en she took
her son's arm--such a stalwart arm now, and walked with him through
the bright moonlight, clear as day, to Cairnforth Castle.

When they entered the library they found the earl sitting in his usual
place, and engaged in his usual evening occupation, which he sometimes
called "the hard labor of doing nothing;" for, though he was busy enough
in the daytime with a young man he had as secretary--his faithful old
friend, Mr. Mearns, having lately died--still, he generally spent his
evenings alone. Malcolm lurked within call, in case he wanted any
thing; but he rarely did. Often he would pass hours at a time sitting
as now, with his feeble hands folded on his lap, his head bent, and his
eyes closed, or else open and looking out straight before him--
calmly, but with an infinite yearning in them that would have seemed
painful to those who did not know how peaceful his inmost nature was.

But at the first sound of his visitors' footsteps he turned round--
that is, he turned his little chair round--and welcomed them heartily
and brightly.

A little ordinary talk ensued, in which Cardross scarcely joined. The
young man was not himself at all--silent, abstracted; and there was
an expression in his face which almost frightened his mother, so solemn
was it, yet withal so exceedingly sweet.

The earl had been right in his conclusions; he, with his keen insight
into character, had judged Cardross better than the boy's own mother
would have done. Those brilliant prospects, that total change in his
expected future, which might have dazzled a lower nature and sent it all
astray, made this boy--Helen's boy, with Helen's nature strong in
him, only the more sensible of his deficiencies as well as his
responsibilities--humble, self-distrustful, and full of doubts and
fears. Ten years seemed to have passed over his head since morning,
changing him from a boy into a sedate, thoughtful man.

Lord Cairnforth noticed this, as he noticed every thing; and at last,
seeing the young heart was too full almost to bear much talking, he said
kindly,

"Cardross, give your mother that arm-chair; she looks very wearied. And
the, would you mind having a consultation with Malcolm about those
salmon-weirs at the head of the Loch Mohr? I know his is longing to
open his heart to you on the subject. Go, my boy, and don't hurry back.
I want to have a good long talk with your mother."

Cardross obeyed. The two friends looked after him a