asteful and hopeless task, and articled him
to a Notary, who, for a tempting premium, consented to take him
into his office. But, instead of applying himself there, he spent
most of his time in idleness and debauchery; by night frequenting
the abodes of vice and infamy, and by day, haunting the doors and
corridors of the court-house, in the latter always instinctively
seeking to avoid a rencontre with his sullen and offended parent.

CHAPTER III.

"Haply despair hath seized her."

_Cymbeline._

It was now evening, and the landscape lay steeped in yellow sunshine;
when Mona Macdonald rode slowly homewards, silent and buried in
gloom. Her way lay around the base of the mountain. But neither
its adjacent and majestic sides on the one hand, nor the placid,
mellow-tinted, and sky-bounded plain on the other were regarded by
her. Her thoughts were still with the advocate in his office, or
with her departed father in her native home below Quebec, as he
and she had lived and loved each other there, nearly twenty years
before. Thus preoccupied, she lent no heed to the landscape, although
before her was the broad, descending sun, and behind her was the
mighty Saint Lawrence basking in burnished gold; and soon another
stream, a branch of the Ottawa, appeared in the distance, the two
clasping between them as in a zone the Island of Montreal. But
neither the note of birds, the lowing of cattle, the barking of
dogs, the churr of the bullfrog, the distant human voices coming
faintly over the lea, nor yet the elysean landscape were seen or
heard; and not until the carriage drew up at Stillyside, and the
bark of a lap-dog, on the top of the distant steps, that led to
the verandah in front of the house, struck her ear, did she fully
awake from her mournful reverie. Then, alighting, she passed
through a postern that hung at the side of folding gates, and,
winding her way up a walk bordered with shrubs and flowers, approached
the dwelling, that stood upon a knoll. At that moment the sound
of a cowbell in the contiguous mountain coppice told the slow
approach of a dappled dairy, in charge of a swarthy French Canadian
youth. All else was quiet about the place, that seemed to be lying
in a sort of listless, half dreamy tranquillity and halcyon repose.
The mansion itself was spacious, and built of the grey limestone
of the district. Woodbine and hop, clematis and the Virginia creeper
half concealed its rugged exterior, and clo