astrophe, which he felt sure
was to follow, and the incessant labor entailed by his wide enquiries,
in which he had no confidant but Mr. Mearns, the clerk, and him he
trusted as little as possible, lest any suspicion or disgrace should
fall upon Helen's husband--all this kept him in a state of unnatural
activity and strength.

But when the need for action died away; when Helen's letters betrayed
nothing; and when, though she did not return, and while expressing most
bitter regret, yet gave sufficiently valid reasons for not returning in
her husband's still delicate health--after June, Lord Cairnforth fell
into a condition, less of physical than mental sickness, which lasted a
long time, and was very painful to himself, as well as to those that
loved him. He was not ill, but his usual amount of strength--so
small always--became much reduced; neither was he exactly irritable
--his sweet temper never could sink into irritability; but he was, as
Malcolm expressed it, "dour," difficult to please; easily fretted about
trifles; inclined to take sad and cynical views of things.

This might have been increased by certain discoveries, which, during the
summer, when he came to look into his affairs, Lord Cairnforth made. He
found that money which he had entrusted to Captain Bruce for various
purposes had been appropriated, or misappropriated, in different ways
--conduct scarcely exposing the young man to legal investigation, and
capable of being explained away as "carelessness"--"unpunctuality in
money matters"--and so on, but conduct of which no strictly upright,
honorable person would ever have been guilty. This fact accounted for
another--the captain's having expressed ardent gratitude for a sum
which he said the earl had given him for his journey and marriage
expenses, which, though Mr. Cardross's independent spirit rather
revolted from the gift, at least satisfied him about Helen's comfort
during her temporary absence. And once more, for Helen's sake, the earl
kept silence. But he felt as if every good and tender impulse of his
nature were hardening into stone.

Hardened at the core Lord Cairnforth could never be; no man can whose
heart has once admitted into its deepest sanctuary the love of One who,
when all human loves fail, still whispers, "We will come in unto him,
and make our abode with him"--ay, be it the forlornest bodily
tabernacle in which immortal soul ever dwelt. But there came an outer
crust of ha