be in this world. And it is you who have
done it all--you who have made my boy what he is. But he will reward
you--I know he will. Henceforward he will be as much your son as
mine."

"I hope so. And now good-night, my dear."

"Good-night--God bless you."

Mrs. Bruce knelt down beside the chair, and touched with her lips the
poor, useless hands.

"Helen," said the earl as she rose, "kiss me--just once--as I
remember your doing when I was a boy--a poor, lonely, miserable boy."

She kissed him very tenderly, then went away and left him sitting there
in his little chair, opposite the fire, alone in the large, splendid,
empty room.

* * * * *

Helen Bruce could not sleep that night. Either the day's excitement had
been too much for her, or she was disturbed by the wild winds that went
shrieking round the Castle, reminding her over and over again of what
the earl had just said concerning them. There came into her mind an
uneasy feeling about her father, whom for so many years she had never
left a night alone; but it was useless regretting this now. At last,
toward morning, the storm gradually lulled. She rose, and looked out of
her window on the loch, which glittered in moonlight like a sea of
glass. It reminded her, with an involuntary fancy, of the sea "clear as
glass, like unto crystal," spoken of in the fourth chapter of the
Apocalypse as being "before the Throne." She stood looking at it for a
minute or so, then went back to her bed and slept peacefully till
daylight.

She was dressing herself, full of quiet and happy thoughts, admiring the
rosy winter sunrise, and planning all she meant to do that day, when she
was startled by Mrs. Campbell, who came suddenly into the room with a
face as white and rigid as marble.

"He's awa'," she said, or rather whispered.

"Who's is away?" shrieked Helen, thinking at once of her father.

"Whisht!" said the old nurse, catching hold of Mrs. Bruce as she was
rushing from the room, and speaking beneath her breath; "wisht! My
lord's deid; but we'll no greet; I canna greet. He's gane awa' hame."

No, it was not the old man who was called. Mr. Cardross lived several
years after then--lived to be nearly ninety. It was the far younger
life--young, and yet how old in suffering!--which had thus
suddenly and unexpectedly come to an end.

The earl was found dead in his bed, in his customary attitude of repose,
just a