to all, and receive good from all; avoiding all envies, jealousies,
angers, and strifes, and following out literally the apostolic command,
"As much as in you lies, live peaceably with all men."

And so the earl was, in the best sense of the word, popular. Every body
liked him, and he liked every body. But deep in his heart--ay,
deeper than any of these his friends and acquaintance ever dreamed--
steadying and strengthening it, keeping it warm for all human uses, yet
calm with the quiet sadness of an eternal want, lay all those emotions
which are not likings, but loves; not sympathies, but passions; but
which with him were to be, in this world, forever dormant and
unfulfilled.

Never, let the Castle be ever so full of visitors, or let his daily
cares, his outward interest, and his innumerable private charities be
ever so great, did he omit driving over twice or thrice a week to spend
an hour or two at the Manse--in winter, by the study fire; in summer,
under the shade of the green elm-trees--the same trees where he had
passed that first sunny Sunday when he came a poor, lonely, crippled
orphan child into the midst of the large, merry family--all scattered
now.

The minister, Helen, and Boy were the sole inmates left at the Manse,
and of these three the latter certainly was the most important. Hide it
as she would, the principal object of the mother's life was her only
child. Many a time, as Lord Cairnforth sat talking with her, after his
old fashion, of all his interests, schemes, labors, and hopes--hopes
solely for others, and labors, the end of which he knew he would never
see--he would smile to himself, noticing how Helen's eye wandered all
the while--wandered to where that rosy young scapegrace rode his tiny
pony--the earl's gift--up and down the gravel walks, or played at
romps with Malcolm, or dug holes in the flower-beds, or got into all and
sundry of the countless disgraces which were forever befalling Boy; yet
which, so lovable was the little fellow, were as continually forgiven,
and, behind his back, even exalted into something very like merits.

But once--and it was an incident which, whether or not Mrs. Bruce
forgot it herself, her friend never did, since it furnished a key to
much of the past, and a serious outlook for the future--Boy committed
an error which threw his mother into an agony of agitation such as she
had not betrayed since she came back, a widow, to Cairnforth.

Her little son told a