ny
other human being.

Ay, the earl had his compensations. We all have, if we know it.

Gradually, in many a long, quiet talk, during which she listened to his
reasonings as probably she would have listened to no other man's, he
contrived to reconcile Mrs. Bruce to the idea of parting with her boy
--their first separation, even for a day, since Cardross was born. It
was neither for very long nor very far, since civilization had now
brought Edinburg within a few hours' journey of Cairnforth; but it was
very sore, nevertheless, to both mother and son.

Helen took her boy and confided him to Mrs. Menteith herself; but she
could not be absent for more than one day, for just about this time her
father's "green old age" began to fail a little, and he grew extremely
dependent upon her, which, perhaps, was the best thing that could have
happened to her at this crisis. She had to assume that tenderest,
happiest duty of being "nursing mother" to the second childhood of one
who throughout her own childhood, youth, and middle age had been to her
every thing that was honored and deserving honor--loving, and worthy
of love--in a parent.

Not that Mr. Cardross had sank into any helpless state of mind or body;
the dread of paralysis had proved a false alarm; and Helen's coming
home, to remain there forever, together with the thoroughly peaceful
life which he had since lived for so many years, had kept up the old
man's vitality to a surprising extent. His life was now only fading
away by slow and insensible degrees, like the light out of the sunset
clouds, or the colors from the mountains--silent warnings of the
night coming "in which no man can work."

The minister had worked all his days--his Master's work; none the
less worthy that it was done in no public manner, and had met with no
public reward. Beyond his own Presbytery the name of the Reverend
Alexander Cardross was scarcely known. He was not a popular preacher;
he had never published a book, nor even a sermon, and he had taken no
part in the theological controversies of the time. He was content to
let other men fight about Christianity; he only lived it, spending
himself for naught, some might think, in his own country parish and
among his poor country people, the pastor and father of them all.

He had never striven after this world's good things, and they never came
to him in any great measure; but better things did. He always had
enough, and a little to spare f