who carried in
his arms, very gently and carefully, wrapped in a plaid, even although
it was such a mild spring day, what looked like a baby, or a very young
child.

"Stop a minute, Malcolm."

At the sound of that voice, which was not an infant's, though it was
thin, and sharp, and unnatural rather for a boy, the big Highlander
paused immediately.

"Hold me up higher; I want to look at the loch."

"Yes, my lord."

This, then--this poor little deformed figure, with every limb
shrunken and useless, and every joint distorted, the head just able to
sustain itself and turn feebly from one side to the other, and the thin
white hands piteously twisted and helpless-looking--this, then, was
the Earl of Cairnforth.

"It's a bonnie loch, Malcolm."

"It looks awful' bonnie the day, my lord."

"And," almost in a whisper, "was it just there my father was drowned?"

"Yes, my lord."

No one spoke while the large, intelligent eyes, which seemed the
principal feature of the thin face, that rested against Malcolm's
shoulder, looked out intently upon the loch.

Mrs. Campbell pulled her veil down and wept a little. People said Neil
Campbell had not been the best of husbands to her, but he was her
husband; and she had never been back in Cairnforth till now, for her son
had lived, died, and been buried away in Edinburg.

At last Mr. Menteith suggested that the kirk bell was beginning to ring.

"Very well; put me into the carriage."

Malcolm placed him, helpless as an infant, in a corner of the
silken-padded coach, fitted with cushions especially suited for his
comfort. There he sat, in his black velvet coat and point-lace collar,
with silk stockings and dainty shoes upon the poor little feet that
never had walked, and never would walk, in this world. The one bit of
him that could be looked at without pain was his face, inherited from
his beautiful mother. It was wan, pale, and much older than his years,
but it was a sweet face--a lovely face; so patient, thoughtful--
nay, strange to say, content. You could not look at it without a
certain sense of peace, as if God, in taking away so much had given
something--which not many people have--something which was the
divine answer to the minister's prayer over the two-days-old child--
"Thy will be done."

"Are you comfortable, my lord?"

"Quite, thank you, Mr. Menteith. Stop--where are you going,
Malcolm?"

"Just to the kirk, and I'll be there as soon as your lordship."