuries, -before ever it passed into Lord Gillravidge's tenantcy. Mrs. Catherine -Douglas desires Lord Gillravidge to know that he has done what is -contrary to the law of the land, and expects to have an immediate reason -rendered to her, for the insult and hardship inflicted upon her people -and parish, by the closing of a known kirk road, and public way." - -Mrs. Catherine and her household were busied in preparation for -Archibald's departure. Mrs. Catherine herself was hemming with a very -fine needle, and almost invisible thread, breadths of transparent -cambric, for the shirts which her three generations of domestics, Mrs. -Elspat Henderson, Mrs. Euphan Morison, and Jacky, were occupied in -making. - -"And child," said Mrs. Catherine, "I like not idle greives. If you are -not pleased with Jacky's stitching, take the other breast -yourself--there is plenty to hold you all busy. I have no brood of young -folk, sitting with their hands before them. What did you get clear -eyesight and quick fingers for?" - -Anne took the work--into no unknown or "'prentice hand," would it have -been confided. Mrs. Catherine's "white seam" was elaborated into a -positive work of art. Within her strong spirit, and covered by her harsh -speech, there lay so much of that singular delicacy, which could endure -nothing coarse or unsuitable, that the smallest household matters came -within its operation. Mrs. Catherine had little faith in the existence -of fine taste or delicate perceptions, in conjunction with a coarse or -disorderly "seam." Would modern young ladies think her judgment correct? - -"Archie is in Portoran," said Mrs. Catherine, after a little time had -elapsed, during which the fine work and cheerful conversation proceeded -in brisk and pleasant unison. "There are still some matters to be -settled with Mr. Foreman, and he expects the letter the day that will -fix his going to Glasgow. We are nothing less than a bundle of -contradictions, child, we unsatisfied human folk. It was my own special -desire and wish that the lad should verily plunge himself into some -labor for the redemption of his land; now I have a drither at letting -him go away to a mere, hard money-getting work, where little of either -heart or head is needed." - -"Little heart, perhaps," said Anne; "but, at least, the head must be -very necessary, Mrs. Catherine." - -"You do not know," answered Mrs. Catherine. "Head! I tell you, child, I -have seen divers in my youth who had gathered great fortunes by trade, -and yet were vaporing, empty-headed, purse-proud fuils; beginning by -running errands, and sweeping shops, and the like, and ending by making -bairnly fuils of themselves, to the laughter of the vain and -thoughtless, and to the shame of right-minded folk. We have other -imaginations of merchantmen, child; we give them a state and -circumstance that the men are as innocent of, as Johnnie Halflin out -there. We think of the old days when merchants were princes, and of them -that stood afar off, and wailed for Babylon. There are some such, -doubtless, now, but it is not always the best that are the most -fortunate. And to think of Archie living for years among folk to whom -the paltry siller is the sole god and good in this world or the next. -Maybe, child--maybe in the rebound of his carelessness, getting to like -the yellow dirt himself for its own sake!" - -"No fear," said Anne. "Archibald is able to stand the probation in every -way, I trust, Mrs. Catherine; and it is but a means--it is not an end." - -"Ay," said Mrs. Catherine. "The youth has a great stake.--He is a -changed man, child, so far as we may form a judgment. Wherefore should I -ever have doubted it? As if true prayers could lie unanswered before the -Throne for ever!" - -Jacky opened the door. - -"If ye please--" - -"What you elf? Can you no speak out?" - -"It's--it's the man--the stranger"--Jacky remembered her former -description of him, but scorned to repeat herself; "that came to the -Tower with Mr. Foreman. If ye please, will I bring him in?" - -"The jackal--the fuil that does Lord Gillravidge's errands," said Mrs. -Catherine. "I am lothe that the feet of an unclean animal should come -within this room, but what can I do, child? The library is Archie's -especial room, and if he comes in, I would like ill that he saw any of -this evil crew." - -"He had better come here," said Anne. - -Mrs. Catherine made a motion of disgust. - -"Hear you, you imp! Is he alone?" - -"There's a gentleman with him," said Jacky. "No a grown-up man--just -young like--but he's a gentleman." - -"Bring them up here." - -Jacky disappeared, and, in a moment after, ushered Mr. Fitzherbert, and -the good-humored, fair-haired lad, who had been with him when Alice -Aytoun was intercepted on the way, into the room. Mrs. Catherine's note -had been the subject of considerable mirth at Strathoran. The Honorable -Giles Sympelton, in particular, had been exceedingly amused at the idea -of the old lady "showing fight," and had proposed and urged, something -against Fitzherbert's will, this present expedition. Mr. Fitzherbert -was elaborately polite and high-bred. The young man was in high spirits, -overflowing with suppressed laughter, and anticipating capital fun. - -Mrs. Catherine rose, drew up her stately figure, and remained standing. -Mr. Fitzherbert bowed with agreeable condescension. The Honorable Giles -was startled out of his laughter.--That strong, vigorous, stately old -lady was not a person to be trifled with. - -"Lord Gillravidge, Madam," began Mr. Fitzherbert, "received your -communication, and would have been most happy to have made your -acquaintance personally, had it not been for the misfortune of a -previous engagement. He has requested me to represent him--quite -unworthy, certainly--but, having the honor to be acquainted with his -sentiments, shall be glad to give any explanation that you desire." - -"I require no explanation from Lord Gillravidge," said Mrs. Catherine, -"except of his purpose concerning this unlawful deed he has done. Will -he give it up of his own will, or will he be forced to do it? That is -all I desire to know of Lord Gillravidge." - -Mr. Fitzherbert seated himself unbidden. - -"Beg you will permit me to make a brief explanation. Lord Gillravidge -has the tenderest regard for feelings--indulgent even to a little -natural prejudice--means everything to be done in the most friendly -manner. I assure you, Madam, I can explain everything with the greatest -ease." - -The Honorable Giles was still standing. The lad began to have some -perception that this was not a place for boyish mirth or derision. Anne -silently invited him to be seated. - -Mrs. Catherine grew still more stately and erect. She would not -condescend to be angry. - -"I desire no explanations at Lord Gillravidge's hands. Will he throw the -by-way open, or will he not?" - -Mr. Fitzherbert smiled insinuatingly. - -"Your kind indulgence, Madam--but for a moment. I shall take care not to -exhaust your patience, knowing that ladies are not distinguished for -patience, a good quality though--I beg your pardon, Madam. I am sorry to -see I keep you standing." - -"Be not troubled, Sir," said Mrs. Catherine, with bitter contempt; "but -make yourself sure that a whole tribe like you would keep me in no -position that did not please myself." - -"Sorry to have the misfortune of displeasing you, Madam," said the -imperturbable Fitzherbert. "Had not the least intention of offence, I -assure you--return to the subject. Lord Gillravidge, Madam, is actuated -by the best feelings--the utmost desire to be on friendly terms. He only -needs to be known to be appreciated. An excellent neighbor, a warm -friend--altogether, a remarkable person, is my friend, Lord -Gillravidge." - -"Fitz, Fitz!" whispered his young companion, reprovingly. - -Mrs. Catherine turned round, and looked at the lad with grave concern, -and some interest. - -"His Lordship is willing to be perfectly tolerant," continued Mr. -Fitzherbert; "to give way to prejudices, and make allowance for angry -feelings--and of course he expects to be as well used in return. 'Do -unto others,'--it is natural that he should look for the same in -return." - -Mrs. Catherine waved her hand. - -"A lady of refined tastes, such as I have the honor of addressing, must -perfectly understand the peculiar feelings and excessive delicacy and -retirement of my accomplished friend. Feels himself quite wounded by -vulgar intrusion--shrinks, above all things, from public -notice--extremely susceptible by nature, and of the most delicate -constitution." - -Mrs. Catherine stamped her foot impatiently. - -"Is it the Comus of yon crew of transformed cattle that the man ventures -to profane such words upon?" - -"Sorry to be so misapprehended," said Mr. Fitzherbert, with an -assumption of dignity. "Mere false reports, and vulgar misunderstanding -of elegant leisure, and refined amusements--perfectly unfounded, I -assure you, Madam. Lord Gillravidge should be judged by his peers, not -by a set of barbarous rustics." - -"Be silent, Sir," said Mrs. Catherine. "I understand well the people of -this parish should be judged by their peers, and that is another race -than yours. Beware how you lay ill names, in my presence, upon the -natives of this soil!" - -"Beg pardon, Madam, I am unfortunate in my subjects--had no idea you -were specially interested in illiterate peasants. I beg you yourself -will do his Lordship the honor of considering his position. I know him -so intimately, that I can speak with confidence of his excessive -delicacy and nervous refinement of constitution--quite remarkable, I -assure you." - -"And what is all this to me?" exclaimed Mrs. Catherine. "Think you I -care the value of a straw for the nerves of your lordling? Will he -persist in this folly, or will he not? His constitution may be either -iron or glass, besides, for any concern I have in the matter." - -"Your patience, Madam," said the smiling Fitzherbert, "I mention these -characteristics in explanation. My lord is a stranger, not acquainted -with the superior character of the natives of this soil. A most -distinguished peasantry, moral and intelligent--but vulgar nevertheless, -and intruding on his privacy. There is some natural hauteur -perhaps--what might be expected from an English nobleman of high -family, accustomed to all the privileges of exalted rank, and shrinking -from undue familiarity. He really cannot bear intrusion, and therefore -shut up the by-way--positively compelled by his delicate -feelings--trains of rustics passing through his private grounds! His -Lordship could not permit it." - -Mrs. Catherine could bear this no longer--she was walking through the -room in towering wrath and indignation. - -"An English nobleman! an English cheat and sharper! enjoying his -ill-gotten gains under a roof, that I marvel does not fall upon the -reprobate cattle he has gathered below it. Vulgar intrusion! the -passing-by of honorable men and women, that would not change the honest -name of their birth, for the disgrace of his wealth and his sin. _His_ -private grounds! and who, if it were not the master-spirit of all -iniquity, procured that the fair lands of Strathoran should ever brook -him as their lord? You, your very self, pitiful animal as you are, the -hired servant of this prosperous iniquity, doing its evil bidding, are -scarce so abhorrent to decent folk as the master of you; the malignant -tempting spirit, that led an innocent youth into the mire of sin and -folly, that he might rob him of his inheritance; and now, can venture -here, in the very face of me, who know his villanies, to set up for a -man of delicate frame and tender mind, shrinking from the lawful -passers-by of a peaceable parish; folk of lineage and blood, if that -were all, an hundred-fold better than himself!" - -Vehemently, and inspired with indignation, Mrs. Catherine spoke, the -floor thrilling beneath her hasty steps. - -"Fitz," whispered the astonished lad, "the old lady has the best of -it--she's right." - -Fitzherbert assumed an air of offended innocence. "Really, Madam, after -this language--I am amazed--astonished!"-- - -"And who, think ye, in this house or country is concerned, that you -should be astonished or amazed?" interrupted Mrs. Catherine; "or what -are you, that I should hold parley with your like, and profane the air -of my dwelling with your master's unclean name? Answer me my demand with -as much truthfulness as is in you, and begone from my house. I will have -the breath of no such vermin near me." - -"Upon my word!" exclaimed the astounded Fitzherbert, "this is perfectly -unparalleled; if a gentleman were using such language to me--" - -"You would fight him," said Mrs. Catherine, disdainfully. "Ay! presuming -that he was inclined so to demean himself, and was not content with -laying his whip about your shoulders, as Marjory Falconer did." - -Fitzherbert started up, enraged. "I can hold no communication with a -person who delights in insulting me. You shall rue this, Madam, you -shall rue this!" - -"Fitz," said the Honorable Giles, interposing as he passed to the door, -"Gillravidge will be angry; you have not arranged this." - -"And with your permission," added Mrs. Catherine, "I say you do not -leave this house till my question is answered." - -Poor Fitzherbert could not afford to incur the anger of Lord -Gillravidge. He was compelled to content himself with many humiliations, -and this among the rest. - -"Madam!, in consideration of my friend's business, I overlook these -personalities. Lord Gillravidge is, as I have said, a man of ancient -family, and high breeding, belonging to a most exclusive aristocratic -circle, and will not have his privacy broken. His Lordship hoped to be -understood--the peculiar feeling of high birth, and necessity for -retirement--and must continue to trust that a lady, herself of some -station, will offer no opposition." - -"Ancient family!" exclaimed Mrs. Catherine. "Does your English lordling, -whose name no man ever heard tell of, till he came to take possession of -his prey, dare to say that to me, who can trace my lineage, without -break or blot, back to the dark gray man! Tell the reprobate master of -you, that my house was set down upon this land, before ever the rank -soil and unwholesome heat of cities had brought forth the first ancestor -of your evil brood. Tell him, that this people is my people, and that -his good blood is a mean fraud, if he does not honor the honorable folk -native to a free land. Further, I will spare neither time nor siller to -recover them their right; either he will throw open the road this very -day, or he will suffer the immediate judgment of the law--I leave him -his choice; and now, the need for bearing the sight of you is over, -carry my message, and depart from my house." - -Fitzherbert did not linger. Young Sympelton rose to follow him. - -"Sir," said Mrs. Catherine, "you are young to be in such evil hands. -Tarry a moment, I would speak further to you." - -The lad hesitated. Fitzherbert was already descending the stair. - -"Sit down," said Mrs. Catherine. "I have something to say to you." - -The lad obeyed. - -"Have you been long in the keeping of these vile cattle? I am meaning, -have you been long in the unwholesome neighborhood of that man?" - -The Honorable Giles laughed; tried to be very frank, and at his ease, -and answered that he had been a month at Strathoran. - -"Dwelling night and day under the shadow of uncleanness and all -iniquity. Young man, to whom do you belong? Has nobody charge of you?" - -To which the Honorable Giles responded, somewhat offended, that he was -quite able to take care of himself. - -"Are you?" said Mrs. Catherine; "you are the first of your years that I -ever knew capable of doing so. Have you father or mother living?" - -"My father is: he's in France," said young Sympelton: "my mother is -dead." - -"Ay, it is even as I thought. Poor motherless lad, trusted in such -company. Is your father in his senses, that he perils you thus?" - -"In his senses! what do you mean?" exclaimed the Honorable Giles. - -"I will tell you, what I mean. You have a youthful face, that looks as -if it did not know vice yet, for its own hand. If I tell you there is a -deadly plague in that house, will you believe me, and flee from it?" - -The youth looked at her in amazement. - -"I tell you, young man, there is a mortal malady in that house of -Strathoran; a sickness that will kill more than your life; that will -strip you of good fame and honor, or ever you have entered the world; -and make you a bankrupt, ruined, disgraced man, when you should be but a -fresh, youthful, ingenuous man. Mind what I am saying; there are -serpents yonder, deadlier than the snakes of India. Do not sleep under -that roof another night. Go home to your father, and tell him -henceforward to keep an eye on your wanderings himself, and no trust -you, a precious laddie, as ye no doubt are to him, to the warning of a -stranger." - -The young man laughed; he did not know how to understand this, though -the kindness of the strange, stern old lady, moved as much as it -astonished him. - -"Oh! that's because you've quarrelled with Gillravidge." - -"I quarrel with no vermin," said Mrs. Catherine. "If I cannot cast the -plague out of a land, I warn the healthful and innocent from its -borders. Young man! I know not so much as your name; but six or seven -years ago, a youth, very dear to me, was as you are, blythe, happy, full -of promise, well endowed, and honored. The reptile brood you are among -got their meshes over him--corrupted his young mind, broke his blythe -spirit, devoured his substance, defrauded him of his land, and then left -him--a sinful, broken man, to struggle with his bitter repentance and -misery as he best could. Beware, young man--beware of your youth--beware -of the gladness that must depart for evermore, if you once taste of that -cup of vice. You have a terrible stake in it; for the sake of all that -you have, or can gain in this world and the next, come out of that -sinful house. I will give you the shelter of mine if ye desire it. I -cannot see a young man like what ye are, or seem, lost to all honest -uses, and not put forth my hand." - -Young Sympelton rose--he lingered--hesitated--there was dew under his -eyelids; he was ashamed that any one could have moved him so--_him_, a -man! - -Fitzherbert thrust in his head at the door--laughed derisively. - -"Ah, a young penitent--very interesting--old lady preaching at him." - -The youth dashed out and ran down the stair. - -They saw him immediately after, arm-in-arm with the tempter, returning -to Strathoran. - -"Anne, dear child," said Mrs. Catherine, "the look of that youth's face -has made my heart sore. I have warned him--I can help him in no other -way. The Lord requite the reprobate race that are leading young spirits -to destruction." - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - - -Mr. George Lumsden, the manager of Messrs. Sutor and Sinclair's Glasgow -house, was desirous that Mr. Sutherland should enter immediately on his -probation. So said the letter which Mr. Foreman read to Archibald, while -Mrs. Catherine was receiving at the Tower the emissaries from -Strathoran. The good lawyer was in high spirits at the successful issue -of his negotiations. Archibald was satisfied that his work was now so -near a beginning. Mr. Ferguson acquiesced with a sigh. There were no -further obstacles in the way. Next morning, it was arranged, Archibald -should leave Portoran. - -He rode home to the Tower in a slight excitement of mingled regret and -hopefulness. He was sadly wanting in that placid equanimity whose calm -is not disturbed by change. He felt these variations of the firmament of -his fortune, as the sea feels the wind, answering no less swiftly to the -curl of the lightest breeze, than to the sweep of the gale which -chronicles its progress in stories of shipwreck and death. He felt it a -very momentous thing, this second beginning of his course. Formerly, he -had left his native district with every adventitious help--favored of -fortune, rich in friends--yet had returned a ruined, solitary man. Now -he went forth with every favoring circumstance withdrawn--his own -strength and the help of Providence--no other aid to trust to--how, or -in what sort, should he make his second return? - -Mrs. Catherine's preparations were not quite completed: one half of the -abundant outfit which she was preparing for her adventurer, would need -to be sent after him to Glasgow. By earliest daybreak the next morning, -Mrs. Euphan Morison herself began to make ready the heap of delicate and -snowy linen, the making of which had occupied their time of late. At -eleven Archibald was to set out. - -He had time that morning to visit Merkland, to take leave of Mrs. Ross, -and with much silent sorrow, and an indefinite understanding which -expressed itself in no words, to bid farewell to Anne. Both of them were -immersed in other cares and occupations. A solitary and long warfare lay -before Archibald. Concerning matters private to themselves, both were -heroically silent. They parted, each knowing the strong, honorable, true -heart that was within the other--each aware of the other's entire and -full sympathy--in grave faith, fortitude, patience; and with a silent -regret, that spoke more powerfully than words. - -Mrs. Catherine was in the little room; she had spent most of the morning -there. She had provided Archibald with all temporal necessities--she was -pleading now, before God, for that other, and yet more needful spiritual -providing, which should keep him blameless, in the warfare of an evil -world. No vain repetitions were there in that speechless agony of -supplication: the strong spirit, with its mighty grasp of faith, was -wrestling for a blessing--for prosperity and success, if it should -please the Giver of all Good; but, above all earthly success and -prosperity, for purity and deliverance from sin. Half an hour before the -time of his departure, the young man joined her. - -"Archie," said Mrs. Catherine, "I desired to say my last words to you -here: you mind your return to my house--you mind your covenant with me, -before God, and within the shadow of Sholto Douglas, my one brother, -whom, if it had not been otherwise ordained, you might have drawn your -name and blood from--Archie Sutherland, you mind your covenant?" - -"I do." - -"In whatever circumstances the Lord may place you--in peril, in toil, in -striving with the world harder than that, in ease, and peace, and -prosperity, if it be His will to give you these: with a single eye, and -an honest heart, and in the strength of Him that saved you, you will -resist sin. Archie Sutherland, you hold by your covenant? you plight me -your word again?" - -"Most earnestly--most truthfully. You trust me, Mrs. Catherine?" - -"I trust you, Archie. The Lord uphold and strengthen you in your -goings-out, and in your comings-in!" There was a pause.--"And have you -gotten everything right, Archie? are you sure there is nothing wanting -that you will need, or that I can get for ye?" - -"Nothing," said Archibald. "You are only too lavish in your kindness, -Mrs. Catherine; you forget that I am but a poor adventurer now." - -"Hush!" said Mrs. Catherine. "Kindness is not a word to be between your -mother's son and me. Ay, Archie, you are an adventurer; mind it is no -common errand you are going forth upon. To the like of you, hope is the -natural breath and common air--the hopes of age are solemn ventures, our -last and weightiest--when they fail, there is no new upspringing in the -pithless soil that many hopes have withered and died upon, like -September leaves. Archie, the last great hope of an aged woman is -embarked in your labor. See--look where my first sun set--the darkness -of its sinking is not out of my heart yet. You might have been of my own -blood, boy; you might have borne the name of Sholto Douglas! Now the -last of them all is on your head.--Archie Sutherland, be mindful of it; -let me see you honorably home in your own land, before I go to another -country." - -Archibald answered her almost incoherently: "If it was within the power -of man--if any toil could accomplish it--" - -The phæton was at the door; Andrew and Johnnie Halflin were placing the -traveller's trunks upon it, while Mrs. Euphan Morison, portly and broad, -stood in the doorway superintending. The hour drew very near. - -"And there is yet another thing," said Mrs. Catherine.--"Archie, it -happens whiles that prosperity is not in the power of man--if toil -cannot accomplish it--if the blessing that maketh rich, comes not upon -your labor, I charge you to spend no time in vain repinings, nor to be -cast down beyond measure: mind at all times that my house is open to -you--that if you have no other shelter in the wide world, under this -roof there constantly remains for you a home. I say, mind this, Archie, -as the last charge I lay upon you. If you are like to be overcome in -your striving, come home; if your heart grows faint within you, and you -find only weariness in your plans of merchandize instead of fortune, -come home--you can come at no time when you will not be dearly welcome. -Mind, Archie Sutherland, I say to you, mind! that let the world smile -upon you or frown upon you as it lists, you have a home to come to--a -household blythe to welcome you!" - -The time had come at last. The hope of return in his heart bowed down -under the heaviness of his farewell, Archibald seated himself in the -vehicle, and seizing the reins, drove hastily away, not trusting himself -to look back again. When he had reached the high road he paused once -more, to answer the mute farewell waved to him from within the enclosure -of Merkland, and then turned resolutely away--away from genial home, -warm friends, affection, sympathy, to cold toil and friendless labor, an -uncongenial atmosphere, a strange country. His heart swelled within -him--his breast tightened--his eyes overflowed. Years must pass, with -all their unknown vicissitudes, before he looked again upon those -familiar faces--before he saw his own country again lie beautiful and -calm beneath the sun. He quickened his pace, keeping time with the rapid -current of his thoughts. For home--for friends--for country--all his -labor, all his endurance, would be for these: was it for him to repine, -or murmur, with his work and his reward before him? The remembrance -stirred his spirit like a trumpet, and the home voice of the Oran stole -in upon his thoughts chiming so hopefully and brave: - - "Speed thy labor o'er land and sea, - Home and kindred are waiting for thee!" - -The remainder of the month passed quietly away; the little world of -Strathoran was unusually still. Jeanie and Ada Mina Coulter began to -weary for the marriage, which rumor said would shortly bring a very -youthful, blue-eyed bride to Merkland, and for the festivities and -party-givings consequent thereupon. Miss Falconer was unusually quiet. -Walter Foreman, John Coulter and their set, had scarcely any new feats -or new speeches of Marjory's to make mirthful comments on. She was -becoming intimate with a sober, stout, cheerful, elderly lady, who wore -one unvarying dress of black silk, and was Mr. Lumsden's (of Portoran) -unmarried elder sister. Miss Lumsden had taken a decided liking for the -strange, wild, eccentric girl, whose exploits kept all the parish -amused; and had resided one whole fortnight in the immediate vicinity of -the Falcon's Craig stables and kennel, in order to assist and counsel -her young friend in the onerous duties of housekeeping. To Miss -Lumsden's honor be it spoken, she returned to the orderly and quiet -Manse, more stanchly Miss Falconer's friend than ever, and that in spite -of the very decided hand with which Marjory held the reins of government -at Falcon's Craig, barely admitting counsel, and by no means tolerating -assistance. - -Mr. Foreman, to the great amazement of Lord Gillravidge and his friends, -had served upon them sundry mystic papers, interdicting them from their -obstruction of the by-way. Lord Gillravidge resisted, and the case was -to be tried before the Court of Session. - -Mrs. Catherine's stately quietude was broken by the successive charges -of this legal war; the old lady entered into it keenly, anathematizing -with no lack of vehemence the "hounds" who were usurping the possession -of the dignified house of Strathoran.--The more than ordinary stillness -of the district brought out the excesses of Lord Gillravidge's household -in prominent and bold relief. The country people told sad tales of -these--exaggerated no doubt by their own simple habits, and by their -thorough dislike to the new-comer; but still possessing some foundation -of truth. - -Lewis Ross, with James Aytoun and Robert Ferguson, were hard at work in -the fair parish on the south bank of "_the_ Firth," where stood the -desolate mansion of Redheugh, and where Arthur Aytoun met his fate. -Lewis and James were resident in the village inn, Robert had his -quarters in a comfortable farm-house at some distance from them. They -were pursuing their inquiry with all diligence. In Lewis's letters to -Anne, were recorded the long walks they took, the long conversations in -peasant houses, to which they were compelled to submit, in return for -the scraps of information gathered, the immense quantity of country -gossip, with which the history was interlarded, and the very slow -progress they made in their search. Many of the elder cottagers of the -district, remembered "young Redheugh" well, and spoke of his character, -Lewis said, as Esther Fleming and Mrs. Catherine had done; but, though -there was much affectionate respect for his youthful goodness, and much -pity for his terrible fate, there was no doubt of his guilt among them, -and they concluded their history of him, with an "Eh, Sirs! but mortal -flesh is weak when it's left to itsel; to think o' sae mony guid gifts -coming to sic an end!" Lewis did not know well what to do; he could see -no hope. - -Early in February they returned to Edinburgh from whence came the -following letter to his anxious sister: - - "My dear Anne, - - "We have at last abandoned the search in despair--there is nothing - to be made of it--I thought so before we began. We have awakened - the attention of the district, and will, I fear, have to pay the - penalty in some newspaper paragraphs resuscitating the whole story, - which is disagreeable enough certainly--otherwise we have done - nothing. - - "I told you that we had, the other day, called at the cottage of - the man, who was the first to discover Mr. Aytoun after the murder. - This man was an important witness. He had been employed about - Redheugh, and was a spectator of the quarrel between Aytoun and - Norman. It had reference to a young lady, between whom and Norman - there was a rumored engagement; whether Aytoun knew this, or not, I - cannot tell, but he spoke disparagingly of the girl, who was of - inferior rank. Norman resented the slighting words with the utmost - vehemence and passion; so much so, that the man feared some - immediate collision between them. This was prevented, however, by - some chance interposition, which he does not very clearly - recollect. Norman was called away, and Mr. Aytoun returned home. - - "It was his daily custom to walk in this wood, though one would - fancy from the character they give him, that he was by no means of - a contemplative kind. He seems rather to have been one of those - cool men, who take prudent means to recover themselves from the - dissipation of one night, in order that they may be fit for the - dissipation of the next. So it was his habit to walk in this wood - early in the morning, and Norman knew it. Our informant was - something of an artist, Anne. You should have heard his homely - description of the stillness and beauty of the wood, as he went - through it, returning from his morning's work, to breakfast; 'the - sun was shining as clear as if there was naething below that - dauredna be seen, or needit to shrink from the sight of man; and - the innocent water running blythe beneath the trees, and the sky - spreading calm aboon a', as if violence had never been dune in - sicht of its blue e'e;' heightening the serenity of his background - by all those delicate touches, that the terrible discovery he was - about to make might stand out in bolder relief. You will say I - treat this with indifference, Anne, but indeed, you are mistaken. I - know Norman better, and am more interested in his fate now, (not to - speak of my own individual interest in the result) than when I left - Merkland.' - - "To resume the story. Our informant going carelessly forward - through the wood, came suddenly upon the body of the murdered man, - which had fallen, breaking down the low bushes and brushwood upon - the waterside. I need not tell you his horror, nor how he describes - it. He procured assistance immediately, and conveyed the body home, - and afterwards returned to ascertain whether there were any traces - visible of the murderer. He says, he never doubted for a - moment--the last night's quarrel and estrangement, the cold sneers - of Aytoun, and Norman's passionate vehemence, left him, as he - thought, no room for doubt. His strong suspicion became absolute - certainty, when on returning, he found, lying below some thick - underwood, a light fowling-piece, bearing Norman's initials and - arms. His story differs in no point from the evidence given by him - at the time, and there mingles with it a compassion and regret for - Norman, which make its truthfulness still more apparent. When I - ventured to suggest, that in spite of all these condemnatory - circumstances, the criminal might still be another person, he shook - his head. 'I wad gie twa and a plack, Sir, to ony man that could - prove that to me; na, bluid winna hide. If ony man living had - spilt it, it wad have been brought hame to him before now.' To such - a statement one could make no answer. I confess, I left him utterly - hopeless; what can we do further? - - "The other man, who met Norman upon that fatal morning, leaving the - wood, is dead; but his widow lives, and remembers her husband's - story perfectly. Norman, the widow says, was smiling and cheerful, - humming a tune, and apparently in high spirits, and stopped on his - way to greet her husband kindly, as was his wont; for she, too, - testifies to the uniform goodness and gentleness of "young - Redheugh." It was a mystery to her husband, she says, to the last - day of his life, how a man, newly come from such a deed, with the - blood of a fellow creature and a friend warm on his hand, should - have smiles on his face, and kindness on his tongue, to an - indifferent passer-by. - - "I cannot understand it either, Anne. It is the one thing, above - all others, which staggers me. A calculating, cool, reasoning man, - who even, at such a time, could think of the chances of a favorable - evidence, might have been supposed capable of this--even then, I - fancy there is hardly anything of the kind on record. But an - impulsive, generous, sensitive man, such as universal testimony - concurs in representing Norman--one cannot comprehend it. If the - gaiety had been forced, the man must have observed it--it would - have been an additional evidence of his guilt--but it was not so. - The favorite tune--the elastic, joyous manner--the frank greeting! - I cannot reconcile these with the idea of his guilt. If it had not - been for this one very indistinct and impalpable piece of evidence, - which, like his own letter, may influence the mind, but can have no - legal force as proof, I should at once have given up the search, - and taken refuge in the certainty of his guilt. - - "All inquiries as to any other suspected party have proved entirely - fruitless. Every circumstance had pointed so clearly to Norman, - that, as I think, anything inculpating another, must have faded - from the memories of the people as quite unimportant. - - "James Aytoun looks very grave: he does not say much, and I cannot - guess his opinion. He has been very zealous and active in the - search, and has conducted it, as it seems to me, with great - prudence and wisdom. I think he is very much disappointed. I even - think that he still retains a lingering conviction of Norman's - innocence, and is, like myself, bewildered and uncertain what step - to take, or what to do. - - "From Mrs. Aytoun I have received just such a reception as you - might have expected from the mother of James and Alice. Tremulously - kind, almost tender to me for her daughter's sake, yet often lost - in long reveries of silent sorrow. No doubt this search, recalling - all the circumstances of her widowhood to Mrs. Aytoun's mind, has - cost her much pain. I think, however, that, to speak modestly, they - don't altogether dislike me. So far as worldly matters go, we, you - know, hold our heads higher than they do, and I cannot help hoping - that people so sensible and friendly as James Aytoun and his - mother, will not, in the spirit of a darker age, allow this old and - forgotten crime to hinder the happiness of their gentle Alice. I - have improved my time sufficiently, I trust, to ensure that that - same happiness is not very safe, if I am denied a share in it. I - intend, to-morrow, to have an explanation with them, and ascertain - definitely what are our future prospects. I need not say how - gentle, and sympathizing, and affectionate--how entirely like - herself, in short, our little Alice is. - - "I have not much fear of the _eclaircissement_ to-morrow. They - will, very likely, impose some probation upon us. We are both young - enough to tolerate that--but that they can steadily refuse their - consent to a connection (as I flatter myself) so proper and - suitable, an advantageous settlement for Alice, which will secure - alike her happiness and her external comfort, I cannot believe. I - shall, likely, return some time this week. Let Duncan meet me in - Portoran on Friday. If I do not come, it does not matter much--the - old man will be the better for the drive. - -"LEWIS ROSS." - - - -Beside the letter of Lewis was another, the handwriting of which Anne -did not know. She had few correspondents, and opened it wonderingly. It -was from James Aytoun. - -"My dear Miss Ross, - - "Your brother will have informed you of our failure. So far as I - can at present see, we have used every possible means, and the only - result is, a strengthening of the former evidence, and a more clear - establishment of Mr. Rutherford's apparent guilt. For my sister's - sake I began this, deeply anxious for a favorable issue. I feel - only more anxious now, when I know, and have a personal interest in - the nearest relatives of this unhappy young man, whom men call my - father's murderer. I cannot comprehend it. In this very clear and - satisfactory evidence, I am entirely bewildered and confused. - Everything I have gathered in my search has confirmed and - strengthened the circumstances against him; and yet, by some - strange perversity, everything I have heard has increased my - conviction of his innocence. - - "I write thus to you, because I feel that you are even more deeply - interested in this than your brother. With my friend Lewis it is a - secondary matter, and I am rather pleased that it should be. So - that we are sufficiently satisfied not to withhold our consent to - his engagement with Alice, he has no very engrossing interest in - the matter; but with you--if I am wrong you will pardon me--it - seems more deeply momentous and important. I also feel very greatly - interested in it. If it were but in a professional point of view, - it would claim my utmost attention. - - "The evidence is very clear and full. Were it brought before any - jury, there could not be the slightest doubt of the result.--But, - with all the tales of generosity and kindness which yet make your - brother's memory fragrant in the district, and with his own very - moving self-defence still further to counteract it, I have no - hesitation in saying to you that this mass of evidence makes no - impression upon my mind, but the very uneasy and painful one of - doubt and apprehension. There is no certainty in it. All these - things might have remained as they are, and yet your brother's - innocence be triumphantly vindicated--if, indeed, it had not been - for that last fatal step of his flight. Is he now, truly, beyond - the reach of either acquittal or condemnation?--does there remain - only his _name_ to vindicate? - - "In the meantime there cannot be any nearer connexion between our - family and yours. I regret it deeply--but it is impossible to - forget that the murdered man is my father, and that while so much - as a doubt remains, we must not dishonor the memory of the dead. - You will understand and feel for us, I am sure. For my mother, - especially, I must beg your sympathy: this matter has most - painfully revived the bitterest time of her life; and while, like - myself, her feelings--both for Alice's sake, and his own--are all - enlisted in favor of your brother, she feels, with me, that until - we have some more satisfactory proof, nearer connexion is - impossible. - - "You will forgive me, if I speak harshly. I feel that you will - understand the necessity more calmly than I should wish Lewis to - do; and I am confidant that we can trust in your kind co-operation. - In the meantime, I shall keep my eye on the district, and let no - opportunity of throwing light upon this dark matter pass me. May I - also beg your confidence? If there is any further particular of - importance, trust me with it. So far as my ability goes, I shall - leave no stone unturned; and will, I assure you, betray no - confidence with which you may honor me. - -"Believe me, my dear Miss Ross, -"Very sincerely yours. -"JAMES AYTOUN." - - - -Anne was uneasy and perplexed: this sensible, generous, thoughtful James -Aytoun, suspected her secret, and claimed to be trusted with it. Could -she withhold it from him? And then, this fallen edifice of hope, with -all the sickness of its indefinite deferring--what could be done, -indeed? It seemed foolish--it seemed mere madness, the burning desire -that rose within her, to hurry to the place herself, and see if the -eager eyes of anxiety and sisterly yearning could discover nothing. -Alas! were not James Aytoun's eyes eager also? was not his mind trained -and practised? It did not matter--Anne felt it impossible to stand -still--to wait--until she had convinced herself that there was nothing -more to learn. Esther Fleming's eager repetition: "I lookit to you, Miss -Anne, I aye lookit to you," came back upon her, like a call from her -father's very grave. She wrote hastily to Lewis, begging him to return -immediately; and then sat down to consider her plan.--It might be -foolish--it might be Quixotic. Possibly she could do no good--but she -must try. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - - -Upon the Friday Lewis returned home. Anne had walked out upon the -Portoran road, looking for him, and met him a short distance from the -gate of Merkland. He looked sulky and out of humor, and leaping from the -gig, threw the reins to Duncan, and joined his sister. - -"Well?" said Anne, when their first greeting was over, and Duncan out of -hearing. - -"Well," said Lewis, "we are just where we were. I expected nothing -better. We have not advanced a step." - -"I understand that," said Anne; "but what of the Aytoun's?--what -understanding have you come to?--what arrangement about Alice?" - -"Nothing--nothing," said Lewis, hastily; "I tell you we are exactly -where we were. My position is not in the least degree better than it was -on the first day I knew this history--it is worse indeed, for you buoyed -me up with hopes then of the great things we should discover--see what -it has all come to." - -"You have surely made some arrangement--come to some understanding?" -said Anne; "it is a quite useless thing to tantalize me, Lewis. Your -engagement has not terminated--you have not given up--" - -"'Given up!" Lewis turned round indignantly. "I suppose you would like -nothing better, my mother and you; but you're mistaken, I tell you. All -the mothers and sisters in the kingdom should not make me give up -Alice--a pretty thing!" - -"You are quite unreasonable, Lewis," said Anne; "I do not want you to -give up Alice--very far from that--I think you have been fortunate in -winning so fresh and guileless a youthful spirit; but this impatience -and petulance makes you unworthy of Alice Aytoun. At your years men -should regard their own dignity more--you are not a boy now, Lewis." - -"I should think not," was the angry response. It made him quiet -nevertheless; these fits of ill-humor and peevishness were certainly -neither dignified nor manly. - -"What have you done then? how have you arranged?" said Anne. - -"Oh, we must wait, they say. If it had been merely a few months, or even -a year, I should not have thought anything of it: but this indefinite -delay--to be as patient and dignified as you like, Anne, it is very -disagreeable and painful." - -"I do not doubt it," said Anne. - -"And so, till some further evidence of Norman's innocence can be -procured--further! I should say until they can get _any_ evidence--we -must wait. James is to keep his eye on the district, he says, and lose -no opportunity; that looks all very well, but if there _is_ no evidence -to be got, Alice and I may wait till our lives are spent in vain. It's -very hard, Anne; I do say so, however boyish you may think it." - -"I do not think _that_ boyish, Lewis," said Anne. "We must take measures -more active than James's mere watching the district. Lewis, it is my -turn to be called childish now. You must let me try--I must go to this -place myself." - -Lewis opened his eyes in consternation: - -"_You_ try! _you_ go yourself! why, what on earth could _you_ do? Anne, -you are mad!" - -"I am not mad, Lewis, in the least degree, and yet I _must_ go to this -place myself; it is not in self-confidence. I have patience more than -you, and time less occupied; I never expected that this work could be -done easily or soon. Lewis, _I_ must go." - -They were entering the house as Anne spoke. Lewis did not answer her. He -only shook his head impatiently. There was something humiliating in the -very idea that she could accomplish a thing in which he had failed. - -He met his mother dutifully and with proper respect and kindness. Mrs. -Aytoun's natural, unassuming dignity and entire sympathy with her -children; the frank, affectionate, tender intercourse subsisting between -them; the seemly regard for her opinion, which was no less apparent in -her manly son, James, than in her gentle daughter, Alice, had charmed -Lewis unconsciously. The absolute propriety and fitness of that natural -honor and reverence made an involuntary impression upon him--an -impression which now softened his voice and restrained his temper. With -good training, and these righteous influences round him, Lewis was a -hopeful subject yet. - -"So you have returned as you went away?" said Mrs. Ross, when they had -been some little time together. - -"Yes," said Lewis, "I should say worse, for I had some hope then, and I -have none now." - -"I thought it was all nonsense," said Mrs. Ross. "I knew you could make -nothing of it." - -"You were wrong then, mother," said Lewis, quickly. "We have got no -evidence--but I believe now, what I did not believe when we left -Merkland, that Norman is innocent." - -Anne looked up joyfully. - -"Not that my believing it will do much good," said Lewis, "when such a -thing as definite proof is not to be had; but that the man, these people -spoke of as young Redheugh could do a deliberate and cowardly murder is -nearly impossible." - -"I thank you, Lewis," exclaimed Anne. "I thank you for myself and for -Norman!" - -"But what good does it all do?" continued Lewis. "I may believe--but -unless you can get other people to believe too, what is the use of it?" - -"The use of it!" Anne's lightened heart and shining eye bore witness to -its use. "James Aytoun believes it also," she said. - -"Yes, James Aytoun believes it; but neither James nor you, Anne, will be -satisfied with believing it yourselves. I don't see what we're to do. -People judge by evidence--all the evidence is against him, and the only -thing in his favor is an impression--well, I will go further--a kind of -certainty--one can't give any reason for it, it is the merest -indefinite, impalpable thing in the world. There's just a conviction -that he is not guilty--there's nothing to support it." - -"Well," said Anne, cheerfully; "but the evidence to support it must be -got, Lewis. It is foolish to think that a work like this could be done -in so short a time, and with so small an expenditure of labor and -patience. Your time is otherwise engaged--so is James Aytoun's--he has -his business to manage--you, your estate. I have nothing. I am and have -been all my life, a very useless person; let me have the satisfaction of -being of some service for once in my life." - -"Why, Anne," exclaimed Lewis, "are you in your senses? what in the world -could you do? Do you think I could ever listen to such a thing? -Nonsense, nonsense--mind your own affairs like a good girl, and do not -meddle with what is quite out of your sphere." - -Anne smiled, but with some pain--another person might have laughed -frankly at the condescending superiority of the younger brother. It hurt -her a little. - -"Lewis, I have even more interest in this matter than you--many hopes -there may be, and are, in your life. I have few. This of Norman's return -is the greatest of all--and what concerns my brother cannot be out of my -sphere." - -"No--to wish for it--or to dream about it, or even to scheme for it," -said Lewis, "That's all very well; but for anything else--why, what -could you do, Anne--what could any woman do? You know nothing of the -laws of evidence--you don't know even how to make inquiries. You might -go and spend money, and get the thing talked about, and written of in -local newspapers. Content yourself, Anne, and leave it in our hands: you -could do nothing more." - -Alice Aytoun could have done nothing more. Anne Ross felt very certain -that she had no gift for spending money and getting herself talked -about--that it might be possible for her to do something more. So she -said: - -"You do not convince me, Lewis. To discover truth, one does not need to -be familiar with laws of evidence. I am not a lawyer, and could not go -as a lawyer would; but I am Norman's only sister, Lewis, and, as such, -might find some fragments of truth favorable to him. I do not ask you to -decide immediately--think of it, and then give me your sanction to my -enterprise." - -"I am perfectly amazed, Anne--quite astonished," exclaimed Mrs. Ross. -"What can the girl be dreaming of? _you_ go to collect evidence!--you -accomplish what Lewis and Mr. Aytoun, and Robert Ferguson--trained -lawyers have failed to do! I never heard of such self-confidence. I -cannot comprehend it." - -Anne was roused out of her usual patience. - -"Mother!" she said, "you have often called me very useless--I grant it, -if you choose--I have at least not been undutiful. Hitherto, you know, I -have been almost entirely guided by your pleasure. Here is one thing -upon which I must exercise my own judgment--_must_, mother--it is no -question of liking or disliking. I also have some affections, desires, -wishes of my own. I am not merely an appendage--a piece of -goods--forgive me if I speak hastily; but supposing that neither -affection nor wish were in this matter, I have even a prior _duty_ to -Norman; I have my father's command. Mother, I am no longer a girl--there -is some other duty for me now, than mere obedience; I have rendered you -that for three-and-twenty years: do not grudge me some exercise of my -own faculties now." - -Mrs. Ross stared at her in open-eyed astonishment. Lewis had laughed at -first--now he was graver. Mrs. Ross, with much obstinacy of her own, was -one of those people who sometimes bluster, but always yield and quail -before genuine, sober firmness. - -"What do you mean? What do you wish to do?" she asked, peevishly. -"Dutiful, obedient! ah, I have had a good daughter in you, without -doubt! You are your brother's own sister. By all means, devote yourself -to Norman. What right have I, who have only been a mother to you all -your life, in comparison with this brother Norman, whom you never saw?" - -Anne was already sorry for her outburst; yet, in spite of herself, felt -indignant and impatient. This thraldom galled her grievously, yet she -knew it to be a necessary result of her dependence. - -"Stay, mother," said Lewis, "let me be peacemaker, for once. You forget -how tired I am. Postpone your discussion till after dinner. We have had -civil war long enough; let us have peace now." - -Anne withdrew to her own room. So did Lewis; and the discussion was at -an end. - -What should she do? The few shillings in the end of her purse were all -inadequate for the journey, and the expense of residing, perhaps for -some considerable time, among strangers. That difficulty there was but -one way of overcoming. Anne could not rely upon the generosity of Lewis, -or his mother. To tell the truth, the finances of Merkland were in a -state of considerable attenuation. But she could rely, without -hesitation, upon Mrs. Catherine. - -And there were further difficulties: how to go alone, and live alone, in -the strange, unknown place: how to forsake her ordinary habits, and take -to cottage visiting as indefatigably as an English Lady Bountiful. The -first she was rather uneasy about; the second was a trifle. Things which -were merely disagreeable, did not much distress Anne Ross: she was by no -means in despair even at those which most people called impossible; but -shrank with nervous delicacy from any, the very slightest, appearance of -evil. - -After dinner, the conversation was renewed. Lewis had been somewhat -struck by Anne's assertion of some little claim to her own judgment. He -certainly did not think her so wise as himself, but he knew her quite -equal to various of his friends, whose claim to independent will and -action was quite indisputable. Only, she was a woman: that was all the -difference. Lewis resolved to be very enlightened and liberal, to let -his sister express her opinions freely, and himself to give a final and -impartial deliverance upon them. - -"Did I mention, in my last letter, the people who had been so intimate -with Norman?" he asked, to begin. - -"No," said Anne. - -"An old woman referred us to them. She said it was a sister of theirs -who was the occasion of the dispute between Aytoun and Norman; a poor -girl who went to visit some friends in the west, about the time of the -murder, and died there of a broken heart. One believes in such things -when one hears stories like these. They live alone, in a great, gaunt -old house, a brother and sister." - -"And what?" said Anne, eagerly. - -"Oh, nothing. I have no story to tell. We could gather nothing from -them. The sister is a strange, emaciated, worn-out woman. James thought -she looked agitated; but save a burst of broken praise of 'poor -Redheugh'--I believe she even called him Norman--we elicited nothing -more. The brother is an invalid and hypochondriac; we caught a glimpse -of him, once or twice, wandering on the beach, but never could address -him. They seemed strange people, but had nothing to tell." - -Anne did not speak. Her curiosity and interest were awakened. - -"What a strange fellow," exclaimed Lewis, "that Norman must have been!" - -"Strange!" said Mrs. Ross, "Yes, indeed, I should think he was. I know -we had little peace in Merkland, before he came of age." - -"How he managed to make the country people all so fond of him," -continued Lewis, disregarding his mother's interruption, "one can't -tell. And falling in love with a girl, of quite different rank. -Altogether, it's a strange story." - -"What was their name?" said Mrs. Ross. "I thought you said they lived in -an old, great house, Lewis." - -"So they do," said Lewis. "It is not their own, though.--They pay some -nominal rent, and take care of the place. Their name--what is their -name?--upon my word I don't recollect. I don't know that I ever heard -the surname. I remember the sister was called Miss Christian: but James -will know." - -"And you are sure they know nothing?" said Anne. - -"Yes; at least the sister gave us no information, and the brother, as I -told you, is a poor ailing creature--half crazy, the people say. He had -saved an old man from drowning, shortly before we reached the place, and -was very much elated about it." - -"And their sister?" said Anne. - -"Their sister was a very gentle, sweet girl--so runs the story--and was -much attached to Norman. The news of his flight was carried to her -abruptly by some officious person, and the consequence was, that the -poor girl broke her heart, and died. It is a very sad story. Alice -seemed to be able for nothing but crying when I told her." - -Anne was ruminating in wonder and doubt--who then was the "Marion?" It -was impossible that this truthful, upright Norman should have his troth -plighted to two! Impossible that he could play one false! The doubt made -her heart sink: the weight of one sin is so much heavier than the -burden of a hundred misfortunes. - -"Now Anne," said Lewis, "what has become of your famous resolution? Has -your heart failed you already? I am glad of it: better faint before you -enter the wood, than when you are on the way." - -"I have no idea of fainting at all," said Anne, "unless, indeed, when we -have fairly emerged into the clear air again, with Norman honorably in -his own house, and Alice at Merkland--I may have leisure for fainting -then. Now, Lewis--listen to me, I beg, mother--I want you to consent -that I should go to this place--to Aberford--immediately, or if not -immediately, at least soon.--Let me have some one with me--May would do, -or old Esther Fleming. I can take quiet lodgings and live there, -professedly for the sake of sea air, if, indeed, any pretence is -necessary. Once there, with no other claim on my time, and patience -enough to bear any ordinary disagreeables, I may make quiet, noiseless -unsuspected investigations. Let me try; the matter is of consequence to -us all, and the expense will not be great. I beg that I may not be -hindered from making this endeavor; it may produce something--and if it -does not, there is nothing lost." - -"Upon my word you take it very coolly," said Mrs. Ross. "I should like -to know why my son's means should be wasted in such an absurd -expedition. You will never make anything of it, it is quite nonsense: -besides, the idea of a girl going away from home, and living alone, -engaged in such a search!--perfectly improper! I am amazed at you, -Anne!" - -Anne blushed deeply. It might, indeed, be called improper and -indecorous, and she was not given to neglect the veriest outer garment -and vesture of good fame; but for this, a matter so very dear and -precious, involving so many interests, a mere punctilio might surely be -disregarded--a ceremonial dispensed with. - -"Mother!" she said, "if I were ill, you would not object to this: on the -mere order of a doctor, you would have thought it perfectly proper to -suffer me to go to the sea-side: how much more now, when interests so -great are at stake--Lewis and Norman--your hope and mine! Mother! let me -have your consent." - -Lewis was touched. This Norman, whom she emphatically called her hope, -did not live at all in Anne's remembrance, except in the merest shadow. -He began to perceive how void of personal hopes and joys her life was. -There were some--deeper, graver, more earnest than his--foremost among -them, the deliverance and return of this exile brother; should he, her -nearest relative, dim and darken this great hope for her? Lewis forgot -himself, and his forgetfulness ennobled him. - -"Anne," he said, "let us speak of this hereafter--nay, I mean soon; but -not--" he glanced at his mother, "not to-night." - -Anne understood, and was satisfied. Lewis had turned peacemaker. Lewis -was devising means to turn his mother's ill-humor and undeserved -reproofs from her. All honor and praise to that kindly household of -Aytoun; the manly son, the gracious mother, the gentle little girl, -Alice, who had found out for him, and brought into the pleasant air of -day, the hidden heart of Lewis Ross. - -The next morning, Lewis himself proposed a consultation with Mrs. -Catherine. Anne consented gladly, and they set out. The Oran was frozen -hard, and lay, a glittering road of ice, far below the high pathway of -crisp snow they were walking on, through which the topmost branches of -the buried hedge peered forth like wayside weeds. The snow lay three or -four feet deep, and it was intensely cold. - -They found Mrs. Catherine in her ruddy inner room, hemming fine cambric -still. In the one article of linen, Archibald Sutherland was not likely -to find himself deficient for years. Lewis gave in his report. Mrs. -Catherine was disappointed. - -"But it is no marvel to me, mind, though you yourself, Lewis, are in -trouble, as I see, that your skill, and wisdom, and great experience, -have failed in the first trial. Take good heart, boy; when you have come -to years, you will understand that men are not wont to win the head of -the contest, in the first trial. Set your breast to it, man; begin -again." - -"Why, we have done everything, Mrs. Catherine," said Lewis. - -"Ay! you are a clever chield, Lewis Ross. Is it a month since the two -gallants went away, Anne? Truly, I had no thought there were two such -giants under my roof yon bright January day--done everything!--in _four_ -weeks! It is a comfort to folk of an older generation, that have worn -out lifetimes at one labor, to hear tell of the like of that." - -Lewis did not know whether to laugh, or to be angry: acting on his new -notions of manliness, he chose the former. "Of course, Mrs. Catherine, I -mean everything we could do." - -"Lewis," said Mrs. Catherine, "you are wrong; there is no man in this -world--at least, I have never heard name nor fame of him--that did -everything he could do in such a space of time; it is a delusion of -youth. You have girded yourself for the race, and have run hard for one -mile; you think ye have done all. Boy! you are neither footsore, nor -weary, nor sick at heart; what ails you to go on? I have known folk -struggling hard, that were all the three. Turn back, Lewis Ross, and -begin again." - -"Mrs. Catherine," said Anne, "if Lewis returned, it would excite -curiosity; their investigations have aroused attention already. I think -it would not be wise. We came to consult you on a plan of mine. Mrs. -Catherine, they say, despairing men venture on forlorn hopes often. I am -not despairing, I am only useless; but I want Lewis to entrust this -forlorn hope to me." - -"And I," said Lewis, "think it is a very foolish idea; but yet have no -reasonable defence to offer against it." - -Mrs. Catherine looked at Anne earnestly. - -"Are you able? that you would endeavor this I never doubted--have you -strength for it?" - -"I? I am strong," said Anne, "you know that, Mrs. Catherine. I scarcely -know what sickness is." - -Mrs. Catherine touched, with her fingers, the smooth, clear cheek, which -testified the firm and elastic health, both physical and mental, of its -owner, and yet was so far removed from robustness. - -"Anne, I believe you are able; you have my full consent, and God-speed. -Mind you, what I have said to Lewis; it's no one trial, or two, or -three--time and patience, thought and labor; you must grudge none of -them all. Tell me your plan." - -"Must we submit?" said Lewis. "Anne, is Mrs. Catherine's judgment final? -is there no appeal?" - -"Silence!" said Mrs. Catherine, peremptorily; "who was speaking of -appeal or judgment? There is a work to do, Lewis Ross; the thing is to -get the fittest workman, and beware how we hinder him of his labor. We -have tarried long enough; this is no a time to put further barriers in -the road. Child, your plan?" - -"I propose going to Aberford," said Anne; "taking some trusty person -with me, Mrs. Catherine. It is common, I hear, for people to go there, -who seek sea air. I shall attract no attention; it does not matter much -how long I stay. I can establish myself under the wing of some matron, -and so escape the charge of impropriety. Then I shall go about the -district, make acquaintance with every one to whom I can have access, -and inquire with all zeal and all quietness. While questions from Lewis, -and a lawyer-like person, like James Aytoun, might confuse the people, -they will speak frankly to me. I will gossip with them, play with their -children; get all possible scraps of recollectings and imaginings, and, -perhaps, when the heap is winnowed, something worth going for." - -Mrs. Catherine bent her head gravely, and asked: "When?" - -"Immediately," said Anne; "at least, I should desire so. We have lost -much time already." - -Mrs. Catherine rose, and went to the window. The sky was heavy and dark, -lowering like some great gloomy forehead. It was laden with snow--large, -dilated flakes, like those of fire upon Dante's burning sand were -falling one by one, upon the white earth. It was a feeding storm. - -"Bonnie weather for the sea-side," said Mrs. Catherine, returning to her -seat. "You must go with a good excuse, child, not with an apparent -falsehood on your tongue. 'February fills the dyke, either with black or -white.' We are getting both of them this month. March is a blustering, -wintry time, when there is little to be seen or heard tell of about the -coast but shipwreck and disaster. April is pleasant in a landward place. -You _may_ go in April; it is too soon, but for the necessity's sake you -may go then--not a day sooner, at your peril. You are able and well? I -understand your look, child--hold your peace. I would give a good year -of my life--and I have few of them to spare, seeing I am trysted to -abide in my present tabernacle, if the Lord will tell Archie Sutherland -has won back his land--to see Norman Rutherford a free man on Oranside -again; but I will not consent to put you in peril, child, for any -prospective good. I say you shall go in April. I put my interdict upon -you venturing before. I will give you your freedom in the last blast of -the borrowing days. Not an hour sooner. Now, will you abide by my -judgment, or will you not?" - -Anne looked out uneasily. The heavy sky slowly beginning to discharge -its load--the earth everywhere covered with that white, warm mantle--the -gradually increasing storm. She submitted. Now, at least, it was -impossible to go. - -Shortly afterwards, Mrs. Catherine took her into another room, and -interrogated her concerning her pecuniary arrangements for the journey. -Anne evaded the question, laughed at the scanty family of shillings in -her own purse, and spoke of Lewis. - -"Child, you are a gowk after all," said Mrs. Catherine. "The lad needs -all his siller for himself. If there is anything to spare, let him use -it on bonnie dies to dress his little bride withal--though the bairn -Alison has a natural grace, and needs them less than most. But if you -say a word about siller to Lewis, you shall never enter my door again. -Mind! It is my wont to keep my word." - -Within a week after this conversation, the last half of Mrs. Catherine's -prodigal outfit was hurriedly sent to Glasgow, where Archibald -Sutherland had made his first beginning with success and honor. The cold -lodging, to whose narrow and solitary fireside he returned, night after -night alone--the fat, Glasgow landlady, whose broad, good-humored face -began to smile upon him with a familiar kindliness, which the broken -laird blamed himself for almost shrinking from--the life of strange -labor--he was getting accustomed to them all. - -The house which he had entered was a great one. The senior partner, Mr. -Sutor, a man of good mercantile descent, and capital business head, -lived at a considerable distance from Glasgow, in one of those -magnificent solitudes of hill and water, whither the merchants of St. -Mungo are wont to carry their genial wealth, and their fine houses. It -was within convenient distance of the "Saut Water," that irresistible -temptation and delight of every genuine Glaswegian. Mr. Sutor came up -frequently to business; he was still the active sagacious head of his -extensive establishment. The manager, Mr. George Lumsden, was as great a -man in his way. He lived in the dignified vicinity of Blytheswood -Square. He had a fine house, a well-dressed pretty wife, and beautiful -children; gave good dinners; visited baillies and town-councillors, and -had baillies and town-councillors visiting him, and was certain in a -very short time, to have his respectable name introduced into the firm. -He was moreover an active, intelligent man, almost intellectual in spite -of those absorbing cares of business, and worthy to call the minister of -Portoran brother. Had Archibald chosen, he might have made a tolerably -good _entre_ into the society of Glasgow, in the hospitable house of Mr. -Lumsden; but Archibald did not choose. His former folly, illness, and -repentance had both sobered and saddened him, and he desired to avoid -society--a desire which Mr. Lumsden kindly perceived; and after one or -two unhappy evenings, during which the sensitive young man had endured -in exquisite pain "the pity of the crowd," and suffered the sympathy of -indifferent strangers, Mr. Lumsden forbore pressing further invitations -upon him. - -Messrs. Sutor and Sinclair's office was filled with young men--very -young men, most of them--adventurous scions of commercial Glasgow -families, foredoomed to push their fortunes, and to push them -successfully in every quarter of the globe. Youths who made immense -havoc among "grossets," strawberries, and all other delicacies of the -luxurious summer-time, sacred to Clydesdale orchards, and radiant with -the crowning glory of the Saut Water; nor in the gloomier season did -less execution among edibles and drinkables, by no means so delicate or -innocent--uproarious, laughter loving, practical-joking youths, among -whose noisy conclave Archibald Sutherland sat silent, grave, and sad, in -strange solitude. - -Thoroughly respectable they would all be by-and-by, on English 'Change -and foreign market-place, and home counting-house--men who could lose -some few thousands without much discomposure, and whose custom was to -win them in tens and twenties. Yet one could pass so lightly over these -ruddy faces, to rest upon that pale one among them, with its secret -history--its grief--its hope--altogether forgetful that this was a hired -clerk, and that the cubs were young gentlemen, taken in at nominal -salaries, to learn their craft, and saving Mr. Sutor no inconsiderable -annual sum in the salaries of other hired clerks, whose services his -great business must have demanded but for them. - -But Archibald discharged his duty well: so well, that Mr. Lumsden -formally pronounced his satisfaction--shortened his probation--and when -he had been but a month in the Glasgow counting-house, bade him prepare -immediately for his voyage. Archibald did so: wrote a long letter, and -received a short note of leave-taking from his sister Isabel--the -much-admired and gay Mrs. Duncombe--packed up his great outfit, placed -in his pocketbook Mrs. Catherine's long letter of pithy counsel and -tender kindliness; with these few words of grave farewell from Merkland; -and on a heavy day in February, took his last look of the fair West -Country, and its beautiful Clyde, and set sail for the New World. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - - -Mr. Lumsden, of Portoran, was seated in his study. The March wind was -blustering boisterous and rude without, driving its precious dust, so -valuable, as the proverb says, to farmer and seedsman, upon the window. -The study of the Portoran Manse was by no means a luxurious place--there -were no reclining library chairs in it: the formidable volumes that -clothed its walls were such as no _dilettanti_ student would venture to -engage withal. Its furniture was of the plainest. One large respectable -looking glazed bookcase, and a multitude of auxiliary shelves, were -piled to overflowing with books--books worth one's while to look at, -though Russian leather and gilding were marvellously scant among them. -That glorious row of tall vellum-covered folios--Miss Lumsden tells a -story of them--how they were presented to her studious brother John, the -day he was licensed, by a wealthy elder (to whom be all honor and laud, -and many followers;) and how John, in the mightiness of his glee, -forgetful of the new dignity of his Reverend, fairly danced round the -ponderous volumes in overbrimming pride and exultation. Miss Lumsden's -studious brother John, sits listening the while, with his own peculiar -smile upon his face--a smile which gives to that dark, penetrating, -intellectual countenance a singular fascination--there is something in -the simplicity of its glee, which at once suits so well and contrasts so -strangely with his strong and noble character. - -For Mr. Lumsden, of Portoran, was altogether a peculiar man; we are -sorry that we cannot venture to call him a type of the clergymen of -Scotland; he was not a type of any body or profession. You will find -rare individuals of his class here and there, but nowhere many. That -there were such things as fatigue and weariness, Mr. Lumsden knew--he -had heard of them, with the hearing of the ear, and believed in their -existence as on good testimony we believe that there are mountains in -the moon; but Mr. Lumsden regarded people who complained much of these -with a smile, half-pitying, half-incredulous, and met the idea of -himself suffering from them with a no less amused burst of open wonder -than if it had been suggested to him that he should hold a diet of -examination, on some chill hillside of the pale planet over us. The -laborious duties of a brave and faithful minister were very life and -breath to Mr. Lumsden, of Portoran--obstacles that discouraged every -other man did only pleasantly excite and stimulate his patient might of -labor. Weary work, from which all beside him turned disconsolate and -afraid, Mr. Lumsden swept down upon, his face radiant with all its frank -simplicity of glee. Nothing daunted the mighty, vigorous, healthful soul -within him--nothing cast down that great, broad, expansive power of -Hope, which was with him no fair beguiling fairy, but an athletic -spirit, greedy of labor as the elfin serving-man of Michael Scot. In -labors manifold the minister of Portoran spent his manly days; foremost -in every good work, valiantly at the head of every Christian enterprise, -and full of that high religious chivalry which dares all things in the -service of the Church and of the Church's Head. - -The widow and the fatherless knew well the firm footstep of their -faithful friend and comforter; the poor of his parish claimed his kindly -service as a public property; no man seeking counsel or help, comfort or -assistance, went doubtingly to the Manse of Portoran. The minister--his -wisdom, his influence, his genial large heart, belonged to the people; -he was the first person sought in misfortune, the first to whom sorrow -was unfolded. In a great joy the people of Portoran might forget -him--they never forgot to warn him of the coming of grief. - -Mr. Lumsden was seated in his study--a great quarto of ponderous Latin -divinity, the produce of that busy time after the Reformation, when -divines _did_ write in quarto and folio volumes, terrible to look upon -in these degenerate days, lay on the table before him. He was not -reading it, however; he was pulling on his boot, and looking at an open -note which lay upon the book. - -One boot was already on--he was tugging at the other indignantly. Mr. -Lumsden was particularly extravagant in that article of boots--so much -so, as entirely to shock his prudent sister Martha. This one, which -would not be drawn on, had been out during the night, upon its master's -foot, trudging through all manner of wet by-ways to a sick-bed--it had -not yet recovered the drenching. So Mr. Lumsden pulled, and between the -pulls looked at the note, and muttered to himself words which his -correspondent would not have cared to hear. - -Miss Lumsden entered the study. Miss Lumsden had seen out her fortieth -winter; for the last ten of these, she had worn one constant dress of -black silk, and pronounced herself an old woman; and as it was very much -for the benefit of her married sisters and unmarried brothers that she -should think so, no one contradicted her. It happened at this time, to -be John's turn to have the noted housekeeper of the Lumsden family -resident with him. The Manse of Gowdenleas in the rich plains of Mid -Lothian, and the Manse of Kilfleurs in the West Highlands, the -respective residences of her brothers, Robert and Andrew, were under an -interregnum. Mrs. Edie nee Lumsden, in her Fife Manse, had no -expectation of a new baby; Mrs. Gilmour the Edinburgh physician's wife, -had no sickness among her seven children; Mrs. Morton, the great -invalid, whose husband held an office in the Register House was much -better than could be expected; so the universally useful sister Martha -had time to bestow her care and attention upon the domestic comfort of -her brother John. - -The boot suddenly relaxed as Miss Lumsden entered, and the shock brought -out her brother's muttering in a louder tone than he intended: "A pretty -fellow!" - -"Who is that?" asked his sister. - -Mr. Lumsden looked up, flushed with exertion. "This lord at Strathoran. -Take his note--a seemly thing indeed to write so to me; Marjory Falconer -is right after all--the man thinks himself a Highland chieftain." - -Miss Lumsden read the note, wonderingly. - -"Sir. - - "My people inform me that you are in the habit of visiting my - tenants at Oranmore, and inciting them to a course of action quite - subversive of my plans. I am informed that the glen is in the - parish of Strathoran, and consequently under the charge of another - clergyman--the Rev. Mr. Bairnsfather--whose own good sense and - proper feeling have withheld him from any interference between - myself and my dependants. I am not inclined to submit to any - clerical meddling, and therefore beg to remind you, that as - Oranmore is not under your charge, any interference on your part is - perfectly uncalled for and officious. I do not choose to have any - conventicles in the glen, and trust that you will at once refrain - from visits, which may injure the people but can do them no good. - -"I am, &c. -"GILLRAVIDGE." - - - -"Did ever any mortal hear such impertinence?" exclaimed the amazed Miss -Lumsden. - -"_His_ people!" said the minister: "they have been his a long time to be -so summarily dealt with as goods and chattels. The man must have got his -ideas of Scotland from 'Waverley,' and thinks he is a Glennaquoich and -at the head of a clan--what absurd folly it is!" - -"And just, 'Sir!'" said Miss Lumsden, indignantly; "he might have had -the good breeding to call you 'Reverend' at least." - -Mr. Lumsden laughed. He rose and changed the long black garment, once a -great-coat, now his study-coat and morning-undress, for habiliments -better suiting the long ride he was about to commence, twisted his plaid -round his neck, and shut his quarto. - -"What do you intend to do, John?" asked Miss Lumsden. "Are you going -out?" - -"I intend to do just what I should have done, had I not received this -polite note," said Mr. Lumsden. "I am going to Oranmore, Martha. This -lordling threatens to eject these hapless Macalpines, and poor Kenneth, -the widow's son, is on the very verge of the grave. I must see him -to-day. If they attempt to remove him, it will kill the lad." - -"Remove them, John? what are you thinking of?" said Miss Lumsden: "it is -nearly three months yet to the term." - -The minister shook his head. - -"They were warned to quit at Martinmas, Martha. This man, Lord -Gillravidge, has his eyes open to his own advantage. He has been -advised, I hear, to make one great sheep-farm of these exposed -hill-lands. The poor little clachan of Oranmore could not believe that -those fearful notices were anything but threats to secure the payment of -their rent; but now they promise to turn very sad earnest. I do not know -what to do." - -"Eject them?" said Miss Lumsden, "bring one of those terrible Irish -scenes to our very door--in our peaceable country? John, it's not -possible!" - -Mr. Lumsden looked still more serious. - -"I fear it is nearly certain, Martha. I met Big Duncan Macalpine on the -road last night. He says Lord Gillravidge's agent and that fellow with -the moustache, have been in the glen several times of late; and the -ejectment must be accomplished before their seed is sown. At least if -they are permitted to remain till after seed-time, the man will not -surely have the heart to remove them then. I do not know--it is a very -sad business altogether; but we must try to do something better for them -than sending them, friendless and penniless, to Canada. We get a trial -of all businesses, we ministers, Martha--this is a new piece of work for -me." - -The minister's man stood at the door, holding the minister's stout, -gray pony. Mr. Lumsden left the room. "And a great comfort it is, John -my man," soliloquized his sister, "that your Master has made you able -for them all." - -Oranmore was not in Mr. Lumsden's parish. Mr. Lumsden was, what in those -days was called a "Highflyer," that is, a purely and earnestly -evangelical minister--a man who dedicated his whole energies, not to any -abstraction of merely beautiful morality--not to amiable respectability, -nor temporal beneficence; but in the fullest sense of these solemn -words, to the cause and service of Christ. In consequence, Mr. Lumsden -was assailed with all the names peculiarly assigned to his class by -common consent of the world: sour Presbyterian, gloomy Calvinist, -narrow-minded bigot, illiberal Pharisee. The minister of Portoran, like -his brethren in all ages, escaped thus the woe denounced by his Master -against those of whom all men speak well. - -He was a thorough Presbyterian, a sound Calvinist. Men who know, and may -rationally judge of these two stately systems of discipline and -doctrine, can decide best whether the frank and open pleasantness of Mr. -Lumsden's face belied his faith or no. He was a man of one idea--we -confess to that; but the mightiness that filled his mind was great -enough to overbrim a universe. It was the Gospel--the Gospel in its -infinite breadth of lovingness--the Gospel no less in its restrictions -and penalties. His hand did not willingly extend itself in fellowship to -any man who dishonored the name of his Divine leader and King. His soul -was not sufficiently indifferent to prophesy final blessedness to those -who contemned and set at nought the everlasting love of God--so far he -was narrow-minded and illiberal, a bigot and a Pharisee. - -But it happened that Mr. Lumsden's co-presbyters on every side were men -called, in the emphatic ecclesiastical phraseology of Scotland, -"Moderates;" men who wrote sermons and preached them because it was a -necessity of their office, not because they had a definite message to -deliver from a Lord and Master known and beloved; men who tolerated -profanity, and hushed uncomfortable fears, and were themselves so very -moderately religious, as to give no manner of offence to that most -narrow-minded and illiberal of all bigots, the irreligious world. We -mention this, in explanation of a foible of Mr. Lumsden's, particularly -alluded to in the letter of Lord Gillravidge, and the cause of much -skirmishing in the Presbytery of Strathoran. Mr. Lumsden had an especial -knack of preaching in other people's parishes. - -Not to the neglect of his own--of all kinds of dishonor or ill-fame, Mr. -Lumsden held none so grievous as the neglecting or slight performance of -any part of that honorable and lofty work of his. Dearly as he loved -extraneous labor, the minutest of his own especial parochial duties were -looked to first. But all his round of toil gone through; his sermons -prepared; his examinations held; himself, heart and mind, at the -constant service of his people, Mr. Lumsden thought it no longer -necessary to confine his marvellous appetite for work within the limits -of Portoran.--There was a heathenish village yonder, growing up in all -the rude brutality of rural vice, untaught and uncared for. What matter -that the privilege of instructing it belonged to the Reverend Michael -Drowsihed? The Reverend Michael awoke out of his afternoon sleep one day -in wrath and consternation. Mr. Lumsden, of Portoran, had established a -fortnightly sermon, and threatened to set down a daily school, in his -own neglected village. What matter, that the half-Gaelic colony of -Oranmore, belonged of right to Mr. Bairnsfather? The warm heart of the -Minister of Portoran was laboring in the cause of the Macalpines, while -Mr. Bairnsfather was "sheughing kail and laying leeks," in his own Manse -garden. - -In consequence of which propensity, Mr. Lumsden made a mighty commotion -in that ecclesiastical district. Gratefully to his ears, as he wended -homeward, came the voice of psalms from peasant-households, whom his -faithful service had brought back to the devout and godly habits of -their forefathers. Pleasantly before him stood, in rustic bashfulness, -the ruddy village children, for whom his care and labors had procured an -education of comparative purity; but by no means either grateful or -pleasant were those endless battles convulsing his presbytery, shaking -study chairs in drowsy Manses, and sweeping in a perfect whirlwind of -complaint and reprimand through the Presbytery House of Portoran. - -Mr. Lumsden had his failings--we do not deny it. He had no especial -shrinking from a skirmish in the Presbytery. He walked to the bar of -that reverend court with so very little awe, that the Moderator was -well-nigh shocked out of his propriety. He had even been heard -irreverently to suggest to the newly-placed Minister of Middlebury, a -young brother, who seemed rather inclined to abet him in his rebelion, -that it would be better for him to take his place permanently at the -bar, than to be called to it at every meeting. He had been reprimanded -by the Presbytery, till the Presbytery were tired of reprimanding. Mr. -Bairnsfather had carried the case to the Synod, by appeal. The Synod had -denounced his irregularities in its voice of thunder. Mr. Lumsden only -smiled his peculiar smile of gleeful simplicity, and went on with his -labor. - -He was going now to Oranmore. The glen of Oranmore lay among the lower -heights of the Grampians, a solitary, secluded valley. A small colony of -Highlanders, attached to the Strathoran branch of the house of -Sutherland, in feudal times, and bearing the ancient name of Macalpine, -had settled there, nearly a century before. The patriarchs of the little -community still spoke their original Gaelic; but the younger -generations, parents and children, approached much more closely to their -Lowland neighbors, whose idiom they had adopted. The glen was entirely -in their hands, and its fields, reclaimed by their pains-taking -husbandry, produced their entire subsistence. Some flocks of sheep -grazed on the hillside. There was good pasture land for their cattle, -and the various patches of oats and barley, turnips and potatoes, were -enough to keep these sturdy cottar families in independent poverty. -Whether in other circumstances they might have displayed the inherent -indolence which belongs, as men say, to that much belied Celtic race, we -cannot tell. But having only ordinary obstacles to strive against--an -indulgent landlord, and a kindly factor--the Macalpines had maintained -themselves as sturdily as any Saxon tribe of their numbers could -possibly have done; and had, what Saxon hamlets in the richer South are -not wont to have, a couple of lads from their little clachan at -college--one preparing himself for the work of the ministry, and another -aspiring to the dignity of an M. D. - -In summer time, these peaceful cot-houses, lying on either side of the -infant Oran, within the shadow of the hills, with the fair low country -visible from the end of the glen, and the stern Grampians rising to the -sky above, were very fair to look upon; and the miniature clan at its -husbandry, working in humble brotherhood--the link of kindred that -joined its dozen families, all inheriting one name and one blood--the -purer atmosphere of morality and faith among them--made the small -commonwealth of Oranmore a pleasant thing for the mind to rest upon, no -less than for the eye. - -Mr. Ferguson had never dealt hardly with these honest Macalpines, in -regard to the rent of their small holdings. He knew they would pay it -when they could, and, in just confidence, he gave them latitude. -Unhappily for the Macalpines, one whole half-year's rent remained -unpaid, when the new landlord took the management out of Mr. Ferguson's -kindly hands. The year was a backward year: their crops had been -indifferent, and the Macalpines were not ready with their rent at -Martinmas. - -The consequence was, that these fearful notices to quit were served upon -them. Big Duncan Macalpine, a man of very decided character and deep -piety--one of that class, who, further north, are called "the -men,"--perceived the alien Laird's intention of removing them at once. -The remainder of the humble people, looked upon the notices only as -threats, and set to with all industry to make up the rents, and prevent -the dread alternative of leaving their homes. They had come there in the -time of Laird Fergus, the great-grandfather of Archibald Sutherland. -Their ninety-nine year's lease had expired in the previous year, and had -not (for it was Archibald's dark hour) been renewed, so that now they -were the merest tenants at will. Mr. Foreman warned Big Duncan that they -might be ejected at any time. - -The small community became alarmed. The big wheel was busy in every -cottage. Sheep and poultry were being sold; every family was ready to -make sacrifices for the one great object of keeping their lands and -homes. The sharp, keen, unscrupulous writer whom Lord Gillravidge had -employed in Edinburgh, where his over-acuteness had lost him caste and -character, had been seen in the glen for three successive days. The -Macalpines were smitten with dread. Rumors floated up into their hilly -solitude of a great sheep-farmer from the south, who was in treaty for -these hill-lands of Strathoran. A shadow fell upon the humble -households. The calamity that approached began to shape itself before -them. To leave their homes--the glen to which they clung with all the -characteristic tenacity of their race--the country for which the -imaginative Celtic spirit burned with deep and patriotic love--the -national faith, still dearer, and more precious--for a cold, unknown, -and strange land, far from their northern birth-place, and their -preached Gospel! - -Mr. Lumsden's strong, gray pony was used to all manner of rough roads, -and so could climb along the craggy way that led to Oranmore. The -minister rode briskly into the glen. His keen and anxious look became -suddenly changed as he entered it into one of grief and indignation. He -quickened his pace, leaped from the saddle, fastened his pony to a -withered thorn, and hastened forward. - -The crisis had come. Mr. Whittret the lawyer, and Mr. Fitzherbert, stood -in the middle of a knot of Macalpines; a party of sheriff's-officers -hung in the rear, and the youthful Giles Sympelton stood apart, looking -on. The high head of Duncan Macalpine towered over the rest. In his -moral chieftainship he was the spokesman of his neighbors. He was -speaking when Mr. Lumsden approached. - -"Your rent is ready, Sir--the maist of us are ready with your rent; but -oh! if there is a heart of flesh within ye, spare us our hames! -Gentlemen, we have a' been born here. Yon auld man," and Duncan pointed -to the venerable white head of a trembling old man, wrapped in a plaid, -who leaned against the lintel of the nearest cottage--"and he's past a -century--is the only ane amang us that was a living soul at the -flitting. For pity's sake, Sir, think o't! Gie us time to make up the -siller. We'll pay the next half-year in advance, if better mayna be; but -do not bid us leave the glen." - -"That's all very well," said Fitzherbert, "very pretty. A set of Scotch -cheats, who only want to deceive Lord Gillravidge." - -"I want to deceive no man," said the humble chief of Oranmore, -indignantly. "I wouldna set my face to a lee for a' his revenues. I am a -head of a family, and a decent man, in God's providence, Sir; and I gie -ye my word, that if ye'll just give us time, we'll make up the next -half-year's rent in advance. His Lordship is a stranger, and maybe, -doesna ken whether he can trust us or no. Mr. Ferguson will bear us -witness, Sir--the Laird himsel will bear us witness. Mr. Lumsden--Guid -be thankit he is here himsel!--the minister will bear us witness!" - -Mr. Lumsden entered the circle, hailed by various salutations. -"Blessings on him! He never fails when he's needed." "He'll bear witness -to us that we're honest folk." And one indignant outcry from Duncan's -sister: "Ye'll believe the minister!" - -"What is the matter, Duncan?" said Mr. Lumsden. - -"The gentlemen have come for our rent, Sir; we're ahin' hand. I make nae -wonder that folk new to the countryside mayna trust us; but oh! if they -would but pit us on trial. I promise, in the name of all in the -glen--ye're a' hearing me?--that, though it should take our haill -substance, we'll pay the siller just and faithfully, as we have aye -dune, if we only can bide upon our ain land." - -"You own land!" echoed Fitzherbert. "Fellow! the land is Lord -Gillravidge's." - -Big Duncan Macalpine's honest face flushed deeply. - -"I am nae fellow, Sir; and the land belangs to us by an aulder tenure -than can give it to ony foreign lord. We are clansmen of the Laird's. -Langsyne our chief sold our land further north--instead of it we got -this glen. I say, Sir, that the land is ours.--We were born and bred in -it; our fathers fought for it langsyne. We hold it on an auld -tenure--aulder than ony lordship in thae pairts. Our forebears were -content to follow their chief when he threw his ain hills into the hands -of strangers. We got this instead of our auld inheritance. I say, Sir, -that the land is ours--that no man has a right to take it from us. Mr. -Whittret, ye're a lawyer--am I no speaking true?" - -"Bah! You're a cheat!" exclaimed Fitzherbert. - -Big Duncan's muscular arm shook nervously. He restrained himself with an -effort. Not so his vehement sister Jean. - -"Wha daurs say sic a name to Duncan Macalpine? Wha daurs disbelieve his -word, standing in Oranmore? A feckless, ill-favored fuil, wi' as muckle -hair about the filthy face o' him as wad hang him up in a tree, as the -prodigal Absalom hung langsyne.--A cheat! If Big Duncan Macalpine wasna -caring mair for his folk and name than for himsel, ye wad hae been -spinning through the air afore now, in your road to the low country, ye -ill-tongued loon!" - -"Whisht, Jean!--whisht!" said her brother. "What needs we heed ill word? -We're langer kent it in Oranside than the gentleman." - -Duncan drew himself up in proud dignity. The puny "gentleman"--a thing -of yesterday--was insignificant in the presence of the cottar of -Oranmore--a true heritor of the soil. - -"You do not mean, gentleman," said Mr. Lumsden,--"I trust you do not -mean to take any extreme proceedings. I rejoice to be able to give my -testimony to the sterling honor and integrity of Duncan Macalpine and -his kinsmen of Oranmore. Lord Gillravidge cannot have better, or more -honorable tenants. I entreat--I beg that time may be given them to make -a representation of their case to his Lordship. He is new to the -country, and may not know that these men are not ordinary tenants--that -they have, as they truly say, a right to the soil. Mr. Whittret, you -cannot refuse them your influence with Lord Gillravidge--you know their -peculiar claim?" - -"They might have a claim upon Mr. Sutherland," said the agent, gloomily. -"They can have none upon Lord Gillravidge." - -"Lord Gillravidge is bound to preserve ancient rights," exclaimed Mr. -Lumsden. "It is not possible he can know the circumstances. These men -are not ordinary cottars, Mr. Whittret--you understand their position. -For pity's sake do not drive them to extremity!" - -"It cannot be helped," said Mr. Whittret, bending his dark brows, and -shunning the clear eye of the minister: "I must adhere to my -instructions, Sir. These hill-lands are already let to a stock-farmer. I -must proceed." - -"There can be no need for haste, at least," said Mr. Lumsden. "The new -tenant cannot enter till Whit-Sunday. Let the Macalpines stay--let them -remain until the term." - -Mr. Whittret lifted his eyes in furtive malice, with a glance of that -suspicious cunning which perpetually fancies it is finding others out. - -"And have Lord Gillravidge called a tyrant and oppressor for removing -the people after their seed is sown? You are very good, Mr. Lumsden--we -know how clerical gentlemen can speak. We shall take our own plan. -Simpson, begin your work." - -A detached cottage, the furthest out of the group, stood close upon the -Oran--the narrow streamlet, a mere mountain burn so near its source, was -spanned there by white stepping-stones. A woman in a widow's cap stood -at the cottage-door, looking out with a silent want of wonder, which -told plainly enough that some mightier interest prevented her from -sharing in the excitement of her neighbors. The men approached the -house, and after summoning her to leave it instantly, a summons which -the poor woman heard in vacant astonishment, immediately prepared to -unroof her humble habitation. The crowd of Macalpines had been looking -on in breathless silence. Now there was a wild shriek of excitement and -fury--men and women precipitated themselves at once upon the minions of -that ruthless law which was not justice.--The ladder was thrown down; -the hapless officer who had been the first to mount it, struggled in the -hands of two strong young men; and Jean Macalpine, a tall athletic -woman, stood before the terrified widow in the doorway, another officer -prostrate at her feet. Mr. Fitzherbert and Whittret rushed -forward--their satellites formed themselves together for resistance--the -Macalpines furiously surrounded the cottage--there promised to be a -general melee. But loud above the noise and tumult sounded the united -voices of Big Duncan, and his minister. - -"Jean Macalpine," shouted the chief of Oranmore, "come out from among -this senseless fray. Dugald Macalpine, quit the man: why will ye pollute -your hands striving with him? Donald Roy, let go your hold. Gentlemen, -gentlemen, haud your hands, and hear me." - -There was a momentary truce. - -"Beware!" said Mr. Lumsden. "Within that house lies an invalid--if you -expose that sinking lad, you will have a death to answer for. I tell -you, beware!" - -"Gentlemen," said Big Duncan Macalpine, "yon house is mine. I protest, -in the name of my people, that ye are doing an unrighteous and unlawful -thing. I beg ye, as ye are Christian men, that ken what hames are, to -let us bide in our ain glen and country.--In honor, and honesty, and -leal service we will pay ye for your mercy; but if ye are determined to -carry on this work, unrighteous as it is in the sight of God and man, -begin yonder--take my house. I was born in it--I thocht to die in -it--begin with my house; but if ye would escape a curse and desolation, -leave the hame of the widow." - -There was a pause--the invading party were in a dilemma.--The very -officials were moved by the manly disinterestedness of Big Duncan -Macalpine. He himself strode to the side of the lads who had pulled the -man from the ladder, and freed him from their grasp: then he gathered -the Macalpines together, spoke a word of comfort to the widow, and -placing himself by the door of her cottage, looked calmly towards his -own house and waited. - -Mr. Whittret stood undecided. Fitzherbert was furious. He had already -issued his orders to the men to proceed, when his arm was grasped from -behind. He turned round--the Honorable Giles Sympelton was at his elbow, -his simple youthful face quivering with emotion. - -"Fitz, Fitz," cried the lad, "stop this--I cannot bear it. I wll' not -see it; if you destroy that noble fellow's house I will never enter -Gillravidge's again. Take care what you do--they are better men than -we." - -Mr. Whittret looked up. Mr. Lumsden had his note-book in his hand, and -was writing. The mean soul of the agent writhed within him. That Mr. -Lumsden was writing an exposure of his conduct he never doubted; he -would be covered with infamy and shame; at least it should not be -without cause. "Simpson," he cried, "take the fellow at his -word--proceed with your work." - -Vain evil-thinking of the evil-doer! Mr. Lumsden, in fear of the -compulsory removal of the invalid, was writing to his sister to send up -a chase immediately from Portoran, and in a moment after, had despatched -the most ungovernable of the lads to carry his note to the Manse. - -Duncan Macalpine stood looking calmly at his cottage. His sister Jean, -following his heroic example, had hurried into it, and now returned, -leading a feeble woman of seventy--their mother. Duncan's wife stood -beside her husband; two of his little boys lingered in childish wonder -by the cottage door. The men began their odious work--the straw bands -were cut, the heather thatch thrown in pieces on the ground. The -children looked on at first in half-amused astonishment. They saw their -home laid open to the sky with all its homely accommodations--their own -little bed, their grandmother's chair by the fire, the basket of -oatcakes on the table from which their "eleven-hours piece" had been -supplied. The eldest of them suddenly rushed forward in childish rage -and vehemence, and springing upon the ladder, dealt a fruitless blow at -one of the devastators. He was thrown off--a piece of the thatch struck -upon his head--the child uttered a sharp cry and fell. His mother flew -out from among the crowd. The Macalpines were shaken as with a wind, and -with various cries of rage and grief were pressing forward again. Again -Big Duncan stayed them. "Fuils that ye are, would ye lose your guid fame -with your hames? would ye throw everything away? Be still I tell you. -Can I no guard my ain bairn mysel?" - -The wave fell back: muttering in painful anger, the Macalpines obeyed -the king-man among them, and restrained themselves. Big Duncan in his -stern patience went forward. Before him, however, was a slight boyish -figure, with uncovered head and long fair hair--the child was lifted in -the youth's arms, "I will carry him--good woman, come with me--come away -from this place. It is not right you should see it--come away." - -"I thank ye, young gentleman," said Big Duncan: "it becomes a young -heart to shrink from the like of this, but we maun stay. Neither my wife -nor me can leave the glen till we leave it with our haill people." - -Giles Sympelton hurried on to the widow's cottage with the boy. The -child was not much hurt--he was only stunned; and attended by his mother -and aunt, he was taken into the house. Sympelton placed himself in front -of the Macalpines by Mr. Lumsden's side. - -The destruction went on--you could trace its progress by the agonized -looks of these watching people. Now a sharp, sudden cry from some -distressed mother, that bore witness the destroyers were throwing down -the roof under which her little ones had been born. Now a long, low -groan told the father's agony. The young men were shutting out the sight -with their hands--they could not school themselves to patience; the -little children, clinging about their feet, kept up a plaintive cry of -shrill dismay and wonder, the chorus of that heart-breaking scene. House -after house, un-windowed, roofless, and doorless, stood in mute -desolation behind the hirelings of the unjust law, as their work went -on. At last it was completed, and they approached the widow's cottage -again. There was an instant forgetfulness of individual suffering. -Closely, side by side, the Macalpines surrounded the house of the widow. -These strong men were dangerous opponents--even these excited women -might be formidable to meet at such a time. The officers held back. - -"I implore--I beseech!" cried Mr. Lumsden, "spare this house! Leave the -sick youth within to die in peace. Leave us this one asylum for the aged -and the feeble. If ye are men, spare the widow--spare the boy!" - -"Fitz!" cried Giles Sympelton, in a tone of indignant appeal. - -Mr. Whittret was enraged and furious. - -"Lose no time, Simpson!" he cried. "It is three o'clock already. Make -haste and finish!" - -Big Duncan Macalpine stood undecided. - -"It's a life!" he muttered. "It's lawful to defend a life, at any risk -or hazard! Sir--Mr. Lumsden--what will we do?" - -Mr. Lumsden made another appeal. It was useless. More peremptorily still -the agent ordered the men to proceed. - -"Duncan," said Mr. Lumsden, "for the sake of the Gospel you profess, and -for your own sake, let there be no resistance! Lift the boy out--protect -him as you best can; we must leave the issue in God's hands. Brethren, -give way to the officers. You can only bring further evil on yourselves. -You cannot deliver the widow. Sirs, stand back till we are ready--we -will give you space for your work then. The consequences be upon your -own heads!" - -The minister entered the cottage, and passed through among the -patriarchs of the sorrowful community, who were sheltering from the -chill March wind, under the only remaining roof in the glen. In a moment -after he reappeared, bearing the sick lad, a helpless burden, in his -strong arms. A cry rose from the women--the men clenched their fingers, -and gnashed their teeth. The sharp, pale face raised itself above Mr. -Lumsden's arm--the feeble invalid was strong with excitement. - -"Be quiet, oh! be quiet--dinna do ill for my sake!" - -"And now," cried Big Duncan, "I bid ye to my house--all of ye that are -Macalpines. Leave the birds of prey to their work--come with me!" - -The people obeyed. They formed themselves into a solemn procession: the -tremulous old man, whose years outnumbered a century, leaning upon two -stalwart grandsons; the aged woman, Duncan Macalpine's mother, supported -on her son's arm; strong men restraining by force which shook their -vigorous frames the natural impulse to resistance; mothers, with -compressed lips, shutting in the agony of their hearts--the train of -weeping, bewildered children! The March wind swept keen and biting over -them as they passed by their own desolate houses in stern silence, and -assembled again, further up the glen. The work was accomplished. The -last cottage in Oranmore was dismantled and roofless. The Macalpines -were without a home! - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - - -Giles Sympelton ran from the glen. The lad was light of foot, and -inspired with a worthy errand. Headlong, over burn, and ditch, and -hedgerow he plunged on--past the long woods of Strathoran--past the gate -where stood some of Lord Gillravidge's household, sheer on to the Tower. -The door was open--he darted in--rushed up stairs--and in headlong haste -plunged into Mrs. Catherine's inner drawing-room. Mrs. Catherine herself -was seated there alone. She looked up in wonder, as, with flushed face -and disordered hair, and breathless from his precipitate speed, the lad -suddenly presented himself before her. - -"I want your carriage--I want you to send your carriage with me--for a -dying lad--a sick boy who has no shelter. Give me your carriage!" - -"Young man," said Mrs. Catherine, "what do you mean?" She rose and -approached him. "You are the lad that was in temptation at Strathoran. -Have you seen the evil of your ways?" - -"Your carriage--I want your carriage!" gasped poor Giles Sympelton. -"Order it first, and I will tell you afterwards." - -Mrs. Catherine did not hesitate. She rang the bell, and ordered the -carriage immediately. - -"Immediately--immediately!" cried the lad. "The cold may kill him." - -"Sit down," said Mrs. Catherine, "till it is ready; and tell me what has -moved you so greatly." - -The youth wiped his hot forehead, and recovered his breath. - -"The cottagers up the glen--their name is Macalpine--Lord Gillravidge -has evicted them. There is not a house standing--they are all unroofed. -The people have no shelter. And the lad--the dying lad?" - -Mrs. Catherine rose. Amazement, grief, and burning anger contended in -her face. - -"What say you? The alien has dared to cast out the Macalpines of -Oranmore from their own land! I cannot believe it--it is not possible!" - -"The lad is dying!" cried young Sympelton, too much absorbed with what -he had seen to heed Mrs. Catherine's exclamation. "They are covering him -with cloaks and plaids--they say the cold will kill him. It is a -terrible sight!--old men, and women, and little children, and the dying -lad! Not a roof in the whole glen to shelter them!" - -Mrs. Catherine left the room, and went down stairs. An energetic word -sent double speed into Andrew's movements as he prepared the carriage. -Mrs. Euphan Morison was ordered to put wine into it; blankets and cloaks -were added, and Mrs. Catherine, with her own hands, thrust Giles into -the carriage. - -"Bring the lad here, to the Tower: come back to me yourself. Bring the -aged and feeble with you, as many as can come. Mind that you return to -me your own self. And now, sir, away!" - -The carriage dashed out of the court, and at a pace to which Mrs. -Catherine's horses were not accustomed, took the way to Oranmore. - -Fitzherbert and Whittret had left the glen, with their band of -attendants. The Macalpines were alone; the shadows of the March evening -began to gather darkly upon the hills. In Big Duncan's roofless cottage, -on a bed, hastily constructed before the fire, and shielded with a rude -canopy of plaids, lay the sick lad, shivering and moaning, as the gust -of wind which swept through the vacant window-frame, and burst in wild -freedom overhead, shook the frail shelter over him, and tossed the -coverings off his emaciated limbs. Mr. Lumsden stood beside him. In the -first shock of that great misfortune, the minister endeavored to speak -hopeful, cheering words--of earthly comfort yet to come--of heavenly -strength and consolation, which no oppressing hand could bereave them -of.--Homeless and destitute, in the stern silence of their restrained -emotions, the Macalpines heard him; some vainly, the burning sense of -personal wrong momentarily eclipsing even their religion; some with a -noble patience which, had they been Romans of an older day, would have -gained them the applauses of a world. These brief and lofty words of his -were concluded with a prayer. The March evening was darkening, the wind -sweeping chill and fierce above them. The tremulous old man leaned on -the sick lad's bed; the grandmother crouched by the fire upon her -grandchild's stool. Big Duncan Macalpine stood on his own threshold; -without, close to the vacant window, stood the neighbors who could not -find admission into the interior, and from the midst of them the voice -of supplication ascended up to heaven, "For strength, for patience, for -forgiveness to their enemy." - -A consultation followed. Mr. Lumsden was looking out eagerly for the -chaise from Portoran. It could not arrive in less than an hour, Big -Duncan said; and the minister with his own hands, endeavored to fix up -more securely a shelter for the suffering lad. - -"What are we to do?" exclaimed one of the Macalpines.--"Neighbors, what -is to become of us?--where are we to gang?" - -A loud scream from a young mother interrupted him; her infant was seized -with the fearful cough and convulsive strugglings of croup. The poor -young woman pressed it to her breast, and rushed to her own desolate -cottage. Alas! what shelter was there? The roof lay in broken pieces on -the ground; window and door were carried away; the fire had sunk into -embers. She threw herself down before it, and tried to chafe the little -limbs into warmth. Other mothers followed her. All the means known to -their experience were adopted in vain. The terrible hoarse cough -continued--the infant's face was already black. - -"What are we to do?" exclaimed the same voice again. "Are we to see our -bairns die before our eyes? Duncan, we let them destroy our houses at -your word! What are we to do?" - -"If ye had dune onything else," said Big Duncan Macalpine, "we would -have had the roof of a jail ower our heads before this time--and it's my -hope there is nae faint heart among us, that would have left the wives -and the bairns to fend for themsels.--Neighbors, I know not what to do; -if we could but get ower this night, some better hope might turn up for -us." - -His sister brushed past them as he spoke, carrying hot water to bathe -the suffering infant--not hot enough, alas! to do it any good. The other -women were heaping peats upon a fire, to make ready more; the old people -within Duncan's house crouched and shivered by the narrow hearth; the -little children clinging to the skirts of their parents, were sobbing -with the cold. - -"Get ower the night?" said Roderick Macalpine, "we might get along -oursels on the hillside; but what's to come of them?" and he waved his -hand towards the helpless circle by the fire--the aged, the dying, the -children. - -"Sirs," said the old man coming forward, fancying as it seemed that they -appealed to him, "let us go to the kirkyard. You can pit up shelters -there--no man can cast ye out of the place where your forebears are -sleeping. If they take all the land beside, ye have yet a right to -that." - -The listeners shrank and trembled--the old man with his palsied head, -and withered face, and wandering light blue eyes, proposing to them so -ghastly a refuge. The Macalpines were not driven so utterly to -extremity. It remained for these more enlightened days to send Highland -cottars, in dire need, to seek a miserable shelter above the dust of -their fathers. - -The consultation was stayed--no one dared answer the old man--when -suddenly Giles Sympelton was seen running in haste up the glen. He had -brought the carriage as high as it could come, and now flew forward -himself to get the invalid transferred to it. Big Duncan lifted the sick -lad in his arms, and carried him away, while Giles lingered to deliver -Mrs. Catherine's orders. - -"Let me take the old people with me," he said, eagerly, to Mr. Lumsden. -"The carriage is large--the old lady said I was to bring as many as -could come. It is Mrs. Catherine Douglas, of the Tower--do not let us -lose time, Sir: get the oldest people down to the carriage." - -The Macalpines did not cheer--they were too grave for that; but the -lad's hand was grasped in various honest rough ones, and "blessings on -him!" were murmured from many tongues. Three of the most feeble could be -accommodated in the carriage--at least, could be crowded beneath its -roof, while the sick youth was placed on the cushions, and his mother -sat at his feet. - -"Is there anything more I can do?" said Giles, looking in grief and pity -upon the agonized face of the young mother, sitting within the -dismantled cottage waiting while her neighbors prepared another hot-bath -for her child. - -"Nothing," said Mr. Lumsden. "I thank you heartily, young gentleman, for -what you have already done. You may have saved that poor lad's life by -your promptitude. Tell Mrs. Catherine that every arrangement that can -possibly be made for the comfort of the Macalpines, I will attend to. -Good night--I thank you most sincerely. You will never repent this day's -work, I am sure." - -Giles lingered still. - -"How is the child? will it die?" he asked anxiously of one of the women. - -"Bless the innocent, the water's hot this time," was the answer; "it's -no moaning sae muckle. Eh, the Lord forbid it should die!" - -Giles turned and ran down the glen, saw his charge safely deposited in -the carriage, and, mounting beside the coachman, drove more leisurely to -the Tower. - -Before they had been very long away, the chaise arrived from Portoran. -The infant's sufferings were abated; it had sunk into a troubled, -exhausted sleep. Mr. Lumsden filled the chaise immediately with the -feebler members of the houseless community. It was arranged that the -rest should walk to Portoran--it was twelve miles--a weary length of -way, where the minister pledged himself they should find accommodations. -Big Duncan and Roderick Macalpine voluntarily remained in the glen, to -protect the household goods of their banished people. - -The chaise had driven off--the pedestrians were already on the high -road. Duncan and Roderick, wrapped in their plaids, had seated -themselves by the peat-fire in Duncan's roofless dwelling.--The stern -composure upon the faces of these two men, lighted by the red glow of -the fire, as they sat there in the rapidly darkening twilight, told a -tale of the intense excitement of that day, and now of the knawing -sorrow, the weight of anxiety that possessed them. Mr. Lumsden stood at -the door, his pony's bridle in his hand. - -"Mind what I have said," he cried, as he left them. "Keep up your hearts -and do not despair. You will not need to leave the country--you will -find friends--only keep up your hearts and be strong. God will not -forsake you." - -They returned his good-night with deep emotion. This peaceful glen, that -yesternight had slept beneath the moonbeams in the placid sleep of -righteous and honorable labor--strange policy that could prefer some -paltry gain to the continuance of the healthful homejoy of these true -children, and heirs of the soil! - -The two Macalpines sat together in silence, their eyes fixed on the red -glow of the fire before them. By-and-by Roderick's gaze wandered--first -to the numberless little domestic tokens round, which spoke so pitiful a -language--the basket of cakes was still on the table, the "big wheel" at -which Jean Macalpine had been spinning so busily on the previous night, -stood thrust aside in the corner. His eyes stray further--through the -vacant window-frame he saw, upon the other side of the Oran, his own -roofless house; he saw the cradle from which his child had been -hurriedly snatched, lying broken within; he saw the household seat in -which, only some five winters since, he had placed bonnie Jeanie -Macalpine, a bride then, the mother of three children now. His hearth -was black--his house desolate--Jeanie and her heart failed him: "Oh, -man! Duncan!" exclaimed poor Roderick, as he hid his face in his hands -in an agony of grief. - -Big Duncan Macalpine's dark eyes were dilated with the stern and -passionate force of his strong resolution; his clear, brave, honest face -was turned steadfastly towards the fire. - -"Roderick," he said, emphatically, "I daurna trust mysel to look about -me. Keep your eyes away from the ruined houses--look forward, man. Have -I no my ain share? is my house less desolate than yours?" - -In the meantime, Giles Sympelton had arrived with his charge at the -Tower; and having seen the sick youth placed in a warm room, with kindly -hands about him, and the old people settled comfortably by the great -kitchen fire, was finally solacing himself after the labors of this -strangely exciting day, at Mrs. Catherine's well-appointed dinner-table, -with Mrs. Catherine herself opposite him. She was singularly kind. In -spite of much temptation, and many bad associates, Giles Sympelton had -remained unsophisticated and simple. The fear of ridicule, which might -in other circumstances have induced him to resist the attractions of -this stately old lady, with whom he had been brought so strangely in -contact, was removed from the lad now--he gave way to the fascination. -With natural _naivete_ and simplicity, he told her his whole brief -history; how of late he had written very seldom to his father; how he -had become disgusted with Fitzherbert, and disliked Gillravidge, and was -so very sorry for "poor Sutherland;" how he vowed never to enter Lord -Gillravidge's house again, if "that noble fellow, Macalpine," were -turned out of his; and, finally, how determined was he to keep his -vow--to send for his servant, and his possessions, and to go into -Portoran that very night: he was resolved not to spend another night in -Strathoran. - -"I have houseroom for you," said Mrs. Catherine. "Let your servant bring -your apparel here--I am not straitened for chambers. You have done good -service to the Macalpines, as becomes a young heart. I rejoice to have -you in my house. You should send for your man without delay." - -The youth hesitated--met Mrs. Catherine's eye--blushed--looked down, and -muttered something about troubling her. - -"You will be no trouble to me--I have told you that. What is your name?" - -Sympelton looked up surprised and bashful. - -"Giles Sympelton," he said. - -"Sympelton?" said Mrs. Catherine. "Was the bairn that died in Madeira -thirty years ago, a friend to you?" - -"My father had a sister," said young Sympelton; "he was very fond of -her--who died very long ago, years before I was born." - -Mrs. Catherine was silent, and seemed much moved. - -"Friend!" she said, "I had one brother who was the very light of my -eyes, and there was a gentle blue-eyed bairn, in yon far away island, -who went down with him to the grave. The name of her was Helen. He died -in the morning, and she died at night, and on the same day her brother -and I buried our dead. If you are of her blood, you are doubly welcome!" - -"My aunt's name was Helen," said Giles, "and she was only fifteen when -she died. I have heard my father speak of her often." - -Mrs. Catherine was so long silent after that, that the young man began -to feel constrained and uneasy, and to think that, after all, he had -better try the accommodation of the "Sutherland Arm's" in Portoran. All -the circumstances of Mrs. Catherine's great grief were brought vividly -before her by his name. Helen Sympelton!--how well she remembered the -attenuated child-woman, maturing brilliantly under the deadly heat of -that consumptive hectic, who had accompanied Sholto to the grave. - -She spoke at last with an effort: - -"I have some country neighbors coming to me this night. You may not be -caring for meeting them: therefore do not come up the stair, unless you -like. Andrew will let you see your room, and you will find sundry -pleasant books in my library; and, till your man comes, Andrew will wait -your orders." - -Giles intimated his perfect satisfaction in the prospect of meeting Mrs. -Catherine's country neighbors; and after some further kindly words, and -a beaming sunshiny smile, the old lady left the room. - -Mr. Lumsden also had by this time received, and provided accommodation -for, his share of the ejected Macalpines. The families of Roderick and -Duncan were in his own hospitable Manse. Some of the others had been -received, in their way down, into the farm-house of Whiteford. Duncan -Roy had stopped to pour his story, in indignant Celtic vehemence, into -the ears of Mr. Ferguson, and, with his pretty sister, Flora, had been -taken into Woodsmuir. The others were provided for in various houses in -Portoran--the most of them in genuine neighborly sympathy and -compassion, and some for the hire which Mr. Lumsden offered, when other -motives were wanting. They were all settled, in comparative comfort at -last; all but those two stern watching men, who sat through the gloom of -the wild March night, within the roofless walls of Big Duncan's house, -watching the humble possessions of the Macalpines of Oranmore. - -His manifold labors over, Mr. Lumsden took a hurried dinner, and -proceeded to dress. He had been invited to the Tower, to Mrs. -Catherine's quiet evening gathering of country neighbors. His sister -endeavored to dissuade him, on the ground of his fatigue. Mr. Lumsden -laughed--he always did laugh when fatigue was mentioned. Then it was -absolutely necessary that he should see how poor Kenneth Macalpine had -borne his removal: and then--probably Mr. Lumsden had some additional -inducement, private to himself, which we cannot exactly condescend upon. - -Miss Lumsden excused herself from accompanying him. Her brother had -done his part for the poor Macalpines--it was her turn now. The gray -pony too was not quite so invulnerable as its master. It owned to the -fatigue of the day, in a very decided disinclination to leave its -comfortable stable, so Mr. Lumsden took his seat beside Walter Foreman -in the gig, and proceeded to the Tower. - -It was not unusual for Mrs. Catherine to have these gatherings. They -were very simple affairs. She liked to bring the young people together; -she liked herself, now and then, to have a pleasant domestic chat with -the elders. Everybody liked those quiet and easy parties, to which the -guests came in their ordinary dress, and enjoyed themselves after their -own fashion, without restraint or ceremony; and everybody, who had the -good fortune to be on Mrs. Catherine's list of favorites, had most -pleasant recollections of the ruddy inner drawing-room, at these -especial times. - -Giles Sympelton paid another visit to poor Kenneth Macalpine after -dinner. He found him sleeping pleasantly in the warm, cheerful, light -apartment, his mother watching with tearful joy by his bedside, and Mrs. -Euphan Morison sitting in portly state by the fire. Widow Macalpine -whispered thanks and blessings, and added, that, "he hadna sleeped sae -quiet, since ever they were warned out o' the glen." Giles withdrew with -very pleasant feelings, and walking up to the room prepared for him, -where his servant already waited, proceeded to dress. - -This important operation was performed very carefully, some dreamy idea -of "astonishing the natives" floating through his boyish brain the -while. Giles, simple lad as he was, was yet a gentleman--he had no -flashy finery about him--his dress was perfectly plain and simple. He -was satisfied, however, and felt he would make an impression. - -Ada Mina Coulter's pretty, girlish face was the first he noticed on -entering the room. He did make an impression. Ada knew very pleasantly, -as she drooped her brown curls before the glance of the stranger, that -the blue eyes from whence that glance came, belonged to a lord's son--an -Honorable Giles. - -Mrs. Catherine introduced him, with kindly mention of his day's labor, -to her elder friends--to Lewis Ross and Anne--and then committing him to -their charge, returned to her conversation with the fathers and mothers. -Giles by no means made the impression he expected on that party--he had -a feeling of old friendship for Anne--a slight idea of rivalry in -respect to Lewis--but consoled himself pleasantly half an hour after, by -Ada Coulter's side, putting her into a very agreeable state of flutter -and tremulousness. Ada was younger than Alice Aytoun--was but a little -way past her sixteenth birth-day indeed, and was not yet accustomed to -the homage of young gentlemen--and an Honorable Giles! - -There was great indignation concerning the ejection of the Macalpines, -and as soon as it was known that Giles had been present, a little crowd -gathered round him. He told the story with great feeling; described Big -Duncan Macalpine's conduct with enthusiasm; touched slightly on his own -fears for poor Kenneth; and laughed when he told them of his race. Mrs. -Catherine drew near at that point of the story, and extending her hand -over Ada's curles, patted him kindly on the head. The Honorable Giles -felt rather indignant--it was making a child of him. No matter--Ada -Coulter thought him a hero. - -A graver group were discussing the subject at the other end of the room. -Mr. Lumsden told the story there. Mr. Coulter and Mr. Ferguson were -bending forward to him with anxious faces.--The ladies were no less -interested. Anne Ross leant on the sofa at Mrs. Coulter's elbow. Marjory -Falconer stood apart, with her hand upon the back of a chair, and her -strong and expressive face swept by whirlwinds--indignation, grief, -sympathy--all mellowed, however, by a singular shade of something that -looked very like proud and affectionate admiration--of whom was Marjory -Falconer proud? - -"Now, gentlemen," said Mr. Lumsden, "you must assist me.--I have set my -heart upon it, Mr. Coulter, that these families shall not be sent -penniless to Canada. I don't like emigration at all, but in this case it -would be nothing less than banishment--what can we do for them?" - -Mr. Coulter took a pinch of snuff. - -"It is not a bad thing emigration, Mr. Lumsden; if there was no -emigration, what would become of these vast waste lands? I suppose we -might pour our whole population into the backwoods, and there would -still be unreclaimed districts. Depend upon it, Sir, it comes very near -a sin to let land, that should be bringing forth seed and bread, lie -waste and desolate, when there are men to work it." - -"Well," said Mr. Lumsden, "we won't argue about that. It may be right -enough--I only say I don't like emigration; and we have abundance of -waste lands at home, Mr. Coulter; but in the case of the Macalpines, it -could bear no aspect but banishment.--I believe they would almost starve -first. What can we do for them?" - -There was a pause of consideration. - -"Robert," said Mrs. Ferguson. - -Her husband looked round. - -"When you commence your improvements, you will require many -laborers--would not the Macalpines do? We were thinking of taking Flora -to be one of our maids at Woodsmuir, you know--other people, no doubt, -would do the same. What do you think?" - -Mr. Ferguson spent a moment in deliberation; then he looked up to Mr. -Coulter inquiringly. - -"Not a bad idea," said the agriculturist. - -"I was thinking of that myself," said Mr. Ferguson. "There is not a very -great number of them: we shall surely be able to keep them in the -district; and there is always the hope," the good factor endeavored to -look very sanguine and cheerful--"there is always the hope of Mr. -Archibald's return." - -No one made any response; saving himself and Mrs. Catherine, no one was -sanguine on that subject: they were very glad to join in good wishes for -the broken laird; but saw all the improbabilities in a stronger light -than his more solicitous friends could do. - -"If he does," said Mr. Lumsden, "if he ever can redeem the estate again, -I suppose the Macalpines are safe." - -Mr. Ferguson looked with gratitude at the minister. It was pleasant to -have his hope homologated even so slightly. "Safe? ay, without doubt or -fear! there is not a kinder heart in all Scotland. How many men will -there be, Mr. Lumsden? how many able men?" - -Mr. Lumsden entered into a calculation. We need not follow him through -the list of Duncans, and Donalds, and Rodericks; there were eleven -fathers of families. Duncan Roy and his sister Flora were orphans; -besides, there were six or seven young men, and a plentiful undergrowth -of boys of all ages and sizes. - -"Say sixteen men," said Mr. Ferguson, "the rest could be herds, -or--there is always work for these halflin lads. What do you say, Mr. -Coulter?" - -Mr. Coulter's deliverance was favorable. Mrs. Catherine had urgent need -of a plough-man, she suddenly discovered. Mrs. Coulter thought she -"could do with" another maid. The Macalpines were in a fair way of being -settled. - -"Mind what I say," said Mrs. Catherine, "its only for a time. They shall -recover their ancient holdings, every inch of them; their right to the -land is as good as Archie's; the clansman holds it on as clear a title -as the chief. Mind, I put this in the bargain; that whenever the estate -returns to its rightful owner, the Macalpines return to Oranmore." - -Mr. Ferguson's eyes glistened. He seemed to be looking forward to some -apocryphal future gladness, which he dared hardly venture to believe in, -yet to which his heart could not choose but cling. God speed the -adventurer in the new world! - -Mr. Lumsden proceeded down stairs immediately, to visit the aged and -sick who had been brought to the Tower: in a short time he returned. The -guests young and old were more amalgamated than before; they were -sitting in a wide circle round Mrs. Catherine's chair. They did not -perceive the minister's entrance: for some reason known to himself he -stepped behind the window-curtain. He was looking out upon the clear, -cold, starry night. - -"Bless me," said Mrs. Bairnsfather, "Mr. Lumsden is in high favor with -us all. It's a wonder a fine young man like him has not got a wife yet." - -Marjory Falconer looked thundery; she had been aware of a private -telegraphic sign made by the hand of a certain tall dark figure, which -was looking out upon the night. - -"All in good time," said Mrs. Coulter, "he is but a young man yet." - -"How old would you say?" inquired Mrs. Bairnsfather. - -"Oh! one or two and thirty perhaps--not more." - -"Not more!" Mrs. Bairnsfather had a vindictive recollection of sundry -invasions of her husband's parish. "I'll warrant him a good five years -older than that." - -"Well, well," said the good-humored agriculturist. "He is not too old to -be married yet, that is a consolation." - -"What would you say to Miss Ada Mina!" continued Mrs. Bairnsfather. -"Miss Jeanie, I suppose, I must not speak of now." - -Ada Coulter shook her curls indignantly. She, full sixteen, and -receiving the homage of an Honorable Giles, to be "scorned" with a -minister of five and thirty! - -"Or Miss Ross?" said the mischief-making Mrs. Bairnsfather.--"They would -make an excellent couple, I am sure." - -"I won't have that," said Lewis. "I have engaged Anne, Mrs. -Bairnsfather; if she does not take my man, I'll disown her." - -"Anne, I want you," said Marjory Falconer: "come here." - -"Or Miss Falconer herself?" said the indefatigable Mrs. Bairnsfather -turning sharp round, and directing the attention of all and sundry to -Marjory's face, perfectly scorching as it was, with one of her -overwhelming, passionate blushes, "and that would secure the contrast -which people say is best for peace and happiness." - -Miss Falconer tried to laugh--the emphasis on the word _peace_ had not -escaped her; she slid her arm through Anne's and left the room. The dark -figure behind the curtain, followed her with his eye; laughed within -himself a mighty secret laugh, and came out of his concealment, to the -immense discomfiture of Mrs. Bairnsfather, and the great mirth of Giles -and Ada. - -"That abominable woman!" exclaimed Marjory, as they went down stairs. - -"Hush," said Anne, "she is the minister's wife." - -"The minister's wife! there is never any peace where _she_ is.--She is a -pretty person to think she can understand--" - -"Who, Marjory?" - -"Oh," said Marjory, with a less vehement blush, "it's because John -Lumsden is so popular in Strathoran--you know that.--Come, let us go and -see Kenneth Macalpine." - -They did go; poor Kenneth was feverish and unable for any further -excitement, so they spoke a few kindly encouraging words to his mother, -and left the room. Mrs. Euphan Morison had retreated to her own -apartment, and sat there by the fire sulky and dignified--the doctor had -absolutely forbidden her administering to the invalid a favorite -preparation of her own which she was sure would cure him. - -Marjory and Anne turned to the great, warm, shining kitchen. The -patriarch of Oranmore was dozing in a chair by the fire--the old man's -mind was unsettled; he had returned to his native Gaelic, and had been -speaking in wandering and incoherent sentences of the church-yard, and -the right they had to the graves of their fathers. An aged woman, the -grand-aunt of Duncan Roy and Flora, who had brought up the orphans, sat -opposite to him, muttering and wringing her withered hands in pain. She -had been long afflicted with rheumatism, and the exposure made her aged -limbs entirely useless. She had to be lifted into her chair--and -aggravating her bodily pain was the anguish of her mind: "The -bairns--the bairns! what will become of the bairns?" - -The other Macalpine was a feeble woman, widowed and childless, to whom -her honorable and kindly kindred had made up, so far as temporal matters -went, the loss of husband and of children. She was rocking herself to -and fro, and uttering now and then a low unconscious cry, as she brooded -over the ruin of her friends, and her own helpless beggary. The -firmament was utterly black, for her--she had no strength, no hope. - -Marjory and Anne lingered for some time, endeavoring to cheer and -comfort these two helpless women. Mrs. Catherine's maids, carefully -superintended by Jacky, had done everything they could to make them -comfortable; and before the young ladies left the kitchen, Flora -Macalpine had entered, and was at her aunt's side, telling of the -reception Duncan and herself had met with at Woodsmuir, and how Mrs. -Ferguson had half promised to take her into the nursery to be -"bairn's-maid" to the little Fergusons. The old woman was a little -comforted--very little; for if Flora was away in service, who could take -care of her painful, declining years? - -Jacky followed Anne and Marjory out of the kitchen. They were absorbed -with this matter of the ejectment, and so did not observe her. Marjory -drew her companion to the library. - -"Do come in here, Anne. I don't want to go up stairs yet." - -They went in, Jacky following--she seemed determined not to lose the -opportunity. - -"If ye please, Miss Anne--" - -"Well, Jacky?" - -Jacky hesitated--she did not know how to go on, so she repeated: "If ye -please, Miss Anne--" and stopped again. - -"What is it, Jacky?" said Anne, "tell me." - -"If ye please, will ye let me go with ye, Miss Anne?" said Jacky, in a -burst. "I ken how to--to behave mysel, and to attend to a lady, and I'll -never give ye ony trouble, and I'll do whatever I'm bidden. Oh, Miss -Anne, will ye let me go?" - -"What has put that into your head, Jacky?" exclaimed Anne. - -Jacky could not tell what had put it into her head, inasmuch as any -explanation might have shown Anne that the singular elf before her had, -by some intuition peculiar to herself, made very tolerable progress in -the study of those important matters which of late had occupied so much -of their thoughts, and hopes, and consultations in Merkland and the -Tower: so she merely repeated: - -"Oh, if ye please, Miss Anne, will ye let me go?" - -Anne was somewhat puzzled. - -"You are too young to be my maid, Jacky," she said. - -"Oh, if ye please, Miss Anne, I ken how to do--and I'm no idle when -there's ony purpose for't--and I aye do what I'm bidden, except--" Jacky -hung her head, "except whiles." - -"But Anne wants a great big woman, like me, Jacky," said Marjory -Falconer, laughing, "an old woman perhaps." - -"But if ye please, Miss Falconer," said Jacky, seriously, "an old woman -wouldna do--an old woman wouldna be so faithful and--and--" Jacky -paused, her conscience smiting her: was not the Squire of the -redoubtable Britomart an old woman? Whereupon there ensued in Jacky's -mind a metaphysical discussion as to whether Glauce or Mrs. Elspat -Henderson was the best type of the class of ancient serving-women--remaining -undecided upon which point, she had nothing for it but to repeat the -prayer of her petition: "Oh, Miss Anne, will you let me go?" - -"Do you intend to take a maid with you, Anne?" asked Marjory. - -"Yes." - -"Then you should take Jacky by all means." - -Anne hesitated. - -"You forget, Jacky, that it is not I, but Mrs. Catherine, who must -decide this." - -"Oh, if ye please, Mrs. Catherine will let me go, Miss Anne, if you're -wanting me." - -"And your mother, Jacky?" - -"My mother's no needing me, Miss Anne." - -"Well, we will see about it," said Anne, smiling; "as you seem to have -quite made up your mind, and decided on the matter. I will speak to Mrs. -Catherine, Jacky. We shall see." - -Jacky made an uncouth courtesy and vanished. - -"Is it Edinburgh you are going to, Anne?" said Marjory, shooting a keen -glance upon her friend's face. - -"I shall be in Edinburgh," said Anne, evasively. - -"Why, Anne!" exclaimed Marjory, "must one not even know where you are -going? What is this secret journey of yours?" - -"It is no secret journey, Marjory. I am going farther east than -Edinburgh--to the sea-side." - -"To the sea-side!" Marjory looked amazed. "You are not delicate, Anne -Ross. What are you going to do at the sea-side?" - -"Nothing," said Anne. - -"Nothing! You have not any friends there--you are going away quite by -yourself! Is anything the matter, Anne? Tell me what you are going to -do." - -"I would tell you very gladly, Marjory, if I could. My errand is quite a -private one: when it is accomplished, you shall hear it all." - -The blood rushed in torrents to Marjory Falconer's face. - -"You cannot trust me!" she exclaimed. "Anne, I do not care for Mrs. -Bairnsfather's petty insults. I have been too careless of forms, -perhaps--perhaps I have made people think me rude and wild, when I was -only striving to reach a better atmosphere than they had placed me -in--but you, Anne Ross--you to think me unworthy of confidence!" - -"Hush--hush, Marjory," said Anne. "Pray do not begin to be -suspicious--it does not become you at all. I had a brother once, -Marjory--as people say, a most generous, kind, good brother--whose name -lies under the blot of a great crime. He was innocent--but the world -believed him guilty. I am going to try--by what quiet and humble means -are in my power--to remove this undeserved stain. If I succeed, I shall -have a very moving story to tell you: if I do not succeed, let us never -speak of it again. In any case, I know you will keep my secret." - -Marjory pressed her friend's hand, and did not speak. She remembered -dimly having heard of some great sorrow connected with Mr. Ross's (of -Merkland) death, and was ashamed and grieved now, that she had pressed -her inquiries so far. Marjory Falconer, like Lewis Ross, was learning -lessons: the rapidly developing womanhood, which sent those vehement -flushes to her cheek, and overpowered her sometimes with agonies of -shame, was day by day asserting itself more completely. A few more -paroxysms, and it would have gained the victory. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - - -By the beginning of April, the Macalpines were finally settled; the -majority of them being employed as laborers on Mr. Ferguson's farms of -Loelyin and Lochend. Roderick and his family occupied a cottage in the -vicinity of the Tower. He was engaged as ploughman by Mrs. Catherine -Douglas. Big Duncan remained with his people--their houses were now far -apart--they were restless and ill at ease, feeling their dispersion as -the Jews of old felt their captivity. These clinging local attachments -are comparatively little known to people confined within the limits of -cities, and living in the hired houses, which any caprice or revolution -of fortune may make them change. It is not so with the "dwellers of the -hills," the whole circuit of whose simple lives for generations have -passed under one roof; to whom the sun has risen and set behind the same -majestic hills in daily glory, and whose native streamlet has a -house-hold tongue, as familiar as the more articulate one of nearest -kindred. A hope had sprung up in the breast of the Macalpines--a hope to -which their yearning home-love gave vivid strength and power. Their -chief would return: he would come back in renewed wealth and prosperity: -he would lead them back to their own homes in triumph. This anticipation -enlivened the sad pilgrimages, which the banished hillfolk made on those -dewy spring evenings to their beloved glen. It needed some such hope to -stifle the indignant grief and anger, which might have else blazed up in -illegal vehemence, when the ejected Macalpines, in little parties of two -and three, returned to Oranmore, to look upon their former homes, now -desolate and blackened, with grass springing up on each household floor, -and waving already from the broken walls--but they looked away, where, -far over the wide-spreading low-country, there shone in the distance, -the glimmer of the great sea; and prayed, in the fervor of their hope -and yearning, for the home-coming of their chief. God speed the -adventurer, landing even now on the sunny shores of the new world! How -many hearts beat high with prayers and hopes for his return! - -The sick lad, Kenneth, did not die: he lived to hold the name of the -youthful Giles Sympelton in dearest honor and reverence, and to do him -leal service in an after-time. Giles, with some reluctance, left the -Tower, after a week's residence there, to join his father--leaving Ada -Coulter with the first sadness upon her, which she had experienced since -her happy release from school. - -In the middle of April, Anne set out upon her journey. With Mrs. -Catherine's full consent, Jacky was to accompany her. Anne's departure -excited some attention. There seemed to be a vague conception among the -neighbors, that something of moment was concealed under this quiet visit -to the south, of the very quiet Miss Ross, of Merkland. Jeanie Coulter -wondered if she was going to be married. Mrs. Coulter endeavored to -recollect if she had ever heard of the Rosses having relations in that -quarter. Mr. Foreman said nothing, but, with that keen lawyer eye of -his, darted into the secret errand at once, and already sympathized with -the failure and disappointment, which he felt sure would follow. - -Anne's farewells were over--all but one--the day before leaving -Merkland, she went up to the mill to say good-by to little Lilie. She -found Mrs. Melder in ecstasies of wonder and admiration, holding up her -hands, and crying, "Bless me!" as she unfolded one by one the contents -of a box which stood upon the table. They consisted of little garments -beautifully made--a profusion of them. Lilie herself was luxuriating -over a splendid picture-book, after viewing with a burst of childish -delight the pretty little silk frock which Mrs. Melder, in the pride of -her heart, was already thinking would make so great a sensation when it -appeared first in their seat in the front gallery (_alias_ the mid loft) -of Portoran kirk. Nothing less than a mother's hand could have packed -that wonderful box; its gay little muslin frocks, which Mrs. Melder "had -never seen the like of, for fineness," its inner garments of beautiful -linen, its bright silken sashes, its story books, resplendent in their -gilded bindings, its parcels of sweetmeats and toys. Mrs. Melder was -overwhelmed--the grandeur and wealth of her little charge fairly took -away her breath. - -"And now when she's won to an easier speech, Miss Anne," said the good -woman aside. "She calls me nurse--what think ye! it's a wonderful -bairn--and ye'll hear her say lang words sometimes, that I'm sure she -never learned frae me; it's my thought, Miss Anne, that the bairn kent -the English tongue afore she came here, and had either forgotten't, -or--atweel ane disna ken what to think; but this while she's ta'en to -speaking about her mamma. It's a wonder to me that ony mother could hae -the heart to part wi' her." - -"See," cried Lilie, springing to Anne's side, "look what bonnie things," -and she precipitated a shoal of little books upon Anne's knee. - -"They are very pretty, Lilie," said Anne. "Who sent you all these?" - -The child looked at her gravely. "It would be mamma--it was sure to be -mamma." - -"Where is mamma?" asked Anne. - - * * * * * - -"Far away yonder--over the big water--but she aye minds Lilie." - -"And why did you come away from mamma, Lilie?" said Anne. - -The child began to cry. "Lilie ill, ill--like to die. Oh! if you had -seen my mamma greeting." And throwing herself down on the ground, Lilie -fell into one of her passionate bursts of grief. - -"But yon wasna your mamma that brought ye here, my lamb?" said Mrs. -Melder. - -Lilie continued to weep--too bitterly to give any answer. - -Anne turned over the books--in the blank leaf of one of them a name was -written in a boyish hand--"Lilia Santa Clara." By-and-by the child's -grief moderated, and, taking up her books again, she ran to the mill to -show them to Robert. - -"Lilia Santa Clara," it gave no clue to the child's origin. - -"Haill three names!" said Mrs. Melder, "if ane only kent what her -father's name was; the leddy that brought her here said only 'Lilias,' -and I dinna mind if I askit the last ane in my flutter--and bonnie -outlandish names they are; 'Lilia Santa Clara'--to think of a wean wi' -a' thae grand names putting Melder at the hinder end!--it's out of the -question." - -"Santa Clara may be the surname, Mrs. Melder," said Anne, smiling at the -conjunction. - -"Eh! think ye so, Miss Anne? I never heard of folk having first names -for their surname; though to be sure they do ca' the English flunky that -has the confectionary shop in Portoran, Thomas. Well, it may be sae." - -"Does she call herself by this name?" asked Anne. - -"Ay, I have heard the words mony a time; and sae far as I can guess, -Miss Anne, she maun hae been sent to yon lady frae some foreign pairt. -Eh, bless me! there maun be some shame and reproach past the common, -afore they sent away a bairn like yon." - -Jacky Morison was in a state of intense and still excitement--the fire -had reached a white heat before they left Merkland. Barbara Genty, Mrs. -Ross's favored maid, cast envious looks at her as she sat perched in the -back seat of the gig, which was to convey them to Portoran. Old Esther -Fleming, who stood without the gate to watch Miss Anne's departure, -regarded Jacky dubiously, as if doubting her fitness for her important -post. Jacky rose heroically to the emergency. Her faithfulness, her -discretion, her true and loyal service, should be beyond all question -when they returned. - -From her earliest recollection, Anne Ross had been Jacky's pattern and -presiding excellence, less awful and nearer herself than Mrs. -Catherine--and of all kinds of disinterested and unselfish devotion, -there are few so chivalrous as the enthusiastic and loving service of a -girl, to the grown woman who condescends to notice and protect her. - -When the coach arrived in Edinburgh, Anne saw from its window little -Alice Aytoun's fair face looking for her anxiously. James and Alice were -waiting to take her home. Anne had purposed spending the short time she -should remain in Edinburgh, in the house of an old companion and former -schoolfellow; but Alice clung and pleaded, there was no denying her--so -Anne suffered herself to be guided to Mrs. Aytoun's quiet little house. - -Mrs. Aytoun received her with grave kindness; the affectionate -dependence which Alice had upon the stronger character of Anne, the good -report which James had given of her, and even her present undertaking, -out of the way and unusual though it was, had prepossessed Mrs. Aytoun -in her favor. And Norman--the neglected wife remembered him too, so -delicately kind, so generous, so reverent of her weakness long ago, when -her husband and he were friends; and though she delivered no judgment in -his favor, her heart yet went forth in full sympathy with the brave -sister, who was so resolute in her belief of his innocence, so eager to -labor for its proof. Mrs. Aytoun's God-speed was music to the heart of -Anne. - -And Alice, very tremulously joyful, clung about her all night long--now -sitting on the stool at her feet, her fair curls drooping on Anne's -knee--now leaning on her chair--now seated by her side, clasping her -hand. James, too, with brotherly confidence and kindness, advised with -her about her plans and future proceedings. Anne felt the atmosphere -brighten. Surely these were good omens. - -In the meantime, Jacky, we regret to say, had been suffering a good deal -from disappointment; it was not from her first glimpse of Edinburgh, but -it was from the house in Edinburgh, which was specially honored as being -the dwelling of "Miss Alice." Jacky had been struck with awe and -admiration as she glanced at it from without. The great "land" looked -very stately, and spacious, and commanding, though it did immediately -front a street, and had neither grounds nor trees surrounding it--but -when the immense house dwindled into a single flat, of which she could -count all the rooms at a glance, Jacky felt the disappointment sadly. -Then she was taken into the small bright kitchen, where Mrs. Aytoun's -stout woman-servant, the only domestic of the household, was preparing -tea for the travellers. Jacky was scarcely prepared for this. It might -have been difficult, we fancy, for many persons more experienced than -Jacky, to ascertain what claim to respect or honor, a young Scottish -lawyer, with very little practice as yet, whose house consisted of one -flat only, and the wants of whose establishment one woman-servant could -supply--could possibly have. - -But James Aytoun had not only an excellent claim to respect and honor, -but actually received it. It was not any empty pride either which led -him to sign himself James Aytoun, of Aytoun. Had it not been for the -reckless and extravagant father, whose debts had so hopelessly entangled -his inheritance, the territorial designation would have represented many -fair acres--a long-descended patrimony. As it was, with only a desolate -mansion-house, in a southern county, and some bleak lands about it, -James Aytoun, of Aytoun, was still received and honored as a gentleman -of good family and blood--neither by descent, education, nor breeding -beneath any family in Scotland. - -It is but a narrow spirit which endeavors to sneer at a distinction like -this, and call it the pride of poverty. James Aytoun belonged to that -well-nurtured, manly class, whose hereditary honor and good fame belong -to the nation, and whose frank dignity of mind and tone are as far -removed as mental loftiness can be from that vulgar and arrogant thing, -which mean men call pride. - -Jacky was reconciling herself to the little Edinburgh kitchen, and had -already entered into conversation with Tibbie, when little Bessie -arrived from her mother's humble house in an adjacent back street, to -renew her acquaintance with her Strathoran friend.--Jacky had many -messages to deliver from Johnnie Halflin, which Bessie received with a -due amount of blushing laughter. - -"And, Oh, Jacky! how will they ever do wanting you at the Tower?" - -Jacky did not apprehend the covert wit--did not even perceive that the -rosy little Edinburgh-bred girl, was about to condescend to, and -patronise, the awkward rustic one. - -"They'll only miss me, for a while, at first--and then maybe, we'll no -be long." - -"Is't Miss Ross that's with you?" asked Bessie. - -"I'm with Miss Ross," said Jacky, quickly "Miss Anne chose me of her own -will--after I askit her--and so did Miss Falconer." - -"Eh! isna she an awfu' funny lady, yon Miss Falconer?" - -"Funny!" Jacky was indignantly astonished. "I dinna ken what ye ca' -funny, Bessie. She's like--" - -"She's no like ither folk," said Bessie. - -"It's you that doesna ken. She's like--" - -"Wha is she like, Jacky?" - -"She's like Belphoebe," muttered Jacky, hastily. "But ye dinna ken wha -_she_ was--and she's a lady, for a' that she does strange thing whiles." - - * * * * * - -"Is that the lady that throosh the gentleman that was gaun to be uncivil -to our Miss Alice?" interposed Tibbie. - -"Yes," said Bessie laughing. Little Bessie was not above the vanity of -being thought to know these north country magnates.--"And on New-year's -night, when all the ladies were at the Tower, (ye mind, Jacky?) Miss -Falconer gied me a shilling a' to mysel, for bringing her napkin to her, -that she had left in Miss Alice's dressing-room--and nippit my lug, and -tell't me to take care o' Miss Alice--she ca'ed her my little mistress. -Isna she an awful height herself?" - -"She's no so tall as Mrs. Catherine," said Jacky. - -"Eh, Jacky! Miss Alice didna come up to her shouther, and she's a haill -head higher than Miss Ross." - -Jacky did not choose to answer: though why there should seem any slight -to Marjory, in an exaggeration of her stature, we cannot tell. Without -doubt, Belphoebe was to the full as tall as she. - -"Do you ken that Merkland's been in Edinburgh?" asked Bessie. In -Strathoran she had called Lewis, Mr. Ross; now she was bent on -impressing Tibbie with a deep sense of her own familiarity with these -great people. "Eh, Jacky, do you mind what Johnnie Halflin used to say -about Merkland?" - -Jacky had a high sense of honor. She made an elfin face at her talkative -companion, and remained prudently silent. - -"What did he say?" asked Tibbie. - -"Ou naithing. Jacky and me kens." - -"An he said onything ill, I redd him to keep out o' the power o' my ten -talents. He's a young blackguard, like maist feck of his kind, I'll -warrant--idle serving callants, wi' nought to do in this world, but -claver about their betters, wi' light-headed gilpies, like yoursel. I -wad just like to ken what he said!" - -"It was naething ill," said Jacky. - -"Oh, he'll be a lad to some o' ye, nae doubt--set ye up! But I can tell -ye, he had better no come here to say an ill word o' young Mr. Ross." - -"Miss Anne's Mr. Lewis's sister," said Jacky, decisively.--"Johnnie -dauredna say a word ill o' him--only that he was--" - -Bessie laughed--_she_ had no honorable scruples, but maliciously -refrained from helping Jacky out. - -"Only about Miss Alice and him." - -"Weel ye're a queer lassie," said Mrs. Aytoun's maid. "Could ye no have -tell't me that at first?" - -Bessie laughed again. - -"And, Jacky, is the wee fairy lady aye at the Mill yet?" - -"Wha's that?" cried the curious Tibbie. - -"Oh, it's a wee bairn that the fairies sent to Strathoran. She was a' -dressed in green silk, and had wings like Miss Alice's white veil, and -was riding on a pony as white as snaw; and the miller's wife took her -in, and her wings took lowe at the fire, and she would have been a' -burned, if Miss Ross hadna saved her--and Johnnie Halflin saw her wi' -his ain e'en--and they say she's some kin to Jacky." - -Jacky repelled the insult with immense disdain. - -"If I had Johnnie Halflin here, I would douk him in the Oran." - -"Ye might douk him in the water o' Leith, Jacky," said Bessie, laughing; -"but the Oran's no here, mind." - -Jacky was indignantly silent. - -"And wha is she?" inquired Tibbie. - -"She's a little girl," said Jacky, with some dignity, "a very bonnie wee -foreign lady; and Mrs. Melder keeps her at the Mill, and she speaks in a -strange tongue, and sings sangs--low, sweet, floating sangs--ye never -heard the like of them, and her name is Lilie." - -"Lilie what?" - -"I dinna ken. She says her name is Lilia Santa Clara, but neabody kens -whether that's her last name or no." - -"Losh!" exclaimed Tibbie, "will she be canny, after a'?" - -"Canny!--you should look nearer yoursel," said Bessie, with laughing -malice. - -"Never heed her," said Tibbie. "Sit into the table, and take your tea. -She's a light-headed fuil--and ye can tell Johnnie Halflin that frae -me." - -"Is Miss Anne gaun to bide in Edinburgh?" inquired Bessie, as they -seated themselves at Tibbie's clean, small table. - -"No--she's gaun to the sea-side." - -"Eh, Jacky, where? we'll come out and see ye." - -"I dinna mind the name of the place," said Jacky, "but it's on the -sea-side." - -"And what's Miss Anne gaun to do?" - -Jacky paused to deliberate. "She's no gaun to do onything.--She's just -gaun to please hersel." - -"Ay," said the inquisitive Bessie, "but what is't for?" - -"It's maybe for something good," said Jacky, quickly, "for that's aye -Miss Anne's way; but she wasna gaun to tell me." - -"But what do you _think_ it is, Jacky?" persisted Bessie, "ane can aye -gie a guess--is she gaun to be married?" - -"No!" exclaimed Jacky indignantly, "Married! It's because ye dinna ken -Miss Anne." - -"Miss Anne's just like ither folk," was the laughing response; "and -there's nae ill in being married." - -"Lassie, there'll be news o' you, if you're no a' the better hadden in," -cried Tibbie. "Set ye up wi' your lads and your marryings! Maybe the -young lady's delicate, or she'll hae friends at the sea-side." - -To which more delicate fishing interrogatories, Jacky, who knew that -Anne was neither delicate nor had any friend at the sea-side, prudently -refrained from making any answer. - -The next day, Anne, accompanied by Mrs. Aytoun and Alice, set out for -Aberford on a search for lodgings. Mrs. Aytoun had a friend, a regular -frequenter of all places of general resort, whose list of sea-bathing -quarters was almost a perfect one, and fortified by the results of her -experience, they departed upon their quest, leaving Jacky in Bessie's -care behind them, to dream at her leisure over that wonderful Edinburgh, -whose stately olden beauty the strange girl, after her own fashion, -could appreciate so well. - -Anne observed, with regret and sympathy, the gloom of silence that fell -over the kind mother by her side, as they approached their destination. -She observed the long, sad glances thrown through the windows of the -coach at the country road, known long ago, when Mrs. Aytoun was not a -widow. There were no other passengers to restrain their conversation, -and when they were very near the village, Mrs. Aytoun pointed to a -house, surrounded with wood, and standing at a considerable distance -from the road. "Yonder, Alice, look--you were born there." - -Alice looked eagerly out. "You liked this place better than Aytoun, -mother? Aytoun must have been very gloomy always." - -"Aytoun was a larger house than we needed, Alice--you have heard me say -so--and I was in very delicate health then. I was never well while--" -your father lived, Mrs. Aytoun was about to say, but she checked herself -hurriedly; not even in so slight a way would she reproach the dead. - -The coach stopped--they were in the dull main street of the village. -Mrs. Aytoun took out her list--at the head of the column stood "Mrs. -Yammer"--the sea-bathing friend had particularly recommended the house, -whose mistress bore so distressful a name. It was a short way out of the -village, close upon the sea-side; they turned to seek it. - -The magnificent Firth lay bright before them, its islands standing out -darkly from its bosom, and its sunny glories bounded by the fertile -shores and distant hills of the ancient kingdom of Fife. The exuberant -wealth of these rich Lothian lands was bursting out around into Spring's -blythest green--a sunny April sky overhead, and April air waving in its -golden breadths about them everywhere--it was impossible to think of -sadness there. The shadow of her old woe floated away from Mrs. Aytoun's -unselfish spirit--Alice was so gay, Anne so pleasantly exhilarated, that -she could not refuse to rejoice with them. - -Mrs. Yammer's house promised well. It was seated upon a gentle -elevation--its front, at least, for the elevation made a very abrupt -descent, and so procured that the rooms which were on the ground-floor -before, should be the second story behind. In front ran the road leading -to the country town, beyond there were some brief intervening fields, -and then the sands. It was not above ten minutes walk from the immediate -shore. At some little distance further on, there stood a house close to -the water, standing up, gaunt and tall, from among a few trees. In the -bright, living spring-day, it had a spectral, desolate look about it. -Anne remarked it with some curiosity as she glanced round; but Mrs. -Aytoun had already knocked, and she had not time to look again. - -The door was opened by an energetic little servant, who ushered the -ladies into an airy, lightsome parlor, with which Alice Aytoun was in -ecstasies. One window looked out on the sea--the other, in a corner of -the room, had a pleasant view of the fresh green country road, and -glimpse of the village of Aberford itself in the distance; the furniture -was very tolerable--the whole room particularly clean. - -"O, Anne!" exclaimed Alice Aytoun, "I will come to see you every week!" - -A little woman bustled into the room. She had on an old silk gown, -curiously japanned by long service, and possessing in an uncommon degree -the faculty of rustling--a comical, little, quick, merry, eccentric -face--some curls which looked exceedingly like bits of twisted wire, -covered by a clean cap of embroidered muslin, with a very plain border -of well-darned lace. Mrs. Aytoun hesitated. To call this little person -"Mrs." anything, was palpably absurd; yet they had asked for Mrs. -Yammer. - -"It's no me, it's my sister," said the brisk little person before them. -"I'm Miss Crankie. Will ye sit down ladies? I am very glad to see you." - -Mrs. Aytoun sat down--little Alice concealed her laugh by looking -steadfastly down the road, at the distant roofs of Aberford, and Anne -took a chair beside her. - -"Is't no a grand prospect?" said Miss Crankie, "a' the Firth before us, -and the town at our right hand--a young lady that was here last simmer -said to Tammie (that's my sister, Mrs. Yammer, her name's Thomasine--we -call her Tammie for shortness,) 'If it wasna for breaking the tenth -command, I would covert ye your house, Mrs. Yammer,'--and so dry, and -free from drafts, and every way guid for an invalid. It's uncommonly -weel likit." - -"It seems a very nice house," said Mrs. Aytoun. "Are your rooms -disengaged, Miss Crankie?" - -"For what time was ye wanting them, Mem?" said Miss Crankie. "There's -young Mrs. Mavis is to be here in July, and Miss Todd was speaking of -bringing ower her brother's bairns in August--but I'm aye fond to oblige -a lady--for what time was ye wanting them?" - -"This young lady, Miss Ross"--Miss Crankie honored Anne with a queer nod -and a smile, which very nearly upset the gravity of Alice, and put -Anne's own in jeopardy, "desires to have lodgings in the neighborhood -for this month, and, perhaps, May.--What do you think, my dear? will you -need them longer?" - -"I hope not," said Anne, "but still, it is possible I may." - -"Miss Ross requires change of air," said Mrs. Aytoun, faltering and -endeavoring to excuse her equivocation, by noticing that Anne did look -pale. - -"Of scene, rather," said Anne, slightly affected by the same hesitation. -It was true, however, if not in the usual sense. - -Miss Crankie fixed her odd little black eye upon Anne, nodded, and -looked as if she comprehended perfectly. - -"Will you be able to accommodate Miss Ross and her servant, Miss -Crankie?" - -"That will I; there's no better accommodation in the haill Lothians; -and, for change of scene, what could heart desire better than that--ay, -or that either, young Miss, which is as bonnie a country view (no to be -the sea) as can be seen. Will ye look at the bed-room?" - -Miss Crankie darted out, leading the way. Mrs. Aytoun, Anne, and Alice -followed. The bed-room was immediately behind the parlor, resplendent in -all the glory of white covers, and chintz curtains, and with an -embowered window looking out upon "the green," which was separated from -the kitchen-garden by a thick hedge of sweet-briar. Alice was delighted, -and Anne so perfectly satisfied, that Mrs. Aytoun made the bargain. The -rooms were taken, together with a little den up stairs for Jacky. Miss -Crankie faithfully promised in her own name and Mrs. Yammer's, that the -apartments should be ready for Anne's reception next day; and when they -had partaken of a frugal refreshment--some very peculiar wine of Miss -Crankie's own manufacture, and cake to correspond--they left the house. - -The day was so very beautiful, and Alice enjoyed the rare excursion so -much, that they prolonged their walk. "Do you think I could walk out -from Edinburgh, mother?" said Alice. "I should like so well to come and -see Anne often; and, Anne, you will be dull alone." - -"But you will laugh at Miss Crankie, Alice," said Anne, smiling, "and so -get into her bad graces." - -Alice laughed. "Is she not a very strange person?" - -"I have no doubt you will find her a kindly body," said Mrs. Aytoun; -"But I hope Jacky's sense of the ludicrous is not so keen as her poetic -feelings. You must take care of Jacky." - -"O, mamma," said Alice, "you don't know what a strange good girl Jacky -is. People laugh at her, but she would not hurt any one's feelings." - -"You do Jacky justice, Alice," said Anne. "She _is_ a strange _good_ -girl--she--" - -Anne paused suddenly, breathless and excited. Who was that tall, gaunt -woman, walking thoughtfully with bent head and lingering foot step, over -the sands? She seemed to have come from the spectral dark house, which -Anne had noticed before, looming so drearily over the sunny waters. She -raised her eyes as they met--the large, wistful, melancholy eyes fell -upon Anne's face. It was the unknown relative of little Lilie--the -passenger who, six months ago, had lingered to cast that same searching, -woeful look upon the house of Merkland. - -Anne was startled and amazed. She thought the stranger seemed disturbed -also. Her eyes appeared to dilate and grow keener as she looked -earnestly at Anne, and then passed on. - -"Do you know that person?" said Mrs. Aytoun, wonderingly. - -Anne turned to look after her; instead of her former slow pace, her -steps were now nervously quick and unsteady. Surely some unknown emotion -strong and powerful, had risen in the stranger's breast from this -meeting. Anne answered Mrs. Aytoun with an effort. "I do not know -her--but I have seen her before--I met her once in Strathoran." - -They went on. Anne's mind was engrossed--she could not, as before, take -part in the gay conversation of Alice. Mrs. Aytoun perceived her -gravity. After some time, she asked again: "Do you know who she is? I -see you are interested in her." - -"I do not know her at all," said Anne. "You will think me very foolish, -Mrs. Aytoun, it is her look--her eyes--she has a very remarkable face." - -"Probably she lives here," said Mrs. Aytoun. "Let us look at this -house." - -The house was no less spectral and gaunt, when they were near it, than -at a distance. Many of the windows were closed--the large garden seemed -perfectly neglected--only some pale spring flowers bloomed in front of a -low projecting window, where there seemed to linger some remnants of -cultivation. "It is a mysterious looking house," said Mrs. Aytoun; "she -may keep it perhaps--but there certainly can be no family living here." - -By-and-by they returned to Edinburgh--where Anne spent the remainder of -the day in making some necessary calls. She spoke as little as possible -of her intention of remaining in Aberford--those ordinary questions were -so difficult to answer. - -And who was this melancholy woman who had brought little Lilie to -Strathoran? Could _she_ have any connection with Norman's history, or -was it only the prevailing tone of Anne's mind and thoughts that threw -its fantastic coloring on every object she looked upon? - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - - -Upon the next day, Anne, accompanied by Jacky, left Edinburgh finally -for her Aberford lodgings. She felt the isolation strangely at first: -being alone in her own room, and being alone in the parlor of Mrs. -Yammer's house, were two very different things. She seated herself by -the window as these long afternoon hours wore on. Jacky sat at the other -end of the room, already engaged on some one of the numberless linen -articles, which had been provided by her prudent mother, to keep her -occupied. Jacky had already cast several longing glances at the little -shelf between the windows, which contained the books of Mrs. Yammer's -household, but the awe of Anne's presence was upon her; she sewed and -dreamed in silence. - -The dark spectral house by the waterside--the melancholy woman who had -taken Lilie to Strathoran--Anne's mind was full of these. Now and then a -chance passenger upon the high road crossed before her; once or twice -she had seen a solitary figure on the sands. None of these bore the same -look. The steady pace of country business, and the meditative one of -country leisure she could notice--nowhere the slow lingering heavy -footsteps, the wistful melancholy face which distinguished the one -individual, whom that fantastic spirit of imagination had already -associated with Norman's fate. - -Anne had decided upon beginning her inquiries on the next day. She -hastily bethought herself now, of a mode of making this evening of some -service in her search; and turning to Jacky, bade her ask Miss Crankie -and Mrs. Yammer to take tea with her.--Jacky with some hesitation -obeyed--she thought it was letting down Miss Anne's dignity. Miss Anne -herself thought it was rather disagreeable and unpleasant: nevertheless, -it might be of use, and she was content to endure it. - -Miss Crankie had a turban, terrible to behold, made of black net, with -what looked like spangles of yellow paint upon it, which she wore on -solemn occasions. In honor of her new lodger, she donned it to-night. -Jacky arranged the tea in almost sulky silence. At the appointed hour, -Miss Crankie and her sister sailed solemnly in. - -It was the merest fiction to call this pleasant house the property of -Mrs. Yammer, as all who were favored with any glimpse into its domestic -arrangements could easily perceive. Mrs. Yammer was a woeful, patient, -resigned woman, very meekly submitting to the absolute dominion of -"Johann," saved for a feeble murmuring of her own complaints, the most -voiceless and passive of weak-minded sisters. Miss Johann Crankie was -very kind to the woeful widow, who hung upon her active hands so -helplessly. She shut her ears to Mrs. Yammer's countless aches and -palpitations, as long as it was practicable--when she could no longer -avoid hearing them, she administered bitter physic, and mustard -plasters; a discipline which was generally successful in frightening -away the distempers for some time. - -Mrs. Yammer, in a much-suffering plaintive voice, immediately began to -tell Anne of the palpitations of her heart. Miss Crankie fidgeted on her -seat, shooting odd glances at Jacky, and intelligent ones of ludicrous -pity at Anne, who endured Mrs. Yammer's enumeration of troubles as -patiently as was possible. The tea was a fortunate diversion. - -"What is the name of that house on the waterside, Miss Crankie?" asked -Anne. - -"That's Schole, Miss Ross," said Miss Crankie, with the air of a person -who introduces a notability. "You will have heard of it before, no -doubt? It came into the possession of the present Laird, when he was in -his cradle, puir bairn, and his light-headed gowk of a mother has him -away, bringing him up in England.--She's English hersel: maybe ye might -ca' that an excuse. I say its a downright imposition and shame to tak -callants away to a strange country to get their breeding, when a'body -kens there's no the like o' us for learning in a' the world and Fife?" - -"And does the proprietor of the house live in it now?" said Anne. - -"Bless me, no--the Laird's but a callant yet. Tammie, woman, what year -was't that auld Schole died?" - -"It was afore I was married," said Mrs. Yammer, dolefully.--"I was a -lang tangle of a lassie then, Miss Ross; and I mind o' rinning out -without my bonnet, and wi' bare shoulders, and standing by the roadside, -to see the funeral gang by. I have never been free o' rheumatism since -that day--whiles in my head--whiles in my arm--whiles--" - -"Miss Ross will hear a' round o' them afore she gangs away, Tammie," -said Miss Crankie, impatiently, "or else it'll be a wonderful year. It's -maybe fifteen or sixteen years ago; and the widow and the bairn were off -to England in the first month. Ye may tak my word for't, there wasna -muckle grief, though there was crape frae head to fit of her. I mind the -funeral as weel as if it had passed this morning--folk pretending they -were honoring the dead, that would scarce have spoken a word to him when -he was a living man. He was an old, penurious nasty body, that bought a -young wife wi' his filthy siller. Ye mind him, Tammie?" - -"Mind him!" said the martyr Tammie, pathetically, "ay, I have guid -reason to mind him. Was I no confined to my bed, haill six weeks after -that weary funeral wi' the ticdouleureux? the tae cheek swelled, and the -tither cheek blistered. I ken naebody, Johann, that has guid reason to -mind him as me." - -"Weel, weel," said Miss Crankie, "it was a strong plaister of guid -mustard that cured ye. It's a comfort that ane needs nae advice to -prepare that--its baith easy made and effectual." - -Mrs. Yammer was cowed into silence. Miss Crankie, with a triumphant -chuckle, went on: "And since then there's been no word of them, Miss -Ross, except an intimation in the newspapers, that the light-headed fuil -of a woman had married again. Pity the poor bairn that has gotten a -stepfather over him, for bye being keeped out of the knowledge o' his -ain land. I was ance in England mysel. There's no an article in't but -flat fields, and dead water, and dreary lines o' hedges. Ye may gang -frae the tae end to the tither (a' but the north part, and its maistly -our ain,) and never ken ye have made a mile's progress--its a' the same -thing ower again--and sleek cattle, beasts and men, that ken about -naething in this world but eating and drinking. To think of a callant -being keeped there, out of the knowledge of his ain country, and it a -country like this!" - -"It is a great pity, certainly," said Anne, smiling. - -"Pity! it's a downright wrong and injury to the lad--there's nae saying -if his mind will ever get the better o't." - -"And is the house empty?" said Anne; "does no one live in it?" - -"Naebody that belangs to the house--but there are folk in't.--There's a -brother and a sister o' them, and they're far frae common folk." - -"Is the sister tall and thin--with large, dark, melancholy eyes?" said -Anne, anxiously. - -"Ay, Miss Ross," said Miss Crankie, casting a sharp inquisitive look at -Anne; "where hae ye fa'en in with her? it's no often she has ony -commerce with strangers." - -"I met her on the sands," said Anne, suppressing her agitation with an -effort; "and was very much struck by her look." - -"I dinna wonder at that--she never was just like ither folk; and since -her sister died--puir Kirstin!" - -"Have they a story then?" said Anne; she was trembling with interest and -impatience--she could scarcely contain herself to ask the question. - -"Ay, nae doubt, ye'll be fond of stories, Miss Ross? the most of you -young ladies are." - -"I do feel very much interested in that singular melancholy woman," said -Anne, tremulously. - -Miss Crankie examined her face with an odd magpie-like curiosity. Anne -smiled in spite of herself. The strange little head nodded, and Miss -Crankie began: - -"Ye see, Kirstin and me were at the schule thegither. Ye think Kirstin's -younger-like than me? Ay, so she is. I was dux of the class and reading -in the Bible, when Kirstin began wi' the question book; but we were at -the schule thegither for a' that--there's maybe six or seven years -between us. There were three of a family of them; their father had been -a doctor--a wild, reckless, dissipated man, like what ower mony were, -and the family was puir. I used to take them pieces when they were wee -bairns--ye mind, Tammie?" - -"Ay," said the doleful Tammie, "ye see Johann has a pleasure in minding -thae times, Miss Ross. It's different wi'a puir frail widow woman like -me; the last year I was at the schule I was never dune wi' the -toothache." - -"Kirstin was the auldest," said Miss Crankie, turning her back -impatiently upon her sister, "and Patrick was next to her, and there was -as bonnie a bit lassie as ever you saw, Miss Ross, that was the youngest -of the three--she wasna like the young lady that was here yesterday--she -was darker and mair womanlike; but eh! she was bonnie. - -"They had nae mother--Kirstin was like the mother of them. We used to -laugh at her, when she was a wean of maybe twelve hersel, guiding the -other twa like as if they had been her ain bairns; she was aye quiet and -thoughtful. I was an uncommon grand hand at the bools mysel, and could -throw the ba' as far as Robbie King the heckler--ye mind, Tammie?" - -"Ye threw't on my head yince and broke the skin," said the disconsolate -invalid. "Eh, Miss Ross, the sore headaches I was trysted wi' when I was -a bairn!" - -"I am saying there were three of them," interrupted Miss Crankie. "They -had some bit annuity that keepit them scrimply, and by guid fortune the -father died when Kirstin was about seventeen; so how she guided the -siller I canna tell, or if there was a blessing on't like the widow's -cruise that never toomed; but she keepit hersel and her little sister -decent, and sent Patrick to the college wi' the rest. They had a -cottage, and a guid big garden--she used to be aye working in the garden -hersel. I believe they lived on greens and taties a' the week, and -never had fleshmeat in the house but on the Sabbath-day, when Patrick -was at hame. Mind, I'm only saying I _think_ that, for they were aye -decently put on, and made a puir mouth to nobody. - -"Patrick was serving his time to be a doctor. He was dune wi' his -studies, and was biding at hame for a rest, when a young gentleman that -was heir of an auld property, on the ither side of Aberford, came into -his fortune. Ye'll maybe have heard of him, Miss Ross--the poor, -misguided, unhappy young lad--they ca'ed him Mr. Rutherford, of -Redheugh." - -Anne could hardly restrain an involuntary start; she answered, as calmly -as she could: - -"I have heard the name." - -"Ay, nae doubt--mony mair folk have heard his name than had ony -occasion; it was his ain fault to be sure, but he was just a' the mair -to be pitied for that." - -"I was aye chief wi' Kirstin. I liked her--maybe she didna dislike me. -I've weeded her flowers to her mony a time. I was throughither whiles in -my young days, Miss Ross--no very, but gey. I yince loupit from the top -of our garden wa' wi' her wee sister in my arms--I had near gotten a -lilt with it, for I twisted my ancle--and that would have been a -misfortune." - -"Ye trampit on my fit--it's never been right since," said Mrs. Yammer; -"ye never were out o' mischief." - -Miss Crankie gave a sidelong look up to Anne, with her odd, merry, -little black eyes, and laughed; she took the accusation as a compliment. - -"Weel, but that's no my story. Ye see, Miss Ross, they were never like -ither folk--there was aye something about them--I canna describe it. -Mrs. Clippie, the Captain's wife, was genteeler than them--to tell the -truth we were genteeler oursels; but for a' that, there was just -something--I never could ken what it was. They keepit no company, but a' -the lads were daft about Marion." - -"What Marion?" exclaimed Anne, eagerly. - -"Oh, just Marion Lillie, Kirstin's sister." - -"Marion Lillie!" a wild thrill of hope, and fear, and wonder shot -through Anne's frame. What could that strange conjunction of names -portend? - -"So ye see, the young gentleman, Mr. Rutherford, of Redheugh, came to -the countryside--and Kirstin's house is near his gate, and so he behoved -to see the bonnie face at the window. It wasna like he could miss it. - -"Before lang he had gotten very chief wi' the haill family--they didna -tak it as ony honor--they were just as if they thought themsels the -young Laird's equals; but they were awfu' fond o' him. I have seen -Patrick's face flush like fire if onybody minted a slighting word of -young Redheugh--no that it was often done, for there was never a man -better likit--and Kirstin herself treated him like anither brother, and -for Marion--weel, she was but a lassie; but the Laird and her were just -like the light of ilk ither's e'en. - -"Ye may think, Miss Ross, there was plenty said about it in the -countryside. Rich folk said it wasna right, and puir folk said it wasna -right; but Kirstin guarded her young sister so, that naebody daured mint -a word of ill--it was only spite and ill-nature. - -"Maybe, Miss Ross, your maid will carry ben the tray? or I can cry upon -Sarah." - -Miss Crankie lifted up her voice and called at its loudest pitch for her -handmaiden. Sarah entered, and cleared away the tea equipage with -Jacky's tardy assistance. Jacky was by no means pleased to find her -attendance no longer necessary; she had managed to hear a good deal of -the story, and thirsted anxiously for its conclusion. - -"Bring me my basket, Sarah," said Miss Crankie. "Miss Ross, ye'll excuse -me if I take my work. I have no will to be idle--it's an even down -punishment to me." - -Mrs. Yammer crossed her hands languidly upon her lap and sighed. Sarah -returned, bearing a capacious work-basket, from which Miss Crankie took -a white cotton stocking, in which were various promising holes. "If ye -want onything of this kind done, I'll be very glad, Miss Ross--I'm a -special guid hand." - -Anne thanked her. - -"But your'e wearying for the end of my story, I see," said Miss Crankie, -"just let me get my needle threaded." - -The needle was threaded--the stocking was drawn upon Miss Crankie's -arm--the black turban nodded in good-humored indication of having -settled itself comfortably--and the story was resumed. - -"About that time, when young Redheugh was at his very chiefest with the -Lillies, and folk said he was going to be married upon Marion, a -gentleman came to stay here awhile for the benefit of the sea-side. His -wife was a bit delicate young thing--they said he wasna ower guid to -her. They lived on the other side of the town, and their name was -Aytoun. Mr. Rutherford and him had gotten acquaint in Edinburgh, and for -awhile they were great cronies. Patrick Lillie could not bide this -stranger gentleman--what for I dinna ken--but folk said Redheugh and him -had some bit tifft of an outcast about him; onyway it made no difference -in their friendship. - -"But one July morning, Miss Ross, we were a' startled maist out of our -senses: there was an awfu' story got up of a dead man being found by the -waterside, just on the skirts of yon muckle wood that runs down close by -the sea, and who should this be but the stranger gentleman, Mr. Aytoun. -Somebody had shot him like a coward frae behind, and when they looked -among the bushes, lo! there was a gun lying, and whose name do you think -was on't? just Mr. Rutherford's, of Redheugh. - -"The haill country was in a fever--the like of that ye ken was a -disgrace to us a'--and it was in everybody's mouth. The first body I -thought of was Marion Lillie; the day before she had gone into -Edinburgh--folk said it was to get her wedding dress. Eh, puir lassie! -was that no a awfu' story for a bride to hear? - -"They gaed to apprehend Mr. Rutherford the same night, but he had fled, -and was away before they got to Redheugh, no man kent whither. I met -Christian that day; though I ca' her Kirstin speaking to you, I say aye -Miss Lillie to herself. In the one day that the murder was done she had -gotten yon look. It feared me when I saw it. Her e'en were travelling -far away, as if she could see to ony distance, but had nae vision for -things at hand. 'Eh, Miss Lillie!' I said to her, 'isna this an awfu' -thing; wha could have thought it of young Redheugh!' - -"'I will never believe it!' she said, in a wild away: 'he is not guilty. -I will never believe it!' - -"'And Miss Marion,' said I, 'bless me, it will break the puir lassie's -heart.' - -"'I will not let her come home,' said Kirstin, 'I will send her to the -west country to my father's friends. She must not come home.' - -"She would never say before that there was onything between her sister -and young Redheugh--now she never tried to deny it, her heart was ower -full. - -"Weel, Miss Ross, the miserable young man had gotten away in a foreign -ship, and they hadna been at sea aboon a week when she foundered, and a' -hands were lost; and there was an end of his crime and his -punishment--they were baith buried in the sea. - -"But no the misery of them--the puir lassie was taen away somegate about -Glasgow, but the news came to her ears there. What could ye think, Miss -Ross? It wasna like a common death--there was nae hope in it, either for -this world or the next. It crushed her, as the hail crushes flowers. -Within a fortnight after that, bonnie Marion Lillie was in her grave. - -"Patrick was taen ill of a fever--they say the angry words he had spoken -about Mr. Aytoun to young Redheugh lay heavy on his mind. Kirstin had to -nurse him night and day--she couldna even leave him to see Marion -buried. She died, and was laid in her grave among strangers. When -Patrick was able to leave his bed, the two went west to see the -grave--that was all that remained of their bonnie sister Marion. - -"Since that time they have lived sorrowful and solitary, keeping company -with naebody; the sore stroke has crushed them baith. Patrick never -sought his doctor's licence, nor tried to get a single patient. He has -been ever since a broken-down, weak, invalid man." - -"He had a frail constitution like my ain," said Mrs. Yammer, "and Johann -maun aye have some great misfortune to account for it, when it's -naething but weakness. Eh, Miss Ross, if ye only kent the trouble it is -to a puir frail creature like me to make any exertion." - -Miss Crankie twisted her strange little figure impatiently: - -"When auld Schole died, Christian and Patrick flitted into the house, -and let their ain; they couldna bide it after that. It's a bit bonnie -wee place, maybe twa miles on the ither side of Aberford; and Redheugh -is maybe a quarter o' a mile nearer. They say the King gets the lands -when ony man does a crime like that; it's what they ca' confiscate. -Redheugh has been confiscate before now. The auld Rutherfords were -Covenanters langsyne, and lost their inheritance some time in the -eight-and-twenty years--but that was in a guid cause. Ony way, this Mr. -Rutherford was the last of his name: if there had been ony heir, I kenna -whether he could have gotten Redheugh or no, but it's a mercy the race -is clean gane, and there is none living to bear the reproach." - -Anne's heart beat loudly against her breast; she remained to represent -the fallen house of Rutherford--she was the heir--the reproach: and the -suffering must be her's as well as Norman's. - -"And was there no doubt?" she asked, "was no one else suspected?" - -"Bless me, no; wha in our quiet countryside would lift a hand against a -man's life? If he hadna done it, he wadna have fled away; and if Kirstin -had ony certainty that he hadna done it, do you think she could have -bidden still? Na, I ken Kirstin Lillie better. Patrick was aye a weakly -lad, ower gentle for the like of that, but Kirstin could never have -sitten down in idleset if there had been ony hope. Mony a heart was wae -for him at the time, but the story has blawn by now; few folk think of -it. I wadna have tell't ye, Miss Ross, if ye hadna noticed Kirstin first -yoursel--but ye'll no mention it again." - -"I certainly will not do anything that could hurt Miss Lillie's -feelings," said Anne. - -"Ye see, she's half housekeeper of Schole the now; she pays nae rent, or -if there's ony, it's just for the name, and the house is sae -dismal-looking that naebody seeks to see't. You would think they couldna -thole a living face dear them; they gang to the Kirk regular, and whiles -ye will see them wandering on the sands; but for visiting onybody, or -having onybody visiting them, ye might as weel think of the spirits in -heaven having commune with us that are on the earth." - -"And that minds me," said Mrs. Yammer, breaking in with a long loud -sigh, which the impatient Miss Crankie knew by dire experience was the -prelude to a doleful story, "of the awfu' fright I got after my man John -Yammer was laid in his grave, that brought on my palpitation. Ye see, -Miss Ross, I was sitting my lane, yae eerie night about Martinmas, in my -wee parlor that looks out on the green; and Johann, she was away at -Aberford, laying in some saut meat for the winter--wasna it saut meat, -Johann?" - -"Never you mind, Tammie, my woman," said Johann, persuasively. "We're -dune wi' saut meat for this year." - -"Ay, but it was just to let Miss Ross see the danger of ower muckle -thought, and how it brought on my palpitation. Eh woman, Johann, if ye -only kent how my puir heart beats whiles, louping in my breast like a -living creature!" - -And the whole story was inflicted upon Anne--of how Mrs. Yammer, on the -aforesaid dreary Martinmas night, fancied she saw the shadow of the -umquhile John, gloomily lowering on her parlor wall; of how her heart -"played thud and cracked, like as it wad burst," as the shadowy head -nodded solemnly, darkening the whole apartment; of how at last Johann -returned, and with profane laughter, discovered the ghost to be the -shadow of a branch of the old elm without, some bare twigs upon the -extremity of which were fashioned into the likeness of an exceeding -retrousee nose, "the very marrow" of that prominent feature in the face -of the late lamented John; of which discovery his mournful relic was but -half convinced, and her heart had palpitated since, "sometimes less, and -sometimes mair, but I've never been quit o't for a week at a time." - -The infliction terminated at last, Miss Crankie carried her sister off -when the gloaming began to darken, having sufficient discernment to -perceive that Anne's patience had been enough tried for a beginning. - -Anne's thoughts were in a maze. She sat down by the window in the soft -gloom of the spring night, and looked towards the house, where beat -another true and faithful heart which had wept and yearned over -Norman--Marion--Marion--was she living or dead? could this Christian -Lillie be aware of Norman's existence, and of his innocence? There could -not be two betrothed Marions. In the latter part of the story, the -countryside must have been deceived. Who so likely to accompany the -exile as the sister of this brave woman, who had done the housemother's -self-denying duty in her earliest youth? Anne's pulse beat quick, she -became greatly agitated; was there then a tie of near connexion between -herself and this stranger, whose path she had again crossed? Was -Norman's wife Christian's sister? had they an equal stake in the return -of the exile? - -She could not sit still--cold dew was bursting upon her forehead; she -walked from window to window in feverish excitement. Could she dare to -ask?--could she venture to make herself known? Alas, she was still no -whit advanced in her search for proof of Norman's innocence! If -Christian Lillie had possessed any clue, she must, it was certain, have -used it before now; and until some advance had been made, these two -strangers in their singular kindred would not dare to whisper to one -another that Norman lived. - -Anne threw herself upon her chair again. And Lilie--who was Lilie? Why -was this stranger child brought--of all localities in the world--to the -neighbourhood of Merkland? Could it be? could it be? her heart grew sick -with feverish hope and anxiety; her mind continued to hover about, and -dwell upon this mystery; but she almost forcibly restrained herself from -articulate thought upon it--she could not venture yet to entertain the -hope. - -And Norman! Esther Fleming's story had brought him out clear before her, -in the gay light of his generous boyhood.--Graver and more deeply -affecting was this. Who might venture to compute the untold agonies of -that terrible time of parting--the nervous compulsory strength of the -girl-heart that went with him--the stern patience of the maturer one, -who above by the sick-bed at home! Grief that must have remained with -all its burning sense of wrong, and heavy endurance of an undeserved -curse, since ever little Alice Aytoun opened her blue eyes to the -light--a lifetime of pain, and fear, and sorrow--too dreadful to look -back upon! - -And Anne's heart sank when she looked forward--living here, in the -immediate spot where the deed was done, with all facility for collecting -favorable evidence, and with better knowledge, and a more immediate -certainty of Norman's innocence than even Anne herself could have--why -had the brother and sister done nothing to remove this stain? She could -only account for it by supposing them paralysed with fear--terrified to -risk the present security of those so dear to them, for any uncertainty -even of complete acquittal--and afraid of making any exertion, lest the -eyes of curiosity should be turned upon them. - -The Forth lay vast in silvery silence, breathing long sighs along its -sands. Opposite swelling soft and full, in the spiritual dimness of the -spring night, rose the fair lands of Fife. Still and solemn in its -saintly evening rest, lay the beautiful earth everywhere. Only awake and -watching, under dusky roofs, and in dim chambers, were the hoping, -toiling, wrestling souls of men, nobler and of mightier destiny, than -even the beautiful earth. - -The next morning, when she entered the sunny little parlor, Anne found -Jacky rearranging, according to her own ideas of elegance, the breakfast -equipage, which Miss Crankie's energetic little servant had already -placed upon the table. Anne smiled, and felt almost uncomfortable, as -she observed the solitary cup and saucer on the table--the single -plate--the minute teapot.--After all, this living alone, had something -very strange in it. - -Jacky seemed to think so too: she filled out Anne's cup of tea, and -lingered about the back of her chair. - -"If ye please, Miss Anne--" - -"Well, Jacky?" - -"If ye please," said Jacky, hesitating, "do ye ken wha little Miss Lilie -is?" - -Anne started and turned round in alarm--was this strange, dark maid of -her's really an elfin, after all? - -"No, Jacky," she said. "Why do you ask?" - -"Because--it's no forwardness, Miss Anne," murmured Jacky, hanging down -her head. - -"I know that, Jacky--because what?" - -"Because, Miss Anne," said Jacky, emboldened, "I saw a lady down on the -sands. She was standing close by the bushes at yon dark house, and her -e'en were travelling ower the water, and her face was white--I will aye -mind it--and--" - -"And what?" - -"It was her that brought little Lilie to the Mill. I saw her once by -Oranside at night; and she was on our side of the water; and she was -looking across at Merkland." - -"Was Lilie with her then, Jacky?" - -"No, Miss Anne; but I saw her after, leading Lilie by the hand, and then -she was on the Merkland side, where Esther Fleming lives; and she was -walking about, canny and soft, as if she wanted to see in." - -"And are you sure it is the same lady, Jacky?" said Anne. - -"I ken, Miss Anne," said Jacky, eagerly; "because there's no twa faces -like yon in a' the world; and, Miss Anne, do ye mind Lilie's e'en?" - -"Yes, Jacky." - -Anne did recollect them--and how dark and full their liquid depths were! - -"Because Lilie's e'en are the very same--only they're no sae woeful--and -I kent the lady would be some friend, but Mrs. Melder said it couldna be -her mother." - -Anne's heart swelled full. Could this little child be as near of -kindred to herself as to Christian Lillie? Her mind was overflowing with -this. She forgot that Jacky lingered. - -"And, if ye please, Miss Anne--" - -Anne again turned round to listen. - -"She was looking away ower the water, and leaning on the hedge--maybe -she lives yonder--and Miss Anne--" - -"What is it, Jacky?" - -Jacky drew near and spoke very low: - -"Do you mind the sang, Miss Anne, that Miss Alice sang on the New-year's -night, when Mr. Archibald came home to the Tower?" - -Anne started. - -"The lady was saying it to hersel very low--the way Lilie sings her -strange music." - -"What did she say, Jacky?" - -"If ye please, Miss Anne, it was a short verse--it was about seeing the -stars rise upon the Oran. I can say't a'." And Jacky hung back, and -blushed and hesitated. - -The connexion became clearer by every word. "The student lad" who wrote -this ballad--could it be Patrick Lillie? - -"Was it last night you heard this, Jacky?" - -"No, Miss Anne, it was this morning very early. I wanted to see the -sea," said Jacky, bashfully, "and I saw the sun rise. But I think the -lady wasna heeding for the sea. She wasna there at a'. She was in her -ain spirit." - -"And you are sure you are not mistaken, Jacky?" said Anne. - -"Miss Anne!" exclaimed Jacky, "ye would ken yourself, if you saw her. -Its just Lilie's e'en--only they are far, far deeper and sadder, and aye -searching and travelling, as if something was lost that they bid to -find, and were seeking for night and day." - -"That they bid to find!" The words roused Anne. "Did you mention this to -any one?" she asked. - -Jacky looked injured--an imputation on her honor she could not bear. - -"I never tell things, Miss Anne. I'm no a talepyet." - -"Well, Jacky, remember that I trust you. I have heard that this lady has -had great sorrow; and she has some good reason, no doubt, for not -keeping Lilie beside her. Mind, you must never mention this to any -one--not to Bessie--not even to your mother, when we return. No one -knows it, but you and me. I am sure I can trust you, Jacky." - -Jacky gave a faithful promise, and went away with secret and proud -dignity. She also had entered upon the search--she had begun to -co-operate with Anne. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - - -Anne had fairly started upon her voyage of discovery. The beginning of -it cost her many thoughts. She had half advanced to various peasant -wives, whom she saw at cottage doors, screaming to unruly children, or -out upon the universal "green," superintending their little -bleaching--and had as often shrunk back, in painful timidity, which she -blamed herself greatly for, but could not manage to overcome. It was -quite different among the well-known cottages of Strathoran, though even -with them, Anne would have felt visits of condescension or patronage -unspeakably awkward and painful. Now this constitutional shyness must be -overcome. Walking along the high road, a considerable way beyond the -village of Aberford, she suddenly came upon a desolate mansion-house. -The broken gate hung by the merest tag of hinge; the stone pillars were -defaced and broken. What had formerly been ornamental grounds before the -house, were a jungle of long grass, and uncouth brushwood. Bushes grown -into unseemly straggling trees, beneath the shadow of which, thistles -and nettles luxuriated, and plumes of unshorn grass waved rank and long, -as if in the very triumph of neglect. The house-door hung as insecurely -as the gate--the steps were mossy and cracked--the windows entirely -shattered, and in some cases the very frames of them broken. Behind, the -gardens lay in a like state of desolation. Here and there a cultivated -flower, which had been hardy enough to cling to its native soil, marked -among wild blossoms, and grass, and weeds, a place where care and -culture had once been. Upon a mossed and uneven wall some fruit-trees -clung, rich with blossoms: it had been an orchard once. In the midst of -another waste and desolate division stood the broken pedestal of a -sun-dial; a sloping wilderness ascended from it to the low windows of -what seemed once to have been a drawing-room. A spell of neglect was -over it all, less terrific than that still horror which a poet of our -own time has thrown over his haunted house, but yet in the gay wealth -and hopefulness of spring, striking chill and drearily upon the -observer's eye. Anne examined it with curious interest; she could -suspect what house it was. - -A little further on she came upon a cottage of better size and -appearance than most, with a well-filled little garden before its door, -and knots of old trees about it. It was the house of a "grieve," or farm -overseer, a rising man in his humble circle, whose wife aimed at being -genteel. She stood in the door, basking in the sun, with her youngest -baby in her arms; the good woman had a multitude of babies; the latest -dethroned one was tumbling about at her feet. Anne bent over the little -gate to ask the name of the forlorn and desolate house she had just -past. - -"Oh, that's Redheugh," said Mrs. Brock, the grieve's wife. - -Anne lingered, and held out her hand to the hardy little urchin -scrambling in the garden. Mrs. Brock looked as if she would quite like -to enter into conversation: - -"Be quiet, Geordie; ye'll dirty the lady's gloves." - -"No, no," said Anne, taking the small brown hand into her own. "I am -very fond of children, and this is a fine, sturdy little fellow." - -"Ye'll be a stranger, I'm thinking?" said Mrs. Brock. "There's few folk -in our parish that dinna ken Redheugh." - -"Yes," said Anne. "I am quite a stranger; what is the reason it lies so -deserted and desolate?" - -"Ye'll be come to the sea-side?" pursued Mrs. Brock; "it's no often we -have folk out frae Edinburgh sae early in the year. Is't no unco cauld -for bathing?" - -"I should think it was," said Anne smiling, "but I have never, bathed -yet." - -"It'll be just for the sea air?" continued Mrs. Brock. "Are ye bideing -far frae here, Mem, if yin may ask?" - -"I am living a good way on the other side of Aberford," said Anne. - -"Oh, and ye have had a lang walk, and it's a warm day. Get out of the -road, Geordie; will ye no come in and sit down? ye'll be the better for -the rest?" - -Mrs. Brock, as we have before said, had an ambition to be genteel. Now -Anne Ross with her very plain dress, and quite simple manners, was -eminently ladylike, and might be a desirable acquaintance. Anne accepted -the invitation, and setting the strong little urchin, whom his mother -knocked about with so little delicacy, on his feet, she led him in with -her. - -Mrs. Brock's parlor was a temple sacred to company, and holidays. Its -burnished grate, and narrow mantlepiece, elaborately ornamented with -foreign shells; brilliant peacock feathers waved gracefully over the -gilded frame of the little square mirror; the carpet was resplendent in -all the colors of the rainbow. There were sturdy mahogany chairs, and a -capacious haircloth sofa--the two ends of a dining-table stood in the -middle of the room, elaborated into the brightest polish--the center -piece was placed against the wall, and decorated with a case of stuffed -birds. Mrs. Brock paused at the door, and contemplated it all with -infinite complacency. It was something to have so grand a place to -exhibit to a stranger. - -"Take a seat on the sofa, Mem; ye'll be wearied wi' your lang walk. -Geordie, ye little sinner, wad ye put your dirty shoon on the guid -carpet? Get away wi' ye." - -Mrs. Brock bundled the little fellow unceremoniously out, and seated -herself opposite her guest. - -"You have a fine view," said Anne. - -"Is't no beautiful? They tell me there's no a grander sight in the world -than just the Firth and Fife. Yonder's the Lomonds, ye ken, and yon -muckle hill, even over the water, that's Largo Law. My mother was a Fife -woman--I have lived at Colinsbrugh mysel; and we can see baith Inchkeith -and the May in a clear day, no to speak o' the Bass. We're uncommonly -well situate here; it's a fine house altogether." - -"It seems so, indeed," said Anne. - -"Ye see the only ill thing about it is, that it's no our ain.--George -was uncommon keen to have had the house the bairns were a' born in. He's -an awfu' man for his bairns." - -"Very natural," said Anne. - -"Oh, ay, nae doubt it's natural, but it's no ilka body that has the -thought; he wad have gien twa hunder pounds for the house; twa clear -hunder--it's no worth that siller, ye ken, but it's just because we've -been in't sae lang. But Miss Lillie wadna hear o't; it's no every day -she could get an offer like that, and they canna be sae weel off as to -throw away twa hunder pounds, ane would think." - -"Is this Miss Lillie's house?" said Anne. - -"Ay--ye'll ken Miss Lillie it's like?" - -"No," said Anne, "I do not know her, but I have heard her name." - -"There's bits of conveniences a' through it," said Mrs. Brock, "that had -been putten up when they were bideing here themsels; and the garden -behint. Miss Lillie beggit George to keep the flowers right, and he -takes uncommon pains with them. He's a guid-hearted man, our George; -ye'll no often meet wi' the like of him." - -"And that house of Redheugh," said Anne; "why is it so neglected and -desolate?" - -"Eh, bless me!" said Mrs. Brock, "have ye no heard the story?" - -"What story?" said Anne. - -"Eh, woman!" exclaimed the grieve's wife, forgetting her good manners in -astonishment. "Ye maun have been awfu' short time hereabout, if ye -havena heard the story of the Laird o' Redheugh." - -"I only arrived yesterday," said Anne. - -"Weel, it's no ill to tell. The young gentleman that aught it killed a -man and was drowned himsel when he was trying to escape: it's just as -like the Book o' Jonah as anything out o' the Bible could be. There was -a great storm, and the ship he was in sank; he couldna carry the guilt -of the pluid over the sea. They say murder wouldna hide if ye could put -a' the tokens o't beneath North Berwick Law. It made an awfu' noise in -the countryside at the time, but it's no muckle thought o' now, only -a'body kens what gars the house lie desolate. Folk say ye may see the -gentleman that was killed, and Redheugh himsel in his dreeping claes, -like as if he was new come up from the bottom of the sea, fighting and -striving in the auld avenue--aye at midnight o' the night it was -done--but _ye'll_ no believe the like o' that?" - -"No," said Anne vacantly; she did not know what she answered. - -"Weel, I never saw onything myself--but they say the spirit's ill to -pacify, that's met wi' a violent death--and I wad just be as weel -pleased no to put myself in the way. I have aye an eerie feeling when I -pass the gate at night. After a' ye ken, there's naething certain about -it in Scripture--maybe the dead can come back, maybe they canna--ane -disna ken. I think it's aye best to keep out of the gait." - -"It is, no doubt, the most prudent way," said Anne, smiling. - -"Ye wad, maybe, like to see the garden, Miss--" - -Mrs. Brock was mightily anxious to know who her visitor was. - -"Ross," said Anne. - -"Weel, Miss Ross, I am sure ye'll be pleased wi' the garden--will ye -come this way?" - -Anne followed. The garden was in trim order--well kept and gracefully -arranged. Spring flowers, with their delicate hopeful fragrance and pale -hues, were scattered through the borders. The blossom on the lilac -bushes was already budded, and the hawthorn had here and there unfolded -its first flowers. - -"But the simmer-house, Miss Ross," said Mrs. Brock. - -The summer-house was not one of the ordinary tea-garden abominations. It -was a knoll of soft turf, the summit of which had been formed into a -seat, with a narrow space of level greensward for its footstool. Over it -was a light and graceful canopy, with flowering plants more delicate and -rare, than are generally seen in cottage gardens, clustering thickly -over it, while the foliage of some old trees, growing at the foot of the -hillock, made a rich background. From its elevated seat, you could see -the slopes of Fife lying fair below the sun, and the gallant Forth -between.--Anne stood and gazed round her in silence. She could see the -dark trees, and high roof of Redheugh at her other hand; how often might -Norman, in his happy years long ago, have stood upon this spot? Yet here -it shone in its fresh life and beauty, when all that remained of him, -was dishonor and desolation! - -But there was in this a solemn, silent hope which struck Anne to the -heart. Christian Lillie had entreated, as her tenant said, that these -flowers should be carefully tended. Christian Lillie would not part with -the house. Was she not looking forward, then, to some future -vindication--to some home-coming of chastened joyfulness--to some final -light, shedding the radiance of peace upon her evening time? - -Anne had to sit down in Mrs. Brock's parlor again, and suffer herself to -be refreshed with a glass of gooseberry wine, not quite so delectable as -Mrs. Primrose's immortal preparation, before she was permitted to -depart. Mrs. Brock had another decanter upon her table, filled with a -diabolical compound, strongly medicinal in taste and odor, which she -called ginger wine, and which Anne prudently eschewed--and a plate of -rich "short-bread," at which little Geordie, tumbling on the mat at the -door, cast longing loving looks. Mrs. Brock hoped Miss Ross would come -to see her again. - -"It's just a nice walk. Ye maun come and tak' a cup o' tea when George -is in himsel. He's an uncommon weel-learned man, our George--he could -tell ye a' the stories o' the countryside." - -Anne had to make a half promise that she would return to avail herself -of the stores of George Brock's information, before his admiring wife -released her. - -She had overcome her repugnance a little--it was a tolerable beginning -so far as that went--but how dark, how hopeless seemed the prospect! -There was no doubt in that confident expression--no benevolent hope that -Norman might be guiltless! She had been told so long before, and had -come to Aberford, in the face of that. Yet the repetition of it by so -many indifferent strangers discouraged her sadly--her great expectation -collapsed. Only a steady conviction in her brother's innocence, a solemn -hope of vindication to him, living or dead, upheld her in her further -way. - -In the evening she wandered out upon the sands. It was a still night, -wrapped in the gray folds of a mistier gloaming, than she had before -seen sinking over the brilliant Firth. Anne hovered about the enclosure -of Schole. The dreary house had a magnetic attraction for her. She stood -by the low gate, close to the water, and looked in. The high foliage of -the hedge hid her--gate itself was the only loophole in the thick fence, -which surrounded the house on all sides. There was light in the low -projecting window, which dimly revealed a gloomy room, furnished with -book shelves. At a sort of study table, placed in the recess of the -window, there sat a man bending over a book. His face was illuminated by -the candle beside him. A pale, delicate face it was, telling of a mind -nervously susceptible, a spirit answering to every touch, with emotion -so intense and fine, as to make the poetic temperament, not a source of -strength and mighty impulse, as in hardier natures, but a well-spring of -exquisite feebleness--a fountain of pensive blight and beauty. The snowy -whiteness of his high, thin temples, the long silky fair hair upon his -stooping head, heightened the impression of delicate grace and -feebleness. He looked young, but had, in reality, seen nearly forty -years of trouble and sorrow. His brow was almost covered by the long, -thin white fingers that supported it. He was absorbed in his book. - -A strange resemblance to Christian Lillie was in the student's pale and -contemplative face. There could be no doubt that he was her invalid -brother--and yet how strangely unlike they were! - -Anne turned to pursue her walk along the dim sands. A faint ray of -moonlight was stealing through the mist, silvering the water, and the -long glistening line of its wet shores here and there. In the light, she -caught a glimpse of a slow advancing figure. Fit place and time it was, -for such a meeting--for the tall dark outline and slow step, could -belong to but one person. Anne trembled, and felt her own step falter. -They had never yet heard each other's voices, yet were connected by so -close a tie--were wandering upon this solitary place, brooding over one -great sorrow--perhaps tremulously embracing one solemn hope. - -When they met, she faltered some commonplace observation about the -night. To her astonishment, Christian Lillie replied at once. It might -be that she saw Anne's agitation--it might be that she also longed to -know Norman's sister. That she knew her to be so, Anne could not doubt: -her melancholy contemplation of Merkland--her evident start and -surprise, when they formerly met upon the sands, made that certain. - -"Yes," said Christian Lillie, in a voice of singular sadness, "it is a -beautiful night." - -The words were of the slightest--the tone and manner, the drawing in of -that long breath, spoke powerfully. This, then, was her one -pleasure--this gentle air of night was the balm of her wearied spirit. - -"The mist is clearing away," said Anne, tremulously. "Yonder lights on -the Fife shore are clear now--do you see them?" - -"Ay, I see them," was the answer. "Cheerful and pleasant they look here. -Who knows what weariness and misery--what vain hopes and sick hearts -they may be lighting." - -"Let us not think so," said Anne, gently. "While we do not know that our -hopes are vain we still have pleasure in them." - -"I have seen you more than once before," said Christian Lillie. "You are -not, or your face is untrue, one to think of vain pleasure at an -after-cost of pain. Hopes!--I knew what they were once--I know now what -it is to feel the death of them: what think you of the vain toils that -folk undergo for a hope? the struggle and the vigils, and the sickness -of its deferring? I see light burning yonder through all the watches of -the night--what can it be but the fever of some hope that keeps them -always shining? I saw yours in your window last night, when everybody -near was at rest but myself. What is it that keeps you wakeful but some -hope?" - -"You know me then--you know what my hope is?" said Anne, eagerly. - -"No," said Christian. "Tell it not to me. I have that in me that blights -hope--and the next thing after a blighted hope, is a broken heart. It is -wonderful--God shield you, from the knowledge--how long a mortal body -will hold by life after there is a broken heart within it! I think -sometimes that it is only us who know how strong life is--not the -hopeful and joyous, but us, who are condemned to bear the burden--us, -who drag these days out as a slave drags a chain." - -"Do not say so," said Anne. Her companion spoke with the utmost -calmness--there was a blank composure about her, which told more -powerfully even than her words, the death of hope.--"There can be no -life, however sorrowful, that has not an aim--an expectation." - -"An aim?--ay, an aim! If you knew what you said you would know what a -solemn and sacred thing it is that has stood in my path, these seventeen -years, the ending of my travail--an expectation! What think you of -looking forward all that time, as your one aim and expectation--almost, -God help us, as your hope--for a thing which you knew would rend your -very heart, and make your life a desert when it came--what think ye of -that? There are more agonies in this world than men dream of in their -philosophy." - -"Are we not friends?" said Anne. "Have we not an equal share in a great -sorrow that is past--I trust and hope in a great joy that is to come? -Will you not take my sympathy?--my assistance?" - -Christian Lillie shrank, as Anne thought, from her offered hand. - -"An equal share--an equal share. God keep you from that--but it becomes -you well: turn round to the light, and let me see your face." - -She laid her hand on Anne's shoulder, and, turning her round, gazed upon -her earnestly. - -"Like--and yet unlike," she murmured. "You are the only child of your -mother? she left none but you?" - -"Except--" - -"Hush, what would you say?" said Christian, hurriedly.--"And you would -offer me sympathy and help? Alas! that I cannot take it at your, hands. -You have opened a fountain in this withered heart, that I thought no -hand in this world could touch but one. It is a good deed--you will get -a blessing for it--now, fare you well." - -"Shall I not see you again?" said Anne. - -Christian hesitated. - -"I do not know--why should you? you can get nothing but blight and -disappointment from me, and yet--for once--you may come to me at -night--not to-morrow night, but the next. I will wait for you at the -little gate; and now go home and take rest--is it not enough that one -should be constantly watching? Fare you well." - -Before Anne could answer, the tall, dark, gliding figure was -away--moving along with noiseless footstep over the sands to the gate of -Schole. She proceeded on herself, in wonder and agitation--how shallow -was her concern for Norman in comparison with this; how slight her -prospect of success when this earnest woman, whose words had such a tone -of power in them, even in the deepness of her grief, declared that in -her all hope was dead. It was a blow to all her expectations--nevertheless -it did not strike her in that light. Her anticipation of the promised -interview, her wonder at what had passed in this, obliterated the -discouraging impression. She was too deeply interested in what she -had seen and heard, to think of the stamp of hopelessness which these -despairing words set on her own exertions. That night she transferred -her lights early from her little sitting-room to the bed-chamber -behind. That was a small matter, if it gave any satisfaction to the -melancholy woman, the light from whose high chamber window she could -see reflected on the gleaming water, after Miss Crankie's little -household had been long hours at rest. - -The next day was a feverish day to Anne, and so was the succeeding one. -She took long walks to fill up the tardy time, and made acquaintance -with various little sunbrowned rustics, and cottage mothers; but gained -from them not the veriest scrap of information about Norman, beyond what -she already knew--that he had killed a man, and had been drowned in his -flight from justice--that now the property, as they thought, was in the -king's hands, "and him having sae muckle," as one honest woman -suggested, "he didna ken weel what to do wi't. Walth gars wit -wavor--It's a shame to fash him, honest man, wi' mair land that he can -make ony use o'--it would have been wiser like to have parted it among -the puir folk." - -On the afternoon of the day on which she was to see Christian Lillie -again, Anne lost herself in the unknown lanes of Aberford. After long -wandering she came to the banks of a little inland water, whose quiet, -wooded pathway was a great relief to her, after the dust and heat of -the roads. She stayed for a few minutes to rest herself; upon one hand -lay a wood stretching darkly down as she fancied to the sea. She was -standing on its outskirts where the foliage thinned, yet still was -abundant enough to shade and darken the narrow water; a little further -on, the opposite bank swelled gently upward in fields, cultivated to the -streamlet's edge--but the side on which she herself stood, was richly -wooded along all its course, and matted with a thick undergrowth of -climbing plants and shrubs and windsown seedlings. The path wound at -some little distance from the waterside through pleasant groups of -trees. Anne paused, hesitating and undecided, not knowing which way to -turn. A loud and cheerful whistle sounded behind her, and looking back, -she saw a ruddy country lad, of some sixteen or seventeen years, -trudging blythely along the pathway; she stopped him to ask the way. - -"Ye just gang straight forenent ye," said the lad, "even on, taking the -brig at Balwithry, and hauding round by the linn in Mavisshaw. Ye canna -weel gang wrang, unless ye take the road that rins along the howe of the -brae to the Milton, and it's fickle to ken which o' them is the right -yin, if ye're no acquaint." - -"I am quite a stranger," said Anne. - -"I'm gaun to the Milton mysel," said the youth. "I'll let ye see the way -that far, and then set ye on to the road." - -Anne thanked him, and walked on briskly with her blythe conductor, who -stayed his whistling, and dropped a step or two behind, in honor of the -lady. He was very loquacious and communicative. - -"I'm gaun hame to see my mother. My father was a hind on the Milton -farm, and my mother is aye loot keep the house, now that she's a -widow-woman. I've been biding wi' my uncle at Dunbar. He's a shoemaker, -and he wanted to bind me to his trade." - -"And will you like that?" said Anne. - -"Eh no--I wadna stand it; I aye made up my mind to be a ploughman like -my father before me; sae my uncle spoke for me to the grieve at Fantasie -and I'm hired to gang hame at the term. So I cam the noo to see my -mother." - -"Have you had a long walk?" said Anne. - -"It's twal mile--it was eleven o'clock when I started--I didna ken what -hour it is noo. It should be three by the sun." Anne consulted her -watch; it was just three; the respect of her guide visibly -increased--gold watches were notable things in Aberford. - -"I thought yince of starting at night. Eh! if I had been passing in the -dark, wadna I hae been frighted to see a leddy thonder." - -"Why yonder?" said Anne, "is there anything particular about that -place?" - -"Eh!" exclaimed the lad, "do ye no ken? there was a man killed at the -fit of thon tree." - -Anne started. "Who was he?" she asked. - -"I dinna mind his name--it's lang, lang ago--but he was a gentleman, and -my father was yin 'o the witnesses. Maybe ye'll have seen a muckle -house, ower there, a' disjasket and broken down. George Brock, the -grieve lives near the gate o't--it's no far off." - -"Yes, I have seen it," said Anne. - -"Weel, the gentleman that killed him lived there--at least a'body said -it was him that did it--I have heard my father speak about him mony a -time." - -"And what was your father a witness of?" said Anne. - -"Oh, he met Redheugh coming out of the wood--only my father aye thought -that he bid to be innocent, for he was singing, and smiling, and as -blythe as could be." - -"And your father thought him innocent?" said Anne eagerly. - -"Ay--at least he thought it was awfu' funny, if he had killed the man, -that he should be looking sae blythe. A' the folk say there was nae -doubt about it, and sae does my mother, but my father was aye in a -swither; he thought it couldna be. Here's the Milton, and ower yonder, -ye see, like a white line--yon's the road--it's just the stour that -makes it white; and if ye turn to the right, and haud even on, ye'll -come to the toun." - -Anne thanked him, and offered some small acknowledgment, with which the -lad, though he took it reluctantly, and with many scruples, went away, -whistling more blythely than ever. How little did the youthful rustic -imagine the comfort and hope and exhilaration which these thoughtless -words of his had revived in his chance companion's heart! - -There had been one in this little world, who, in the midst of -excitement, and in the face of evidence, and the universal opinion of -his fellows, held Norman innocent. Anne thanked God, and took -courage--there was yet hope. - -She waited nervously for the evening; when the darkness of the full -night came stealing on, she glided along the sands to the gate of -Schole. - -The projecting window was dark; there seemed to be no light in the whole -house. She looked over the gate anxiously for Christian--no one was -visible--dark ever-green shrubs looking dead and stern among the gay -spring verdure, stood out in ghostly dimness along the garden; the house -looked even more gloomy and dismal than heretofore, and the night was -advancing. - -Anne tried the gate; it opened freely. She went lightly along the -mossed and neglected path to the principal door. It was evidently -unused, and in grim security barred the entrance; she passed the -projecting window again, and with some difficulty found a door at the -side of the house, at which she knocked lightly. - -There was evidently some slight stir within; she thought she could hear -a sound as of some one listening. She knocked again--there was no -response--she repeated her summons more loudly; there was nothing -clandestine in her visit to Christian. - -She fancied she could hear steps ascending a stair, and echoing with a -dull and hollow sound through the house. Presently a window above was -opened, and the face of an old woman, buried in the immense borders of a -white night-cap, looked out: - -"Eh! guid preserve us. Wha are ye, disturbing honest folk at this hour -o' the night; and what do ye want?" - -"Is Miss Lillie not within?" said Anne in disappointment. - -"Miss Lillie! muckle you're heeding about Miss Lillie; its naething but -an excuse for theftdom and spoliation; but I warn ye, ye'll get naething -here. Do ye ken there's an alarm-bell in Schole?" - -"I am alone," said Anne, "and have merely come to see Miss Lillie, I -assure you. You see I could do you no injury." - -"And how div I ken," said the cautious portress a little more gently, -"that ye havena a band at the ither side of the hedge?" - -"You can see over the hedge," said Anne, smiling in spite of her -impatience, "that I am quite alone. Pray ask Miss Lillie to admit me; -she will tell you that I came by her own appointment. - -"A bonnie like hour for leddies to be visiting at," said the old woman; -"and how div ye ken that Miss Lillie will come at my ca'?" - -"Pray do not keep me waiting," said Anne, "it is getting late. Tell Miss -Lillie that I am here." - -"And if I were gaun to tell Miss Lillie ye were here, wha would take -care o' the house, I wad like to ken? Ye're no gaun to pit your gowk's -errands on me. If I had the loudest vice in a' Scotland, it wadna reach -Miss Lillie, an I cried till I was hoarse." - -"You don't mean to say," exclaimed Anne, "that she is not at home!--that -Miss Lillie has left Schole?" - -"Ay, deed div I--nothing less. Mr. Patrick and her gaed away last night' -to see their friends in the west country. Is that a'? If ye had a hoast -like me, and were as muckle fashed wi' your breath, ye wadna have keeped -your head out of the window sae long as I have done." - -"Did she leave no word?" said Anne, "no message--or did she say when she -would return?" - -"Neither the tane nor the tither: she never said a word to me, but that -they were gaun to the west country to see their friends. What for should -they no? They are as free to do their ain pleasure as ither folk." - -Anne turned away, greatly disappointed and bewildered. - -"Be sure you sneck the gate," screamed the careful guardian of Schole, -"and draw the stane close till't that ye pushed away wi' your fit." - -Anne obeyed, and proceeded homeward very much downcast and disappointed. -She had expected so much from this interview, and had looked forward to -it so anxiously. Why should they avoid her? For what reason should the -nearest relatives of Norman's wife, flee from Norman's sister? She -herself had hailed, with feelings so warmly and sadly affectionate, the -idea of their existence and sympathy--perhaps of their co-operation and -help. Now Christian's words returned to her mind in sad perplexity. She -could find no clue to them. The house of Schole looked more dreary and -dismal than ever. She felt a void as she looked back to it, and knew -that the watcher, whose light had fallen upon the still waters of the -Firth through all the lingering night, was there no longer. She left her -watch at the window early, and, with a feeling of blank disappointment -and loneliness, laid herself down to her disturbed and dreaming -rest--very sad, and disconsolate, and unsettled--seeing no clear -prospect before her, nor plan of operation. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - - -The bright weeks of May stole on rapidly, and Anne had made no advance -in her search. Little Alice Aytoun, when she came to visit her, clung -round her neck anxiously, lifting up beseeching eyes to her face, but -Anne had no word of hopeful answer to give. Her own heart was sinking -day by day; the window of Patrick Lillie's study was still shut up and -dark; the old servant whom they had left behind them could give no -information as to their return. Anne was compelled to confess to herself -that her plan had failed--that except for her dim and mysterious -knowledge of these singular Lillies, she had not made a single step of -progress. - -Then Lewis wrote letters, slightly querulous, requiring her presence at -home--and Mrs. Catherine sent one characteristic note promising, "if ye -will be a good bairn and come back, maybe to go with ye myself, when the -weather is more suiting for the seaside." She was doing no good in -Aberford; so with a heavy heart Anne returned home. - -The first day after her arrival at Merkland, she visited the Mill. With -what strange feelings swelling in her heart did she draw the child to -her side, and take into her own its small soft hand. The little strange -exotic Lilie, the wonder of the quiet parish--was she indeed a Lilias -Rutherford?--a daughter of the banished Norman?--her own nearest kin and -relative? - -"Jacky Morison's been up this morning already, Miss Anne," said Mrs. -Melder. "Indeed, and ye may think muckle o' yoursel, Lilie my -woman--baith leddy and maid comin anceerrant to see ye, the first thing -after their home-coming. She's an awfu' strange lassie yon, Miss Anne; -ane would think she had gotten some word o' the bairn that naebody else -kens. She was aye unco fond o' her, but now it's _Miss_ Lilie every -word." - -Strange indeed! these intuitive perceptions of Jacky's puzzled Anne -greatly. - -"That was what they called Lilie at home," said the child thoughtfully. - -"Ay, listen till her; I dinna misdoubt it, Miss Anne--the folk that sent -a' yon bonnie things, maun be weel off in this world." - -"Will you come and walk with me, Lilie?" said Anne: "see what a -beautiful day it is." - -The child assented eagerly, and trying on her bonnet, Anne led her out. -They went to the foot of the tree on which were carved the names of -those two exiles--Norman and Marion. It was a fit resting-place for -their sister and their child. Anne seated herself on the turf, and -placed Lilie by her side. - -"Can you tell me where your home is, Lilie?" - -"Away yonder," said Lilie, "far away, over the sea." - -"And what like is it?" said Anne, "do you remember?" - -"A bonnie, bonnie place--where there's brighter light and warmer days; -and grand flowers far bigger than any in Strathoran; but its lang, lang -to sail, and whiles there were loud winds and storms, and Lilie wasna -weel." - -"Would you like to go home, Lilie?" said Anne. - -"I would like to go to mamma. I would like to go to my own mamma; -but--mamma doesna call yon place home." - -"What does she call it, Lilie?" - -"When mamma was putting Lilie into the big ship, she said Lilie was -coming home; and maybe she would come hersel for Lilie." - -"And how did she look when she said that?" said Anne. - -The child began to cry. - -"She put down her head--my mamma's bonnie head--down into her hands, -this way; and then she began to greet, like me--oh, my mamma!" - -Anne drew the little girl's head into her lap, and wiped away the tears. -"You would be very glad to see mamma, Lilie, if she came here? she will -come perhaps some day." - -"Do you ken my mamma?" said Lilie eagerly. "Did she tell you she was -coming?" - -"No," said Anne, "but when she comes, you will take my hand, and say, -'Mamma, this is my friend;' will you not, and introduce me to her?" - -The child looked brightly up: - -"Eh, Lilie will be blythe! blythe!--but if mamma were coming, what would -Lilie call you?" - -"You would call me aunt," said Anne, her eyes filling as she looked upon -the little face lying on her knee. "Your Aunt Anne that found you out, -when you came a little stranger to the Mill." - -Lilie rose to wind her small arms round Anne's neck. - -"But you're no Lilie's aunt--I wish you were Lilie's aunt--then you -would take me to live at Merkland." - -"Would you like to live at Merkland, Lilie?" - -"Whiles," said the child; "no in bonnie days like this, but -whiles--Jacky says I'm a lady--am I a lady?" - -"Not till you are old, like me; you will be a lady then." - -"But Jacky says I'm a _young_ lady," reiterated Lilie; "does Jacky no -ken?" - -"We will ask mamma when she comes," said Anne. - -The little face became radiant: - -"Eh! when mamma comes!--will you be glad too, like Lilie?--and will they -a' be there? Papa and Lawrie? What way do you put your head down? then -your eyelashes come upon your cheek, and then you grow like--" - -"Like whom, Lilie?" - -"My papa. If mamma comes, will they a' come--papa and Lawrie?" - -"Who is Lawrie, Lilie?" The name was a still further corroboration; -there was something touching in the exile calling his son by his -father's name. - -"Lilie's brother. He is near as tall as you, and he's like papa." - -"And you think I am like papa," said Anne, tremulously. - -"Whiles, when you hold down your head, and look sad." - -"Does papa look sad?" - -"No," said Lilie, "but when you look as if you would greet, then you -grow like him; and Lawrie never greets, and yet he's like him, too. What -way is that?" - -"And do they call you Miss Lilie at home?" said Anne, at once to evade -the difficult question submitted to her, and to ascertain something of -the worldly comforts of her banished brother. Mrs. Melder's guess was no -doubt correct: the box which had been sent to Lilie could come from no -_poor_ house. - -"No papa, or mamma, or Lawrie, but the maids and English John, and -Jose--for papa's no like Robert Melder; he's a rich gentleman." - -"And why did they send you here?" exclaimed Anne, more as expressing her -own astonishment, than addressing the child. - -"Lilie was very ill--had to lie in her bed--mamma thought I would die, -and it was to get strong again. See," Lilie disengaged herself from -Anne, and ran away along the bank of the Oran, returning ruddy and -breathless, "Lilie's strong now." - -"And why did you not tell me this before?" said Anne. - -"Lilie didna mind--Lilie didna ken how to speak;" and the child looked -confused and bewildered. By means of her broken sentences, however, Anne -made out that Lilie had been brought home by a Juana, a Spanish nurse, -and had been accustomed to hear the servants in her father's house speak -the liquid foreign tongue, which she was already beginning to forget. -That being suddenly brought into the rustic Scottish dwelling, and -seeing, with the quick perception of a child, that its inhabitants were -of the same rank as her former attendants, the child had naturally -fancied that their language must also be, not the cultivated English, -the speaking of which was an accomplishment, but the more ornate tongue -which she had been accustomed to hear among their equals in her own -country. Then Mrs. Melder's dialect still further puzzled the lonely -child, who, under the care of Juana, had spoken nothing but Spanish -during the voyage, which she thought so long a one, so that the ideas of -the little head became quite perplexed and ravelled; and it was not -until she had mastered in a considerable degree this new Scottish -tongue, that the more refined words learned from "mamma" began to steal -once more into her childish memory. - -But Anne's attempted questioning, respecting the person who brought -Lilie to the Mill, produced no satisfactory answer. The remembrance had -become hazy already; and save for a general impression of -discomfort--one of those vague indefinite times of childish suffering -and unhappiness, which are by no means either light or trivial, -howsoever we may think of them, when we are involved in more mature -calamities, Lilie's memory failed her. She could give no account of the -interim, between her voyage under the government of Juana, and her -transference to the rule of Mrs. Melder. - -To Mrs. Catherine, Anne had said little of the Lilies--to Lewis nothing. -Their connexion with Norman had nothing to do with the proof of his -innocence, and though Christian Lilie's strange words had occupied her -own mind night and day since she heard them, she yet did not think it -either necessary or prudent to make them a matter of conversation. - -Again, she remained in so much doubt about this singular brother and -sister--their strange seclusion, and grief, and inactivity--their -mysterious and abrupt removal, which evidently was to avoid meeting her, -perplexed herself so much that she did not venture to confide even in -Mrs. Catherine. She brooded over her secret by herself; she slept -little--rested little--took long, solitary, meditative walks, and much -exercise, and felt herself more than ever abstracted from the busy -little world about her. She was becoming a solitary, cheerless woman, -cherishing in silent sadness one great hope; a hope with which strangers -might not intermeddle--which was foolishness to her own nearest -friends--which might never be realized upon this earth--nevertheless a -hope in which her whole nature was concentrated--the very essence and -aim of her being. - -She did not even reveal to Mrs. Catherine her suspicion her hope, that -Lilie was the child of her banished brother. She cherished it in her own -mind as a secret strength and comfort. She endeavored in all gentle ways -to supply the want of the mother after whom the little heart yearned, -and she was successful. Lilie began to call her aunt--to watch in -childish anxiety for her daily visits--to wander about anywhere, -unwearied and joyous, so long as Anne was leading her, and to look to -her at all times as her dearest friend and protector. Then these -childish confidences--these snatches, of dear remembrance of the -far-away mamma--these glances into the household of the exile! Anne drew -new invigoration, strength, and hope from these, in the darkest time of -her depression. - -Yet all endeavors for her great end were stayed--no one lifted a hand in -the cause of the injured man--no one made any exertion to deliver him. -In the bright sunshine of that leafy month of June her heart sickened -within her. She longed to return again to the place where something -might be done, where with a prospect of success, or without it, she -might still labor; she might still engage in the search. - -In the meantime, everything went on peaceably in the parish of -Strathoran. Jeanie Coulter and Walter Foreman had made up their mind, -and were speedily to be married. Ada Mina, in the glory of being -bridesmaid and bride's sister, had almost forgotten Giles Sympelton. -Marjory Falconer was very remarkably quiet; she was "beginning to -settle." Mrs. Bairnsfather said, maliciously, "and it was high time." -Mr. Ferguson's work was advancing in the bleak lands of Lochend and -Loelyin. Mr. Coulter and he were very busy, and in high spirits. Lord -Gillravidge had left Strathoran. The fair country, in the height of its -summer beauty, had no attractions for Lord Gillravidge. There was no -game to slaughter, and other kind of excitement, the quiet Norland -parish had never possessed any. - -Mr. Fitzherbert was left behind; he was now lord paramount at -Strathoran, and a very great man, intensely detested by the Macalpines -of Oranmore, and spoken of with bitter derision and disdain by all the -other inhabitants of Strathoran. He had displeased Lord Gillravidge by -being the occasion of Giles Sympelton's desertion, and was left behind -half as a punishment for that offence, and half as a promotion for -counter-balancing good offices. Mr. Fitzherbert's feelings concerning it -were of the same mixed description. He was immensely bored with the -intolerable weariness of the country, while at the same time he enjoyed -his temporary lordship, and ordered and stormed magnificently in the -desecrated house of the Sutherlands. - -We should not have intruded ourselves into his disagreeable presence had -that been all. But Mr. Fitzherbert in his dreariness, when he had -exercised his petty despotism to its full extent--had cursed the -servants, bullied Mr. Whittret, and asserted his predominance in various -other pleasant and edifying ways--was forced to invent further amusement -for himself. Surely, there never was an unhappy individual with small -brains and a craving for excitement more miserably placed. - -It chanced one day that Flora Macalpine, Mrs. Ferguson's very pretty and -very bashful nurserymaid, unwarily entered the contested by-way, while -walking with the Woodsmuir children. Mr. Fitzherbert met her there, and -the first harsh sound of his command to leave the road, was very much -less disagreeable than the softening of tone which followed. Mr. -Fitzherbert began to admire the pretty Highland girl, and to venture to -express to her his admiration--to her, a Macalpine! Flora hurried from -the by-way with her charge, in burning shame and indignation. - -But Mr. Fitzherbert was not to be got rid of so easily. Flora did not -know the might of _ennui_ which made him seek out her quiet walks, and -waylay her so perseveringly. She avoided him in every possible way; but -still he found means to persecute her with his odious flattery and -attentions. Flora was engaged, moreover, and tall Angus Macalpine, her -handsome bride-groom elect, and Duncan Roy, her brother, were equally -irate, and equally contented to have a decided personal plea for -punishing the obnoxious jackal of Lord Gillravidge. So Flora reluctantly -suffered herself to be made a party in a plan, which should ensnare her -tormentor, and pour out upon him, in full flood, the rage and contempt -of the Macalpines. - -It was a beautiful evening in June: Mr. Fitzherbert had just received -from Lord Gillravidge the much wished-for call to London. - -In great glee he put the letter in his pocket, took his hat, and sallied -out. His splendid hair, his magnificent whiskers and moustache were in -the most superlative order. Flora Macalpine had intimated to him -bashfully that she would be in the contested by-way, near the -stepping-stones, at seven o'clock; it is always pleasant to be -victorious. Mr. Fitzherbert had no doubt that the power of his -fascinations had smitten the simple cottager, and accordingly in perfect -good-humor with himself, and very much disposed to accept Flora's -homage, with the utmost condescension, he set out for the -stepping-stones. - -Close by the trysting place, in the slanting June sunlight, screening -himself with the thick foliage of a "bourtree-bush," stood tall Angus -Macalpine watching for his prey. Flora, nervous and trembling, stood -beside him; she felt she was very much out of place, and did not at all -like her position, but that strong, thickset little brother of hers, -Duncan Roy, was squatting at her feet, concealing the flaming red head, -which might have alarmed their victim, among the surrounding leaves, and -Angus, bending down his handsome head with its curling fair hair, and -healthful, good-looking face, was very carefully supporting her, and -guarding against her running away. So, after all, there was nothing -improper in it, and she could not help herself. The idea of the -compulsion comforted Flora. - -Footsteps approached by-and-by. It was not Mr. Fitzherbert. It was -George, the Falcon's Craig groom, and Johnnie Halflin, to whom Duncan -Roy had communicated some hint of his intention. The punishment was far -too just, the fun far too good, for these mischief-loving lads to let it -slip. They had come to assist the Macalpines. George was making horrible -faces. His veins were perfectly swoln with the might of his suppressed -laughter. Johnnie had a little pink pocket-handkerchief--a keepsake from -Bessie--thrust bodily into his capacious mouth. The Macalpines were -graver; a quiet glee was shooting from the eyes of Duncan Roy, and Angus -sometimes smiled--but the smile was an angry one. - -"But, Angus," whispered Flora; "mind, you maun promise that you'll no -hurt him?" - -"I'll try," was the emphatic response. - -"Eh! but Duncan--Angus! Dinna hurt him, for ony sake.--Just fear him, or -I'll rin away this moment." - -It was easier said than done. That mighty arm of Angus Macalpine's might -have restrained a man of his own inches without any particular strain. - -"We'll no hurt him, Flora," said Duncan encouragingly,--"We'll only -douk him, forbye--Listen! There he is--in behint the bush, lads. Angus, -let Flora go." - -It was indeed Fitzherbert. They could hear his swaggering step as he -advanced, whistling gaily. - -"I'll whistle ye!" exclaimed the angry Angus, in a strong undertone. "If -ye were ance in my hands, my lad, ye'll whistle or ye get out again!" - -Flora had only time to speak another earnest remonstrance, when her -admirer appeared. - -The ambush had been skilfully contrived. The unsuspected Fitzherbert -advanced gaily. Poor Flora trembled and shrank back--the instinctive -delicacy of her simple womanly nature overpowering her with shame. To -meet this odious man at all, if it were but for a second, was a disgrace -to her, even though Angus and Duncan were waiting at her side. - -Mr. Fitzherbert began a gallant speech--he attempted to take Flora's -hand. The girl shrank back to the shelter of the bourtree-bush--and in -another moment, Fitzherbert was struggling in the stalwart arms of Angus -Macalpine--an embrace as unexpected as it was overpowering. - -"Haud the ill tongue of ye!" exclaimed Duncan Roy, as he seized the -struggling legs of the unhappy adventurer, and held him fast. "If ye say -another word, ye shall rue it a' your days." - -"Do you want to rob me?" cried Fitzherbert. "I haven't my purse on me, -good fellows. Let me go, or you shall suffer for it." - -"Rob ye!" Tall Angus Macalpine seized his collar with an exclamation of -disgust, and shook him violently. "Rob ye! Ye pitiful animal, wha would -file their fingers with your filthy siller! Duncan, give me the plaid." - -The other two auxiliaries were standing by expending their pent-up -laughter, Johnnie Halflin bestirred himself now, to hand to Angus one of -the plaids that lay on the grass beside him. - -Threats, entreaties, vociferation, rage, all were in vain. The plaid was -bound tightly round the unhappy Fitzherbert, strapping his arms to his -side. Then Duncan confined in like manner his struggling feet. Then they -laid him down on the grass. - -"Hushaba!" sung Johnnie Halflin as, with laughter not to be suppressed, -they viewed the ludicrous bondage of their foe. "Eh, man, ye're a muckle -baby to lie there, and do naething but squeal." - -"What gars ye no fight wi' your neives, like a man?" cried George. - -"Do you no see? He's putting a' his strength into the feet of him. See, -woman Flora, he's walopping like the fishes in the Portoran boats when -they're new catched. _He's_ new catched, too. Gie him a taste o' the -water." - -"If ye had dune what ye had to do against us, like a man," said Angus -Macalpine, solemnly, addressing the miserable captive, who lay prone -before these shafts of rustic wit, upon the grass at their feet, "we -might have throoshen ye like a man, and gi'en ye fair play; but because -ye're a vermin that have creeped in to quiet places, where there was nae -man to chastise ye--and because ye have tried to breathe your ill breath -into the purest heart in a' Strathoran, ye shall hae only a vermin's -punishment. Duncan, ye can get your shears. I'll haud the sheep." - -Duncan advanced in grim mirth, holding a pair of mighty shears. Angus -knelt down upon the grass, and held Fitzherbert with his arm. The -operation commenced. The punishment was the bitterest they could have -chosen. Duncan Roy squatting at his side, with methodic composure and -malicious glee, began to clip, and cut away, in jagged and uneven bits, -his cherished whiskers, his beautiful moustache, his magnificent hair. -The victim roared and groaned, entreated and threatened, in vain--the -relentless operators proceeded in their work--the scissors entered into -his soul. - -A light, quick step came suddenly along the path. They did not hear it, -so overwhelming was the laughter of the lookers-on, till Marjory -Falconer stood in the midst of them. Duncan's scissors suddenly ceased. -The victim looked up in momentary hope, and again shrank back -despairing. He by no means desired to throw himself upon the tender -mercies of Miss Falconer. - -"What is the matter?" cried Marjory. "Flora, are you here! What is the -matter? what are they about?" - -"Oh! Miss Falconer," exclaimed Flora who, between shame and laughter, -was now in tears, "it's the gentleman from Strathoran--and it's Duncan -and Angus--and he wouldna let me be, and they're--" - -An involuntary burst of laughter choked Flora's penitence.--The lifted -head of her brother, with its look of comic appeal, as he held up his -shears before Miss Falconer, and silently asked her permission to -proceed--the grim steadfastness with which Angus continued to hold the -victim on the grass--the vain attempt of Miss Falconer to look gravely -displeased and dignified--the fierce struggles of Fitzherbert--Flora -could not bear it: she ran in behind the bourtree-bush. - -Marjory stood undecided for a moment. She had great influence with the -Macalpines and their class, as a strong and firm character always has. -She thought for an instant of what people would say, almost for the -first time in her life. Then she looked at the ludicrous scene before -her--the just punishment of poor Flora's persecution. The prudent -resolution faded away--she yielded to the fun and to the justice. She -could not put her veto upon it. - -"George, do you go home--you are not wanted. Duncan, have you finished?" - -"Na," said the rejoicing Duncan, beginning with double zeal to ply his -redoubtable shears. "He's a camstarie beast, this ane--he tak's lang -shearing--but we're winning on, Mem." - -George reluctantly turned away. His mistress's orders were not to be -trifled with, he knew. Little Bessie's pink handkerchief was in Johnnie -Halflin's mouth again. Flora remained behind the bourtree-bush, -terrified to look upon her tormentor's agonized face. Marjory Falconer -looked on. - -The blood was rushing in torrents to her hot cheeks already.--She could -have put an end to this if she would: instead of that she had encouraged -it. She had yielded to the mirthful impulse: now she was paying the -penalty in one of her overpowering agonies of shame. - -"Now--now!" she exclaimed, as Duncan, with methodic accuracy, finished -his operation on one side of Mr. Fitzherbert's fiery countenance, "that -will do now--let him go." - -The operators looked up in disappointment. - -"Do let him go; let me see him released before I leave you." - -Duncan and Angus looked at each other. - -"Weel," said Angus, smiling grimly, "he's gey weel; ye'll think again, -my lad, before ye offer to lay your filthy fingers on a Macalpine, or -ony ither lass in the countryside. Now, Duncan--" - -They began to free him from his bondage. Angus took one end of the plaid -which confined his arms--Duncan the other. The process was satisfactory, -but by no means gentle; over and over they rolled him, and when the -hapless Fitzherbert found himself at last at liberty, he was lying -within the green verge of the Oran--the soft waters embracing him. His -first struggle threw him further in; and when he rose at last, -spluttering with wrath and water, his clothes wet, his face scarred with -the pebbles, and shorn of its hirsute glories--all his tormentors were -gone. Light of foot, and conversant with all the by-ways, they had -dispersed, considerably against the will of the Macalpines, but in -obedience to the command of Miss Falconer, and the entreaties of Flora. - -In burning rage and mortification Mr. Fitzherbert stalked back to -Strathoran. In the distance, upon the other side of the river, he could -see the retreat of the Macalpines; it was a fruitless thing vowing -vengeance upon them. He had done his worst; they were out of his power. - -But Mr. Fitzherbert's mortification and rage reached a climax when he -looked upon his sad mutilation--cruel as Hanun the son of Nahash, and -his artful counsellors of the children of Ammon, the scissors of the -remorseless Duncan had swept away one entire half of Mr. Fitzherbert's -adornments. It must all go, cherished and dearly beloved as it was--the -flowing luxuriance of the one side must be sacrificed to the barbarous -stubble of the other.--Alas the day! How should he meet Lord -Gillravidge! how account for the holocaust! Mr. Fitzherbert was fitly -punished--he was in despair. - -Marjory Falconer hurried along the road to Merkland, little less -despairing than Mr. Fitzherbert. She was bitterly ashamed; her face was -burning with passionate blushes. She needed no one to remind her of her -loss of dignity; the strong and powerful vitality of her womanhood -avenged itself completely. Like Jeanie Coulter, or Alice Aytoun, or even -Anne Ross herself, she knew Marjory Falconer could never be!--nor like -the cheerful active sister Martha of the Portoran Manse. Marjory did not -blush more deeply when that last name glided into her memory; that was -impossible--no human verdict, or condemnation would have abashed her so -entirely as did her own strong, clear, unhesitating judgment; but she -looked uncomfortable and uneasy. Another person now might be involved in -the blame of her misdoings; the reflected shadow of those extravagancies -might fall upon one, of whom many tongues were sufficiently ready to -speak evil. It did not increase the scorching passion of her shame--but -it deepened her repentance. - -"Is Miss Ross in, Duncan?" she asked as she entered Merkland. - -"Ou ay, Miss Falconer, Miss Anne's in," said Duncan, preceding her -leisurely to Mrs. Ross's parlor. "She's in her ain room--according to -her ain fashion. There's nae accounting for the whigmaleeries of you -leddies, but an she disna live liker a human creature and less like a -bird, ye may tak my word for't she'll no live ony way lang." - -"What do you mean?" exclaimed Marjory. "Is Miss Ross ill?" - -"Na. I'm no saying she's ill," was the cautious answer; "but taking lang -flights her lane, up the water and down the water, and when she comes in -eating a nip that wadna ser a lintie, and syne away up the stair to -pingle her lane at a seam; I say it's a clear tempting o' Providence, -Miss Falconer, and I have tell't Miss Anne that mysel." - -Marjory ran up stairs, and tapped at the door of Anne's room. "Come in," -said Anne. Marjory entered. - -The window was open--the full glory of the setting sun was pouring over -the beautiful country, lying like a veil of golden tissue, sobered with -fairy tints of gray and purple upon the far-off solemn hills, and -gleaming in the river as you could trace its course for miles, where its -thick fringe of foliage was parted here and there. Anne leant upon the -window-still, looking out. It was not the fair heights and hollows of -her native district that she saw; her eyes were veiled to these. The dim -shores of the Forth in the still evening-time--the long, low, sighing of -the waters--the desolate, gloomy house behind--the tall, gaunt figure -stealing shadowlike over the glistening sand--these were before her -constantly, in dream and vision, shutting out with their gray tints and -sad colouring all other landscapes, how fair soever they might be. - -She did not look up when Marjory entered, but waited to be addressed, -thinking it May or Barbara. At last, finding the new-comer did not -speak, she turned round. - -"Marjory, is that you?" - -"What are you thinking of, Anne?" said Marjory. "What makes you dream -and brood thus? There you have been gazing out these two minutes, as -fixedly as if you saw something of the greatest interest. I am quite -sure you don't know what you are looking at, and, had I come forward -suddenly, and asked you what river that was, you would have faltered and -deliberated before you could be certain it was the Oran. I know you -would. What is it all about?" - -Anne smiled. - -"It is not so easy to tell. You put comprehensive questions, Marjory." - -"And here are you making yourself ill!" exclaimed Marjory, impetuously; -"dreaming over something which no one is to know; walking alone, and -sitting alone, and defrauding yourself of proper rest and relaxation, -and altogether, as plainly as possible endeavoring to manufacture a -consumption. I say, Anne Ross, what is it all about? I have a right to -know--we all have a right to know; you don't belong to yourself. If you -were not Anne Ross, of Merkland, I should begin to suspect we had some -love-sickness on our hands." - -"And if you were any one else but Marjory Falconer, of Falcon's Craig, I -should be very angry," said Anne, smiling. - -"Never anything reasonable from you since you came home; never a call -upon any one but Mrs. Melder. Nothing but patient looks, and paleness, -and reveries! I don't see why we should submit to it, Anne Ross. I -protest, in the name of the parish--it is a public injustice!" - -"Very well, Marjory," said Anne. "Pray be so good as sit down now, and -do not scold so bitterly. Did you come all the way from Falcon's Craig -for the sole purpose of bringing me under discipline?" - -Marjory Falconer put up her hands to her cheeks to hide the vehement -blushes which rushed back again; then, as she recalled the story she had -come to tell, its ludicrous points overcame the shame, and she laughed -with characteristic heartiness. There was not, after all, so very much -to be ashamed of; but, as everybody exaggerated the extravagance of -everything done by Marjory Falconer, so Marjory Falconer felt herself -bitterly humiliated in the recollection of _escapades_ which young -ladies of much greater pretensions would only have laughed at. - -"What is it, Marjory?" said Anne. - -The fit of shame returned. - -"Oh! not much. Only I have been making a fool of myself again." - -Anne expressed no wonder; she only drew her friend into a chair, and -asked: - -"How?" - -"I am going to tell you. I came here at once, you see, lest some one -else should be before me with the news. Ah! and there you sit as cool -and calm as though I were not entering my purgatory!" - -"I don't want to tease you further," said Anne, "or I should say that -when people make purgatories for themselves, it behoves them to endure -patiently." - -"Very well: you don't intend to be sympathetic. I am quite satisfied. -Now for my confession. Most unwittingly and innocently, I premise, was I -led into the snare. Anne Ross! turn away from the window, and keep your -glances within proper bounds. If your eyes wander so, I shall forget my -own foolishness in yours--and I don't choose that." - -Anne obeyed, and Marjory told her story--sometimes overwhelmed with her -own passionate humiliation, sometimes bursting into irrepressible mirth. -It was very soon told. Anne looked annoyed and vexed. She did not speak. -It was the sorest condemnation she could have given. - -"You have nothing to say to me!" exclaimed Marjory, the hot flood -burning over her cheek, and neck, and forehead. "You think I am clearly -hopeless now. You think--" - -"I think," said Anne, "that Marjory Falconer, whom malicious people -blame for pride, is not half proud enough." - -"Not proud enough!" - -It was difficult to believe, indeed, when one saw the drawing-up of her -tall, fine figure, and the flashing of her eye. - -"Yes, I understand. You would be proud enough were you Ralph; then, for -everything brave, and honorable, and true, the fame of the Falconers -would be safe in your hands: but you are not proud enough, being -Marjory. I fancy we should inhabit a loftier atmosphere than these -boyish frolics could find breath in, Marjory; an atmosphere too pure and -rare to carry clamorous voices, whatever may be their burden." - -"Gentle and mild," said Marjory, attempting a laugh, which would not -come; "perfumed and dainty. I am no exotic, Anne; I must breathe living -air. I cannot breathe odors." - -Anne rose, and lifted her Bible from the table. - -"The sublime of mild and gentle belongs to One greater than us; but I -don't want to compel you to these. Look here, Marjory." - -Marjory looked--read. - -"'Strength and honor are her clothing,'" and bowed her head, in token of -being vanquished. - -"You have nothing to oppose to my argument," said Anne, smiling. "You -are obliged to yield without a word. Let me convince you, Marjory, that -we stoop mightily from our just position, when we condescend to meddle -with such humiliating follies as the rights of women--that we do -compromise our becoming dignity when we involve ourselves in a -discreditable warfare, every step in advance of which is a further -humiliation to us. I forgive you your share in this exploit with all my -heart. I am not sorry the man is punished, though I would rather you had -not been connected with his punishment. It is not very much, after all; -but I do declare war against these polemics of yours--all and -several.--I would have you more thoroughly woman-proud: it is by no -means inconsistent with the truest humility. I would have you like this -portrait; men do not paint in such vigorous colors now. Strength and -honor, Marjory; household strength, and loftiness, and purity--better -things than any imaginary rights that clamor themselves into mere -words." - -Marjory was half angry, half smiling. - -"Very gentle, and calm, and proper, for an example to me; and so nobody -does us any injustice--nobody oppresses us? Very well: but I did not -know it before." - -"Nay," said Anne, playfully; "that is not what I said. But: - - "'The good old rule - Sufficeth me, the simple plan, - That they should take who have the power, - And they should keep who can.'" - -"Anne!" - -"I am quite serious. There are few amongst us who are ruled more than we -need to be, Marjory. The best mind will always assert itself, in -whomsoever it may dwell--we are safe in that.--The weak ought to be -controlled and guided, and will be, wherever there is a stronger, -whether man or woman." - -"Strange doctrines, these!" said Marjory Falconer. "I acknowledge myself -outdone. I give up my poor little innovations. Why, Anne Ross, what -would the proper people say? What would the Coulters--the Fergusons--the -whole parish?" - -"Perfectly agree with me," said Anne, "when it had time to think about -it, without being shocked in the least. The proper people. You forget -that I am a very proper person myself." - -"So I did," said Marjory Falconer, shrugging her shoulders, "so I did. -Patronised by Mrs. Bairnsfather, highly approved by Mrs. Coulter and -Mrs. Ferguson--I almost thought, just now, that you were as improper as -myself." - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - - -The summer had reached its height--the fervent month of July was waning, -and Anne Ross's cheek growing paler every day.--Very hard to bear this -time of waiting was, harder than any toil or labor, more utterly -exhausting than any weight of care and sorrow, which had opportunity and -means of working! She hardly ventured to speak of returning to Aberford, -for Mrs. Ross's peevishness at the merest hint of such a wish, and the -impatience of Lewis, were perfectly natural, she acknowledged. Her -former journey, undertaken in opposition to their opinion, had produced -nothing; she could not expect that they would readily yield to her -again. - -In the meantime tidings had come from Archibald Sutherland. He had -reached his destination safely, and, under circumstances much more -favorable than he could have hoped, had commenced his work. He had been -able to render some especial service, the nature of which he did not -specify, to his employer's only son, a very fine lad of fourteen or -fifteen, which within a few days of his arrival brought him into Mr. -Sinclair's house on the footing of a friend. Mr. Sinclair himself was, -as common report said, a man of great enterprise in business, and -notable perseverance, whose fortune was the work of his own hands; and -blending with this, Archibald found a singular delicacy of tone and -sentiment which pleased him greatly. A man of strong mould, whose "stalk -of carle hemp," was invested with rare intellectual grace and -refinement--a household which, under the fervent skies of that strange -Western World, remained still a Scottish household, looking back with -the utmost love and tenderness to its own country and home--in the -atmosphere of these, the broken laird found himself not long a stranger. - -Mr. Sinclair had some knowledge of the North country--had heard of -Archibald's family, and on some long past occasion, had seen Mrs. -Catherine. This was an additional bond. The family of the merchant lived -a very quiet life in a country house in the vicinity of the town, having -scarcely any visitors: Archibald Sutherland, with his attainments and -abilities, was an acquisition to them. - -His prospects were pleasant; they brightened the inner room at the -Tower, and shed a ray of light even upon Anne's reveries. Something more -was needed, however, to shake off the lethargic sadness that begun to -overpower her. Mrs. Catherine applied the remedy. - -Upon a drowsy July afternoon, when one could fancy the earth, with her -flushed cheek and loose robes, lying in that languid dreamy state, half -way between asleep and awake, which in Scotland we call "dovering," Mrs. -Catherine in her rustling silken garments, went stately down under the -shadow of the trees, to Merkland. It was a very unusual honor. Mrs. -Catherine was wont to receive visits, not to pay them. - -Anne went to the gate to receive her. Lewis who, with characteristic -prudence, had already begun to devote himself to the careful managing of -his lands, put away the papers that lay before him, and left the library -with much wonder, to ascertain Mrs. Catherine's errand. Mrs. Ross rose -very peevishly from the sofa on which she had been for the last hour -enjoying her usual sleep. It was enough to make any one ill-humored to -be disturbed so unexpectedly. - -"Now, Madam," said Mrs. Catherine, when Mrs. Ross had greeted her with -great ceremony and politeness, "you may ken I have come for a special -purpose; I am going to Edinburgh." - -"To Edinburgh!" exclaimed Mrs. Ross; "_you_, Mrs. Catherine. How shall -we manage to get on at all without you?" - -"You will contrive it in some manner doubtless," said Mrs. Catherine, -drily. - -"_I_ may, perhaps, for I am a great house-keeper; but for Anne and -Lewis, nothing goes right if a week passes without two or three visits -to the Tower." - -"Ay, Lewis, is it so?" said Mrs. Catherine. "I thought not I had kept -the power, now that I am past threescore, of drawing to my dwelling -gallants of your years." - -"I have not been at the Tower for a month," said Lewis, bluntly; "I mean -I have been very much occupied." - -"As you should be," said Mrs. Catherine. "I am not seeking excuses, -Lewis; I am but blythe that it is not my memory that is failing -me--seeing I should like ill to suffer loss in that particular, till -this world's affairs are out of my hands--be careful of your lawful -business, Lewis, as becomes your years. If you were a good bairn, I -might maybe do my endeavor to bring folk back with me, that your leisure -would be better spent upon: in the meantime, I have a suit to your -mother." - -Mrs. Ross looked astonished. - -"To me?" - -"Yes; this bairn Anne, Mrs. Ross, as you see, has been misbehaving -herself. My own gray cheek, withered as it is, has stronger health upon -it than is on her young one. I have a doctor of physic among my serving -woman; I see no reason why I should not undertake to work cures as well -as my neighbors--send her with me--I will bring her back free of her -trouble." - -"Oh, I beg you will not refer to me," said Mrs. Ross, angrily. "Anne is -quite able to judge for herself." - -"I beg your pardon, Madam. I say this bairn Anne has no call to judge -for herself. Is it your pleasure that I should try my skill? I came to -make my petition to you, and not to Anne." - -"She is an excessively unreasonable girl," said Mrs. Ross, tossing her -head; "if you know how to manage her, it is more than I do. I assure -you, Mrs. Catherine, Anne's conduct to me is of the most undutiful kind. -She is a very foolish, unreasonable girl." - -Poor Anne had been laboring these three or four weeks to please her -stepmother, as assiduously as any fagged governess or sempstress in the -land. The honorable scars of the needle had furrowed her finger; she had -been laboring almost as hardly, and to much better purpose than the -greater portion of those "needlewomen, distressed or otherways," whose -miserable work done for miserable wages attracts so much sympathy and -benevolent exertion in these days. She was somewhat astonished at the -undeserved accusation. If she did wander for long miles along the course -of the Oran, it was in the dewy morning, before Mrs. Ross had left her -room. If she did brood over her secret hope and sorrow, it was when Mrs. -Ross was sullen or asleep. She said nothing in self-defence, but felt -the injustice keenly, notwithstanding. - -"That is what I am saying," said Mrs. Catherine. "She has been -misbehaving herself, and we have noticed her pining away, in silence. So -far as I can see, it is high time to take note of it now; therefore my -petition is, that you suffer her to go with me. It is not my wont to -pass over ill-doing; let me have the guiding of her for a while." - -"I think you ought to take advantage of Mrs. Catherine's invitation, -Anne," said Lewis. "You do not look well." - -Mrs. Ross tossed her head in silence. - -"Truly, Anne," said Mrs. Catherine, "I have worn out of the way of -asking favors; maybe it is want of use that makes me prosper so ill. Am -I to get your daughter, Mrs. Ross for company on my travel, or am I -not? I must pray you to let me have your answer." - -"Oh, if you choose to take her, and if Anne chooses to go, my consent is -of little consequence," said Mrs. Ross: then softening her tone a -little, she added, "I have no objection, unfortunately Anne is not of -sufficient importance in the household, Mrs. Catherine, to make us feel -the want of her greatly. Certainly I have no objection--she can go." - -A harsh reply rose to Mrs. Catherine's lips; but for Anne's sake, she, -suppressed it--the permission, ungracious as it was, was accepted, and -Mrs. Catherine made arrangements with Anne for their journey; she had -settled that they should leave the Tower that week. - -Mrs. Catherine travelled in her own carriage. She had an old house, -grand and solitary, in an old quarter of Edinburgh, whose antique -furniture and lofty rooms strangers came to see, as one of the lesser -wonders of the city, which boasts so many. Mrs. Catherine's horses were -proceeding at a good pace along the southward road, within sight of a -dazzling sea, and very near the dark high cliffs, and scattered fisher -villages which formed its margin. Johnnie Halflin sat beside the -coachman, Jacky Morison and her grandmother were behind. Mrs. Catherine -within was explaining her plans to Anne. - -"It is my purpose, child, to set you to your labor again; I see there is -neither health nor peace for you until you have got some better inkling -of this matter. Am I not right?" - -"Perfectly," said Anne. "I cannot rest, indeed. I shall be of little use -to any one, until some light is thrown on this." - -"Then, child, it is my meaning to dwell in my own house in Edinburgh, -where you can find me, if I am needed. I cannot be in the house of a -stranger, or I would have gone with you. I am not ill-pleased that this -necessity has come, for there are many in Edinburgh, that it is meet I -should say farewell to, before I depart to my rest. Forbye this, child, -there is another cloud rising upon the sky of that ill-trysted house of -Sutherland." - -Anne started. - -"Archibald is well--is there any further intelligence, Mrs. Catherine?" - -"Archie's sister is not well, Gowan. Did I not tell you that her fuil of -a man was dead?" - -"No, I never heard it before." - -"I meant to tell you--it has passed from my mind, in the thought of the -travel. He has been killed--how, or for what reason, I have not asked. I -have written to Isabel Sutherland to come home. I cannot trust her -without natural guard or helper, her lane in the midst of strangers. She -is a light-headed, vain, undutiful girl--I know her of old--and farther -shame must not come upon the house, Gowan, if it is in my power to ward -it off. If she will not come, I have made up my mind--I will go, and -bring her home." - -"Go!" exclaimed Anne. "To England?--you are not able for the journey." - -"Hold your peace, child! I am able for whatever is needful, as every -mortal is, that has a right will to try. It's my hope Archie Sutherland -is in a fair way of recovering his good fame and healthful spirit. If -Isabel is in peril, it is deadly and beyond remedy--for the sake of the -fuil herself (she bears Isabel Balfour's name and outward resemblance,) -and for the sake of Archie, I am bound to do my endeavor, if it should -be by the strong hand. Child, you may think me distrustful beyond what -is needed. Maybe I am. She left her mother's sick-bed for the sake of a -strange man. And when he was sent to a solitary place, she left him, -also, for the sake of vanities. If you had done the like, I would have -distrusted you." - -Anne could not realize the cause of distrust. She deprecated, and -thought Mrs. Catherine's fears uncalled for--shrinking from the idea of -danger to Isabel, almost as she would have done from any suspicion of -herself. - -When she had seen Mrs. Catherine settled comfortably in her spacious and -grand Edinburgh lodging, and the bustle of arrival fairly over, Anne, -with her attendant Jacky, proceeded to Aberford. - -Miss Crankie and Mrs. Yammer were at tea. Their energetic little servant -ushered Anne into the small parlor, looking out upon the green, in which -they usually sat. They had blue cups and saucers of the venerable willow -pattern, arranged above the red and yellow lady on the tray--a teapot, -belonging to the same set, with a lid, the sole relic of a broken black -one--a comfortable plate of tolerably thick bread-and-butter, and two or -three saucers, containing various specimens of jellies. Mrs. Yammer sat -languidly in a great, old elbow-chair. Miss Crankie was perched upon a -low seat before the tray, making tea. - -Anne's entrance caused a commotion. There were a great many apologies, -and expressions of wonder and pleasure at seeing her again; and then she -was begged to take a seat, and a cup of tea. Anne sat down, and kindly -looked out at the window, while Miss Crankie abstracted the lid from the -teapot, and, from the depths of an adjoining cupboard, produced another -one more resembling it in color. - -"Ye see," said Miss Crankie, nodding her wiry little curls at the -ruddy-colored compounds in the saucers, "we've been making our jelly, -and were just trying it. I can recommend the rasps, Miss Ross--the red -currants would take a thought mair boiling, and the gooseberries are -drumlie--but I can recommend the rasps." - -"If Miss Ross is no feared for her teeth," sighed Mrs. Yammer. "I got -cauld mysel on Sabbath at the Kirk, and was trying the jam for my -throat. I'm a puir weak creature, Miss Ross: the wind gangs through me -like a knife." - -"I have returned to you for accommodation, Miss Crankie," said Anne. -"Are the rooms unoccupied now?" - -"Eh, bless me! isna that an uncommon providence," exclaimed Miss -Crankie. "Mrs. Mavis is gaun away the morn!" - -"But what can you do with me to-night?" said Anne. - -"Oh, nae fear o' us--we'll do grand," said Miss Crankie. "I'm blyth -ye're come back Miss Ross, and yet I'm sorry to see you so shilpit. -Ye'll find the sea-air do ye mair guid noo. Ye're no looking half sae -well as ye did when ye gaed away." - -"Ah! Miss Ross," said Mrs. Yammer, dolorously, "I hope ye'll use the -means and get right advice in time. Ye'll be fashed wi' a pain in your -side? For mysel, it's little use saying what I have to thole--there's -scarce an hour in the day, that I havna stitches through and through -me." - -"Hout, Tammie, ye're aye meat-hale," responded her brisker sister. -"Ye've come at a better season now, Miss Ross, the haill town is full of -sea-bathers. I was saying to auld Marget, that she might win a pound or -twa for her ain hand, with letting some o' thae muckle rooms, in Schole, -and naebody, be the waur--it's sae handy for the sea--if Kirstin Lillie -and her brother, hadna come hame sae suddenly." - -"They are at home, then?" said Anne. - -"Oh, ay! they came hame about a month ago, in as great a hurry as they -gaed away; ane scarce ever sees them noo, even on the sands--they're -strange folk." - -The next day, young Mrs. Mavis and her two blooming children left their -sea-side lodgings, and Anne took peaceful possession of her former -rooms. The tall gaunt outline of Schole, as it stood out against the -deep blue of the evening sky, dismal and forlorn as it was, looked like -a friend; but though she lingered about its vicinity all the night, and -watched eagerly within sight of its little gate, no one ventured forth. -The low projecting window had light within it, but it was curtained -carefully. She could see no trace of Christian. Why did they avoid her? -why was there so much additional secrecy and seclusion? - -The second day after their arrival in Aberford, Jacky had a visitor. It -was little Bessie, Alice Aytoun's maid. Bessie was living with an aunt, -the wife of a forester, whose house was within three or four miles of -Aberford. Jacky, by Anne's permission, returned with her to spend the -afternoon in the aunt's house. - -The two girls set out very jubilant and in high spirits, with much -laughing mention of Johnnie Halflin, whom Bessie had already seen in -Edinburgh, and from whom she had received a very grandiloquent account -of the chastisement of Mr. Fitzherbert, and of the mighty things which -the said Johnnie would have done, had not Miss Falconer put her _veto_ -on his valor. - -The forester's house was in the bosom of the wood under his charge. A -narrow foot-road, winding through the trees, ran close to the bounding -hedge of its well-stocked garden, and nestling warmly below the thick -foliage, the house stood snug in the corner of its luxuriant enclosure, -presiding in modest pride, like some sober cottage matron, conscious of -decent comfort and independence, over its flourishing cabbages, and -stately bushes of southern-wood, ripe gooseberries, and abounding roses. -Within, it was as clean and bright as forest cottage could be, and with -its long vistas of noble trees everywhere, and the one thread of -communication with the outer world that ran close to its door, was a -pleasant habitation--homelike and cheerful. Bessie's aunt was, like her -cottage, soberly light-hearted, kind and motherly. Upon her well scoured -white deal table, she had set out a row of glancing cups and saucers, -flanked with delicate bannocks of various kinds, and jelly more -plentiful than Miss Crankie's. It was early in the afternoon. Mrs. -Young, honest woman, hospitably purposed entertaining her guests with a -magnificent tea before her husband and stalwart sons came in to their -ruder and more substantial meal. She gave her niece's friend a hearty -welcome; the two girls, after their dusty walk of four miles, by no -means thought the kindly auntie's preparations unseasonable; but after -Mrs. Young had turned a deaf ear to two or three hints from Bessie, she -explained her delay at last. - -"Ye see, lassies, there's an auld neighbor coming this gate this -afternoon. Her and me served in one place before I was married, and -she's been lang in a gentleman's house, south--near Berwick. She's an -auld lass; a thrifty weel-doing carefu' woman, wi' a guid wage, and -siller to the fore; but she's come to years when folk are lone, if they -have nae near friends, and Rob Miller, her brither, has a housefu' o' -weans; and I'm no sure that his wife can be fashed fyking about a -pernickity single woman. So ye maun see and be ceevil, and take note o' -Jean--how weel put on and wise-like she is--and tak a pattern by her; -it's a' her ain doing; she's been working for hersel' a' her days." - -Bessie drummed upon the table--looked at the tea "masking" before the -fire, the smooth, well-baked bannocks, and beautiful red currant jelly -upon the table--and became impatient. - -"I wish she would come then, auntie. It's awfu' stourie on the road." - -"Yonder's somebody in among the trees," said Jacky, glancing out. - -It was Mrs. Young's friend at last, and the good woman bestirred herself -to complete her table arrangements, while Bessie conveyed the mighty -Leghorn bonnet and wonderful Paisley shawl, which Rob Miller's eldest -daughter already looked forward to as a great inheritance, into the -inner room. Mrs. Young's friend was a tall, bony, erect woman, with a -thin brown face, and projecting teeth, and sandy hair carefully smoothed -beneath a muslin cap, modestly, tied with a scrap of blue ribbon. She -was a very homely, unhandsome-looking person, yet had an unassuming -simplicity about her, not common in the upper servant class. Jean Miller -had known evil in her day. The long upper lip pressing above these -irregular ill-shaped teeth of her's had quivered with deep griefs many -times in the painful and weary past years, which had left no record of -themselves or of her course in them, save that most deeply pathetic one -engraven in her own solitary high heart--a high heart it was, humble and -of slight regard as was the frame it dwelt in--much stricken, sorely -tried, and with an arrow quivering in it still. - -Jean's hands were rigidly crossed in her lap; she was never quite at -ease in idleness. Mrs. Young good-humoredly drew her chair to the table, -called Bessie, placed the teapot on the tray, and began her duties. -There was a simple blessing asked upon the "offered mercies," according -to the reverent usage of peasant families in Scotland, and then the -dainties were discussed. - -"And how is Andrew winning on wi' his learning, Jean?" said Mrs. Young. - -There was a slight quivering of the thin upper lip--very slight--no eye -less keen than Jacky's could have perceived it. - -"They tell me very weel," said Jean, meekly; "he's been getting some -grand books in a prize, and they're unco weel pleased wi' him at the -college." - -"He's a clever lad," said Mrs. Young. - -"Ay, I'll no say but he's a lad of pairts," said Jean, "if he but makes -a right use o' them." - -"Ay," said Mrs. Young, sympathetically, "they're no ower guid company -for that, thae young doctor-lads. Eh, keep me! Jean woman, if this -callant was taking to ill courses like his faither, ye wad never haud up -your head again." - -Jean's lip quivered again--more visibly this time--the discipline of her -self-denying life had been a stern one. The prodigal of her family, the -gayest, handsomest, and cleverest of them all, a good workman, and an -idle one, had hung upon her, a heavy, painful burden, falling step by -step in the ruinous downward course of reckless dissipation, until he -ended his days at last, shorn of all the gaiety and cleverness which had -thrown a veil at first upon his sin--an imbecile, drivelling drunkard. -With mighty anguish, which few comprehended or could sympathize with, -she had prayed, entreated, remonstrated, forgiven, and supported him -through all his sad career. He left an orphan boy on her hands. With the -tenderest mother-anxiety, Jean Miller had brought up this child--with -genuine mother-ambition, had, at the cost of long labor, and much -self-denying firmness on her own part, sent him to college when he -reached proper years, eager to raise him above the fear of that terrible -stain and sin which had destroyed the first Andrew--her once gay and -clever brother. But of late insidious voices had whispered in her ear -that the second Andrew had taken the first step in that descending -course. In agony unspeakable, the youth's watchful guardian hastened to -Edinburgh to ascertain the truth of this. She found it false; there was -yet no appearance of any budding evil, but her heart, falling back upon -its sad experience, sank within her, prophetic of evil. She said nothing -in return to the ill-advised sympathy of Mrs. Young--her lip -quivered--it was more eloquent than words. - -"You're new to this country, I'm thinking?" she said, addressing Jacky. - -"Yes," said Jacky, bashfully. - -"She's frae the north country," said Mrs. Young. "Ye've been lang out o' -this pairt yoursel, Jean." - -"Ay," was the answer, "it's eighteen year past the twenty-first o' -June--I mind the day weel." - -"That would be about the time the gentleman was killed," said Mrs. -Young. - -"Yes," said Jean; "the very morning. I'll ne'er forget it." - -"Eh, auntie!" exclaimed Bessie. "Whatna gentleman?" - -Jacky did not speak, but her thin, angular frame thrilled nervously, and -she fixed her keen eyes upon Jean. - -"Deed a gentleman ye've heard o' often enough, Bessie," said her aunt. -"Miss Alice's father--ye've heard your mother telling the story about -Mr. Aytoun mony a time, nae doubt. Ye see, Jean, my sister was Mrs. -Aytoun's right-hand woman. I dinna ken how the puir lady would have won -through her trouble ava, when Miss Alice was born, if it hadna been for -our Bell--no that he was ower guid a man, if a' tales were true, but nae -doubt it was an awfu' dispensation. Ane forgets ill and wrang when the -doer o't's taen away--and a violent death like that!" - -"Weel," said Jean Miller, "a'body's dear to their ain. But he wasna -muckle worth the mourning for." - -"And how was he killed?" asked Jacky, with some trepidation. - -"Anither gentleman--a fine, cheery, kindly lad as ye could see--shot him -wi' a gun. It was an awfu' disgrace to the parish, as weel as a great -crime; but, sae far as I could hear, the folk were mair wae for young -Redheugh than they were for Mr. Aytoun." - -"And were they sure he did it?" asked Jacky, breathlessly. - -"Sure! Lassie, what could be surer? They found his gun, wi' his name -on't and they saw him himsel leaving the wood; and unco easy he had -ta'en it, as the folk say, for he was gaun whistling and singing at a -fule sang, and the man's bluid on his hand." - -"If he took it easy, it's mair than his friends did," said Jean Miller, -significantly. - -"I never heard tell of ony friends he had in this part," said the -matter-of-fact Mrs. Young. "He was nephew to the auld family, and no -son. I mind hearing ance that he was frae some place away in the -Hielands--but maybe that was a' lees." - -"But maybe you werena meaning a relation?" adventured Jacky, addressing -Jean. - -"Na, lassie, it was nae relation. I ken naething about his kin: it was a -friend--ane that was uncommon chief wi' him. He was a student lad at -that time, that had served his time to be a doctor like my ain nephew -Andrew, only he was done wi' the college; and if ever mortal man was out -o' his mind wi' trouble and fricht and sore grief for an unhappy -reprobate, it was that lad, the morning o' the murder." - -"Did you see him?" exclaimed Jacky, anxiously. - -"Ay, lass, I saw him. I was gaun hame that very day to my place that I'm -in yet--I've been eighteen year past wi' the same mistress--and it -happened I was by that waterside between eight and nine in the morning. -I was but a young lass then, and I had reason for't--it's nae matter now -what it was. I was coming round the howe o' the brae where the road -turns aff to the Milton, when I met that lad. That white apron had mair -a life-like color than he had on his face; but, for a' that, he was -wiping his brow for heat. The look of him was like the look of a man -that had the bluid standing still in his veins. He neither saw me, nor -the road he was gaun on, but just dashed on right before him, as if -naething could stop him in the race. Ye may tak my word, it's nae little -grief like what men ca' sympathy or pity, that could pit a man into a -blind madness like that. I ken mair about it noo than I did then." - -"Woman--Jean!" exclaimed Mrs. Young; "what for did ye no come forrit at -the time--it might have helped the proof? Losh! would the tane be -helping the tither? would there be twa o' them at the misfortunate man?" - -"Na; he was an innocent, pithless callent, that Maister Patrick," said -Jean. "_He_ could have nae hand in't. A' that day I couldna get his -face out o' my mind; but I had mony things to trouble me, sorting at my -mother, and putting things right for Andrew--he was doing weel then, -puir man!--and getting my ain kist ready for my journey, and I gaed away -early in the day, and so I didna hear o' the murder. And my mother was -nae hand at the writing, and Andrew, puir man, was aye a thocht -careless, and I never saw ane belanging to my ain place, to tell me the -news. So a' the trying that there was, was dune, and poor young Redheugh -was lying at the bottom of the sea, before I ever heard tell o't--but -I've aye minded sinsyne Maister Patrick Lillie's awfu' face--I've had a -kindness for him frae that day, for of a' the sair troubles in this -world, I ken nane, like murning ower a sinner that ye canna mend, and -yet that ye would gie your ain life for, as blythe as ever ye gaed to -your rest. I ken what it is--and sure am I, that if ever there was a man -distracted with the crime o' anither, it was Maister Patrict Lillie, for -young Redheugh." - -"And was Redheugh an ill man?" said Jacky, in a half whisper. - -"I never heard an ill word o' him till then. He was as weel likit as a -man could be--and a kinder heart to puir folk there wasna in the -countryside." - -"And that's true," said Mrs. Young. "Ye should take it to yoursels, -lassies--you that are young, and havena got the rule o' your ain -spirits. There was a fine young gentleman, ye see, wi' routh o' a' -thing, as grand as heart could desire, and yet he tint baith life and -name, in this world and the next, a' for an evil anger in his heart. -It's an awfu' warning--it's our pairt to improve it for our ain -edification." - -"And what for was the gentleman angry at Mr. Aytoun?" asked Bessie. - -"Oh! the adversary has aye plenty spunks to light that fire wi'. Some -folk say yae thing, and some anither. I've heard it was for speaking -lightly of a young lady that was trothplighted to Redheugh." - -"And what for did he no fecht him, the way folk fecht in books?" said -Bessie. - -"Nae doubt because the enemy thought he had fa'en on an easier plan of -putting an end to them baith. Nae mortal in this world, let alane a bit -lassie like you, can faddom the wiles o' the auld serpent, or the -weakness o' folk's ain treacherous hearts. It's no what folk should do, -to be making a wark about a criminal like that, that shed blood wi' a -wilful hand--but there was mony a heart in the parish wae for Redheugh." - -"And him that ye saw coming out of the wood?" said Jacky, tremulously, -turning to Jean Miller again: "how would he ken?" - -"I canna tell," said Jean. "It was my thought he had met Redheugh, or -seen him, when the deed was new done--and it stunned the very soul -within him, so that he scarce kent in his extremity what it was, that -was pitting him distracted. I was asking Rob's wife about him last -night: she says his sister and him are living their lane in an unco -quiet way. Puir lad!--but he'll be a man of years now." - -"And ye didna speak to him?" said Jacky. - -"Speak to him! Lassie, if ye havena a lighter weird than ither folk, -ye'll ken before lang, that sore trouble is not to be spoken to. I wad -rather gang into a king's chamber unbidden, than put mysel forrit, when -I wasna needed, into the heavy presence of grief." - -"For grief is a king, too," murmured Jacky. - -"And so it is," said Jean Miller, with another emphatic quiver of her -lip--the little narrow Edinburgh attic, in which her student nephew -toiled, or ought to toil, rising before her eyes, and her heart yearning -over him in unutterable agonies of tenderness--"and so it is--and -kenning that there's sin in ane ye like weel, or fearing that there's -sin, in ane whose purity is the last hope o' your heart, that's the king -o' a' griefs. But, mind, ye mauna say a word of this ower again. I never -tell't onybody before now, and I would like ill to add a trouble to a -sair heart. Mind, ye mauna mention this again." - -"Yonder's my uncle!" exclaimed Bessie, whom this grave episode had -wearied mightily, "and Jamie, and Michael, and Tam. We've twa good hours -yet, Jacky, before, ye need to gang hame, and Miss Anne winna be angry -if you're a thocht late. We'll gang and let ye see the Fairy Well--it's -at the ither end o' the wood. Eh, woman, ye dinna ken how bonnie it is!" - -But Jacky had no heart for the Fairy Well, or the rude gallantry of Tam, -and Michael, and Jamie. She was too full of the great intelligence she -had gathered for her mistress. She drew her own conclusions, quickly -enough, if not very clearly, but she saw at once that Anne would think -it of the highest importance. How she knew so much we cannot tell--she -could not have told herself. These electric thrills of intuition, which -put the elf into possession of the most secret and guarded desires and -wishes of her superiors, were as much a mystery to herself as to others. -There were various mysteries about her--not the least of these being the -reason why the spirit of a knight errant, of as delicate honor, and -heroic devotion, as ever adorned the brightest age of chivalry, should -have been endued with the singular, and by no means elegantly formed -garment, of this girl's dark elfin frame and humble place. - -So Jacky with much weariness, physical and mental, endured the visit to -the Fairy Well; and then under the safe conduct of Tam, Mrs. Young's -youngest son, and "convoyed" half way by Bessie and Michael, returned to -Aberford. The night had fallen before she reached Miss Crankie's house. -Anne, newly returned from a long and ineffectual survey of Schole, had -passively submitted to have candles placed upon her table by Miss -Crankie's servant. She still sat by the window, however, looking out -upon that centre of mysterious interest. It was perfectly still--only a -faint reflection of light upon the dark water told of a watcher in the -high chamber of the desolate house. - -Jacky entered, and Anne turned to ask her kindly how she had enjoyed her -visit. "I dinna ken, Miss Anne," said Jacky, "but if ye please--" - -"What, Jacky?" - -"Would ye let me draw down the blind, and put in your chair to the -table, because I've something to tell you, Miss Anne." - -Anne consented immediately. The room looked, as dusky parlors will look -by faint candle-light in the evenings of bright summer days, very dull -and forlorn and melancholy. Anne seated herself smiling by the table; -she expected some chronicle of little Bessie's kindred, or at the utmost -some confession of petty ill-doing, which burdened Jacky's conscience. -Jacky's conscience was exceedingly tender; she did make such confessions -sometimes. - -"If ye please, Miss Anne," began Jacky earnestly, "Bessie's aunt kens -Jean Miller." - -"And who is Jean Miller, Jacky?" said Anne, smiling. - -"And if ye please, Miss Anne, Jean Miller was in the wood by the -waterside, at the brae, where the road goes to the Milton farm, eighteen -years ago, on the twenty first of June." - -It was Anne's turn to start, and look up anxiously now. Jacky went on in -the firm steadiness of strong excitement. - -"And if ye please, Miss Anne, she saw a man; and it wasna Mr. ---- it -wasna the gentleman they ca' young Redheugh--" - -"Who was it, Jacky?" - -"His face was whiter than white cloth, and he was like as if the blood -was standing still in his veins, and he was running straight on, as if -he neither saw the road nor who was looking at him; and as he ran, he -wipit his brow, for a' that he was whiter than death." - -Anne was walking through the room in burning agitation; she could not -rest--now she came up to Jacky, as the girl made a pause for breath, and -grasped her arm. - -"Who was he, Jacky--who was he?" - -"If ye please, Miss Anne, it was the gentleman at Schole. She called him -Mr. Patrick Lillie." - -Anne put her hands up to her head, dizzy and stunned; she felt like one -who had received a mighty shock, and scarcely knew either the instrument -or the reality of it in the first extremity of its power. She did not -say a word--she did not think--she sat down unconsciously on her chair, -and pressed her hands to her head with some vague idea of crushing the -dull indefinite pain out of it. Jacky stood beside her, pale, -self-possessed, but trembling violently; the girl's excitement had -reached a white heat--intensely strong and still. - -Deadly light and deadly darkness struggling for hopeless mastery--a goal -so nearly won, and yet so utterly removed. A long, low cry of pain came -from Anne's parched lips; she had not strength or heart to inquire -further; a fearful possibility came upon her now, which had never struck -her mind before. - -At length, when the violence of the first shock was moderated, she began -again to question Jacky. Jean Miller's explanation of the haggard looks -and wild bewilderment of Norman's friend composed, though it could not -convince her. She must see him, this mysterious sufferer, must -ascertain--standing before him face to face--what of this dark dread -might be true, and what false. It would not leave her: before she had -been alone for ten minutes, the deadly bewilderment had returned, and -what to do she knew not! - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - - -The next morning rose, dim, hot, and oppressive, suiting well, in its -unnatural stillness and sultry brooding, with the terror of bewilderment -and darkness which had fallen upon Anne. The tossings and wild -restlessness of that mental fever, the gloomy clouds that had settled -upon the future, the sad significance with which Christian Lillie's -words came burning back upon her memory--bore her down in dark blinding -agony as those heavy thunder clouds bore down upon the earth. She -wandered out:--with eyes keen for that one object, and veiled to all -things else, she hovered about Schole. Once as she lingered by the -hedge, she saw an upper window opened, and the pale head which she had -seen once before, with its high snowy temples and thin hair, and -delicately lined face, looked out steadfastly upon the gloomy weltering -water. The eyes were blue, deep, and liquid as a summer evening sky--the -face, with all its tremulous poetry, and exquisite delicacy of -feebleness, was gazing out with a mournful composure, which made its -extreme susceptibility and fluctuating language of expression, more -remarkable than ever. Calmly mournful as it then was, you could so well -see how the lightest breath would agitate it--the faintest whisper sway -and mould these delicate facile features. One long, steadfast sad look -was thrown over the darkly silent water, and brooding ominous sky, and -then the window was closed. Anne remained upon the sands nearly the -whole day--but saw nothing more of the mysterious inhabitants of Schole. - -Wild whispers of wind curled along the dark Firth as the evening fell. -All the day, the earth had been lying in that dread, bewildered pause -which comes before a thunder storm. Now, as Anne sat looking out into -the darkness, the tempest began; the night was very dark--the whole -breadth of the sky was covered by one ponderous thunder-cloud, through -which there suddenly shot a sheet of ghastly light. Anne was still at -the window--she started back, but not before the scene revealed by that -flash, had fixed itself in its terrific gloom and unearthly colors upon -her memory. The dismal outline of the house of Schole--the sea beyond, -plunging and heaving in black wrath--and on its troubled and gloomy -bosom, a drifting, helpless ship, the broken masts and rigging of which -seemed for the moment flaming with wild, phosphoric light. Anne shrank -from the window; but in a moment returned in intense anxiety, too -thoroughly aroused and absorbed to think of fear. - -Another flash, and yet another--and still the helpless, dismantled ship -was drifting on; she fancied she could see dark figures, specks in the -distance, clinging to the yards; she fancied she could discern the black -waves weltering over the buried hull, as the light fell full upon the -vessel--there was a blind incompetency in its motions which showed that -its crew had lost command of it.--She saw the falling of some spar--she -fancied she could hear a terrible shrill cry; she threw open her window. -The thunder was pealing its awful trumpet-note into the dense -darkness:--gazing eagerly through the gloom she waited for another -flash. - -"For guid sake come in--for pity's sake come in," cried Miss Crankie, -pulling her from behind. The sisters, their maid, and Jacky had crowded -together into Anne's room in the gregarious instinct of fear. - -Bursting over the mighty gloom of waters flashed that death-like -illumination. There _were_ figures on the yards of the drifting -ship--there were wild cries of sharp despair and anguish; you could -fancy there were even agonized hands stretching out in vain for help, -and there were--yes, there were also figures upon the sands. "God -preserve us!" exclaimed Miss Crankie in overwhelming awe and excitement -as the flash shone over their faces. "Miss Ross for pity's sake come -in." - -Anne did come in--she snatched a shawl which hung upon a chair, and -hurried blindly forward to the door. - -"Where are ye gaun?" exclaimed Miss Crankie. - -It was echoed in different tones by all the others, as they crowded -together in awe and terror. - -"To the sands--to the sands," said Anne: she made her way through them -in spite of remonstrance and entreaty: she extricated herself from the -detaining grasp of Miss Crankie, and leaving the house, ran hastily -towards Schole. - -It was a fearful night; the wind had risen imperceptibly from the wild -whispers which crept over the Firth in the earlier evening to a -shifting, coarse, impetuous gale. The lightning, as it burst in sheets -over the earth, revealed strange glimpses of the shivering summer -foliage and verdure, which bore so strange a contrast to the storm -raging above. Anne saw nothing but the black, weltering water--the -helpless drifting ship--the deadly danger of some souls--the help that -might be rendered them. - -Before she reached Schole, Miss Crankie and Jacky overtook her--none of -them spoke. All were agitated, excited, and anxious--all were looking -eagerly towards the sea. - -Another flash--the black waters were dashing high up on those feeble -spars. Clinging to them in the wild vehemence of despair were several -men, and one slight shadow bound as it seemed to the mast--could it be a -woman in that extremity? The hull was covered--the waters appeared to -rise higher every moment.--There was a little knot of people on the -sands--was there no help? - -Again the deadly illumination bursts over sea and sky. There is a figure -struggling through the surge--you catch a glimpse of him--now fighting -through the foam--now buffeting with the black waves. Anne and her -companions are already on the sands; they see a strong rope trailing -over the wet shore--the other end is fastened round the body of this -brave man. The little knot on the shore is sternly silent--fearfully -anxious. No one looks in the face of his neighbor they are watching with -intense, unswerving gaze, the progress of that adventurer across the -gloomy water. Even Anne scarcely notes that the gates of Schole stand -open, and there are lights within! - -They see him again further in, when the next flash comes, fighting -vigorously through the waves; the dark figures on the yards of the -helpless ship have ceased to cry--they too are watching (who can tell -with what agonies of fear and hope?) the speck that fights towards them -through the turbid gloom of that dark sea. - -There is a long pause this time, between the lightning and its -accompanying thunder. In the dense gloom they can discover nothing of -his progress. They wait in intense anxiety for the next flash. - -The water is bathed in light again: he is returning. He carries an -indistinct burden in one arm, guiding himself painfully as they can -discern by the tightened rope. The men on shore assist him -warily--another long buffeting--another breathless watch, and he has -reached solid land again. - -Who is this man? Anne Ross's eyes are strained eagerly to discover. The -light from a lantern streams on a woman carried in his arms; he did not -wait to bring her fully to the land, but placing her in the hold of one -of the lookers on, turned instantly back again--back through the gloomy, -heaving, turbid water, to save more lives--to complete the work he had -begun. - -Anne watched him toiling back again through surge and foam, so anxiously -that she scarcely noted the burden he had brought from the wreck in his -arms. Now a faint cry recalled her attention; the saved woman was a -young mother clasping an infant convulsively to her breast. Two or three -female figures were already kneeling round her--Miss Crankie, Jacky, and -another.--Anne joined them; the third person was Christian Lillie. - -They could scarcely draw the child from the strained arms that clasped -it; it was alive--nothing more. The agonized hold relaxed at last, and -Miss Crankie received it from the mother. - -"Let us take her in," said Christian Lillie raising the young woman in -her arms. - -She resisted feebly. - -"No--no till they're a' safe; no till I see Willie." - -Miss Crankie carried the child into Schole. Christian and Anne wrapped -the young mother in a shawl, and supported her.--Her limbs were rigid -with the terrible vigil. She gazed in agony towards the ship, and -murmured: - -"He'll no leave it till the last; he'll no save himsel till a'body else -is saved. Oh! the Lord keep him--Willie!--Willie!" - -And there they remained till six heroic voyages had been made to the -helpless vessel. They were all saved at last. The last, the husband of -the young woman, and captain of the ship, fighting his own way to the -shore; he had more strength or nerve than the rest. - -And who had done it all? The light from the lantern streamed for a -moment on his face--that pale susceptible face, whose delicate features -spoke so eloquently the language of expression--the thin hair clung to -his white temples; his eyes were shining with unnatural excitement--with -something which looked like an unnatural vehemence of hope. It was -Patrick Lillie! - -The bystanders and the saved men alike poured into Schole; they were all -assembled in the large old-fashioned kitchen. Their deliverer had -disappeared. Miss Crankie, alert and active, went about, briskly helping -all. Christian was there, and Anne.--Seven lives in all had been saved -by Patrick Lillie. The young wife of the captain lay almost insensible -in an easy chair; she had borne the extremity of danger bravely, but -now she sank--the over-strained nerves gave way--she could hardly answer -the inquiries of her husband. - -By and by, under Christian's directions, he carried her to a small room -upstairs, where a bed had been hastily prepared for her. Anne -volunteered her attendance, and rendered it with all care and -tenderness; she was left alone with the young mother, Christian and the -captain of the ill-fated vessel in the meantime arranging for the -accommodation of the men. - -The rigid limbs of Anne's patient relaxed at last; the chill was -gradually overcome, and about an hour after they had been brought within -the sheltering walls of Schole, Anne received the infant from Miss -Crankie to satisfy the eager mother. The strangers by this time were -gone; the shipwrecked men were accommodated as well as might be in the -comfortable kitchen.--Miss Crankie herself, when there remained nothing -further to be done, departed also--only Anne continued with her -patient--she had not seen either Patrick or Christian again. - -Drawing the baby to her breast, the young mother soon fell into a -refreshing sleep. Anne sat thoughtfully by her bed-side--now and then -she heard a footstep below testifying that the household was still -astir. She was anxious to remain as long as possible--to endeavor to -open some communication with this singular brother and sister. For the -moment she had forgotten Jean Miller's history, and shuddered and -trembled as she remembered it--would they avoid her still? - -The room she occupied had a faded red curtain drawn along the further -wall; she fancied she heard a low murmur as of some voice beyond it, and -rose to see. The wall was a very thin partition which had evidently been -put up in some emergency to make two rooms of one--immediately behind -the curtain was a door standing ajar. Anne could see through into -another room guarded like this by a curtain, placed there for some -simple purpose of preventing a draft of air as it seemed, for each of -the rooms had another door, and both entered from a gusty, windy -gallery. - -And there was a voice proceeding from that outer room--a solitary voice, -low-toned, and strange--it was reading aloud as it seemed, although its -owner was evidently alone. "Behold, Lord, the half of my goods I give to -the poor, and if I have taken anything from any man by false accusation, -I restore him fourfold."--Anne glanced back to see that her patient -slept; she was lying in a calm slumber, luxuriously peaceful, and at -rest. The low voice went on: - -"Not fourfold but sevenfold. Lord! Thou seest the offering in my hand. -Thou who didst not reject this sinner of old times.--Thou who didst -tread wearily that way to Jericho for this publican's sake, who was a -son of Abraham. Lord, Lord, rejectest Thou me?--seven for one--wherefore -did I toil for them, but to lay them at Thy feet--seven saved for one -lost. Oh, Thou blessed One, where are Thy tender mercies--Thy loving -kindnesses--wilt Thou shut thy heaven only to me?" - -There was a pause; the voice was broken and unsteady; the strange -utterance passionate and solemn; it was resumed: - -"Not thy heaven, unless it be Thy will--not Thy glory or Thy -gladness--only Thy forgiveness, merciful Lord, only one uplifting of Thy -reconciled countenance. There is no light. I grope in the noonday, like -a blind man, I cannot see Thee--I cannot see Thee! Lord, I confess my -iniquity before Thee. Lord, I restore Thee sevenfold. Look upon my -offering--seven for one! I bring them to Thy feet--seven saved for one -lost! Lord of all tenderness--of all compassion, Thou most -merciful--most mighty--is it I--is it I? Wilt Thou reject only me?" - -Anne stood fixed in silent, eager interest--she could not think of any -evil in her listening. She was too deeply moved--too mightily concerned -for that! - -"Thou knowest the past. Thou, who ordainest all things, dost know these -fearful years. Blood for blood. Lord, thou hast seen mine agonies--Thou -knowest how I have died a thousand times in this fearful, blighted life: -look upon mine offering--I bring thee back sevenfold. Lord of mercy, -cast me not away for evermore!" - -The voice ceased. Anne cast a tremulous glance from the edge of the -curtain. He was sitting by a table, a Bible lying open before him. Large -drops hung upon his thin, high forehead--his delicate features were -moving in silent agonies of entreaty--a hot flush was on his cheek. He -suddenly buried his face in his hands, and bowed it down upon the open -Bible. Very fearful was this to see and hear! This living death of -wakeful misery--this vain struggling to render with his own hands the -atonement which he, of all men, needed most--while the great Evangel of -divine love and tenderness, with its mightier offering and all-availing -sacrifice, lay unapplied at his hands. - -Anne drew back in awe and reverence, and carefully closed the door--it -was not meet that she should pry further into the secret agonies of this -stricken and sinful spirit, as it poured itself forth before its God. -She returned to the bedside, her head throbbing with dull pain, her -heart full of darkness and anguish. Was it true?--was it indeed true?--a -haunting fear no longer, but a deadly and hopeless reality! - -At intervals she heard the murmurings renewed, and watched in breathless -anxiety then, lest her patient should wake--at length it ceased -altogether. The young mother slept peacefully with her infant nestling -in her arms--a strange contrast there was between the sleeper and the -watcher--the one in delicious safety and rest, after deadliest -peril--the other wading through a restless sea of grief and pain, to -which there seemed neither shore nor boundary, involving agonies -mightier than death. - -The night wore swiftly on--the morning rose as calm and sunny as if -storms had never raged in the soft atmosphere which it gilded with its -early sunbeams. Anne rose to look from the window--the Firth lay broad -before her, still something moved and unquiet--rolling long waves upon -the shore, and specked like the breast of some war-horse, with spots of -foam. At a little distance, dashed against a bold, projecting cliff, the -masts of the hapless vessel appeared through the dark water. Anne -shuddered when she saw the white spars, rising so very short a way above -the broad surface of the Firth. A little longer delay last night--a -paroxysm of desperate energy a little less bold, and these hapless -seamen, and this youthful mother, had been lying, far from all -consciousness of earthly pain or pleasure, in the dark graves of the -sea! - -Sevenfold--seven saved for one lost! Alas, was this all?--had he no hope -but this? - -Anne's patient waked--she began to look about her confusedly--then she -recollected herself: "Willie, Willie, where is he--is he safe?" - -Anne hastened to reassure her; but finding that she only partially -succeeded, and hearing as she thought some one stirring below, she left -the room to seek "Willie," to satisfy his anxious wife. - -In a small bare parlor below she found the serving-woman of the Lillies -and Jacky--they had just made a fire, and Marget, with considerable -grumbling, was preparing tea. Jacky, looking very dark, and pale, and -wakeful, was moving about in her own intense stillness of nervous -activity, discharging various pieces of work entrusted to her, and -returning instantly to seek more. - -"I declare," exclaimed Marget, peevishly, as Anne reached the door, -"ye're enough to pit a body daft. Afore ane can think ye're weel begun -wi' ae turn, ye're seeking anither. Have ye washen a' the cups?" - -"Yes." - -Marget looked back--the long array of gleaming earthenware spoke for -itself. In anticipation of so many stranger guests, Marget had collected -a dusty congregation of cups and saucers, out of the corners of a dark -old pantry. - -"Do ye aye do your work as cleverly? Ye're a strange speerit o' a -creature to get through a turn at that rate. Are ye aye as fast?" - -"Ay," said Jacky, bashfully, "when there's ony need." - -"I wadna like to be trysted to haud ye gaun. Ye wad be as ill to ser as -Michael Scot's man. Get out yon muckle tray, and tak the dust aff't, and -set down the cups--it's aye something. Eh, Mem, I beg your pardon!" - -This was addressed to Anne, whom Marget descried for the first time -standing behind her. Anne asked where the young captain was. - -"Ye see, they're a' lying in the kitchen, puir creatures. It was the -warmest place, and we made shake-downs to them as well as we could; and -no to disturb them, I kindled my bit fire in here--and your lassie is -very handy, Mem, and I'm muckle obliged to ye for letting her help me. -Ye see I'll hae plenty on my hands wi' a' thae strangers, and trouble in -the house forbye." - -"Is any one ill?" asked Anne, eagerly. - -"Ye see, it's just yin o' Mr. Patrick's ill turns. What was onybody to -expect after the way he exposed himsel last night?--a frail man like him -fighting through the sea as if he had been a giant--and he's waur than -ordinar the day." - -"Can I see Miss Lillie?" said Anne. - -"Miss Kirstin's been at his bedside close, since ever we got the men -sorted in the kitchen. She had to wile him out o' his ain room, because -the young Captain's wife was in the next, and she was feared he would -disturb her, and he's lying up in the west room. He'll no hear o' a -doctor--maybe it's because he kens about physic himself--ony way he'll -no have yin near him." - -"But Miss Lillie would see me perhaps, if you asked her," said Anne. - -"She's no fond o' onybody fashing her, when she's no wanting them," said -Marget, "and it's ill my pairt to anger my mistress.--I've been here -even on wi' her this sixteen year--I come frae Falkirk mysel, and dinna -belang about this place--and a guid mistress she is, if she's no just -like ither folk, And it's a lang trail up that weary stair when ane's -breath is as short as mine--and--if ye have nae objection, Mem, I wad -rather ye would wait till she comes down hersel. She'll be wanting -something for Mr. Patrick before lang." - -"Will you ask the Captain of the ship to come to me then?" asked Anne. - -Marget went with some reluctance, and returned in a few minutes with the -stalwart young Captain. Anne begged her to guide him to his wife's room, -and then opening the outer door, stepped out herself into the garden for -a moment's refreshment in the cool morning air. - -Fresh, bright, healthful, tinged and gilded with their young sunbeams, -while everything around rejoiced in its lightsome breadth and purity, -Anne almost fancied it strange that the joyous air did not shrink from -these gray walls--so full of sin and grief--sorrow, remorse, and pain, -that shrank from the eye of man, as they were. - -When she again entered the room where she had found Marget and Jacky, -the young captain of the wrecked ship was there, somewhat tremulous and -unsteady, poor fellow, after his meeting with his wife. They had been -looking together from the window at the lost vessel with mingled -thankfulness and regret. Anne began to speak to him. - -"The boat was a schooner--the William and Mary of Kincardine--homeward -bound from the Baltic, with a cargo of timber. We've been water-logged -for three weeks; drifting very much where the wind likit to drive us. If -it had not been for the summer weather and lown winds, we must have -perished before now; we've had a dreadful time--no that I care for a -while of hardship myself--it like comes natural to a seafaring life--but -Mary and the infant! I was saying to her the now, that she had better -make up her mind, to let me go alone after this; I durst not put her in -such peril again. - -"She seems to have borne it bravely," said Anne. - -"Ay, that she has," said the young man, his eyes glistening.--"It's -often no the strongest and roughest like that can bear the most. For the -bairn's sake and mine, and her mother's at hame, I believe she could -have held out as long as myself. To be sure, we sheltered her, while -shelter was possible, but that has not been for a while--and now she's -less worn out than the men. It's a strange thing that, but I've seen the -like of it before. They can stand work--plenty of it--but they canna -both work and thole--and we have needed both." - -"It is very strange," said Anne, "almost all of them were stronger than -their deliverer." - -"Ay it's no that," said the captain of the William and Mary, "it's the -spirit that ever does anything. My men were stunned and helpless, worn -out with the terrible watch they have kept for three weeks bye-past. The -gentleman scarce so much as felt he had a body clothing him, when he saw -our peril. It was the keen spirit that did it." - -Anne sighed. This unhappy man, borne down by his fearful secret, his -life desolated by a great hidden crime, was a very angel of bravery and -goodness to the men whose lives he had saved.--She asked: - -"Will the loss be great?" - -The young man's countenance fell. - -"No doubt it'll be heavy upon us. It's part my father's, and part mine. -We built it just before I was married, as you would, maybe, notice by -the name. My mother had aye a great wark with Mary, and she would have -it called after us both. When the tide's out, we'll see better what's -lost, and what may be saved. It's a mercy the cargo can take no scaith, -being timber. Onyway it must be a heavy loss, but we may be thankful -we're to the fore ourselves." - -Anne did not answer. At any other time, she would have sympathized -warmly with this prepossessing, youthful couple. At present, her -interest and thoughts were so engrossed, that any other feeling was -faint within her. - -"Mary was speaking of coming down herself," said the young captain, "to -thank you for your goodness. And the gentleman--I have not seen the -gentleman!" - -"I hear he is ill," said Anne. "I am only a--a neighbor: but I hear Mr. -Lillie's exertions have hurt him--he has been long an invalid." - -The young man said some words of respectful regret, and then left her to -attend to his men. He wished to remove them as soon as possible--especially -now, when he heard that there was sickness in the house. - -Marget, with a good deal of grumbling, was preparing a breakfast for -them. Anne opened the door of a room on the opposite side of the -hall--it was Patrick Lillie's study--and went in. She felt she had a -right. In all the world, there was no family so closely connected with -her as this. - -Upon the table, in the recess of the low projecting window, lay an old -Latin book--others of a like nature were scattered round. Anne was -sufficiently acquainted with old literature to see that some of these -were rare and strange. A small pile, which she could fancy the daily and -beloved companions of their owner, lay at one side. The upper one of the -pile, was the "Imitatione Christi," of Thomas a Kempis, in the original -Latin--the others were of the same contemplative cast. Old emblematic -poems, full of devout conceits: old dialectic philosophy, subtle and -shifting--a strange atmosphere for that fragile mind, with its sensitive -beauty and feebleness, to breathe and dwell in. - -She was thinking of him--with her hands clasped over her eyes, and her -head bowed down, she was trying to think what she could do--"looking -forward as the aim and expectation of your life--almost, God help us--as -your hope--for a thing which you knew would rend your heart, and make -your life a desert when it came." The words returned before her -constantly, blinding her mind and stilling it. She could do nothing. - -A hand was laid upon her shoulder. She looked up hastily--it was -Christian Lillie. Her eyes were fixed upon Anne with a look of wistful -inquiry: her tall figure was slightly bent. Anne saw more clearly than -she had ever done before, how attenuated and worn out she was. Yet, in -the melancholy face and shadowy frame, there was no trace of greater -weariness than usual. She had been watching by a sick-bed all the -night--and such a sick-bed!--but she thought of no rest, she evidenced -no fatigue. You could fancy the soul within, so constantly awake and -watching, that its thin robe of earthly covering needed not the common -sustenance of feeble humanity. - -"What do you here?" said Christian Lillie, "this is no air for you to -breathe--no roof to cover you. Let us bear our own burden as we best -can; you must not try to render help to us--no, nor even sympathy--you -must go from this fated house." - -Anne took into her own the thin hand which rested on her shoulder. - -"You must let me stay," she said eagerly. "I can take no dismissal--you -must let me stay--no one else in this wide world could be beside you as -I can be--save one. I must remain with you; I must share your -labors--you cannot watch continually." - -"Watch!" said Christian, "I _have_ watched continually, without ceasing -night or day. You can rest who are young--you who have known no deadly -evil--what rest is there for me? Leave me to my own weird. God knows, -who sent it, that He has sent patience also to bear its bitterness. It -was long before that came, but I watched, and waited, and prayed for it -dry-eyed: tears are not for me, unless it be the terrible ones that the -heart weeps when it is wrung. You must go from this place; let us not -throw the shadow of our desolation over another of your blood. You must -go before you are blighted." - -"Do not fear me," said Anne, anxiously; "do not fear to trust me. Is not -our sorrow the same--our hope the same? let me stay beside you." - -"The same--the same! God forbid that you knew what you were saying. -There are agonies that folk may not lay the light name of sorrow upon. -Be thankful that you know nothing sorer than grief; and if you would -keep your hope alive, leave the house that contains us." - -"I cannot leave you; you must not ask me," said Anne; "I have a claim -upon you. Do not you know better than I the bond that there is between -us? I will not leave you." - -Christian Lillie walked through the room slowly, sadly, heavily; she -made no answer; she seemed to acquiesce at last. - -For a time they both continued silent. Then Anne asked: - -"Is he ill? they told me he was ill." - -"_He!_" Christian paused; over the steadfast whiteness of her face there -flushed an unnatural color. She gazed upon Anne; her wistful melancholy -eyes dilating as it seemed in eager inquiry. "He!" she checked herself; -it appeared to have flashed upon her that Anne knew something of their -mighty secret greater than she had before thought. She controlled -herself with an effort--"yes, he is ill; what can he be else but ill?" - -"I must return to him," she resumed, after an incoherent pause. "Stay -with us, since you will stay; but mind I have warned you, that with us -there can be nothing but desolation, and blight, and hopelessness. What -depths you may fathom before we are parted, I know not. It may be that -you are sent thither for that end. We walk darkling, but He sees the -beginning and the end: let His will be done." - -She left the room--in a short time, Anne also quitted it. Marget was -arranging in the kitchen the breakfast for the shipwrecked seamen. There -was no scant or niggardly provision. The men, gaunt and famished-like, -an uncouth company, were gathered about the table. In the little parlor -sat the captain and his wife. - -"Miss Kirstin said I was to see they had plenty to their breakfast," -said Marget, deprecatingly, "and there wasna bread enough in the house; -and I'm no sae young as I hae been mysel, forbye having a fashious -hoast, and a sore shortness in my breath, sae I took the freedom to send -your lass, because she was willing to gang, and I hope, Mem, ye'll no be -angry." - -"By no means," said Anne. "Jacky will be glad to help you, I am sure." - -"She's a willing lassie," said Marget; "but if it werena that she's -discreet, and does what she's bidden, I wad maist think she wasna canny. -Preserve me! there she is already rattling at the gate; if she's been at -Aberford, she maun hae flown." - -Jacky had only been at Miss Crankie's; she returned laden with -provisions sent by Anne's kind, active, odd little landlady--there was a -full supply. Anne herself joined the young captain and his wife in the -little parlor. - -In the course of the day the forlorn crew of the "William and Mary," -considerably revived by their night's rest and shelter, left -Schole--with much gratitude expressed and unexpressed. William and Mary -themselves proceeded, with their infant, to the house of the husband's -father. The men dispersed to their various homes. - -Anne remained--only once again during that day she saw Christian. Then -she spoke less incoherently, with something indeed of singular -gentleness, and an endeavor for the moment to forget her individual -burden, as though her heart began to yearn for the sympathy of this -younger sister. Patrick was very ill; he could not leave his bed. - -The next day told the same tale, and so did the next--and the next -again. The illness increased. The fever and agitation of that night had -wrought their due effect upon the delicate, enfeebled frame whenever the -desperate tension and rigid strength of its nervous excitement failed. -On the fourth day, Christian, who all this time had watched unceasingly, -called the medical practitioner of the little town to her brother's -bedside. Anne saw him as he passed down stairs, and asked eagerly for -his patient; the doctor shook his head--he could give no hope. - -Anne spent the greater part of the day in Schole, returning to Miss -Crankie's only for the night. Now, when Patrick's illness had increased -so alarmingly, she could only exchange a passing word with Christian on -the stair, or at the door of the sick-room. She had pleaded vainly for -permission to help her in her tendance of the sufferer: failing in that, -she gradually assumed the management of the household matters below. She -lightened Christian's hands, at least so far. - -A week after the shipwreck, Anne entered Christian's room--the high -turret chamber from which so often she had seen the reflected light -gleaming upon the dark waters of the Firth--to wait for her coming. It -was a still, dim, balmy night, soft and melancholy. There was always a -great attraction in that broad Firth at their feet--a kind of wandering -freedom for the overcharged heavy hearts gazing forth upon it. The -rounded window was veiled by an old-fashioned, faded curtain: within -this there was a seat which Christian Lillie had occupied for more -lingering woeful nights than we could count or record. Anne seated -herself there, and looked out in the dim gloaming upon the silent land, -and gleaming sea. - -By-and-by she heard the slow, sad footstep enter, and sat still, in -expectation of being joined immediately--for Christian, like herself, -continually sought these windows; continually calmed her sorrow in the -wide tranquillity and balmy peace that lay around. - -"Give him to me for a prey. Lord, give him to me for a prey," were the -strange words that came to Anne's ear, falling low through the tremulous -darkness; "I ask not for his life. Thou knowest that I ask not for his -life. My Father, wilt Thou not hear? wilt Thou forget the prayers that -have risen to Thee day by day and night by night since Thou didst hide -Thy countenance from us? My Lord! hast Thou said any word in vain? shall -any promise be forgotten before Thee?" - -The listener sat still in awe; she dared not interrupt this agony of -supplication with any token of her presence. - -Christian was pacing the room quickly, with tremulous step, and -passionate low voice, too mightily absorbed to think of form or posture. - -"If it be Thy will--Thy will--and Thy will is to seek and save the lost; -and this is lost in sin, in blindness, and the deep gloom of unbelief, -and it was such that Thou camest to save--such, and not the righteous. -It is Thy will--it is Thy will. Grant me Thy will of salvation to this -sinner--Lord! Lord!" - -She paused; she threw herself on her knees; there was an indefinite -sound of entreaty--groaning that could not be uttered.--Then she started -to her feet again, and the words poured forth aloud, as one who finds a -new argument and can scarce pause for language in which to state and -plead it. - -"Thou who art a man! Thou who bearest a human heart in Thy high heaven! -Thou who hast entreated, and yearned, and wept over sinful brethren, -whom the adversary sifted as wheat! Thou, O Lord! who wearest Thy -humanity upon Thy throne!--he is a sinner--so were they whom Thou didst -call Thy friends.--He hath denied Thee--so did he, for whom Thy holy -lips prayed, that his faith might not fail. My Lord!--my Lord!--thou -hearest always. Look down upon us, and send us deliverance." - -She sat down; she put back her wet hair, and wiped the heavy dew from -her forehead. Then she clasped her hands over her brow. - -"Not life--not joy--not temporal deliverance--whatsoever is in Thy hands -is well--be it to us as seemeth good to Thee. But light, O, my Father! -light to this darkness--deliverance to this bondman--the grace of Thine -infinite mercy--the touch of Thy divine compassion. Lord, if Thou wilt, -Thou canst deliver him." - -There was a faint call from another room. Christian Lillie paused for a -moment to compose her agitated features, and then hastened to the -restless sick-bed. Anne Ross sat still at the high turret window, -looking out through silent tears upon the dim country, and the gleaming -sea. - -That sky serene, and calm, and boundless, beholding all beneath its -infinite extent--that mighty eye above, looking down amid the countless -myriads of its universe, as certainly upon the untold agonies of this -house as if all humanity were centered there--that One, at the right -hand of the Father, who, in the might of His eternal Godhead, doth dwell -in heaven--a man! The appeal of the broken heart was to these; and they -do not fail to answer. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - - -Wearily, mocking sick hearts with their floods of brightness, the summer -days stole on. The house of Schole gaunt and melancholy, stood shrined -in the full glory of that sunshine. The dark figures within wandered -about in restless pain, like ghosts uncongenial to the light, or gazed -forth with vacant eyes upon the rejoicing country, and dazzling sea. In -the sick chamber lay that restless, suffering man, wending unconsciously -nearer and nearer the valley of the shadow of death. - -The doctor from the little town had visited him repeatedly.--Nearly a -fortnight after the wreck, he had a final conversation with Christian. -Anne was watching eagerly in Patrick Lillie's study. Christian -accompanied the doctor to the door, and answered his subdued and -sorrowful farewell; then she entered the study. Anne looked up anxiously -in her face. - -"The time has come," said Christian, solemnly, "there is no hope of his -life. He has but a little way to go, and yet he knows not the only -entrance. God succor us--what can we do alone? Come with me--now there -is no longer any obstacle or hindrance--come with me." - -Anne followed her silently. The room in which Patrick lay was high, and -had also windows looking on the water--that broad placid, noble Firth, -the sole companion of the watcher. - -Wan and wasted, with only the hectic spot burning on his cheek to -distinguish it from the pillow on which it uneasily rested, lay the -dying man. Cold, wasting, death-like perspiration lay heavily upon his -brow; his long, white hand and emaciated arm were stretched upon the -coverlet with a power of nervous motion in them, which contrasted -strangely with their color and form of death. - -On a small table beside him lay a paper closely written. Near at hand -were writing materials. His eyes were fixed upon the manuscript--he did -not seem to notice the entrance of Christian and Anne. He was speaking -in broken sentences, with incoherent intervals between. - -"Sevenfold--sevenfold. Thou God of mighty justice! Thou Lord of holy -revenge! What can a sinful man do more? Not an old man, O, Lord! not a -little child; seven lives in their prime--seven full of health, and -strength, and hopefulness--seven saved for one lost. Lord of mercy, wilt -Thou accept them! what can I more?" - -"Patrick," said Christian Lillie, "if the whole world had lain perishing -at your feet, what more than urgent need was it to save them all; the -seven will not atone for the one. If ye have no other atonement to -offer, then the blood is still crying upon God for vengeance." - -"Christian," exclaimed the dying man, "what can I do?--what shall I do? -They tell me I am near the hour of judgment; will you thrust away my -last plea?--will ye deny me my last hope? Did He not accept the publican -who restored fourfold? Behold my offering, O, Lord, and be merciful--be -merciful! I have toiled through all this terrible life--labored, and -groaned, and fainted for the uplifting of Thy countenance--and shall I -go away in darkness, and wilt Thou show me no more light at all for -ever? Lord! Lord!" - -The thin, worn arms were lifted in passionate appeal--the long white -fingers clasped--the wasted face convulsed with despairing earnestness. -Christian Lillie knelt by her brother's bedside. - -"Mercy and light, Patrick--mercy and light! our Father in heaven does -not give them for a hire. Take them out of a gracious hand that has paid -a bitter price for the gifts--take them, Patrick. Take them from Him who -has made the sole sacrifice that can stand in the sight of God. Blood -for blood." - -"Blood for blood!" said Patrick Lillie, with a wild shudder. "Blood for -blood! has it come to this end? Christian, I have been laboring to make -amends--I have labored in vain: let me pay the price now at last--there -may be peace then. Let me away--let me away--I will pay the price--a -life for a life!" - -He was struggling to rise--his emaciated features shining wildly with -his desperate purpose. Christian's arms were stretched over him, -subduing the frenzy. - -"Patrick," she said, solemnly, "in a little while the Lord will recall -the life He has sent so fearful a shadow on. A day or two--maybe only an -hour or two--and in this ghastly noon of ours, which is more terrible -than the darkest midnight, the sun of your life must go down. The Lord -is taking the price with his own hand. Patrick, let me but know that you -are grounded on the one rock--that ye can see the one sacrifice." - -The unhappy sufferer sank back exhausted. - -"'Whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed.' -Christian, it is a just sentence--take me away--I see it--I see it--it -is what no mercy can wipe out--no grace forgive--it must be atoned for. -Ye hear me, Christian! the price must be paid. If ye would have hope in -my death, take me away." - -"It is a just sentence," said Christian Lillie, firmly. "Just in the -sight of God and man--I say not that there needs no public atonement; -but ye cannot pay it now--and I say that for your life, your higher -life, Patrick, an atonement has been made. Do you forget Him that died -at Jerusalem? they ranked him with murderers--was He one? He was -accursed for the shedders of blood. Throw but your sin upon Him--rest -but your soul upon Him, and I will have hope in your death--ay! such -hope as will cover all the by-gone darkness with a mist of radiance; -only let me know that you are safe in His shadow--strong in His faith, -and I am content." - -"I have slain a man to my bruising, and a young man to my hurt," -murmured the dying man, "and I should--God forgive me that I have -shrunk and trembled from this fearful penalty--I should pay back blood -for blood in the sight of man. Christian, hear me: I acknowledge Him, my -Saviour--my Lord--my King. I acknowledge His work--only not for -this--for this I must render justice in the sight of men. Let me go--I -have trembled for it all these dreadful years--I have hid me from the -very sunshine for its fear--I have doomed them--God bless them! God, out -of his gracious heaven, send down the blessings of the covenant upon -them! whom I shall never look upon in this world again--to exile and -shame for me. Christian, let me go--I see it all now--my eyes are -opened. Let me pay the price--then there may be peace; whoso sheddeth -man's blood--Christian, let me go!" - -"Patrick," said Christian Lillie, "you have told me when your mind was -clear that this deed was not wilful, nor springing from a heart of evil -against him that is gone. Tell me again. Patrick!--do you mind how he -fled into the sacred city in the ancient Israel, who had shed blood -unawares, and there was safe? Can you see? is there no shadow before -your eyes? Can you tell me? Patrick, you shed this blood unawares." - -A wild gleam shot over the sick man's death-like face. His lips -moved--he shut them convulsively as though to keep down some thrill of -agony. - -"I cannot tell--I cannot tell. God help me--there is nothing clear; that -I did it--that I took away the divine mysterious life which all the -universe could not give back again--Christian, Christian, it will make -me mad--the remembrance of it has gone near to make me mad a thousand -times. Oh, that my life had been taken instead! oh, that he had slain -me, and not I him!" - -Christian knelt by his bedside holding his hand--he became calmer. - -"Lord, show it to me--show me the past--show me what is to come. I was -angry with my brother in my heart--I cannot see--I cannot tell, if the -fiend was within me then. Christian, have _they_ not suffered a death -for me?--have I not slain them in cold blood with my fear and cowardice! -I will do them justice--I will bear my own sin. Let me go." - -He sat up in his bed, his excitement giving nervous strength to his -wasted frame; as he rose he saw Anne for the first time--she stood awed -and wondering by the door. - -The unhappy man threw himself back upon his pillow, covering his face. - -"Send her away. Do you want to kill me--do you want to betray me, -Christian? Send her away." - -Christian Lillie made a motion with her hand, and Anne withdrew. Most -strange, and sad, and terrible was this scene; this unhappy sufferer -enduring in those agonies so intense a retribution--eager to do justice -on his death-bed, and yet shrinking from the sight of her who might -bring that justice speedily upon him--her, the sister of the injured -Norman, who would not have inflicted another pang upon the man for whom -her generous brother had sacrificed his all. - -She did not see Christian again that day: during all its long, weary, -sunny hours, Christian remained constantly by that sick-bed--through the -shorter watches of the balmy and tranquil night her vigil continued; -those melancholy wistful eyes never closed in slumber; that gaunt, -attenuated frame sought neither rest nor nourishment; the agony of -eighteen years had come to a climax; the heroic work of all her desolate -lifetime was drawing to an end. - -Anne did not leave the house till late that evening; she could hear the -sound of voices in the sick chamber, and Christian's slow step sometimes -traversing it, when she went away. In the morning she returned early. -Christian was in her own room, as Anne could hear, while she sat in the -apartment below--sometimes kneeling--sometimes pacing it slow and -heavily as was her wont, and sometimes with the agitated quick step, -which she had heard before during the short time in which she witnessed -Christian Lillie's supplications. Her patient was for the time asleep. -She was there, not resting nor seeking rest, absorbed in the unutterable -earnestness of her pleadings, wrestling with God for a blessing. - -The day glided on, so slow--so wearily, with but the drowsy ripples of -the sea, the steady, cold, immovable beating of that strange pulse of -Time, whose sound fatigues the anxious ear so miserably, and the -irregular, agitated throbs of her own heart, to fill its languid -lingering hours, that Anne sickened when she looked abroad upon its -cloudless radiance. Then those books of Patrick Lillie's fascinated -while they irked and pained her--the pensive, contemplative tone--the -microscopic, inward-looking eye--the atmosphere of monastic quietude and -meditative death! She was in no mood for studying character, yet she -felt how strangely constituted the spirit must have been which found its -daily ailment in these. - -Had he done that deed and yet was he not guilty? Did he stand in the -position of the manslayer, for whom God's stern law of olden vengeance, -in one of those exquisite shadings of mercy, which mark the unchanging -unity of our Gospel Lord and Saviour--ordained through ancient -Palestine, the sacred cities of refuge? Had he shed this blood unawares? -and whence then came the terrible mist which had gathered in his memory -about the deed? Was it possible that he could be uncertain of -himself?--that he could have forgotten those momentous circumstances? -or had his long-diseased brooding over them made imagination and fact -stand in his remembrance side by side? - -At last, the weary day declined. Christian Lillie came to her at sunset, -and with few words, bade her follow to the sick room again. Anne obeyed. - -It was very near now, that awful peace of Death. The emaciated face was -sharp and fixed--the stamp was upon his forehead. A little time now, and -all earthly agony would be over for him. - -But there was a tranquil shadow on his face, and the large caverns of -Christian's eyes were full of dew, which did not fall, but yet had risen -to refresh the burning lids which had kept watch so long. The manuscript -was upon the table still--the thin arm lay quietly on the coverlet. A -slight shudder passed across his frame as Anne entered; an involuntary -thrill of that coward fear which had overwhelmed his nature. Then he -turned his eyes upon her with a steadfast, melancholy, lingering look, -failing sometimes for a moment as the slow blood crept coldly to his -heart in another pang of terror; but renewed again--a sorrowful look of -lingering, clinging tenderness, as though he saw in her face the shadow -of another--the generous glance of one dearly beloved long ago, who had -given up name, and wealth, and honor for his sake. - -"Christian," he said, "Christian, it comes. I feel that I am entering -the dark valley. What I have to do, let me do quickly.--Raise me up." - -She lifted him in her arms--in her strong devotion she might have borne -a threefold weight--the dying man was like an infant in her hands. - -He took the pen she offered him into his unsteady fingers, and began, in -feeble characters, to trace his name at the bottom of the manuscript. -While he did so, he murmured broken words. - -"I am guilty--I am guilty! I only. Lord, Thou knowest who hast saved me! -Only his tenderness, like Thine--only his gracious heart, Thy true -follower, has screened me, a miserable sinner, from the doom of the -slayer! It is I only--my Lord, Thou knowest it is I!" - -He had signed his name. Christian laid him back tenderly upon the -pillow. With a firm hand she placed her own signature at the side of the -document, and then gave the pen to Anne. The sister of the man who had -done the deed, and the sister of him who had suffered for it--it was -meet their names should stand together. Anne added hers. She could form -some idea, of what this paper was. She signed it as a witness. - -The words of the dying man ran on--a feeble, murmuring stream. - -"Christian! he is alive--he is safe! No evil has come upon them! Tell me -again--tell me again! They do not curse me--they forgive the miserable -man who has made them exiles? It is over now, Christian. All your -anguish--all your vigils: their disgrace and banishment--it is over now. -God knows, who has visited me with His mercy and His light, why this -desolation has fallen upon you all for my sin. I have been a coward. -Christian, Christian! when they are home in their joyous household--when -they have forgotten all their grief and dishonor, when they are tranquil -and at rest--they will never name my name; my memory will be a thing of -shame and fear: they will shrink from me in my grave." - -The thin hands met in silent appeal. There was a wistful, deprecating -glance thrown upon Anne and Christian. - -"Patrick," said Christian, "can _we_ ever shrink from you, who have been -willing, for your sake, to endure the hardest calamity that could be -thrown upon man? Can _they_ forget your name, who have lost their own -for your sake, and never murmured? Patrick! look upon his sister. She -has come to us in our sorest trouble; she has clung to us with her -tenderest service, as if we had blessed him, and not blighted. Take your -comfort from her. As for me, my labor is over. I will live to see -Marion. I must, if it be the Lord's will--but for forgetfulness, or -shame, or shrinking, ye never thought of me!" - -Anne stood by the bedside. The eyes of the dying man, so intensely blue, -and strangely clear, were shining wistfully upon her. She could not find -words to speak to him. - -"Mind them of me," said Patrick Lillie, faintly. "Tell them, that if -they have suffered pain for me, they never can know what agony, bitterer -than death, I have endured within this desolate house. Bid them mind me -as I was, in yon bright, far away time, that I have been dwelling in -again this day. Tell them, the Lord has given me back my hope, that He -gave me first in my youth. Tell them, I am in His hand, who never loses -the feeblest of His flock. Tell them--" - -He was exhausted--the breath came in painful grasps. - -"Do not fear," said Anne, gently. "We will remember you in all -tenderness, with sorrow and with reverence. I will answer for Norman." - -"For Norman!" said the dying man. "All blessings on the name that I have -not dared to say for years! The blessing of my God upon him, who has -been separated from his brethren. Norman! Marion! They have suffered in -exile and in grief for me. Tell them, that with my last breath, I bade -God bless them--God bless them! They have done as my Lord did--they have -suffered for the guilty--and He will acknowledge His own." - -There was a pause. His breath came painfully. The hectic on his cheek -flushed deeper. Christian made a gesture with her hand to Anne, -dismissing her. He saw it. - -"Stay," he said, "stay--my work is not yet done. Christian, hear me; -when I have said this, I will take my journey in peace. My eyes are -clear now. I dare look back to that terrible time. I did it unawares. -The blood on my hand was not wilfully shed; ye hear me, ye trust me, -Christian! I had that deadly weapon in my hand; my mind was far away as -it often was. I was thinking of the two, and of their bright lot; my eye -caught something dark among the trees. I thought it was a bird. -Christian, it was the head of Arthur Aytoun, the man that I was hating -in my heart! I came home; my soul was blinded within me. I was as -innocent of wish to harm him as was the water at my feet; but yet in my -inmost heart long before, I had been angry with my brother! My soul was -blind; now I see, for the Lord has visited me with His mercy. You know -all now. I have sinned; but I did this unawares, and into His city of -refuge, my Lord has received my soul." - -The shadows were gathering--darker, closer--the face becoming deadly -white. His breath came with less painful effort, but the end was at -hand. He made a sign which Christian knew. She lifted a Bible, and began -to read. Anne stood behind in silent awe, as the low voice rose through -that dim room, whose occupant stood upon the eternal brink so near an -unseen world. "There is, therefore, now no condemnation." Wondrous -words! spanning all this chaos of human sin and feebleness with their -heavenward bridge of strong security. - -Christian read on calmly, solemnly while the slow life ebbed wave by -wave. She had reached the end. - -"Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? shall tribulation, or -distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? -Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through Him that -loved us. For--" - -She was stayed by the outstretching of that worn and wasted hand. A -strange shrill voice, unnaturally clear, took up the words: - -"I am persuaded that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor -principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor -height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate me -from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus my Lord." - -Christian sprang forward to support him. He needed no support. In the -might of that one certain thing, of which he was at last persuaded, the -spirit of Patrick Lillie had ascended into his Saviour's heaven. - -A pale, feeble, worn-out garment, over which no longer the fluctuating -fever of a wavering mind should sweep and burn--a fair, cold face, whose -gentle features could answer no longer to the thousand changes of that -delicate and tremulous soul, Christian laid back upon the pillow--no -longer restless, or ill at ease, or fearful, but sleeping peaceful -sleep--tranquil and calm at last! - -And she stood by his bedside who had borne, through all these dreadful -years, the strong tenacious life of deadly agony for him. As pale as -his, was the thin, worn face bending over him; for a moment she listened -with that intensest pain of watching, which seems to make the listener -blind, and concentrates all the senses in that one--listening for the -faint fall of his breath. It was in vain: those pale lips, until the -great day of resurrection, should draw breath again--never more. - -"I thank God," said Christian Lillie, in the solemn calm of that -death-chamber; "I thank God, Patrick, my brother, that you are safe, and -at rest. Safe after perils greater than time could wear out. At rest -after the hourly warfare and deadly travail of a lifetime--I thank God. -My Father!--my Father! I thank Thee, who rejectest no petition, that -Thou hast heard my cry!" - -Her hands were clasped. Anne feared they were becoming rigid in the -attitude of supplication so common to them. She laid her hand upon -Christian's arm. - -"Ay, I will not linger," said Christian, "but look at him--look at him -at peace, and blessed at last. Do you see my tears? I have not shed one -since yon June morning, but now I can weep. I will not linger; but can -you not feel the blessedness of seeing his salvation--his rest in the -fair haven--his solemn peace at last? I thank God, Patrick--I thank -God!" - -"You are worn out," said Anne, gently; "come now and take rest--leave -the further cares of this sad time to me." - -The tears were falling from her eyes like large soft rain-drops; there -was a quivering, woeful smile about her lip. - -"Ay, ay, I will go; I have one work yet for his sake, and theirs. At -peace in the pure heaven of our Lord and Saviour--at rest. In hope and -certainty that nothing can shake again, look how he has begun his -tranquil waiting for the second coming. He is with his Lord, and I--yes, -I will go and rest. Here I take up again the human hope that has been -dead within me for eighteen lingering years; it died by him, and by him -it is alive again. I will go and take rest for my labor. I trust him to -your hands; I have never trusted him before in the care of any mortal. -Now, I must rest for Norman's sake, and you will watch for Patrick's; I -trust him to you." - -And so, at last Anne was able to lead her to her own chamber. The -tension of mind and frame had been so long and stern, that now, when it -was relaxed, Anne trembled for the issue; but Christian had borne all -the vicissitudes of mental agony too long to sink now when there still -remained labor to do "for his sake, and theirs." She suffered Anne's -attendance with a strange child-like gentleness, as of one whose own -long task is over; and while she lay down upon her bed, continued to -speak of that blessed rest and peacefulness with a tremulous quivering -smile, and wandering of thought which brought the tears fast from Anne's -eyes.--Deeply pitiful and moving was this pathetic garment of her grief. - -At last, sleep was mercifully sent, such sleep as God gives to His -beloved--calm, serene, and child-like--the sad smile trembling upon her -lip--the mild tears stealing from under her closed eyelids, and her soul -the while carried back to times of past tranquillity--the peace and -gentle joyousness of the old cottage home. - -From Christian's bedside, Anne proceeded to a sadder work; a work too -painful and repugnant for anything but callous habit, or deep -tenderness. She called up the old serving-woman, and together they -rendered the last offices to the dead. - -The solemn, calm, majestic, awful dead, in whose still presence, were he -in life the meanest, the princeliest soul of earth must stoop and bow. -Strange doom which, with its sad mysterious ending, can make the meanest -lifetime a sublime, unequalled thing! Strange death which, in its -ghostly silence, can thrust so lightly the vain speculations of man -aside, and make our mortal flesh shrink and tremble from the thrilling -power of unseen life, that moves behind the curtain of its gloom. What -man shall stand in its presence, and dare to say that this is the end? -What man shall look upon its majesty, and tell us that is the mere death -at which he thrills and shivers? It is not so--mightier, more terrible -and great--it is the supernatural glow of an unseen life beyond that -thus appals us. - -The moonbeams glided over the Firth in spiritual stillness.--The -necessary offices were done, and Anne and Marget sat down in a small -adjoining room to watch. The old woman began to nod in her chair; this -was to her but an ordinary death, and death to those who are accustomed -to assist at its dread ceremonials, loses its awe and solemnity. Anne -opened the window as the sun rose, and bathed her pale face in the -delicious air of the morning. Under her sadness and awe a solemn joy was -trembling.--Her work was accomplished--now for the exile's -home-coming--for household rest and companionship--for communion with -the near and dear kindred over whom her heart had yearned so long. - -The country was beginning to awake: the early morning labor of those -rural people had commenced. She could see smoke rising from the -indistinct dim towns on the Fife coast.--She awoke her companion, and -then went softly into Christian's room. - -But Christian was gone; her Bible lay open upon the table, where she had -sought its comfort when she rose. Her plain black silk cloak and bonnet -had been taken away. Anne began to be alarmed; where could she be? - -In the chamber of death she was not. Anne fancied she could perceive -some trace of her having entered the room, but they had watched in the -adjoining apartment, and Anne knew that she had been wakeful. She -hurried down stairs and searched the rooms below: Christian was not to -be found. - -Looking through the low window of the study, she saw Jacky standing at -the gate, and hastened to admit her. The girl was shivering with intense -anxiety, and alarm--she had been standing there for more than an hour. -On the previous night, she had haunted the precincts of Schole in fear -and trembling for her mistress, and had been abruptly dismissed by -Marget, with a fretful explanation that "Maister Patrick was in the -deadthraw"--since then she had been watching at the window of Miss -Crankie's parlor. Now, she was awe-stricken, speaking below her breath, -and letting fall now and then silent, solitary, large tears. She had -never been in the shadow of death before, and her imaginative spirit -bowed before its majesty. - -"Jacky," said Anne, "he is dead." - -Jacky did not answer--she only glanced a timid, wistful, upward look out -of those keen, dark eyes of hers, dilated and softened with her -sympathy. - -"You will come in and stay with me, Jacky," said Anne. "I must remain -here for some days--you are not afraid?" - -Afraid! no. Jacky was stricken with awe and sad reverence, but not with -fear. - -"I do not well know what to do, Jacky," said Anne, thoughtfully. "Miss -Lillie seems to have wandered out: I cannot find her." - -"If ye please, Miss Anne, I saw her." - -"Where, Jacky?" - -"I was standing at the window looking out--it was just at the -sun-rising--and I saw the gate of Schole opened canny, and Miss Lillie -came out. She was just as she aye is, only there was a big veil over her -face, and she took the Aberford road; and she didna walk slow as she -does at common times, but was travelling ower the sands as fast as a -spirit--as if it was a great errand she was on; naebody could have -walkit yon way that hadna something urging them, and I thought then that -Mr. Patrick was dead." - -Anne did not observe Jacky's reflections and inferences--she was too -much occupied in speculations as to Christian's errand. - -"If ye please, Miss Anne, would ye no go up to your ain room and lie -down? I'll stay and keep a'thing quiet." - -"I must see Miss Crankie," said Anne. "The air will revive me, Jacky, -and I could not rest. In the meantime, you must stay at Schole, and see -that no one disturbs the stillness that belongs to this solemn vicinity. -We should have reverenced him living--we must reverence him more sadly -dead." - -Jacky was overcome--her eyes were flooded--she needed to make no -promise. Anne's charge to her was given in consequence of some grumbling -threat of Marget's to "get in some o' the neighbors--no to be our lane -wi' the corp." Anne was determined that there should be no unseemly -visits, or vulgar investigation of the remains of one who had shrunk -from all contact with the world so jealously. - -"If ye please, Miss Anne--" - -Anne had put on her bonnet, and stood at the gate on her way out. - -"What is it, Jacky?" - -Jacky hung her head in shy awkwardness. - -"It was just naething, Miss Anne." - -Anne comprehended what the "just naething" was, and, understanding the -singular interest and delicate sympathy of this elfin attendant of hers, -knew also how perfectly she was to be trusted. - -"Jacky," she said, "what I tell you, you will never tell again, I know: -this gentleman who died last night was nearly connected with us--if -Marget asks you any questions, you can tell her that; and my work is -accomplished here--accomplished in sorrow and in hope. By-and-by my -brother of whom you have heard, will come home I trust, in peace and -honor, to his own house and lands.--The work we came here for is done." - -Jacky was tremulously proud, but she had yet another question. - -"And if ye please, Miss Anne--little Miss Lilie?" - -A radiant light came into Anne's eye. It was the first time she had -dared to speak of the near relationships with which she now hoped to be -surrounded. - -"Lilie is my niece--my brother's child--I believe and hope so, Jacky." - -Jacky's first impulse was to turn her back on Schole, and flee without a -moment's delay to Oranside. She recollected herself, however; she only -sat down on the mossy garden-path, and indulged in a fit of joyous -crying--pride, and exultation, and affection, all contributing their -part. "For I kent," said Jacky to herself, tremulously, when Anne was -gone, "I aye kent she was like somebody--a' but the e'en--and it would -be her mother's e'en!" - -But Jacky recollected her charge--recollected the solemn tenant who lay -within those walls, and became graver. Marget was sitting in the kitchen -when she entered, refreshing herself with a cup of tea. Their -salutations were laconic enough. - -"Is that you, lass?" said Marget. - -"Yes, it's me," said Jacky. "Miss Anne said I was to come in and stay; -and she'll be back soon hersel." - -"And wha's Miss Anne that's taking sae muckle fash wi' this puir -afflicted family?" said Marget. "Are ye ony friend to us, lassie? or -what gars your mistress and you come into our house, this gate?" - -"Miss Anne says Miss Lillie is a friend. I think it's maybe by ither -friends being married, but I dinna ken--only that they're -connected--Miss Anne said that." - -"And what do they ca' ye?" continued Marget. - -"They ca' me Jacobina Morison--I was christened that after my uncle--but -I aye get Jacky at hame; and they ca' Miss Anne, Miss Ross, of -Merkland." - -"She'll be frae the north country," said Marget. "I never heard o' ony -Norland freends Miss Kirstin had. Onyway it maun be for love ony fremd -person taks heed o' us--for it canna be for siller. They're a strange -family. Ye see the breath was scarce out o' Maister Patrick, puir -lamb--he was liker a bairn, than a man of years at ony time--when Miss -Kirstin she gaed away. I saw your leddy seeking her--whaur she's gane, -guid kens." - -"Did she ever do that before?" asked Jacky. - -"Eh, bless me, no: she was aye ower feared about _him_, puir man, wha -has won out o' a' trouble this night. Maybe ye wad like to see him? He's -a bonnie--" - -Jacky interrupted her hurriedly. In that imaginative, solemn awe of -hers, she could not endure the ghastly admiration which one hears so -often expressed by persons of Marget's class for the dead, about whom -they have been employed. - -"Ye'll be wearied?" said Jacky, hastily. - -"Ay, lass, I'm wearied: it's no like I could be onything else wi' a' -that I have to do--and that sair hoast, and the constant fecht I hae wi' -my breath--it's little the like o' you ken--forbye being my lane in the -house. If ye'll just bide and look to the door, I'll gang an get some o' -the neighbor wives to come in beside me: there's nae saying when Miss -Kirstin may be hame." - -"Miss Anne's coming hersel," said Jacky, eagerly. "And if ye would lie -down and get some rest, I'll do the work--and I'm no feared to be my -lane--and if ye had a guid sleep, ye would be the better o't." - -"I'll no' say but what I would," said Marget, graciously; "and ye're a -considerate lass to think o't. Tak a cup o' tea--it's no right to gang -out in the morning fasting--and I daresay I'll just tak your counsel. -It doesna do for an auld body like me to be out o' my bed a' night." - -So Jacky got Marget disposed of, and remained with much awe, and some -shadow of superstitious fear, alone within the house of -Schole--supported by the sunshine round about her as she lingered at the -door--for Marget, in decent reverence, had drawn a simple curtain across -the window. The other rooms were shuttered and dark--the natural homage -of seemly awe and gravity in the presence of death. - -Anne had no difficulty in inducing Miss Crankie to take upon her those -matters of sad external business, which she herself was not qualified to -manage. With more delicacy than she expected, Miss Crankie undertook -them immediately. Mrs. Yammer was "in sore distress with rheumatics in -my back, and my head like to split in twa wi' the ticdoloureux--and it's -a' yon awfu' nicht--and I dinna believes Miss Ross, I'll ever get the -better o't.--Johann and you, that are strong folk, fleeing out into the -storm, and me, a puir weak creature, left, to fend my lane--forbye being -like to gang out o' my judgment wi' fricht, for you and the perishing -creatures in the ship. Eh! wha would have thought of a weak man like yon -saving them--and so he's ta'en to his rest! Weel I'm sure, Miss Ross, -you've been uncommon kind to them--they canna say but they've found a -friend in need." - -"They are my relatives," said Anne: "I mean we are nearly connected." - -Miss Crankie opened her little dark eyes wide. Mrs. Yammer began, with -an astonished exclamation, to recollect the pedigree of the Lillies, and -acquaint herself with this strange relationship.--Her sister stopped her -abruptly. - -"Take your breakfast, Tammie, and dinna haver nonsense. Is Kirstin -content, Miss Ross, to have ye biding in her house?" - -"Quite content," said Anne. - -Miss Crankie's eyes opened wider. She began with a rapid logic, by no -means formal, but which had a knack of arriving at just conclusions, to -put things together. She had a glimmering of the truth already. - -"Miss Lillie is out," said Anne. "I fear, in her deep grief, she -wandered out, finding herself unable to rest; but neither she nor I are -able for these details. You will greatly oblige me, Miss Crankie, and do -your old friend a most kind service, if you will undertake this." - -Miss Crankie promised heartily, and Anne returned to Schole. Again there -passed a long, weary, brilliant summer day, but Christian did not -return. The night fell, but the roof that covered the mortal garment of -Patrick Lille, sheltered no kindred blood. Anne had taken Christian's -place--she was the watcher now. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - - -Another day, as bright, as weary, and as long, and still there were no -tidings of Christian. Anne became alarmed. She sent out Jacky to make -inquiries; Jacky ascertained that Miss Lillie on the previous morning -had gone by the earliest coach to Edinburgh. The intelligence was some -relief, yet perplexed Anne painfully; the arrangements were going on, -but what could she do, if Christian remained absent, thus left alone -with the dead? - -In the middle of the day, Miss Crankie brought her a letter from Mrs. -Catherine. Anne's conscience smote her; during Patrick's illness, she -had scarcely written to Mrs. Catherine at all; and her brief notes had -only intimated his illness, and her hope of obtaining some further -information through the Lillies. Mrs. Catherine's letter had an -enclosure. - -"My Gowan, - - "What has come over you? I have been marvelling these past mornings - whether it was success or failure--a light heart or a downcast one, - that made you forgetful of folk to whom all your doings are matters - of interest, and have been since you could use your own proper - tongue to testify of them. Think you this lad Lillie has any - further knowledge than you have yourself? I count it unlikely, or - else he is a pithless laggard, not worthy to call Norman Rutherford - friend, and Norman was not one to choose his friends lightly, or be - joined in near amity with a shallow head and a faint heart. So I - would have you build little on the hope of getting good tidings - from him, seeing that if he had known anything, he must have put it - to its fitting use before now. You say it gave him a fever? I like - not folk, child, who are thrown into fevers by sore trouble and - anguish, and make themselves a burden and a cumbrance, when they - ought to be quickened to keener life--the more helpful and strong, - the greater the extremity; it augurs a narrow vessel and a frail - spirit in most cases--it may be other in his. Certain he bore - himself like a man in the night you tell me of. Let me see his - sister, if you can bring her; there, seems--if ye draw like the - life--to be no soil in her for the cowardice of sickness to - flourish on, from which I take my certainty, that if she had kent - any good word concerning this dark mystery, she must have put it to - the proof before now. - - "To speak about other matters, I send you a letter--worthy the - light-headed, undutiful fuil from whose vain hand it comes. You - will see she will have none of my counsel, and puts my offer of an - honorable roof over her, and a home dependent on no caprice or - strange woman's pleasure, in the light of a good meaning--will to - do kindness without power. If it were not for Archie's sake, and - for the good-fame of their broken house, she should never more say - light word to me. He has been but a month dead, this miserable man - of hers--that she left her mother's sick-bed for--and look at her - words! without so much as a decent shadow on them, to tell where - the sore gloom of death had fallen so late. I am growing testy in - my spirit, child; though truly sorrow would set me better than - anger, to look upon the like of a born fuil like this--her brother - ruined, and her man killed. Archie, a laboring wayfarer, with his - good name tarnished, and his father's inheritance, lost; the - husband for whose sake she brought down her mother's gray hairs - with sorrow to the grave, taken away suddenly from this world by - the red grip of a violent death, and the wanton fuil what can I - call her else?--as if she had not gotten enough to sober her for a - while, returning in haste to her vanities--feared to leave the - atmosphere of them--singing songs over the man's new grave, and - giving long nights to strangers, when she can but spare a brief - minute to say a kind word to her one brother--a kind word, said I! - I should say a bitter one, of folly and selfishness,--not comfort - to him in his labor, but records of her own sinful vanities. - - "You will say I am bitter, child, at this fuil--so I am--the more - that I cannot be done with her, as I could with any other of her - kind. She is still the bairn of Isabel Balfour--in good or in evil - I am trysted to keep my eye upon her. I have been asking about the - household she is in. The mistress of it, her friend, is at least of - pure name; a scheming woman as I hear from one of their own vain - kind--who has a pride in yoking the fuils about her in the unstable - bands of marriage. Isabel has her mother's fair face; they will be - wedding her again for some passing fancy, or for dirt of siller. I - scarce know which is the worst. I will have no hand in it, however - it happens. Since she will be left to herself, she must. If deadly - peril ever comes, I must put forth the strong hand. - - "You will come to me with all speed when you can win. If you have - any glimpse of good tidings, or if you have none--I am meaning when - you come to any certainty--let me know without delay, that I may - make ready for our home-going. To say the truth, I am weary at my - heart of this place, and sickened with anger at the fuil whose - letter I send you. Let me look upon you soon, lest the wrath settle - down, and I be not able to shake it off again; which evil - consequent, if you prevent it not, will be the worse for you all. - -CATHERINE DOUGLAS." - - - -Mrs. Duncombe's letter was enclosed. - -"My dear Mrs. Catherine, - - "It is so good of you to think of troubling yourself with me at the - Tower, and must have put you so much out of the way, coming to - Edinburgh, that I hasten to thank you. Poor dear Duncombe was taken - away very suddenly; you would be quite shocked to hear of it. I was - distracted. They had been quarrelling over their wine. Poor - Duncombe was always so very jealous; and it was all for the merest - word of admiration, which he might have heard from a thousand - people beside. So they fought, and he was wounded mortally. You may - think how dreadful it was, when they brought him home to me dying. - I went into hysterics directly, I believe I needed the doctor's - care more than he did: before he died I was just able to speak to - him, and he was so very penitent for having been sometimes rude to - me, and so sorry for his foolish jealousy. Poor dear Edward!--I - shall never forget him. - - "I am staying here with a dear friend of mine, Mrs. Legeretie. She - has got a delightful house, quite out of town, and they have come - here just for my sake, to be quiet and away from the gay world, - which of course I could not bear just now. We have quite a nice - circle of friends, besides our visitors from London, and just with - quiet parties, and country amusements, get on delightfully. Dear - Eliza is so kind, and gives up her engagements in town, without a - murmur, just to let me have the soothing quietness of the country, - which the doctors order me--with cheerful society--for if it were - not for that, my poor heart would break, I am sure--I have suffered - so dreadfully. - - "You will have heard that dear Archibald has arrived safely at that - horrid place in America. What could induce him to do such a thing, - when he might have gone into the army, or got into Parliament, or - something? and the friends of the family would have helped him, I - am sure. It's just like Archie; he's always so hot and extreme. I - thought he would have killed himself that dreadful time at Paris, - before he took the fever; and what a shocking thing that would have - been for me, with all my other misfortunes. To be sure, it was a - horrid, foolish business--that of losing the estate--and if it had - not been that dull old Strathoran, where papa and mamma managed to - vegetate all the year through, I don't know how--I should have been - broken-hearted. I am sure, considering that dear Archie was only my - brother, there was nothing I was not willing to do for him; but to - go away a common clerk, into a horrid mercantile office! I must say - he has shown very little regard for the feelings of his relatives, - especially as he knows how I detest these ogres of commercial - people. One can only bear with them if they are very rich, and I am - afraid dear Archie is not likely ever to become a moneyed man. - - "They are so fond of me here, and dear Eliza has done so much to - make me comfortable, that I should be very ungrateful to run away, - else I should have been delighted to spend a week or two at the - Tower. Mr. Legeretie has a shooting-lodge in the Highlands, and - dear Eliza talks of going down with him this year to give me a - little change; if we do, we shall come by dear old dreary - Strathoran just to look at it again. I hope the Rosses, and all the - other old friends, are well. I used to think a good deal of Lewis. - I suppose Anne is never married yet; she must be getting quite - ancient now. - -"My dear Mrs. Catherine, -"Very sincerely yours, -"ISABEL DUNCOMBE." - - - -It was a strange contrast--with Christian Lillie's desolate life before -her--with her own heart throbbing so anxiously for the stranger, Norman, -whom, in her remembrance, she had never seen--to hear this Isabel, her -play-mate long ago, talking of Archie as "_only_" her brother. The -effect was very singular. What had become of the sad sufferer who lay -within these walls in the tranquil rest of death, if for Christian, and -Marion, and Norman there had been any "only" stemming the deep tide of -their self-denying tenderness? - -Anne wrote a brief note to Mrs. Catherine, announcing Patrick Lillie's -death, and saying that her mission was now accomplished; and that in a -day or two she would return to Edinburgh to explain the further -particulars of this long mystery. The day was waning again; in weary -sadness and solitude she sat in Patrick Lillie's study. From the kitchen -she could hear the subdued voices of Marget and Jacky: above, the -stealthy step of Miss Crankie, as she arranged the sad preliminaries of -the funeral. The second evening had fallen since he departed to his -rest; and where was Christian? - -A dark shadow flitted across the window. She heard a footstep enter, and -pass quickly up the stair. Anne rose and followed. The footstep was -quicker than Christian's, but it went steadily to the chamber of death. - -Anne paused at the door. The lonely dimness of the evening air gathered -shadowy and spiritual round the bed, a dark background, from which that -rigid marble face stood out in cold relief. A deadly stillness--a dim, -brooding, tremulous awe--which carried in it a vague conviction of -watching spirits, and presences mysteriously unseen, was hovering in the -room. - -And kneeling at the bedside, her veil hanging round her white, thin -face, like a cloud over the tearful pallor of a wan November sky, was -Christian Lillie, the quivering smile upon her lip again, and the words -of sad thankfulness falling from her tongue. - -"Ye are thanking God in His own heaven, Patrick, my brother; the justice -is done, the cloud is taken away. Henceforward, in the free light of -heaven, may Norman bear his own name; and now there remaineth nothing -but to lay you, with hope and solemn thanksgiving into your quiet -grave." - -Anne stood still; there was a long pause. Christian knelt silently by -her dead brother's side, in darkness, in silence, in the presence of -death, thanking God. - -At last she rose, and turned to leave the room. Anne's presence did not -seem to excite any wonder; she took her offered arm quietly and kindly. - -"I have been very anxious," said Anne. - -"Ay," said Christian; "did you think I could rest, and that blight -remaining on their name? Did you think there was any peace for me till -all my labor was accomplished? Now--you heard me speak--Norman -Rutherford may bear his own name, and return to his own country with -honor and blessing upon him, in the open sunshine of day. My work is -ended: I must but tarry for one look upon them, and then I wait the -Lord's pleasure. His call will not come too soon." - -"You have taken no rest," said Anne, anxiously: "remember, there is one -trial yet remaining. Let me get you some refreshment, and then try to -sleep. This constant watching will kill you." - -Christian suffered herself to be led down stairs. Into the little parlor -Anne hastily brought tea, and, considerably to Jacky's horror, insisted -upon rendering all needful services herself. It was evident that -Christian felt the delicacy which kept strange eyes from beholding her -grief. She took the tea eagerly, removed her cloak and bonnet, and met -Anne's anxious look with a tremulous, tender smile, inviting, rather -than deprecating, conversation now. - -"Let me go with you to your own room," said Anne; "you have been in -Edinburgh, and are quite exhausted, I see. You will be better after you -have slept." - -"Sit down, I need no sleep," said Christian: "I scarcely think now, after -my long watching, that I can begin to think of rest.--Sometimes--sometimes--" - -She rose and stretched out her thin arms, like one who complains of some -painful void within, drawing them in again wearily to her breast. - -"Sometimes, when I do not think of _them_, and mind that he is gone, I -could be content to bear it all again, were he but back once more. God -aid us, for we are weak. Patrick, my brother, are ye away at last? are -ye at peace? And I am ready to lament and pine, and not to thank God! -God be thanked! God be thanked! that he is away in blessedness at last." - -She paced the room slowly for a while, and sitting down by the window, -drew the curtains aside, and looked out in silence upon the sea--the -placid, wakeful sea--with which so often in her misery she had taken -counsel. - -"The morning after he went home," she said at last, turning to Anne -abruptly, "I saw you looking out upon the Firth, when I departed on my -needful errand. You mind the soft fall of the air, like the breath of a -young angel--a spirit in its first joy--the latest born of heaven? You -mind the joy and gentleness that were in the air?" - -"Yes," said Anne. - -"On such a morning--as soft, as joyous, and as bright--he came to me, -who is now in heaven at peace. There was no peace about him then. Within -his soul, and in his face, was an agony more bitter than death. You know -the reason. He had done the deed, for which, through eighteen lingering, -terrible years, Norman Rutherford has been a banished man. - -"I took him in, and closed the door: he fell down upon the ground, at my -feet. From the terrible words of his first madness, I gleaned something -of the truth. Think of it--think of that.--The horror of great darkness -that fell on me that day has scarce ever been lightened for an hour, -from that time to this. - -"I sent for him, for Norman, your brother, and mine. He came to me, into -the room where Patrick lay, in a burning fever of agony and madness. By -that time a breath of the terrible story was abroad. It was his gun it -was done with. He had parted from Arthur Aytoun in just anger. There -were but two ways--either to give up the frantic, fevered lad that lay -there before us, knowing neither him nor me, to a death of shame and -horror, or for him--him, in his honorable, upright, pure youth--to -sacrifice honor, and home, and name. - -"He did not hesitate--the Lord bless him!--the Lord send the blessings -of the convenant upon him, promised and purchased!--he made up his mind. -And to us, as we stood there in our first agony, with Patrick stricken -down before us, there was no consolation of innocence. We knew not but -what the blood had been wilfully shed: we thought the torture he was in -was the just meed of a murderer. - -"I gave him a line to Marion: she was at a friend's house, between -Edinburgh and Glasgow. She had gone, a joyous light-hearted girl, with -as fair a lot before her as ever lay at mortal feet, to get apparel for -her bridal. I bade her go with Norman. When I wrote that, I was calmer -than I am now. I, that was parting with them both--that was left here -alone with this stricken man and his blood-guiltiness. - -"They went away, and he was still lying unconscious on my hands. Then I -had to hear the unjust stain thrown upon the noble and brave heart that -was bearing the burden. I had to hear it all--to listen to the -certainties of his guilt--to hear them tell how he had done it like a -coward; and with my heart burning within me, I dared not say to them -that he was pure and guiltless as ever was righteous man. I turned from -the scorching summer light, and the false accusation, in to the bedside -of my raving, maddened brother, and he was the man. Oh, Lord! oh, Lord! -how did I live? - -"Then there came the word that they were lost; and a calm, like what you -will see in storms, came over the miserable heart within me. I defied my -misery: I dared it to add to me another pang. - -"Then I said that Marion was dead--my bird--my light--my little sister! -When I said that, I knew not it was false; I believed she was gone out -of her new grief; I believed I was alone in the world. - -"Then the secret news came to me that they were safe, and then the life -struggled through that time of horror, and Patrick rose from his bed. -One solemn still night I told him all, and in his agony he said he was -innocent. Since that time through all this life of desolation, he has -repeated that at times, when his mind was clear; but his soul was frozen -within him in terror. When I spoke of justice to Norman, he shrank and -trembled, and bade me wait. What could I do? I could not give him up as -a shedder of blood--he was in my hand. To my own heart, and to my Father -in heaven, I had to answer for him; and when I dared hope that he had -shed this blood unawares, I became strong." - -She paused. She had been speaking rapidly, without stop or hesitation, -almost without breath. Anne endeavored to soothe and calm her. - -"Last year, they sent me their child. He had called her Lilie. He -himself, whom our unhappy name had blighted. The child was pining under -the hot sun of yon strange land. I could not keep her in our desolate -house. I took her to Norman's country. I was to place her with his -nurse, near to his old home. When we got there, I feared to enter; I -trembled to betray the secret I was burdened with. I thought a heart -that he was dear to, could not fail to discover his bairn, and so I took -her to a stranger. - -"When I left her there--you mind?--I met you, and we looked upon each -other face to face: I did not need to hear the name that the blue-eyed -girl by your side was saying. I knew you were Norman's sister--I felt -that his spirit was within you, and that we would meet again. - -"Now we have met, and you know it all. The history is public now. The -ban is off Norman's name--your brother and mine. I will see them -again--my bird Marion--my bairn, that my own hands nurtured!" - -"Christian," said Anne, "for her sake, and for us all, you must rest. -There are quiet days in store--tranquil days of household peace and -honor. You have done your work nobly and bravely, as few could have -done; for Marion's sake, who is my sister as well as yours, and for the -sake of the dead, for whom you have watched so long, take rest now. Your -work is over." - -Christian drew the curtain aside again, and gazed out upon the sea. "For -him--for Marion--for Norman; for Thy mercy's sake, O, Lord! and for Thy -beautiful world, which Thou hast given to calm us, I will be calm--give -me now what Thou willest, and Thy rest in Thine own heaven, when Thy -good time shall come." - -And so peacefully, in chastened hope and with gentle tears, refreshing -with their milder sorrow the weary eyes that had burned in tearless -agony so long, they laid the innocent shedder of blood in his quiet -grave. - -On the evening after the funeral, Christian wandered out alone. "She -goeth unto the grave to weep there," said Anne, as it was said of the -Mary of the Lord's time; and she made no attempt either to detain or to -accompany her. To Christian, the balm of Anne's sisterly care and -sympathy was evidently very dear; but she was not wont to lean upon any -mortal arm, and it was best that she should be left with her sorrow -alone. - -The house had the exhausted, worn-out look which is common after such a -solemn departure. Marget sat, dressed in her new mourning, in the -kitchen, in languid despondent state, telling Jacky traits of the dead -Master, whom, now that all excitement was over, she began to miss and -lament, and weep some natural tears for. Jacky was half-listening to -these, half-buried in an old volume of "Quarles' Emblems," which she had -recently brought from the study. Anne had opened the low projecting -window, and sat in the recess with one of those devout contemplative -books in her hand; she was reading little, and thinking much--feeling -herself affected by the listless weariness that reigned around her. - -She saw a lad come in at the gate, without observing who he was. In a -minute after Jacky entered the study. - -"If ye please, Miss Anne, it's Johnnie Halflin." - -Anne started. - -"Has he come from Mrs. Catherine?" - -"If ye please, Miss Anne, Mrs. Catherine's at Miss Crankie's." - -Anne rose immediately, and proceeded up the lane to Miss Crankie's -house. Mrs. Catherine's carriage stood at the door. Mrs. Catherine -herself was in the parlor, where Miss Crankie stood in deferential -conversation with her--keenly observant of all the particulars of her -plain, rich dress and stately appearance, and silently exulting over the -carriage at the door--the well-appointed, wealthy carriage, which all -the neighborhood could see. - -"Anne!" exclaimed Mrs. Catherine, as Anne in her deep mourning dress -entered the room. "What is the matter?" - -Miss Crankie sensibly withdrew. - -"He is dead, Mrs. Catherine," said Anne. - -"Who is dead? Who is this lad?" - -"The brother of Marion--the brother of Norman's wife." - -"Anne," said Mrs. Catherine, "you have not dealt ingenuously and frankly -with me in this matter. Who is this lad, I ask you? Have you a certainty -that Norman's wife was his sister, that you are thus mourning for a -fremd man?" - -Anne sat down beside her. - -"What I knew formerly was so dim and indistinct that I feared to tell -you. They avoided me--they went away from their own home to shun my -presence. In the confusion of my imperfect knowledge, I felt that I -could not speak of them. Now I am sure. There is a most sad story to -tell you, Mrs. Catherine--Patrick Lillie is Marion's brother--he is more -than that." - -"Speak out, child. Who is he?" - -"He is the man for whom Norman sacrificed all--he is the slayer of Alice -Aytoun's father." - -Mrs. Catherine started--in her extreme wonder she could say nothing. - -"An innocent man, Mrs. Catherine; this dreadful deed was done unawares, -and in a life of agony has it been avenged." - -Mrs. Catherine remained silent for a moment. - -"And he let Norman, the honorable, generous, just lad, suffer a death -for him--suffer the death of a lifetime? Anne--Anne, is it a coward like -this you are mourning for? A faint heart and a weak spirit--what could -it be other that would let a righteous man bear this for him?" - -"There is justice done," said Anne, "it is over now. I acknowledge the -weakness, Mrs. Catherine; but he has suffered dreadfully. A gentle, -delicate, pensive spirit, unfit for storms and trials--altogether unfit -for doing any great thing: one to be supported and tenderly upheld--not -to take any bold step alone." - -"Suffered!" Mrs. Catherine rose and walked through the room, till the -boards, less solid than those of the Tower, quaked and sounded below her -feet. "Wherefore did he not come forth in the light of day, and bear his -own burden? Good fame and honor--land and home--what was he that a just -man should lay down these for him?" - -"He was a feeble, delicate, dependant spirit," said Anne: "one of those -whom it is our natural impulse to defend and suffer for. That was his -only claim; but you know how strong that is." - -Mrs. Catherine did know, but she felt no sympathy for the shrinking -weakness which could suffer another to bear its own just punishment. - -"I know? Yes, I know; but what claim has the like of such a weakling to -call himself a man? Eighteen years--eighteen long, slow years--all Alice -Aytoun's lifetime. Anne, I marvel you can bear with his memory, or lift -up your face to me, and speak of him as kindred. He shed this blood -unawares, said you? Did he doom Norman to this death unawares? was it -without his knowledge that he laid this blight upon the two that have -borne banishment for him? Speak not to me of this coward, child. I say, -mention not his name to me." - -"Mrs. Catherine," said Anne, "bear with me till you hear his story. If -you had seen him as I have seen--if you had listened to Christian as I -have listened, you too would mourn over this blighted, broken man, less -in his death than in his life. When Norman fled, he was in an agony of -fever and madness, unconscious of what was passing round him--only aware -in his burning horror and grief that he had shed blood. When he -recovered--and most strange it was that he should have recovered--most -strange the tenacious life and strength of his feebleness--he heard of -Norman's sacrifice; and then I acknowledge he ought to have done -justice, had not his weakness overpowered him. He dared not face the -terror and the shame; perhaps the dreadful death due to his -blood-guiltiness, and so he lived on--such a life as few have ever lived -in this world--a life of despair, and gloom, and misery: terrible to -hear of--more terrible to see." - -Mrs. Catherine seated herself again. - -"And the sister and the righteous man, his friend, bearing a dark name -for him over the sea; and the sad woman at home, that you have told me -of, wearing out her days for him. Was his miserable life worth that, -think you? Should that not have been worse than any death?" - -"Should have been," said Anne; "but I do not speak of what should be, -Mrs. Catherine. Why this shrinking, feeble spirit was conjoined with -such a lot, who can tell? It had a strange, feverish, hysteric strength, -too. When he battled through yon dark waves to save the perishing -seamen, you would not have said that Patrick Lillie was a coward." - -There was a pause. Mrs. Catherine's manner softened. Anne took -advantage of it to repeat to her Christian Lillie's story. The stern, -stately old lady was moved to very tears. - -"And so at last justice is done," she said. "Anne, it is meet that this -worn woman, after her travail, should have light in her evening-time. If -she will come with you, bid her come to my house. The like of her would -do honor to any dwelling, were it a king's. And she left him at his -grave's brink, whenever he was at rest, to render what was just to the -banished man? She did well. It behoves that all who known this history -should render reverence. I say she did well." - -There was again a momentary pause. - -"And where is he?" asked Mrs. Catherine. "Where, and in what condition -is Norman Rutherford?" - -"I have never asked yet," said Anne. "I was anxious to soothe her; she -has been so worn out with watching and grief. I will ask her now, when -all excitement is over, and she has only to bear her gentle sorrow for -Patrick's death." - -"Ay--ay," said Mrs. Catherine, slowly; "ay--and yet you do not know, -Gowan, the terrible, dreary calm that is left by that shadow of death. I -speak of the death that carries home a godly, honorable, righteous man, -whose life was a joy and a blessing.--This is a grief sorer than mine. I -bow my head to this tribulation. I cannot fathom all the depths of its -bitterness; it is greater than mine." - -And with her large gray eyelid swelling full, Mrs. Catherine Douglas -bowed her stately head. Yes! the solitary, desolate, dumb might of -anguish with which her strong spirit quivered, when she left all that -remained of Sholto Douglas sleeping peacefully in his calm island grave, -overwhelming as it was, became a gentle sorrow in presence of the life -of wakeful agony which Christian Lillie had borne silently within the -desolate walls of Schole. - -Mrs. Catherine began to speak of the possibility of remaining for the -night. It was a very strange idea for her, who had not slept under a -strange roof for more than thirty years. Since Patrick's death, Anne had -passed both night and day at Schole, and the pretty little clean -bed-room behind was unoccupied. Miss Crankie herself was called in to be -consulted on the subject. - -Miss Crankie had scarcely entered the room, when there was a rush in the -passage. The door flew violently open, and Mrs. Yammer, her head bound -up with mighty rolls of flannel, and a newspaper trembling in her eager -hand, stood before them. - -"Eh, Johann!--Eh, Miss Ross!" she could articulate no more. - -"What in the world has come ower the woman now?" exclaimed Miss Crankie, -peevishly. "If ye will be a puling, no-weel fuil, ye may keep your -ailments to yoursel at least. For guid sake, Tammie, haud your tongue; -dinna deave the ladies." - -"Eh, Miss Ross!--Eh, Johann!" exclaimed the aroused and excited Mrs. -Yammer, "if it wasna for the stitch in my side, I wad read it to ye -mysel. Look at this." - -Anne took the paper wonderingly. She glanced down a long paragraph, -headed "Romance in real life," with hurried half attention, and little -interest. Her eyes were arrested by the concluding words: they seemed to -shine out from a mist. Unconsciously, in her sudden excitement, she read -them aloud: "This most honorable vindication of Norman Rutherford, of -Redheugh--" - -"Gowan," exclaimed Mrs. Catherine, hastily, taking the paper from her -powerless hand, "what is that you say?" - -"Ye see," said Mrs. Yammer, following up briskly her unwonted -independent movement, "we get it atween us. Mr. Currie, the saddler, and -Mrs. Clippie, the captain's widow, and Robert Carritch, the -session-clerk, and Johann and me; and I was just sitting ower the fire, -trying if the heat would do ony guid to my puir head, when I saw that -about young Redheugh--and I'll be out o' my wits the morn wi the draft -frae that open door." - -"Gae way to your fireside again, and haud your tongue," said Miss -Crankie, bundling her sister unceremoniously out of the door before her. -"Wits!--woman, if ye had as muckle judgment as wad lie on a sixpence, ye -wad see that the ladies have mair concern in that than either you or -me." - -Anne had been looking at them vacantly with a vague, unconscious smile -upon her lip. Now, when the door was shut, she suddenly knelt down at -Mrs. Catherine's knees, scarce knowing what she did, and leaning there, -burst into tears. She was conscious of Mrs. Catherine's hand laid -caressingly upon her hair; she was conscious of an indistinct mist of -joy and thankfulness. It overpowered and weakened her; she could not -stay these tears. - -In the meantime, Mrs. Catherine read: - - "We have just had communicated to us the particulars of a very - moving story, another of the many examples that truth is strange, - stranger than fiction. We believe that many of our readers, who are - acquainted with the neighborhood of our city, may have remarked a - desolate house, standing in the midst of a very rich country, - within sight of the Firth, and presenting a very singular contrast, - in its utter neglect and ruin, to the prosperous and flourishing - appearance of everything about it. The story current in the - neighborhood is, that its last proprietor perished miserably in the - sea, while flying from the doom of a murderer, with the blood of a - friend shed deliberately and in cowardice on his hand. Other more - ghostly rumors of sights seen and sounds heard in its immediate - neighborhood are of course current also.--The account we have now - to give of this dark transaction reveals something almost as - strange as the re-appearance on this earthly scene of spirits long - ago departed. It seems the very triumph and perfection of generous - self-sacrifice and 'godlike amity,' and as such we are happy to - have an opportunity of presenting it to our readers. - - "A few days since, the Lord Advocate received from a lady a full - exculpation of Mr. Rutherford, of Redheugh, in the shape of a - confession made by the real criminal upon his death-bed. We do - wrong in applying the name of criminal to this unhappy - man.--According to his death-bed declaration, made in the presence - of witnesses, and to which full credence may be given, the death of - the late Arthur Aytoun, Esq., of Aytoun, so long regarded as a - murder, falls under the lighter title of an accident. A dreamy - student had been spending an hour of a brilliant summer morning - shooting upon the sands, and on his return home fired an - inadvertent shot, while resting in a wood, when, instead of the - bird which he fancied he aimed at, the unhappy young man heard a - cry of mortal agony, and beheld the death of a fellow-man. - Distracted and maddened, he rushed home; made some wild confession - to his sister of the fact alone, without telling her that it was - accidental, and immediately fell into the wild delirium of fever. - Mr. Rutherford, of Redheugh, was the most intimate friend of the - family, and betrothed to the younger sister. The fowling-piece, - which had fallen from the young man's hand when he discovered the - fatal effects of the shot, belonged to Mr. Rutherford. Mr. Aytoun - and Mr. Rutherford had parted the night before in anger: every - circumstance directed suspicion to the Laird of Redheugh. In her - first terror, the sister of the unhappy shedder of blood, naturally - sought counsel from the friend who was so shortly to enter into the - most intimate relation with the family; and Mr. Rutherford, with a - generosity never in our knowledge paralleled, resolved at once to - divert attention from his helpless friend by his own flight. The - younger sister accompanied him, after a secret marriage. By - universal consent he was pronounced guilty: the fact of his flight - settled that beyond dispute in the judgment of the world. - - "The vessel he sailed in was lost; himself in it, as has to this - hour been universally believed. But the strange eventful history of - this unfortunate gentleman has not had so abrupt a termination. He - still lives, and will long live, we trust, to expend in a larger - circle the rare generosity of which he has given so remarkable a - proof. - - "The unhappy man, by whose inadvertent hand Mr. Aytoun fell, and - for whom Mr. Rutherford has suffered, is lately dead.--Without a - moment's delay, after his death, his sister immediately brought his - confession to the proper quarter, so that now there remains nothing - but to give to the world this most honorable vindication of Norman - Rutherford, of Redheugh. In the consciousness of an act of singular - goodness, bravely done, and in the universal applause of all good - men, our heroic countryman, on his return to his own land, will, we - doubt not, find himself abundantly rewarded." - - And thus it was made known to the world--the work of the two - sisters was accomplished. Free from all stain and disgrace, radiant - in the honor and blessing of generous work and life, the sentence - of justice, and the universal voice of good men, should welcome to - his long-lost home and country Norman Rutherford, of Redheugh. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. - - -The next day, after a long interview with Christian Lillie, and granting -the further delay of a week to Anne for Christian's sake, Mrs. Catherine -returned to Edinburgh. At the week's end, when she had rendered what -service and assistance she could to Christian, Anne was to join Mrs. -Catherine, and they were to proceed home. - -But the invitation of Mrs. Catherine, and Anne's entreaty that she -should accompany them, was steadily and quietly negatived by Christian. -The day before Anne left Schole, they sat together in the study--Anne -was renewing her solicitations. - -"No," said Christian, calmly, "no, I cannot leave his grave. I cannot -give up my watch of Patrick. You do not know--I pray God you never -may--when folk have watched and waited for a lifelong like me, how hard -it is to break the old wont, even though it be one of the sorest pain -that ever oppressed mortal spirit. I am calm now--you know how calm I -am--but I must tarry by his grave." - -"And will you stay here," said Anne, "here in this desolate house?" - -"At this time I must--my desire is to return to our old home, before -Marion comes back to me--I forget she has been a mother long, and a -grave tried woman. I only mind her as my bird Marion, my little sister; -I would like to have her chamber for her, as it was before this cloud -fell. You shall go with me to-morrow, and we will see what they say--the -people who are in the house." - -"And where are they?" said Anne, "will you not tell me, Christian, where -they are?" - -Christian's countenance changed: "They will be home in due time. Your -brother Norman will reveal himself to you himself, and you will not ask -me further. It is a weakness--a remembrance of my old bondage--but you -will wait, Anne, my sister.--Let him carry you his own secret himself." - -Anne was silent. It was a singular hesitation this, but she could not -press her question further. "And will you not come to Merkland--to see -us--to see Lilie?" - -"I will come when Marion comes," said Christian. "Let me stay until -then. By the time this year is ended, as I calculate, they will be home, -and till that time I will rest." - -Anne rose, a stranger was at the gate: through the window she descried -the good-humored round face of Mrs. Brock, her earliest acquaintance in -Aberford. "Here is your tenant, Christian," she said: "shall I see her? -it may fatigue you." - -"No," said Christian, "let her be brought in, Anne; it will save us our -walk to-morrow." - -Anne went out, and met the Grieve's wife, who was greatly astonished to -see her. "Eh, preserve me! is this you, Miss Ross? and ye never came -back to tak a cup o' tea; and I've been looking for ye ilka fine day; -and sae muckle as wee Geordie had to tell his father about the leddy yon -night; and ye'll hae been biding close a' this time at Aberford?" - -"No," said Anne, "I have been in the North since I saw you." - -"And sae ye ken Miss Lillie? She'll be sair put out o' the way, it's -like, about her brother. Losh! do ye ken Miss Ross, our George says -there's something in the papers about it being Maister Lillie that -killed the man, and no young Redheugh. Is there onythiug in't, think ye? -ane couldna ask Miss Lillie." - -"By no means," said Anne, "she is in great grief for her brother, and -you must not allude to it." - -"It'll be true then? Eh! to think of a delicate looking man like thon -doing the like o' that." - -"It was an accident," said Anne, quickly; "he was a gentleman, who would -not have harmed any living thing. Do you wish to see Miss Lillie?" - -"Ou, ay, it was just about the house, ye ken. George thought we micht -maybe come to a settlement about the house. Ye see there's a new yin -building at the back end o' the toun, nigher the water--a guid twa story -house, and we've a big family, and George would like to be off or on at -yince." - -Anne ushered the visitor into the study. Mrs. Brock, honest woman, -expended upon Christian some piece of common-place consolation, which -made the pale lip quiver. Then she entered upon her business. - -"Ye see, we've reason to be thankfu', we've won on no that ill in the -world; and George says its a daftlike thing to us to be paying rent for -a house, and us has lying siller that could buy mair than yin. Sae if -ye're agreeable, he'll make ye his auld offer ower again--twa hunder -pounds, and us to get it as it stands, all and haill." - -"I am sorry, Mrs. Brock," said Christian, "when you like it so well, -that I cannot part with it; but I must keep the house in my own -possession." - -"Weel," said Mrs. Brock, "of course it's your ain to do what ye like -wi't--and ye see there's John Tamson, he began to build a twa story -house, down by the back end o' the toun--and he's broke. Its nae -wonder--his wife wearing silk gowns, and gowd earrings ilka day, less -wadna ser her, and her was only a ewemilker fræ the Lammermuir! Sae -George thinks we micht maybe buy John Tamson's house--its stickit in the -building e'enow, but we could sune hae it begun again; and maybe since -ye'll no sell yours, ye wad hae nae objection to quit us at Martinmas." - -"I shall be very glad," said Christian. "I expect friends home who have -been long absent, and this house is not pleasant to me. I will be glad -to release you when you choose." - -Mrs. Brock was satisfied; and after various other attempts at -conversation, in which Anne bore the brunt as well as she could, and did -all in her power to prevent their visitor from recurring to the death of -Patrick, Mrs. Brock at last intimated, "that she bid to be thinking o' -gaun hame--though it was an awfu' hot stourie day, and she was bye -ordinary tired." - -Roused by this hint, Anne hastened to bring a glass of wine, and at last -their visitor departed. - -"So there will be time to restore all," said Christian, as Mrs. Brock -left the house. "It is well, I will have a pleasure in it. It is the -first time I have said that word since yon June day! Do I look like a -woman dead? Is there something in my voice, and face, that speaks of -death?" - -"Christian," said Anne in alarm, "why do you ask that?" - -"Because I feel it, Anne--a dead unnatural calm, like the stillness of -the Firth before yon storm--not peace but death; I feel it in myself. -When I go about, I think I can hear no sound of my footsteps; when I -breathe, I think the air seems to cleave before me; when I speak, the -voice has a dull, cold modulation, that is not human. I can think of -them all--of Patrick in his agony--of myself so short a time ago, as -feverish shadows--I feel this calm oppress and envelop me like a -shroud--I feel like one dead." - -"This should not be, Christian," said Anne, "it is but the reaction of -stillness after all your labor and watching. How much have you to live -for!" - -"I have no further work," said Christian Lillie, in her old composure of -melancholy, "no further watching--no one now to care and labor for. You -do not know my life; when I was a girl, in the days when others are gay -and light of heart, beloved, and served, and cared for, I was fighting -with a household shame and sin--a miserable, sensual, earthly sin, in -the one man to whom I should have looked up for support and guidance: -striving to hide it--to keep it from the knowledge of the bairns--the -two that were depending more upon me, their sister, than upon him their -father; striving, too, with weary cares of poverty, to keep them from -want--real want and not mere meagreness. From that a death relieved -me--and then, with only eighteen years over my head, I was left the -mother of these two; to protect, and defend, and bring them up, the only -near kindred they had in the world. Since then my hands have been -full--there has been no lack of vigils or labors in this past life of -mine. Now it is over; I have carried Patrick safely to his grave, and -seen him laid down there in sorrow and in hope; and now Marion will come -again to a bright household in joy and honor. Do you marvel that I think -my work over?--the need of me in this world past." - -"I do not marvel," said Anne, "but I wish that it should be otherwise, -Christian. I would not have your sky overcast with this dull calm; I -would have it free to receive God's sunshine; the light he sends upon -it, in the evening time." - -"God forbid," said Christian Lillie rising, and pressing her hands -painfully to her breast, "God forbid that I should hide my head, from -His mercy of joy; God forbid that I should shut my eyes to His sunshine, -or sin His mercies; only I am blinded with this cold calm, and my heart -is dead within me. When I am in my own house, bring the child to -me--Marion's bairn, that he called by our unhappy name; and come -yourself, my sister Anne, that I may begin to live again. Till then, in -my own fashion let me rest." - -And so they arranged. At the term of Martinmas, or sooner, if John -Tamson's house, the newly-acquired property of George Brock, should be -sooner completed--whenever Christian had regained possession of the old -home cottage, Anne was to visit her with Lilie. At present, all was done -for her that affectionate care could do, and on the next day Anne left -Aberford. - -When in the evening she entered Mrs. Catherine's Edinburgh drawing-room, -in its stately pride of olden furniture, gracefully not stiffly antique, -she found James Aytoun and his mother waiting to meet her. Mrs. Aytoun -gave her a tremulous welcome, which was half an embrace, and would have -been wholly one, had Mrs. Aytoun been at all a demonstrative person. -James shook hands with her with respectful kindness and friendship. The -good opinion of such a mother and son was worth having. Anne felt -enlivened and exhilarated. - -"Alice has gone out," said Mrs. Aytoun: "she will be with us very soon -again. They were to watch for your coming, but I fear these young people -become engrossed in their own matters sometimes." - -"They?" said Anne. - -"Ay, she has a gallant with her you have seen before," said Mrs. -Catherine, "be patient--you will find out who he is before long." - -"Is it Lewis?--is Lewis here?" asked Anne. - -"Mrs. Catherine wishes to take Alice from us again," said Mrs. Aytoun. -"I am afraid, Miss Ross, I can hardly thank you for the barrier you have -removed. Alice is so young--little more than a child yet." - -James Aytoun took up a book, and went away smilingly to a window. He saw -that a consultation matrimonial and maternal was impending. - -"I do think she is too young. I do not approve of too early marriages," -said Mrs. Aytoun, shaking her head. "Why, many girls are but leaving -school at Alice's age--she is not quite eighteen yet." - -"She is in no peril," said Mrs. Catherine. "It's my hope, kinswoman, -that you do not think you are sending her into a savage country, where -there will be but barbarous people to show kindness to the bairn. There -is no fear of her--I warrant her in as careful hands, when she is in -Lewis's, as she could be under the shadow of my very sel; I would not -just have advised you to wed her--a bairn as she undoubtedly is--to the -like of Archie Sutherland; but she is in no peril with Lewis." - -The slightest possible additional color wavered over Anne's face. She -did by no means perceive any connexion, logical or otherwise, between -the marriage of little Alice Aytoun and Archie Sutherland. - -"I am not afraid for her," said Mrs. Aytoun: "it is not peril that I -mean; but so young a girl entering upon the care of a house--the -management of a family--besides the pain of losing her. If it had not -been for your mother's presence, and your own, Miss Ross, I should never -have consented--at her age." - -Mrs. Aytoun expressed something of what she felt, but not all. She did -not like the idea of Alice entering another family, not as its mistress, -but as a younger daughter. She felt sure of Anne; but Alice was by no -means so exuberant in her praise of Mrs. Ross. - -"I do not know what arrangement my mother may make," said Anne, "but, of -course, whether we remain in Merkland or not, it must make a very great, -and a very pleasant change to us." - -Mrs. Aytoun smiled a dubious smile--she was not reconciled to it. In any -way, parting with the girl-daughter was a great venture, but to send her -into the rule of a husband's mother, while even the husband himself was -comparatively unknown! Mrs. Aytoun was jealous and afraid for her little -clinging Alice, whose life hitherto had been so carefully guarded. - -"And so you are demurring to the lad's petition?" said Mrs. Catherine. -"Well, I do not marvel; but a month or two can make little odds, and you -bid to have parted with her soon or syne." - -"Certainly, that is a consolation," said Mrs. Aytoun, with her faint -smile. "It is selfish of me, I am afraid, to be so loath to think of -parting with Alice; and part I must one time or other, that is true, but -still--a little longer, I think, she may be left to me. Your brother has -been pressing an early time upon us, Miss Ross. I do not object that he -should wish it--but you must do us the kindness to help me in deferring -this a little." - -"I believe," said Anne, "that my brother Norman may be home--that we may -expect him at the end of the year. I should like exceedingly that he -could be present--that it were deferred until that time." - -Mrs. Aytoun pressed her hand gratefully--Alice, radiant with smiles and -blushes, looked in at the door. "Oh! Anne is here--she has come," she -exclaimed as she ran to Anne's side--Lewis was behind her. - -"So my mother has been bringing you over to our side," said James -Aytoun, when the evening was considerably advanced, as he took a seat -near Anne. "Mrs. Catherine is wavering. I fear to find her throw her -mighty forces into alliance with the active, serviceable, energetic -troops whom Lewis himself brings into the field. We are by no means -pleased to have our little Alice carried off from us so rapidly. I begin -to fear Mrs. Catherine is anything but a safe guardian for young ladies; -I certainly shall not advise any client of mine to send favorite -daughters or sisters to the Tower, if he wants to keep them out of -harm's way." - -"What is that you say?" said Mrs. Catherine, "do you make light of my -good name, James Aytoun? and do you, Anne, sit still and hear? you are -an irreverent generation! Never you heed, Alison. It is because you are -overlooking the rule of Laban, the son of Bethuel, and cheating him of -his elder right." - -"If you will come to Merkland, James," said Lewis, "I will say a good -word for you to Marjory Falconer. By the bye, I forgot my great -news--have you heard about Marjory, Anne?" - -"What about her?" - -"In the first place, she has made a silent recantation--if one may guess -from appearances. A hint of Walter Foreman's the other day, about the -rights of women, instead of setting her off at a tangent, as such a -thing used to do, threw her into an agony of blushing, and made her -dumb. That is great enough for one report; but I have another. Marjory -Falconer--listen to me all who know Strathoran--Marjory Falconer is -about to be married!" - -"To be married!" echoed little Alice, with a look of laughing wonder and -dismay. These two, Lewis and his betrothed, had not got the slightest -glimpse of Marjory Falconer yet, well though they fancied they knew her; -Anne looked slightly puzzled, and a little anxious: Mrs. Catherine -smiled. - -"Who is it? who is it?" cried little Alice. - -"Anne can guess," said Lewis: "I see his name upon her lips. It seems my -news is no such wonder, after all." - -"Who is she going to marry, Lewis?" asked Anne, hastily, "it is rather a -wish than a guess with me. Marjory does not give confidences of that -kind--is it Mr. Lumsden?" - -"May all your wishes, sister Anne," said Lewis, with mock gravity, "be -as fully realized. It is the mighty minister of Portoran. Ralph, they -say, rebelled, and had a swearing fit when he heard of it, which Marjory -promptly checked, however, and sent him down stairs to the congenial -society of his horses and grooms. It will be a serious matter for Ralph -though, for Marjory, with all her whims, kept things going at Falcon's -Craig." - -"I am very glad to hear it," said Anne. "It is one of the few marriages -that have no drawback; one can feel that Marjory, with her strength and -good sense, is safe now, in a pure healthful atmosphere, where she will -grow and flourish. I am very glad." - -Lewis and Alice exchanged glances and laughed. - -"Lewis," said Mrs. Catherine, "hold your peace. It becomes the like of -you--gallants that have a while to grow before they reach their full -stature--to take heed that you meddle only with things within your power -of vision. Ay! you are lowering your bit forehead on me, Alison Aytoun; -but truly, after all, there are wiser men in this world, to my own -certain knowledge, than this gallant that calls himself of Merkland." - -"But Miss Falconer figures very largely in Alice's reminiscences," said -James, smiling. "To whom shall I apply for an account of her? to you, -Mrs. Catherine, or to Lewis." - -"I bid you come yourself and see, James Aytoun," said Mrs. Catherine. -"As for Lewis, he does not know, and therefore it is not likely he can -tell; but truly, I think you would be better employed telling my Anne, -whom you have set yourself beside, the issue of the plea, that Robert -Ferguson and you have been working at so long." - -James obeyed: with signal disgrace and utter discomfiture, Lord -Gillravidge's defence had been overpowered. The road through the -Strathoran grounds, by the omnipotent voice of the Court of Session, was -proclaimed free as the sunshine to all and sundry, its natural -proprietors and heirs. Henceforward the pulling down of barricades was a -legal and proper enforcement of the law, and the erection of the same -entirely useless, for any other purpose than that of keeping the -well-disposed lads of Strathoran in glee and mischief. Mrs. Catherine -was victorious, and triumphed moderately in her victory. - -"If it were not that I hope in my lifetime to see Archie Sutherland back -to his own lands, I would hazard a trial with that English alien, of his -title to take their old inheritance from the clansmen whose right it is. -You shake your head, James Aytoun--I will uphold it in the face of a -whole synod as learned in the law as yourself, that the clansman has the -same natural right of possession as his chief; that it comes to him by -the same inheritance; that in no way is the laird more certain in his -tenure than the humble man, except in so far as he is chief of both land -and men, natural protector, ruler and guardian of the same. You forget -the ancient right and justice in this drifting unsettled generation. If -it were not that you pleaders of the law, have a necessity of spinning -out the line of a plea, past the extremity of mortal life, and I hope to -see Archie home within the course of mine, I would see that this was -tried without delay, let the whole parliament-house of you shake the -heads of your wisdom if ye likit." - -"I am afraid," said James, "we might get the theoretic justice of it -approved--but as for any practical result to follow--" - -"You do not know," interrupted Mrs. Catherine: "so far as I have seen in -my life, a thing does not commonly succeed till it's tried; ay, tried -with labor, and zeal, and longwaiting; and it's a poor work that is not -worth that. I know not but what for the sake of the coming race, there -is a clear call to try it. If the first bit petty tyrant that took their -right inheritance from clansmen, whose fathers won it by the strong -hand, had been resisted in his ill doing, this pang English lordling -would not have dared to turn the Macalpines out of Oranmore." - -"But we dont all hold our lands by the strong hand," said Lewis Ross. - -"Lewis, you are a loon; how often have I told you to hold your peace; -and what better tenure could the man have for his lands, I would crave -to know, than just the tenure of the strong hand? Your fathers knew -better, and what they won by their sword and by their bow, was well won -I say! won by clansmen and chief together, and by clansmen and chief, in -their degree, to be lawfully and justly held--in peace, if the Almighty -ordained it so, and if not, in honorable holding of the land they had -won, against all aliens and incomers; whether they came by open war, or -with courtesies of craft and falsehood, as men do in this time!" - -In a few days after, Mrs. Catherine and her train, including Alice -Aytoun and her maid Bessie, left Edinburgh for the Tower. In -consideration of the six months' delay to which Lewis had reluctantly -submitted, Mrs. Aytoun as reluctantly consented that her little daughter -should pay a brief visit to Mrs. Catherine--a visit which was by no -means to exceed the limits of a month. - -Jacky and Bessie, under the safe-conduct of Johnnie Halflin, were to -travel by the coach. When the youthful trio reached the starting-place -in high glee, an early coach had just arrived from one of the many -village-towns in the vicinity of Edinburgh. Jacky's quick eye discerned, -among the little knot of bystanders, a tall lad of some nineteen or -twenty years, engaged in superintending the collection of boxes -belonging to an elderly woman, who stood with a slightly fluttered, -agitated look upon the pavement below. The large Paisley shawl, the -mighty leghorn bonnet--Jacky threw over them a glance of hasty -recognition. Their owner turned her head. The thin, long upper lip was -not quivering now--a glance of troubled joy was in the eye--Jacky -hastily ran to speak to her. It was Jean Miller. Bessie drew near also. -In Johnnie Halflin's presence, Bessie would have had no objection to a -slight flirtation with the young doctor, Jean Miller's genteel nephew. -The tall, slight lad drew himself up, however, with the slightest -possible recognition. He had a soul above flirtation with maid-servants. - -"Andrew's maister, I'm meaning the doctor he's serving his time wi', has -ta'en in a daft gentleman to board wi' him," said Jean Miller, aside to -the sympathetic Jacky, "and so there wasna room for the callant, and it -was needful he should get up-putting in a strange house. Sae it chanced, -when I was in seeing him, that I saw some mair neighbors o' his, -collegianers, and ae young doctor, that was unco chief wi' him; and it -appears Andrew--he's a kindly callant, and has been a' his days--had -been telling them o' his auntie, and how I was anxious about him in the -strange place, where he had nae mother's e'e ower him, nor onybody to -keep him right. Sae what did they do--the young doctor and the auldest -o' the students, but they said, that if Andrew would get his auntie to -come in and take a house, they would a' bide wi' me, and that they would -be mair comfortable a'thegither, and could help ane anither in their -learning. Sae ye may think Andrew was blythe to come out to tell me, -and seeing I'm wearing into years, and a'body likes to have a house o' -their ain, and in especial for the laddie's sake, that he may be wiled -to care mair for hame, than for the vanities that have ruined lads of -promise by the hunder before him, as I ken ower weel, I didna swither; -and the house is ta'en, and the plenishing's bought, and I'm gaun hame -the day. It's a great change to me, but--Andrew, my man, yon blue box is -mine too--it'll be a great ease to my mind to hae my laddie aye in my -ain e'e; and I hope the Lord will send a blessing on't. It's a' for the -lad's guid I'm anxious. Guid kens, I would have little thought o' mysel -that am withered, and auld, and past my strength, if it werena for him." - -The journey was accomplished in safety. Little Alice was established -again at the rounded window of that pretty bower of hers, looking over, -through the golden air, to the quiet house of Merkland, with no phantom -of grief or pain or sorrow, throwing its shadow now between; but -everything around and before, throwing out that sunny light of hope and -promise, beautiful to see. - -The day after their arrival, Anne set out to visit Esther Fleming. Lewis -had not thought of any anxiety of Esther's; unfortunately, very much as -his intercourse with the Aytouns had improved him Lewis was still by no -means given to any great consideration of other people's anxieties, and -therefore he had suffered the paper which Anne sent specially for her, -containing the first public notice of Norman's innocence, to lie useless -in his library without the least remembrance of Esther. He had not the -same bond to her as Anne had, it is true, for Esther had never bestowed -any great share of her patronage upon "the strange woman's bairn." - -A little way from the gate of Merkland, Anne met Marjory Falconer. -Marjory had the slightest possible air of timidity hanging upon her, -with a singular grace. She was a little afraid of Anne's reception of -her intended marriage--whether she already knew--and if she would -lecture, or rally her. - -"Come with me to the Tower first," said Marjory, drawing Anne's arm -within her own. "I want to see little Alice Aytoun--and I have a great -deal to say to you." - -"I am glad you have the grace to acknowledge that," said Anne, smiling; -"but I do think, Marjory, that some of it should have been said sooner." - -"Anne!" exclaimed Marjory Falconer, with one of her violent blushes, -"you would not have had _me_ speak to _you_, the way young ladies speak -in novels." - -"Many young ladies in novels speak very sensibly, Marjory," said Anne. - - * * * * * - -"Very well--never mind, that is all over now. Tell me of your own -matters, Anne--you have not returned to Merkland as you went away; there -is to be no more brooding, no more unhappiness?" - -Anne told her story briefly, as they went up Oranside. Marjory was much -affected. To her strong, joyous spirit, in its vigorous contendings with -mere external evil, and now in the prospective strength and honor of its -new, grave, happy household life, the mention of these agonies came with -strange power. Nothing like them, as the fair promise of her future -went, should ever enter the healthful precincts of the Manse of -Portoran, yet her heart swelled within her in deep sympathy as the -hearts of those swell who feel that they themselves also could bear like -perils and miseries--the true fraternity. - -In the inner drawing-room they found little Alice alone, and there -ensued some gayer _badinage_, which Marjory bore with wonderful patience -and a considerable amount of blushing laughter, inevitable in the -circumstances. "The only thing is," said Marjory, with a look of comical -distress, "what I shall do with Ralph--I wish somebody would marry -him--I do wish some one would do me the special favor of marrying -Ralph!" - -Little Alice Aytoun looked up in wonder. It was Alice's wont to be -greatly puzzled with those speeches of Marjory's, and quite at a loss to -know how much was joke, and how much earnest. - -"Yes, indeed," said Marjory, laying her hand on Alice's shoulder. "I -think it would have been a very much more sensible thing for you, little -Alice Aytoun, to have fallen in love with my poor brother Ralph, who -needs somebody to take care of him, than with that rational, prudent -Lewis of Anne's who can take such very good care of himself." - -Alice drew herself up, and was half inclined to be angry; but glancing -up to Marjory's face, ended in laughing, blushing and wondering. - -"And yet that must have been very unsatisfactory too," said Marjory, -smoothing Alice's fair hair as she would have done a child's, "for then, -I had been certainly _thirled_ to Falcon's Craig to take care of you -both--to see that Ralph was not too rough with you, and that you were -too gentle with him. No, we must have some one who can hold the reins. -Altogether you have chosen better for yourself, little Alice--Lewis will -take care of you. But who shall I get to manage Ralph?" - -"Perhaps Anne will," suggested Alice wickedly. - -Anne was full three-and-twenty, and she was not even engaged! Little -Alice, with a touch of girlish generosity, felt the superiority of her -own position almost painful. - -"Hush, little girl," said the prompt Marjory. "Anne is not a -horsewoman; besides I won't endanger a friend's interest, even for the -sake of getting Ralph off my hands. Anne is--" - -"Oh! is Anne engaged?--is Anne engaged?" cried little Alice, clapping -her hands. Alice had been a good deal troubled by this same want of an -engagement for Anne, and had even been secretly cogitating, in her own -mind, whether it might not be possible to direct the attention of her -grave brother James to the manifold good qualities of Lewis's sister. - -"Now, pray, do you two brides leave me undisturbed in my humble -quietness," said Anne, good-humoredly. "Why there is Jeanie Coulter to -be married next week--and then yourselves--if I do not hold my ground, -there will not be a single representative left of the young womanhood of -Strathoran and that is a calamity to be avoided by all means. I must -really go to Esther Fleming's now. Do you go with me, Marjory?" - -Marjory assented, and they left the Tower; instead of going directly to -Esther Fleming's house, Anne went round by the mill. On reaching Mrs. -Melder's, they found that good woman standing, with a puzzled look, -before her table, on which lay a parcel, which Anne had sent with Jacky, -of mourning for the child. Lilie herself stood by, regarding the little -black frock, in which she was dressed, with a look of childish gravity. -The mourning chilled the little heart, though after being convinced that -nothing ailed papa, mamma, or Lawrie, Lilie, in Anne's bed-chamber, the -previous night, had heard of her uncle's death, with only that still awe -natural to the blythe little spirit, "feeling its life in every vein." -She did not know the strange uncle Patrick, who was dead. It only -subdued the gay voice a very little, and sent some sad speculations into -the childish head--a place where grave speculations are rife enough -sometimes, whether we of the elder generation discern them or no. - -When Anne and Marjory approached the door, the child ran to meet them. -"Oh, aunt Anne--my aunt Anne!" - -Marjory Falconer looked puzzled--she had not heard this part of Anne's -story. - -"This is my niece," said Anne, with a slight tremor. "This is Lilias -Rutherford, my brother Norman's child." - -"Anne!" exclaimed Marjory, in amazement, "what do you mean?" Mrs. Melder -pressed forward no less astonished. - -"This little stranger," said Anne, holding the child's hand, "is the -daughter of my brother Norman, of whom you have heard so much, -Marjory--my niece, Lilias Rutherford." - -Marjory Falconer, in the extremity of her astonishment, snatched up -Lilie in her arms, and ran out with her into the open sunlight, as if to -satisfy herself that Anne's new-found niece was indeed the little -Spanish Lilie, whose strange coming to the mill had been so great a -wonder to the countryside. - -"Ye're no meaning you, Miss Anne?" exclaimed Mrs. Melder, anxiously, -"it's only a joke wi' Miss Falconer--ye're no meaning it?" - -"Indeed I am," said Anne, "Lilie is truly my niece, Mrs. Melder; the -daughter of a brother who has been long lost to us, but whom we have now -found again." - -"Eh!" cried Mrs. Melder, "that'll be the auld leddy's son that was said -to have killed anither man--and ye wad aye ken it, Miss Anne? Keep me! -To think of me telling ye about the leddy, and you kenning a' the time -wha the bairn was." - -"No, you do me injustice," said Anne, eagerly. "At that time I had not -the slightest idea who Lilie was, and it is only a week or two since I -was certain." - -Mrs. Melder did not look perfectly contented. "Weel, nae doubt it's my -pairt to be thankfu' that the bairn has friends o' her ain, that can be -better for her than me--and it's like ye'll do taking her to Merkland, -Miss Anne?" Mrs. Melder lifted the corner of her apron to her eye, and -tried to look offended and indifferent. - -"I want to take her down with me to-day," said Anne, "and we can arrange -about that afterwards. Lilie, come here, I want you to go with me to -Merkland." - -Mrs. Melder took Lilie's little bonnet, and drew the child to her knee -to put it on. "And they're gaun to take ye away frae me, my lamb! but -ye'll aye mind us, Lilie? and when ye're a grand laddy, ye'll no forget -the wee house at the mill, that ye lived in when ye were a bairn?" Mrs. -Melder's eyes were over-flowing. - -"Dinna greet," whispered Lilie, clinging to her kind nurse, "if my aunt -Anne takes me to stay at Merkland, I'll come down every day--me and -Jacky--and when mamma comes, she'll come and see you. Eh!" cried Lilie, -forgetting her sympathy with Mrs. Melder in her remembrance of one -dearer than she; "you never saw a lady so bonnie as my mamma!" - -"Ay, but, Lilie," said the good woman, applying the apron to her eyes -again, "ye dinna think how we'll miss ye here. There'll aye be the wee -bed empty at nicht, and aye the wee facie away in the morning. Oh! -Lilie, my lamb!" - -"But I'll come down every day," said Lilie, in consolation; "and when -mamma comes, I'll bring her to see you, and papa, and Lawrie; and Jacky -will bring me every day, and when I'm a big lady, I'll come my lane." - -They went down Oranside together, Lilie holding a hand of Anne and -Marjory, and skipping gaily between them. Marjory Falconer spoke little: -she had not yet overcome her surprise. - -Esther Fleming sat by the door of her cottage, knitting a stocking, and -enjoying the sunshine. Her young niece was going lightly about within, -"redding up" the lightsome clean apartment. The old woman looked very -cheerful, neat and comfortable, her snow-white muslin cap covering her -gray hair, and closely surrounding her sensible, kindly face. She -started from her seat as she saw Anne. - -"Eh, Miss Anne, are ye come at last?" but her face darkened with -disappointment as she perceived Marjory and the child. - -"I would have come sooner, Esther," said Anne, "but that I thought you -had been told." - -"Told what?" Esther staggered back to her seat, and sitting down there, -supported her head firmly between her hands. "For guid sake, Miss Anne, -say it out, whatever it is. Let me hear it at once. Young lady go away, -and let my bairn tell me her tidings." - -"I may tell them before all the world Esther," said Anne. "Norman is -innocent, known and declared to be so, in the face of all men, free to -return to his own house and name, in honor and peace, and good fame. All -our sorrow and trouble for him are over. He is safe, Esther. He is -justified in the sight of the world." - -The old woman uttered a cry--a low, wild, unconscious cry. She might -have done the same had it been bitter sorrow that overwhelmed her, -instead of a very agony and deluge of joy and thankfulness. She threw -her apron over her head--under its covering they could see the motion of -her hands, the bowing of her head. Prayers innumerable, offered by night -and day for eighteen years, that had lain unanswered till this time, -before yon Throne in Heaven, were pouring back upon her now in a flood -of blessedness. It was meet that they should stand apart in silent -reverence, while thus, in the presence of the Highest, His old and -faithful servant rendered thanks, where so long she had poured forth her -petition for mercy. - -At last she raised her head--her clear and kindly features trembling yet -with the storm of joy that had swept over them; her eye fell upon the -child. She had seen Lilie once or twice before, but never before in this -strong light which tinged everything with a remembrance of Norman. She -started to her feet: "Wha are ye, bairn? wha are ye?--for ony sake, Miss -Anne, tell me wha this is?" - -Anne took Lilie's hand, and led her to Esther's side; the child looked -up wonderingly with those large dark wistful eyes of hers, almost as -Christian Lilie had been wont to look--Anne placed her in the arms of -her father's devoted, loving friend. "Esther, you have a better right to -her than I--she is my brother's child--she is the daughter of Norman, -for whom you have sorrowed and prayed so long." - -And Marjory Falconer stood apart, repeating to herself in a low voice, -which trembled sometimes, that Psalm, the blessing of the good man, sung -by the Hebrew people in the old time, as they journeyed to Jerusalem, -and familiar now to us in Scotland, as the household words of our own -land-- - - "Behold each man that fears the Lord, - Thus blessed shall he be, - The Lord shall out of Sion send, - His blessing unto thee, - Thou shalt Jerusalem's good behold, - While thou on earth dost dwell, - Thou shalt thy children's children see, - And peace on Israel!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. - - -The months travelled on peacefully; Jeanie Coulter and Walter Foreman -were married with all due mirth and rejoicing. Ada Mina was reigning -now, in the absence of all rival powers, acknowledged belle and youthful -beauty of Strathoran; and had been thrown into an immense flutter, to -the great dismay and manifest injury of a young Muirland laird from the -west, who had come to take lessons in agriculture from Mr. Coulter, and -was very assiduously paying court to Mr. Coulter's daughter--by a hint -from Mrs. Catherine, of a possible visit to the Tower of the Honorable -Giles. Little Harry Coulter, the Benjamin of Harrows, was more -desperately in love than ever with the stranger Lilie, now living at -Merkland, in her full dignity as Merkland's niece; and with his first -knife had already constructed, with mighty deliberation and care, a -splendid model of a patent plough, to be laid at the small feet of his -liege lady, who unfortunately had no manner of appreciation of patent -ploughs, and greatly preferred Charlie Ferguson's present, a boat--a -veritable boat with little white silken sails, elaborated in the -Woodsmuir nursery by Mary Ferguson and Flora Macalpine, and which could -actually, with a fairy cargo of moss and ruddy autumnal wild-flowers, -make genuine voyages upon the Oran, to the delight of Lilie and the -Woodsmuir party, and the immense disgust of Harry Coulter. Lilie was -becoming a great pet at Merkland, "evendown spoiled," as Mrs. Melder -said, with the slightest possible tinge of jealousy; the constant -companion and pupil of Anne, the plaything of Lewis, and even--so great -was the witchery of the fair fresh childhood--a favorite with Mrs. Ross -herself, whom aunt Anne taught Lilie to approach with the greatest -reverence, and to call grand-mamma--mamma would not do. Lilie stoutly -resisted the bestowal of that sacred name upon any individual except the -one enthroned in the loyal little heart, the _bonniest_ of all existent -ladies; the especial _mother_ of the loving child. - -In the beginning of winter, Anne paid her promised visit to Christian, -carrying little Lilie with her. New life was budding again in the large -melancholy heart which had lived through a lingering death for so many -years. A deep sorrow, and tender remembrance of the dead carried about -with her in religious silence, shunning common sight and common comment, -did not prevent this. It was not meet that the griefs of such a spirit -should pass lightly away, or was it possible; but bordering the deep -stillness of that lasting sorrow were other holds on life. Hope for -Marion, the little sister of her happier days; reverent enjoyment of -God's mercies, which one who had bowed to His chastisements so long was -not like to hold lightly; a sympathy, exquisitely deep and tender, with -everything of nature, and much of humanity--all swelling up from the -strong vitality, healthful and pure and heaven-dependant, which God had -placed, as a fountain in his servant's heart, before He laid her mighty -load upon her. - -Anne and the child remained for a considerable time with Christian. She -had settled again in the old cottage, and was already making -arrangements for the repair of Redheugh. When Anne parted with her, it -was in the confidence of meeting her again in the end of the year, when -Norman and Marion should have returned; a light passed over the wan -face, as Christian said those words, but still she did not say from -whence the exiles were to return. Anne could not press the question, and -the time was not very long to wait. Lilie returned with her to Merkland. - -The year waned; the December days again darkened over the sky of -Strathoran. Mr. Lumsden of Portoran had refurnished his Manse, in a -style which utterly scandalized Mrs. Bairnsfather.--Some one presented -him with a whole library of additional books--the same individual that -had lately put into his hand money enough to build a school-house in the -hamlet at Oran Brig, at which already masons and joiners were working -merrily, and under whose shelter Mr. Lumsden himself had vowed to -preach, let the Presbytery storm as it pleased. Mrs. Bairnsfather moved -her husband to appeal the case to the Assembly this time, if the Synod's -thunders proved unavailing. Mr. Bairnsfather, very much disgusted as he -was--was dubious. A certain mighty man in an obscure Fife parish, lying -on the south side of the Tay--a wondrous visionary man, who seeing the -first experiments made with gas in the streets of the mighty cities, -had tubes laid for the conveyance of the same to the pleasant parlors of -that rural Manse of Kilmany, had discovered a mighty truth by that time, -and was beginning to throw the rays of it from that marvellous lamp of -his, over the Tay, to be over all Scotland ere long. The truth that -preaching proprieties would not do; that ministers of Christ's holy -evangel must preach Christ--nothing less, and that the name of the Lord -was the strong Tower--it and no other--in which purity of soul and life -could be kept unsullied and undimmed for ever. And vigorous athletic -forces, whose front rank, among other sons of Anak, stood that restless -man of might and labor, so long called fire-brand and fanatic, the Rev. -John Lumsden of Portoran, were pressing into the highest places of the -Church, with this greatest of Scottish men at their head. So Mr. -Bairnsfather sagaciously, over his gardening, resolved that it might be -well to proceed with caution in this matter, and that the eye of a -General Assembly in this great renewing of its youth, might see -shortcomings in his own ministerial life and conversation, not -particularly adapted for the light of the day; in consequence of which -prudent doubts Mr. Lumsden escaped a call to the bar of the supreme -judicatory of the Church. - -He was not married yet, however, for Marjory Falconer was still -disconsolately, and in vain, looking out for some one who would do her -the especial favor of marrying Ralph. - -Mrs. Ross was becoming reconciled to the inevitable marriage of Lewis. -It was to take place some time about the new year--the special period -depending upon the looked for arrival of Norman. Little Alice, with her -girlish kindness of heart, had put a decided negative upon Lewis's -proposal, that his mother should leave Merkland. Surely they could all -dwell together in unity. Alice had considerable confidence in her own -powers of charming. To a little bride of eighteen, whom all the stronger -natures round her instinctively conspired to guard and defend from evil, -the confidence was natural and becoming enough. - -In the meantime, Alice had been plotting somewhat ineffectually to -direct the especial attention of that grave brother James of hers to -Anne, and Anne's to him. It by no means succeeded.--They were the best -friends in the world, but clearly, even to the solicitous eye of Alice, -as comfortably indifferent to each other as it was possible for very -good friends to be. - -Mr. Ferguson's work went on prosperously in the bleak lands of Loelyin -and Lochend. The sides of the glen of Oranmore were covered with the -flocks of the Southland farmer. In the glen itself, those roofless walls -stood still desolate and silent, the end of many a stern pilgrimage made -by the ejected Macalpines, who from their cottages in the low-country, -and from fishing-boats on the wide seashore beyond Portoran, looked -forward constantly with silent prayers, and stern onwaiting for the -return of their chief, and the recovery of their homes. - -He, this hapless chief of theirs, had heard ere now of their calamity, -and in an agony of bitter earnestness had plunged again into his labor, -his hope swelling within him, in a burst of force which made it almost -painful--for them--also like himself heirs of the soil--and for their -inheritance. It had been some relief to his burning eagerness, could he -have cried his war-cry as his ancestors did, and rushed on-- - -To the rescue! There never was deed of olden arms, or bold -knight-errantry more instinct with chivalrous honor and energy than -this, though the battle-field was counting-room and market-place, and -the wrestler a broken man! - -Lord Gillravidge had returned to Strathoran, greatly to the chagrin of -his useful friend, Mr. Fitzherbert, who had been, through all the -intervening time laboriously endeavoring to convince his Lordship of the -insupportable _ennui_ of this out-of-the-world place of his. His -Lordship was more than half convinced; nevertheless there was excellent -shooting, and Lord Gillravidge filled his house with sportsmen, to the -defiance of _ennui_, which reigning supreme in presence of _one_ bore, -seems to be expected to dissipate itself in the society of twenty. - -One evening late in the year, Mr. Fitzherbert chanced inconsiderately to -pass through the little hamlet at the Brig of Oran, after the darkening. -It was a beautiful, clear, frosty night.--Hardy, strong, red and blue -children, were sliding on the frozen Oran; young men and douce fathers, -had been tempted to join them. Cottage doors were open on all sides, -revealing homely interiors, partially lighted by the kindly firelight; -grandmothers seated by the firesides; mothers stirring with care and -pains-taking the mighty pot of wholesome "parritch" for their evening -meal; elder sisters, eager to be out upon the slide, rapidly, and with -much noise, putting upon the table bowls and plates to receive the same; -while some who had finished the process stood at the door calling -impatiently to boys and men, to "come in afore the parritch cules." -Through this peaceful place, Mr. Fitzherbert inconsiderately passed -alone. He had scarcely entered it, when he was recognised by a band of -children on the ice. The youngsters of the Brig of Oran were just in -such a state of exhilaration, as made them ready for mischief in all its -possible varieties. "Eh!" cried out a stout lad of fourteen, at the top -of his considerable voice, "younder's the man that Angus Macalpine shore -like a sheep at the stepping stanes!" - -"Great cry and little woo!" shouted another, adding also the latter line -of the proverb, in all its ludicrous expressiveness. - -"Eh man!" continued a third, "I wadna hae lain still, and gotten my head -cuttit when I wasna wanting it." - -Mr. Fitzherbert was perfectly blind and dumb with rage; in the midst of -a chorus of laughter he hurried on. - -"Never you heed, my man," said the shoe-maker's wife, known as "a randy" -beyond the precincts of the Brig of Oran, "ye've gotten new -anes--they're grown again." - -"Grown again!" ejaculated a little old wifie, whose profession was that -of an itinerant small-ware dealer, and who was privileged as an -original, "grown again!" and she lifted her quick little withered hand -to Fitzherbert's face, as she glided in before him; "let-abee -shearing--I wad a bawbee the new anes wadna stand a pouk." - -And secure in the protection of the hardy mason, under whose roof-tree -she was to receive shelter for the night, the old wifie extended her -fingers to the graceful ornament of hair which curled over Mr. -Fitzherbert's lip. We cannot tell what dread revelations might have -followed, had not Lord Gillravidge's unfortunate friend dashed the old -woman aside, and saved himself by flight. Poor old Nannie paid for her -boldness by a slight cut upon her withered brow--her host growled a -thundery anathema, and the well-disposed lads of the hamlet pursued the -fugitive with gibes and shoutings of revengeful derision up to the very -gate of Strathoran. - -After which stimulating adventure, Mr. Fitzherbert's arguments became so -potent and earnest, that Lord Gillravidge was moved by them, and finding -likewise that Mr. Whittret turned out by no means the most honorable of -stewards, and that this great house was enormously expensive, his -Lordship took it into his serious consideration whether it might not be -the wisest course to get rid of Strathoran. - -December passed away--the new year came, and still there were no tidings -of Norman. Anne became anxious and uneasy; but Christian's letters said, -and said with reason, that the delay of a week or so, was no unusual -matter in a long sea voyage. Where was he then, this exile brother? - -Lewis was not to be put off so easily. He did not see why a matter of so -much importance as his marriage should be delayed for the uncertain -arrival of Norman. So the day was determined on at last; the ceremony -was to be performed at the Tower, by Mrs. Catherine's especial -desire--in the end of January; if Norman came before that time, so much -the better; if not they would go on without him. - -A fortnight of the new year was gone already; the Aytouns had arrived at -the Tower. Mrs. Aytoun and her son, under the escort of Lewis, had gone -down to Merkland to pay a formal visit to Mrs. Ross. Anne was at the -Tower with Lilie. She had been there of late, even more than usual. It -was Mrs. Catherine's desire that her favorite should remain with her -permanently, when Alice had taken her place in Merkland. It pleased Anne -greatly to have the alternative, but until the return of Norman, she -made no definite arrangement. - -The afternoon was waning--Alice was in very high spirits, a little -tremulous and even something excited. Her wedding-day began to approach -so nearly. - -She had been sitting close by Anne's side, engaged in a long and earnest -conversation, wherein the elder sister had many grave things to speak -of, while the younger, leaning on her in graceful dependence, listened -and assented reverently, forgetting for the moment what a very important -little personage, she herself, the future Mrs. Ross of Merkland, was. - -Mrs. Catherine entered the room suddenly, with a newspaper in her hand, -and a triumphant expression in her face. "Here is news, Anne, news worth -hearkening to. Did I not know the cattle would not be suffered to do -their evil pleasure long in the house of a good man? Now in a brief -hour, we will be clear of the whole race of them--unclean beasts and -vermin as they are. Look at this." - -Anne started when she did so; it was a long advertisement setting forth, -in auctioneer eloquence, the beauties and eligibilities of the desirable -freehold property of Strathoran, which was to be offered for sale, on a -specified day in spring, within a specified place in Edinburgh. - -"What think you of that?" said Mrs. Catherine. "We have smitten the -Philistines and driven them out of the land--a land that it is my hope -will be polluted with the footsteps of the like of them never more in my -day, though truly I am in doubt how we can get the dwelling purified, to -make it fit for civilized folk." - -"And what do you mean to do?" said Anne, eagerly. "It may be bought by -some other stranger: it may be--" - -"Hold your peace, Anne," said Mrs. Catherine; "are you also joining -yourself to the witless bairns that would give counsel to gray hairs. It -may be! I say it shall be! The siller will aye be to the fore, whether I -am or no, and think you I will ever stand by again, and let a strange -man call himself master of Strathoran--the house that Isabel Balfour -went into a bride, and went out of again, only to her rest? It has been -a thorn in my very side, this one unclean and strange tenant of it. -Think you I will ever suffer another?" - -"And what then?" said Anne, with anxious interest. - -"We must get it bought, without doubt," said Mrs. Catherine. "You are -slower of the uptake, Anne, than is common with you. Whether I myself -have, or have not, sufficient siller is another matter. There are folk -in Scotland, who know the word of Catherine Douglas, and can put faith -in it. Before three months are over our heads, an it be not otherwise -ordained, Archie Sutherland shall be master of his land again." - -"Oh! Anne, are you not glad?" exclaimed little Alice: "we shall have Mr. -Sutherland back again." - -Anne did not feel herself particularly called upon to express gladness, -but she looked up inquiringly into Mrs. Catherine's face. - -"I said nothing of the lad coming home," said Mrs. Catherine firmly. -"Alison Aytoun, you are but a bairn, and will never be tried, so far as -I can see the lot before you, by thoughts or purposes of a stern and -troublous kind. It is other with you, Anne, as I know. This Archie -Sutherland, has wasted with his riotous living the substance given in -charge to him from his father, and from his father's God. It is not meet -he should come back unscathed to this leisure and honor; it is right he -should clear himself by labor and toil, not of the sin before God, which -is atoned for in a holier way, but of the sin in the sight of man. I -say, I also would be sinning against a justice, which neither fails nor -alters, and discouraging strong hearts that held upon their warfare -manfully, when he fell under the hand of the adversary, were I bringing -back Archie Sutherland at this time to the full honor and possessions of -his father's house. I will let him stay in his trial and probation, -child, till he can show labor of his own hands, bravely done and like a -man. The gallant is nearer to my own heart than ever man was, but Sholto -my one brother; but it is meet he should render due justice after he has -done evil." - -Anne bowed her head in silent acquiescence: she did not speak. Mrs. -Catherine was right. - -"But this must be looked to without delay," said Mrs. Catherine, seating -herself in her own great chair, while the gloaming shadows gathered -darkly in the room; "we must buy his land back for him now. I will speak -of it to Mr. Foreman this very night. Alison, go your ways, and sing to -me the ballad of the wayfaring man." - -And in the soft shadowy gloaming, little Alice seated herself at the -piano, and began to sing. You could scarcely perceive her fair head in -the dreamy gloom of the large apartment. Further in, the red glow of the -fire flickered ruddy on the stately form of Mrs. Catherine, bringing out -with momentary flashes sometimes the shadow of her strong face in bold -relief against the wall. Still more in the shade sat Anne, very still -and thoughtful, looking at the old friend, and the young beside her, and -thinking of others far away. Over them all were these low floating notes -of music hopeful and sad-- - - Thy foot is weary, thy cheek is wan, - Come to thy kindred, wayfaring man! - -Down stairs in the snug housekeeper's room, a little party was -assembled, merrier and younger than were wont to be seen within that -especial sanctum of the famous Mrs. Euphan Morison. Mrs. Euphan herself -had gone to Portoran, to make provision of many things necessary for the -jubilee and festivities, which in the ensuing week were to be holden in -the Tower. She was not to return till late that night, and Jacky had -taken advantage of her absence. - -Round the fire, in the early winter gloaming, sat little Bessie, Johnnie -Halflin, Jacky herself and Flora Macalpine. There was to be a quiet -_reunion_ in the Tower that night, and Flora came, in attendance upon -little Mary Ferguson, who was gaily engaged at that moment, in the hall, -playing hide and seek with Lilie Rutherford. - -The little company in the housekeeper's room were very merry. Jacky was -repeating to them that sad adventure of Sir Artegall, which ended in his -captivity to the most contemptuous of Amazons, the warlike Radigund; -with whispers innumerable, and stifled laughter, her companions -listened, or pretended to listen. - -At that time, the gig from the Sutherland Arms, which had formerly -conveyed James Aytoun to the Tower, was tumbling along the high-road in -the same direction again. At some little distance from the entrance to -Mrs. Catherine's ground, two gentlemen alighted, and dismissing it, -ascended to the Tower. - -One of them--he was bronzed by the beating of a sun more fervid than -that of Scotland--was casting keen glances of joyous recognition round -him--at the Tower--at Merkland--at a light in a high window there, which -he fancied he knew, and still more eagerly at Strathoran in the dim -distance. Its name had rung strangely in his ear from the tongue of the -"crooked helper" at the inn, who drove their humble vehicle--"mony -thanks to ye, Strathoran." It sent a thrill to the heart of Archibald -Sutherland. - -Yes, Archibald Sutherland! it was no other! - -An older man leaned on his arm. In the darkness you could not -distinguish particularly either his face or form; he was tall, with an -elastic buoyant footstep, and was looking about him in a singular abrupt -way, now here, now there, like a man in a dream. - -They approached the Tower door--it was closed. Archibald's friend had -been eager hitherto, but now he lingered and seemed to wish delay. -Archibald was entirely in the dark as to the reason. There was a ruddy -light gleaming from a low window near at hand. The stranger drew near to -look in, almost as if he knew it. - -The room was full of the ruddy fire-light--the two dark figures at the -window were quite unseen by those merry youthful people about the fire. -Some one had slightly opened the window a little while before, for the -room was very hot, and the door had been closed, that graver ears might -not hear their laughter. - -Jacky sat in the midst, her dark face glowing keen and bright. She was -reciting vigorously that doleful adventure of the luckless Sir Artegall. -The woman's weedes put upon him by the disdainful Amazon; the white -apron--the distaff in his hand, "that he thereon should spin both flax -and tow;" his low place among the brave knights, whom he found "spinning -and carding all in comely row;" and - - "---- forst through penury and pyne, - To doe these works to their appointed dew, - For nought was given them to sup or dyne, - But what their hands could earn by twisting linen twyne." - -A very sad thing, doubtless, for the hapless Sir Artegall, and -furnishing very sufficient occasion for the "deep despight" and "secret -shame" of his lofty and royal Lady Britomart, but by no means calculated -to impress any deep feeling of pity or compassion upon that somewhat -ungovernable knot of youngsters.--Flora Macalpine, too kindly and -good-humored to hurt Jacky's feelings, had bent her head down upon her -knee to hide her laughter; Johnnie Halflin leaned against the -mantelpiece, shaking with secret earthquakes; Bessie had her head turned -to the door, and was gazing at it steadily, and biting her rosy lip. -They had all an awe of Jacky. It would not do, however. That picture, -with its gradual heightening; at last the sad honor of the unfortunate -knight, steadily spinning in his woman's weedes, because his word was -pledged to the despightful Radigund,--there was a general explosion--it -was impossible to withstand that. - -Jacky stopped suddenly, and withdrew from the laughters in lofty -offence. She herself had a perception of the allegory, and was hurt and -wounded at its reception, as we see greater people sometimes, whose -myths a laughing world will persist in receiving as rather grotesque -than sublime. - -Jacky was almost sulky; she sat down in the shade, and turned her head -resolutely away. Flora drew near to her in deprecatory humbleness. Jacky -resisted and resented proudly. - -Just then the door opened; the tall man, leaning on Archibald -Sutherland's arm, gave a nervous start. Archibald had begun to weary of -his station here, at the window of the housekeeper's room. His friend -and employer, Mr. Sinclair was exhibiting a singular fancy to-night. He -looked in wonderingly to see the reason of the sudden start. - -It was only the entrance of two little girls; one of them blooming and -ruddy, with radiant golden hair. The other paler, with a little frock -of black silk, and eyes like the night--wistful, spiritual, dark. - -"What ails Jacky?" said the new comer. - -"Oh, if ye please, Miss Lilie," said Bessie eagerly, "we werena meaning -ony ill; we only laughed." - -Lilie slid gently within Jacky's arm--drew down the hand which supported -her head, and whispered in her ear--the arm of Mr. Sinclair quivering -all this time most strangely, as it leaned upon his friend's. - -"Dinna be angry," whispered Lilie; "I want you to say Alice Brand. Mary -never heard it; never mind them. Say Alice Brand to Mary and me." - -"Oh! ay, Jacky," echoed Bessie and Johnnie together, "say Alice Brand; -it's a real bonnie thing." - -Jacky was mollified; after a brief pause, caressing Lilie, she began the -ballad. Little Mary Ferguson, with the fire-light gleaming in her golden -hair, stood, leaning on the shoulder of her favorite Flora. Lilie was at -Jacky's knee, lifting up her face of earnest childish interest, and -listening with all her might. Without, in the darkness stood the -stranger, eagerly looking in, and holding Archibald's arm. - -The first notes of Alice Aytoun's song were sounding up stairs. -Archibald Sutherland stood still, but with eyes that wandered somewhat, -and a considerable weariness. This was a most strange freak of Mr. -Sinclair's--he could not comprehend it. - -Her story possessed Jacky and inspired her. She rose as it swelled to -its climax, and spoke louder.-- - - "It was between the night and day - When the Fairy folk have power - That I fell down in a sinful fray, - And twixt life and death was snatched away, - To the joyless, elfin bower. - - But wist I of a woman bold, - Who thrice my brow durst sign, - I might regain my mortal mould - As fair a form as thine. - - She crossed him once, she crossed him twice, - That lady was so brave; - The fouller grew his goblin hue, - The darker turned the cave, - - She crossed him thrice, that lady bold, - He rose beneath her hand, - The fairest knight on Scottish mold, - Her brother, Ethert Brand! - - 'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood."-- - -The quick elfin eye shot a glance out into the darkness, and saw the -listening figures there; the well-known face of young Strathoran! Jacky -steadily finished the verse--committed Lilie into the hands of Flora -Macalpine, and shutting the door of the house-keeper's room carefully -behind her, opened the outer one, and admitted the strangers. - -She conducted them up stairs in her own still, excited, elfin way; the -fumes of the ballad hanging about her still. Mr. Sinclair grasped -Archibald's arm, as they reached the door of the inner room, and held -him back. The plaintive hopeful music was floating out again upon the -soft shadows of the darkening night. - - "Speed thy labor o'er land and sea, - Home and kindred are waiting for thee." - -They entered, Jacky gliding in before them to light the candles which -stood upon the table. Mrs. Catherine started up in overwhelming -surprise--so did Anne and Alice. There was a loud exclamation, "Whence -come you, gallant and what brings you home?" and a confused uncertain -welcoming of Archibald. Then they became calmer, and he introduced Mr. -Sinclair. At this stranger, Jacky when she brought the lights, had -thrown a long, keen scrutinising glance. There seemed an agitated -uncertainty about him, which contrasted strangely with his firm lip and -clear eye. They were seated again at last. A mysterious agitation had -fallen upon them all, which Archibald could not comprehend. To this -new-comer Mrs. Catherine's large gray eyes were travelling continually. -Anne, with nervous timid glances, turned to him again and again. Mr. -Sinclair himself, generally so frank, and full of universal sympathies, -was confused and tremulous, speaking incoherently, and saying things -which had no meaning; Archibald was greatly astonished--even little -Alice Aytoun began to steal shy glances at the stranger. - -Archibald made a sign to Anne, and rising went out--Anne followed. He -was in high spirits, great in hope, and with prospects more cheering -than he had ever dreamt of. He began to speak of them as she met him at -the door. - -"Who is he? who is he?" exclaimed Anne eagerly. - -Archibald looked at her in amazement. "My employer and friend, Mr. -Sinclair, Anne. What is the matter? I have come home with him at his own -special desire. He intends--" - -Jacky had been hovering on the stairs. She came up to the door where -they were standing, and looked at them wistfully, "Oh if ye please, Miss -Anne--" - -"What is it, Jacky?" - -Jacky could not tell what it was. She sat down on the stair, and put -her hands up to her face, and began to cry--her excitement overpowering -her. - -"I cannot bear this," said Anne, wringing her hands nervously. "Jacky," -she whispered in her ear--the girl shot down stairs like a spirit. - -"Anne!" exclaimed Archibald, "something ails you. I beg you to tell me -what it is." - -"Afterwards--afterwards--" said Anne, hastily. "Go in now, Archibald. -Jacky, come--" - -Jacky returned, leading little Lilie by the hand. Archibald in silent -amazement, went in again to the inner drawing-room. Anne followed him -with the child, her face deadly pale, her form trembling. - -Mrs. Catherine had changed the position of the lights on the table--one -of them threw the profile of the stranger in clear shadow on the -wall--she was looking with a singular scrutiny on the face, and on the -shade of it. Little Alice Aytoun looked almost afraid. Mr. Sinclair was -as confused and agitated as ever. - -Lilie came in--she drew near Archibald timidly, with some remembrance of -having seen him before; behind her, Anne stood in stiff excitement, -watching her motions. - -Suddenly the child's quick eye caught the stranger. Mr. Sinclair's arms -moved tremulously. Lilie looked--wavered--turned back--looked again, her -dark eyes dilating--her face full of childish earnestness. The time--the -distance--the slight child's-memory--these did not make darkness enough, -to veil from her remembrance the well-known face. The child sprang -forward to the arms of the strong man, who sat trembling there under her -simple scrutiny; she uttered a cry--Anne only could distinguish the -latter words of it--they were enough, "My papa!" - -And Mrs. Catherine rose, drawing up her stately figure to its full -height, in solemn, judicial dignity, and advanced to the side of the -father and child, "I bid you joyous, righteous, peaceful welcome; Norman -Rutherford, I bid you welcome to your own name and land!" - -And this was he! after eighteen years of labor and pain and -banishment--an assumed name, a strange country, a toilsome life--in joy -and peace and honor, Norman Rutherford had returned again to his own -fatherland. - -But their joy was too deep and still to bear recording; the manner of -their rejoicing, the forms of their thankfulness were not such as we can -dwell on. The serenity of deep and holy happiness, the exuberance of -new-found blessings!--we cherish those things too deeply in our inmost -hearts to speak of them; for we are very still, when we are very -blessed, in Scotland! - -At Portoran he had left Christian, Marion, and his son. He had promised -to return to them immediately, with Anne and Lilie. Mrs. Catherine's -carriage was ordered for them, and they drove round by Merkland. Anne -sat, her heart beating joyously, by the side of her new-found brother. -Little Lilie was nestling in the darkness in her father's arm, pouring -forth a stream of questions about mamma and Lawrie. All the three were -half weeping yet, in the tumult and excitement of their joy. The past, -with all that was dark and painful in it, was lost in the present -brightness; peace, security--the bond of tender and near relationship no -longer a secret thing, but recognised now in joy and triumph, an abiding -gladness all their days. The brother and sister united now for the first -time in their lives, felt no restraining chillness of new -acquaintanceship. They knew each other, and rejoiced, with tender pride -and thanksgiving, in their kindred. - -They stopped at Merkland--leading his child by the hand, and supporting -Anne on his arm, Norman Rutherford entered the house of his fathers. His -naturally buoyant step was restrained by a grave dignity; the memory of -the dead hung over these walls--a thousand sad and potent remembrances -were rising in the in the exile's heart--but withal he had been -_doubted_ here. He knew that, as it seemed instinctively, and drawing -his sister's hand more closely through his arm, they entered Mrs. Ross's -sitting-room together. - -He stood gravely at the door waiting for his welcome. Lilie looked up -wonderingly in his face; he held her hand with such gentle firmness, -that she could not run to the wondering grand-mamma, who sat there -staring suspiciously at the new comers. Mrs. Aytoun rose--neglected -wives, sad and sorrowful, remember those who feel for their hidden -troubles delicately. She came forward, she looked at him, she held out -her hands, "Welcome, welcome home." - -Mrs. Ross was looking at him now eagerly. James and Lewis had both -risen--so did she. "Who is this, Anne?" exclaimed Lewis: "Lilie, who is -this gentleman?" - -Mrs. Ross's better angel visited her for that white moment. She advanced -before either Anne or Lilie could answer. "It is your brother, -Lewis--your brother Norman; Norman, you are welcome home." - -And then a subdued and tender radiance came shining from the eyes of the -returned son. He led Mrs. Ross to her chair--he called her mother. In -the revulsion of his generous heart, thinking he had done her wrong, he -forgot the dark wedding-day long ago which had brought her, a strange -ruler, to Merkland, and which he spent by his own mother's grave. With -Lilie on the little stool at her feet, and Norman doing her reverence, -and all the rest joyous and glad about her, Mrs. Ross forgot it also. - -He was to return to Merkland, she insisted, with his wife, their sister, -and their son. The old house would hold them all. Norman's dark eyes -brightened into deep radiance. He kissed the harsh step-mother's -hand--he had done her wrong. - -Then he drew Anne's arm through his own once more, and leaving Lilie in -the carriage, in charge of Mrs. Catherine's careful coachman, went down -Oranside to Esther Fleming's cottage; but in Esther's recognition there -was neither pause nor doubt. The manly bronzed cheek, the dark hair with -its streaks of grey--she did not linger to look at these. She heard the -light elastic step, the voice so dearly known of old--and it was her -beautiful laddie, her bairn, her son--not the grave man, who had more -than reached the highest arch of his life--about whose neck the old -woman threw her withered arms, as she lifted up her voice and wept. - -At last they reached Portoran. The Marion, the little sister of -Christian Lillie, had a face of thoughtful gracious beauty, such as -gladdens the eye and heart alike; a saintly peaceful face, in which the -strength of Christian and the weakness of Patrick were singularly -blended, for she was like them both. The plough of sorrow had not carved -its iron furrows on her fair brow, as it had done on Christian's. The -sunshine of her smile was only chastened with natural tears for the dead -brother who had gone to his rest; he was not her all in all as he had -been Christian's. - -No, for the little girl rejoicing in a childish exuberance of joy and -tenderness already in her arms; the beautiful, bold, gallant boy, who -stood beside her chair; the radiant dark face of the father and husband -looking upon them with tremulous delight and pride--had all a share. -Christian too, whose heroic work was done, and the new-found sister -Anne; there was warm room for them all in the large heart of Marion -Rutherford. The burning fire of bitter grief had not intensified her -love upon one--she was the family head, the house-mother--full of all -gracious affections and sympathies, hopes and happiness. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. - - -Mrs. Ross was inspired--how or by what means we are not sufficiently -good metaphysicians to be able to specify--but inspired she was! It -might be that all the court that had been paid to her of late had -softened the adamantine heart: it only concerns us to know that softened -it was. She took immediate counsel with May; she had fires lighted in -half a dozen bed-chambers. Then the wainscotted parlor was made -radiant--a fire in its grate "enough," as Duncan said with an -involuntary grumble, "to keep the decent folk at the Brig of Oran in -eliding frae this till Canlemas"--and additional candles upon its table. -Then Mrs. Ross did something more wonderful than all this--the very -climax and copestone of her unwonted melting of heart. She sent Duncan -mysteriously up stairs to the attic lumber-room with secret -instructions. May and Barbara lingered in wonder to what was coming. - -A great thing was coming--covered with dust, and grumbling audibly, -Duncan re-appeared in ten minutes, carrying in his arms a picture--the -portrait of the lost son of the house of Merkland--the boy's face of the -exiled Norman, dethroned from its standing in his father's house for -eighteen weary year. - -It was restored again now, and when Mrs. Ross having dismissed the -servants sat down alone in her bright room, through the dark polished -walls of which the warm lights were gleaming pleasantly, to wait for her -guests; the unclouded sunshine of the bold, frank, fearless boy's face -shone upon her for the first time. It had enough of the indefinite -family resemblance, to bring her own Lewis before her mind. Lewis had -gone up to the Tower, but was to return immediately. His mother sat in -the parlor alone, more cheerily than was her wont, for the blood was -warming about her heart. - -And then they arrived--the whole of them, with all their different -manifestations of joy; the mother Marion starting in delight at what she -thought the portrait of her own bright Lawrie, and Norman himself -heaping up in such generous measure his delicate amends of honor and -attention to the step-mother, whom he fancied he had wronged. She -remembered him so different once, in his impetuous youth, that the -compliment was all the greater now. - -Christian and Anne sat by the fire in a quiet corner. Lawrie, proud of -his new kindred, and bashfully exultant over them all, hovered between -them and the uncle Lewis, whose good looks and independent young manhood -already powerfully attracted the boy: while on either side of Mrs. Ross -herself sat Norman and Marion, and Lilie loyal to the newly-come mamma, -joining her childish talk to theirs; and all so willing and eager to do -honor to the head of the household--the sole remnant of an older -generation. Deep peace fell upon Merkland that night in all its many -chambers--deeper than had been there before for years. - -The evening was not far spent when Archibald Sutherland stole in among -them, not unwelcome, and with him to the gate of Merkland--no -further--came Marjory Falconer; she had one word to say to Anne. Anne -went to her at the gate; it was almost a relief in all this gladness to -have a minute's breathing time. - -"I came to congratulate you, Anne," said Marjory breathlessly. The moon -was up, and at some little distance a tall dark shadow fell across the -Oran, which Anne smiled to see. "To wish you manifold joy of all the -arrivals--_all_, Anne. If I come down to-morrow, will you introduce me -to your brother?" - -"Surely, Marjory," said Anne, "but why not come to-night?" - -"I might have come if you had married Ralph," said Marjory laughing, -"but as it is, a stranger must not intermeddle with your joy. No, -no--but I shall come to see them all to-morrow. By the by--" - -"What, Marjory?" - -"Oh, not much--only speaking of Ralph--I have found her at last; I have -fairly laid my hands upon her. To-morrow I shall have her safely housed -in Falcon's Craig!" - -"Who is it?--what do you mean?" - -"The daughter of Nimrod! the mighty huntress! I have got her all safe, -Anne. I invite you to a wedding at Falcon's Craig in three months. I -give them three months to do it in." - -"You should know the necessary time," said Anne smiling.--"Shall there -not be two, Marjory?" - -"Hush," said Marjory gaily, "or I will retaliate. Now I must go. Mrs. -Catherine is quite out of sorts for the want of you, Anne; and Alice is -drooping as prettily as possible. Why did not your Norman come last -night, and then we might--all of us--have rejoiced over him at the -Tower?" - -The next morning, the first excitement of their joy over, the three -sisters sat together in the Merkland parlor. Mrs. Ross was -superintending various domestic matters. Lewis was at the Tower. Norman -had gone out with his son. Christian, Marion, and Anne were sitting -together, with Lilie on her stool at their feet, communing "of all that -was in their heart"--and that was much. - -"It was very strange to us," said Marion, "I cannot tell you how -strange, to hear from Mr. Sutherland--of Merkland, of you, of ourselves. -He told us our own story--so much as he knew of it, and sought our -sympathy and pity for his friends. Strangely--most strangely--did we -feel as he spoke." - -"I did not think Archie would have spoken of a thing so private," said -Anne. - -"Nay, do not blame him," said Marion. "He saved our Lawrie's life a few -days after his arrival; and that of course, even if he had possessed -fewer good qualities of his own, must have at once opened our hearts, -and our house to him. But we liked him for himself, and he seemed to -like us; and then as we knew him better, the home he spoke of, the names -he mentioned, were very music to Norman's ears. I cannot tell you, -Anne--you cannot fancy--how your brother has longed and yearned for the -home we dared not return to." - -There was a pause. - -"And then," continued Marion, "as he gradually became, a member of our -family, and a very dear friend, we gradually received his confidence. He -spoke one night of 'little Alice Aytoun.' The name startled us both. -Norman asked who she was--and then, Anne--by degrees we heard our own -story--very sad and mysterious he thought it, although he knew not, -Christian, the half of its sadness. But Anne, he said, was convinced of -the innocence of her dead brother, and was full of hope for the -vindication of his memory. 'Who is Anne?' I asked. Mr. Sutherland looked -astonished for a moment, and then slightly embarrassed. He seemed to -think it strange that there should be any one who did not know. Anne; -and, sister Anne, he did you justice. We were strangely excited that -night, Norman and I. I could not prevail upon him to go to rest. He -walked about the room with a mixture of joy and fear on his face, that -only people who have known such a position as ours could realize, -repeating to himself, 'Anne--the child--my little sister Anne!' It was -balm to him to think that you had faith in him, and hope for him; and -yet he was full of fear lest he should endanger"-- - -Marion paused--the tears came into her eyes; she looked at Christian. - -"Go on, Marion," said Christian, leaning her head upon her hand. "Go -on--he is safe now, and past all peril." - -"Our poor Patrick!" exclaimed his younger sister, "my gentle, -broken-hearted, sad brother! At that time when the eighteenth year was -nearly past, Norman was afraid--Norman was full of terror, lest any -exertion made for him should disturb the peace of Patrick. He was as -willing to suffer for him then, as he was when he went away--that -terrible time!" - -"Do not think of it," said Christian. "We are all at peace now, Marion, -living and dead; and he the safest, peacefullest, most joyous of us -all." - -"And then he told us of Lilie," said Marion after a long silence. "And -how you, Anne, became attached to the little stranger child; and we -listened, endeavoring to look as if we did not know or care--I wonder at -myself how I succeeded." - -"And did you never tell him?" said Anne. - -"No. Norman reserved it as a surprise to him when they should reach -Strathoran. He wondered, I could see, why we were so anxious to come -here, but he did not ask. Norman regards him almost as a younger -brother. He is very anxious that he should have a situation more -suitable for him, than the one he held at Buenos Ayres; but he will -tell you his arrangements himself;--where is Norman?" - -He was out, no one knew where he was. - -He was at that moment stooping his lofty head, to enter the door-way of -a solitary cottage--a very mean and poor one--at some distance from the -Brig of Oran. Its inhabitant in former days had known Mr. Norman of -Merkland well. She had been an old woman when he left home--she was a -very old woman, decrepid and feeble, now; yet on the first day after his -return, his kindly remembrance of old days carried the restored Laird, -the great merchant, to the cottage of the "old Janet," who had given him -apples and bannocks in his youth. - -And in the long walk they took, the father and son made many similar -visits, to the great amazement of Lawrie, who knowing his father a -reserved grave man, called proud by strangers, was very greatly at a -loss how to account for these many friendships. The hearty kindliness of -these old cottage people, in which there was fully as much affection as -awe, and the frank familiarity of his father, puzzled Lawrie mightily. -He did by no means understand it. - -They had begun with Esther Fleming's house--they ended with the Tower. -Between these two, besides the cottage visitations we have mentioned, -with all the joyful wonder of their recognitions, they visited a -grave--a grave which had received another name since Norman Rutherford -left his fatherland, and on which Lawrie read with awe and reverence, -names of his ancestry the same as his own, and near the end, that of -"Lawrence Ross, aged 15," his own age, who was his uncle. - -In the meantime, at a solemn private conference in the little room, Mrs. -Catherine was receiving Archibald's report. - -"Mr. Sinclair's proposal to me," said Archibald, "is of so liberal a -kind that I feel almost ashamed to accept it. Mr. Lumsden, the manager -at Glasgow, has been received as junior partner into the firm, and is -intended to succeed Mr. Sinclair at Buenos Ayres. Mr. Sinclair offers me -Mr. Lumsden's situation in Glasgow, in the meantime, as he says, with a -speedy prospect of entering the house. He himself intends to withdraw, -and he talks of my chance of taking his place in the firm. This for me, -who went out a poor clerk only a year ago, looks ridiculously Utopian; -but the managership--Mr. Lumsden's situation, is sure--and it is higher -than, in ordinary circumstances, I could have hoped to rise for years." - -"I am glad of it--I am heartily glad to hear it, Archie," said Mrs. -Catherine. "That you should leave your lawful labor is no desire of -mine; but I have that to tell that concerns you more than even this. -Have you heard any tidings yet, of the cattle you left in Strathoran?" - -Archibald changed color, and said "No." - -"Then it has not been told you that your father's house is within your -reach again; that Strathoran is to be sold." - -"To be sold!" Archibald started to his feet; his temples began to throb, -his heart to beat--within his reach and yet how very far removed, for -where could he find means to redeem his inheritance. "To be sold!" - -"Yes. Archie Sutherland, to be sold--what say you to that?" He did not -say anything to it; he pressed his hand to his brow and groaned. - -"What ails you? sit down upon your seat this moment, and hearken to me; -what say you to that?" - -"I have nothing to say, Mrs. Catherine; it takes from me my great hope. -There is no possibility of recovering it now, and what chance is there -of any opportunity again. It is not likely to change hands thrice in one -life-time." - -"Archie," said Mrs. Catherine, "you are but a silly heart, after all. I -thought not to have seen the beads on your brow for this matter. Sit -down upon your seat I bid you, and hearken to me. I am not without -siller as you know, seeing it is no such great space of time since a -Laird of Strathoran made petition to me, to serve him in this Mammon; -that you should have forgotten. I was slow then, for you were in the way -of evil, Archie; but ill as you were, you know I was nearly tempted to -cast away my siller, into the self-same mire in which you lost -Strathoran, for the sake of Isabel Balfour and him that was her trysted -bridegroom.--Now, Archie Sutherland, it is my hope that your eyes are -opened to see the right course of man; which is not idleset and the mean -pleasures of it, but honorable work and labor that the sun may shine -upon, and God and your fellows see. Think not that I mean the making of -siller; I mean a just work, whatsoever, is appointed you, to be done in -honor and bravery, and in the fear of God. So as it is my hope you -perceive this at last, you shall have your lands again, Archie. Not, -that I desire you to return to Strathoran, as if you had never done ill. -Go your ways and labor: you will return a better and a blyther man, that -you have redeemed your inheritance with the work of your own hands. In -the meantime, I myself will redeem it for you; I give you back the name -your fathers have borne for ages. See that it descends to your bairns -for their inheritance, Strathoran. And now I see Norman Rutherford at -the door; go and take counsel with him for your further travail and -leave me to my meditations." - -And with kindly violence Mrs. Catherine shut the door of her sanctuary -upon the bewildered Archibald--then she seated herself opposite the -portrait of her brother, and gazed upon it long and earnestly. "Ay, -Sholto Douglas, he is Isabel's son, and what would you have left undone -for the bairn of Isabel?--and if he had been yours also, what is there -within the compass of mortal might, that I would have halted at for him? -He is Isabel's son--and it had not been ordered in a darker way, he -would have been your first-born, Sholto Douglas; the shadow of your -tenderness is upon the youth--he has none in this earth so near to him -as me." - -That day, there were various visitors at Merkland--Mrs. Catherine, the -Aytouns, Marjory Falconer; they met together at night in the Tower, all -joyous, hopeful, and at peace. - -But in the vicinity of the Tower, that evening, there hovered a knot of -stalwart men, uncertain as it seemed whether to enter or no. The younger -ones were for pressing forward; the most eager among them was Angus -Macalpine, himself longing to become the head of a household, and -remembering Flora's limit "no till we get back to the glen;" but the -highest and most potent of the group hung back. - -"Man, Duncan, we're no wanting to vex him. I've as muckle honor for the -Laird as on a' man o' my name--only it's our right to have an answer. If -he's no gaun to buy back the land, maybe we could make favor wi' whaever -does. We belong to the ground, and the ground to us, Duncan--we've a -right to seek an answer at the hands of our chief." - -"It a' sounds very just that, Angus," said Big Duncan Macalpine; "but -the Laird's a distressed man, that hasna siller to give for the -redemption of his inheritance and ours. Think ye onything but extremity -could have garred him time the lands as he did? or think ye there can be -siller enough gathered in ae year to buy back Strathoran? I tell ye, -lads, I ken the Laird, and if he's maybe wasted his substance like a -prodigal--I dinna dispute he has, and we're a' bearing the burden--he -keeps aye a kind heart. Now, here are we, coming to him, young men and -auld of us, that have been hunted from our hames. He kens it's his wyte, -and he kens he canna mend it; and what can we do but gie him a sair -heart, and what can he say but that it grieves him? If he had the power -we wad be hame again the morn; but he hasna the power, and wherefore -should we make his cup bitterer wi' putting our calamity before him and -saying it's his blame?" - -The reasoning of Big Duncan was strong like himself--the men fell -back--but Angus was still eager. - -"The auld man at the ingleside wrestles night and day to get quiet -deein' in his ain house in the glen. He's wandered in his mind since -ever yon weary day--aye, when he's no at his exercise--he's clear enough -then; and if ye heard him, just to get hame that he may fa' asleep in -peace, ye wadna be sae faint-hearted. I'm no meaning that you're -faint-hearted either; but the Laird hasna had sae muckle thought o' us, -that we should be sae mindfu' o' him." - -"You're an inconsiderate lad, Angus," said Big Duncan; "but for the auld -man's sake we may wait a while here. Maybe the Laird may pass this -gate--yonder's somebody." - -"It's the Laird," exclaimed Angus--forward as he had been before, he -shrank back now. The man who had opposed the measure was left to be the -spokesman. - -Archibald had observed them from a window, and came towards them -rapidly. Duncan lifted his bonnet--no servile sign, as smaller spirits -in the arrogance of their so-called equality would assert, but the -independent respect of an honorable poor man, who in his chief's good -fame had an individual stake, and was himself honored. He was at some -loss how to frame his speech. - -"I trust," said Archibald, hastily, "I trust I shall have it in my power -very shortly to redress your wrongs. You have suffered innocently--I -justly; but we have both had some trials of faith and patience since we -last met. Trust me the power shall not be in my hands a moment sooner -than the will, to make amends to you for your loss--the bitterest hour -of all this bitter twelvemonth was the one in which I heard of your -wrong. There are two months yet between us, and the time which shall -decide the proprietorship of Strathoran. I hope then, through my -friend's help, to be able to redeem my inheritance and yours--if I -succeed, have no fear--I will not spend an hour in unnecessary delay -till you again enter Oranmore in peace." - -These men did not cheer him--we are by no means loud in our -demonstrations in Scotland--but their rough features moved and melted, -and some eyelids swelled full. Archibald was a little excited too. - -"So far as I have caused this, Macalpines, you forgive your chief?" He -held out his hand--it was grasped with a silent fervor which spoke more -eloquently than words. Tall Angus Macalpine, who touched his chief's -hand last of all, could have thrown himself down at his feet, and craved -his pardon. He did not do that; but would have rejoiced with mighty joy, -as he flew down Oranside that night, to tap at the nursery window of -Woodsmuir and carry Flora the news, to have had an opportunity of -_douking_, knocking down, or in any way discomfiting "ony man that -daured to mint an ill word of the Laird!" - -Upon the appointed day little Alice Aytoun was married--Ada Mina -Coulter, as having experience of the office, serving her in the capacity -of bridesmaid, while Anne and Marjory were merely lookers on; the latter -not without consideration of the proprieties of this same momentous -ceremony, so soon to be repeated in a case where she could not be merely -a spectator. - -For Marjory's bold experiment was succeeding beautifully. Her visitor, -Sophy Featherstonehaugh, the mighty huntress over whom she exulted, was -half a Northumbrian, and half a maiden of the Merse--the daughter of a -foxhunting Squire, a careless, good-humored, frank, daring girl, who -could guide a vicious horse, or sing you "a westerly wind, and a cloudy -sky," with any sportsman in the land. Poor Sophy was an only -child--motherless from her infancy; the lands of her weak, boisterous, -indulgent father were strictly entailed, and he seemed to have deadened -any fatherly anxieties he might have had for leaving his daughter -penniless, by fooling her to the top of her bent, so long as he remained -lord of his own impoverished acres. But he died at last--and with an -immense mastery over horses, and sufficiently cunning in all sports of -the field to have filled the place of huntsman to some magnifico, and -withal with a dowry of two hundred pounds, Sophy Featherstonehaugh, the -daughter of an old and honorable family, was thrown upon the charities -of the world. - -A precise aunt in Edinburgh, with a great nursery-full of children, gave -her a reluctant invitation. The innocent lady fancied Sophy's services -might be turned to good account as a sort of unpaid nursery-governess. -She was not long in discovering her mistake. Sophy had not been a week -in charge, when the walls of the nursery rang with a shrill "Tally-ho!" -of many juvenile voices. The next morning, Master Harry demanded from -his astonished papa a horse, and coolly proposed turning over his pony -to his sister, little Sophy, who earnestly seconded the embryo -sportsman. Their mother was dismayed. She resolved to have a solemn -forenoon conference with her unpaid nursery-governess, to ascertain what -all this meant. When she reached the schoolroom door, she paused to -listen. Alas! it was not any lesson that kept that little group so -steadily round their teacher. It was one of those barbarous ballads with -which a "northern harper rude" horrified the ears of the cultured -Marmion, in Norham's castled keep, celebrating the exploits of a -Featherstonehaugh. The aunt stood horror-stricken at the door--not long, -however, for Sophy, with her loud, frank, good-humored voice, was -already transgressing still more unpardonably, and in a moment after the -boisterous chorus of "A hunting we will go--eho--eho--eho!" pierced the -ears of the hapless mother, ringing from the shrill, united voices of -all her children. - -There was no more to be said after that: in unutterable wrath, poor -Sophy was sent off immediately, in spite of her indignant remonstrances, -and her twenty years, to a boarding-school in the neighborhood of -Strathoran, the principal of which was informed of her past riotous -behavior, and begged, with much bitterness by the aunt, to do what she -could to make the girl human. - -The girl's bold spirit rose at this--she, a Featherstonehaugh? But she -had no kindred in the wide world to turn to, and even her poor two -hundred pounds was mulcted for the payment of the year's stipend to the -boarding-school. In these circumstances, Marjory Falconer became -acquainted with her, and in a week thereafter, free from all -governesses, or attempts to humanize, the bold Featherstonehaugh was -triumphantly reining the wildest horse in the Falcon's Craig stables, -while Ralph rode in delight and admiration by her side, and Marjory, -standing at the door, said joyously, within herself: - -"She has a firm hand--she can hold the reins--she will do!" - -Marjory was by far too wise, however, to trust Ralph with her intention; -but she made much of the frank, good-humored Sophy, and looked forward -in good hopes. - -The day arrived for the re-purchase of Strathoran, and Mr. Foreman and -Mr. Ferguson, in the abscence of all competitors, joyfully redeemed the -inheritance of Archibald Sutherland, at a price considerably below its -real value. - -"Come light--gang light," said the lawyer, emphatically. "We give them -more for it than they gave us." - -There had been negotiations entered into with the Southland -sheep-farmer, whose farm comprised the glen of Oranmore, and he readily -accepted in lieu of it, for the justice sake, and to oblige the Laird, -an equal extent of land elsewhere. In wild eagerness, the Macalpines -threw themselves into their glen, and wrought so furiously at their -dismantled houses, that in a very short time after the sale the -longed-for homes stood complete again, ready for the joyful flitting. - -And then, upon a balmy day of early April the clansfolk returned, in -solemn procession, to their home. The bustle of removal was over--the -lofty tone of those mountain people made a grave ceremonial of their -return. In the glen, beneath the soft, blue sky, and genial spring -sunshine, they gathered together to thank God; and, with the blue -heights rising over them, and the fair low-country swelling soft and -green at their feet, and the peaceful cottar houses round, with fire -upon their hearths, and lowly, protecting roofs once more, they lifted -up their voices in psalms: - - "Lord, Thou hast been our dwelling place - In generations all, - Before Thou ever hadst brought forth - The mountains great and small. - Ere ever Thou hadst formed the earth, - Or all the world abroad, - Even Thou from everlasting art - To everlasting God." - -And then, their minister standing by the while, Duncan Macalpine the -elder, of Oranmore, rendered thanks to God. - -Archibald Sutherland denied himself this gladness. It invigorated him in -the dingy manager's room of the Glasgow counting-house to hear of it, -but he felt he had no claim to the triumph. Mr. Ferguson was there, -radiant with honest glee, and Mr. Lumsden from Portoran, his face -covered with a dark glow of simple delight and sympathy. And there was -little Lilie, and Mary Ferguson, solemnly invited to take tea with Flora -and Angus, on their first entry into their new house, and Anne and -Marjory, with Lawrie for their gallant, were in charge of the children -and a straggling back-ground of well-wishers from Merkland and the -Tower, filled up the rear. - -The months wore peacefully on. Esther Fleming's son had returned to her, -and only did not become captain of a schooner, which called Norman owner -now, because he had enough, and preferred comfortably dwelling at home, -greatly honored by his foster-brother, and very proud of the -relationship, while, withal, his mother's little housekeeper-niece did -so seriously incline to hear his stories of sea perils and victories, -that the rustic neighbors already in prophetic anticipation, had some -half dozen times proclaimed the banns of William Fleming. - -Norman Rutherford and his family were settled peacefully in the now -bright and cheerful house of Redheugh. Anne was with them. Little Alice, -the blythest of young wives, kept Merkland bright and busy. There was -word in Edinburgh of some rich young Indian lady, who had thrown her -handkerchief on James. - -And before the three months were fully expired, Anne Ross accepted -Marjory Falconer's invitation, and was present at a wedding-party in -Falcon's Craig. A double wedding--at which Mr. Lumsden, of Portoran, -placed in the stout hand of Sophy Featherstonehaugh the reins of the -ruder animal Ralph Falconer, of Falcon's Craig, and immediately -thereafter submitted in his turn to the same important ceremony, -performed in his case by the brother Robert, of Gowdenleas, in the midst -of an immense assemblage of kindred, Andrew of Kilfleurs standing by. - -And prosperous were these weddings. Good-humored, kindly, and of -tolerable capacity, the bold Sophy had improved under her -sister-in-law's powerful tutorage. She _had_ a firm hand. The boisterous -Ralph felt the reins light upon him, yet was kept in bounds, and -by-and-by Sophy left the management of wild horses entirely in his -hands. She got other important things to manage--obstreperous atoms of -humanity, wilder than their quadruped brethren, and scarce less strong. - -And with her old chimeras scattered to the winds, in lofty lowliness, -and chastened strength, Marjory Falconer entered her Manse, the -minister's stout-hearted and pure-minded wife. One hears no more of the -rights of women now--bubbles of such a sort do not float in the rare -atmosphere of this household--there is nothing in them congenial with -the sunshine of its blythe order and freedom. - -For granting that our Calvinism is gloomy, and our Presbyterian -temperament sour, one wonders how universal this household warmth and -joyousness should be beneath the roof-trees of those strong, pure men, -whom the intolerant world upbraids with the names of bigot, hypocrite, -and pharisee. One could wish to have this same intolerant bigot world -make a tour of these Scottish Manses, from which it might return, -perchance, able to give a rational judgment on the doctrine and order of -Christ's Holy Evangel, as we have held it in Scotland from the days of -our fathers until now; at least might have its evil speaking hushed into -silence before the devout might, which labors for the hire, not of -silver and gold, but of saved souls--and the sunny godliness which is -loftiest gain. - -There is a rumor in the Lumsden family that, upon one evening shortly -after the marriage, a certain chapter of the Epistle to the Ephesians, -containing a verse which married ladies do mightily stumble at, was read -in regular course: on which occasion, says the mirthful Sister Martha of -the Portoran Manse, one could detect the shadow of a comic inflection in -the voice of the household priest, while his wife with a certain grave -doggedness, slightly bowed her strong head before the unpalatable -command. - -We cannot tell how the truth of this story may be, but Sister Martha -laughs when she tells it, and Marjory blushes her violent blush, and the -minister looks on with his characteristic smile of simple -unsophisticated glee. But we can vouch for it, that Mrs. Lumsden of -Portoran has become a renowned church-lawyer, mighty in the "Styles," -and great in the forms of process; whose judgment maintains itself -triumphantly in face of a whole Synod, and whose advice in complicated -matters, of edicts, or calls, or trials, youthful reverends scant of -ecclesiastical jurisprudence, would do well to take. - -Only there is growing up in the Manse of Portoran a host of little -sun-burnt, dark-haired heads--all prosperity and increase to the -sparkling eyes and bold brows of them!--over whose rejoicing band a -little fairy sister, the joy of the minister's heart, exercises her -capricious sway, and sovereign tyranny. They are growing up, all of -them, to call Marjory blessed--already for their generous nurturing -"known in the gates" as hers--and hereafter still more to rejoice in the -strong, gladsome, sunshiny nature to which they owe their healthful -might and vigor. The prophecy and hope of her friend and counsellor is -fulfilled in full: "Strength and honor are her clothing. She opens her -mouth with wisdom, and in her lips is the law of kindness." - -The months passed on, and lengthened into years. Archibald Sutherland, -after good work in the manager's room, entered the firm triumphantly as -Norman's successor; before that, he had succeeded to the well-ordered -house in the vicinity of Blythswood Square, which had been occupied by -his predecessor Mr. Lumsden. People said it certainly needed a mistress, -and very wonderful were the rapidity of those successive occasions, on -which the Laird of Strathoran, clear-headed as men called him, found it -absolutely necessary to repair to Redheugh to seek counsel of his -friend. - -His sister Isabel had made a brilliant marriage; they had scarcely any -intercourse--unless some new misfortune should befall her she was lost -to her early friends. Mrs. Catherine and Mr. Ferguson, under Mr. -Coulter's advice, were managing his estate. Sentences oracular and -mysterious were sometimes heard falling from Mrs. Catherine's lips, in -which the names of "Archie" and "Anne" were conjoined. The house of -Strathoran had been thoroughly purified. Mrs. Catherine had made sundry -important additions to its plenishing; it was always kept in such order, -that its now prosperous and rising possessor might return to it, at -once. Anne was resident at the Tower sometimes, and knew of these -processes. They tended to some new change in the eventful life of Archie -Sutherland. - -The Rosses of Merkland were visiting the Rutherfords of Redheugh. In the -large sunny drawing-room, from whose ample windows sloped a lawn of -close and velvet greensward, the whole family were assembled. The elder -Mrs. Ross was mollified and melted; the younger gay and rejoicing. Lewis -was in high spirits--under the regimen approved and recommended by Mr. -Coulter, Lewis hoped to raise the rent-roll of Merkland a half more than -it had ever been. You could see now in the large wistful dark eyes of -Christian Lillie, only the subdued and serious tone proper to those who -have borne great griefs without brooding over them. There was an aspect -of serene peace and healthful pleasure over all the house. The three -sisters, Marion, Christian, and Anne, were sisters indeed. - -Without was a merrier group. Lilie Rutherford, with her youthful -gallant, Charlie Ferguson, now a High School boy, lodged in a closet of -his brother Robert's rooms, and frequent in his Saturday visits to -Redheugh; and Lawrie, growing a young man now, as he thought, and -dubious as to the propriety of keeping company with lesser boys and -girls, to whom he was very patronizing and condescending, stood by the -sun-dial; while in the background was Jacky, now waiting gentlewoman to -Miss Lilias Rutherford, a very great person indeed, and little Bessie, -young Mrs. Ross of Merkland's own maid. - -Lilie was coquetishly making inquiries of Bessie, touching the welfare -of Harry Coulter, whereat Charlie Ferguson grew irate and sulky. - -"And the young gentleman's biding at the Tower," said Bessie; "he's a -lord noo his ainsel--and he's been twice at Harrows." - -"Who is that?" said little Lilie. - -"Oh, if ye please, Miss Lilie," said Jacky, "it's a young gentleman that -was a lord's son, and now he's a lord himsel--and he's gaun to be -married to Mr. Harry's sister." - -"Eh, Jacky, what gars ye say such a thing?" cried Bessie. "If ye please, -Miss Lilie, naebody kens--only he's been twice at Harrows; but maybe -he's no courting Miss Coulter for a' that." - -"_I_ should think not," exclaimed Charlie Ferguson, indignantly. "Ada -Coulter married to a lord! Yes, indeed--and they can't talk of a single -thing at Harrows but fat pigs, and prize cattle, and ploughing matches. -Why, Lilie, do you mind what Harry gave you when you were at Merkland--a -plough! what can ladies do with ploughs?" - -"Mrs. Catherine has a great many ploughs, Charlie," said Lilie, -gravely--"and it was very good of Harry; and Mary and me might have -played with it all our lane, and we would not have needed you. I dinna -like boats--folk can plough at hame--but in boats they go over the sea." - -"And, eh, Jacky!" exclaimed Bessie, curiously, as Charlie followed his -capricious liege lady, to efface if he could this unfortunate -recollection of Harry Coulter and his gift--"isna young Strathoran awfu' -often at Redheugh?" - -"He's here whiles," said Jacky, briefly. - -"Johnnie Halflin says," said Bessie, "and it's a' through the -parish--and folk say Mrs. Catherine's just waiting for't, and that it's -to be in the Tower, and Mr. Lumsden is to do it, and Mrs. Lumsden kens -a' about it--" - -"About what?" - -"Oh, ye just ken better than me for a' you'll no say--just that young -Strathoran's coming out of yon muckle reekie Glasgow, hame to his ain -house, and then he's to be married to Miss Anne. Tell us, woman, -Jacky--I'll never tell a mortal body again, as sure as I'm living." - -Jacky's dark face lighted up--she knew this secret would bear telling, -even though Bessie broke faith. - -"We're a' gaun to the Tower at the New year--like the time Redheugh came -hame; Miss Lilie and Miss Anne, and a' the house--and young Strathoran's -to be there too. And Miss Anne has gotten a grand goun, a' of white -silk, shining like the snaw below the moon, and a shawl--ye never saw -the like o't--it's as lang as frae Merkland to the Tower. And maybe -something will happen then, and maybe no--Miss Anne wasna gaun to tell -me!" - - THE END. - - -Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber: - -Strathoram=> Strathoran {pg 16} - -Its not so much here=> It's not so much here {pg 19} - -hypocondriac=> hypochondriac {pg 24} - -Little Allice=> Little Alice {pg 26} - -dont=> don't {pg 29} - -strangers character=> stranger's character {pg 30} - -Mrs. Euphan Morrison=> Mrs. Euphan Morison {pg 26} - -downfal=> downfall {pg 44 & 45} - -its=> it's {pg 45} - -Archilbald Sutherland=> Archilbald Sutherland {pg 46} - -Mrs. Morrison=> Mrs. Morison {pg 51} - -peplexed=> perplexed {pg 53} - -momento=> memento {pg 56} - -Mrs. Euphan Morrison=> Mrs. Euphan Morison {pg 70} - -downfal=> downfall {pg 93} - -cousulting=> consulting {pg 68} - -dried and dyring=> dried and drying {pg 70} - -Bobert Ferguson=> Robert Ferguson {pg 72} - -with may messages=> with many messages {pg 78} - -Mr. Furguson=> Mr. Ferguson {pg 78} - -the the sad wayfaring man=> the sad wayfaring man {pg 88} - -and ruin and ruin=> and ruin {pg 93} - -her commads=> her commands {pg 93} - -where whispering=> were whispering {pg 94} - -orginal property=> original property {pg 97} - -There? there!=> There! there! {pg 97} - -stange unwonted=> stange unwonted {pg 99} - -sick mouth of waiting=> sick month of waiting {pg 106} - -sorow=> sorrow {pg 111} - -kneeling before his portait=> kneeling before his portrait {pg 112} - -Jackie Morison=> Jacky Morison {pg 116} - -petulent=> petulant {pg 122} - -tremulousley down again=> tremulously down again {pg 123} - -one littlemonth ago=> one little month ago {pg 126} - -solemn occassion=> solemn occasion {pg 127} - -the tears stealing over he cheeks=> the tears stealing over her cheeks -{pg 130} - -sinc ehe is=> since he is {pg 138} - -acrifice myself=> sacrifice myself {pg 139} - -Noman's guilt=> Norman's guilt {pg 141} - -Catherin'e lips=> Catherine's lips {pg 144} - -whose very nams=> whose very name {pg 145} - -passible opening=> possible opening {pg 146} - -elementary knowledged=> elementary knowledge {pg 146} - -lilie's learning=> Lilie's learning {pg 156} - -iu a lowland country=> in a lowland country {pg 158} - -Orandside=> Oranside {pg 162} - -desparate energy=> desperate energy {pg 167} - -houshold=> household {pg 172} - -Young Simpelton rose=> Young Sympelton rose {pg 177} - -remebrance=> remembrance {pg 182} - -disagreeble=> disagreeable {pg 189} - -undeserved repoofs from her=> undeserved reproofs from her {pg 195} - -Mr. Catherine's=> Mrs. Catherine's {pg 196} - -Mr. Suter=> Mr. Sutor {pg 198} - -well-dresed=> well-dressed {pg 198} - -Mrs. Duncome=> Mrs. Duncombe {pg 199} - -overbriming=> overbrimming {pg 199} - -the macalpines=> the macalpines {pg 205} - -Simson, begin your work=> Simpson, begin your work {pg 208} - -leave it instanly=> leave it instantly {pg 208} - -siting=> sitting {pg 215} - -The chaise had drived off=> The chaise had driven off {pg 216} - -Giles Sympleton=> Giles Sympelton {pg 217} - -people cofined within the limits=> people confined within the limits {pg -226} - -in ectasies=> in ecstasies {pg 234} - -guant woman=> gaunt woman {pg 236} - -contained the books Mrs. Yammer's household=> contained the books of -Mrs. Yammer's household {pg 237} - -having settle itself=> having settled itself {pg 242} - -terminated ar last=> terminated at last {pg 246} - -complete acquital=> complete acquittal {pg 246} - -Afer all=> After all {pg 247} - -Annes' heart=> Anne's heart {pg 247} - -and unven wall=> and uneven wall {pg 249} - -mahogony=> mahogany {pg 250} - -unceremniously=> unceremoniously {pg 251} - -bligted=> blighted {pg 255} - -Fizherbert=> Fitzherbert {pg 267} - -rustice wit=> rustic wit {pg 268} - -and when he rose a last=> and when he rose at last {pg 269} - -widow-still=> window-still {pg 271} - -Falcan's Craig=> Falcon's Craig {pg 271} - -smilling=> smiling {pg 273} - -I'ts my hope=> It's my hope {pg 278} - -three or foor miles=> three or four miles {pg 280} - -woud have done=> would have done {pg 280} - -descent=> decent {pg 280} - -cabages=> cabbages {pg 280} - -discusseed=> discussed {pg 281} - -betweeu=> between {pg 283} - -on the shore the sternly silent=> on the shore is sternly silent {pg -289} - -earthernware=> earthenware {pg 293} - -seperate=> separate {pg 307} - -Chrsitian's=> Christian's {pg 310} - -Mr. Yammer=> Mrs. Yammer {pg 313} - -litle=> little {pg 313} - -not come to soon=> not come too soon {pg 318} - -friends house=> friend's house {pg 319} - -sooth=> soothe {pg 320} - -thine own heaven=> Thine own heaven {pg 321} - -youg ladies=> young ladies {pg 332} - -Iu the first place=> In the first place {pg 333} - -the lest remembrance=> the least remembrance {pg 336} - -calmity=> calamity {pg 338} - -Christian Lillie had=> Christian Lilie had {pg 340} - -Christs holy=> Christ's holy {pg 343} - -the the end=> the end {pg 343} - -An odler man leaned on his arm=> An older man leaned on his arm {pg 348} - -as of he knew it=> as if he knew it {pg 348} - -Ail the three were half weeping ye=> All the three were half weeping ye -{pg 353} - -nuturing=> nurturing {pg 365} - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Merkland, by Mrs. Oliphant - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MERKLAND *** - -***** This file should be named 43811-8.txt or 43811-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/3/8/1/43811/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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