he was about nineteen that Helen, coming in to see
him with a message from her father, who wanted to speak to him about
some parish matters, found Lord Cairnforth deeply meditating over a
letter. He slipped it aside, however, and it was not until the whole
parish question had been discussed and settled, as somehow he and Helen
very often did settle the whole affairs of the parish between them, that
he brought it out again, fidgeting it out of his pocket with his poor
fingers, which seemed a little more helpless than usual.

"Helen, I wish you would read that, and tell me what you think about
it"?

It was a letter somewhat painful to read, with the earl sitting by and
watching her, but Helen had long learned never to shrink from these sort
of things. He felt them far less if every body else faced them as
boldly as he had himself always done.

The letter was from Dr. Hamilton, written after his return from a three
days' visit at Cairnforth Castle. It explained, after a long apologetic
preamble, the burden of which was that the earl was now old enough and
thoughtful enough to be the best person to speak to on such a difficult
subject, that there had been a certain skillful mechanician lately in
Edinburg who declared he would invent some support by which Lord
Cairnforth could be made, not indeed to walk--that was impossible--
but to be by many degrees more active than now. But it would be
necessary for him to go to London, and there submit to a great amount of
trouble and inconvenience--possibly some pain.

"I tell you this last, my dear lord," continued the good doctor,
"because I ought not to deceive you; and because, so far as I have seen,
you are a courageous boy--nay, almost a man--or will be soon. I
must forewarn you also that the experiment, is only an experiment--
that it may fail; but even in that case you would be only where you were
before--no better, no worse, except for the temporary annoyance and
suffering."

"And if it succeeded?" said Helen, almost in a whisper, as she returned
the letter.

The earl smiled--a bright, vague, but hopeful smile--"I might be a
little more able to do things--to live my life with a little less
trouble to myself, and possibly to other people. Well, Helen? You
don't speak, but I think your eyes say 'Try!'"

"Yes, my dear." She sometimes, though not often now, lest it might vex
him by making him still so much a child, called him "my dear."

This ended the conversati