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A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 ^ Not)d. 
 
 NEWYOKK: 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 FRANKLIN SQUARE. 
 Stereotyped by Littell, Son. Sf Co., Boston. 
 
 1865. 
 
OH" 
 
 A SON 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " I SAY, you boy, it always rains here, 
 doesn't it? — or ' wliiles enaws ' — as the abo- 
 rigines say. You're a native, aren't you? 
 When do you think the rain will go off? — 
 do you ever have any fine weather here ? I 
 don't see the good of a fine country when it 
 rains for ever and ever ? What do you do 
 with yourselves, you people, all the year 
 round in such a melancholy place? " 
 
 " You see we know no better " — said the 
 farmer of Ramore, who came in at the mo- 
 ment to the porch of his house, where the 
 young gentleman was standing, confronted 
 by young Colin, who would have exploded in 
 boyish rage before now, if he had not been 
 restrained by the knowledge that his mother 
 was within hearing — " and, wet or dry, the 
 country-side comes natural to them it belongs 
 to. If it werena for a twinge o' the rheu- 
 matics noo and then, — and my lads are owre 
 young for that, — it's a grandcountry. If it's 
 nae great comfort to the purse, it's aye a 
 pleasure to the e'e. Come in to the fire, and 
 take a seat till the rain blows by. My lads," 
 said Colin of Ramore, with a twinkle of ap- 
 probation in his eye, " take little heed 
 whether it's rain or shine." 
 
 " I'm of a different opinion," said the 
 stranger ; " I don't like walking up to the 
 ankles in those filthy roads." 
 
 He was a boy of fifteen or so, the same age 
 as young Colin, who stood opposite him, 
 breathing hard with opposition and natural 
 enmity ; but the smart Etonian considered 
 himself much more a man of the world and 
 of experience than Colin the elder, and looked 
 on the boy with calm contempt. 
 
 " I'll be glad to dry my boots if you'll let 
 me," he said, holding up a foot which beside 
 young Colin 's sturdy hoof looked preter- 
 naturally small and dainty. 
 
 " A fit like a lassie's ! " the country boy 
 said to himself with responsive disdain. 
 Young Colin laughed half aloud as his natu- 
 ral enemy followed his father into the house. 
 
 OF THE SOIL. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 <' He's feared to wet his feet," said the lad, 
 with a chuckle of mockery, holding forth his 
 own which to his consciousness were never 
 dry. Any moralist, who had happened to be 
 at hand, might have suggested to Colin that 
 a faculty for acquiring and keeping up wet 
 feet during every hour of the twenty-four 
 which he did not spend in bed was no great 
 matter to brag of: but then moralists did not 
 flourish at Ramore. The boy made a rush 
 out through the soft-falling, incessant rain, 
 dashed down upon the shingly beach with an 
 impetuosity which dispersed the wet pebbles 
 on all sides of him, and jumping into the 
 boat, pushed out upon the loch, not for any 
 particular purpose, but to relieve a little his 
 indignation and boyish discomfiture. The 
 boat was clumsy enough, and young Colin 's 
 " style " in rowing was not of a high order ,| 
 but it caught the quick eye of the Eton lad, 
 as he glanced out from the window. 
 
 " That fellow can row," he said to himself, 
 but aloud, with the nonchalance of his race, 
 as he went forward, passing the great cradle, 
 which stood on one side of the fire, to the 
 chair which the farmer's wife had placed for 
 him. She received with many kindly, homely 
 invitations and welcomes the serene young 
 potentate as he approached her fireside 
 throne. 
 
 " Come awa — come in to the fire. The 
 roads are past speaking o' in this soft weather. 
 Maybe the young gentleman would like to 
 change his feet," said the soft-voiced woman, 
 who sat in a wicker-work easy-chair, with a 
 very small baby, and cheeks still pale from 
 its recent arrival. She had soft, dark, beam- 
 ing eyes, and the softest pink flush coming 
 and going over her face, and was wrapped in 
 a shawl, and evidently considered an invalid 
 — which, for the mother of seven or eight 
 children, and the mistress of Ramore Farm, 
 was an honorable but inconvenient luxury. 
 " I could bring you a pair of my Colin 's 
 stockings in a moment. I dare say they're 
 about your size — or if you would like to gang 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 ben the house into the spare room, and change 
 them — " 
 
 " Oh, thanks ; but there is no need for 
 that," said the visitor, with a slight blush, 
 being conscious, as even an .Eton boy could 
 not help being, of the humorous observation 
 of the farmer, who had come in behind him, 
 and in whose eyes it was evident the experi- 
 enced " man " of the fifth form was a less 
 eublime personage than he gave himself credit 
 for being. " I am living down at the Castle," 
 he added, hastily ; " I lost my way on the 
 hills, and got dreadfully wet ; otherwise I 
 don't mind the rain." And he held the 
 dainty boots, which steamed in the heat, to 
 the fire. 
 
 " But you maunna gang out to the hills in 
 Bueh slight things again," said Mrs. Camp- 
 bell, looking at them compassionately ; "I'll 
 get you a pair of my Coliu's strong shoes and 
 etockings that'll keep your feet warm. I'll 
 just lay the wean in the cradle, and you can 
 slip them olf the time I'm away," said the 
 good woman, with a passing thought for the 
 boy's bashfulness. But the farmer caught 
 her by the arm and kept her in her chair. 
 
 " I suppose there's mair folk than you 
 about the house, Jeanie? " said her husband, 
 " though you're so positive about doing every- 
 thing yoursel'. I'll tell the lass ; and I ad- 
 vise you, young gentleman, not to be shame- 
 faced, but take the wife's advice, It's a 
 great quality o' hers to ken what's good for 
 other folk." 
 
 " I ken by mysel'," said the gentle-voiced 
 wife, with a smile — and she got up and went 
 Boftly to the window, while the young stranger 
 took her counsel. "There's Colin out in 
 the boat again, in a perfect pour of rain," 
 she said to herself, with a gentle sigh — " he'll 
 get his death o' cauld ; but, to be sure, if he 
 had been to get his death that gate, it would 
 have come afore now. There's a great deal 
 of rain in this country you'll be thinking? — 
 a' the strangers say sae ;. but I canna sec that 
 they bide away, for a' that, though they're 
 aye grumbling. And if you're fond o' the 
 hills, you'll get reconciled to the rain. I've 
 seen mony an afternoon when there was 
 B3arce an hour without two or three rain- 
 bows, and the mist liftin' and droppin' again, 
 as if it was set to music. I canna say I have 
 any experience mysel' ; but so far as anc can 
 imagine, a clear sky and a shining sun, day 
 after day, would be awfu' monotonous — like 
 
 a face wi' a set smile. I tell the bairns it's 
 as guid as a fairy tale to watch the clouds — 
 and it's no common sunshine when it does 
 come, but a kind o' wistful light, as if he 
 couldna tell whether he ever might see you 
 again ; but it's awfu' when the crops are out, 
 as they are the noo — the Lord forgive me for 
 speaking as if I liked the rain ! " 
 
 And by this time her boy-visitor, having 
 succeeded, much to his comfort and disgust, 
 in replacing his wet chaussures by Colin's dry, 
 warm stockings and monstrous shoes, Mrs. 
 Campbell came back to her seat and lifted her 
 baby again on her knee. The baby was of 
 angelic disposition, and perfectly disposed to 
 make itself comfortable in its cradle ; but the 
 usually active mother evidently made it a kind 
 of excuse to herself for her compulsory repose. 
 
 " The wife gets easy to her poetry," said 
 the farmer, with a smile, " which is pleasant 
 enough to hear, though it doesn't keep the 
 grain from sprouting. You're fond of the 
 hills, you Southland folk ? You'll be from 
 level land yoursel', I reckon? — where a' the 
 craps were safe housed afore the weather 
 broke? We have uae particular reason to 
 complain yet, if we could but make sure o' 
 a week's or twa's dry weather. It'll be the 
 holidays still witb you ? " 
 
 " Yes," said young Frankland, slightly dis- 
 gusted at being so calmly set down as a school- 
 boy. 
 
 " I hear there's some grand schools in 
 England," said Mrs. Campbell; "no' that 
 they're to compare wi' Edinburgh, I suppose? 
 Colin , there's some sherry wine in the press ; I 
 think a glass wouldna' harm the young gen- 
 tleman after his waiting. He'll take some- 
 thing anyway, if you would tell Jess. It's 
 hungry work climbing our hills for a laddie 
 like you, at least if I may reckon by my ain 
 laddies that are aye ready at mealtimes," said 
 the farmer's wife, with a gracious smile 
 that would not have misbecome a duchess. 
 " You'll be at ane o' the great schools, I sup- 
 pose? I aye like to learn what I can when 
 there's ony opportunity. I would like my 
 Colin to get a' the advantages, for he's well 
 worthy o' a guid education, though we're 
 rather out of the way of it here." 
 
 " I am at Eton," said the English boy, who 
 could scarcely refrain from a little ridicule at 
 the idea of sharing " a' the advantages" of 
 that distinguished foundation with a colt like 
 young Colin ; " but I should think you would 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 find it too far off to send your son there," he 
 added, all his good breeding being unable to 
 smother a slight laugh as he looked round the 
 homely apartment and wondered what " all 
 the fellows" would say to a schoolfellow from 
 Ramore. 
 
 " Nac occasion to laugh, young gentle- 
 man," said Colin the elder; "there's been 
 lord chancellors o' England, and generals o' 
 a' the forces, that have come out of houses 
 nae better than this. I am just as ye find me ; 
 but I wouldna' say what might befall our Co- 
 lin. In this country there's nae law to bind 
 a man to the same line o' life as his fathers. 
 Despise naebody, my man, or you may live to 
 be despised in your turn." 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said young Frank- 
 land, blushing hotly, and feeling Colin 's shoes 
 weigh upon his feet like lead ; " I did not 
 intend — " 
 
 " No, no," said Mrs. Campbell, soothingly ; 
 " it's the maister that takes up fancies ; but 
 nae doubt Eton is far ower-expensive for the 
 like of us, and a bit callant like you may 
 laugh without .ony offence. "When Colin 
 comes to be a man he'll make h'.s ain com- 
 pany, or I'm mistaen ; but I've '^lO wish to pit 
 him among lords and gentlenien's sons that 
 would jeer at his homely ways. And they 
 tell me there's schules in Edinburgh far afore 
 anything that's kent in England — besides the 
 college," said the toother, with a little pride ; 
 " our Colin's done with his schuling. Edu- 
 cation takes longer wi ' the like of you . After 
 Martinmas he's gaun in to Glasgow to begin 
 his course.'" 
 
 To this proud intimation the young visitor 
 listened in silence, not being able to connect 
 the roughshod lad in the boat, with a uni- 
 versity, whatever might be its form. He ad- 
 dressed himself to the scones and butter which 
 Jess the servant, a handsome, powerful woman 
 of five feet ten or so, had set before him on 
 the table. Jess lingered a little ere she left 
 the room, to pinch the baby's cheeks, and say, 
 " Bless the lamb ! eh, what a guid bairn ! " 
 with patriarchal friendly familiarity. Mean- 
 while, the farmer sat down, with a thump 
 which made it creak, upon the large old hair- 
 cloth sofa which filled up one end of the room. 
 
 " I've heard there's a great difference be- 
 tween our colleges and the colleges in Eng- 
 land," said Colin. " Wi' you they dinna 
 train a lad to ony thing in particular ; wi' us 
 it's a' for a profession, — the kirk, or the law 
 
 or physic, as it may be, — a fair mair sensible 
 system. I'm no sure it's just civil, though," 
 said the farmer, with a quaint mingling of 
 Scotch complacency and Scotch politeness, 
 " to talk to a stranger of naething but the in- 
 feriority o' his ain country. It may be a' 
 true* enough, but there's pleasanter topics o' 
 discourse. The Castle's a bonnie situation ? 
 and if you're fond o' the water, yachting 
 and boating, and that kind o' thing, there's 
 grand opportunity amang our lochs." 
 
 " We've got a yacht," said the boy, who 
 found the scones much to his taste, and be- 
 gan to feel a glow of comfort diffusing itself 
 through his inner man — ' ' the fastest sailer I 
 know. We made a little run yesterday down 
 to the Kyles ; but Sir Thomas prefers the 
 grouse, though it's awfully hard work, I can 
 tell you, going up those hills. It's so beastly 
 wet," said the young hero, " I never was 
 down here before ; but Sir Thomas comes 
 every year to the Highlands — he likes it — 
 he's as string as a horse ; but I prefer the 
 yacht, for my part." 
 
 " And who's Sir Thomas, if ane may speer 
 — some friend? " said the farmer's wife. 
 
 " Oh — he 's my father ! " said the Etonian ; 
 and a natural flush of shamefacedness at ac- 
 knowledging such a relationship rose upon 
 the countenance of the British boy. 
 
 " Yourfather ? " said Mrs. Campbell, with 
 some amazement, " that's an awfu' queer 
 way to speak of your father ; and have you 
 ony brothers and sisters that you're thislang 
 distance off your lane, — and your mamma 
 may be anxious about you ? " continued the 
 kind mother, with a wistful look of inquiry. 
 She was prepared to be sorry for him, con- 
 cluding that a boy who spoke of a father in 
 such terms, must be motherless, and a neg- 
 lected child. It was the most tender kind 
 of curiosity which animated the good woman. 
 She formed a theory about the lad on the spot, 
 as women do, and concluded that his cruel 
 father paid no regard to him, and that the 
 boy's heart had been hardened by neglect and 
 want of love. " Figure our Colin ca'ing the 
 maister ]\Ir. Campbell ! " she said to herselt, 
 and looked very pitifully at young Frank- 
 land, who ate his scone without any conscious- 
 ness of her amiable imaginations. 
 
 " Oh, I'm not afraid," said the calm youth, 
 " She knows better; there's ten of us, and 
 some one of the family comes to grief most 
 days, you know. She's used to that. Be- 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 sides, I'll get home long before Sir Thomas. 
 It's only four now, and I suppose one could 
 walk down from here — how soon ? ' ' All this 
 time he went on so steadily at the scones and 
 the milk, that the heart of the farmer's wife, 
 warmed to the possessor of such a frank and 
 appreciative appetite. 
 
 " You might put the horse in the gig and 
 drive the young gentleman down," said the 
 soft-hearted woman, " or Colin could row 
 him in the boat as far as the pier. It's a 
 lang walk for such a callant, and you're no 
 thrang. It's awfu' to think o' the rain how 
 it's taking the bread out of us poor folk's 
 mouths ; but to be sure it's the Lord's will — 
 if it be na," said the homely speculatist, 
 " that the weather's ane of the things that 
 has been permitted, for wise reasons, to fa' 
 into Ither Hands ; and I'm sure, judging by 
 the way it comes just when it is no' wanted, 
 ane might think so, mony a time in this coun- 
 try side. But ah ! its sinfu' to speak, — and 
 look at yon bonnie rainbow," she continued, 
 turning to the window with her baby in her 
 arms. Young Frankland got up slowly as he 
 finished his scone. He was only partially 
 sensible of the extreme beauty of the scene 
 before him ; but the farmer's wife stood with 
 her baby in her arms, with hidden lights 
 kindling in her soft eyes, expanding and beam- 
 ing over the lovely landscape. It did her 
 good like a cordial ; though even Colin, her 
 sensible husband, looked on with a smile upon 
 his good-humored countenance, and was a lit- 
 tle amused and much puzzled, as he had been 
 a hundred times before, seeing' his wife's 
 pleasure in those common and every-day proc- 
 esses of nature, to know why. 
 
 Young Colin in the boat understood better, 
 — he was lying on his oars gazing at it the 
 same moment ; arrested in his petulant, boy- 
 ish thoughts, as she had been in her anxieties, 
 the lad came out of, and lost himself in tlae 
 scene. The sun had come out suddenly upon 
 the noble range of hills which stretched across 
 the upper end of the loch — that wistful, ten- 
 der sun which shone out, dazzling with pa- 
 thetic gleams of sudden love in this country, 
 " as if he couldna tell whether he might ever 
 see j'ou again," as Mrs. Campbell said — and 
 just catching the skirts of the rain, had flung 
 a double rainbow across the lovely curve of 
 the upper banks. One side of the arch, stoop- 
 ing over the heathery hillside, lighted it up 
 with an unearthly glory, and the other came 
 
 down in stately columns, one grand sEaft; 
 within the other, with a solid magnificence 
 and steadiness, into the water. Young Frank- 
 land, at the window, could not help thinking 
 within himself, what a beautiful picture it 
 would make, " if any of those painter fellows 
 could do a rainbow ; " but as for young Colin 
 in the boat, the impulse in his heart was to 
 dash up to those heavenly archways, and em- 
 brace the shining pillar, and swing himself 
 aloft half-boy, half-poet, to the celestial world, 
 where fiery columns could stand fast upon 
 moving waters — and all was true, but noth- 
 ing real. The hills for their share, lay very 
 quiet, taking no part in the momentary drama 
 of the elements; standing passive, letting the 
 sudden light search them over and over, as 
 if seeking for hidden treasure. Just in the 
 midst of the blackness of the rain, never was 
 light and joy so sweet and sudden. The 
 farmer's wife came away from the window 
 with a sigh of pleasure, as the baby stirred 
 in her arms ; "Eh, but the world's bonnie, 
 bonnie ! " she said to herself, with a feeling 
 that some event of joyful importance had just 
 been enacted before her. As for the boy on 
 the loch, who, being younger, was more ab- 
 stracted from common affairs, his dream was 
 interrupted loudly by a call from the door. 
 " Come in wi' the boat ; I've a message to gie 
 ye for the pier," cried the farmer, at the top 
 of his voice ; and the country boy started 
 back to himself, and made a dash at his oars, 
 and pulled inshore as violently and unhand- 
 somely as if the nature of his dreams had 
 been found out, and he was ashamed of him- 
 self. Colin forgot all the softening influences 
 of the scene, and all the fine thoughts that 
 had, unconscious to himself, come into his 
 head, when he found that the commission his 
 father meant to give him, was that of rowing 
 the stranger boy as far as the pier, which was 
 about three miles farther down the loch. If 
 disobedience had been an ofience understood 
 at Ramore, possibly he might have refused ; 
 but neither boy nor man, however well in- 
 clined, is likely to succeed in doing, the first 
 time of trying, a kind of sin Avith which he 
 has no acquaintance. To give Colin justice, 
 he did his best, and showed a cordial inclina- 
 tion to make himself disagreeable. lie came 
 in so clumsily that the boat grounded a yard 
 or two ofi" shore, and would not by any coax- 
 ing be persuaded to approach nearer. And 
 when young Frankland, much to his amaze- 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 ment, leaped on board without wetting his 
 feet, as the counti-y lad maliciously intended, 
 and came against Colin with such force as 
 almost to knock him down, the young boat- 
 man thrust his passenger forward very rudely, 
 and was as near capsizing the boat as pride 
 would permit him. " Sit forrit in the stern, 
 sit forrit. Were ye never in a boat afore, 
 that ye think I can row, and you sitting 
 there ? ' ' said the unchristian Colin , bringing 
 one of the oars heavily against his adversary's 
 shins. 
 
 "What the deuce do you mean by that? 
 Give me the oar ! 
 on the Thames, I 
 
 Btranger ; and the brief skirmish between 
 them for the possession of the oar having ter- 
 minated abruptly by the intervention of Colin 
 the elder, who was still within hearing, the 
 two boys set off, sullenly enough, down the 
 loch. The rainbow was dying off by this 
 time, and the clouds rolling up again over 
 the hills ; and the celestial pillars and heav- 
 enly archways had no longer, as may be sup- 
 posed, since this rude invasion of the real and 
 disagreeable, the least morsel of foundation 
 in the thoughts of young Colin of Kamore. 
 
 We don't row like that 
 can tell you," said the 
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 
 "Ye saw the young gentleman safe to the 
 pier ? He's a bonnie lad , though maybe no as 
 weel-mannered as ane would like to see," said 
 Mrs. Campbell. " Keep me ! such a way to 
 name his father ! Bairns maun be awfu' 
 neglected in such a grand house — aye left wi' 
 servants, and never trained to trust their bits 
 of secrets to father or mother. Laddies," 
 said the farmer's wife, with a little solem- 
 nity, looking across the sleeping baby upon 
 the four heads of different sizes which bent 
 over their supper at the table before her, 
 " mind you aye, that, right or wrong, them 
 that's maist interested in whatever befalls 
 you is them that belongs to you — maist ready 
 to praise if ye've done weel, and excuse you 
 if ye've done wrang. I hope you were civil 
 to the strange callant, Colin, my man? " 
 
 " Oh, ay," said young Colin, not without 
 a movement of conscience ; but he did not 
 think it necessary to enter into details. 
 
 "When a callant like that is pridefu', and 
 looks as if he thought himself better than 
 other folk , I hope my laddies are no the ones 
 to mind," said the mistress of Ramore. " It 
 shows he hasna had the advantages that 
 
 might have been expected. It's nae harm to 
 you, but a great deal of harm to him. Ye 
 dinna ken how weel off you are, you boys," 
 said the mother, making a little address to 
 them as they sat over their supper ; little 
 Johnnie, whose porridge was too hot for him, 
 turned towards her the round, wondering 
 black eyes, which beamed out like a pair of 
 stray stars from his little freckled face, and 
 through his wisps of flaxen hair, bleached 
 white by rain and sun ; but the three others 
 went on very steadily with their supper, and 
 did not disturb themselves ; " there's aye your 
 father at hand ready to tell ye whatever you 
 want to ken — no like yon poor callant, that 
 would have to gang to a tutor, or a servant, 
 or something worse ; no that he's an ill lad- 
 die — but I'm aye keen to see ye behave your- 
 sels like gentlemen, and yon wasna ony great 
 specimen, as it was very easy to see." 
 
 After this there was a pause, for none of 
 the boys were disposed to enter into that topic 
 of conversation. After a little period of si- 
 lence, during which the spoons made a diver- 
 sion, and filled up the vacancy, they began to 
 find their tongues again. 
 
 "It's awfu' wet up on the hill," said 
 Archie, the second boy ; " and they say the 
 glass is aye falling, and the corn on the Barn- 
 ton fields has been out this three weeks, and 
 Dugald Macfarlane, he says its sprouting — 
 and, mother! " 
 
 What is it, Archie ? " 
 
 " The new minister came by when I was 
 down at the smiddy with the brown mare. 
 You never saw such a red head. It is red 
 enough to set the kirk on fire. They were 
 saying at the smiddy that naebody would 
 stand such a color of hair — it's waur than no 
 preaching weel — and I said I thought that 
 too," said the enterprising Archie; "for I'm 
 sure I never mind ony o' the sermon, but I 
 couldna forget such red hair." 
 
 " And I saw him too," said little Johnnie ; 
 " he clapped me on the head, and said how 
 was my mammaw, and I said we never ca'ed 
 onybody mammaw, but just mother ; and then 
 he clapped me again, and said I was a good 
 boy. What for was I a good boy?" said 
 Johnnie, who was of an inquiring and philo- 
 sophical frame of mind, " because I said we 
 didna say mammaw? or just because it was 
 me?" , 
 
 " Because he's a kind man, and has a kind 
 thought for even the little bairns," said Mrs. 
 
8 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 Campbell, " and it wasna like a boy o' miue 
 to say an idle word against him. Do you 
 think they know better at the smiddy, Archie, 
 than here? Poor gentleman," said the good 
 woman, "to be a' this time weary in' and 
 waitin', and his heart ycavnin' within him 
 to get a kirk, and do his Master's work ; and 
 then to ha'e a parcel of havercls set up, and 
 make a faction against him because he has a 
 red head. It makes ane think shame o' hu- 
 man nature and Scotch folk baith." 
 
 " But he canna preach, mother," said 
 Colin, breaking silence almost for the first 
 time ; " the red head is only an excuse." 
 
 " I dinna like excuses," said his mother, 
 "and I never kent before that you were a 
 judge o' preaching. You may come to ken 
 better about it yoursel' before a' 's done. I 
 canna but think there's something wrang 
 when the like o' that can be," said Mrs. 
 Campbell; " he's studied, and he's learned 
 Latin and Greek, and found out a' the ill 
 that can be said about Scripture, and a' the 
 lies that ever have been invented against the 
 truth ; and he's been brought up to be a 
 minister a' his days, and knows what's ex- 
 pected. But as soon as word gangs about 
 that the earl has promised him our kirk, 
 t'lere's opposition raised. No' that onybody 
 kens ony ill of him ; but there's the smith, 
 and the wright, and Thomas Scott o' Lint- 
 wearie, maun lay their heads thegether, and 
 first they say he canna preach, and then that 
 he'll no' visit, and at least if a'thing else 
 fails, that he has a red head. If ifr was a 
 new doctor that was coming, wha would be 
 heeding about the color o' his hair ? but it's 
 the minister that's to stand by our death-beds, 
 and baptize our bairns, and guide us in the 
 right way ; and we're no' to let him come in 
 peace, or sit down in comfort. If we canna 
 keep him from getting the kirk, we can make 
 him miserable when he does get it. Eh, 
 bairns ; I think shame ! and I'm no' so sure 
 as I am in maist things," said the farmer's 
 wife, looking up with a consciousness of her 
 husband's presence.; " that the maister him- 
 sel— " 
 
 " Weel I'm aye for popular rights," said 
 Colin of Ramore. lie had just come in, and 
 had been standing behind taking off his big 
 coat, on which the rain glistened, and listen- 
 ing to all that his wifo said, " But if Colin 
 was a man and a minister," said the farmer, 
 
 with a gleam of humor, as he drew his chair 
 towards the fire, " and had to fight his way 
 to a kirk like a' the young men now-a-days, 
 I wouldna say I would like it. They might 
 object to his big mouth ; and you've ower 
 mucklea mouth yourself, Jeanie," continued 
 big Colin, looking admiringly at the comely 
 mother of liis boys. " I might tell them 
 wha' he took it from, and that if he had as 
 grand a flow of language as his mother, there 
 would be nae fear o' him. As for the red 
 head, the earl himsel's a grand example, and 
 if red hair's right in an earl, it canna be im- 
 moral in a minister; but Jeanie, tliough 
 you're an awfu' revolutionary, yc maunna 
 meddle with the kirk, nor take away popu- 
 lar rights." 
 
 " I'm no gaun to be led into an argument," 
 said the mistress, with a slightly vexed ex- 
 pression ; " but I'm far from sure about the 
 kirk. After you've opposed the minister's 
 coming in, and holden committees upon him, 
 and offered objections, and done your best to 
 worry the life out o' him, and make him dis- 
 gusted baith at himsel' and you, do you think 
 after that ye can attend to. him when you're 
 weel, and send for him when you're sick, wi' 
 the right feelings ? But I'm no gaun to speak 
 ony mair about the minister. Is the corn in 
 yet, Colin, from the East Park? Eh, bless 
 me ! and it was cut before this wean was 
 born ! " 
 
 " We'll have but a poor harvest after a'," 
 said the farmer ; " it's a disappointment, but 
 it canna be helpit. It's strange how some- 
 thing aye comes in, to keep a man down 
 when he thinks he's to have a bit margin ; 
 but we must jog on, Jeanie, my woman. As 
 long as we have bread to eat, let us be thank- 
 ful. And as for Colin, it necdua make ony 
 difference. Glasgow's no so far off, but he 
 can still get his parritch out of the family 
 meal ; and as long as he's careful and dili- 
 gent we'll try and fend for him. It's hard 
 work getting bread out of our hillside," said 
 big Coliu ; " but ye may have a different life 
 from your father's, lad, if ye take heed to the 
 opportunities in your hands." 
 
 " A' the opportunities in the world," said 
 Colin the younger, in a burst, " wouldna give 
 me a chance like yon English fellow. Every- 
 thing comes ready to him. It's no fair. Til 
 have to make up wi' him first, and then beat 
 him — and so I would," said the boy, with a 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 9 
 
 glow on his face , and a happy unconscious- 
 ness of contradicting himself, " if I had the 
 chance." 
 
 " Well," said big Colin, " that's just ane 
 o' the things we have to count upon in our 
 way of living. It's little ci-edit to a man to 
 be strong," said the farmer, stretching his 
 great arms with a natural consciousness of 
 power, " unless he has that to do that tries 
 it. It's harder work to me, you may be sure, 
 to get a pickle corn oflF the hillside, than for 
 the English farmers down in yon callant's 
 country to draw wheat and fatness out o' 
 i,heir furrows. But I think myself nana the 
 worse a man," continued Colin of Ramore, 
 with a smile. "Sir Thomas, as the laddie 
 ca's him, gangs wading over the heather a' 
 day after the grouse and the paitricks ; he 
 thinks he's playing himsel', but he's as hard 
 at work as I am. We're a' bluid relations, 
 though the family likeness whiles lies deep 
 and is hard to find. A man maun be fight- 
 ing wi' something. If it's no the dour earth 
 that refuses him bread, it's the wet bog, and 
 the heather that comes atween him and his 
 sport, as he ca's it. Never you mind wha's 
 before you on the road. Make up to him, 
 Colin. Many a day he'll stray out o' the 
 path gathering straws to divert himself, wlien 
 you've naething to do but to push on." 
 
 "Eh, but I wouldna like a laddie of mine 
 to think," interrupted his mother, eagerly, 
 " that there's nae guid but getting on in the 
 world. I'll not have my bairns learn ony 
 such lesson. Laddies," said the farmer's wife, 
 in all the solemnity of her innocence, " mind 
 you this aboon a'. You might be princes the 
 morn, and no as good men as your father. 
 There's nae Sir Thomases, nor earls, nor lord 
 chancellors I ever heard tell o', that was mair 
 thought upon nor wi' better reason — " 
 
 At this moment Jess entered from the 
 kitchen, to suggest that it was bedtime. 
 
 " And lang enough for the mistress to be 
 sitting up, and she so delicate," said the sole 
 servant of the house. " If ye had been in 
 .your ain room wi' a fire and a book to read, 
 it would have been wiser-like, than among a' 
 thae noisy laddies, wi' the wean and a seam 
 as if ye were as strong as me. Maister, I 
 wish you would speak to Colin ; he's awfu' 
 masterfu' ; instead of gaun to his bed, like a 
 civilized lad, yonder he is awa' ben to the 
 kitchen and down by the fire to read his book, 
 till his hair's like a singed sheep's head, and 
 
 his cheeks like burning peats. Ane canna do 
 a hand's-turn wi' a parcel o' callants about 
 the place day and nicht," said Jess, in an ag- 
 grieved tone. 
 
 " And just when Archie Candlish has sup- 
 pered his horses and come in for half-an-hour's 
 crack," said the master. " I'll send Colin to 
 his bed ; but dinna have ower muckle to say 
 to Archie ; he's a rover," continued the good- 
 tempered farmer, who "made allowances" 
 for a little love-making. He raised himself 
 out of his arm-chair with a little hesitation, 
 like a great mastiff uncoiling itself out of a 
 position of comfort, and ^went slowly away, 
 moving off through the dimly lighted room 
 like an amiable giant as he was. 
 
 "Eh, keep me !— and Archie Candlish had 
 just that very minute lookit in at the door," 
 said Jess, lifting her apron to her cheeks, 
 wliich were glowing with blushes and laugh- 
 ter. " No that I wanted him ; but he came 
 in wi' the news aboot the new minister, and 
 noo I'll never hear an end o't, and the mais- 
 ter will think he's aye there." 
 
 " If he's a decent lad and means well, it's 
 nae great matter," said the mistress ; " but I 
 dinna approve of ower mony lads. Ye may 
 gang through the wood and through the wood 
 and take but a crooked stick at the end." 
 
 "There's naebody I ken'o' that the mis- 
 tress can mean, but Bowed Jacob," said Jess 
 reflectively, " and ane might do waur than 
 take him, though he's nae great figure of a 
 man. The siller that body makes is a mira- 
 cle, and it would be grand to live in a twa- 
 storied house, and keep a lass ; but he's an 
 awfu' establishment man, and he micht in- 
 terfere wi' my convictions," said the young 
 woman with a glimmer of humor which found 
 no response in the mistress's serious eyes ; for 
 Mrs. Campbell, being of a poetical and imag- 
 inative temperament, tooK most things much 
 in earnest, and was slow to perceive a joke. 
 
 " You shouldna speak about convictions in 
 that light way, Jess," said the farmer's wife. 
 " I wouldna meddle wi' them mysel', no for 
 a' the wealth o' the parish ; but though the 
 maister and me are strong Kirk folk, ye ken 
 ye never were molested here." 
 
 " To hear Archie Candlish about the new 
 minister ! " cried Jess, whose quick ear had 
 already ascertained that her master had 
 paused in the kitchen to speak to her visitor, 
 " ye would laugh ; but though it's grand fun 
 for the folk, maybe it's no so pleasant for the 
 
10 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 poor man. We. put down our names for the 
 man we like best, us Free Kirk folks ; but it's 
 different in the parish. There's Tammas 
 Scott, he vows he'll object to every presentee 
 the earl puts in. I'm no heeding for the 
 carl," said Jess ; " he's a dour Tory and can 
 fecht for hirasel' ; but eh I wouldna be that 
 poor minister set up there for a' the parish 
 to object to. I'd rather work at a weaver's 
 loom or sell herrings about the country-side, 
 if it was me! " 
 
 " Weel, weel, things that are hard for the 
 flesh are guid for the spirit — or at least folk 
 say so," cried the mistress of Ramore. 
 
 " I dinna believe in that for my part," said 
 the energetic Jess, as she lifted the wooden 
 cradle in her strong arms. " Leave the wean 
 still, mistress, and draw your shawl about ye. 
 I could carry you, too, for that matter. Eh 
 me, I'm no o' that way o' thinking ; when 
 ye're happy and weel likit, ye're aye good 
 in proportion. No to gang against the words 
 o' Scripture," said Jess, setting down the big 
 cradle with a bump in her mistress's bed- 
 room, and looking anxiously at the sleeping 
 baby, which, with a little start and gape, re- 
 sisted this attempt to break its slumbers : 
 " but eh, mistress, it's aye my opinion that 
 the happier folk are the better they are. I 
 never was as happy as in this house," contin- 
 ued the grateful handmaiden, furtively pur- 
 suing a tear into the corner of her eye, with 
 a large forefinger, " no that I'm meaning to 
 say I'm guid ; but yet — " 
 
 " You might be waur," said the mistress, 
 with a smile. " You've aye a kind heart and 
 a blythe look, and that gangs a far way wi' 
 the maister and me. But it's time Archie 
 Candlish was hame to his mother. When 
 there's "nae moon and such heavy roads, you 
 ehouldna bring a decent man three miles out 
 of his way at this hour o' the nicht.to see 
 yon." 
 
 " Me? As if /was wanting him," said Jess, 
 " and him no a word to say to me or ony lass, 
 but about the beasts and the new minister ! 
 I'll be back in half a minute ; I wouldna 
 waste my time upon a gomeril like yon." 
 
 While Jess sallied forth through the chilly 
 passages to which the weeping atmosphere 
 had communicated a sensation of universal 
 damp, the mistress knelt down to arrange her 
 infant more commodiously in its homely nest. 
 The red firelight made harmless glimmers all 
 over her figure, catching now and then a side- 
 
 long glance out of her eyes as she smoothed 
 the little pillow, and laid the tiny coverlet 
 over the small unconscious creature wrapped 
 closely in webs and bands of sleep. When 
 she had done, she still knelt, watching it as 
 mothers will, with a smile upon her face. 
 After a while the beaming, soft dark eyes 
 turped to the light with a natural attraction, 
 to the glimmers of the fire shooting acci- 
 dental rays into all the corners, and to the 
 steady little candle on the mantle-shelf. The 
 mistress looked round on all the familiar ob- 
 jects of the homely, low-roofed chamber. 
 
 Outside, the rain fell heavily still upon the 
 damp and sodden country, soaking silently in 
 the dark into the forlorn wheat-sheaves, which 
 had been standing in the fields to dry in inef- 
 fectual hopefulness for weeks past. ^Matters 
 did not look promising on the farm of Ramore, 
 and nothing had occurred to add any partic- 
 ular happiness to its mistress's lot. But hap- 
 piness is perverse and follows no rule, and 
 Jess's sentiment found an echo in Mrs. Camp- 
 bell's mind. As she knelt by the cradle, her 
 heart suddenly swelled with a consciousness 
 of the perfection of life and joy in her and 
 around her. It was in homely words enough 
 that she gave it expression, " A' weel, and 
 under ae roof," she said to herself with ex- 
 quisite dews of thankfulness in her eyes. 
 " And the Lord have pity on lone folk and 
 sorrowful," added the tender woman, with a 
 compassion beyond words, a yearning that all 
 might be glad like herself, — the pity of hap- 
 piness, which is of all pity, the most divine. 
 Her boys were saying abrupt prayers, one by 
 one, as they sank in succession into dreamless 
 slumber. The master bad gone out in the 
 rain to take one last look over his kine and 
 his farmyard, and see that all was safe for 
 the night, and Archie Candlish had just been 
 dismissed with a stinging jest from the kitchen 
 door, which Jess bolted and barred with cheer- 
 ful din, singing softly to herself as she went 
 about the house putting up the innocent shut- 
 ters, which could not have resisted the first 
 touch of a skilful hand. The rain was falling 
 all over the wet, silent country : the Holy 
 Loch gleamed like a kind of twilight spot in 
 the darkness, and the house of Ramore stood 
 shut up and hushed, no liglit at all to be seen 
 but that from the open door, which the farmer 
 suddenly extinguished as he came in. But 
 when the solitary light died out from tlic in- 
 visible hillside, and the darkness and the rain 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 11 
 
 and the whispering night took undisturbed 
 possession, was just the moment when the 
 mother within, kneeling over her cradle in 
 the firelight, was surprised by that sudden, 
 conscious touch of happiness. ' ' Happiness ? 
 oh, ay, weel enough; we've a great deal to 
 be thankfu' for," said big Colin, with a little 
 sleepy surprise ; " if it werna for the sprout- 
 ing corn and the broken weather ; but I dinna 
 see onything particular to be happy about at 
 this minute, and I'm gaun to my bed." 
 
 For the prose and the poetry did not ex- 
 actly understand each other at all times, even 
 in the primitive farmhouse of Kamore. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The internal economy of a Scotch parish 
 is not so clearly comprehensible now-a-days 
 as it was in former times. Civilization itself 
 has made countless inroads upon the original 
 unities everywhere, and the changes that 
 have come to pass within the recollection of 
 the living generation are almost as great, 
 though verydifierent from, those which made 
 Scotland during last century so picturesque 
 in its state of transition. When Sunday 
 morning dawned upon the Holy Loch, it did 
 not shine upon that pretty rural picture of 
 unanimous church-going, so well known to 
 the history of the past. The groups from the 
 cottages took different ways — the carriage 
 from the Castle swept round the hill to the 
 other side of the parish, where there was an 
 " English Chapel." The reign of opinion 
 and liking was established in the once primi- 
 tive community. Half of the people ascended 
 the hillside to the Free Church, while the 
 others wound down the side of the loch to 
 the kirk which had once accommodated the 
 whole parish. This state of affairs had be- 
 come so usual that even polemical feeling 
 had ceased to a great extent, and the two 
 streams of church-going people crossed each 
 other placidly without recriminations. This 
 day, for a wonder, the sun was shining 
 brightly, notwithstanding a cloudy, stormy 
 sky, which now and then heaved forward a 
 rolling mass of vapor, and dispersed it sharply 
 over the hills in a flying mist and shower. 
 The parish church lay at the lower end of 
 the loch, a pretty little church built since 
 the days when architecture had penetrated 
 even into Scotland. Colin of Ramore and 
 his family were there in their pew, the boys 
 arranged in order of seniority between Mrs. 
 
 Campbell, who sat at the head, and the farmer 
 himself who kept the seat at the door. Black- 
 eyed Johnnie with his hair bleached white by 
 constant exposure, and his round eyes wan- 
 dering over the walls and the pews and the 
 pulpit and the people, sat by bis mother's 
 side, and the younger Colin occupied his post 
 of seniority by his father. They were all 
 seated, in this disposition, when the present 
 occupant of the Castle, Sir Thomas Frank- 
 land, lounged up the little aisle with his son 
 after him. Sir Thomas was quite devout and 
 respectable, a man who knew how to conduct 
 himself even in a novel scene — and after all 
 a Presbyterian church was no novelty to the 
 sportsman ; but to Harry the aspect of every- 
 thing was new, and his curiosity was excited. 
 It was a critical moment in the history of the 
 parish . The former minister had been trans- 
 ferred only a few weeks before to a more im- 
 portant station, and the earl, the patron, had, 
 according to Scotch phraseology, "presented " 
 a new incumbent to the living. This unhappy 
 man was ascending the pulpit when the 
 Franklands, father and son, entered the 
 church. For the earl's presentation by no 
 means implied the peaceable entrance of the 
 new minister ; he had to preach, to give the 
 people an opportunity of deciding whether 
 they liked him or not ; and if they did not 
 like him, they had the power of " objecting ; " 
 that is, of urging special reasons for their 
 dislike before the Presbytery, with a certainty 
 of making a little noise in the district, and a 
 reasonable probability of disgusting and mor- 
 tifying the unlucky presentee, to the point 
 of throwing up his appointment. All this 
 was well known to the unfortunate man, who 
 rose up in the pulpit as Sir Thomas found a 
 seat, and proceeded to read the psalm with a 
 somewhat embarrassed and faltering voice. 
 He was moderately young and well-looking, 
 with a face, at the present moment, more 
 agitated than was quite harmonious with the 
 position in which he stood ; for he was quite 
 aware that everybody was criticising him, and 
 that the inflections of his voice and the fiery 
 tint of his hair were being noted by eager 
 commentators bent upon finding ground for 
 an " objection " in everything he said. Such 
 a consciousness naturally does not promote 
 ease or comfort. His hair looked redder than 
 ever, as a stray ray of sunshine gleamed in 
 upon him, and his voice took a nervous break 
 as he looked over the many hard, unsympa- 
 
12 A SON OF 
 
 thetic faces which were regarding him with 
 the Bliarp curiosity and inspection of excited 
 wits. While Ilarrj Fraukland made, as he 
 thought, " an ass of himself" on every occa- 
 sion thatoffcrcd — standingbolt upright when 
 the congregation began to sing, which they 
 did at their leisure, seated in the usual way 
 — and kicking his heels in an attempt to kneel 
 when everybody round him rose up for the 
 prayer, and feeling terribly red and ashamed 
 at each mistake, Colin the younger, of Ra- 
 more, occupied himself, like a heartless young 
 critic as he was, in making observations on 
 the minister. Colin, like his father, had a 
 high opinion of " popular rights." It was 
 his idea, somehow drawn in with the damp 
 Highland air he breathed, that the right of 
 objecting to a presentee was one of the most 
 important privileges of a Scotch Churchman. 
 Then, he was to be a minister himself, and 
 the consciousness of this fact intensified the 
 natural opposition which prompted the boy's 
 mind to resist anything and everything that 
 threatened to be imposed on him. Colin even 
 listened to the prayer, which was a thing not 
 usual with him, that he might find out the 
 objectionable phrases. And to be sure there 
 were plenty of objectionable phrases to mar 
 the real devotion ; the vainest of vain repe- 
 titions, well-known and familiar as house- 
 hold words to every Scotch ear, demonstrated 
 how little eifect the absence of a liturgy has 
 in promoting fervent and individual suppli- 
 cations. The congregation in general lis- 
 tened, like young Colin, standing up in 
 easy attitudes, and observing everything that 
 passed around them with open-eyed compo- 
 sure. It did not look much like common 
 supplication, nor did it pretend to be — for 
 the people were but listening to the minis- 
 ter's prayer, which, to tell the truth, con- 
 tained various expository and remonstrative 
 paragraphs, which were clearly addressed to 
 the congregation ; and they were all very 
 glad to sit down when it was over, and clear 
 their throats, and prepare for the sermon, 
 which was the real business of the day." 
 
 "I dinna like a' that new-fangled non- 
 sense to begin with," said Eben Campbell, 
 of Barnton, as he walked home after church, 
 with the party from Ramore ; " naebody 
 wants twa chapters read at one diet of wor- 
 ship. The Bible's grand at hame, but that's 
 no what a man gangs to the kirk for ; that, 
 
 THE SOIL. 
 
 and 60 mony prayers— it's naething but a 
 great offput of time." 
 
 j " But we never can have ower muckle o' 
 I the word of God," said Colin of Ramore's 
 I wife. 
 
 "I'm of Eben's opinion," said another 
 neighbor. " We have the word o' God at 
 I hame, and I hope we make a good use o' it; 
 but that's no what we gang to the kirk to 
 \ hear. When yp see a man that's set up in 
 ] the pulpit for anither purpose a'thcgether, 
 j spending half his time in reading chapters 
 and ithcr preliminaries, I aye consider it's a 
 sure sign that he hasna mackle o' his ain to 
 say." 
 
 They were all walking abreast in a leisurely 
 Sunday fashion up the loch ; the children 
 roaming about the skirts of the older party, 
 some in front and some behind, occasionally 
 making furtive investigations into the condi- 
 tion of the brambles, an anti-sabbatical occu- 
 pation which was sharply interrupted when 
 found out — the women picking their steps 
 along the edges of the muddy road, with now 
 and then a word of pleasant gossip, while the 
 men trudged on sturdily through the pud- 
 dles, discussing the great subject of the day. 
 " Some of the new folk from the Castle 
 were in the kirk to-day," said one of the 
 party, — "which is a respect to the parish 
 the earl doesna pay himself. Things are ter- 
 rible changed in that way since my young 
 days. The auld earl, this ane's father, was 
 an elder in the Kirk ; and gentle and simple, 
 we a' said our prayers thegcther — " 
 
 " I dinna approve of that expression," said 
 Eben of Barnton . "To speak of saying your 
 prayers in the kirk is pure papistry. Say 
 your prayers at hame, as I hope we a' do, at 
 the family altar, no to speak of private devo- 
 tions," said this defender of the faith, with a 
 glance at the unlucky individual who was 
 understood not to be so regular in the article 
 of family prayer as he ought to have been. 
 "We gang to the kirk to have our minds 
 stirred up and put in remembrance. I dinna 
 approve of the English fashion of putting 
 everything into the prayers." 
 
 " Weel, wecl, I meant nae harm," said 
 the previous speaker. " We a' gaed to the 
 kirk, was what I meant to say ; and there's 
 the queen, she aye sets a grand example. 
 You'll no find her driving off three or four 
 miles to an English chapel. I consider it's 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 13 
 
 a great respect to the parish to see Sir Thomas 
 in the Castle pew." 
 
 " I would rather see him respect the sab- 
 bath-day," said Eben Campbell, pointing out 
 a little pleasure-boat, a tiny little cockle- 
 Bhell, with a morsel of snow-white sail, which 
 just then appeared in the middle of tlie loch, 
 rushing up beautifully before the wind, 
 through the placid Waters, and lighting up 
 the landscape with a touch of life and mo- 
 tion. Young Colin was at Eben's elbow, and 
 followed the movement of his hand with keen 
 eyes. A spark of jealousy had kindled in 
 the boy's breast — he could not have told why. 
 He was not so horrified as he ought to have 
 been at the sight of the boat disturbing the 
 Sunday quiet ; but, with a swell of indigna- 
 tion and resentment in his boyish heart, he 
 thought of the difference between himself 
 and the young visitor at the Castle. It 
 looked symbolical to Colin. He, trudging 
 heavily over the muddy, lepgthy road ; the 
 other, flying along in that dainty little bird- 
 like boat, with those white wings of sail, 
 which pleased Colin's eye in spite of himself, 
 carrying him on as lightly and swiftly as 
 heart could desire. Why should one boy 
 have such a wonderful advantage over an- 
 other? It was the first grand problem which 
 had puzzled and embittered Colin's thoughts. 
 
 " There, they go ! "' said the boy. " It's 
 fine and easy, running like that before the 
 wind. They'll get to the end o' the loch be- 
 fore we've got over a mile. That makes an 
 awfu' difference," said Colin, with subdued 
 wrath ; he was thinking of other things be- 
 sides the long walk from church and the 
 muddy road. 
 
 " We'll may be get home as-soon, for all 
 that," said his father, who guessed the boy's 
 thoughts ; for the elder Colin's experienced 
 eye had already seen that mists were rising 
 among the hills, and that the fair breeze 
 would soon be fair no longer. The scene 
 changed as if by enchantment while the 
 farmer spoke. Such changes come and go 
 like breath over the Holy Loch. The sun- 
 shine, which had been making the whole 
 landscape into a visible paradise, vanished 
 suddenly off the hills and waters like a fright- 
 ened thing, and a visible darkness came brood- 
 ing over the mountains, dropping lower every 
 moment, like a pall of gloom over the lower 
 banks and the suddenly paled and shivering 
 loch. The joyous little sail, which had been 
 
 careering on, as if by a iiatural impulse of de- 
 light, suddenly changed its character along 
 with all the otli'j- details of the picture. The 
 spectators saw its white sail, fluttering like 
 an alarmed seabird, against the black back- 
 ground of cloud. Then it began to tack and 
 waver and make awkward, tremulous darts 
 across the darkened water. The party of 
 pedestrians stood still to watch it, as the po- 
 sition became dangerous. They knew the 
 loch and the winds too well to look on with 
 composure. As for young Colin of Ramore, 
 his heart began to leap and swell in his boy- 
 ish bosom. Was that his adversary, the 
 favored rival whom he had recognized by in- 
 stinct, who was fighting for his life out there 
 in mid water, with the storm gaining on him, 
 and his little vessel staggering in the wind? 
 Colin did not hear the remarks of the otKer '' 
 spectators. He felt in his heart that he was 
 looking on at a struggle which was for life 
 or death, and his contempt for the skill of 
 the amateur sailor, whose unused hands were 
 so manifestly unable to manage the boat, was 
 mingled with a kind of despair, lest a stronger 
 power should snatch this opponent of his own 
 out of , the future strife, in which Colin had 
 vowed to himself to be victorious. 
 
 " You fool ! take in the sail ! " he shouted, 
 putting both his hands to his mouth, forget- 
 ting how impossible it was that the sound 
 could reach ; and then scarcely knowing what 
 he was about, the boy rushed down to the 
 beach, and jumped into the nearest boat. 
 The sound of his oars furiously plashing 
 through the silence was the first indication 
 to his companions of what he had done. And 
 he did not even see nor hear the calls and 
 gestures with which he was summoned back 
 again. His oars, and how to get there at a 
 flight like a bird, occupied his mind entirely. 
 Yet even in his anxiety he scorned to ask for 
 help which would have carried him bo much 
 sooner to the spot he aimed at. As the 
 sound of his oars dashed and echoed through 
 the profound silence, various outcries came 
 from the group on the bank. 
 
 "It's tempting Providence! " cried Eben 
 Campbell. "Yon's a judgment on the sab- 
 bath-breaker, — and what can the laddie do? 
 Come back, sir, this moment, come back ! 
 Ye'll never win there in time." 
 
 As for the boy's mother, after his first 
 start she clasped her hands together, and 
 watched the boat with an interest too intense 
 
14 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 for words. " He's in nae danger," she said 
 to herself, softly ; and it would have been 
 hard to tell whether she was sorry or glad 
 that her boy's enterprise was attended by no 
 personal peril. 
 
 . " Let him be," said the farmer of Ramore, 
 pushing aside his anxious neighbor, who was 
 calling Colin ineffectually, but without inter- 
 mission. Colin Campbell's face had taken a 
 sudden crimson flush, which nobody could ac- 
 count for. He went off up the beach with 
 heavy, rapid steps, scattering the shingle 
 round his feet, to a spot exactly opposite the 
 struggling boat, and stood there watching 
 with wonderful eagerness. The little white 
 sail was still fluttering and struggling like a 
 distressed bird upon the black, overclouded 
 water. Now it lurched over till the very 
 mast seemed to touch the loch — now re- 
 covered itself for a tremulous moment — and 
 finally, shivering like a living creature, gave 
 one wild, sudden stagger, and disappeared. 
 
 When the speck of white vanished out of 
 the black landscape, a cry came out of all 
 their hearts ; and hopeless as it was, the very 
 man who had been calling Colin back, rushed 
 in his turn to a boat, and pushed off violently 
 into the loch. The women stood huddled to- 
 gether, helpless with terror and grief. " The 
 bit laddie! the bit laddie! " cried one of 
 them — " some poorwoman's bairn." Asfor 
 Mrs. Campbell, the world grew dark round 
 her as she strained her eyes after Colin's 
 boat. She did not faint, for such was not 
 the habit of the Holy Loch ; but she sank 
 down suddenly on the wet green bank, and 
 put up her hand over her eyes as if to shade 
 them from some imaginary sunshine, and 
 gazed, not seeing anything, after her boy. 
 To see her, delicate as she was, with the 
 woman weakness which they all understood, 
 seating herself in this wild way on the wet 
 bank, distracted the attention of her kindly 
 female neighbors, even from the terrible 
 event which had just taken place before their 
 eyes. 
 
 " Maybe the lad can swim," said Eben 
 Campbell's wife — " onyway yonder 's your 
 Colin running races with death to save him. 
 But you maunna sit here — come into Dugald 
 Macfarlane's house. There's my man away 
 in another boat and some mair. But we 
 canna let you sit here." 
 
 "Eh, my Colin, I canna see my Colin ! " 
 said the mistress of Ramore ; but they led 
 
 her away into the nearest cottage, notwith- 
 standing her reluctance. There they all 
 stood clustering at the window, aiding the 
 eyes which had failed her in her weakness. 
 Colin's mother sat silent in the chair where 
 they had placed her, trembling and rocking 
 herself to and fro. Her heart within her 
 was praying and crying for the boys — the 
 two boys whom in this moment of confused 
 anxiety she could not separate — her own first- 
 born, and the stranger who was " another 
 woman's bairn." God help all women and 
 mothers ! though Colin was safe, what could 
 her heart do but break at the thought of 
 the sudden calamity which had shut out the 
 sunshine from another. She rocked herself 
 to and fro, ceasing at last to hear what they 
 said to her, and scarcely aware of anything 
 except the dull clank of the oars against the 
 boat's side ; somebody coming or going, she 
 knew not which — always coming or going — 
 never bringing certain news which was lost 
 and which saved. 
 
 The mistress of Ramore was still in this stu- 
 por of anxiety, when young Harry Frank- 
 land, dripping and all but insensible, was car- 
 ried into Dugald Macfarlane's cottage. The 
 little room became dark instantly with sucli 
 a cloud of men that it was difficult to make 
 out how he had been saved, or if there was 
 indeed any life left in the lad. But Dugald 
 Macfarlane's wife, who had the ferry-boat at 
 Struan, and understood about drowning, had 
 bestirred herself in the mean time, and had 
 hot blankets and other necessities in the inner 
 room where big Colin Camj^bell carried the 
 boy. Then all the men about burst at once 
 into the narrative. " If it hadna been for 
 little Colin o' Ramore — " was about all Mrs. 
 Campbell made out of the tale. The cottage 
 was so thronged that there was scarcely an 
 entrance left for the doctor and Sir Thomas 
 who had both been summoned by anxious 
 messengers. By this time the storm had 
 come down upon the loch, and a wild, sud- 
 den tempest of rain was sweeping black 
 across hill and water, obliterating every line 
 of the landscape. Half-way across, playing 
 on the surface of the water was a bit of spar 
 with a scarlet rag attached to it, which made 
 a great show glistening over the black waves. 
 That was all that was visible of the pleasure- 
 boat in which the young stranger had been 
 bounding along so pleasantly an hour before. 
 The neighbors dropped off gradually, dispers- 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 ing to other adjacent houses to talk over the 
 incident, or pushing homeward, with an in- 
 difference to the storm that was natural to 
 the dwellers on the Holy Loch ; and it was 
 only when she was left alone, waiting for her 
 husband, who was in the inner room with Sir 
 Thomas and the saved boy, that Mrs. Camp- 
 bell perceived Colin 's bashful face gleaming 
 in furtively at the open door. 
 
 "It's no so wet as it was; come away, 
 mother, now," said Colin, " there's nae fears 
 o' Azm." And the lad pointed half with an 
 assertion, half with an inquiry, towards the 
 inner room. It was an unlucky moment for 
 the shy hero ; for just then big Colin of Ra- 
 more appeared with Sir Thomas at the door. 
 " This is the boy that saved my son," said 
 Harry's father. "You are a brave fellow ; 
 neither he nor I will ever forget it. Let me 
 know if there is anything I can serve you in, 
 and to the best of my exertions I will help 
 you as you have helped me. What does he 
 say?" 
 
 " I say," said Colin the younger, with 
 fierce blushes, " that it wasna me. I've 
 done naething to be thanked for. Yon fellow 
 swims like a fish, and he saved himself." 
 
 And then there came an answering voice 
 from the inner room — a boy's voice subdued 
 out of its natural falsetto into feminine tones 
 of weakness. " He's telling a lie, that fellow 
 there," cried the other from his bed ; " he 
 picked me up when I was about done for. 
 I'll fight him, if he likes, as soon as I'm able ! 
 But that's a lie he tells you ; that's him — 
 that Campbell fellow there." 
 
 Upon which young Colin of Ramore 
 Qlenched his fists in hie wet pockets, and 
 faced towards the door, which Dugald Mac- 
 farlane's wife closed softly, looking out upon 
 
 15 
 
 him, shaking her head and holding up a fin- 
 ger to impose silence ; the two fathers mean- 
 while looked in each other's faces. The 
 English baronet and the Scotch farmer both 
 broke into a low, unsteady laugh, and then 
 with an impulse of fellowship, mutually ex- 
 tended their hands. 
 
 " We have nae reason to think shame of 
 our sons," said Colin Campbell with his 
 Scotch dignity ; " as for service or reward 
 that is neither here nor there ; what my boy 
 did your boy would do if he had the chance, 
 and there's nae mair to be said that I can 
 see." 
 
 "There's a great deal more to be said," 
 said Sir Thomas ; " Lady Frankland will call 
 on Mrs. Campbell, and thank that brave boy 
 of yours ; and if you think I can forget such 
 a service, — I tell you there's a great deal 
 more to be said," said the sportsman, break- 
 ing down suddenly with a little effusion, of 
 which he was half ashamed. 
 
 " The gentleman's right, Colin," said the 
 mistress of Ramore. " God be thanked for 
 the twa laddies ! My heart was breaking 
 for the English lady. God be thanked ! 
 That's a' there is to say. But I'll be real 
 glad to see that open-hearted callant when 
 he's well, and his mother too," said the 
 farmer's wife, turning her soft eyes upon Sir 
 Thomas, with a gracious response to the 
 overflowing of his heart. Sir Thomas took 
 off his hat to her as respectfully as he would 
 have done to the queen, when she took her 
 husband's strong arm, and followed Colin, 
 who by this time, with his hands in his pock- 
 ets, and his heart beating loudly, was half- 
 way to Ramore ; and now they had other 
 topics besides that unfailing one of the oew 
 minister to talk of on the way. 
 
16 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 PART II. — CnAPTER IV. 
 
 November weather is not cheerful on the 
 Holy Loch. The dazzling snow on the hills 
 when there is sunshine, the sharp cold blue 
 of the water, the withered ferns and licatbcr 
 on the banks, give it, it is true, a new tone of 
 color unknown to its placid summer beauty ; 
 but, when there is no sunshine, as is more 
 usual, when the mountains are folded in dark 
 mists, and the rain falls cold, and the trees 
 rain down a still heavier and more melan- 
 choly shower of perpetually falling leaves, 
 there is little in the landscape to cheer the 
 spirits of the inhabitants, who, fortunately for 
 themselves, take it very calmly, like most 
 people accustomed to such a climate. The 
 farmer's wife of Ramore, however, was not 
 of that equable mind. When she looked out 
 from her homely parlor-window, it oppressed 
 her heart to miss her mountains, and to see 
 the heavy atmosphere closing in over her own 
 little stretch of hillside. She was busy, to 
 be sure, and had not much time to think of 
 it ; but, when she paused for a moment in 
 her many occupations, and looked wistfully 
 for signs of " clearing," the poetic soul in 
 her homely bosom fell subdued into an uncon- 
 scious harmony with the heavy sky. If the 
 baby looked pale by chance, the mother took 
 gloomy views of the matter on such days, and 
 was subject to Little momen.,ary failures of 
 hope and courage, which amazed, and at the 
 same time amused, big Colin, who by this 
 time knew all about it. 
 
 " You were blythe enough about us a' yes- 
 terday, Jeanie," he would say, with a smilo, 
 " and nothing's happened to change the pros- 
 pect but the rain. It's just as weel for the 
 wean that the doctor's a dozen miles off; for 
 it's your e'en that want physic, and a glint 
 o' sunshine would set a' right." He was 
 standing by her, hovering like a great good- 
 humored cloud, his eyes dwelling upon her 
 with that tender perception of her sacred 
 weakness, and admiring pride in her more 
 delicate faculties, which are of the highest 
 essence of love. 
 
 " I hope you dinna think me a fool alto- 
 gether,'' the mistress would answer, with mo- 
 mentary offence ; " as if I was thinking of the 
 rain, or as if there was onything but rain to 
 be lookit for ! but when I mind that my Co- 
 lin gangs away the morn — " 
 
 And then she took up her basket of mended 
 stockings, and, with a little impatience, to 
 
 hide a chance drop on her eyelash, carried 
 them away to Colin's room, where his chest 
 stood open and was being packed for the jour- 
 ney. It was not a very long journey, but it 
 was the boy's first outset into independent 
 life ; and very independent life was that which 
 awaited the country lad in Glasgow, where 
 he was going to the university. On such a 
 day dark shadows of many a melanclioly story 
 floated somehow upon the darkened atmos- 
 phere into Mrs. Campbell's mind. 
 
 "If we could but have boarded him in a 
 decent family," she said to herself, as she 
 packed her boy's stockings. But it had been 
 " a bad year" at Ramore, and no decent 
 family would have received young Colin for 
 so small a sum as that on which he himself 
 and various more wise advisers considered it 
 possible for him to live, by the help of an oc- 
 casional hamper of home-produce, in a little 
 lodging of his own. Mrs. Campbell had ac- 
 ceded to this arrangement as the best , but 
 it occurred to her to remember various wrecks 
 she had encountered even in her innocent 
 life ; and her heart failed her a little as she 
 leaned over Colin's big " kist." 
 
 Colin himself said very little on the sub- 
 ject, though he thought of nothing else ; but 
 he was a taciturn Scotch boy, totally unused 
 to disclose bis feelings. He. was strolling 
 round and round the place with his hands in 
 his pockets, gradually getting soaked by the 
 persistent rain, and rather liking it than 
 otherwise. As he strayed about — having 
 nothing to do that day in consideration of its 
 being his last day at home — Colin's presence 
 was by no means welcomed by the other peo- 
 ple about the farm. Of course, being unoc- 
 cupied himself, he had the sharpest eyes for 
 every blunder that was going on in the stable 
 or the byre, and announced his little discov- 
 eries with a charming candor. But in his 
 heart, even at the moment when he was driv- 
 ing Jess to frenzy by uncalled-for remarks 
 touching the dinner of the pigs, Colin was all 
 ablaze with anticipation of the new life that 
 was to begin to-morrow. He thought of it as 
 something grand and complete, not made up 
 of petty details like this life he was leaving. It 
 was a mist of learning, daily stimulation and 
 encounter of wits, with glorious prizes and 
 honors hanging in the hazy distance, whicii 
 Colin saw as he went strolling about the 
 fai'myard in the rain, with iiis hands in his 
 pockets. If he said anything articulate to 
 
A SON OF 
 
 himself on the Bubject, it was comprised m 
 one succinct, but seemingly inapplicable, 
 statement. "Eton's no a college," he said 
 once, under his breath, with a dark glow of 
 satisfaction on his face as he stopped oppo- 
 site the door, and cast a glance upon the 
 loch and the boat, which latter was now 
 drawn up high and dry out of reach of the 
 wintry water ; and then a cloud suddenly 
 lowered over Colin's face, as a sudden doubt 
 of his own accuracy seized him — a torturing 
 thought which drove him indoors instantly 
 to resolve his doubt by reference to a won- 
 derful old gazetteer which was believed in 
 at Eamore. Colin found it recorded there, 
 to his great mental disturbance, that Eton 
 was a college ; but, on further inquiry, de- 
 rived great comfort from knowing that it 
 certainly was not a university, after which 
 he felt himself again at liberty to issue forth 
 and superintend and aggravate all the busy 
 people about the farm. 
 
 That night the family supper-table was 
 somewhat dull, notwithstanding the excite- 
 ment of the boys, for Archie was to accom- 
 pany his father and brother to Glasgow, and 
 was in great glee over that unusual delight. 
 Mrs. Campbell, for her part, was full of 
 thoughts natural enough to the mother of so 
 many sons. She kept looking at her boys 
 as they sat round the table, absorbed in their 
 supper. " This is the beginning, but wha 
 can tell what may be the end ? ' ' she said 
 half to herself; " they'll a' be gane afore we 
 ken what we're doing." Little Johnnie, to 
 be sure, was but six years old ; but the moth- 
 er's imagination leapt over ten years, and 
 saw the house empty, and all the young 
 lives out in the world. "Eh me!" said 
 the reflective woman, " that's what we bring 
 up our bairns for, and rejoice over them as 
 if they were treasure ; and then by the time 
 we're auld they're a' gane;" and, as she 
 spoke, not the present shadow only, but le- 
 gions of vague desolations in the time to 
 come came rolling up like mists upon her 
 tender soul. 
 
 " As lang as there's you and me, we'll 
 fend, Jeanie," said the farmer, with a smile ; 
 " twa's very good company to my way o' 
 thinking ; but there's plenty of time to think 
 about the dispersion which canna take place 
 yet for a year or twa. The boys came into 
 the world to live their ain lives and serve 
 their ^laker, and no' just to pleasure you and 
 
 2 
 
 THE SOIL. 17 
 
 me. If you've a' done, ye can cry on Jess, and 
 bring out the big Bible, Colin. We maunna 
 miss our prayers to-night." 
 
 To tell the truth, Colin of Ramore was 
 not quite so regular in his discharge of this 
 duty as his next neighbor, Eben Campbell of 
 Barn ton, thought necessary, and was disap- 
 proved of accordingly by that virtuous critic ; 
 but the homely little service was perhaps all 
 the more touching on this special occasion, 
 and marked the "night before Colin went 
 first to the college "as a night to be remem- 
 bered. When his brothers trooped off to 
 bed, Colin remained behind as a sjDecial dis- 
 tinction. His mother was sitting by the 
 fire without even her knitting, with her 
 hands crossed in her lap, and clouds of 
 troubled, tender thought veiling her soft 
 eyes. As for the farmer, he sat looking on 
 with a faint gleam of humor in his face. He 
 knew that his wife was going to speak out 
 her anxious heart to her boy, and big Colin's 
 respect for her judgment was just touched 
 by a man's smile at her womanish solemnity, 
 and the great unlikelihood that her innocent 
 advices would have the effect she imagined 
 upon her son's career. But, notwithstand- 
 ing the smile, big Colin, too, listened with 
 interest to all that his wife had to say. 
 
 " Come here and sit down," said Mrs. 
 Campbell ; " you needna' think shame of my 
 hand on your head, though you are gauia to 
 the college the morn. Eh ! Colin, you dinna 
 ken a' the temptations nor the trials. Ye've 
 aye had your ain way at hame — " 
 
 Here Colin made a little movement of irre- 
 pressible dissent. "I've aye done what I 
 was bidden," said the honest boy. He could 
 not accept that gentle fiction even when his 
 heart was touched by his mother's farewell. 
 
 " Wecl, ■weel," said the farmer's wife, 
 with a little sigh ; "you've had your ain way 
 as flir as it was good for you. But its awfu' 
 different living among strangers, and living 
 in your father's house. Ye'll have to think 
 for yoursel' and take care of yoursel' now. 
 I'm no one to give many advices," said the 
 mother, putting up her hand furtively to her 
 eyes, and looking into the fire till the tears 
 should be re-absorbed which had gathered 
 there. " But I wouldna like my first-born 
 to leave Ramore and think a' was as fair in 
 the world as appears to the common e'e. I've 
 been real Avecl off a' my days," said the mis- 
 tress, slowly, letting the tears which she had 
 
18 
 
 restrained before drop freely at this rcminis 
 cence of happiness; "a guid father and 
 mother to bring me up, and then him there 
 that's tlic kindest man ! But you and me 
 needna praise your father, Colin ; we can 
 leave that to them thatdinna ken," she went 
 on, recovering herself; "but I've had ac 
 trouble for a' so weel as I've been, and I mean 
 to tell you what that is afore you set out in 
 the world for yoursel'." 
 
 "Nothing about poor George," said the 
 farmer, breaking in. 
 
 " Oh, ay, Colin, just about poor George; 
 I maun speak," said the mistress. " He was 
 far the bonniest o' our family, and the bcst- 
 likit ; and he was to be a minister, laddie, 
 like you. He used to come hame with his 
 prizes, and bring the very sunshine to the auld 
 house. Eh ! but my mother was proud ; and 
 for me, I thought there was nothing in this 
 world he mightna' do if he likit. Colin," 
 said Mrs. Campbell, with solemn looks, "are 
 ye listening ? The last time I saw my brother 
 was in a puir place at Liverpool, a' in rags 
 and dirt, Avith an auld coat buttoned to his 
 throat, that it mightna' be seen what was 
 wantin', and a' his wild hair hanging about 
 his face, and his feet out o' his shoon, and 
 hunger in his eye — " 
 
 " Jeanie, Jeanie, nae mair," said big 
 Colin from the other side of the fire. 
 
 " But I maun say mair ; I maun tell a'," 
 cried his wife, with tears. " Hunger in his 
 bonnie face, that was ance the blythest 
 in the country-side — no hunger for honest 
 meat as nature might crave, but for a' thing 
 that was unlawfu' and evil and killin' to 
 soul and body. He had to be watched for 
 fear he should spend the hard-won silver that 
 we had a' scraped together to send him away. 
 Him that had been our pride, we couldna 
 trust him, Colin, no ten minutes out o' our 
 sight but he was in some new trouble. It 
 was to Australia we sent him, where a' the 
 uuTortunates go. Eh, me ! the like o' that 
 ship sailing ! If there was a kind o' hope in 
 our breasts it was the hope o' despair. It 
 wasna' my will, for what is there in a new 
 place to make a man reform his waj-s ? And 
 that was how your Uncle George went 
 away." 
 
 "And then?" cried the boy, whose in- 
 terest was raised, and who had heard myste- 
 riously of this Uncle George before. 
 
 " We've heard no word from that day to 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 this," said ^Irs. Campbell, drying her eyes. 
 " Listen till I tell you a' that his pleasurings 
 brought him to. First, and greatest, to say 
 what was not true, Colin — to deceive them 
 that trusted him. If the day should ever 
 dawn that I couldna trust a bairn o' mine — 
 if it should ever come sickening to my heart 
 that e"e or tongue was false that belonged to 
 me — if I had to watch my laddies, and to 
 stand in doubt at every word they said — 
 eh ! Colin, God send I may be in my grave 
 afoi'e such an awfu' fate should come to mc ! " 
 
 Young Colin of Ramore answered not a 
 word ; he stared into the fire instead, mak- 
 ing horrible faces unawares. He could not 
 have denied, had he been taxed with it, that 
 tears were in his eyes ; but rather than shed 
 them he would have endured tortures ; and 
 any expression of his feelings in words was 
 more impossible still. 
 
 " No as if I was a better woman than my 
 mother, or worthy o' a better fate," said the 
 thoughtful mistress of Ramore ; " for she was 
 ane o' the excellent of the earth, as a'body 
 kens ; and, if ever a woman won to her rest 
 through great tribulations, she was ane ; and, 
 if the Lord sent the cross, he would send the 
 strength to bear it. But, Colin, my man, 
 it would be kind to drown your mother in the 
 loch, or fell her on the hill, sooner than bring 
 upon her such great anguish and trouble as 
 I have told you of tliis night ! " 
 
 "Now, wife," said the farmer, interfer- 
 ing, "you've said your part. Nae such 
 thought is in Colin's head. Gang you and 
 look after his kist, and see that a' thing's 
 right ; and him and me will have our crack 
 the time you're away. Your mother's an 
 innocent woman," said big Colin, after a 
 pause, when she had gone away ; " she kens 
 nae mair of the world than the bairn on her 
 knee. When you're a man you'll ken the 
 benefit of taking your first notions from a 
 woman like that. No an imagination in her 
 mind but wliafs good and true. It's hard 
 work fcchting through this world without 
 marks o' the battle," said big Colin, with a 
 little pathos ; " but a man wi' the likeo' her 
 by his side maun be ill indeed if he gangs 
 very far wrang. It mightna' be a' to the 
 purpose," continued the farmer, with a little 
 of his half-conscious common-sense superi- 
 ority," as appeals to the feelings seldom are; 
 but, Colin, if you take my advice, you'll 
 mind every word of what your mother says." 
 
A SON OF 
 
 Colin said not a syllable in reply. He had 
 got rid of the tears safely, which was a great 
 deal gained : they must have fallen had the 
 mistress remained two seconds longer looking 
 at him with her soft, beaming eyes ; but he 
 had not quite gulped down yet that climbing 
 sorrow which had him by the throat. Any- 
 how, even if his voice had been at his own 
 command , he was very unlikely to have made 
 any reply. 
 
 " Ye'll find a' strange when ye gang to 
 Glasgow," continued the farmer. " I'm no 
 feared for any great temptation, except idle- 
 ness, besetting a callant like you ; but a man 
 that has his ain bread and his ain way to 
 make in the world has nae time for idleness. 
 You've guid abilities, Colin, and if they 
 dinna come to something you'll have but 
 yoursel' to blame : and I wouldna' put the 
 reproach on my !Maker of having framed a 
 useless soul into the world, if I were you," 
 said big Colin. " There's never ony failures 
 that I can see among the lower creation, 
 without some guid reason ; but it's the priv- 
 ilege o' men to fail without ony caus^o' fail- 
 ure except want o' will to do weel. When 
 ye see the like of George for instance, ye ask 
 what the Lord took the trouble to make such 
 a ne'er-do-weel for?" said the homely phi- 
 Aosophef ; " I never could help thinking, for 
 my part, that it was labor lost, though nae 
 doubt Providence kent better ; but I wouldna' 
 be like that if I could help it. There's no a 
 Billy sheep on the hill, nor horse in the sta- 
 ble, that isna' a credit to Ilim that made it. 
 I would take good heed no to put mysel' 
 beneath the brute beasts, if I were you." 
 
 " I'm no meaning," cried Colin, with un- 
 grammatical abruptness and a little offence ; 
 for he was pricked in his pride by this ad- 
 dress, which was not, according to his fa- 
 ther's ideas, any "appeal to his feelings," 
 but a calm and common-sense way of putting 
 an argument before the boy. 
 
 " I never said you were," said the farmer. 
 "It'll cost us hard work to keep ye at your 
 studies, and I put it to your honor no to 
 waste your time ; and you'll write regular, 
 and mind what kind o' thoughts your mother's 
 thinking at home in Ramore ; and I may tell 
 you, Colin, I put confidence in you," said the 
 fatlier, laying his big hand with a heavy mo- 
 mentary pressure upon the lad's shoulder. 
 " Now, good-night, and go to your bed. and 
 prepare for the morn." 
 
 THE SOIL. 19 
 
 Such were the parting advices with which 
 the boy was sent out into the world. His 
 mother was in his room, kneeling before his 
 chest, adding the last particulars to its store, 
 when Colin entered the homely little chamber 
 — but what they said to each other before 
 they parted was for nobody's ear; and the 
 morning was blazing with a wintry bright- 
 ness, and all the hills standing white against 
 the sky, and the heart of the mistress hope- 
 ful as the day, when she wiped off her tears 
 with her apron, and waved her farewell to 
 her boy, as he went off in the little steamer 
 which twice a day thrilled the loch with 
 communications from the world. " He'll 
 come back in the spring," she said to her- 
 self, as she went about her homely work, 
 and ordered her household. And so young 
 Colin went forth, all dauntless and cour- 
 ageous, into the great battle-field, to en- 
 counter whatsoever conflicts might come to 
 him, and to conquer the big world and all 
 that was therein, in the victorious dreams of 
 his youth. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The first disappointment encountered by 
 the young hero was the wonderful shock of 
 finding out that it was not an abstract world 
 he had to encounter and fight with, but that 
 life was an affair of days and hours exactly 
 as at Ramore, which was about his first real 
 mental experience and discovery. It was a 
 strange mortification to Colin, who was, like 
 his mother, a poet in his soul, to find out 
 that there was nothing abstract in his new 
 existence, but that a perpetually recurring 
 round of lessons to learn, and classes to at- 
 tend, and meals to eat, made up the days, 
 which were noways changed in their charac- 
 ter from those days which he had already 
 known for all the fifteen years of his life. 
 After the first shock, however, he went on 
 with undiminished courage — for at fifteen it 
 is so easy to think that those great hours are 
 waiting for us somewhere in the undisclosed 
 orb of existence. Certainly a time would 
 come when every day, of itself a radiant 
 whole and complete unity, would roll forth 
 majestic like the earth in the mystic atmos- 
 phere. He had missed it this time, but after 
 a while it must come ; for the future, like 
 the past, works wonders upon the aspect of 
 time ; and still it is true of the commonest 
 hours that they — 
 
20 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 " win 
 
 A glory from their bein^j far, 
 And orb into the perfect star 
 We saw not when we walked therein." 
 
 So thought Colin, looking at them from the 
 other side, and seeing a perfection •which no- 
 body ever reached in this world. But of 
 course he did not know that — so he post- 
 poned those grand days and barred them up 
 with shining doors, on which was written 
 the name and probable date of the next great 
 change in his existence ; and, contenting 
 himself for the present with the ordinary 
 hours, went light-hearted enough upon his 
 boyish way. 
 
 A little adventure which occurred to the 
 neojAyte on his first entrance upon this new 
 scene, produced results for him, however, 
 which are too important to be omitted from 
 his history. Everybody who has been in that 
 dingiest of cities knows that the students at 
 the University of Glasgow, small as their in- 
 fluence is otherwise upon the character of the 
 town, are bound to do it one superficial ser- 
 vice at least. Custom has ordained that they 
 should wear red gowns ; and the fatigued 
 traveller, weary of the universal leaden 
 gray, can alone appreciate fully the seilse of 
 gratitude and relief occasioned by the sudden 
 gleam of scarlet fluttering up the long, un- 
 lovely street on a November day. But that 
 artistic sense which penetrates but slowly 
 into barbarous regions has certainly not yet 
 reached the students of Glasgow. So far 
 from considering themselves public benefac- 
 tors through the medium of their red gowns, 
 there is no expedient of boyish ingenuity to 
 which the ignorant youths will not resort to 
 quench the splendid tint, and reduce its glory 
 as nearly as possible to the sombre hue 
 of everything around. Big Colin of Ra- 
 more was unacquainted with the tradition 
 which made a new and brilliant specimen of 
 the academic robe of Glasgow as irritating to 
 the students as the color is supposed to be to 
 other animals of excitable temper ; and the 
 good farmer natua-ally arrayed his son in a 
 new gown, glorious as any new ensign in the 
 first delight of his uniform. As for Colin, 
 he Avas far from being delighted. The ter- 
 rible thought of walking through the streets 
 in that blazing costume seriously counter- 
 balanced all the pleasure of independence, 
 and tlie pi-ide of being "at college." The 
 poor boy slunk along by the least frequented 
 
 way, and stole into his place the first morn- 
 ing like a criminal. And it was not long be- 
 fore Colin perceived that his new companions 
 were of a similar opinion. There was not 
 another gown so brilliant as his own among 
 them all. The greater part were in the last 
 stage of tatters and dingincss, though among 
 a company, which included a number of lads 
 of Colin's own age, it was evident that there 
 must' be many v^ho wore the unvenerated 
 costume for the first time. Dreams of rush- 
 ing to the loch, which had been his immedi- 
 ate resource all his life hitherto, and soaking 
 the obnoxious wrapper in the salt-water, con- 
 fused his mind ; but he was not prepared for 
 the summary measures which were in con- 
 templation. As soon as Colin emerged out 
 of the shelter of the class-room , his persecu- 
 tion commenced. He was mobbed, hustled, 
 pelted, until his spirit was roused. The 
 gown was odious enough ; but Colin was not 
 the lad to have even the thing he most wanted 
 imposed upon him by force. As soon as he 
 was aware of the meaning of his tormentors, 
 the coiyjjtry boy stood up for his gown. He 
 gathered the glowing folds round him, and 
 struck out fiercely, bringing down one of 
 his adversaries. Colin, however, was alone 
 against a multitude ; and what might have 
 happened either to himself or his gown it 
 would have been difiicult to predict, had not 
 an unexpected defender come in to the rescue. 
 Next to Colin in the class-room a man of about 
 tW'ice his age bad been seated — a man of 
 thirty, whose gaunt shoulders brushed the 
 boy's fair locks, and whose mature and 
 thoughtful head rose strangely over the 
 young heads around. It was he who strode 
 through the ring, and dispersed Colin's ad- 
 versaries. 
 
 " For shame o' yourselves! " he said in a 
 deep bass voice, which contrasted wonder- 
 fully with the young falsettoes round him. 
 " Leave the laddie alone ; he knows no bet- 
 ter. I'll lick ye a' for a set of schoolboys, 
 if you don't let him be ! Here, boj', take off 
 the red rag and throw it to me," said Colin's 
 new champion ; but the Campbell blood was 
 up. 
 
 "I'll no take it off," cried Colin; "it's 
 my ain, and I'll wear it if I like; and I'll 
 fell anybody that meddles with me ! " 
 
 Upon wliieh, as was natural, a wonderful 
 scuflle ensued. Colin never knew perfectly 
 how he was extricated from tliis alarming 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 21 
 
 situation ; but, when he came to himself, he 
 was iu the streets on his way home, with his 
 new friend by his side — very stiff and aching 
 in every limb, with one sleeve of his gown 
 torn out, and its glory minished by the mud 
 which had been thrown at it, but still held 
 tightly as he had gathered it round him at 
 the first affray. When he recovered so far as 
 to hear some sound besides his own panting 
 breath, Colin discovered that the gaunt giant 
 by his side was preaching at him in a leis- 
 urely, reflective way from his eminence of six 
 feet two or three. Big Colin of Ramore was 
 but six feet, and at that altitude two or three 
 inches tell. The stranger looked gigantic in 
 his lean length as the boy looked up, half- 
 wondering, half-defiant, to hear what he was 
 saying. What he said sounded wonderfully 
 like preaching, so high up and so composed 
 was the voice which kept on arguing over 
 Colin's head, with an indifference to whether 
 he listened or not, which, in ordinary con- 
 versation, is somewhat rare to see. 
 
 " It might be right to stand op for your 
 gown; I'll no commit myself to say," was 
 the first sentence of the discourse which fell 
 on Colin's ear ; "for there's no denying it 
 was your own, and a man, or even a callant, 
 according to the case in point, has a right to 
 wear what he likes, if he's no under lawful 
 authority, nor the garment offensive to de- 
 cency ; but it would have been more prudent 
 on the present occasion to have taken off the 
 red rag as I advised. It's a remnant of su- 
 perstition in itself, and I'm no altogether sure 
 that my conscience, if it was put to the ques- 
 tion, would approve of wearing gowns at all, 
 unless, indeed, it had ceased to be customary 
 to wear other garments ; but that's an un- 
 likely case, and I would not ask you to take 
 it into consideration," said the calm voice, 
 half a mile over Colin's head. " It's a kind 
 of relic of the monastic system, which is out 
 of accordance with modern ideas ; but, as 
 you're no old enough to have any opin- 
 ions — " 
 
 " I have as good a right to have opinions 
 as you! " exclaimed Colin, promptly, glad of 
 an opportunity to contradict and defy some- 
 body, and get rid of the fumes of his excite- 
 ment. 
 
 "That's no the subject under discussion," 
 said the stranger. " I never said any man 
 had a right to opinions ; I incline to the 
 other side of that question mysel' . The thing 
 
 we were arguing was the gown. A new red 
 I gown is as aggravating to the students of 
 : Glasgow University as if they were so many 
 { bulls — no that I mean to imply that they're 
 j anything so forcible. You'll have to yield to 
 I the popular superstitions if you would live in 
 peace." 
 
 " I'm no heeding about living in peace," 
 interrupted Colin. "I'm no feared. It's 
 naebody's business but my ain. My gown is 
 my gown, and I'll no change it if — " 
 
 "Let me speak," said his new friend; 
 " you're terrible talkative for a callant. 
 Where do you live? I'll go home with ye 
 and argue the question. Besides, you've got 
 a knock on the head there that wants looking 
 to, and I suppose you're in Glasgow by your- 
 self '? You needua' thank me, it's no neces- 
 sary," said the stranger, with a bland move- 
 ment of the hand. 
 
 "I wasna' meaning to thank you. I'm 
 living in Donaldson's Land, and I can take 
 care of myself," said Colin. But the boy 
 was no match for his experienced classfellow, 
 who went on calmly preaching as before, ar- 
 guing all kinds of questions, till the two ar- 
 rived at the foot of the stairs which led to 
 Colin's humble lodging. The stair was long, 
 narrow, and not very clean. It bore stains 
 of spilt milk on one flight, and long droppings 
 of water on another ; and all the miscellane- 
 ous smells of half a dozen different households, 
 none of them particularly dainty in thei#hab- 
 its, were caught and concentrated in the deep 
 well of a staircase, into which they all opened. 
 Colin's abode was at the very top. His land- 
 lady was a poor widow, who had but three 
 rooms, and a host of children. The smallest 
 of the three rooms was let to Colin, and in 
 the other two she put up somehow her own 
 sons and daughters, and did her mantua-mak- 
 ing, and accomplished her humble cookery. 
 The rooms had sloping roofs and attic win- 
 dows ; and two chairs and a slip of carpet 
 made Colin's apartment splendid. Colin led 
 the way for his "friend," not without a 
 slight sentiment of pride, which had taken 
 the place of his first annoyance. After all, 
 it was imposing to his imagination to have 
 his society sought by another student, a man 
 so much older than himself ; and Colin was 
 not unaware of the worship which it would 
 gain for him in the eyes of his hostess, who 
 had looked on him dubiously on the day of 
 his arrival, and designated him " little mair 
 
22 A SON OF 
 
 than a bairn." Colin was very gracious in 
 doing the honors of liis room to his unsolicited 
 visitor, and spoke loud out that Mrs. Fergus 
 Blight, hear. "You'll have to stoop when 
 }''0u go in at that door," said the boy, already 
 learning with natural art to shine in reflected 
 glory. But Colin was less complacent when 
 they had entered the room, half from natural 
 shyness, half from an equally natural defiance 
 and opposition to the grown-up and experi- 
 enced person who had escorted him home. 
 
 " Well," said this strange personage, stoop- 
 ing grimly to contemplate himself in the lit- 
 tle square of looking-glass which hung over 
 Colin's table ; " you and me arc no very like 
 classfcUows ; but I like a laddie that has 
 some spirit and stands up for his rights. Of 
 course you come from the country ; but first 
 come here, my boy, before you answer any 
 questions, and let me see that knock on your 
 head." 
 
 " I had nae intention of answering any 
 questions; and lean take cai'e of myself," 
 answered Colin, hanging back and declining 
 the invitation. The stranger, however, only 
 smiled, stretched out his long arm, and drew 
 the boy towards him. And certainly he had 
 received a cut on the head which required to 
 Ix; attended to. Reluctant as he was, the lad 
 was too shy to make any active resistance, 
 even if he had possessed moral courage enough 
 to oppose successfully the will of a man so 
 muctftelder than himself. lie submitted to 
 have the cut bathed and plastered up, which 
 his new friend did with the utmost tender- 
 ness, delivering a slow and lengthy address 
 all the while over his head. When the opor- 
 ation was over, Colin was more and more per- 
 plexed what to do with his visitor ; though a 
 ■little faint after his fight and excitement, he 
 was still well enough to be very hungry, but 
 the idea of asking this unknown friend to 
 share his dinner did not occur to him. lie 
 had never done anything beyond launching 
 the boat, or mounting the horses on his own 
 responsibility before, and he could not tell 
 what Mrs. Fergus would think of his wound 
 or his visitor. Altogether Colin was highly 
 perplexed and not over civil, and sat down 
 upon the edge of a chair facing the intruder 
 with an expression of countenance very plainly 
 intimating that he thought him much in the 
 way. 
 
 But the stranger was much above any con- 
 eideration of Colin's countenance. He was 
 
 THE SOIL. 
 
 very tall, as we have said, very gaunt and 
 
 meagre, v/ith a long, pale face surmounted 
 
 by black locks, thin and dishevelled. He 
 
 had a black beard, too — a thing much less 
 
 common at that time than now — which in- 
 
 ^ creased his general aspect of dishevelment. 
 
 His eyes were large, and looked larger from 
 
 ^ the great sockets hollowed out by something 
 
 more than years, from wliich they looked out 
 
 I as from two pale caverns ; and, with all this 
 
 j gauntness of aspect, his smile, when he smiled, 
 
 I which was seldom, tlu-ew a wonderful light 
 
 I over his face, and reminded Colin somehow, 
 
 j he could not tell how, of the sudden gleam of 
 
 the sun over the Holy Loch when the clouds 
 
 were at the darkest, and melted the boy's 
 
 heart in spite of himself. 
 
 " I was saying we were not very like class- 
 fellows," said the stranger ; " that's a queer 
 feature in our Scotch colleges ; there's you, 
 a great deal too young, and me a great deal 
 too old ; and here we meet for the same pur- 
 pose, to learn two dead languages and some 
 sciences that are only half living ; and that's 
 the only way for cither you or me to get our- 
 selves made ministers. The English system's 
 an awful deal better, I'm meaning in theory 
 — as for the practice, that's neither here nor 
 there. Nothing's right in practice. It's a 
 great thing to have a right idea at the bottom 
 if you can." 
 
 " Are you to be a minister? " said Colin, 
 not well knowing what to say. 
 
 " When I was like you I thought so," said 
 his new friend ; " it's a long time since then ; 
 but, when I get a good grip of an idea, it's 
 no' easy to get it out of my head again. This 
 is my second session only, for all that," he 
 said, after a momentary pause ; " many a 
 thing I little thought of has stood in my way. 
 I'm little further on than you , though I sup- 
 pose I'm twice your age ; but to be sure you 
 are far too young for the college ; that's what 
 the Greek professor in Edinburgh isaye hav- 
 ering about ; he might turn to the other side 
 of the question if he knew me." And the 
 stranger interrupted his own monologue to 
 give vent to a long-drawn breath, l)y way of 
 a sigh, which agitated the atmosphere in Co- 
 lin's little room, as if it had been a sudden 
 breeze. 
 
 " ]\Ir. Ilardie's son was only thirteen when 
 he went to the college ; and that's two years 
 younger than me," said Colin, with some 
 indignation. The lad heard a sound, as of 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 knives and plates, outside, and pricked up 
 his ears. He was hungry, and his strange 
 visitor seemed rooted upon his hard, rush- 
 bottomed chair. But, just as Colin's mind 
 was framing this thought, his companion 
 suddenly gathered himself up, rising in 
 folds, as if there was never to be an end of 
 him. 
 
 "You want your dinner?" he said; "come 
 with me, it will do you good. What you 
 were to have will keep till to-morrow ; tell 
 the decent woman so, and come with mc. 
 I^m poor, but you shall have something you 
 can eat, and I'll show you what to do when 
 you are tired of her provisions ; bo come 
 along." 
 
 " I would rather stay at home," said Co- 
 lin ; " I don't know you ; I don't know even 
 your name," he added a minute after, feel- 
 ing that he was about to yield to the strong 
 influence which was upon him, and doing 
 what he could to save himself. 
 
 " My name's Lauderdale ; that's easy set- 
 tled," said the stranger; "tell the honest 
 woman ; what's her name? — I'll do it for you. 
 Mrs. Fergus, my yov.ng friend here is going 
 to dinner with me. He'll be back by and 
 by to his studies ; and, in the mean time," 
 said Colin's self-constituted guardian, put- 
 ting the lad before him and pausing in the 
 passage to speak to the widow, who regarded 
 his great height and strange appearance with 
 a little curiosity, "take you charge of his 
 gown ; put it up the chimney, or give it a 
 good wash out with soap and soda ; it's too 
 grand for Glasgow College ; the sooner it 
 comes to be like this," said the gigantic 
 visitor, holding up his own, which was of a 
 dingy port- wine color, "the better for the 
 boy." 
 
 'And then Colin found himself again walk- 
 ing along the Glasgow streets, in the murky, 
 early twilight of that November afternoon, 
 with this strange, unknown figure which was 
 leading him he knew not whither. Was it 
 a good or a bad angel which had thus taken 
 possession of the fresh life and unoccupied 
 mind? Colin could not resist the fascination 
 which was half dislike and half admiration. 
 He went along quietly by the side of the tall 
 student, who kept delivering over his head 
 that flood of monotonous talk. The boy 
 grew interested even in the talk before they 
 had gone far, and went on, a little anxious 
 about his dinner, but still more curious con- 
 
 23 
 
 cerning the companion with whom fate had 
 provided him so soon. 
 
 CHAPTER yi. 
 " No that I mean to say I believe in fate," 
 said Lauderdale, when they had finished their 
 meal ; " though there is little doubt in my 
 mind that what happens is ordained. I 
 couldna tell why, for my part, though 1 
 believe in the fact — for most things in life 
 come to nothing, and the grandest train of 
 causes produce nac effect whatever ; that's 
 my experience. Indeed, it's often a wonder 
 to me," said the homely philosopher, who 
 was not addressing himself particularly to 
 Colin, " what the Almighty took the trouble 
 to make man for at a'. He's a poor creature 
 at the best, and gives anawfu' deal of trouble 
 for very little good. Considering all things, 
 I'm of opinion that we're little better than 
 an experiment, — and very likely we've been 
 greatly improved upon in mair recent crea- 
 tions. Are you pleased with your dinner ? 
 You're young now, and canna' have much 
 standing against you in the great books. 
 Do you ever think, laddie, of what you mean 
 to be?" 
 
 "I mean to be a minister," said Colin, 
 with a furious blush. His thoughts on the 
 subject, if he could but have expressed them, 
 were magnificent enough, but nothing was 
 more impossible to the shy country lad than 
 to explain the ambition which glowed in 
 his eager, visionary mind. He would have 
 sacrificed a finger at any time, rather than 
 talk of the vague but splendid intentions 
 which were fermenting secretly in absolute 
 silence within his reserved Scotch bosom. 
 His new friend looked with a little curiosity 
 at the subdued brightness of the boy's eyes, 
 which spoke more emphatically than his 
 words. 
 
 "They a' mean to be ministers," said 
 Lauderdale, in his reflective way ; " half of 
 them would do far better to be cobblers ; but 
 nae fool could ever be persuaded. As for 
 you, I think there's something in you, or I 
 wouldna have fashed my head about you and 
 your gown. You've got a fair start, and 
 nae drawljacks. I would like to see you go 
 straight forward, and be good for something 
 in your generation. You needna look glum 
 at me ; I'll never be good for much mysel'. 
 You see I've learned to be fond of talking," 
 he said, philosophically; "and a man that 
 
24 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 takes up that line early in life seldom comes ! know your privileges ; you believe cvery- 
 to much good ; though I grant you there's thing you've been brought up to believe, and 
 
 are far more sure in your own mind what's 
 false and what's true than a college of doc- 
 tors. I would rather be you than a' the 
 pliilosophers in tlie world." 
 
 "I'm no a fool to believe everytliing," 
 said Colin, angrily rousing himself up from 
 his dreams. 
 
 "No," said his companion, " far from a 
 fool ; it's true wisdom, if you could but keep 
 it. But the present temper of the world," 
 said the philoBopher, calmly, " is to conclude 
 that there's nothing a'thcgither false, and 
 few things particularly true. When you're 
 tired of the dinners in Donaldson's Land," 
 he continued, without any charge of tone, 
 " and from the looks of tlie honest woman T 
 would not say much for the cookery, you can 
 come and get your dinner here. In the mean 
 time, I'll take ye up to Buchanan Street, if 
 you like. It's five o'clock, and the shop- 
 windows are lighted by this time. I'm very 
 fond of the lights in the shop-windows my- 
 sel'. When I've been a poor laddie about 
 the streets, the lights aye looked friendly, 
 which is more than the folk within do when 
 you've no siller. Come along ; it's no trouble 
 to me, and I like to have somebody to talk 
 to," said Lauderdale. 
 
 Colin got up very reluctantly, feeling him- 
 self unable to resist the strange personal fas- 
 cination thus exercised over him. The idea 
 of being only somebody to talk to mortilied 
 the boy's pride, but he could not shake him- 
 self free from the influence which had taken 
 possession of him. He was only fifteen, and 
 his companion was thirty ; and the shy coun- 
 try lad had no power to enfranchise himself. 
 He went after the tall figure into the street 
 with very mingled feelings. The stream of 
 talk, which kept flowing on above him, stim- 
 ulated Colin's mind into the most vigorous 
 action. Such talk was not incomprehensible 
 to a boy who had been trained at Ramore ; 
 but the philosphcrs of the Holy Loch were 
 orthodox, and this specimen of impartial 
 thoughtfulness roused all the fire of youthful 
 polemics in Colin's bosom. lie set down his 
 companion unhesitatingly, of course, as a 
 " sceptic," perhaps an infidel; and was al- 
 most longing to rush in upon him, with arbi- 
 trary boyish zeal and disdain, to make an end 
 on the spot of his mistaken opinions. As for 
 Colin himself, he was very sure of everything, 
 
 exceptions, like Macaulay, for example. I 
 was just entered at college, when my father 
 died," he continued, falling into a historical 
 strain. " I was only a laddie like yoursel', 
 but I had to give up that thought, and work 
 to help the rest. Now they are all scattered, 
 and my mother dead, and I'm my own mas- 
 ter. No that I'm much the better for that ; 
 but, you see, after I got this situation — " 
 
 " What situation? " said Colin, quickly. 
 
 " Oh, an honorable occupation," said his 
 tall friend, with a gradually brightening 
 smile. " There's ane of the same trade men- 
 tioned with commendation in the Acts of the 
 Apostles. Him and St. Paul were great 
 friends. But you see I'm free for the most 
 part of the day : and, it being a fixed idea 
 in my mind that I was to go to the college 
 some time or other, it was but natural that 
 I should enter mysel' as soon as I was able. 
 I may go forward, and I may not ; it de- 
 pends on the world more than on me. So 
 your name's Colin Campbell? — the same as 
 Sir Colin ; but if you're to be a minister, you 
 can never be anything mair than a minister. 
 In any other line of life a lad can rise if he 
 likes, but there's nae promotion possible to 
 a minister. If I were you and fifteen, I 
 would choose another trade." 
 
 To this Colin answered nothing ; the sug- 
 gestion staggered him considerably, and he 
 was not prepared with anything to say. He 
 looked round the shabby room, and watched 
 the shabby tavern-waiter carrying his dinner 
 to some other customer; and Colin's new 
 unaccustomed eyes saw something imposing 
 even in the aspect of this poor place. He 
 thought of the great world which seemed to 
 surge outside in a ceaseless roar, coming and 
 going — the world in which all sorts of hon- 
 ors and j^xjwers seemed to go begging, seek- 
 ing owners worthy to possess them ; and he 
 was pursuing this ei:)lendid chain of possi- 
 bilities, when Lauderdale resumed his mono- 
 logue : — 
 
 " The Kirk's in a queer kind of condition 
 a'thcgither," said the tall student, " so arc 
 most Kirks. Whenever you hit upon a man 
 that kens what he wants, all's well ; but 
 that happens seldom. It's no my case for 
 one. And as for you, you're no at the age 
 to trouble your head about doctrine. You're 
 a young prince at your years — you don't 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 as was natural to his years, and had never 
 entertained any doubts that the Shorter Cate- 
 chism was as inftillible a standard of truth 
 as it was a terrible infliction upon the youth- 
 ful memory. Colin went along the murky 
 streets, by his companion's side, thinking 
 within himself that, perhaps, his own better 
 arguments and higher reason might convert 
 this mistaken man, and so listened to him 
 eagerly as they proceeded together along the 
 long line of the Trongate, much excited by 
 bis own intentions, and feeling somehow, in 
 his boyish heart, that this universal stimula- 
 tion of everything, within and without, was 
 a real beginning of life. For everything was 
 new to the country boy, who had never in 
 bis life before been out of doors. at night any- 
 where, save in the silent country roads, 
 through darkness lighted by the moon, or, 
 when there was no moon, by the pale glim- 
 mer of the loch. Now his eyes were dazzled 
 by the lights, and all his senses kept in ex- 
 ercise by the necessity of holding liis own 
 way, and resisting the pressure of the human 
 current which flowed past him ; while Lau- 
 derdale kept talking of a hundred things 
 which were opposed to the belief of the lad, 
 and which, amid all this unaccustomed hub- 
 bub, he had to listen to with all his might 
 lest he should lose the thread of the argu- 
 ment — a loose thread enough, certainly, but 
 still with some coherence and connection. 
 All this made Colin's heart thrill with a 
 warmer consciousness of life. He was only 
 in Glasgow, among floods of dusky craftsmen 
 going home from their work ; but it appeared 
 to his young eyes that he had suddenly fallen 
 upon the most frequented ways of life and 
 into the heart of the vast world. 
 
 " I'm fond of a walk in the Trongate my- 
 Bel', especially when the lamps are lighted," 
 said Lauderdale ; " I never heard of a philos- 
 opher but was. No that I am a philosopher, 
 but — It's here ye see the real aspect of 
 human affairs. Here, take the shop-windows, 
 or take the passengers, there's little to be 
 seen but what's necessary to life ; but yon- 
 der," said the reflective student, pointing 
 over Colin's head to the street they were ap- 
 proaching, " there's nothing but luxury. We 
 spend a great deal of siller in Glasgow — we're 
 terrible rich, some of us, and like the best of 
 everything — but there's no so much difference 
 as you would think. I have no pleasure in 
 this side of wealth for my part ; there's an 
 
 25 
 
 awful suggestion of eating and drinking in 
 everything about here. Even the grand fur- 
 niture and the pictures have a kind of haze 
 about them, as if ye could only see them 
 through a dinner. I don't pretend to have 
 any knowledge for my own part of rich men's 
 feasts ; but it's no pleasant to think that 
 Genius and Art, no to speak of a great deal 
 of skilful workmanship, should be all subser- 
 vient to a man's pleasure in his dinner, and 
 that thafs what they're here for. Hallo, 
 laddie, I thought you had no friends in Glas- 
 gow ? there's somebody yonder waving their 
 hands to you. What do you hang back for? 
 It's a lady in a carriage. Have you no re- 
 spect for yoursel' that you're so slow to an- 
 swer?" cried Colin's monitor, indignantly. 
 Colin would gladly have sunk through the 
 pavement, or darted up a friendly dark alley 
 which presented itself close by, but such an 
 escape was not possible. It was Lady Frank- 
 land who was making signals to him out of 
 the carriage-window ; and in all his awk- 
 wardness, he was obliged to obey them. 
 
 As for Lauderdale, whose curiosity was con- 
 siderably excited, he betook himself to the 
 window of a printshop to await his ■protege, 
 not without some surprise in his mind. lie 
 knew pretty nearly as much about Colin by 
 this time as the boy himself did, though Co- 
 lin was quite unaware of having opened up 
 his personal history to his new friend ; but 
 he had heard nothing about young Frank- 
 land, that being an episode in his life of 
 which the country lad was not proud. Lau- 
 derdale stood at the printshop window with 
 a curious kind of half- pathetic egotism min- 
 gling with his kindly observation. No fair 
 vision of women ever gleamed across his firma- 
 ment. He was just about shaking hands 
 with youth, and no lady's face had ever bent 
 over him like a star out of the firmament, as 
 the gracious countenance of the English lady 
 was just then bending over the farmer's son 
 from Ramore. " It's maybe the duchess," 
 said Lauderdale to himself, thinking of the 
 natural feudal princess of the lochs ; and he 
 looked with greater interest still, withdrawn 
 out of hearing, but near enough to see all 
 that passed. Colin for his part did not know 
 in the least what to say or to do. He stood 
 before the carriage looking sulky in the ex- 
 cess of his embarrassment, and did not even 
 take off his caj) to salute the lady, as coun- 
 try politeness and his anxious mother had 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 taught him. And, to aggravate the matter, 
 there was a bewildering little girl in the car- 
 riage with Lady Frankland — a creature with 
 glorious curls over her shoulders, and a won- 
 derful perfection of juvenile toilette, which 
 somehow dazzled Colin's unused and ignorant 
 ey*. In the midst of his awkwardness it oc- 
 curred to the boy to note this little lady's 
 dress, which was a strange thing enough for 
 him, who did not know one article of femi- 
 nine attire from another. It was not her 
 beauty so much as the delicacy of all her lit- 
 tle equipments which amazed Colin, and pre- 
 vented him from hearing what Lady Frank- 
 laud had to say. 
 
 "So you have gone to the university?" 
 said that gracious lady. " You are ever so 
 much further advanced than Harry, who is 
 only a schoolboy as yet : but the Scotch are 
 so clever. You will be glad to hear that dear 
 Hurry is quite well, and enjoying himself 
 very much at Eton," continued Harry's 
 mother, who meant to be very kind to the 
 boy who had saved her son's life. Now the 
 very name of Harry Frankland had, he could 
 not have told how, a certain exasperating ef- 
 fect upon Colin. He said nothing in answer 
 to the gracious intelligence, but unconsciously 
 gave a little frown of natural opposition, 
 which Lady Frankland's eyes were not suffi- 
 ciently interested to see. 
 
 '• He doesn't care for Harry, aunt," said 
 the miniature woman by Lady Frankland's 
 side, darting out of the dusky twilight a sud- 
 den flash of perception, under which Colin 
 stood convicted. She was several years 
 younger than he, but a world in advance of 
 him in every other respect. A little amuse- 
 ment and a little offence were in the voice, 
 which seemed to Colin, with its high-bred 
 accent and wonderful "English," like the 
 vcfice of another kind of creature from any he 
 had encountered before. Was she a little 
 witch, to know what he was thinking ? And 
 then a little laugh of triumph rounded off the 
 sentence, and the unfortunate boy stood more 
 speechless, more awkward, more incapable 
 than before. 
 
 " Nonsense, ]\Iatty ; when you know we 
 owe Harry's life to him," said bland Lady 
 Frankland. " You must come and dine with 
 us to-morrow ; indeed you must. Sir Thomas 
 and I arc both so anxious to know more of 
 you. Sir Thomas would be so pleased to for- 
 ward your views in any way ; but the Scotch 
 
 arc so independent," she said, with her most 
 flattering smile. ' ' Was that your tutor who 
 was walking with you, that very tall man? 
 I am sure we should be delighted to see him 
 too. I suppose he is something in the uni- 
 versity. Oh ! here comes my husband. Sir 
 Thomas this is — oh ! I am sure I beg your 
 pardon ; I forgot your name — the dear, brave, 
 excellent boy who saved Harry's life." 
 
 Upon which Sir Thomas, coming out of one 
 of the shops, in that radiance of cleanness 
 and neatness, perfectly brushed whiskers, 
 and fresh face, which distinguishes his class, 
 shook hands heartily with the reluctant 
 Colin. 
 
 " To be sure, he must dine with us to-mor- 
 row," said the good-humored baronet, " and 
 bring his tutor if he likes ; but I thought 
 you had no tutors at the Scotch universities. 
 I want to know what you're about, and what 
 your ideas are on a great many subjects, my 
 line fellow. Your father is tremendously 
 proud, and so are you, I suppose ; but he's 
 a capital specimen of a man, and I hope you 
 allow that I have a right to recollect such an 
 obligation. Good-by, my boy," said Sir 
 Thomas. " Seven to-morrow — but I'll prob- 
 ably be at your college and see you in the 
 morning. And mind you bring the tutor," 
 he cried, as the carriage drove off. Lady 
 Frankland shed a perfect blaze of smiles upon 
 Colin, as she waved her hand to him, and the 
 creature with the curls on the other side gave 
 the boy a little nod in a friendly, condescend- 
 ing way. He made a spring back into the 
 shade the minute after, wonderfully glad to 
 escape, but dazzled and excited in spite of 
 himself; and, as he retired rapidly from the 
 scene of this unexpected encounter, he came 
 sharp up against Laudcrdalej who was com- 
 ing to meet him, with his curiosity largely 
 excited. 
 
 " It was me he took for the tutor, I sup- 
 pose?" said the strange mentor who had thus 
 taken possession of Colin ; and the tall stu- 
 dent laughed with a kind of quaint gratifica- 
 tion. " And so I might have been if I had 
 been bred up at Oxford or Cambridge," he 
 added, after a moment ; " that is to say, if 
 it had been my lot to have been bred up any- 
 where ; but they've a grand system in these 
 English universities. That was not the 
 duke?" he said interrogatively, looking at 
 Colin, whose blood of clansman boiled at the 
 idea. 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 " That the duke ! ' esclaimcd the boy with 
 great disdain ; " no more than I am. It's one 
 of the English that arc aye coming and mail- 
 ing their jokes about the rain ; as if anybody 
 Avanted them to come," said Colin, with an 
 outbreak of scorn ; and then the boy remem- 
 bered that Archie Candlish had just bought 
 a house in expectation of such -visitors, and 
 stopped abruptly in full career. " I suppose 
 the English are awfu' fond of grouse, or they 
 wouldua' come so far for two or three birds," 
 he continued, in a tone of milder sarcasm. 
 But his companion was not to be so easily di- 
 verted from his questions. 
 
 " Grouse is a grand institution, and helps 
 in the good government of this country," said 
 Lauderdale, "and, through this country, of 
 the world — which is a fine thought for a bit 
 winged creature, if it had the sense to ken. 
 Yen's another world," he said, after a little 
 pause, "no Paradise to be sure, but some- 
 thing as far removed from this as heaven it- 
 self; farther, you might say, for there's 
 many a poor man down below here that's 
 hovering on the edge of heaven. And how 
 came you to have sucl! grand friends?" 
 asked the self-constituted guardian, stooping 
 from his lofty height to look straight into 
 Colin's eyes. After a time he extracted the 
 baldest narrative that ever was uttered by a 
 hero ashamed of his prowess from the half- 
 indignant boy, and managed to guess as 
 clearly as the wonderful little lady in the 
 carriage the nature of Colin's sentiments 
 towards the young antagonist and rival 
 whom he had saved. 
 
 " I wouldna have let a dog drown," said 
 the aggrieved Colin ; " there was nothing to 
 make a work about. But you would have 
 laughed to see •^hat fellow, with his boots 
 like a lassie's and feared to wet his feet. He 
 could swim, though," added the boy, can- 
 didly ; " and I would like to beat him," he 
 said, after a moment : " I'd like to run races 
 with him for something, and win the prize 
 over his head." 
 
 This was all Colin permitted himself to 
 sav ; but the vehement sentiment thus re- 
 
 27 
 
 called to his mind made him, for the moment, 
 less attentive to Lauderdale, who, for his 
 part, was considerably moved by his young 
 companion's excitement. " I'm not going to 
 see your fine friends," he said, as he parted 
 from the boy at the " stairfoot " which led 
 to Colin's lodging ; " but there's many a true 
 word spoken in jest, and, my boy, you shall 
 not want a tutor, though there's no such 
 thing in our Scotch colleges." 
 
 When he had said so much, hastily, as a 
 man does who is conscious of having shown a 
 little emotion in his words, Colin's new friend 
 went away, disappearing through the misty 
 night, gaunt and lean as another Quixote. 
 " I should like to have something to do with 
 the making of a new life," he said to him- 
 self, muttering high up in the air over the 
 ordinary passengers' heads, as he mused on 
 upon his way. And Colin and his story had 
 struck the rock in the heart of the lonely 
 man, and drawn forth fresh streams in that 
 wilderness. He was more moved in his im- 
 aginative, reflective soul, than he could have 
 told any one, with, half-consciously to him- 
 self, a sense of contrast, which was natural 
 enough, considering all things, and which 
 colored all his thoughts, more or less, for 
 that night. 
 
 As for Colin — naturally, too — he thought 
 no more of Lauderdale, nor of his parting 
 words, and found himself in no need of any 
 tutor or guide, but fell asleep in the midst 
 of his Greek, as was to be expected, and 
 dreamt of that creature with the curls nod- 
 ding at him out of gorgeous lord mayor's 
 coaches, in endless procession. And it was 
 with this wonderful little vision dancing 
 about his fancy that the Scotch boy ended 
 his fii'st day at the university, knowing no 
 more what was to come of it all than the 
 saucy sparrow which woke him next morn- 
 ing by loud chirping in the Glasgow dialect 
 at his quaint little attic window. The spar- 
 row had his crumbs, and Colin had another 
 exciting day before him, and went out quite 
 calmly to lay his innocent hands upon the 
 edge-tools which were to carve out his life. 
 
28 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 PART III. — CHAPTER VII. 
 
 WoxDERS come natural at fifteen ; the 
 farmer's son of Ramore, though a little daz- 
 zled at the moment, was by no means thrown 
 off his balance by the flattering attentions of 
 Lady Frankland, who said evci-y thing tliat 
 was agreeable and forgot that she had said it, 
 and went over the same ground again half a 
 dozen times, somewhat to the contempt of 
 Colin, who knew nothing about fine ladies, 
 but had all a boy's disdain for a silly woman. 
 Thanks to his faculty of silence, and his in- 
 tei3se pride, Colin conducted himself with 
 great external propriety when he dined with 
 his new friends. Nobody knew the fright he 
 ■was in, nor the strain of determination not 
 to commit himself, which was worthy of some- 
 thing more important than a dinner. But 
 after all, thougli it slied a reflected glory 
 over his path for a short time. Sir Thomas 
 Frankland's dinner and all its bewildering 
 accessories was but an affair of a day, and the 
 only real result it left behind was a conviction 
 in the mind of Lauderdale that his young 
 froterje was born to better fortune. From 
 that day the tall student hovered, benignly 
 reflective, like a tall genie over Colin's boyish 
 career. He was the boy's tutor so far as that 
 was possible where the teacher was himself 
 but one step in advance of the pupil ; and as 
 to matters speculative and philosophical, Lau- 
 derdale's monologue, delivered high up in 
 the air over his head, became the accompani- 
 ment and perpetual stimulation of all Colin's 
 thoughts. The training was strange, but by 
 no means unnatural, nor out of harmony 
 with the habits of the boy's previous life, for 
 much homely philosophy was current at Ra- 
 more, and Colin had been used to receive all 
 kinds of comments upon human affairs with 
 his daily bread. Naturally enougli, however, 
 the sentiments of thirty and those of fifteen 
 were not always harmonious, and the impar- 
 tial and tolerant thoughtfulness of his tall 
 friend much exasperated Colin in the absolu- 
 tism of his youth. 
 
 " I'm a man of the age," Lauderdale 
 would say, as they traversed the crowded 
 streets together ; " by which I am claiming 
 no superiority over you, callant, but far the 
 contrary, if you were but wise enough to ken. 
 I've fallen into the groove like tiie rest of 
 mankind, and think in limits as belongs to 
 my century — which is but a poor half-and- 
 half kind of century, to say the best of it — 
 
 but you are of all the ages, and know noth- 
 ing about limits or possibilities. Don't in- 
 terrupt me," said the placid giant ; " you 
 are far too talkative for a laddie, as I have 
 said before. I tell you I'm a man of the age : 
 I've no very particular faith in anything. 
 In a kind of a way, everything's true; but 
 you needna tell me that a man that believes 
 like thai will never make much mark in this 
 world or any other world I ever heard tell of. 
 I know that a great deal better than you do. 
 Tiie best thing you can do is to contradict 
 me ; it's good for you, and it docs me no 
 harm." 
 
 Colin acted upon this permission to the 
 full extent of all his youthful prowess and 
 prejudices, and went on learning his Latin 
 and Greek, and discussing all manner of ques- 
 tions in heaven and earth, with the fervor of 
 a boy and a Scotsman. They kept together, 
 this strange pair, for the greater part of the 
 short winter days, taking long walks, when 
 they left the university, through the noisy, 
 dirty streets, upon which Lauderdale mor- 
 alized ; and sometimes through tlie duller 
 squares and crescents of respectability which 
 formed the frame of the picture. Sometimes 
 their peregrinations concluded in Colin's lit- 
 tle room, when they renewed their arguments 
 over the oat-cakes and cheese which came in 
 periodical hampers from Ramore ; and some- 
 times Lauderdale gave his froterje a cheap 
 and homely dinner at the tavern wliere they 
 had first broken bread together. But not even 
 Colin, much less any of his less fiimiliar ac- 
 quaintances, knew where the tall mentor 
 lived, or how he managed to maintain himself 
 at college. lie said he had his lodging pro- 
 vided for him, when any inquiry was made, and 
 added, with an odd, humorous look, that his 
 was an honorable occupation ; but Lauderdale 
 afforded no further clue to his own means or 
 dwelling-place. He smiled, but he was se- 
 cret and gave no sign. As for his studies, he 
 made but such moderate progress in them as 
 was natural to his age and his character. 
 No particular spur of ambition seemed to 
 stimulate the man whose habits were formed 
 by this time, and wlio found enjoyment enougli , 
 it appeared, in universal speculation. When 
 he failed, his reflections as to the effect of 
 failure upon the mind of man, and the secon- 
 dary importance afior all of mere material 
 success, " which always turns out more dis- 
 appointing to a reflective spirit than an actual 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 29 
 
 break-down," the philosopher would say, " be- 
 ing aye another evidence how far reality 
 falls short of the idea," became more piquant 
 than usual ; and when he succeeded, the 
 same sentiments moderated his satisfaction. 
 " Oh ay, I've got the prize," he said, holding 
 it on a level with Colin's head, and regarding 
 its resplendent binding with a smile ; ' ' which 
 is to say, I've found out that it's only a book 
 with the college arms stamped upon it, and 
 no a palpable satisfaction to the soul as I 
 might have imagined it to be, had it been 
 yours, boy, instead of mine." 
 
 But with all this composure of feeling as 
 respected his own success, Lauderdale was as 
 eager as a boy about the progress of his pu- 
 pil. When the prize lay in Colin's way, his 
 friend spared no pains to stimulate and en- 
 courage and help him on ; and as years 
 passed, and the personal pride of the elder 
 became involved in the success of the younger, 
 Lauderdale's anxieties awoke a certain impa- 
 tience in the bosom of his proterje. Colin was 
 ambitious enough in his own person ; but he 
 turned naturally with sensitive boyish pride 
 against the arguments and inducements which 
 had so little influence upon the speaker him- 
 self. 
 
 " You urge Tne on," said the country lad; 
 " but you think it docs not matter for your- 
 self." And though it was Colin's third ses- 
 sion, and he reckoned himself a man, he was 
 jealous to think that Laudei'dale urged upon 
 him what he did not think it worth his while 
 to practise in his own person. 
 
 " When a thing's spoilt in the making, it 
 matters less what use ye put it to," said the 
 philosopher. It was a bright day in March, 
 and they were seated on the grass together 
 in a corner of the green, looking at the pretty 
 groups about, of women and children — chil- 
 dren and women, perhaps not over-tidy, if 
 you looked closely into the matter, but pic- 
 turesque to look at — some watching the 
 patches of white linen bleaching on the 
 grass, some busily engaged over their needle- 
 work, and all of them occupied : — it was 
 comfortable to think they could escape from 
 the dingy ' ' closes ' ' and unsavory ' ' lands ' ' 
 of the neighborhood. The tall student 
 stretched his long limbs on the grass, and 
 watched the people about with reflective 
 eyes. " There's nothing in this world so im- 
 portant to a man as a right beginning," he 
 went on. " As for me, I'm all astray, and 
 
 can never win to any certain end — no that 
 I'm complaining, or taking a gloomy view of 
 things in general ; I'm just as happy in my 
 way as other folk are in theirs — but that's 
 no the question under discussion. When a 
 man reaches my years without coming to 
 anything, he'll never come to much all his 
 days ; but you're only a callant, and have all 
 the world before you," said Lauderdale. He 
 did not look at Colin as he spoke, but went 
 on in his usual monotone, looking into the 
 blue air, in which he saw much that was not 
 visible to the eager young eyes which kept 
 gazing at him. "When I was like you," he 
 continued, with a half-jmthetic, half-humor- 
 ous smile, " it looked like misery and despair 
 to feel that I was not to get my own way in 
 this world. I'm terribly indifferent now-a- 
 days — one kind of life is just as good as an- 
 other as long as a man has something to do 
 that he can think to be his duty ; but such 
 feelings are no for you," said Colin's tutor, 
 waking up suddenly. " For you, laddie, 
 there's nothing grand in the world that 
 should not be possible. The lot that's ac- 
 complished is aye more or less a failure ; but 
 there's always something splendid in the life 
 that is to come." 
 
 ' ' You talk to me as if I were a child ! " said 
 Colin, with a little indignation; "you see 
 things in their true light yourself; but you 
 treat me like a baby. What can there be that 
 is splendid in my life? — a farmer's son, with 
 perhaps the chance of a country church for 
 my highest hope — after all kinds of signings 
 and confessions and calls and presbyteries. 
 It would be splendid, indeed," said the lad, 
 with boyish contempt, " to be plucked by a 
 country presbytery that don't know six words 
 of Greek, or objected to by a congregation of 
 ploughmen. That's all a man has to look for 
 in the Church of Scotland, and you know it, 
 Lauderdale, as well as I do." 
 
 Colin broke off suddenly, with a great deal 
 of heat and impatience. He was eighteen, 
 and he was of the advanced party, the Young 
 Scotland of his time. The dogmatic Old 
 Scotland, which loved to bind and limit, 
 and make confessions and sign the same, be- 
 longed to the past centuries. As for Colin's 
 set, they were " viewy " as the young men 
 at Oxford used to be in the c^ys of Froude 
 and Newman. Colin's own " views " were 
 of a vague description enough, but of the 
 most revolutionary tendency. He did not 
 
30 A SON OF 
 
 believe in Presbjtery, not in that rule of 
 Church government which in Scotland is 
 known as Lord Aberdeen's Act ; and his 
 ideas respecting extempore worship and com- 
 mon prayers were much unsettled. But as 
 neither Colin nor his set had any distinct 
 model to fall back upon, nor any clear per- 
 ception of what they wanted, the present re- 
 sult of their enlightenment was simply the 
 unpleasant one of general discontent with ex- 
 isting things, and a restless contempt for the 
 necessary accessories of their lot. 
 
 " ' Plucked ' is no a word in use in Scot- 
 land," said Lauderdale ; " it smacks of the 
 English universities, which are altogether a 
 different matter. As for the Westminster 
 Confession, I'm no clear that I could put my 
 name to that myself as my act and deed — but 
 you are but a callant, and don't know your 
 own mind as yet. IMeaning no offence to 
 you," he continued,, waving his hand to 
 Colin, who showed signs of impatience, "I 
 was once a laddie myself. Between eigh- 
 teen and eight-and-twenty you'll change your 
 ways of thinking, and neither you nor me 
 can prophesy what they'll end in. As for 
 the congregation of ploughmon, I would be 
 very easy about you if that was the worst 
 danger. Men that are about day and night 
 in the fields when all's still, cannot but have 
 thoughts in their minds now and then. But 
 it's no what jou arc going to be, I'm think- 
 ing of," said Colin's counsellor, raising him- 
 self from the grass with a spark of unusual 
 light in his eyes, " but what you mifjht be, 
 laddie. It's no a great preacher, far less 
 what they call a popular minister, that would 
 please me. What I'm thinking of is, the 
 ]\Ian that is aye to be looked for, but never 
 comes. I'm speaking like a woman, and 
 thinking like a woman," he said, with a 
 smile ; " they have a kind of privilege to 
 keep their ideal. For my part, I ought to 
 have more sense, if experience counted for 
 anything ; but I've no faith in experience. 
 And, speaking of that," said the philosopher, 
 dropping back again softly on the greensward, 
 " w-hat a grand outlet for what I'm calling 
 the ideal was .that old promise of the jMessiah 
 who was to come ! It may still be so for 
 anything I can tell, thougli I cannot say that 
 I put mucli trust in the Jews. But aye to 
 be able to hope that tlic next new soul might 
 be tho one that was above failure must have 
 been a wonderful solace to thoce that had 
 
 THE SOIL. 
 
 failed and lost heart. To be sure, they 
 missed him when he caiAe," continued Lau- 
 derdale j "that was natural. Human nat- 
 ure is aye defective in action ; but a grand 
 idea' like that makes all the difference be- 
 tween us and the beasts, and Avould do, if 
 there were a liundred theories of develop- 
 ment, which I would not have you put faith 
 in, laddie," continued the volunteer tutor. 
 " Steam and iron make awful progress, but 
 no man — " 
 
 "That is one of your favorite theories," 
 said Colin, who was ready for any amount 
 of argument ; " though iron and steam are 
 dead and stationary, but for the Mind which 
 is always developing. What you say is a 
 kind of paradox ; but you like paradoses, 
 Lauderdale." 
 
 " Everything's a paradox," said the reflec- 
 tive giant, getting up slowly fx"om the turf. 
 " The grass is damp, and the wind's cold, 
 and I don't mean to sit here and haver non- 
 sense any longer. Come along, and I'll 
 see you home. What I like women for is, 
 that they're seldom subject to the real, or 
 convinced by what you callants call reason. 
 Reason and reality are terrible fictions at the 
 bottom. I more believe in facts, for my 
 part. The worst of it is, that a woman's 
 ideal is apt to look a terrible idiot when she 
 sets it up before the world," continued Lau- 
 derdale, his face brightening gradually with 
 one of his slow smiles. " The ladies' novels 
 are instructive on that point. But there's 
 few things in this world so pleasant as to 
 have a woman at hand that believes in you," 
 he said, suddenly breaking off in his dis- 
 course at an utterly unexpected moment. 
 Colin was startled by the unlooked-for si- 
 lence, and by the sound of something like a 
 sigh which disturbed the air over his head, 
 and being still but a boy, and not superior to 
 mischief, looked up, with a little laughter. 
 
 " You must have once had a woman who 
 believed in you, or you would not speak so 
 feelingly," said the lad, in his youthful 
 amusement; and then Colin, too, stopped 
 short, having encountered quite an unaccus- 
 tomed look in his companion's face. 
 
 "Ay," said Lauderdale, and then there 
 was a pause. " If it were not that life is 
 aj^e a failure, there would be some cases 
 harder than could be borne,*' he continued, 
 after a moment; " no that I'm complaining ; 
 but if I were you, laddie, I would set my 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 face dead against fortune, and make up my 
 mind to win. x\nd speaking of winning, 
 when did you hear of your grand English 
 fiiends, and the callant you picked out of the 
 loch ? Have they ever been here in Glasgow 
 again? " 
 
 At which question Colin drew himself to 
 his full height, as he always did at Harry 
 Frankland's name ; he was ashamed now to 
 express his natural antagonism to the English 
 lad in frank speech as he had been used to do, 
 but he insensibly elevated his head, which, 
 when he did not stoop, as he had a habit of 
 doing, began to approach much more nearly 
 than of old to the altitude of his friend's. 
 
 " I know nothing about their movements," 
 he said, shortly. " As for winning, I don't 
 sec what connection there can be between the 
 Franklands and any victory of mine. You 
 don't suppose Bliss Matilda believes in me, 
 do you ? " said Colin, with an uneasy laugh ; 
 " for that would be a mistake," He contin- 
 ued, a moment after. " She believes in her 
 cousin." 
 
 " Blaybe," said Lauderdale, in his oracular 
 way, " it's an uncanny kind of relationship 
 v.pon the whole ; but I would not be the one 
 to answer for it, especially if it's him she's 
 expected to believe in. But there were no 
 ilios Matildas in my mind," he added, with 
 a smile. " I'll no ask what she had to do in 
 yours, for you're but a callant, as I have to 
 remind you twenty times in a day. J3ut such 
 lodgers are no to be encouraged," said Colin's 
 adviser, with seriousness; "when they get 
 into a young head it's hard to get them out 
 igain ; and the worst of them is, that they 
 take more room than their fair share. ' Have 
 you got your essay well in hand for the pi-in- 
 cipal ? That's more to the purpose than Miss 
 Matilda ; and now the end of the session's 
 drawing near, and I'm a thought anxious 
 about the philosophy class. Yon Highland 
 colt with the red hair will run you close, if 
 you don't take heed. It's no prizes I'm 
 thinking upon," said Lauderdale ; " it's the 
 whole plan of the campaign. I'll come up 
 and talk it all over again, if you want advice ; 
 but I've great confidence in your own genius." 
 As he said this, he laid his hand upon the 
 lad's shoulder, and looked down into his eyes. 
 '•• Summer's the time to dream," said the tall 
 ftudent, with a smile and a sigh. Perhaps 
 he had given undue importance to the name 
 uf Miss Matilda. He looked into the fresh 
 
 31 
 
 young face with that mixture of affection and 
 pathos — ambition for the lad, mingled with 
 a generous, tender envy of him — which all 
 along had moved the elder man in his inter- 
 course with Colin. The look for once pen- 
 etrated through the mists of custom and 
 touched the boy's heart. 
 
 "You are very good to me, Lauderdale," 
 he said, with a little effusion ; at the sound 
 of which words his friend grasped his shoul- 
 der affectionately and went off, without say- 
 ing anything more, into the dingy Glasgow 
 streets. Colin himself paused a minute to 
 watch the tall, retreating figure before he 
 climbed his own tedious stair. " Summer's 
 the time to dream," he repeated to himself, 
 with a certain brightness in his face, and 
 went up the darkling staircase three steps at 
 a time, stimulated most probably by some 
 thoughts more exciting than anything con- 
 nected with college prizes or essays. It was 
 the end of Jilarch, and already now and then 
 a chance breeze whispered to Colin that the 
 primroses had begun to peep out about the 
 roots of the trees in all the soft glens of the 
 Holy Loch. It had only been in the previous 
 spring that primroses became anything more 
 to Colin than they were to Peter Bell ; but 
 now the youth's eyes were anointed, he had 
 begun to write poetry, and to taste the de- 
 lights of life. Though he had already learned 
 to turn his verses with the conscious decep- 
 tion of a Moore, it did not occur to Colin as 
 possible that the life which was so sweet one 
 year might not be equally delightful the next, 
 or that anything could occur to deprive him 
 of the companionship he was looking forward 
 to. He had never received any shock yet in 
 his jouthful certainty of ple&sure, and did 
 not stop to, think that the chance which 
 brought Sir Thomas Frankland's nursery, and 
 with it his pretty miss, to the Castle, for all 
 the long spring and summer, might never re- 
 cur again. So he went up-stairs three steps 
 at a time, in the dingy twilight, and sat down 
 to his essay, raising now and then trium- 
 phant, youthful eyes, which surveyed the 
 mean walls and poor little room without see- 
 ing anything of the poverty, and making all 
 his young, arrogant, absolute philosophy 
 sweet with thoughts of the primroses, and 
 the awaking waters, and the other human 
 creature, the child Eve of the boy's Paradise. 
 This was how Colin managed to compose the 
 essay, which drew tears of mingled laughter 
 
Oli A SON OF 
 
 imd emotion from Lauderdale's oj-cs, and 
 dazzled the professor himself Avith its promise 
 of eloquence, and secured the prize in the 
 philosophy class. The Highland colt with 
 the red hair, who was Colin's rival, was very 
 much sounder in his views, and had twenty 
 times more logic in his composition ; but the 
 professor was dazzled, and the class itself 
 could scarcely forbear its applause. Colin 
 went home accordingly covered with glory. 
 He Avas nearly nineteen ; he was one of the 
 most promising students of the year ; he had 
 already distinguished himself sufficiently to 
 attract the attention of people interested in 
 college successes ; and he had all the long 
 summer before him, and no one could tell 
 how many rambles about the glens, how 
 many voyages across the loch, how many re- 
 searches into the wonders of the hills. He 
 bade farewell to Lauderdale Avith a momen- 
 tary seriousness, but forgot before the smoke 
 of Glasgow was out of sight that he had ever 
 parted from anybody, or that all his friends 
 were not awaiting him in this summer of de- 
 light. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 "Come away into the fire; it's bonnie 
 weather, but it's sharp on the hillside," said 
 the mistress of Ramore. " I never wearied 
 for you, Colin, so much as I've done this 
 year. No that there Avas ony particular oc- 
 casion, for we've a' been real Avecl, and a good 
 season, and baith bairns and beasts keeping 
 their health ; but the heart's awfu' capri- 
 cious, and canna hear reason. Come in bye 
 to the fire." 
 
 "There's been three days of east wind," 
 said the farmer, who had gone across the loch 
 to meet his son, and bring him home in tri- 
 umph, " which accounts for your mother's 
 anxiety, Colin. When there's plenty of blue 
 sky, and the sun shining, there's naething 
 she hasna courage for. What's doing in 
 Glasgow ? or rather what's doing at the col- 
 lege? or, maybe, if you insist upon it, what 
 are you doing ? for that's the most important 
 to us." 
 
 To which Colin, who Avas almost as shy of 
 talking of his own achievements as of old, 
 gave for answer some bald account of the 
 winding up of the session and of his OAvn 
 honors. " I told you all about it in my last 
 letter," he said, hurrying over the narrative 
 ' there Avas nothing out of the common 
 Tell me rather all the news of the parisli — 
 
 THE SOIL. 
 
 Avho is at home and who Is away, and if any 
 of the visitors have come yet? " said the lad, 
 with a conscious tremor in his voice. Most 
 likely his mother understood what he meant. 
 
 " It's ower early for visitors yet," she 
 said, " though I think for my part there's 
 nothing like the spring, Avith the days length- 
 ening, and the light aye eking and eking it- 
 self odt. To be sure, there's the east Avindg, 
 which is a sore drawback, but it has nae great 
 efiect on the Avest coast. The castle woods 
 are Avonderful bonnie, Colin : near as bonnie 
 as they AA-ere last year, when a' those bright 
 English bairnies made the place look cheer- 
 ful. lAvonder the earl bides there so seldom 
 himself. He's no rich, to be sure, but it's a 
 moderate kind of a place. If I had enough 
 money I would rather live there than in the 
 queen's parlor, and so the minister says. 
 You'll have to go down to the manse the 
 morn, and tell them a' about your prizes, 
 Colin," said his proud mother, looking at 
 him with beaming eyes. She put her head 
 upon her boy's shoulder, and patted liim 
 softly as he stood beside her. " He takes a 
 great interest in what you're doing at the 
 college," she continued ; " he says you're a 
 credit to the parish, and so I hope you'll aye 
 be," said Mrs. Campbell. She had not any 
 doubt on the subject so far as lier own con- 
 victions went. 
 
 " He does not know me," said the impa- 
 tient Colin ; " but I'll go to the manse to- 
 morrow if you like. It's half-way to the 
 castle," he said, under his breath, and then 
 felt himself color, much to his annoyance, 
 under his mother's eyes. 
 
 " There's plenty folk to visit," said the 
 farmer. " As for the castle, it's out of our 
 way, no to say it looked awfu' doleful the last 
 time I was by. Tlie pastor would get it but 
 for the name of the thing. We've had a 
 wonderful year, take it a' thegither, and the 
 weather is promising for this season. If 
 you're no over-grand with all your honors, I 
 would be glad of your advice, as soon as 
 you've rested, about the Easter fields. I'm 
 thinking of some changes, and there's nac 
 time to lose." 
 
 " If you would but let the laddie take 
 breath ! " said the farmer's wife. *' New out 
 of all his toils and his troubles, and you can- 
 na refrain from the Easter fields. It's my 
 belief," said the mistress, with a little sol- 
 emnity, " that prosperity is awfu' trying to 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 the soul. I dinna think you ever cared for 
 piller, Colin, till now ; but instead of rqioic- 
 ing in your heart over the Almighty's bless- 
 ing, I hear nothing, from morning to night, 
 but about mair profit. It's no what I've been 
 used to," said Colin's mother, " and there's 
 mony a thing mair important that I want to 
 hear about. Eh ! Colin, it's my hope you'll 
 no get to be over-fond of this world ! " 
 
 " If this world meant no more than a fifty 
 pound or so in the bank," said big Colin, 
 with a smile ; " but there's no denying it's a 
 wonderful comfort to have a bit margin, and 
 no be aye from hand to mouth. As soon as 
 your mother's satisfied with looking at you, 
 you can come out to me, Colin, and have a 
 look at the beasts. It's a pleasure to see 
 them. Apart from profit, Jeanie," said the 
 farmer, with his humorous look, " if you ob- 
 ject to that, it's grand to see such an improve- 
 ment in a breed of living creatures that you 
 and me spend so much of our time among. 
 Next to bonnie bairns, bonnie cattle's a rea- 
 sonable pride for a farmer, no to say but that 
 making siller in any honest way is as laud- 
 al)le an occupation as I ken of for a man with 
 a family like me." 
 
 " If it doesna take up your heart," said the 
 mistress. " But it's awfu' to hear folk how 
 they crave siller for siller's sake ; especially 
 in a place like this, where there's aye stran- 
 gers coming and going, and a' body's aye 
 trying how much is to be got for everything. 
 I promised the laddies a holiday the morn to 
 hear a' Colin's news, and you're no to take 
 him off to byres and ploughed land the very 
 first day, though I dinna say but I would like 
 him to see Gowan's calf," said the farmer's 
 wife, yielding a little in her superior virtue. 
 As for Colin, he sat very impatiently through 
 this conversation, vainly attempting to bring 
 in the question which he longed, yet did not 
 like, to ask. 
 
 " I suppose the visitors will come early, as 
 the weather is so fine ? " he ventured to say 
 as soon as there was a pause. 
 
 "Oh, ay, the Glasgow folks," said Mrs. 
 Campbell ; and she gave a curious, inquiring 
 glance at her son, who was looking out of 
 the window with every appearance of ab- 
 straction. " Do you know anybody that's 
 coming, Colin?" said the anxious mother; 
 "some of your new friends?" And Colin 
 was so sensible of her look, though his eyes 
 were turned in exactly the opposite direction, 
 
 3 
 
 33 
 
 that his face grew crimson up to the great 
 waves of brown hair which were always tum- 
 bling about his forehead. He thrust his 
 heavy lovelocks off his temples with an im- 
 patient hand, and got up and went to the 
 window that his confusion might not be visi- 
 ble. Big Colin of Ramore was at the window 
 too, darkening the apartment with his great 
 bulk, and the farmer laid his hand on his 
 son's shoulder with a homely roughness, 
 partly assumed to conceal his real feeling. 
 
 "How tall are you, laddie? no much 
 short of me now," he said. " Look here, 
 Jeanie, at your son." The mistress put 
 down her work, and came up to them, de- 
 feating all Colin's attempts to escape her 
 look ; but in the mean time she, too, forgot 
 the blushes of her boy in the pleasant sight 
 before her. She was but a little woman her- 
 self, tjonsidered in the countryside rather too 
 soft and delicate for a farmer's wife ; and 
 with all the delicious confidence of love and 
 weakness, the tender woman looked up at her 
 husband and her son. 
 
 "Young Mr. Frankland's No half so tall 
 as Colin," said the proud mother ; " no that 
 height is anything to brag about unless a' 
 things else is conformable, lie's weel 
 enough, and a strong-built callant, but 
 there's a great difference, though, to be 
 sure ; his mother is just as proud," said the 
 mistress, bearing her conscious superiority 
 with meekness ; «' it's a grand thing that 
 we're a' best pleased with our ain." 
 
 " When did you see young Frankland ? " 
 said Colin, hastily. The two boys had 
 scarcely met since the encounter which had 
 made a link between the families without 
 awaking very friendly sentiments in the 
 bosoms of the two persons principally con- 
 cerned. 
 
 " That's a thing to be discussed hereafter," 
 said the farmer of Ramore. " I didna mean 
 to say onything about it till I saw what your 
 inclinations were ; but women-folk are aye 
 hasty. Sir Thomas has made me a proposi- 
 tion, Colin. He would like to send you to 
 Oxford with his own son if you and me were 
 to consent. We're to gie him an answer 
 when we've made up our minds. Nae doubt 
 he has heard that you were like enough to be 
 a creditable protejee," said big Colin, with 
 natural complacency. " A lad of genius gies 
 distinction to his patron, if ye can put up 
 with a patron, Colin." 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 34 
 
 " Can yow? " cried his son. The lad was 
 greatly agitated by the question. Amljitious 
 Scotch youths of Colin'e type, in tkc state of 
 discontent which was common to the race, 
 had come to look upon the English universi- 
 ties as the goal of all possible hopes. Not 
 that Colin would have confessed as much had 
 his fate depended on it, but such was the fact 
 notwithstanding. Oxford, to his mind, meant 
 any or every possibility under heaven, with- 
 out any limit to the splendor of the hopes 
 involved. A different kind of flush, the glow 
 of eagerness and ambition, came to his face. 
 But joined with this came a tumult of vague 
 but burning offence and contradiction. While 
 he recognized the glorious chance thus opened 
 to him, pride started up to bolt and bar those 
 gates of hope. lie turned upon his father 
 with something like anger in his voice, with 
 a tantalizing sense of all the advantages thus 
 flourished wantonlj', as he thought, before his 
 eyes. " Could you put up with a patron ? " 
 he repeated, looking almost fiercely in the 
 farmer's face ; " and if not, why do you ask 
 me such a question ? " Colin felt injured by 
 the suggestion. To be offered the thing of all 
 others he most desired in the world by means 
 which made it imjwssible to accept the offer 
 would have been galling enough under any 
 circumstances ; but just now, at this crisis of 
 his youthful ambition and excitement, such a 
 tantalizing glimpse of the possible and the 
 impossible was beyond bearing. " Are we 
 his dependants that he makes such an offer to 
 me?" said the exasperated youth; and big 
 Colin himself looked on with a little surprise 
 at his eon's excitement, comprehending only 
 partially what it meant. 
 
 " 111 no say I'm fond of patronage," said 
 the farmer, slowly ; " neither in the kirk nor 
 out of the kirk. It's my opinion a man does 
 aye best that fights his own way ; but there's 
 aye exceptions, Colin. I wouldna have you 
 make up your mind in any arbitrary way. 
 As for Sir Thomas, he has aye been real civil 
 and friendly — no one of your condescending 
 fine gentlemen — and the eon — " 
 
 " What right have I to any favor from Sir 
 Thomas? " said the impatient Colin. " lie 
 is nothing to me. I did no more for young 
 Frankland than I would have done for any 
 dog on the hillside," he continued, with a 
 contemptuous tone ; and then his conscience 
 reproved him. *' I don't mean to say any- 
 thing against him. lie behaved like a man. 
 
 and saved himself," said Colin, with haught} 
 candor. « ' As for all this pretence of reward- 
 ing me, it feels like an insult. I want nothing 
 at their hands." 
 
 " There's no occasion to be violent," said 
 the farmer. " I dinna expect that he'll use 
 force to make you accept his offer, which is 
 weel meant and kind, whatever else it may 
 be. I canna say I understand a' this fury on 
 your part ; and there's no good that I can see 
 in deciding this very moment and no other. 
 I would like you to sleep upon it and turn it 
 over in your mind. Such an offer docsna 
 come every day to the Holy Loch. I'm no 
 the man to seek help," said big Colin, " but 
 there's times when it's more generous to re- 
 ceive than to give." 
 
 The mistress had followed her son wistfully 
 with her eyes through all his changes of coun- 
 tenance and gesture. She was not simply sur- 
 prised like her husband, but looked at him 
 with unconscious insight, discovering by intui- 
 tion what was in his breast — something, at 
 least, of what was in his heart — for the anx- 
 ious mother was mistaken, and rushed at con- 
 clusions which Colin himself was far from 
 having reached. 
 
 " There's plenty of time to decide," said 
 the farmer's wife ; " and I've that confidence 
 in my laddie that I ken he'll do nothing from 
 a poor motive, nor out of a jealous heart. 
 There never were ony sulky ways, that ever 
 I saw, in ony bairn of mine," said Mrs. Camp- 
 bell ; ' ' and if there was one in the world 
 that was mair fortunate than me, I wouldna 
 show a poor spirit towards him, Ijceause he ■ 
 had won, whiles it's mair generous to receive 
 than to give, as themaister says ; and whiles 
 it's mair noble to lose than to win," said the 
 mistress, with a momentary faltering of emo- 
 tion in her voice. She thought the bitterness 
 of hopeless love was in her boy's heart, and 
 that he was tempted to turn fiercely from the 
 friendship of his successful rival. And she 
 lifted her soft eyes, which were beaming with 
 all the magnanimous impulses of nature, to 
 Colin's face, who did not comprehend the ten- 
 derness of pity with which his mother re- 
 garded him. But, at least, he perceived that 
 something much higher and profounder than 
 anything he was thinking of was in the mis- 
 tress's thoughts ; and he turned away some- 
 wliat abashed from her anxious look. 
 
 " I am not jealous that I am aware of," 
 said Colin ; " but I have never done anything 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 to deserve this, and I should prefer not to ac 
 cept any favors from — any man," he con- 
 cluded, abruptly. That was hovf they left 
 the discussion for that time at least. When 
 the farmer went out to look after his neces- 
 sary business, his wife remained with Colin, 
 looking at bun often, as she glanced up from 
 her knitting, with eyes of wistful wonder. 
 Had she been right in her guess, or was it 
 merely a vague sentiment of repulsion which 
 kept him apart from young Frankland ? But 
 all the mother's anxiety could not break 
 through the veil which separates one myste- 
 rious individuality from another. She read 
 his looks with eager attention, half right and 
 half wrong, as people make out an unfamiliar 
 language. He had drifted ofl' somehow from 
 the plain vernacular of his boyish thoughts, 
 and she had not the key to the new compli- 
 cations. So it was with a mixed and doubt- 
 ful joy that the mistress of Ramore, on the 
 first night of his return, regarded her son. 
 
 " And 1 suppose," said Colin, with a smile 
 dancing about his lips, " that I am to answer 
 this proposal when they come to the castle? 
 And they are coming soon as they expected 
 last year ? or perhaps they are there now ? ' ' 
 he said, getting up from his chair again and 
 walking away towards the door that his 
 mother might not see the gleams of expecta- 
 tion in his face. 
 
 " But, Colin, my man," said the mistress, 
 who did not perceive the blow she was about 
 to administer, " they're no coming to the 
 castle this year. The young lady that was 
 delicate has got well, and they're a' in Lon- 
 don and in an awfu' whirl o' gayety like the 
 rest of their kind ; and Lady Mary , the earl's 
 sister, is to have the castle with her bairns ; 
 and that's the way Sir Thomas wants our an- 
 swer in a letter, for there's none of the family 
 to be here this year." 
 
 It did not strike the mistress as strange 
 that Colin made no answer. He was stand- 
 ing at the door looking out, and she could 
 not see his face. And when he went out of 
 doors presently, she was not surprised ; it 
 was natural he should want to see everything 
 about the familiar place ; and she called after 
 him to say that, if he would wait a moment, 
 she would go herself and show him Gowan'e 
 calf. But he either did not hear her, or, at 
 least, did not wait the necessary moment ; 
 and when she had glanced out in her turn, 
 and had perceived with delight that the wind 
 
 35 
 
 had changed, and that the sun was going 
 down in glorious crimson and gold behind 
 the hills, the mistress returned with a relieved 
 heart to prepare the family tea. " It'll be a 
 fine day to-morrow," she said to herself, re- 
 joicing over it for Colin's sake ; and so went 
 in to her domestic duties with a lightened 
 heart. 
 
 At that moment Colin had just pushed 
 forth into the loch, flinging himself into tiie 
 boat anyhow, disgusted with the world and 
 himself and everything that surrounded him. 
 In a moment, in the drawing of a breath, an 
 utter blank and darkness had replaced all the 
 lovely summer landscape that was glowing by 
 anticipation in his heart. In Uie sadden 
 pang of disappointment, the lad's first impulse 
 was to fling himself forth into the solitude, 
 and escape the voices and looks which were 
 hateful to him at that moment. Nor was it 
 simple disappointment that moved him ; his 
 feelings were complicated by many additional 
 shades of aggravation. It had seemed so 
 natural that everything should happen this 
 year as last year, and now it seemed such 
 blind folly to imagine that it could have been 
 possible. Not only were his dreams all frus- 
 trated and turned to nothing, but he fell ever 
 so many degrees in his .own esteem and felt so 
 foolish and vain and unkind, as he turned 
 upon himself with the acute mortification 
 and sudden disgust of youth. What an idiot 
 he had been! To think she would again 
 leave all the brilliant world for the loch and 
 the primroses, and those other childish de- 
 lights on which he had been dwelling like a 
 fool! 
 
 Very bitter were Colin's thoughts, as he 
 dashed out into the middle of the loch, and 
 there laid up his oars and abandoned himself 
 to the bufietings of excited fancy. What 
 right had he to imagine that she had ever 
 thought of him again, or to hope that such a 
 thread of gold could be woven into his rustic 
 and homely web of fate ? He scofied at him- 
 self, as he remembered, with acute pangs of 
 self-contempt, the joyous, rose-colored dreams 
 that had occupied him only a few hours ago. 
 What a fool he was to entertain such vain, 
 complacent fancies ! He, a farmer's son, 
 whose highest hope must be, after count- 
 less aggravations and exasperations, to get 
 " placed " in a country church in some rural 
 corner of Scotland. And then Colin recalled' 
 Sir Thomas Frankland 's proposal, and took 
 
36 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 to his oars again in a kind of fury, feeling it 
 impossible to keep still. The baronet's kind 
 offer looked like an intentional insult to the 
 excited lad. He thouglit to himself that they 
 wanted to reward him someliow by rude, tan- 
 gible means, as if he were a servant, for what 
 Colin proudly and indignantly declared to 
 himself was no service — certainly no inten- 
 tional service. On the whole, he had never 
 been so wretched, so downcast, so fierce and 
 angry and miserable in all his life. If he 
 could but, by any means, by any toil, or self- 
 denial, or sacrifice, get to Oxford, on his own 
 account, and show the rich man and his son 
 how little tlie Campbells of Eamore stood in 
 need of patronage ! All the glory had faded 
 off the hills before Colin bethought himself 
 of the necessity of returning to the homely 
 house which he had greeted with so much 
 natural pleasure a few hours before. His 
 mother was standing at the door looking out 
 for him as he drew towards the beach, look- 
 ing at him with eyes full of startled and anx- 
 ious half-comprehension. She knew he was 
 disturbed somehow, and made guesses, right 
 in the main, but all wrong in the particulars, 
 which were, though he tried hard to repress 
 all signs of it, another exasperation to Colin. 
 This was how: the first, evening of his return 
 closed upon the student of Ramore. lie could 
 not take any pleasure just then in the fact of 
 being at home, laor in the homely love and 
 respect and admiration that surrounded him. 
 Like all the rest of the world, he neglected 
 the true gold lying close at hand for the long- 
 ing he had after the false diamonds that glit- 
 tered at a distance. It was hard woi"k for 
 him to preserve an ordinary appearance of 
 affection and interest in all that was going 
 on, as he sat, absent and pre-occupied, at his 
 father's table. " Colin's no like you idle lad- 
 dies ; he has ower much to think of to laugh 
 and make a noise, like you," the mistress 
 said with dignity, as she consoled the younger 
 brothers, who were disappointed in Colin. 
 And she half believed what she said, though 
 she spoke with the base intention of deluding 
 " the laddies," who knew no better. The 
 house, on the whole, was rather disturbed 
 than brightened by the return of the first- 
 born, who had thus become a foreign element 
 in the household life. Such was the inauspi- 
 cious beginning of the holidays, which had 
 been to Colin, for months back, the subject 
 of 80 many dnjams. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 It was some time before Colin recovered 
 his composure, or found it possible to console 
 himself for the failure of his hopes. He 
 wrote a great deal of poetry in the mean time 
 — or rather of verses which looked wonder- 
 fully like poetry, such as young men of gen- 
 ius are apt to produce under such circum- 
 stances. The chances are, that if he had 
 confided them to any critic of a sympathetic 
 mind, attempts would have been made to per- 
 suade Colin that he^was a poet. But luckily 
 Lauderdale was not at hand, and there was 
 no one else to whom the shy young dreamer 
 would have disclosed himself. He sent some 
 of his musings to the magazines, and so added 
 a little excitement and anxiety to his life. 
 But nobody knei\ Colin in that little world 
 where, as in other worlds, most things go by 
 favor, and impartial appreciation is compar- 
 atively unknown. The editors most probably 
 would have treated their unknown correspond- 
 ent in exactly the same manner had he been 
 a young Tennyson. As it was, Colin did not 
 quite know what to think about his repeated 
 failures in this respect. When he was de- 
 spondent he became disgusted with his own 
 productions, and said to himself that of course 
 such maudlin verse could be procured by the 
 bushel, and was not worthy of paper and 
 print. But in other moods the lad imagined 
 he must have some enemy who prejudiced 
 the editorial world, and shut against him the 
 gates of literary fame. In books all the he- 
 roes, who could do nothing else, found so 
 ready a subsistence by means of magazines, 
 that the poor boy was naturally puzzled to 
 find that all his efforts could not gain him a 
 hearing. And it began to be rather impor- 
 tant to him to find something to do. During 
 the previous summers Colin had not disdained 
 the farm and its labors, but had worked with 
 his father and brothers without any sense of 
 incongruity. But now matters were changed. 
 Miss Matilda, with her curls and her smiles, 
 had bewitched the boy out of his simple inno- 
 cent life. It did not seem natural that the 
 hand which she consented to touch with her 
 delicate fingers should hold the plough or the 
 reaping-hook, or that her companion in so 
 many celestial rambles should plod through 
 the furrows at other times, or go into the 
 rough drolleries of the haiTcst field. Colin 
 began to think that the life of a farmer's son 
 at Ramore was inconsistent with his future 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 hopes, and there was nothing else for it but 
 teaching, since bo little was to be made of 
 the magazines. When he had come to him- 
 self and began to see the surrounding circum- 
 stances with clearer eyes, Colin, who had no 
 mind to be dependent, but meant to make his 
 own way as was natural to a Scotch lad of 
 his class, bethought himself of the most nat- 
 ural expedient. He had distinguished him- 
 self at college, and it was not difficult to find 
 the occupation he wanted. Perhaps he was 
 glad to escape from the primitive home, from 
 the mother's penetrating looks, and all the 
 homely ways of which the ambitious boy b§- 
 gan to be a little impatient. He had come 
 to the age of discontent. He had begun to 
 look forward no longer to the vague splendors 
 of boyish imagination, but to elevation in the 
 social scale, and what he heard people call 
 success in life. A year or two before it had 
 not occurred to Colin to consider the circum- 
 stances of his own lot^his ambition pointed 
 only to ideal grandeur, unembarrassed by 
 particulars — and it was very possible for the 
 boy to be happy, thinking of some incoherent 
 greatness to come, while engaged in the hum- 
 blest work, and living in the homeliest fash- 
 ion. But the time had arrived when the pure 
 ideal had to take to itself some human gar- 
 ments, and when the farmer's son became 
 aware that a scholar and a gentleman re- 
 quired a greater degree of external refine- 
 ment in his surroundings. His young heart 
 was wounded by this new sense, and his vi- 
 sionary pride offended by the thought" that 
 these external matters could count for any- 
 thing in the dignity of a man. But Colin 
 had to yield like every other. He loved his 
 family no less, but he was less at home among 
 them. The inevitable disruption was com- 
 mencing, and already, with the quick insight 
 of her susceptible nature, the mistress of Ra- 
 more had discovered that the new current was 
 setting in, that the individual stream of Co- 
 lin's life was about to disengage itself, and 
 that her proud hopes for her boy were to be 
 sealed by his separation from her. The ten- 
 der-hearted woman said nothing of it, except 
 by an occasional pathetic reflection upon things 
 in general, which went to Colin's heart, and 
 which he understood perfectly ; but perhaps, 
 though no one would have confessed as much, 
 it was a relief to all when the scholar-son, of 
 whom everybody at Ramore was so proud, 
 went off across the loch, rowed by two of his 
 
 37 
 
 brothers, with his portmanteau and the first 
 evening coat he had ever possessed, to Ard- 
 martin, the fine house on the opposite bank, 
 where he was to be tutor to Mr. Jordan's 
 boys, and eat among strangers the bread of 
 his own toil. 
 
 The mistress stood at her door shading her 
 eyes with her hand, and looking after the 
 boat as it shot across the bright water. 
 Never at its height of beauty had the Holy 
 Loch looked more fair. The sun wds ex- 
 panding and exulting over all the hills, 
 searching into every hollow, throwing up un- 
 thought-of tints, heaps of moss, and masses 
 of rock, that no one knew of till that mo- 
 ment ; and with the sunshine went flying 
 shadows that rose and fell like the lifting 
 of an eyelid. The gleam of the sun before' 
 she put up her hand to shade her face fell 
 upon the tear in the mistress's eye, and hung 
 a rainbow upon the long lash, which was 
 wet with that tender dew. She looked at 
 her boys gliding over the loch through this 
 veil of fairy colors, all made out of a tear, 
 and the heart in her tender bosom beat with 
 a corrcs{)onding conjunction of pain and hap- 
 piness. " He'll never more come back to 
 bide at home like hia father's son," she said 
 to herself, softly, with a pang of natural mor- 
 tification ; " but, eh, I'm a thankless woman 
 to complain, and him so weel and so good, 
 and naething in faut but nature," added the 
 mother, with all the compunction of true 
 love ; and so stood gazing till the boat had 
 gone out of hearing, and was just touching 
 upon that sweet shadow of the opposite bank, 
 projected far into the loch, which plunged 
 the whole landscape into a dazzling uncer- 
 tainty, and made it a doubtful matter which 
 was land and which was water. Colin him- 
 self, touched by the loveliness of the scene, 
 had paused just then to look down the shin- 
 ing line to where this beatified paradise of 
 water opened out into the heaven of Clyde. 
 And to his mother's eyes gazing after him, 
 the boat seemed to hang suspended among 
 the sweet spring foliage of the Lady's Glen, 
 which lay reflected, every leaf and twig, in 
 the sweeter loch. When somebody called 
 her indoors she went away with a sigh. Was 
 it earth, or a vision of paradise, or " some 
 unsubstantial fairy place"? The sense of 
 all this loveliness struck intense, with almost 
 a feeling of pain, upon the gentle woman's 
 poetic heart. 
 
38 
 
 And it was in such a scene tliat Colin 
 wrote the verses which borrowed from the 
 sun and the rain prismatic colors like those 
 of hia mother's tears, and were as near poetry 
 as they could possibly be to miss that glory. 
 Luckily for him, he had no favorite confidant 
 now to jxjrsuade him that he was a poet, so 
 the verse-making did him nothing but good, 
 providing a safety-valve for that somewhat 
 stormy period of his existence. 
 
 Mr. Jordan was vei'y rich and very liberal, 
 and, indeed, lavish of the money which had 
 elevated him above all his early friends and 
 associations, lie had travelled ; he bought 
 pictures ; he prided himself upon his library ; 
 and he Avas very good to his young tutor, 
 who, he told evei-ybody, was "a lad of 
 genius ;" but naturally, with all this, Colin's 
 existence was not one of unmingled bliss. As 
 soon as he had left Ramore he began to look 
 back to it with longing, as was natural to his 
 years. The sense that he had that home be- 
 hind him, with everybody ready to stand by 
 him whatever trouble he might fall into, and 
 every heart open to hear and sympathize in 
 all the particulars of his life, restored the 
 young man all at once to content and satis- 
 faction with the homely household that loved 
 him. When he was there life looked gray 
 and sombre in all its sober-rcolored garments ; 
 but when he looked across the loch at the 
 white house on the hillside, that little habi- 
 tation had regained its ideal character. He 
 had some things to endure, as was natural, 
 that galled his high spirit, but, on the whole, 
 be was happier than if Jie had still been at 
 Ramore. 
 
 And BO the summer passed on. lie had 
 sent his answer to Sir Thomas without any 
 delay, — ran answer in which, on the whole, 
 his father concurred, — written in a strain of 
 lofty politeness which would not have misbe- 
 come a young prince. " He was destined for 
 the Church of Scotland," Colin wrote, "and 
 such being the case, it was best that he 
 should content himself with the training of 
 a Scotch university." " Less perfect, no 
 doubt," the boy had said, with a kind of 
 haughty humility ; " but, perhaps, better 
 adapted to the future occupations of a Scotcli 
 clergyman." And then he went on to offer 
 thanks in a magnificent way, calculated to 
 ovenvhelm utterly the good-natured baronet, 
 who had never once imagined that the pride 
 of the farmer's son would be wounded by his 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 proposal. The answer had been sent, and no 
 notice had been taken of it. It was months 
 since then, and not a word of Sir Thomas 
 Frankland or his family had been heard about 
 the Holy Loch. They seemed to have disap- 
 peared altogether back again into their native 
 firmament, never more to dazzle the eyes of 
 beholders in the west country. It was hard 
 upon Colin thus to lose, at a stroke, not only 
 the hope on which he had built so secur'-ty. 
 but at the same time a great part of the gen- 
 eral stimulation of his life. Not only the 
 visionary budding love which had filled him 
 with so many sweet thoughts, but even the 
 secret rivalry and oppositit)n which no one 
 knew of, had given strength and animation 
 to his life, and both seemed to have departed 
 together. He mused over it often with won- 
 der, asking himself if Lauderdale was right; 
 if it was true that most things come to noth- 
 ing ; and whether meetings and partings, 
 which looked as if they must tell upon life 
 for ever and ever, were, after all, of not half 
 so much account as the steady routine of ex- 
 istence? The youth perplexed himself daily 
 with such questions, and wrote to Lauderdale 
 many a long, mysterious epistle which puz- 
 zled still more his anxious friend, who could 
 not make out what had set Colin's brains 
 astray out of all the confident philosophies of 
 his years. When the young man, in his 
 hours of leisure, climbed up the woody ra- 
 vine close by, to where the burn took long 
 leaps over the rocks, flinging itself down in 
 diamonds and showers of spray into the heart 
 of the deep summer foliage in the Lady's 
 Glon, and from that height looked down 
 upon the castle on the other side, seated 
 among its leaves and trees on the soft prom- 
 ontory which narrowed the entrance of the 
 loch, Colin could not but feel this unexpected 
 void which, was suddenly made in his life. 
 The Frankland family had been prominent 
 objects on his horizon for a number of years. 
 In disliking or liking, they had been al- 
 ways before him ; and even at his most bel- 
 ligerent period, there was something not disa- 
 greeable to the lad's fancy, at least, in this 
 link of connection with a world so differ- 
 ent from his own — a world in which, how- 
 ever commonplace might be the majority of 
 the actors, such great persons as were to be had 
 in the age might still bo found. And now 
 they had gone altogether away out of Colin's 
 reach or ken ; and he was left in his natural 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 position nowise affected by iiis connection 
 with them. It was. a strange feeling, and 
 notwithstanding the scorn with which he re- 
 jected the baronet's kindness and declined his 
 patronage, much disappointment and morti- 
 fication mingled with the sense of surprise in 
 Colin 's mind. '« It was all as it ought to be," 
 he said to himself many times as he pondered 
 over it ; but, perhaps, if it had been quite as 
 he expected, he would not have needed to im- 
 press that sentiment on his mind by so many 
 repetitions. These reflections still recurred 
 tyo him all the summer through whenever he 
 had any time to himself. But Colin's time 
 was not much at his own disposal. 
 
 Nature had given to the country lad a 
 countenance which propitiated the world. 
 Not that it was handsome in the abstract, or 
 could bear examination feature by feature, 
 but there were few people who could resist 
 the mingled shyness and frankness of the eyes 
 with which Colin looked out upon the mirac- 
 ulous universe, perceiving perpetual wonders. 
 The surprise of existence was still in his face, 
 indignant though he would ha'^ been had 
 anybody told him so ; and tired people of the 
 world, who knew better than they practised, 
 took comfort in talking to the youth, who, 
 whatever he might choose to say, was still 
 looking as might be seen, with fresh eyes at 
 the dewy earth, and saw everything through 
 the atmosphere of the moi'ning. This uncon- 
 scious charm of his told greatly upon women, 
 and most of all upon women who were older 
 than himself. The young ladies were not so 
 sure of him, for his fancy was pre-occupied ; 
 but he gained many friends among the ma- 
 trons whom he encountered, and such friend- 
 ships are apt to make large inroads upon a 
 young man's time. And their hospitality 
 reigns paramount on those sweet shores of 
 the Holy Loch. Mr. Jordan filled his hand- 
 some house with a continual succession of 
 guests from all quarters ; and as neither the 
 host nor hostess was in the least degree amus- 
 ing, Colin's services were in constant requi- 
 sition. Sometimes the company was good, 
 often indifferent ; but at all events, it occu- 
 pied the youth, and kept him from too much 
 inquisition into the early troubles of his own 
 career. 
 
 His life went on in this fashion until Sep- 
 tember brought sportsmen in flocks to the 
 heathery braes of the loch. Colin, whose 
 engagement was but a temporary one, was 
 
 39 
 
 beginning to look forward once again to his 
 old life in Glasgow — to the close little room 
 in Donaldson's Land, and the long walks and 
 longer talks with Lauderdale, which were 
 almost his only recreation. Perhaps the idea 
 was not so agreeable to him as in former 
 years. Somehow, he was going back with a 
 duller prospect of existence, with his radiance 
 of variable light upon his horizon ; and in the 
 absence of this fairy illumination the natural 
 circumstances became more palpable, and 
 struck him with a Bense of their poverty and 
 meanness such as he had never felt before. 
 He had to gulp down a little disgust as he 
 thought of his attic, and even, in the invol- 
 untai-y fickleness of his years, was not quite 
 so sure of enjoying Lauderdale's philosophy 
 as he had once been. 
 
 He was in this state of mind when he heard 
 of a new party of visitors who were to arrive 
 the day after at Ardmartin — a distinguished 
 party of visitors, fine people, whom Mr. Jor- 
 dan had met somewhere in the Avorld, and 
 who had deigned to forget his lack of rank, 
 and even of interest, in his wealth and his 
 grouse and the convenient situation of his 
 house ; for Colin's employer was not moder- 
 ately rich, — a condition which does a mariiio 
 good in society, — but had heaps upon heaps 
 of money, or was supposed to have such, 
 which comes to about the same, and was re- 
 spected accordingly. Colin listened but lan- 
 guidly to the scraps of talk he heard about 
 these fine people. There was a dowager 
 countess among them whose name abstracted 
 the lady of the house from all her important 
 considerations. As for Colin, he was still too 
 young to care for dowagers ; he heard with- 
 out hearing of all the preparations that were 
 to be made, and the exertions that were 
 thought necessary in order to make Ardmar- 
 tin agreeable to so illustrious a party, and 
 paid very little attention to anything that 
 was going on, hoping within himself to make 
 his escape from the fuss of the reception, and 
 have a little time to himself. On the after- 
 noon on which they were expected he betook 
 himself to the hills, as soon as his work with 
 his pupils was over. It had been raining as 
 usual, and everything shone and glistened in 
 the sun, which blazed all over the braes with 
 a brightness which did not neutralize the 
 chill of the wind. The air was so still that 
 Colin heard the crack of the sportsman's gun 
 from different points around him, miles apart 
 
40 
 
 A SON OF 
 
 from eacli other, and could, even on the height 1 
 where he stood, discriminate the throb of the 
 little steamer which was progressing through 
 the loch at his feet, reflecting to the minutest 
 touch, from its pennon of white steam at the 
 funnel to the patches of color among its pas- 
 sengers on the deck, in the clear water on 
 which it glided. The young man pursued 
 his walk till the shadows lx?gan to gather, and 
 the big bell of Ardmartin pealed out its sum- 
 mons to dress into all the echoes as he reached 
 the gate. The house looked crowded to the 
 verj' door, where it had overflowed in a mar- 
 gin of servants, some of whom were still im- 
 porting the last carriage as Colin entered, 
 lie pursued his way to his own room lan- 
 guidly enough, for he was tired, and he was 
 not interested cither. As he went up the 
 grand staircase, however, he passed a door 
 which was ajar, and from which came the 
 sound of an animated conversation. Colin 
 started as if he had received a blow, as one 
 of these voices fell on his ear. lie came to a 
 dead pause in the gallery upon which this 
 room o^jeued, and stood listening, unconscious 
 of the surprised looks of somebody's maid, 
 who passed him with her lady's dress in her 
 arms, and looked very curiously at the tutor. 
 Colin stopped short and listened, suddenly 
 roused up into a degree of interest which 
 brought the color to his cheek and the light 
 to his eye. lie thouglit all the ladies of the 
 party must be there, so varied was the pleas- 
 ant din and so many the voices ; but he had 
 been standing breathless, in the most eager 
 pose of listening, for neai'ly half the time 
 allowed for dressing, before he heard again 
 the voice which had arrested him. Then, 
 when he began to imagine that it must have 
 been a dream, the sound struck his ear once 
 more — a few brief syllables, a sweet, sudden 
 laugh, and again silence. Was it her voice, 
 or was it only a mock of fancy? While he 
 stood lingering, wondering, straining his car 
 for a repetition of the sound, the door opened 
 softly, and various white figures in dressing- 
 gowns flitted ofl" up-stairs and down-stairs, 
 some of them uttering little exclamations of 
 fright at sight of the alarming apjiarition of 
 a man. It was pretty to sec them dispersing, 
 like so many white doves, from that momen- 
 tary confabulation ; but she was not among 
 them. Colin went up to bis room and dressed 
 
 THE SOIL. 
 
 with lightning speed, chating within himself 
 at the humble place which he was expected 
 to take at the table. When he went into 
 the dining-room, as usual, all the rest of the 
 party were taking their places. Tlie only 
 womankind distinctly within Colin's sight 
 was one of fifty, large enough to make six 
 Matildas, lie could not see her, though Ite 
 strained his eyes up and down through the 
 long alley of fruits and flowers. Though he 
 was not twenty, and had walked about ten 
 miles that afternoon over the wholesome 
 heather, the poor young fellow could not eat 
 any dinner. lie had been placed beside a 
 hoary old man to amuse him, whom his em- 
 ployer thought might be useful to the young 
 student ; but Colin had not half a dozen words 
 to spend upon any one. Was she here, or 
 was it mere imagination which brought down 
 to him now and then, through the pauses of 
 the conversation, a momentary tone that was 
 like hers? AVhen the ladies left the room 
 the young man rushed, though it was not his 
 office, to open the door for them. Another 
 moment ami Colin was in paradise — the par- 
 adise of fools. How was it possible that he 
 could have been deceived ? The little start 
 with which she recognized him, the moment 
 of surprise which made her drop her handker- 
 cliicf and brought the color to her cheek, rapt 
 the lad into a feeling more exquisite than any ho 
 had known all his life. She smiled ; she gave 
 him a rapid, sweet look of recognition, which 
 was made complete by that start of surprise. 
 Matilda was here, under the same roof— she 
 whom he had never hoped to see again. Co- 
 lin fell headlong into the unintended swoon. 
 He sat pondering over her look and her star- 
 tled movements all the tedious time, while 
 the other men drank their wine, without be- 
 ing at all aware what divine elixir was in his 
 cup. Ilcr look of sweet wonder kept shining 
 ever brigliter and brighter before his imagi- 
 nation. Was it wonder only, or some dawn- 
 ing of another sentiment ? Jf she had spoken , 
 the spell might have been less powerful. A 
 crowd of fairy voices kept whispering all 
 manner of delicious follies in Colin's car, as 
 he sat waiting for the moment when he could 
 follow her. Imagination did everything for 
 him in that moment of expectation and un- 
 looked-for delight. 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 PART IV. — CHAPTER X. 
 
 Mr. Jordan had invited a large party of 
 people to meet the Dowager Countess ; but 
 the greatness of the leading light, which was 
 to illustrate his house, had blinded him to 
 the companion stars that were to tremble in 
 her company. The principal people about 
 had consented graciously to be reviewed by 
 her ladyship,Jwho, once upon a time, had been 
 a very great lady and fashionable potentate. 
 •A very little fashion counts for much on the 
 shores of the Holy Loch, and the population 
 was moved accordingly. But the youog la- 
 dies who accompanied the dowager were less 
 carefully provided for. When Miss Frank- 
 land, who was unquestionably the beauty of 
 the party, cast a glance of careless but acute 
 observation round her, after all the gentlemen 
 had returned to the drawing-room, she saw 
 nobody whom she cared to distinguish by her 
 notice. Most of the men about had a flavor 
 of conventionality in their talk or their man- 
 ner or their whiskers. Most of them were 
 rich, some of them were very well bred and 
 well educated, though the saucy beauty could 
 not perceive it ; but there was not an Individ 
 ual among them who moved her curiosity or 
 her interest, except one who stood rather in 
 the background, and whose eyes kept seeking 
 her with wistful devotion. Colin had im- 
 proved during the last year. He was younger 
 than Miss Frankland, a fact of which she was 
 aware, and he was at the age upon which a 
 year tells mightily. Looking at him in the 
 background, through clouds of complacent 
 people who felt themselves Colin's superiors, 
 even an indifferent spectator might have dis- 
 tinguished the tall youth, with those heaps 
 of brown hair overshadowing the forehead 
 which might have been apostrophized as 
 "domed for thought" if anybody could 
 have seen it : and in his eyes that gleam of 
 things miraculous, that unconscious surprise 
 and admiration, which would have given a 
 touch of poetry to the most commonplace 
 countenance. But Miss JIatilda was not an 
 indifferent spectator. She was fond of him 
 in her way as women are fond of a man whom 
 they never mean to love — fond of him as one 
 is fond of the victim who consents to glorify 
 one's triumph. As she looked at him and 
 saw how he had improved, and perceived the 
 faithful allegiance with which he watched 
 every movement she made, the heart of the 
 beauty was touched. Worship is sweet, even 
 
 41 
 
 when it is only a country boy who bestows it 
 — and perhaps this counti-y boy might turn 
 out a genius or a poet — not that Matilda cared 
 much for genius or poetry ; but she liked 
 everything that bestows distinction, and was 
 aware that in the lack of other titles, a little 
 notalnlity, even in society, might bo obtained, 
 if one was brave and knew how to manage it, 
 by these means. And besides all this, hon- 
 estly, and at the foundation, she was fond of 
 Colin.. When she had surveyed all the com- 
 pany, and had made up her mind that there 
 was noliody there in tlie least degree interest- 
 ing, she held up her fan with a pretty ges- 
 ture, calling him to her. The lad made his 
 way through the assembly at that call with a 
 smile and glow of exultation which it is im- 
 possible to describe, llis face was lighted up 
 with a kind of celestial intoxication. "Who 
 is that very handsome young man?" the 
 Dowager Countess was moved to remark as 
 he passed within her ladyship's range of vision, 
 which was limited, for Lady Hallamshire was, 
 like most other people, short-sighted. "Oh, 
 he is not a handsome young man ; he is only 
 the tutor," said one of the ladies of the Holy 
 Loch; but, notwithstanding, she, too, looked 
 after Colin, with aroused curiosity. " I sup- 
 pose Matty Frankland must have met him in 
 society," said the dowager, who was the 
 most comfortable of chapcroncs, and went on 
 with her talk, turning her eyeglass round 
 and towards her pretty charge. As for the 
 young men, they stared at Colin Xvith mingled 
 consternation and wrath. What was he? a* 
 fellow who had not a penny, a mere Scotch 
 student, to be distinguished by the prettiest 
 girl in the room ? for the aspiring people 
 about the Holy Loch, as well as in the other 
 parts of Scotland, had come to entertain that 
 contempt for the national universities and na- 
 tional scholarships which is so curious a fea- 
 ture in the present transition state of tho 
 country. If Colin had been an Oxford man, 
 the west-country people would have thought 
 it quite natural ; but a Scotch student did not 
 impress them with any particular respect. 
 
 "I'm 60 glad to meet you again! " said 
 Matty, with the warmest cordiality, " but so 
 surprised to see you here. What are you 
 doing here ? why have you come away from 
 that delicious Ilamore, where I am sure i 
 should live for ever and ever if it were mine*? 
 What have you been doing with yourself 
 all this time ? Come and tell mc all about 
 
42 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 it, and I do so want to know how every- 
 thing is looking at that dear castle and in our 
 favorite glen. Don't j-ou rcnfbmbcr that dar- 
 ling glen behind the church, where we used to 
 gather basketfuls of primroses — and all the 
 lovely moors? I am dying to hear about 
 everything and everybody. Do come and eit 
 down here, and tell me all." 
 
 "Where shall I begin? " said Colin, who, 
 utterly forgetful of his position, and all the 
 humilities incumbent on him in such an ex- 
 alted company, had instantly taken possession 
 of the scat she pointed out to him, and had 
 placed himself according to her orders directly 
 between her and the company, shutting her 
 into a corner. Miss Matty could see very 
 well all that was going on in the drawing- 
 room, but Colin had his back to the company, 
 and had forgotten everything in the world ex- 
 cept her face. 
 
 "Oh, with yourself, of course, "said Matty. 
 " I want to know all about it ; and, first of 
 all, what are you doing among these sort of 
 people? " the young lady continued, with a 
 little more of her face toward the assembled 
 multitude, some of *whom were quite within 
 hearing. 
 
 " These sort of people have very little to 
 say to me," said Colin; who suddenly felt him- 
 self elevated over their heads ; " I am only 
 the tutor ; " and the two foolish young crea- 
 tures looked at each other, and laughed, as if 
 Colin of Ramore had been a prince in disguise, 
 and his tutorship an excellent joke. 
 
 " Oh, you are only the tutor? " said Miss 
 Matty ; " that is charming. Then one will be 
 able to make all sorts of use of you. Every- 
 body is allowed to maltreat a tutor. You 
 will have to row us on the loch, and walk 
 with us to the glen, and carry our cloaks, and 
 generally conduct yourself as becomes a slave 
 and vassal. As for me, I shall order you 
 about with the greatest freedom, and expect 
 perfect obedience," said the beauty, looking 
 with her eyes full of laughter into Colin 's 
 face, 
 
 " All that goes without saying," said 
 Colin, who did not like to commit himself to 
 the French. " I almost think I have already 
 proved my perfect allegiance." 
 
 " Oh, you were only a boy last year," said 
 Miss Matty, with some evanescent change of 
 color, which looked like a blush to Colin's 
 deliglitcd eyes. " Now you are a man and a 
 tutor, and we shall behave to you accordingly. 
 
 IIow lovely that glen was last spring, to be 
 sure," continued the girl, with a little quite 
 unconscious natural feeling; "do you re- 
 member the day when it rained, and we had 
 to wait under the beeches, and when you im- 
 agined all sorts of things in the gathering of 
 the shower ? Do you write any poetry now? 
 I want so much to see what you have been do- 
 ing since," said the siren, who, half-touched 
 by nature in her own person, was still jicr- 
 fectly conscious of her power. 
 
 " Since ! " Colin repeated the word over 
 to himself with a flush of happiness which, 
 perhaps, no such good in existence could have 
 equalled. Poor boy ! if he could but have 
 known what had happened " since" in Miss 
 Matty's experience — but, fortunately, he had 
 not the smallest idea what was involved in 
 the season which the young lady had lately 
 terminated, or in the brilliant winter cam- 
 paign in the country, which had brought 
 adorers in plenty, but nothing worthy of the 
 beauty's acceptance, to Miss Matty's feet. 
 Colin thought only of the beatific dreams, the 
 faithful follies which had occupied liis own ju- 
 venile imagination " since." As for the her- 
 oine herself, she looked slightly confused to 
 hear him repeat the word. She had meant 
 it to produce its effect, but then she was think- 
 ing solely of a male creature of her own spe- 
 cies, and not of a primitive, innocent soul like 
 that which looked at her in a glow of young 
 delight out of Colin's eyes. She was used to 
 be admired and complimented, and humored 
 to the top of her bent, but she did not under- 
 stand being believed in, and the new sensa- 
 tion somewhat fluttered and embarrassed the 
 young woman of the world. She watched 
 his look, as he replied to her, and thereby 
 added double, though she did not mean it, to 
 the cflect of what she had said. 
 
 "Ineverwrite poetry," said Colin ; " I wish 
 I could — I know how I should use the gift ; but 
 1 have a few verses about somewhere, I suppose, 
 like anybody else. Last spring I was almost 
 persuaded I could do something better ; but 
 that feeling lasts only so long as one's inspira- 
 tion lasts," said the youth, looking down, in 
 his turn, lest his meaning might be discovered 
 too quickly in his eye. 
 
 And then there ensued a pause, — a pause 
 which was more dangerous than the talk, and 
 which Miss Matty made haste to break. 
 
 " Do you know you are very much 
 changed? " she said. " You never did any 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 of this society-talk last year. You have been 
 making friends with some ladies somewhere, 
 and they have taught you conversation. But, 
 as for me, I am your early friend, and I pre- 
 ferred you when you did not talk like other 
 people," said Mies Matty, with a slight pout. 
 " Tell me who has been forming your mind, " 
 
 Perhaps it was fortunate for Colin at this mo- 
 ment that Lady Ilallamshire had become much 
 bored by the group which had gathered round 
 her sofa. The dowager was clever in her way, 
 and had written a novel or two, and was ac- 
 customed to be amused by the people who 
 had the honor of talking to her. Though 
 she was no -longer a leader of fashion, she 
 kept up the manners and customs of that re- 
 markable species of the human race, and 
 when she was bored, permitted her sentiments 
 to be plainly visible in her expressive coun- 
 tenance. Though it was the member of the 
 county who was enlightening her at the mo- 
 ment in the statistics of the West Highlands, 
 and though she had been in a state of great 
 anxiety five minutes before about the emi- 
 gration which was depopulating the moors, her 
 ladyship broke in quite abruptly in the midst 
 of the poor-rates with a totally irrelevant ob- 
 servation : — 
 
 " It appears to me that Matty Frankland 
 has got into another flirtation ; I must go 
 and look after her," said the dowager ; and 
 she smiled graciously upon the explanatory 
 member, and left him talking, to the utter 
 consternation of their hostess. Lady Hallam- 
 ehire thought it probable that the young man 
 was amusing as well as handsome, or Matty 
 Frankland, who was a girl of discretion, 
 would not have received him into such marked 
 favor. " Though I dare say there is nobody 
 here worth her trouble," her chapcrone 
 thought as ehe looked round the room ; but 
 anyhow a change was desirable. " Matty, 
 mignonne, I want to know what you are talk- 
 ing about," she said, suddenly coming to an- 
 chor opposite the two young people ; and a 
 considerable fuss ensued to find her ladyship 
 a seat, during which time Colin had a hun- 
 dred minds to run away. The company took 
 a new centre after this performance on the 
 part of the great lady, and poor Colin, all at 
 ence, began to feel that he was doing exactly 
 the reverse of what was expected of him. He 
 got up with a painful blush as he met Mr. 
 Jordan's astonished eye. The poor boy did 
 not know that he had been much more re- 
 
 43 
 
 marked before: "flirting openly with that 
 dreadful little coquette, INIiss Frankland, and 
 turning his back upon his superiors," as some 
 of the indignant bystanders said. Even Colin's 
 matronly friends, who pitied him and formed 
 his mind , disapproved of his behavior. ' ' She 
 only means to make a fool of you, and you 
 ought not to allow yourself to be taken in by 
 it," said one of these patronesses in his ear, 
 calling him aside. But fate had determined 
 otherwise. 
 
 " Don't go away," said Lady Hallamshire. 
 " I like Matty to introduce all her friends to 
 mc ; and you two look as if you had known 
 each other a long time," said the dowager, 
 graciously, for she was pleased, like most 
 women, by Colin's looks. " One would 
 know him again if one met him," she added, 
 in an audible aside ; " he doesn't look exactly 
 like everybody else, as most young men do. 
 Who is he, ]\Iatty ? " And Miss Frankland's 
 chaperone turned the light of her countenance 
 full upon Colin, quite indiflferent to the fact 
 that he had heard one part of her speech quite 
 as well as the other. When a fine lady con- 
 sents to enter the outer world, it is to be ex- 
 pected that she should behave herself as civil- 
 ized people do among savages, and the Eng- 
 lish among the other pations of the world. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! we have known each other a 
 long time," said Matty, partly with a gener- 
 ous, partly with a mischievous, instinct. 
 " My uncle knows Mr. Campbell's father very 
 well, and Harry and he and I made acquaint- 
 ance when we were children. I am sure you 
 must have heard how nearly Harry was 
 drowned once when we were at Kilchain Cas- 
 tle. It was Mr. Campbell who saved his life." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Lady Hallamshire ; " but I 
 thought that was "—and then ehe stopped 
 short. Looking at Colin again, her Ifidy- 
 ship's experienced eye perceived that he was 
 not arrayed with that perfection of apparel 
 to which she was accustomed ; but at the 
 moment her eye caught his glowing face, half 
 pleased, half haughty with that pride of low- 
 liness which is of all pride the most defiant. 
 " I am very glad to make Mr. Campbell's ac- 
 quaintance," — she went on so graciously that 
 everybody forgot the pause. ' ' Harry Frank- 
 land is a very dear young friend of mine, and 
 we are all very much indebted to his deliv- 
 erer." 
 
 It was just what a distinguished matron 
 would have said in the circumstances in one 
 
44 
 
 of Lady lltiUamshirc'e novels; but, instead 
 of remaining overcome with grateful confu- 
 sion, as the hero ought to have done, Colin 
 made an immediate reply. 
 
 " I cannot take the credit people give mc," 
 eaid the lad, with a little heat. " lie hap- 
 pened to get into my boat when he was nearly 
 exhausted — that is the whole business. There 
 has been much more talk about it than was 
 necessary. I cannot pretend even to be a 
 friend of Mr. Frankland," eaid Colin, with 
 the unnecessary cxplanatorincss of youth, 
 " and I certainly did not save his life." 
 
 With which speech the young man disap- 
 peared out of sight amid the wondering as- 
 sembly, which privately designated him a 
 young puppy and a young prig, and by vari- 
 ous other epithets, according to the individual 
 mind of the speaker. As for Lady Ilallam- 
 shire, she was considerably disgusted. ' ' Your 
 friend is original, 1 dare say ; but I am not 
 sure that he is quite civil," she said to Matty, 
 who did not quite know whether to be vexed 
 or pleased by Colin's abrupt withdrawal. 
 Perhaps on the whole the young lady liked 
 him better for having a mind of his own, not- 
 withstanding his devotion, and for preferring 
 to bestow his worship without the assistance 
 of spectators. If he had been a man in the 
 least possible as a lover. Miss Frankland 
 might have been of a different opinion ; but, 
 as that was totally out of possibility, Matty 
 liked, on the whole, that he should do what 
 was ideally right, and keep up her conception 
 of him. She gave her head a pretty toss of 
 semi-defiance, and went across the room to 
 Mrs. Jordan, to whom,she was very amiable 
 and caressing all the rest of the evening. But 
 she still continued to watch with the corner 
 of her eye the tall boyish figure which was 
 now and then to be discerned in the distance, 
 with those masses of brown hair heaped like 
 clouds upon the forehead, which Colin's 
 height made visible over the heads of many 
 very superior people. She knew he was 
 watching her and noted every movement she 
 made, and she felt a little proud of the slave, 
 wlio, though he was only the tutor and a poor 
 fai'mer's son, had something in his eyes which 
 nobody else within sight had any inkling of. 
 Matty was rather clever in her way, which 
 was as much different from Colin's as light 
 from darkness. No man of a mental calibre 
 like hers could have found him out ; but she 
 had a little insight, as a woman, which cn- 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 abled her to perceive the greater height when 
 she came within sight of it. And tlicn poor 
 Colin, all unconsciously, had given her such 
 an advantage over him. He had laid his 
 boy's heart at her feet, and, half in love, half 
 in imagination, had made her the goddess of 
 his youth. If she had thought it likely to do 
 him any serious damage, perhaps Matty, who 
 was a good girl enough, and was of some use 
 to the rector and very popular among the 
 poor in her own parish, might have done her 
 duty by Colin, and crushed this pleasant folly 
 in the bud. But then it did not occur to her 
 that a " friendship " of which it was so very 
 evident nothing could ever come could harm 
 anybody. It did not occur to her that an am- 
 bitious Scotch boy, who knew no more of the 
 world than a baby, and who had been fed 
 upon all the tales of riches achieved and glo- 
 ries won which are the common fare of many 
 a homely household, might possibly entertain 
 a different opinion. So Matty asked all kinds 
 of questions about him of Mrs. Jordan, and 
 gave him now and then a little nod when she 
 met his eye, and generally kept up a. kind of 
 special intercourse far more flattering to the 
 youth than ordinary conversation. Poor 
 Colin neither attempted nor wished to defend 
 himself. He put his head under the yoke, 
 and hugged his chains. lie collected his verses, 
 poor boy ! when he went to his own room 
 that night, — verses which he knew very well 
 were true to him, but in which it would be 
 rather difficult to explain the fatal stroke, — 
 the grievous blow on which he had expatiated 
 so vaguely that it might be taken to mean the 
 death of his lady rather than the simple fact 
 that she did not come to Kilchain Castle when 
 he expected her. How to make her under- 
 stand that this was the object of his lamenta- 
 tions puzzled him a little ; for Colin knew 
 enough of romance to be aware that the true 
 lover does not venture to address the princess 
 until he has so far conquered fortune as to 
 make his suit with honor to her and fitness 
 in the eyes of the world. The young tutor 
 sat in his bare little room out of the Avay, and, 
 with eyes that glowed over his midnight can- 
 dle, looked into the future, and calculated 
 visionary dates at which, if all went with him 
 as he hoped, he might lay his trophies at his 
 lady's feet. It is true that Matty herself 
 fully intended by that time to have daughters 
 ready to enter uiton the round of conquest 
 from which she should have retired into ma- 
 
tron dignity ; but no such profanity ever oc- 
 curred to Colin. Thus the two thought of each 
 other as they went to their rest — the one with 
 all the delusions of heroic youthful love, the 
 other with no delusions at all, but a half grati- 
 tude, half affection — a woman's compassionate 
 fondness for the man who had touched her 
 heart a little by giving her his, but whom it 
 was out of the question ever to think of lov- 
 ing. And BO the coils of fate began to throw 
 themselves around the free-born feet of young 
 Colin of Ramore. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Lady Hallamshire was a woman very ac- 
 cessible to a little judicious flattery, and very 
 sensible of good living. She liked Mr. Jor- 
 dan's liberal house, and she liked the court 
 that was paid to her ; and was not averse to 
 lengthening out her visit, and converting 
 three days into a fortnight, especially as her 
 ladyship's youngest son, Horace Fitz-Gibbon, 
 who was a lieutenant in the navy, was ex- 
 pected daily in the Clyde^at least his ship 
 was, which comes to the same thing. Hor- 
 ace was a dashing young fellow enough, with 
 nothing but his handsome face (he had his 
 mother's nose, as everybody acknowledged, 
 and, although now a dowager, she had been 
 a great beauty in her day) and the honora- 
 ble prefix to his name to help him on in the 
 world. Lady Hallamshire had heard of an 
 heiress or two about, and her maternal am- 
 bition was stimulated; and, at the same 
 time, the grouse were bewitching, and the 
 cooking most creditable. The only thing she 
 was sorry for was JNIatty Frankland, her lady- 
 ship said, who never could stay more than a 
 week anywhere, unless she was flirting with 
 somebody, without being bored. Perliaps 
 the necessary conditions had been obtained 
 even at Ardmartin, for Matty bore up very 
 well on tlie whole. She fulfilled the threat 
 of making use of the tutor to the fullest ex- 
 tent ; and Colin gave' himself up to the 
 enjoyment of his fool's paradise without a 
 thought of flying from the dangerous felicity. 
 They climbed the hills together, keeping far 
 in advance of the companions, who overtook 
 them only to find the mood change, and to 
 leave behind in the descent the pair of loiter- 
 ers, whose pace no calls nor advices, nor even 
 the frequent shower, could quicken ; and they 
 rowed . together over the lovely loch, about 
 which Matty, having much fluency of lan- 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 45 
 
 uasro, and the adroitness of a little woman 
 
 of the world in appropriating other people's 
 sentiments, showed even more enthusiasm 
 than Colin. Perhaps she, too, enjoyed this 
 wonderful holiday in the life which already 
 she knew by heart, and found no novelty in. 
 To be adored, to be invested with all the 
 celestial attributes, to feel herself the one 
 grand object in somebody's world, is pleasant 
 to a woman . ^Matty almost felt as if she were 
 in love, without the responsibility of the 
 thing, or any need for troubling herself about 
 what it was going to come to. It could come 
 to nothing — except an expression of gratitude 
 and kindness to the young man who had saved 
 her cousin's life. When everything was so 
 perfectly safe, there could be no harm in the 
 enjoyment ; and the conclusion Matty came 
 to, as an experimental philosopher, was, that 
 to fall in love really, excepting the responsi- 
 bilities, would be an exciting but highly 
 troublesome amusement. She could not help 
 thinking to herself how anxious she should 
 be about Colin if such a thing were possible. 
 How those mistakes which he could not help 
 making, and whidi at present did not disturb 
 her in the least, would make her glow and 
 burn with shame, if he were really anything 
 to her. And yet he was a great deal to her. 
 She was as good as if she had been really 
 possessed by that love on which she specu- 
 lated, and almost as happy; and Colin was 
 in her mind most of the hours of the day 
 when she was awake, and a few of those in 
 which she slept. The difference was, that 
 Matty contemplated quite calmly the inevita- 
 ble fact of leaving Ardmartin on Monday, and 
 did not think it in the least likely that she 
 would break her heart over the parting ; and 
 that, even in imagination, she never for a 
 moment connected her fate with that of her 
 young adorer. As for the poor youth him- 
 self, he went deeper and deeper into the en- 
 chanted land. He went without any resist- 
 ance, giving himself up to the sweet fate. 
 She had read the poems, of course, and had 
 inquired eagerly into that calamity which oc- 
 cupied so great a part in them, and had found 
 out what it was, and had blushed (as Colin, 
 thought), but was not angry. What could 
 a shy young lover, whose lips were sealed by 
 honor, but who knew his eyes, his actions, 
 his productions to be alike eloquent, desire 
 more? Sometimes Lady Hallamshire con- 
 sented to weigh down the boat, which dipped 
 
46 
 
 hugely at the stern under her and made 
 Colin's task a liard one. Sometimes the tu- 
 tor, who counted for nobody, was allowed to 
 conduct a cluster of girls, of whom he 6aw 
 but one, over the peaceful water. Lessons 
 did not count for much in those paradisiacal 
 days. ^liss Frankland bcfijgcd holidays for 
 the boys ; begged that they might go excur- 
 sions with her, and make picnics on the hill- 
 side, and accompany her to all sorts of places, 
 till Mrs. Jordan was entirely captivated with 
 Matty. She never saw a young lady so taken 
 up with children, the excellent woman said ; 
 and prophesied that Miss Matty would make 
 a wonderful mother of a family when her 
 time came. As for the tutor, ^Mrs. Jordan, 
 too, took hi m for a cipher, and explained to 
 him how improving it was for the boys to 
 be in good society, by way of apologizing to 
 Golin. At length there occurred one blessed 
 day in which Colin and his boys embarked 
 with Miss Frankland alone, to row across to 
 Ramore. " My uncle has so high an opinion 
 ofMr. Campbell," Matty said, very demurely; 
 " I know he would never forgive me if I did 
 not go to see him." As for Colin, his bless- 
 edness was tempered on that particular occa- 
 sion by a less worthy feeling. He felt, if not 
 ashamed of Ramore, at least apologetic of it 
 and its accessories, which apology took, as 
 was natural to a Scotch lad of his years, an 
 argumentative and defiant tone. 
 
 "It is a poor house enough," said Colin, 
 as he pointed it out, gleaming white upon 
 the hillside, to Miss Matty, — who pretended 
 to remember it perfectly, but who after all 
 had not the least idea which was Ramore, — 
 " but I would not change with anybody I 
 know. "We are better oiT in the cottages 
 than you in the parlors. Comfort is a poor 
 sort of heathen deity to be worshipped as you 
 worship him in England. As for us, we have 
 a higher standard," said the lad, half in 
 sport and more than half in earnest. The 
 two 3'oung Jordans, after a little gaping at 
 the talk which went over their heads (for 
 Miss Matty was wonderfully taken up with 
 the children only when their mother M'as 
 present) , had betaken themselves to the oc- 
 cupation of sailing a little yacht from the 
 bows of their boat, and were very well be- 
 haved and disturbed nobody. 
 
 "Yes," said Matty, in an absent tone. 
 " By the way, I wish very much you would 
 tell mc why you rejected my uncle's proposal 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 about going to Oxford. I suppose you have 
 a higher standard ; but then they say you 
 don't have such good scholars in Scotland. 
 I am sure I beg your pardon if I am wrong." 
 
 " But I did not say you were wrong," said 
 Colin, who, however, grew fiery red and 
 burned to prove his scholarship equal to that 
 of any Eton lad or Christchurch man. " They 
 say, on the other side, that a man may get 
 through without disgrace, in Oxford or Cam- 
 bridge, who doesn't know how to spell Eng- 
 lish," said the youth, with natural exaspera- 
 tion, and took a few long strokes which sent 
 the boat flying across the summer ripples, and 
 consumed his angry energy. He was quite 
 ready to sneer at Scotch scholarship in bis 
 own person, when he and his fellows were 
 together, and even to sigh on the completer 
 order and profounder studies of the great 
 universities of England ; but to acknowledge 
 the inferiority of his country in any particu- 
 lar to the lady of his wishes, was beyond the 
 virtue of a Scotchman and a lover. 
 
 " I did not speak of stupid people," said 
 Mies INIatty ; " and I am sure I did not mean 
 to vex you. Of course I know you are so 
 very clever in Scotland ; everybody allows 
 that. I love Scotland so much," said the 
 politic little woman ; " but then every coun- 
 try has its weak points and its strong points ; 
 and you have not told me yet why you re- 
 jected my uncle's proposal. He wished you 
 very much to accept it ; and so did I," said 
 the siren, after a little pause, lifting upon 
 Colin the half-subdued light of her blue eyes. 
 
 " Why did you wish it? " the lad asked, 
 as was to be expected, bending forward to 
 hear the answer to his question. 
 
 " Oh, look there, little Ben will be over- 
 board in another minute," said Matty, and 
 then she continued lower, " I can't tell you, 
 I am sure ; because I thought you were go- 
 ing to turn out a great genius, I suppose." 
 
 " But you don't believe that?'''' said Colin ; 
 " you say so only to make the Holy Loch 
 a little more like paradise ; and that is un- 
 necessary to-day," the lad went on, glancing 
 round him with eyes full of the light that 
 never was on sea or land. Though ho, was 
 not a poet, he had what was almost better, — a 
 poetic soul. The great world moved for him 
 always amid everlasting melodies, the morn- 
 ing and the evening stars singing together even 
 through the common day. Just now his cup 
 was about running over. What if, to crown 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 all, God, not content with giving him life and 
 love, had indeed visibly to the sight of others, 
 if not to his own, bestowed genius also, the 
 other gift most prized of youth. Somehow, 
 he could not contradict that divine peradven- 
 ture. "If it were so," he said under his 
 breath, " if it were so ! " and the other little 
 Boul opposite, who had lost sight of Colin at 
 that moment, and did not know through what 
 bright mists he was wandering, strained her 
 limited vision after him, and wondered and 
 asked what he meant. 
 
 "If it were so," said Matty," what then?" 
 Most likely she expected a compliment — and 
 Colin "s compliments being made only by in- 
 ference, and with a shyness and an emotion 
 unknown to habitual manufacturers of such 
 articles, were far from being unpleasant offer- 
 ings to Miss Matty, who was slightly hlase of 
 the common coin. 
 
 But Colin only shook his head, and bent 
 his strong young frame to the oars, and shook 
 back the clouds of brown hair from his half- 
 visible forehead. The boat flew like a swal- 
 low along the crisp bosom of the loch. Miss 
 Matty did not quite know what to make of 
 the silence, not being in love. She took off 
 her glove and held her pretty hand in the wa- 
 ter over the side of the boat, but the loch was 
 cold, and she withdrew it presently. What 
 was he thinking of? she wondered. Having 
 lost sight of him thus, she was reluctant to 
 begin the conversation anew, lest she might 
 perhaps say something which would betray 
 her non-comprehension, and bring her down 
 from that pedestal which, after all, it was 
 pleasant to occupy. Feminine instinct at last 
 suggested to Matty what was the very beet 
 thing to do in the circumstances. She had a 
 pretty voice, and perfect ease in the use of it, 
 and knew exactly what she could do, as people 
 of limited powers generally can. So she be- 
 gan to sing, murmuring to herself at first as 
 she stooped over the water, and then rising 
 into full voice. As for Colin, that last touch 
 was almost too much for him ; he had never 
 hear4 her sing before, and he could not help 
 marvelling, as he looked at her, why Provi- 
 dence should have lavished such endowments 
 upon one, and left so many others unprovided 
 — and fell to rowing softly, dropping his oars 
 into the sunshine with as little sound as pos- 
 sible, to do full justice to the song. When 
 Matty had come to the end, she turned on him 
 quite abruptly, and, almost before the last 
 
 47 
 
 note had died from her lips, repeated her 
 question. " Now tell me why did you refuse 
 to go to Oxford? " said the little siren, look- 
 ing full into Colin's face. 
 
 " Because I can't be dependent upon any 
 man, and because I had done nothing to en- 
 title me to such a recompense," said Colin, 
 who was taken by surprise ; " you made a mis- 
 take about that business," he said, with a 
 slight sudden flush of color, and immediately 
 fell to his oars again with all his might. 
 
 " It is very odd," said Miss Matilda- 
 " Why don't you like Harry? He is noth- 
 ing particular, but he is a very good sort of 
 boy, and it is so strange that you should have 
 such a hatred to each other — I mean to say, 
 he is not at all fond of you," she continued, 
 with a laugh. " I believe he is jealous be- 
 cause we all talk of you so much, and it must 
 be rather hard upon a boy after all to have 
 his life saved, and to be expected to be grate- 
 ful ; for I don't believe a word you say," said 
 Miss Matty. "I know the rights of it better 
 than you do — you </^<f save his life." 
 
 " I hope you will quite release him from 
 the duty of being grateful," said Colin ; 
 " I don't suppose there is either love or ha- 
 tred between us. We don't know each other 
 to speak of, and I don't see any reason why 
 we should be fond of each other ;" and again 
 Colin sent the boat forward with long, rapid 
 strokes, getting rid of the superfluous energy 
 which was roused within him by hearing 
 Frankland's name. 
 
 " It is very odd," said Matty again. "I 
 wonder if you are fated to be rivals, and come 
 in each other's way. If I knew any girl that 
 Harry was in love with, I should not like to 
 introduce you to her," said Miss Matilda, and 
 she stopped and laughed a little, evidently at 
 something in her own mind. " How odd it 
 would be if you were to be rivals through 
 life," she continued ; " I am sure I can't tell 
 which I should most wish to win — my cousin, 
 who is a very good boy in his way, or you, 
 who puzzle me so often," said the little witch, 
 looking suddenly up into Colin's eyes. 
 
 " How is it possible I can puzzle you ? " he 
 said ; but the innocent youth was flattered by 
 the sense of superiority involved. " There 
 can be very little rivalry between an English 
 baronet and a Scotch minister," continued 
 Colin. " We shall never come in each other's 
 way." 
 
 " And must you be a Scotch minister? " 
 
48 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 Baid Miss Matty, softly. There was a regret- 
 ful tone in her voice, and she gave an appeal- 
 ing glance at him, as if she were remonstrat- 
 ing against that ministry. Perhaps it was 
 well for Colin that they were so near the 
 shore, and that he had to give all his attention 
 to the boat, to secure the best landing for 
 those delicate little feet. As he leaped ashore 
 'himself, ankle-deep into the bright but cold 
 water, Colin could not but remember his boy- 
 ish scorn of Henry Frankland, and that dis- 
 like of wet feet Avhich was so amusing and 
 wonderful to the country boy. Matters were 
 wonderfully changed now-a-days for Colin ; 
 but still he plunged into the water with a cer- 
 tain relish, and pulled the boat ashore with 
 a sense of his strength and delight in it, which 
 at such a moment it was sweet to experience. 
 As for Miss jNIatty, she found the lull very 
 steep, and accepted the assistance of Colin's 
 ai-m to get over the sharp pebbles of the beach. 
 " One ought to wear strong boots," she 
 said, holding out the prettiest little foot, 
 which indeed had been perfectly revealed be- 
 fore by the festooned dress, which Miss Matty 
 found so convenient on the hills. When 
 Colin's mother saw from her window this pair 
 approaching alone (for the Jordan boys were 
 ever so far behind, still coquetting with their 
 toy yacht) , it was not wonderful if her heart 
 beat more quickly^ than usual. She jumped, 
 with her womanish imagination, at all kinds 
 of incredible results, and saw her Colin happy 
 and great, by some wonderful conjunction of 
 his own genius and the favor of others, which 
 it would have been hopeless to attempt any 
 comprehension of. The mistress altogether 
 puzzled and overwhelmed Miss Matty by the 
 greeting she gave her. The little woman of 
 the world looked in utter amazement at the 
 poor farmer's wife, whom she meant to be very 
 kind and amiable to, but who, to her conster- 
 nation, took the superior part by right of na- 
 ture; for Mrs. Campbell, having formed her 
 own idea, was altogether obtuse to her visitor's 
 condescensions. The parlor at Ramore looked 
 dingy certainly after the drawing-rooms of 
 Ardmartin, and all the business of the farm 
 was manifestly going on as usual ; but even 
 ► Colin, sensitive as he had become to all the 
 dilTcrcnccs of circumstances, was puzzled, like 
 Matty, and felt his mother to have suddenly 
 developed into a kind of primitive princess. 
 Perhaps the poor boy guessed why, and felt 
 that his love was elevating not only himself 
 
 but everybody who belonged to him ; but 
 Miss Matty, who did not understand how 
 profound emotion could affect anybody's man- 
 ners, nor how her young admirer's mother 
 could be influenced by his sentiments, was en- 
 tirely in the dark, and could not help being 
 immensely impressed by the bearing and de- 
 meanor of the mistress of Ramore. 
 
 " I'm glad it's such a bonny day," said 
 Colin's mother ; " it looks natural and seemly 
 to see you here on a day like this. As for 
 Colin, he aye brings the light with him, but 
 no often such sunshine as you. I canna lay 
 any great feast before you," said the farmer's 
 wife with a smile, " but young things like 
 you are aye near enough heaven to be pleased 
 with the common mercies. After a', if I was 
 a queen, I couldna offer you anything better 
 than the wheat bread and the fresh milk," 
 said the mistress ; and she set down on the 
 table, with her own tender hands, the scones 
 for which Ramore was famous, and the abun- 
 dant overrunning jug of milk, which was not 
 to be surpassed anywhere, as she said. Matty 
 sat down with an odd involuntary conviction 
 that Mr. Jordan's magnificent table on the 
 other side of the loch offered but a poor hos- 
 pitality in comparison. Though she laughed 
 at herself, we know, after, it was quite im- 
 possible at that moment to feel otherwise than 
 respectful. " I never saw anybody with such 
 beautiful manners," she said to Colin as they 
 went back to the boat. She did not take his 
 arm this time, but walked very demurely after 
 him down the narrow path, feeling upon her 
 the eyes of the mistress, who was standing at 
 her door as usual to see her son go away. 
 jMatty could not help a little natural awe of 
 the woman, whose fierce eyes were watching 
 her. She could manage her aunt perfectly, 
 and did not care in the least for Lady Ilal- 
 lamshire, who was the most accommodating 
 of chapcrones, but Mrs. Campbell's sweet 
 looks and generous reception of her son's en- 
 slaver somehow overwhelmed Matty. The 
 mistress looked at the girl as if she considered 
 her capable of all the grand and simple emo- 
 tions, and Matty was half-ashamed and half- 
 frightened, and did not feel able at the mo- 
 ment to pursue her usual amusement. The 
 row back, to which Colin had been looking 
 with a thrill of expectation, was silent and 
 grave, in comparison -with all their former 
 expeditions, notwithstanding that this was 
 the last time they were likely to see each 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 other alone. Poor Colin thoujijht of Lauder- 
 dale and his philosophy, for the first time foi- 
 many days, when he had to stop behind to 
 place the boat in safety on the beach, even 
 Matty, who generally waited for him, skip- 
 ping up the avenue as fast as she could go, 
 with the little Jordans beside her. Never 
 yet was reality which came truly up to the 
 expectation. Here was an end of his fool's 
 paradise ; he vexed himself by going over 
 and over all that had passed, wondering if 
 anything had offended her, and then thought 
 of Eamore with a pang at his heart — a pang 
 of something nobler than the mere bitterness 
 of contrast, which sometimes makes a poor 
 man over-ashamed of his home. But all this 
 time the true reason for this new-born reserve 
 — which IMiss Matty kept up victoriously un- 
 til about the close of the evening, when, being 
 utterly bored, she forgot her good resolution 
 and called him to her side again — was quite 
 unsuspected by Colin. He oould not divine 
 how susceptible to the opinion of women was 
 the woman's heart, even when it retained but 
 little of its first freshness. ^Matty was not 
 startled by Colin's love, but she was by his 
 mother's belief in it and herself; it stopped 
 her short in her careless career, and suggested 
 endings that were not pleasant to think of. 
 If she had been left in amazement for a day 
 or two after, it might have been well for 
 Colin ; but, being bored, she returned to her 
 natural amusement, and this interiuption 
 did him no good in the end. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 The parting of the two who had been 
 thrown so much together, who had thought 
 60 much of each other, and who had, notwith- 
 Btanding, so few things in common, was as 
 near an absolute parting as is practicable in 
 this world of constant commotion , where every- 
 body meets everybody else in the most un- 
 likely regions. Colin dared not propose to 
 write to her ; dared not, indeed, — being with- 
 held by the highest impulses of honor,— venture 
 to say to her what was in his heart ; and Miss 
 flatty herself was a little silent, — perhaps a 
 little moved, — and could not utter any com- 
 monplacf.e about meeting again, as she had 
 intended to do. So they said good-by to 
 each other in a kind of absolute way, as if it 
 might be for ever and ever. As for Matty, 
 who was not in love, but whose heart was 
 touched, and who had a vague, instinctive 
 
 4 
 
 49 
 
 sense that she m ight never more meet anybody 
 in her life like this country lad — perhaps she 
 had enough generosity left in her to feel that 
 it would be best they should not meet again. 
 But Colin had no such thoughts. He knew 
 in his heart that one time — how or when he 
 knew not — he should yet go to her feet and 
 offer what he had to offer : everything else in 
 the world except that one thing was doubtful 
 to Colin, but concerning that he was confi- 
 dent, and entertained no fear. ' And so they 
 parted ; she, perhaps, for half an hour or so, 
 the more deeply moved of the two. Miss 
 Matty, however, was just as captivating as 
 usual in the next house they went to, where 
 there were one or two people worth looking 
 at, and the company in general was more in- 
 teresting than at Ardmartin ; but Colin, for 
 his part, spent most of the evening on the 
 hillside, revolving in the silence a hundred 
 tumultuous thoughts. It was the end of 
 September, and the nights were cold on the 
 Holy Loch. There was not even a moon 
 to enliven the landscape, and all that could 
 be seen was the cold blue glimmer of the wa- 
 ter, upon which Colin looked down with a 
 kind of desolate sense of elevation — elevation 
 of the mind and of the heart, which made the 
 grief of parting look like a grand moral agent, 
 quickening all his powers, and concentrating 
 h is strength . Henceforward the strongest of 
 personal motives was to inspire him in all his 
 conflicts. He was going into the battle of 
 life with his lady's colors on his helmet, like 
 a knight of romance, and failure was not to 
 be thought of as a possibility. As he set his 
 face to the wind going back to Ardmartin, 
 the pale sky lightened over the other side of 
 the loch, and underneath the breaking clouds, 
 which lay so black on the hills, Colin saw the 
 distant glimmer of a light, which looked like 
 the light in the parlor window at Ramorc. 
 Just then a sudden gust swept across the hill- 
 side, throwing over him a shower of falling 
 leaves, and big raindrops from the last shower 
 which had been hanging on the branches. 
 There was not a soul on the road but Colin 
 himself, nor anything to be seen far or near, 
 except the dark tree-tops in the Lady's Glen, 
 which were sighing in the night wind, and 
 the dark side of Ardmartin, where all the 
 shutters were closed, and one soft star hang- 
 ing among the clouds just over the spot where 
 that little friendly light in the farmhouse of 
 Ramore held up its glimmer of human conso- 
 
^0 A SON OF 
 
 lation into the darkness. It was not Hero's 
 torch to light his love — was it, perhaps, a so- 
 ber gleam of truth and wisdom to call the 
 young Leandcr back from those bitter waters 
 in which he could but perish ? All kinds of 
 fancies were in Colin's mind as he went back, 
 facing the wind, to the dull, cloeed-up house, 
 from which the enchantment had departed ; 
 but among them there occurred no thought 
 of discouragement from this pursuit upon 
 which now his heart was set. He would 
 have drowned himself, could he have imagined 
 it possible that he could cease to love — and 
 60 long as he loved, how was it possible to 
 fail? 
 
 "And must you be a Scotch minister?" 
 When Colin went home a fortnight later to 
 make hia preparations for returning to the 
 University, he was occupied, to the exclusion 
 of almost all other questions, by revolving 
 this. It is true that at his age, and with his 
 inexperience, it was possible to imagine that 
 even a Scotch minister, totally unfavored by 
 fortune, might, by mere dint of genius, raise 
 himself to heights of fame sufficient to bring 
 Sir Thomas Frankland'e niece within his reach 
 — but the thing was unlikely, even to the 
 lively imagination of twenty. And it was 
 I he fact that Colin had no special " vocation " 
 toward the profession for which he was being 
 tramed. lie had been educated and destined 
 for it all his life, and his thoughts had a nat- 
 ural balance that way. But otherwise there 
 was no personal impulse in his mind toward 
 what !Mrs. Jordan called " the work of the 
 ministry." Hitherto his personal impulses 
 had been neither for nor against. Luckily 
 for Colin, and many of his contemporaries, 
 there were so many things to object to in the 
 Church of Scotland, so many defects of order 
 and external matters which required reforma- 
 tion, that they were less strongly tempted to 
 become sceptical in matters of faith than their 
 fellows elsewhere. As for Colin himself, he 
 had fallen off, no doubt, from the certainty of 
 bis boyhood upon many important matters ; 
 but the lad, though he was a Scotsman, was 
 happily illogical, and eufFered very little by 
 his doubts. Nothing could have made him 
 sceptical, in any real sense of the word, and 
 accordingly there was no repulsion in Colin's 
 mind against his future profession. But now ! 
 He turned it over in his mind night and day 
 in the interval between Matty's departure and 
 his own return to Ramore. What if, instead 
 
 THE SOIL. 
 
 of a Scotch minister, incapable of promotion, 
 and to whom ambition itself was unlawful, 
 he were to address himself to the Bar, wiiere 
 there wei'e at least chances and possibilities 
 of fame?. lie was occupied with this ques- 
 tion, to the exclusion of any other, as he 
 crossed the loch in the little stream, and landed 
 on the pier near Kamore, where hia young 
 brothers met him, eager to carry hie travel- 
 ling-bag, and convey him home in triumph. 
 Colin was aware that such a proposal on his 
 part would-occasion grievous disappointment 
 at home, and he did not know how to intro- 
 duce the subject, or disclose his wavering 
 wishes. It was a wonderful relief, as well 
 as confusion to him, when be entered the 
 Ramore parlor, to find Lauderdale in posses- 
 sion of the second arm-chair, opposite the 
 mistress's, which was sacred to visitors. He 
 had arrived only the evening before, having 
 left Glasgow " for a holiday, like anybody else, 
 in the saut-water season," said the gentle 
 giant, " the first I ever mind of having in my 
 life. But I'm very well off in my present 
 situation," he said, breaking off suddenly, 
 with a twinkle of mirth in his eye, as was 
 usual when he referred to his occupation, the 
 nature of which was unknown even to his 
 dearest friends. 
 
 " It's ower cauld to have much good of the 
 water," said the mistress ; " the boat's no 
 laid up yet, waiting for Colin, but the 
 weather's awfu' winterly — no to say soft," 
 she added, with a little sigh, " for it's aye 
 soft weather among the lochs, though we've 
 had less rain than common this year." 
 
 And as the mistress spoke, the familiar, 
 well-known rain came sweeping down over 
 the hills. It had the usual effect upon the 
 mind of the sensitive woman. " We maun 
 take a' the good we can of you, laddie," she 
 said, laying her kind hand on her boy's shoul- 
 der, " it's only a sight we get now in passing. 
 He's owre much thought of, and made of, to 
 spend his time at hame," said the mistress, 
 turning, with a half-reproachful pride to Lau- 
 derdale ; " I'll beawfu' sorry if the rain lasts, 
 on your account. But, for myself, I could 
 put up with a little soft weather, to see mair 
 of Colin ; no that 1 want him to stay at hame 
 when he might be enjoying himself," the 
 mother added, with a compunction. Soft 
 weather on the Holy Loch signified rain and 
 mist, and everything that was most discour- 
 aging to Mrs. Campbell's soul ; but she was 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 51 
 
 ready to undergo anything the skies could 
 inflict upon her, if fortified by the society of 
 her son. 
 
 It was the second night after this before 
 Colin could make up his mind to introduce 
 the subject of which his thou^its were full. 
 Tea was over by that time, and all the house- 
 hold assembled in the parlor. The farmer 
 himself had just laid down his newspaper, 
 from Avhich he had been reading to them 
 scraps of country gossip, somewhat to the 
 indignation of the mistress, who, for her 
 part, liked to hear what was going on in the 
 world, and took a great interest in Parliament 
 and the foreign intelligence. " I canna eay 
 that I'm heeding about the muckle apple 
 that's been grown in Clydesdale, nor the new 
 bailies in Greenock," said the farmer's wife. 
 " If you would read us something wise-like 
 about the poor oppressed Italians, or what 
 Louis Napoleon is thinking about — I canna 
 excuse him for what they ea' the coo-deta,''' 
 said Mrs. Campbell ; " but for a' that, I take 
 a great interest in him ; " and with this the 
 mistress took up her knitting with a pleasant 
 anticipation of more important news to come. 
 
 " There's nothing in the Herald about 
 Louis Napoleon," said the farmer, " nor the 
 Italians neither — no that I put much faith in 
 those Italians ; they'll quarrel amang them- 
 selves when there's naebody else to quarrel 
 wi' — though I'm no saying onything against 
 Cavour and Garibaldi. The paper's filled full 
 o' something mair immediately interesting — 
 at least, it ought to have mair interest to you 
 wi' a son that's to be a minister. Here's 
 three columns mair about that Di'eepdaily 
 case. It may be a grand thing for popular 
 rights, but it's an awfu' ordeal for a man to 
 gang through," said big Colin, looking rue- 
 fully at his son. 
 
 " I was looking at that," said Lauderdale. 
 " It's his prayers the folk seem to object to 
 most — and no wonder. I've heard the man 
 mysel', and his sermon was not bad reason- 
 ing, if anybody wanted reasoning ; but it's 
 aye a wonderful thing to me the way that 
 new preachers take upon them to explain 
 matters to the Almighty," said Colin's friend, 
 reflectively. " So far as I can see, we've 
 little to ask in our worship ; but we have an 
 awfu' quantity of things to explain." 
 
 " It is an ordeal I could never submit to," 
 said Colin, with perhaps a little more heat 
 than was necessary. "I'd rather starve than 
 
 be set up as a target for a parish. It is quite 
 enough to make a cultivated clergy impossi- 
 ble for Scotland. Who would submit tu ex- 
 pose one's life, all one's antecedents, all one's 
 qualities of mind and individualities of lan- 
 guage to the stupid criticism of a set of boors? 
 It is a thing I never would submit to," said 
 the lad, meaning to introduce his doubts upon 
 the general subject by this means. 
 
 " I dinna approve of such large talking," 
 said the farmer, laying down his newspaper. 
 " It's a great protection to popular rights, 
 I would sooner run the risk of disgusting a 
 fastidious laird now and then, than put in 
 a minister that gives nae satisfaction ; and 
 if you canna submit to it, Colin, you'll never 
 get a kirk, which i»ould be worse than criti- 
 cism," said his father, looking full into his 
 face. The look brought a conscious color to 
 Colin's cheeks. 
 
 " Well," said the young man, feeling him- 
 self driven into a corner, and taking what 
 courage he could from the emergency, " one 
 might choose another profession ; " and then 
 there was a pause, and everybody looked with 
 alarm and amazement on the bold speaker. 
 " After all, the Church is not the only thing 
 in Scotland," said Colin, feeling the greatness 
 of his temerity. " Nobody ventures to say 
 it is in a satisfactory state. How often do I 
 hear you criticising the sermon and finding 
 fault with the prayers? and, as for Lauder- 
 dale, he finds fault with everything. • Then, 
 look how much a man has to bear before he 
 gets a church as you say. As soon as he has 
 his presentation, the Presbytery comes to- 
 gether and asks if there are any objections ; 
 and then the parish sits upon the unhappy 
 man ; and, when everybody has had their 
 turn, and all his peculiarities and personal 
 defects and family history have been discussed 
 before the Presbytery, and put in the news- 
 papers, if they happen to be amusing, then 
 the poor wretch has to sign a confession which 
 nobody" — 
 
 " Stop you there, Colin, my man," said 
 the farmer, " that's enough at one time. I 
 wouldna say that you were a'thegither wrong 
 as touching the sermon and the prayers. It's 
 awfu' to go in from the like of this hillside 
 and weary the very heart out of you in a close 
 kirk, listening to a man preaching that has 
 nothing in this world to say. I am whiles 
 inclined to think," said big Colin, thought- 
 fully — ' ' laddies, you may as well go to your 
 
beds. You'll see Colin the morn, and ye 
 canna understand what we're talking about. 
 I am whiles disposed to think," he continued 
 after a pause, during which the younger mem- 
 bers of the family had left the room, after a 
 little gentle persuasion on the part of the 
 mistress, " when I go into the kirk on a 
 bonnie day, such as we have by times on the 
 loch, baith in summer and winter, that it's an 
 awfu' waste of time. You lose a' the bonnie 
 prospect, and you get naething but weariness 
 for your pains. I've aye becu awfu' against 
 set prayers read out of a book ; but 1 canna 
 but allow the English chapel has an advan- 
 tage there, for nae fool can spoil your devo- 
 tion as I've heard it done many and xiiany's 
 the time. I ken our minister's prayers very 
 near as well as if they were written down," 
 said the farmer of Ramore, " and the maist 
 part of them is quite nonsense. Ony little 
 scraps o' real supplication there may be ii 
 them, you could get through in five minutes 
 the rest is a' remarks, that I never can dis 
 criminate if they're meant for me or for the 
 Almighty ; but my next neibor would think 
 me an awfu' heathen if he heard what I'm 
 saying," he continued, with a smile ; " and 
 I'm far from sure that I would get a mair 
 merciful judgment from the wife herself." 
 
 The mistress had been very busy with her 
 knitting while her husband was speaking ; 
 but, notwithstanding her devotion to her 
 work, she was uneasy and could not help 
 showing it. " If we had been our lane, it 
 would have been naething," she said to Colin, 
 privately ; " but afore yon man that's a stran- 
 ger and doesna ken! " With which senti- 
 ment she sat listening, much disturbed in her 
 mind. " It's no a thing to say before the 
 bairns," she said, when she was thus ap- 
 pealed to, "nor before folk that dinna ken you. 
 A stranger might think you were a careless 
 man to hear you speak," said Mrs. Camp- 
 bell, turning to Lauderdale with a bitter vex- 
 ation, " for a' that you hanna missed the 
 kirk half a dozen times a' the years I have 
 kcnt you, and that's a long time," said the 
 mother, lifting her soft eyes to her boy. When 
 she looked at him, she remembered that he, 
 too, had been rash in iiis talk. " You're turn- 
 ing awfu' like your father, Colin," said the 
 mistress, taking up the same tljoughtless way 
 of talking. " Eut I think diflercnt for a' 
 you say. Our ain kirk is aye our ain kirk 
 to you as well as to me in spite o' your 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 speaking. I'm well accustomed to their 
 ways," she said, with a smile, to Lauderdale, 
 who, so far from being the dangerous ob- 
 server she thought him, had gone off at a 
 tangent into his own thoughts. 
 
 " The Conression of Faith is a real respect- 
 able historical document," said Lauderdale. 
 " I might not like to commit myself to a' it 
 says, if you were to ask me ; but then I'm 
 not the kind o' man that has a heart to com- 
 mit myself to anything in the way of intel- 
 lectual truth. I wouldna bind myself to say 
 that I would stand by any document a year 
 after it was put forth, far less a hundred 
 years. There's things in it naebody believes 
 — for example, about the earth being made 
 in six days ; but I would not advise a man to 
 quarrel with his kirk and his profession for 
 the like of that. I put no dependence on 
 geology for my part, nor any of the sciences. 
 How can I tell but somebody might make a 
 discovery the morn that would upset all their 
 fine stories? But, on the whole, I've very 
 little to say against the Confession. It's far 
 more guarded about predestination and so 
 forth than might have been expected. Every 
 man that has a head on his shoulders be- 
 lieves in predestination ; though I would not 
 be the man to commit myself to any state- 
 ment on the subject. The like of me is good 
 for little," said Colin's friend, stretching his 
 long limbs toward the fire, " but I've great 
 ambition for that callant. He's not a com- 
 mon callant, though I'm speaking before his 
 face," said Lauderdale ; " it would be terri- 
 ble mortifying to me to see him put himself 
 in a corner and refuse the yoke." 
 
 " If I cannot bear the yoke conscientiously, 
 I cannot bear it at all," said Colin, with a 
 little heat. " If you can't put your name to 
 what you don't believe, why should I'? — and 
 as for ambition," said the lad, "ambition! 
 what does it mean? — a country church, and 
 two or three hundred ploughmen to criticise 
 me, and the old wives to keep in good humor, 
 and the young ones to drink tea with — is that 
 work for a man?" cried the youth, wlwsc 
 mind was agitated, and who naturally had 
 said a good deal more than he intended to 
 say. He looked round in a little alarm after 
 this rash utterance, not knowing whether he 
 had been right or wrong in such a disclosure 
 of his sentiments. Tiie lather and mother 
 looked at each other, and then turned their 
 oyes simultaneously upon their son. Perhaps 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 53 
 
 the mistress bad a glimmering of the correct 
 meaning which Colin would not have betrayed 
 wittingly, had it cost him his life. 
 
 " Eh, Colin, sometime ye'll think better," 
 she cried under her breath, — " after a' our 
 pride in you and our hopes! " The tears 
 came into her eyes as she looked at him. 
 " It's mair honor to serve God than to get 
 on in the world," said the mistress. The 
 disappointment went to her heart, as Colin 
 could see ; she put her hands hastily to her 
 eyes to clear away the moisture which dimmed 
 them. " It's maybe naething but a passing 
 fancy ; but it's no what I expected to hear 
 from any bairn of mine," she said, with mo- 
 mentary bitterness. As for the farmer, he 
 looked on with a surprised and inquiring 
 countenance. 
 
 "There has some change come over you, 
 Colin, what has happened? " said his father. 
 " I'm no a man that despises money, nor 
 thinks it as in to get on in the world ; but it's 
 only fools that quarrel wi' what's within their 
 reach for envy of what they can never win to. 
 If ye had displayed a strong bent any other 
 way I wouldna have minded ," said big Colin — 
 " but it's aye appeared to me that to write 
 in a kind of general way on whatever subject 
 might chance to turn up was mair the turn of 
 your mind than ony other line, which is a 
 sure sign you were born to be a minister. It's 
 the new-fangled dishes at Ardmartin that 
 have spoiled the callant's digestion," said the 
 farmer with a twinkle of humor in his eye — 
 ' ' they tell me that discontent and meesery of 
 a' kinds proceeds no from the mind but from 
 the mucous membrane. He'll come back to 
 his natural inclination when he's been at 
 home for a day or two. I would na' say but 
 Gregory's mixture was a great moral agent 
 according to the new philosophy," said big 
 Colin, laying bis large hand on his eon's 
 shoulder with a pressure which meant more 
 than his wordB ; but the youth was vexed 
 and impatient, and imagined himself laughed 
 at, which is the most dreadful of insults, at 
 Colin's age, and in his circumstances. He 
 paid no attention to his father's looks, but 
 plunged straightway into vehement declara- 
 tion of his sentiments, to which the elder peo- 
 ple around him listened with many complica- 
 tions of feeling unknown to Colin. The lad 
 thought, as was natural at his years, that no- 
 body had ever felt before him the bondage of 
 circumstance, and that it was a new revela- 
 
 tion he was making to his little audience. H 
 he could have imagined that both the men 
 were looking at him with the half-sympathy, 
 half-pity, half-envy of their maturer years, 
 remembering as vividly as if it had occurred 
 but yesterday similar outbreaks of impatience 
 and ambition and natural resistance to all the 
 obstacles of life, Colin would have felt deeply 
 humiliated in his youthful fervor ; or, if he 
 could but have penetrated the film of soften- 
 ing dew in his mother's eyes, and beheld there 
 the woman's perennial spectatorship of that 
 conflict which goes on forever. Instead of 
 that, he thought he was making a new reve- 
 lation to his hearers ; he thought he was 
 cruel to them, tearing asunder their pleasant 
 mists of illusion , and disenchanting their eyes ; 
 he had not an idea that they knew all about 
 it better than he did, and were watching him 
 along the familiar path which they all had 
 trod in different ways, and of which they 
 knew the inevitable ending. Colin, in the 
 heat and impatience of his youth, took full 
 advantage of his moment of utterance. He 
 poured forth in his turn that flood of immeas- 
 urable discontent with all conditions and re- 
 strictions, which is the privilege of his years. 
 To be sure, the restrictions and conditions 
 surrounding himself were, so far as he knew, 
 the sole objects of that indignation and scorn 
 and defiance which came to his lips by force 
 of nature. The mistress listened, for her 
 part, with that mortification which is always 
 the woman's share. She understood him, 
 sympathized with him, and yet did not un- 
 derstand nor could tolerate his dissent from 
 all that in her better judgment she had de- 
 cided upon on his behalf. She was far more 
 tender, but she was less tolerant than the other 
 spectators of Colin's outburst ; and mingled 
 with all her personal feeling was a sense of 
 wounded pride and mortification, that her boy 
 had thus betrayed himself "before a stran- 
 ger." " If we had been our lane, it would 
 have. been less matter," she said to herself, as 
 she wiped the furtive tears hurriedly from the 
 corners of her eyes. 
 
 When Colin had come to an end, there was 
 a pause. The boy himself thought it was a 
 pause of horror and consternation, and per- 
 haps was rather 'pleased to produce an efiect 
 in some degree corresponding to his own ex- 
 citement. After that moment of silence, 
 however, the farmer got up from bis chair. 
 " It's very near time we were a' gaun to our 
 
54 
 
 beds," said big Colin. "I'll take a look 
 round to see that the beasts are comfortable, 
 and then we'll have in the hot water. You 
 and me can have a talk the morn," eaid the 
 farmer to his son. That was all the reply 
 which the youth received from the parental '< 
 authorities. When the master went out to i 
 look after the beasts, Lauderdale followed to 
 the door, where Colin in another moment 
 strayed after him, considerably mortified, to 
 tell the truth ; for even his mother addressed 
 herself to the question of "hot water," which 
 implied various other accessories of the homely 
 supper-table ; and the 3'oung man, in his ex- 
 citement and elevation of feeling, felt as if 
 he had suddenly tuml)lcd down out of the 
 stormy but lofty firmament, into which he 
 was soaring — down with a shock, into the 
 embraces of the homely, tenacious earth. He 
 went after his friend, and stood by Lauder- 
 dale's side, looking out into a darkness so pro- 
 found that it made his eyes ache and confused 
 hifi very mind. The only gleam of light visi- 
 ble in earth or heaven was big Colin's lan- 
 tern, which showed a tiny gleam from the 
 door of the byre where the farmer was stand- 
 ing. All the lovely landscape round the loch 
 and the hills, the sky and the clouds, lay un- 
 seen, — hidden in the night. " Which is an 
 awfu' grand moral lesson, if we had true 
 sense to discern it," said the voice of Lauder- 
 dale, ascending half-way up to the clouds ; 
 " for tlie loch has na vanished, as might be 
 supposed, but only the light. As for you, 
 callant," said the philosopher, " you hae nei- 
 tlicr the light nor the darkness as yet, but are 
 aye seeing miraculous effects like yon man 
 Turner's pictures. Northern Streamers, or 
 Aurora Borealis, or whatever ye may call it. 
 And it's but just you should have your day ; " 
 with which words Lauderdale heaved a great 
 sigh, which moved the clouds of hair upon 
 Colin's forehead, and even seemed to disturb 
 for a moment the profound gloom of the 
 night. 
 
 " What do you mean by having my day ? " 
 said Colin, who was affronted by the sugges- 
 tion. " You know I have said nothing that 
 is not true. Can I help it if I see the diffi- 
 culties of my own position more clearly than 
 you do, who arc not in my circumstances? " 
 cried the lad with a little indignation. Lau- 
 derdale, who was watching the lantern glid- 
 ing out and in through the darkness, was 
 some time before he made any reply. 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 " I'm no surprised at yon callant Lcander, 
 when one comes to think of it," he eaid, in 
 his reflective way ; " it's a fine symbol, that 
 Hero in her tower. Maybe she took the 
 lamp from the altar and left the household 
 god in darkness," said the calm philosopher; 
 " but that makes no difference to the story. 
 I would na' say but I would swim the Uclles- 
 pont myself for such an inducement — or the 
 Holy Loch — it's little* matter which — but 
 whiles she lets fall the torch before you gtt 
 to the end " — 
 
 " What on earth, do you mean? or what 
 has Hero to do with me? " cried Colin, with 
 a secret flush of shame and rage, which the 
 darkness concealed, but which he could scarce- 
 ly restrain. 
 
 " I was not speaking of you — and after all, 
 it's but a fable," said Lauderdale ; " most his- 
 tory is fable, you know ; it's no actual events 
 (which I never believe in, for my part), but 
 the instincts o' the human mind that make 
 history, and that's how the Heros and Lcan- 
 ♦"crs are aye to be accounted for. He was 
 drowned in the end like most people," said 
 Lauderdale, turning back to the parlor where 
 the mistress was seated, pondering with a 
 troubled countenance upon this new aspect 
 of her boy's life. Amid the darkness of the 
 world outside, this tender woman sat in the 
 sober radiance of her domestic hearth, sur- 
 rounded and enshrined by light ; but she was 
 not like Hero, on the tower. Colin, too, 
 came back, following his friend with a flush 
 of excitement upon his youthful countenance. 
 After all, the idea was not displeasing..to the 
 young man. The Hellespont, or the Holy 
 Loch, was nothing to the bitter waters which 
 he was prepared to breast for the sake of the 
 imaginai-y torch held up in the hand (3f that 
 imaginary woman who was beckoning Colin, 
 as he thought, into the unknown world. Life 
 was beginning anew in his person, and all the 
 fables had to be enacted over again ; and 
 what did it matter to the boy's heroic fancy, 
 if he, too, should go to swell tlie records of the 
 noble martyrs, and be drowned, as Lauderdale 
 said, like most people in the end. 
 
 There was no more conversation upon that 
 important subject until next morning, when 
 the household of Ramore got up early, and 
 sat down to breakfast before it was perfect 
 daylight ; but Colin's heart jumped to his 
 mouth, and a visible thrill went through the 
 whole family, when the I'armer came in from 
 his early inspection of all the byres and 
 stables, with another letter from Sir Thomas 
 Frankland conspicuous in his hand. 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 55 
 
 PART r. — CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " The question is, will ye go-or will ye 
 stay ? " said big Colin of Ramore ; " but for 
 this, you and me might have had amair seri- 
 ous question to discuss. I see a providence 
 in it for my part. You're but a callant ; it 
 will do you nae harm to wait ; and you'll be 
 in the way of seeing the world at — what do 
 they call the place ? If your mother has nae 
 objections, and ye see your ain way to ac- 
 cepting, I'll be very well content. It's awfu' 
 kind o' Sir Thomas after the way ye've re- 
 jected a' his advances ; but, no doubt he's 
 heard that you got on gey wecl, on the whole, 
 at your ain college," said the farmer, with a 
 little complacency. They were sitting late 
 over the breakfast-table, the younger boys 
 looking on with eager eyes, wondering over 
 Colin'e wonderful chances, and feeling se- 
 verely the contrast of their own lot, who had 
 to take up the ready satchel and the " piece," 
 which was to occupy their healthful appetites 
 till the evening, and hurry off three miles 
 down the loch to school. As for Archie, he 
 had been long gone to his hard labor on the 
 farm, and the mother and father and the vis- 
 itor were now sitting — a little committee — 
 upon Colin's prospects, which the lad himself 
 contemplated with a mixture of delight and 
 defiance wonderful to see. 
 
 *' It's time for the school, bairns," said the 
 farmer's wife; " be good laddies, and dinna 
 linger on the road cither coming or going. 
 Ye'll get apples apiece in the press. I couldna 
 give ony advice, if you ask me," said the 
 mistreee, looking at her son with her tender 
 ey* : " Colin, my man, it's no for me nor 
 your father either to say one thing or another 
 — it's you that must decide — it's your ain 
 well-being and comfort and happiness." — 
 Here the mistress stopped short with an emo- 
 tion which nobody could explain ; and at 
 which even Colin, who had the only clew to 
 it, looked up out of his own thoughts, with 
 a momentary surprise. 
 
 "Hoot," said the farmer; "you're aye 
 thinking of happiness, you women. I hope 
 the laddie's happiness doesna lie in the power 
 of a year's change one way or another. I 
 canna see that it will do him any harm — 
 especially after what he was saying last night 
 — to pause awhile and take a little thought ; 
 and here's the best opportunity he could well 
 have. But he doesna say anything himself 
 — and if you're against it, Colin, speak out. 
 
 It's your concern, most of all, asyourmothei 
 says." 
 
 " The callant's in a terrible swither," said 
 Lauderdale, with a smile, — " he'll have it, 
 and he'll no have it. For one thing, it's an 
 awfu' disappointment to get your ain way 
 just after you've made up your mind that 
 you're an injured man ; and he's but a cal- 
 lant after all, and kens no better. For my 
 part," said the philosopher, "I'm no fond 
 of changing when you've once laid your 
 plans. No man can tell what terrible differ- 
 ence a turn in the path may lead to. It's 
 aye best to go straight on. But there's aye 
 exceptions," continued Lauderdale, laying 
 his hand on Colin's shoulder. " So far as I 
 can see, there's no reason in this world why 
 the callant should not stand still a moment 
 and taste the sweetness of his lot. He's 
 come to man's estate, and the heavens have 
 never gloomed on him yet. There's no evil 
 in him, that I can see," said Colin's friend, 
 with an unusual trembling in his voice; 
 " but for human weakness, it might have 
 been the lad ^lichael or Gabriel, out of 
 heaven, that's been my companion these 
 gladsome years. It may be but sweetness 
 and blessing that's in store for him. I know 
 no reason why he shouldna pause while the 
 sun's shining, and see God's meaning. It 
 cannot be but good." 
 
 The lad's friend who understood him best 
 stopped short, like his mother, with some- 
 thing in his throat that marred his utterance. 
 Why was it ? Colin looked up with the sun- 
 shine in his eyes, and laughed with a little an- 
 noyance, a little impatience. He was no more 
 afraid of his lot, nor of what the nest turn in 
 the path would bring, than a child is who knows 
 no evil. Life was not solemn, but glorious ; a 
 thing to be conquered and made beautiful, to 
 his eyes. He did not understand what they 
 meant by their faltering and their fears. 
 
 " I feel, on the whole, disposed to accept 
 Sir Thomas's offer," said the young prince. 
 " It is no favor, for I am quite able to be his 
 boy's tutor, as he says ; and I see nothing 
 particularly serious in it either," the young 
 man went on ; " most Scotch students stop 
 short sometime and have a spell of teaching. 
 I have been tutor at Ardmartin ; I don't 
 mind teing tutor at Wodensbourne. I would 
 not be dependent on Sir Thomas Frankland or 
 any man," said Colin ; " but I am glad to la- 
 bor for myself, and free you, father. I know 
 
56 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 you have beeu willing to keep me at college ; 
 but you have plenty to do for Archie and the 
 rest ; and now it is my turn ; I may help myself 
 and them too," cried the youth, glad to dis- 
 guise in that view of the matter the thrill of 
 delight at his new prospects, which came 
 from a very different source. " It will give 
 us a little time, as you say, to think it all 
 over," he continued, after a momentary pause, 
 and turned upon his mother Avith a smWe. 
 " Is there anything to look melancholy 
 about? " said Colin, turning back from his 
 forehead the clouds of his brown hair. 
 
 " Oh, no, no, God forbid ! " said the mis- 
 tress, " nothing but hope and the blessing of 
 God ; " but she turned aside from the table, 
 and began to put away some of the things by 
 way of concealing the tears that welled up to 
 her tender eyes, though neither she nor any 
 one for her could have told why. 
 
 " Never mind your mother," said the 
 farmer, " though it's out of the common to 
 see a cloud on her face when there's no cloud 
 to speak of on the sky. But women are aye 
 having freits and fancies. I think it's the 
 wisest thing ye can do to close with Sir 
 Thomas's proposal, mysel'. I wouldna say 
 but you'll see a good deal o' the world," said 
 the farmer, shrewd but ignorant ; " not that 
 I'm so simple as to suppose that an English 
 gentleman's country-seat will bring you to 
 onything very extraordinary in the way of 
 company ; but still, that class of folk is won- 
 derfully connected, and ye might see mair 
 there in a season than you could here in a 
 lifetime. It's time I were looking after x\rchie 
 and the men," said big Colin ; " it's no often 
 I'm so late in the morning. I suppose you '11 
 write to Sir Thomas yourself, and make a' 
 the arrangements. Ye can say we're quite 
 content, and pleased at his thoughtfulness. 
 If that's no to your mind, Colin, I'm sorry 
 for it ; for a man should be aye man enough 
 to give thanks when thanks are due." With 
 this last admonition big Colin of Ramore took 
 up his hat and went off to his fields. '• I 
 wish the callant didna keep a grudge," he 
 said to himself, as he went upon his cheerful 
 way. " If he were to set up in rivalry wi' 
 young Frankland ! " but with the thought a 
 certain smile came upon the father's face. 
 He, too, could not refrain from a certain con- 
 tempt of the baronet's dainty son ; and there 
 was Bcircely any limit to his pride and confi- 
 dence in his boy. 
 
 The mistress occupied herself in jiutting 
 things to rights in the parlor long after her 
 husband had gone to the fields. She thouglit 
 Lauderdale, too, wanted to be alone witli Colin ; 
 and, with natural jealousy, could not permit 
 the first word of counsel to come from any 
 lips but her own. The mistress had no baby 
 to occupy her in these days ; the little one 
 whom she had on her bosom at the opening 
 of this history, who bore her own name and 
 her own smile, and was the one maiden blos- 
 som of her life, had gone back to God who 
 gave her ; and, when her boys were at school, 
 the gentle woman was alone. There was lit- 
 tle doing in the dairy just then, and ^Mrs. 
 Campbell had planned her occupations so as 
 to have all the time that was possible to en- 
 joy her son's society. So she had no special 
 call upon her time this morning, and lingered 
 over her little businesses, till Lauderdale, 
 who would fain have said his say, strayed out 
 in despair, finding no room for him. " When 
 you've finished your letter, Colin, you'll find 
 me on the hill," he said as he went out ; and 
 could not refrain from a murmur in his own 
 mind at the troublesome cares of" thae wo- 
 men." " They're sweet to see about a house, 
 and the place is hame where they are," said 
 the philosopher to himself with a sigh ; " but 
 oh, such fykes as they ware their hearts on ! " 
 The mistress's " fykes," however, were over 
 when the stranger left the house. She came 
 softly to Colin's table, where he was writing, 
 and sat down beside him. As for Colin, he 
 was so miiich absorbed in his letter that he 
 did not observe his mother ; and it \W8 only 
 when he lifted his head to consider a s^teoce, 
 and found her before him, that he woke up, 
 with a little start, out of that moreagrceal)le 
 occupation, and asked, " Do you want me? " 
 with a look of annoyance which went to the 
 mistress's heart. 
 
 " Yes, Colin, I want you just for a mo- 
 ment," said his mother. "I want to speak 
 to you of this new change in your life. Your 
 father thinks nothing but it's Sir Thomas 
 Frankland you're going to, to be tutor to hia 
 boy ; but, oh, Colin, I ken better! It's no 
 the fine house and the new life that lights 
 such light in my laddie's eye. Colin, listen 
 to me. She's fiir above you in this world, 
 though it's no to be looked for that I could 
 think ony woman was above you ; but she's 
 a lady with mony wooers, and you're but a 
 poor man's son. Oh, Colin, my man ! dinna 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 57 
 
 gang near that place, nor put yourself in the 
 way of evil, if you havena some confidence 
 either in ber oi* yourscl'. Do you think you 
 can see her day by day and no break your 
 heart ; or do you think she's worthy of a 
 heart to be thrown away under her feet? 
 Or, oh, my laddie ! tell me this first of a', — do 
 you think you could ask her, or she could 
 consent, to lose fortune and grandeur for 
 your sake ? Colin, I'm no joking ; it's awfu' 
 earnest, whatever you may think. Tell me 
 if you've ony regard for your mother, or wish 
 her ony kind of comfort the time you're 
 away? " 
 
 This Mrs. Campbell said with tears shin- 
 ing in her eyes, and a look of entreaty in her 
 face, which Colin had hard ado to meet. 
 But the lad was full of his own thoughts, 
 and impatient of the interruption which de- 
 tained him. 
 
 " I wish I knew what you meant," he 
 said, pettishly. " I wish you would not talk 
 of — people who have nothing to do with my 
 poor little concerns. Surely, I may be suf- 
 fered to engage in ordinary work like other 
 people," said Colin. " As for the lady you 
 speak " — 
 
 And here the youth paused, with a natural 
 smile lurking at the corners of his lips, — a 
 smile of youthful confidence and self-gratu- 
 lation. Not for a kingdom would the young 
 hero have boasted of any look or word that 
 had inspired him ; but he would not deny 
 himself the delicious consciousness that slie 
 mufi^iave had something to do with this 
 p^^Hl — that it must have been her sug- 
 g^m, or at least supported, seconded by 
 her. Only through her intimation could her 
 uncle have known that he was tutor at Ard- 
 martin, and the thought that it was she her- 
 self who was taking what maidenly means 
 she could for their speedy reunion was too 
 sweet to Colin 's heart to be breathed in 
 words,- even if he could have done it with- 
 out a betrayal of his hopes. 
 
 " Ay, Colin, the lady," said his mother ; 
 " you say no more in words, but your eye 
 smiles and your mouth, and I see the flush 
 on your cheek. She's bonnie and sweet and 
 fair-spoken, and I canna think she means ony 
 harm ; but, oh, Colin, my man, mind what a 
 difierence in this world ! You've nothing to 
 offer her like what she's been used to," said 
 the inifocent woman, " and if I was to see 
 my BO a some back breaking his heart for ane 
 
 that was above his reach ^ and that mightna 
 be worthy" — said the mistress, with her 
 ; eyes full of tears. She could not say any 
 I more, partly because she had exhausted her- 
 . self, partly because Colin rose from the taljle 
 I witli a flush of excitement, which made his 
 i mother tremble. 
 
 I " "Worthy of me ! " said the young man, 
 with a kind of groan, "worthy of me! 
 ; Mother, I don't think you know what you 
 ; are saying. I am going to Wodcnsbourne, 
 whatever happens. It may be for good or 
 for evil ; I can't tell ; but I am going, and 
 you must ask me no further questions, — not 
 on this point. I am to be tutor to Sir 
 Thomas Frankland's boy," said Colin, com- 
 ing back with the smile in his eyes. " Noth- 
 ing more — and what could happen better to 
 a poor Scotch student ? He might have had 
 a Cambridge man, and he chooses me. Let 
 me finish my letter, mother, dear." 
 
 "He wouldna get many Cambridge men, 
 or ony other men, like my boy," said the 
 mother, half retissured ; and she rearranged 
 with her hands, that trembled a little, the 
 writing-desk, which Colin's hasty movements 
 had thrust out of the way. 
 
 "Ah, mother, but a Scotch university 
 does not count for the same as an English 
 one," said Colin, with a smile and a sigh ; 
 " it is not for my gifts Sir Thomas has chosen 
 me," he added, a little impatiently taking up 
 his pen again. What was it for ? That old 
 obligation of Harry Frankland's life saved, 
 which Colin had always treated as a fiction? 
 or the sweet influence of some one who knew 
 that Colin loved her? Which was it? If 
 the youth determined it should be the last, 
 could anybody wonder? He bent his head 
 again over his paper, and wrote, with his 
 heart beating high, that acceptance which 
 was to restore him to her society. As for the 
 mistress, she left her son, and went about her 
 homely business, wiping some tears from her 
 eyes. "I kenna what woman could close 
 her heart," she said to herself, with a little 
 sob, in her ignorance and innocence. " Oh, 
 if she's only worthy ! " but, for all that, the 
 mother's heart was heavy within her, though 
 she could not have told why. 
 
 The letter was finished and sealed up before 
 Colin joined his friend on the hillside, where 
 Lauderdale was straying about with his hands 
 in his pockets, breathing long sighs into the 
 fresh ail', and unable to restrain, or account 
 
58 A SON OF 
 
 for, his own restlcsBnesa and uneasiness. 
 One of those great dramas of sunshine and 
 Bhadow, which were familiar to the Holy 
 Loch, was going on just then among the hills, 
 and the philosopher had made various at- 
 tempts to interest himself in those wonderful 
 alternations of gloom and light, but witliout 
 avail. Nature, which is so full of interest 
 when the heart is unoccupied, dwindles and 
 grows pale in presence of the poorest human 
 creature who throws a shadow into her sun- 
 shine. Not all those wonderful gleams of 
 light — not all those clouds, driven wildly 
 like so many gigantic phantoms into the sol- 
 emn hollows, could touch the heart of the 
 man who was trembling for his friend. Lau- 
 derdale roused himself up when Colin came 
 to him, and met him cheerfully. " So you've 
 written your letter?" he said, "and ac- 
 cepted the new turn in your fortune? I 
 thought as much by your eye." 
 
 "You did not need to consult my eye," 
 said Colin, gayly. " I said as much. But I 
 must walk down to the loch a mile or two to 
 meet the. postman. Will you come ? Let us 
 take the good of the hills," said the youth, 
 with his heart running over. " Who can 
 tell when we may be here again together ? I 
 like this autumn weather, with its stormy 
 colors ; and I suppose now my fortune, as 
 you call it, will lead me to a flat country — 
 that is, for a year or two at least." 
 
 " Ay," said Lauderdale, with a kind of 
 groan ; " that is how the world appears at 
 your years. Who can tell when we may be 
 here again together ? Who can tell, laddie, 
 what thoughts may be in our hearts when we 
 are here again ? I never have any security 
 myself, when I leave a place, that I'll ever 
 dare to comeback," said the meditative man. 
 "The innocent fields might have a cruel 
 aspect, as if God had cursed them, and, for 
 anything I know, I might hate the flowers 
 that could bloom, and the sun that could 
 shine, and had no heart for my trouble. No 
 that you understand what I'm meaning, but 
 that's the way it affocts a man like me." 
 
 " What are you thinking of?" cried Colin, 
 with a little dismay. " One would Amcyjyou 
 saw some terrible evil approaching. Of 
 course tlie future is uncertain, but I am not 
 particularly alarmed by anything that ap- 
 pears to me. What are you thinking of, 
 Lauderdale? Your own career? " 
 
 " Oh, ay, just my ain career," said Laudcr- 
 
 THE SOIL. 
 
 dale, with a smile ; " such a career to make 
 a work about ! though I am just as content 
 as most men. I mind when my ain spirit was 
 whiles uplifted as yours is, laddie ; it's that 
 that makes a man think. It comes natural to 
 the time of life, like the bright eye and the 
 bloom on the cheek , " said Colin 'e friend ; " and 
 there's no sentence of death in it cither, if 
 yqu come to that," he went on to himself af- 
 ter a pause. " Life holds on — it aye holds 
 on — a hope mair or less makes little count. 
 And without the agony and the struggle, never 
 man that was worth calling man came to hia 
 full stature." All this Lauderdale kept say- 
 ing to liimself as he descended the hillside, 
 leaping here and there over a half-concealed 
 streamlet, and making his way through the 
 withered ferns and the long, tangled streamers 
 of the bramble, which caught at him as he 
 passed. He was not so skilful in overcoming 
 these obstacles as Colin, who was to the man- 
 ner born ; and he got a little out of breath 
 as ho followed the lad, who, catching his 
 monologue by intervals in the descent, looked 
 at the melancholy philosopher with his young 
 eyes, which laughed, and did not understand. 
 
 " I wonder what you arc thinking of," said 
 Colin. "Not of me, certainly; but I sec 
 you are afraid of something, as if I were go- 
 ing to encounter a great danger. Lauder- 
 dale," said the lad stopping and laying hia 
 head on his friend^ arm for one confidential 
 moment, "whatever danger there is, I have 
 encountered it. Don't be afraid for mc." 
 
 ' ' I was saying nothing about you , caUant , ' ' 
 said Lauderdale, pettishly. " Whj^fcid 
 I aye be thinking of you ? A man hl^^ve 
 things to consider in this life than the vagaries 
 of a slip of a laddie, that docsna see where 
 he's bound for. I'm thinking of things far 
 out of your way," said the philosopher; 
 " of disappointments and heart-breaks, and a' 
 the eclipses that are invisible to common 
 e'en. I've seen many in my day. I've seen 
 a trifling change that made no difTercnco to 
 the world quench a' the light and a' the com- 
 fort out of life. There's more things in 
 heaven or earth than were ever dreamed of at 
 your years. And whiles a man wonders how, 
 for very pity, God can stay still in his heavens 
 and look on " — 
 
 Colin could not say anything to the groan 
 with which his friend broke ofT. lie was 
 troubled and puzzled, and could not make it 
 out. They went on together along tlic white 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 line of road, oq which, far off in the distance, 
 the youth ah-eady saw the postman whom he 
 was hastening to meet ; and, busy as he was 
 with his own thoughts, Colin had already 
 forgotten to inquire what his companion re- 
 ferred to, when his attention, which had wan- 
 dered completely away from this perplexing 
 tale, was suddenly recalled again by the voice 
 at his side. , 
 
 " I'm speaking like a man that cannot see 
 the end," said Lauderdale, " which is clear 
 to Him if there's any meaning in life. You're 
 for taking your chance and posting your let- 
 ter, laddie ? and you ken nothing about any 
 nonsense that an old fool like me may be 
 maundering? For one thing there's aye 
 plenty to divert the mind in this country," 
 said the philosopher, with a sigh, and stood 
 still at the foot of the long slope they had just 
 descended, looking with a wistful, abstract 
 look upon the loch and the hills ; at which 
 change of mood Colin could not restrain him- 
 self, but with ready boyish mirth laughed 
 aloud. 
 
 " What has this country to do with it all? 
 You are in a very queer mi/od to-day, Lauder- 
 dale, — one moment as solemn and mysterious 
 as if you knew of some great calamity, and 
 the next talking of the country. What do 
 you mean, I wonder? " said the lad. Ills 
 wonder was not very deep, but stirred lightly 
 in the heart which was full of so many wishes 
 and ambitious of its own. With that letter 
 in his hand, and that new life before him, 
 h.ow could he help but look at the lonely man 
 bjJMIteide with a half-divine compassion ? — 
 a vKKrto whom life offei*ed no prizes, and 
 scarcely any hopes. lie was aware in his 
 heart that Lauderdale was anxious about him- 
 self, and the thought of that unnecessary so- 
 licitude moved Colin half to laughter. Poor 
 Lauderdale , — u pon whom he looked down from 
 the elevation of his young life with the ten- 
 derest pity. He smiled upon his friend in 
 his exaltation and superiority. "You are 
 more inexplicable than usual to-day. I won- 
 der what you mean? "said Colin with all 
 the sunshine of youth and joy, defying evil 
 forebodings, in his eyes. 
 
 " It would take a wise man to tell," said 
 Lauderdale; " I would not pretend, for my 
 own part, to fathom what any fool might 
 mean — much less what I mean myself, that 
 have glimmerings of sense at times. Yon 
 
 69 
 
 sunshine's aiyXu' prying about the hills. 
 Light's aye inquisitive, and would fain be at 
 the bottom of every mystery, which is, maybe, 
 the reason," said the speculative observer, 
 " why there's nae grandeur to speak of, nor 
 meaning, according to mortal notions, with- 
 out clouds and darkness. Yonder's your 
 postman, callant. Give him the letter and 
 be done with it. I whiles find myself won- 
 dering how it is that we take so little thought 
 to God's meanings, — what ye might call his 
 lighter meanings, — his easy verses and such- 
 like, that arc thrown about the world, in the 
 winds and the sky. To be sure, I ken just 
 as well as you do that it's currents of air, 
 and masses of vapor and electricity, and all 
 the rest of it. It's awfu' easy learning the 
 words, but will you tell me there's no mean- 
 ing to a man's heart and soul in the like of 
 that?" said Colin's companion stopping 
 suddenly with a sigh of impatience and vexa- 
 tion, which had to do with something more 
 vital than the clouds. Just then, nature 
 truly seemed to have come to a pause, and to 
 be standing still, like themselves, looking on. 
 The sky that was so blue and broad a mo- 
 ment since had contracted to a black vault 
 over the Holy Loch. Blackness that was 
 positive and not a mere negative frowned out 
 of all the half-disclosed mysterious hollows 
 of the hills. The leaves that remained on the 
 trees thrilled with a spasmodic shiver, and 
 the little ripples came crowding up on the 
 beach with a sighing suppressed moan of sus- 
 pense and apprehension. So, at least, it 
 seemed to one if not both of the spectators 
 standing by. 
 
 " It means a thunder-storm, in the first 
 place," said Colin ; " look how it begins to 
 come down in a torrent of gloom over Loch 
 Goil. We have just time to get under shel- 
 ter. It is very well for us we are so near Ra- 
 more." 
 
 "Ay" — said Lauderdale. He repeated 
 the syllable over again and again as they hur- 
 ried back. " But the time wiM come when 
 we'll no be near Ramore," he said to himself 
 as the storm reached him *and dashed in his 
 face not twenty yards from the open door. 
 Colin's laugh, as he reached with a bound the 
 kindly portal, was all the answer which youth 
 and hope gave to experience. The boy was 
 not to be discouraged on that sweet thresh- 
 old of his life. 
 
60 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 "WoDEysDOURXE was as different from any 
 house that Colin had ever seen before as the 
 low, flat country, rich and damp and monot- 
 onous, was unlike the infinitely varied land- 
 scape to which his eye had been accustomed 
 all his life. The florid upholstery of Ardmar- 
 tin contrasted almost strangely with the sober 
 magnificence of the old family house in which 
 the Franklands had lived and died for gener- 
 ations, as did the simple little rooms to which 
 Colin had been accustomed in his father's 
 house. Perhaps, on the whole, Ramore, 
 where everything was for use and nothing for 
 show, was less unharmonious with all he saw 
 about him than the equipments of the brand- 
 new castle, all built out of new money, and 
 gilded and lackered to a climax of domestic 
 finery. Colin's pupil was the invalid of the 
 family, — a boy of twelve, who could not go to 
 Eton like his brothers, but whom the good- 
 natured baronet thought, as was natural, the 
 cleverest of his family. " That's why I wanted 
 you so much, Campbell," Sir Thomas said, by 
 way of setting Colin at ease in his new occu- 
 pation ; " he's not a boy to be kept to clas- 
 sics, isn't Charley — tliere's nothing that boy 
 wouldn't master — and shut up, as he has to 
 be, with his wretched health, he wants a lit- 
 tle variety. I've always heard you took a 
 wider range in Scotland ; that's what I want 
 for my boy." It was with this that the new 
 tutor was introduced to his duties at Wodens- 
 bourne. But a terrible disappointment await- 
 ed the young man, — a disappointment utterly 
 unforeseen. There was nobody there but Sir 
 Thomas himself and Charley and some little 
 ones still in the nursery. " We're all by our- 
 selves ; but you wont mind," said the baronet, 
 who seemed to think it all the better for Co- 
 lin ; "my lady and ^liss Matty will be home 
 before Christmas, and you can get yourself 
 settled comfortably in the mean time. Lady 
 Frankland is with her sister, who is in very 
 bad health. I don't know what people mean 
 by getting into bad health — women, too, that 
 can't go itt for free living and that sort of 
 thing," said Sir Thomas. " The place looks 
 dreary without the ladies ; but they'll be back 
 before Christmas ; " and he went to sleep after 
 dinner as usual, and left the young tutor at 
 the other side of the table sitting in a kind of 
 stupefied amazement and mortification in the 
 silence, wondering what he came here for, 
 and where his hopes and brilliant auguries 
 
 had gone to. Perhaps Colin did not know 
 what he himself meant when he accepted Sir 
 Thomas Frankland "s proposal. He thought 
 he was coming to live in Matty's society ; to 
 be her companion ; to walk with her and talk 
 with her, as he had done at Ardmartin ; but, 
 when he arrived to find Wodensbourne de- 
 serted, with nothing to be seen but Sir Thom- 
 ae and a nursery governess, who sometimes 
 emerged with her little pupils from the un- 
 known regions up-staira, and was very civil to 
 the new tutor, Colin's disappointment was 
 overwhelming. He despised himself with a 
 bitterness only to be equalled by the brilliancy 
 of those vain expectations over which he 
 laughed in youthful rage and scorn. It was 
 not to be Matty's companion he had come ; 
 it was not to see, however far off, any portion 
 of the great world which he could not help 
 imagining sometimes must be visible from 
 such an elevation. It was only to train Char- 
 ley's precocious intellect, and amuse the bar- 
 onet a little at dinner. After dinner, Sir 
 Thomas went to sleep, and even Charley was 
 out of the way, and the short, winter days 
 closed down early over the great house, on 
 the damp woods and silent park, which kept 
 repeating themselves, day by day, upon Co- 
 lin's wearied .brain. There was not even an 
 undulation within sight, nothing higher than 
 the dull line of trees, which after a while it 
 made him sick to look at. To be sure, the 
 sunshine now and then caught upon the lofty 
 lantern of Earie Cathedral, and by that means 
 woke up a gleam of light on the flat c^^y ; 
 but that, and the daily conflict with Cj^H^r's 
 sharp invalid understanding, and the S^^of 
 Sir Thomas sleeping after dinner, conveyed no 
 exhilaration to speak of to lighten the dismal 
 revulsion of poor Colin's thoughts. His heart 
 rose indignant sometimes, which did him more 
 good. This was the gulf of dismay he tum- 
 bled into without defence or preparation after 
 the burst of hope and foolish youthful delight 
 with which he left Ramore. 
 
 As for the society at Wodensbourne, it was 
 at the present moment of the most limited 
 description. Colin, who was inexperienced, 
 roused up out of his dulness a little when he 
 heard that two of the canons of Earie were 
 coming to dinner one evening. The innocent 
 Scotch lad woke himself up, with a little cu- 
 riosity about the clerical dignitaries, of whom 
 he knew nothing, and a good deal of anxiety 
 to comport himself as became the rcprcsenta- 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 tive of a Scotch univerBity, about ■whom he 
 did not doubt the visitors would be a little 
 curious. It struck Colin with the oddest sur- 
 prise and disappointment, to find that the 
 canons of Earie were perfectly indiflerent 
 about the Scotch student. The curate of the 
 parish, indeed, w^ho was also dining at Wo- 
 densbourne that day, was wonderfully civil 
 to the.new tutor. He told him that he un- 
 derstood the Scotch mountains were very near 
 as fine as Switzerland, and that he hoped to 
 see them some day, though the curious preju- 
 dices about Sunday and the whiskey-drinking 
 must come very much in the way of closer in- 
 tercourse ; at which speech Colin's indigna- 
 tion and amusement would have been wonder- 
 ful to see, had any one been there who cared 
 to notice how the lad was looking. On the 
 Sundays, Colin and his pupil went along the 
 level ways to the quaint old mossy church, 
 to which this same curate was devoting all 
 his time and thoughts by way of restoration. 
 The Scotch youth had never seen anything 
 at once so homely and so noble as this little 
 church in the fen-country. He thought it 
 nothing less than a poem in stone, a pathetic 
 old psalm of human life and death, uttering 
 itself for ever and ever, in the tenderest, sad 
 responses, to the worship of heaven. Never 
 anywhere had he felt so clearly how the dead 
 were waiting for the great Easter to come, 
 nor seen Christianity standing so plainly be- 
 tween the two comings; but when Colin, 
 with his Scotch ideas, heard the curious little 
 sermons to which his curate gave utterance 
 unde^Mkt roof, all consecrated and holy with 
 tlie BO^ws and hopes of ages, it made the 
 strangest anti-climas in the youth's thoughts. 
 He laughed to himself vd^en he came out, not 
 because he was disposed to laughter, but be- 
 cause it was the only alternative he had ; and 
 Sir Thomas, who had a glimmering perception 
 that this must be something new to his inex- 
 perienced guest, gave a doubtful sort of smile, 
 not knowing how to take Colin's strange 
 looks. 
 
 " You don't believe in saints' days, and 
 such-like, in Scotland ? " said the perplexed 
 baronet ; " and of course the sermon does not 
 count for so much with us." 
 
 " No," said Colin ; and they did not enter 
 further into the subject. 
 
 As for the young man himself, who had 
 still upon his mind the feeling that he was to 
 be a Scotch minister, the lesson was thestran- 
 
 61 
 
 gest possible ; for, being Scotch, he could not 
 help listening to the sermon according to the 
 usage of his nation. The curate, after he 
 had said those passages which are all but di- 
 vine in their comprehension of the wants of 
 humanity, told his people how wonderfully 
 their beloved Church had provided for all their 
 wants ; how sweet it was to recollect that this 
 
 ' was the day which had teen appointed the 
 Twentieth Sunday after Trinity, and how it 
 was their duty to meditate a fact so touching 
 and so important. Colin thought of the Holy 
 Loch, and the minister's critics there, and 
 
 J laughed to himself, perhaps a little bitterly. 
 
 j He felt as if he had given up his own career, 
 — the natural life to which he was born, — and 
 
 I at this distance the usual enchantments of 
 nature began to work, and in his heart he 
 asked himself what he was to gain by trans- 
 ferring his heart and hopes to this wealthier 
 country, where so many things were fairer, 
 and after which he had been hankering so 
 long. The curate's sermons struck him as a 
 kind of comical climax to his disappointments, 
 — the curate who looked at himself much as 
 he might have looked at a South-Sea Islander, 
 and spoke of the Scotch whiskey and Scotch 
 Sabbaths. Poor curate ! He knew a great 
 deal more than Colin did about some things, 
 and if he did not understand how to preach, 
 that was not the fault of his college ; neither 
 did they convey much information at that seat 
 of learning about the northern half of the 
 British island — no more than they did at 
 Glasgow about the curious specimen of hu- 
 manity which is known as a curate on the 
 brighter side of the Tweed. 
 
 All these things went through Colin's mind 
 as he sat in the dining-room after dinner, con- 
 templating Sir Thomas's nap, which was not 
 of itself an elevating spectacle. He thought 
 to himself at that moment that he was but 
 fulfilling the ofiice of a drudge at Wodens- 
 bourne, which anybody could fill. It did not 
 require those abilities which had won with 
 acclamation the prize in the philosophy class 
 to teach Charley Frankland the elements of 
 science ; and all the emulations and glories 
 of his college career came back to Colin's 
 mind. The little public of the university 
 had begun to think of him ; to predict what 
 he would do, and anticipate his success at 
 home ; but here, who knew anything about 
 him ? All these thoughts came to rapid con- 
 clusions as the young man sat watching the 
 
62 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 fire gleam in the wainscot, and calculating the 
 recurrence of tbat next great snore which 
 would wake Sir Thomas, and make him eit 
 up of a sudden and look fiercely at his com- 
 panion before he murmured out a " Beg your 
 pardon," and went to sleep again. Not an 
 interesting prospect certainly. Should he go 
 home ? Should he represent to the baronet, 
 when he woke up for the night, that it had 
 all been a mistake, and that his present office 
 was perfectly unsuited to his ambition and 
 his hopes? But then what could he say? for 
 after all, it was as Charley Frankland's tutor 
 simply, and with his eyes open, that became 
 to Wodcnsbourne, and Sir Thomas had said 
 nothing about the society of his niece, or any 
 other society, to tempt him thither. Colin 
 sat in a bitterness of discontent, which would 
 have been incredible to him a few weeks be- 
 fore, pondering these questions. There was 
 not a sound to be heard, but the dropping of 
 the ashes on the hearth, and Sir Thomas's 
 heavy breathing as he slept. Life went on 
 velvet slippers in the great house from which 
 Colin would gladly have escaped (he thought) 
 to the poorest cottage on the Holy Loch. He 
 could not help recalling his shabby little room 
 in Glasgow, and Lauderdale's long comments 
 upon life, and all the talk and the thoughts 
 that made existence bright in that miserable 
 little place, which Sir Thomas Frankland's 
 grooms would not have condescended to live 
 in, but which the unfortunate young tutor 
 thought of with longings as he sat dreary in 
 the great dining-room. What did it matter 
 to him that the floor was soft with Turkey 
 carpets, that the wine on the table was of the 
 most renowned vintages, and that his slum- 
 bering companion in the great easy-chair was 
 the head of one of the oldest commoner fami- 
 lies in England, — a baronet and a county 
 member? Colin, after all, was only a son of 
 the soil ; he longed for his Glasgow attic, and 
 his companions who spoke the dialect of that 
 remarkable but unlovely city, and felt bit- 
 terly in his heart that he had been cheated. 
 Yet it was hard to say to any one — hard even 
 to put in words to himsclf^what the cheat 
 was. It was a deception he had practised on 
 himself, and in the bitterness of his disap- 
 pointment the youth refused to say to him- 
 self that anybody's absence was the secret 
 of his mortification. What was she to him? 
 — a great lady as far out of his reach as the 
 
 I moon or the stars, and who no doubt had for- 
 gotten his very name. 
 
 ; These were not pleasant thoughts to season 
 [ the solitude ; and he sat hugging them for 
 a great many evenings before Sir Thomas 
 ^ awoke, and addressed, as he generally did, a 
 few good-humored, stupid observations to 
 the lad whom, to be sure, the baronet Ibund a 
 considerable bore, and did not know what to 
 j do with. Sir Thomas could not forget his 
 : obligations to the young man who saved 
 \ Harry's life ; and thus it was, from pure 
 \ gratitude, that he made Colin miserable, — 
 though there was no gratitude at all, nor 
 even much respect, in the summary judgment 
 which the youth formed of the heavy squire. 
 This was how matters were going on when 
 Wodcnsbourne and the world, and everything 
 human, suddenly, all at once, sustained again 
 a change to Colin. He had been thus, for 
 six weary weeks, — during which time he felt 
 I himself getting morose, ill-tempered, and 
 1 miserable, writing sharp letters home, in 
 I which he would not confess to any special 
 disappointment, but expressed himself in gen- 
 eral terms of bitterness like a young misan- 
 thrope, and in every respect making himself 
 and those who cared for him unhappy. Even 
 the verses, which did very well to express the 
 tender griefs of sentiment, had been thrown 
 aside at this crisis ; for there was nothing 
 melodious in his feelings, and he could not say 
 in sweet rhymes and musical cadences how 
 angry and wretched he was. He was sitting 
 so one dreary December evening when it was 
 raining fast outside and everything vdH^ilent 
 within — as was natural in a wcll-regnlated 
 household where the servants knew their 
 duty, and the nursajy was half a mile away 
 through worlds of complicated passages. Sir 
 Thomas was asleep as usual, and, with his 
 eyes shut and his mouth open, the excellent 
 baronet was not, as we have already said, an 
 elevating spectacle ; and at the other end of 
 the table, sat Colin, chafing out his young 
 soul with such thoughts of what was not, 
 but might have been, as youth does not know 
 how to avoid. It was just then, when he was 
 going over his long succession of miseries — 
 and thinking of his natural career cut short 
 for this dreary penance of which nothing 
 could ever come — that Colin was startled by 
 the sound of wheels coming up the wintry 
 avenue. He could not venture to imagine 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 to himself what it might be, though he lis- 
 tened as if for life and death, and heard the 
 Bounds of an arrival and the indistinct hum 
 of voices which he could not distinguish, 
 without feeling that he had any right to stir 
 from the table to inquire what it meant ; and 
 there he eat accordingly, with his hair thrust 
 back from his forehead and his great eyes 
 gleaming out from the noiseless atmosphere, 
 when the door opened and a pretty figure, 
 all eager and glowing with life, looked into 
 the room. Colin was too much absorbed, 
 too anxious, ?ind felt too deeply how much 
 was involved for himself to be capable even 
 of rising up to greet her as an indifferent 
 man would have done. He sat and gazed at 
 her as she darted in like a fairy creature, 
 bringing every kind of radiance in her train. 
 " Here they are, aunty ! " cried Miss Matty ; 
 and she came in flying in her cloak, with the 
 hood still over her head and great rain-drops 
 on it, which she had caught as she jumped 
 out of the carriage. While Colin sat gazing 
 at her, wondering if it were some deluding 
 apparition, or, in reality, the new revelation 
 of life and love that it seemed to be, Matty 
 had thrown herself upon Sir Thomas and 
 woke the worthy baronet by kissing him, 
 which was a pretty sight to behold. " Here 
 we are, uncle ; wake up ! " cried Matty ; 
 " my lady ran to the nursery first, but I came 
 to you, as I always do." And the little witch 
 looked up with a gleam at Colin, under which 
 heaven and earth changed to the lad. He 
 stumbled to his feet, while Sir Thomas rubbed 
 his ^jdlftiished eyes. What could Colin say? 
 He stiSB'd waiting for a word, seeing the little 
 figure in a halo of light and fanciful glory. 
 * ' How do you do ? f knew you were 
 here," eaid Miss Matty, putting out two fin-, 
 gers to him while she still hung over her 
 uncle. And presently Lady Frankland came 
 in, and the room became full of pleasant din 
 and commotion, as was inevitable. When 
 Colin made a move as if to leave them, fear- 
 ful of being in the way, as the sensitive lad 
 naturally was, Miss Matty called to him, 
 " Oh, don't go, please ; we are going to have 
 tea, and my lady must be served without 
 giving her any trouble, and I want you to 
 help me," said Matty; and so the evening 
 that had begun in gloom ended in a kind of 
 subdued glory too sweet to be real. Lady 
 Frankland sat talking to her husband of 
 their reason for coming back so suddenly 
 
 63 
 
 (which was sad enough, being an unexpected 
 death in the house : but that did not make 
 much difference to the two women who were 
 coming home) ; Matty kept coming and go- 
 ing between the tea-table and the fire, send- 
 ing Colin on all sorts of errands, and making 
 comments to him aside on what her aunt was 
 saying. 
 
 "Only fancy the long, dreary drive we 
 have had, and my uncle and Mr. Campbell 
 making themselves so cosy," the little siren 
 said, kneeling down before the fire with still 
 one drop of rain sparkling on her bright 
 locks. And the effect was such that Colin 
 lost himself altogether, and could not have 
 affirmed, had he been questioned on his oath, 
 that he had not enjoyed himself greatly all 
 the evening. He took Lady Frankland her 
 tea, and listened to all the domestic chatter 
 as if it had been the talk of angels ; and was 
 as pleased, when the mistress of the house 
 thanked him for his kindness to Charley, as 
 if he had not thought Charley a wretched 
 little nuisance a few hours ago. He did not 
 in the least know who the people were about 
 whom the two ladies kept ifp such an unceas- 
 ing talk, and, perhaps, under other circum- 
 stances would have laughed at this sweet- 
 coined gossip, with all its lively comments 
 upon nothing and incessant personalities ; 
 but, at the present moment, Colin had said 
 good-by to reason, and could not anyhow 
 defend himself against the sudden happiness 
 which seized upon him without any notice. 
 While Sir Thomas and his wife sat on either 
 side of the great tire, and Jlatty kept darting 
 in and out between them, Colin sat behind 
 near the impromptu tea-table, and listened 
 and felt that the world was changed. If he 
 could have had time to think, he might have 
 been ashamed of himself, but then he had no 
 time to think, and in the mean time he was 
 happy, a sensation not to be gainsaid or re- 
 jected ; and so fled the few blessed hours of 
 the first evening of Matty's return. 
 
 When he had gone up-stairs, and had heard 
 at a distance the sound of the last good-night, 
 and was fairly shut up again in the silence 
 of his own room, the youth, for the first time, 
 began to realize what he was doing. He 
 paused, with a little consternation, a little 
 fright, to question himself. For the first 
 time, he saw clearly, without any possibility 
 of self-delusion, what it was which had 
 brought him here, and which made all the 
 
64 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 difference to him between happiness and 
 misery. It was hard to realize now the 
 state of mind he had been in a few hours be- 
 fore ; but he did it, by dint of a great exer- 
 'tion, and saw, with a distinctness which 
 alarmed him, how it was that everything 
 had altered in his eyes. It was Matty's 
 presence that made all the difference between 
 this subdued thrill of happiness and that 
 blank of impatient and mortified misery. 
 The young man tried to stand still and con- 
 sider the reality of his position. He had 
 stopped in his career, arrested himself in his 
 life ; entered upon a species of existence 
 which he felt in his heart was not more, but 
 less, noble (for him) than his previous course. 
 And what was it for? All for the uncer- 
 tain smile, for the society — which might fail 
 him any time — of a woman so far out of his 
 way, so utterly removed from his reach, as 
 Matilda Frankland? For a moment, the 
 youth was dismayed, and stopped short, 
 "Wisdom and Truth whispering in his ear. 
 Love might be fair, but he knew enough to 
 know that life must not be subservient to : 
 that witchery ; and Colin 's good angel spoke | 
 to him in the silence, and bade him flee. ' 
 Better to go back, and at once, to the gray j 
 and sombre world, where all his duties ' 
 awaited him, than to stay here in this fool's ; 
 paradise. As he thought so, he got up, and 
 began to pace about his room, as though it j 
 had been a cage. Best to flee ; it might hide 
 all the light out of his life and break his i 
 heart ; but what else had he to look for sooner 
 or later ? He sat up half the night, still ; 
 pacing about his room, hesitating upon his 
 fate, while the December storm raged out- 
 eide. What was he to do ? When he dropped , 
 to sleep at last, his heart betrayed him, and ! 
 strayed away into celestial worlds of dream- j 
 ing. He woke, still undecided, as he thought, ' 
 to see the earliest wintry gleam of sunshine 
 stealing in through his shutters. What was 
 he to do? But already the daylight made 
 him feel his terrors as so many shadows. | 
 His heart was a traitor, and he was glad to j 
 find it so, and the moment of indecision set- ! 
 tied more surely than ever the bondage in 
 which he seemed to have entangled his life. 
 
 CHAPTER XT. 
 
 From that day life flew upon celestial wings 
 for Charley Frankland's tutor. It was not 
 that any love-making proved possible, or that 
 
 existence at Wodensboume became at all 
 what it had been at Ardmartin. The diifer- 
 ence was in the atmosphere, which was now 
 bright with all kinds of gladsome cliarms, 
 and pervaded by anticipations — a charm 
 which, at Colin 's age, was more than reality, 
 lie never knew what moment of delight 
 might come to him any day — what words 
 might be said, or smiles shed upon him. 
 Such an enchantment could not, indeed, have 
 lasted very long, but, in the mean time, was 
 infinitely sweet, and made his life like a ro- 
 mance to the young man. There was no- 
 body at Wodensbourne to occupy Miss Matty, 
 or withdraw her attention from her young 
 worshipper ; and Colin, with his poetic tem- 
 perament and his youthful genius, and all 
 the simplicities and inexperience which ren- 
 dered him 80 different from the other clever 
 young men who had been seen or heard of in 
 that region, was very delightful company, 
 even when he was not engaged in any acts 
 of worship. Lady Frankland herself ac- 
 knowledged that Mr. Campbell was a great 
 acquisition. " He is not the least like other 
 people," said the lady of the house; "but 
 you must take care not to let him fall in love 
 with you, Matty ; " and both the ladies 
 laughed softly as they sat over their cups of 
 tea. As for Matty, when she went to dreea 
 for dinner, after that admonition, she put on 
 tartan ribbons over her white dress, partly, 
 to be sure, because they were in the fashion ; 
 but chiefly to please Colin, who knew rather 
 less about tartan than she did, and had not 
 the remotest idea that the many-coloMd Bash 
 had any reference to himself. 
 
 " I love Scotland," the little witch said to 
 him when he came into the drawing-room, to 
 which he was now admitted during Sir 
 Thomas's nap, — and, to tell the truth. Lady 
 Frankland herself had just closed her eyes 
 in a gentle doze, in her easy-chair, — "but, 
 though you are a Scotchman, you don't take 
 the least notice of my ribbons ; I am very 
 fond of Scotland," said Matty, "and the 
 Scotch," the wicked little girl added, with a 
 glance at him, which made Colin's heart 
 leap in his deluded breast. 
 
 " Then I am very glad to be Scotch," said 
 the youth, and stooped down over the end of 
 the sash till Matty thought he meant to kiss 
 it, which was a more decided act of homage 
 than it would be expedient, under the cir- 
 cumstances, to permit. 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 65 
 
 "Don't talk like everybody else," said 
 Miss Matty ; " that does not make any dif- 
 ference ; you -vrere always glad to be Scotch. 
 I know you all think you are so much better 
 and cleverer than we are in England. But, 
 tell me, do you still mean to be a Scotch min- 
 ister ? I wish you would not," said Matty, 
 with a little pout. And then Colin laughed, 
 half with pleasure at what he thought her 
 interest in him, and half with a sense of the 
 ludicrous which he could not restrain. 
 
 " I don't think I could preach about the 
 Twentieth Sunday after Trinity," he said 
 with a smile ; which was a speech Miss 
 Matty did not understand. 
 
 " People here don't preach as you do in 
 Scotland," said the English girl, with a little 
 offence. "You are always preaching, and 
 that is what renders it so dull. But what 
 is the good of being a minister? There are 
 plenty of dull people to be ministers ; you are 
 so clever" — 
 
 "Am I clever?" said Colin. " I am 
 Charley's tutor ; it does not require a great 
 deal of genius — " but while he spoke, the 
 eyes— which Matty did not comprehend, 
 which always went leagues further than one 
 could see — kindled up a little. He looked 
 a long way past her, and no doubt he saw 
 something ; but it piqued her a little not to 
 be able to follow him, nor to search out 
 what he meant. 
 
 " If you had done what I wished, and gone 
 to Oxford, Campbell," said Sir Thomas, whose 
 repose had been interrupted earlier than 
 usuali " I can't say much about what I could 
 have done myself, for I have heaps of boys of 
 my own to provide for ; but, if you're bent 
 on going into the Church, something would 
 certainly have turned up for you. I don't say 
 there's much of a course in the Church for an 
 ambitious young fellow, but still, if you do 
 work well and have, a few friends — As for 
 your Scotch Church, I don't know very much 
 about it," said the baronet, candidly. " I 
 never knew any one who did. "What a bore 
 it used to be a dozen years ago, when there 
 was all that row ; and now, I suppose, you're 
 all at sixes and sevens ; aint you ? ' ' asked the 
 ingenuous legislator. "I suppose whiskey 
 and controversy go together somehow." Sir 
 Thomas got himself perched into the corner 
 of a sofa very comfortably, as he spoke, and 
 took no notice of the lightning in Colin's 
 eyes. 
 
 5 
 
 "Oh, uncle! don't!" said Miss Matty; 
 " didn't you know that the Presbyterians are 
 all going to give up and join the Church ? and 
 it's all to be the same both in England and 
 Scotland? You need not laugh. I assure 
 you I know quite well what I am saying," 
 said the little/beauty, with a look of dignity. 
 " I have seen it in the papers — such funny 
 papers I — with little paragraphs about acci- 
 dents, and about people getting silver snuff- 
 boxes ! — but all the same, they say what I 
 tell you. There's to be no Presbyterians and 
 no precentors, and none of their wicked ways, 
 coming into church with their hats on, and star- 
 ing all round instead of saying their prayers ; 
 and all the ministers are to be made into cler- 
 gymen, — priests and deacons, you know ; and 
 they are going to have bishops and proper 
 service like other people. Mr. Campbell," 
 said Matty, looking up at him with a little 
 emphasis, to mark that, for once, she was call- 
 ing him formally by his name, " knows it is 
 quite true." 
 
 "Humph," said Sir Thomas. "I know 
 better ; I know how Campbell, there, looked 
 the other day when he came out of church. 
 I know the Scotch and their ways of think- 
 ing. Go and make the tea and don't talk of 
 what you don't understand. But as for you, 
 Campbell, if you have a mind for the university 
 and to go in for the Church " — 
 
 But this was more than Colin, being twenty 
 and a Scotchman, could bear. 
 
 "I am going in for the Church," said the 
 lad, doing all he could to keep down the ex- 
 citement at which Sir Thomas would have 
 laughed ; "but it did not in the least touch 
 my heart the other day to know that it was 
 the Twentieth Sunday after Trinity. Devo- 
 tion is a great matter, ' ' said the young Scotch- 
 man . "I grant you have the advantage over 
 us there ; but it would not do in Scotland to 
 preach about the Church's goodness, and 
 what she had appointed for such or such a 
 day. We j^reach very stupid sermons, I dare 
 say ; but at least we mean to teach somebody 
 something— what God looks for at their hands, 
 or what they may look for at his. It is more 
 an occupation for a man," cried the young 
 revolutionary, " than reading the sublimest 
 of prayers. I am going in for the Church; 
 but it is the Church of Scotland," said Colin. 
 He drew himself up with a grand youthful 
 dignity, which was much lost on Sir Thomas, 
 who, for his part, looked at his new tutor 
 
66 
 
 ■with eyes of sober wonderment, and did not 
 understand what this emotion meant. 
 
 " There is no occasion for excitement," 
 said tlic baronet; "nobody nowadays med- 
 dles with a man's convictions ; indeed, Harry 
 would say, it's a great thing to have any con- 
 victions. That is how the young men talk 
 nowadays," said Sir Thomas; and he moved 
 oflf the sofa again, and yawned, though not 
 uncivilly. As for Miss Matty, she came steal- 
 ing up when she had made the tea, with her 
 cup in her hand. 
 
 " So you do mean to be a minister? " she 
 said, in a half-whisper, with a deprecating 
 look. Lady Frankland had roused up, like 
 her husband, and the two were talking, and 
 did not take any notice of Matty's proceedings 
 with the harmless tutor. The young lady 
 was quite free to play with her mouse a little, 
 and entered upon the amusement with zest, 
 as was natural. " You mean to shut your- 
 self up in a square house, with five windows, 
 like the poor gentleman who has such red hair, 
 and never see anybody but the old women in 
 the parish, and have your life made misera- 
 ble every Sunday by that precentor." 
 
 " I hope I have a soul above precentors," 
 Bvid Colin, with a little laugh, which was un- 
 steady still, however, with a little excitement ; 
 " and one might mend all that," he added a 
 minute after, looking at her with a kind of 
 wistful inquiry which he could not have put 
 into words. What was it he meant to ask 
 with his anxious eye? But he did not him- 
 self know. 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Matty, " I know what you 
 would do : you would marry somebody who 
 was musical, and get a little organ and teach 
 the people better ; I know exactly what you 
 would do," said the young lady, with a piquant 
 little touch of spite, and a look that startled 
 Colin; and then she paused, and hung her 
 iead for a moment and blushed, or looked as 
 if she blushed. " But you would not? " said 
 Matty, softly, with a sidelong glance at her 
 victim. " Don't marry anybody ; no one is 
 any good after that. I don't approve of mar- 
 rying, for my part, especially for a priest. 
 Priests should always be detached, you know, 
 from the world." 
 
 " Why? " said Colin. He was quite con- 
 tent to go on talking on such a subject for 
 any length of time. " As for marrying, it is 
 only your rich squii'cs and great people who 
 can marry when they please ; wc who have 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 to make our own way in the world " — said 
 the young man, with a touch of grandeur, 
 but was stopped by Miss Matty's sudden 
 laughter. 
 
 "Oh, how simple you are! As if rich 
 squires and great people, as you say, could 
 marry when they pleased — as if any man 
 could marry when he pleased! " cried Miss 
 IMatty, scornfully. " After all, we do count 
 for something, we poor women; now and 
 then, we can put even an eldest son out in his 
 calculations. It is great fun too," said the 
 young lady, and she laughed, and so did Colin, 
 who could not help wondering what special 
 case she might have in her eye, and listened 
 with all the eagerness of a lover. " There is 
 poor Harry, " said Miss Matty under her 
 breath, and stopped short and laughed to her- 
 self and sipped her tea, while Colin lent an 
 anxious car. But nothing further followed 
 that soft laughter. Colin sat on thorns, gaz- 
 ing at her with a world of questions in his 
 face ; but the siren looked at him no more. 
 Poor Harry ! Harry's natural rival was sen- 
 sible of a thrill of jealous curiosity mingled 
 with anxiety. What had she done to Harry ? 
 — this witch who had beguiled Colin — or was 
 it, not she who had done anything to him, 
 but some other as pretty and as mischievous? 
 Colin had no clew to the puzzle ; but it gave 
 him a new access of half-conscious enmity to 
 the heir of Wodcnsbourne. 
 
 After that talk, there elapsed a few days 
 during which Colin saw but little of Matty, 
 who had visits to pay, and some solemn din- 
 ner-parties to attend in Lady Frankland 's 
 train. He had to spend the evenings by 
 himself on these occasions after dining with 
 Charley, who was not a very agreeable com- 
 panion ; and when this invalid went to his 
 room, as he did early, the young tutor found 
 himself desolate enough in the great house, 
 where no human bond existed between him 
 and the little community within its walls. 
 He was not in a state of mind to take kindly 
 to abstract study at that moment of his ex- 
 istence ; for Colin had passed out of that un- 
 conscious stage in which he had been at Ard- 
 martin. Then, however much he had wished 
 to be out of temptation, he could not help 
 himself, which was a wonderful consolation ; 
 but now he had come wilfully and know- 
 ingly into the danger, and had become 
 aware of the foct and, far more distinctly 
 than ever before, of the difference between 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 himself and the object of his thoughts. 
 Though he found it very possible at times to 
 comfort himself with the thought that this 
 was a very ordinary interruption of a Scotch 
 student's woi'k, and noways represented the 
 Armida's garden in which the knight lost 
 both his vocation and his life, there were 
 other moments and moods which were less 
 easily manageable ; and, on the whole, he 
 wanted the stimulus of perpetual excitement 
 bo keep him from feeling the false position he 
 was in, and the expediency of continuing 
 here. Though the feeling haunted him all 
 lay, at night, in the drawing-room, — which 
 was brightened and made sweet by the fair 
 English matron who was kind to Colin, and 
 the fairer maiden who was the centre of all 
 his thoughts, — it vanished like an evil spirit, 
 and left him with a sense that nowhere in the 
 world could he have been so well ; but when 
 this mighty stimulus was withdrawn, the 
 youth was left in a very woful plight, con- 
 scious, to the bottom of his heart, that he 
 ought to be elsewhere, and here was consum- 
 ing his strength and life. He strayed out in 
 the darkness of the December nights through 
 the gloomy silent park into the little village 
 with its feeble lights, where everybody and 
 everything was unknown to him ; and all the 
 time his demon sat on his shoulders and asked 
 what he did there. While he strayed through 
 the broken, irregular village street, to all ap- 
 pearance looking at the dim cottage-windows 
 and listening to the rude songs from the little 
 ale-house, the curate encountered the tutor. 
 Most probably the young priest, who was 
 not remarkable for wisdom, imagined the 
 Scotch lad to be in some danger ; for he laid 
 a kindly hand upon his arm and turned him 
 away from the vociferous little tavern, which 
 was a vexation to the curate's soul. 
 
 " I should like you to go up to the Parson- 
 age with me, if you will only wait till I have 
 seen this sick woman," said the curate ; and 
 Colin went in very willingly within the cot- 
 tage-porch to wait for his acquaintance, who 
 had his prayer-book under his arm. The 
 young Scotchman looked on with wondering 
 eyes, while the village priest knelt down by 
 his parishioner's bedside and opened his book. 
 Naturally there was a comparison always go- 
 ing on in Colin's mind. He was like a pas- 
 sive experimentalist, seeing all kinds of 
 trials made before his eyes, and watching the 
 result. 
 
 67 
 
 " I wonder if they all think it is a spell," 
 said Colin to himself; but he was rebuked 
 and was silent when he heard the responses 
 which the cottage folk made on their knees. 
 When the curate had read his prayer, he got 
 up and said good-night, and went back to' 
 Colin ; and this visitation of the sick vras a 
 very strange experience to the young Scotch 
 observer, who stood revolving everything, 
 with an eye to Scotland, at the cottage-door. 
 
 "You don't make use of our Common 
 Prayer in Scotland ? ' ' said the curate. " Par- 
 don me for referring to it. One cannot help 
 being sorry for people who shut themselves out 
 from such an inestimable advantage. How 
 did it come about?" 
 
 " I don't know," said Colin. '« I suppose 
 because Laud was a fool, and King Charles 
 a " — 
 
 " Hush, for goodness' sake," said the cu- 
 rate, with a shiver. " What do you mean? 
 Such language is painful to listen to. The 
 saints and martyrs should be spoken of in a 
 different tone. You think that was the rea- 
 son? Oh, no; it was your horrible Calvin- 
 ism and John Knox and the mad influences 
 of that unfortunate Reformation which has 
 done us all so much harm, though I suppose 
 you think differently in Scotland," he said, 
 with a little sigh, steering his young compan- 
 ion, of whose morality he felt uncertain, past 
 the alehouse-door. 
 
 " Did you never hear of John Knox's lit- 
 urgy ? " said the indignant Colin ; "the sad- 
 dest, passionate service! You always had 
 time to say your prayers in England, but we 
 had to snatch them as we could. And your 
 prayers would not do for us now," said the 
 Scotch experimentalist ; " I wish they could ; 
 but it would be impossible. A Scotch peas- 
 ant would have thought that an incantation 
 you were reading. When you go to see a 
 sick man, shouldn't you like to say, God save 
 him, God forgive him, straight out of your 
 heart without a book? " said the eager lad ; 
 at which question the curate looked up with 
 wonder in the young man's face. 
 
 " I hope I do say it out of my heart," said 
 the English priest, and stopped short, with a 
 gravity that had a great effect upon Colin ; 
 " but in words more sound. than any words 
 of mine," the curate added a moment after, 
 which dispersed the reverential impression 
 from the Scotch mind of the eager boy. 
 
 " I can't see that," said Colin, quickly, 
 
68 
 
 " in the church for common prayer, yes ; at 
 a bedside in a cottage, no. At least, I mean 
 that's how we feel in Scotland, though I sup- 
 pose you don't care much for our opinion," 
 he added, with some heat, thinking he saw a 
 smile on hia companion's face. 
 
 "Oh, yes, certainly; I have always un- 
 derstood that there is a great deal of intelli- 
 gence in Scotland," said the curate, cour- 
 teous as to a South-Sea Islander. " But 
 people who have never known this inestima- 
 ble advantage ? I believe preaching is con- 
 sidered the great thing in the North? " he 
 said, with a little curiosity. " I wish so- 
 ciety were a little more impressed by it 
 among ourselves ; but mere information even 
 about spiritual matters is of so much less 
 importance ! though that, I dare say, is an- 
 other point on which we don't agree? " the 
 curate continued, pleasantly. lie was just 
 opening the gate into his own garden, which 
 was quite invisible in the darkness, but which 
 enclosed and surrounded a homely house with 
 some lights in the windows, which, it was a 
 little comfort to Colin to perceive, was not 
 much handsomer, nor more imposing in ap- 
 pearance than the familiar manse on the bor- 
 ders of the Holy Loch. 
 
 " It depends on what you call spiritual 
 matters," said the polemical youth. " I 
 don't think a man can possibly get too much 
 information about his relations with God, if 
 only anybody could tell him anything ; but 
 certainly about ecclesiastical arrangements 
 and the Christian year," said the irreverent 
 young Scotchman, " a little might suffice ; " 
 and Colin spoke with the slightest inflection 
 of contempt, always thinking of the Twen- 
 tieth Sunday after Trinity, and scorning 
 what he did not understand, as was natural 
 to his years. 
 
 " Ah, you don't know what you are say- 
 ing," said the devout curate. "After you 
 have spent a Christian year, you will see 
 what comfort and beauty tliere is in it. 
 You say, ' if anybody could tell him any- 
 thing.' I hope you have not got into a 
 sceptical way of thinking. I should like 
 very much to have a long talk with you," 
 said the village priest, who was very good 
 and very much in earnest, though the ear- 
 nestness was after a pattern different from 
 anything known to Colin ; and, before the 
 youth perceived what was going to happen, 
 he found himself in the curate's study, placed 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 I on a kind of moral platform, as the emblem 
 , of Doubt and that pious unbelief which is 
 the fovorite of modem theology. Now, to 
 jtell the truth, Colin, though it may lower 
 him in the opinion of many readers of his 
 history, was not by nature given to doubt- 
 ing. He had, to be sure, followed the fash- 
 ion of the time enough to be aware of a won- 
 derful amount of unsettled questions, and 
 questions which it did not appear possible 
 ever to settle. But somehow these elements 
 of scepticism did not give him much trouble. 
 His heart was full of natural piety, and his 
 instincts all fresh and strong as a child's. 
 He could not help believing, any more than 
 he could help breathing, his nature being 
 such ; and he was half amused and half irri- 
 tated by the position in which he found him- 
 self, notwithstanding the curate's respect for 
 the ideal sceptic, whom he had thus pounced 
 upon . The commonplace character of Colin 's 
 mind was such that he was very glad when 
 his new friend relaxed into gossip, and asked 
 him who was expected at the Hall for Christ- 
 mas ; to which the tutor answered by such 
 names as he had heard in the ladies' talk, 
 and remembered with friendliness or witli 
 jealousy, according to the feeling with which 
 Miss Matty pronounced them — which was 
 Colin 's only guide amid this crowd of the 
 unknown. 
 
 " I wonder if it is to be a match," said the 
 curate, who, recovering from hia dread con- 
 cerning the possible habits of his Scotch 
 guest, had taken heart to share hia scholarly 
 potations of beer with his new friend. '* It 
 was said Lady Frankland did not like it, but 
 I never believed that. After all it was such 
 a natural arrangement. I wonder if it is to 
 be a match? " 
 
 " Is what to be a match?" said Colin, 
 wlp all at once felt his heart stand still and 
 grow cold, though he sat by the cheerful fire 
 which threw its light even into the dark gar- 
 den outside. " I have heard nothing about 
 any match," he added, with a little effort. 
 It dawned upon him instantly what it must 
 be, and his impulse was to rush out of the 
 house, or do anything rash and sudden that 
 would prevent him from hearing it said in 
 words. 
 
 " Between Henry Frankland and his cous- 
 in," said the calm curate ; " they looked as 
 if they were perfectly devoted to each other 
 at one time. That has died off, for she is 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 rather a flirt, I fear ; but all the people here- 
 abouts had made up their minds on the Bub- 
 jcct. It would be a very suitable match on 
 the whole. But why do you get up ? You 
 are not going away ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I have something to do when I go 
 home,-' said Colin, " something to prepare," 
 which he said out of habit, thinking of his 
 old work at home, without remembering 
 what he was saying, or whether it meant 
 anything. The curate put down the poker 
 which he had lifted to poke the fire, and 
 looked at Colin with a ^uch of envy. 
 
 "Ah, something literary, I suppose?" said 
 the young priest, and went with his new 
 friend to the door, thinking how clever he 
 was, and how lucky, at his age, to have a 
 literary connection ; a thought very natural 
 to a young priest in a country curacy with a 
 very small endowment. The curate wrote 
 verses, as Colin himself did, though on very 
 different subjects, and took some of them out 
 of his desk, and looked at them, after he had 
 shut the door, with affectionate eyes, and a 
 Jialf intention of asking the tutor what was 
 the best way to get admission to the maga- 
 zines, and on the whole he thought he liked 
 what he had seen of the young Scotchman, 
 though he was so ignorant of Church matters 
 — an opinion which Colin perfectly recipro- 
 cated, with a more distinct sentiment of com- 
 passion for the English curate, who knew 
 
 69 
 
 about as much of Scotland as if it had lair 
 in the South Seas. 
 
 Meanwhile Colin walked home to Wodcng- 
 bourne with fire and passion in his heart. 
 " It would be a very suitable match on the 
 whole," he kept saying to himself, and then 
 tried to take a little comfort from Matty's 
 sweet laughter over " Poor Harry ! " Poor 
 Harry was rich and fortunate and indepen- 
 dent, and Colin was only the tutor. Were 
 these two to meet this Christmas-time, and 
 contend over again on this new ground ? He 
 went along past the black trees as if he were 
 walking for a wager ; but, quick as he 
 walked, a dog-cart dashed past him with 
 lighted lamp gleaming up the avenue. When 
 he reached the hall-door, one of the servants 
 was disappearing up-stairs with a portman- 
 teau, and a heap of coats and wrappers lay 
 in the hall. 
 
 " Mr. Harry just come, sir — a week sooner 
 than was expected," said the butler, who 
 was an old servant, and shared in the joys of 
 the family. Colin went to his room without 
 a word ; shut himself up there with feelings 
 which he would not have explained to any 
 one. He had not seen Harry Frankland 
 since they were both boys ; but he had never 
 got over the youthful sense of rivalry and 
 opposition which had sent him skimming 
 over the waters of the Holy Loch to save the 
 boy who was his born rival and antagonist. 
 Was this the day of their encounter and con- 
 flict which had come at laat ? 
 
70 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 PART VI. — CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 IL\RRY Frankland's return made a great 
 difiFerence to ihc tutor, between whom and 
 the heir of the house there existed that vague 
 sense of jealousy and rivalship which was em- 
 bittered on the part of young Fiankland by 
 certain consciousness of obligation. lie was 
 a good-natured fellow enough, and above the 
 meanness of treating unkindly anybody who 
 was in a dependent position ; but the circum- 
 stances were awkward, and he did not know 
 how to comport himself toward the stranger. 
 " The fellow looks like a gentleman," he said 
 privately in confidence to his mother ; " if I 
 had never seen him before, we might have got 
 on, you know ; but it's a horrible nuisance to 
 feel tliat you're obliged to a fellow in that 
 kind of position — neither your equal, you 
 know, nor your inferior , nor — W hat on earth 
 induced the governor to have him here ? If 
 it hadn't been for these cheap Scotch univer- 
 sities and stuff, he'd have been a ploughman 
 that one could have given ten pounds to and 
 been done with him. It's a confounded nui- 
 sance having him here." 
 
 "Hush, Harry," said Lady Frankland. 
 "He is very nice and very gentlemanly, I 
 think. He used to be very amusing before 
 you came home. Papa, you know, is not en- 
 tertaining after dinner ; and really Mr. Camp- 
 bell was quite an acquisition, especially to 
 Matty, who can't live without a slave," said 
 the lady of the house, with an indulgent, 
 matronly smile. 
 
 " Oh, confound it, why did the governor 
 Lave him here ? " cried the discontented heir. 
 " As for Matty, it appears to me she had 
 better begin to think of doing without slaves," 
 he said, moodily, with a cloud on his face ; 
 a speech which made his mother look up 
 with a quick movement of anxiety, though 
 she still smiled. 
 
 " I can't make out either you or Matty," 
 said Lady Frankland. "I wish you would 
 be either off or on. With such an appear- 
 ance of indifference as you show to each other 
 usually " — 
 
 " Oh, indifference, by Jove! " said Harry, 
 breaking in upon his mother's words ; and the 
 young man gave a short whistle, and, jump- 
 ing up abruptly, went off without waiting 
 for any conclusion. Lady Frankland was not 
 in the habit of disturbing herself about things 
 in general. She looked after her son with a 
 serious look, which, however, lasted but a 
 
 moment. She returned immediately to her 
 placidity and her needlework. " I dare say 
 it will come all right," she said to herself, 
 with serene philosophy, which perhaps ac- 
 counted for the absence of wrinkles in her 
 comely, middle-aged countenance. Harry, 
 on the contrary, went off in anything but a 
 serene state of mind. It was a foggy day, 
 and the clouds lay very low and heavy over 
 the fen-country, where there was nothing to 
 relieve the dulness of nature. And it was 
 afternoon, — the very time of the day when 
 all hopes and attempts at cheering up arc over 
 — and dinner was still too far off to throw its 
 genial glo^ upon the dusky house. There 
 had been nothing going on for a day or two 
 at Wodensbourne. Harry was before his 
 time, and the expected guests had not yet 
 arrived, and the weather was as troublesome 
 and hindersome of every kind of recreation 
 as weather could possibly be. Young Frank- 
 land went out in a little fit of impatience, 
 and was met ak the hall-door by a mouthful 
 of dense white steaming air, through which 
 even the jovial trees of holly, all glowing, 
 with Christmas bei-ries, loomed like two 
 prickly ghosts. He uttered an exclamation 
 of disgust as he stood on the broad stone steps, 
 not quite sure what to do with himself — 
 whether to face the chill misery of the air 
 outside, or to hunt up Matty and Charlie, 
 and betake himself to the billiard-room 
 within. But then the tutor — confound the 
 fellow ! Just at this moment Harry Frank- 
 land heard a laugh, a provoking little peal of 
 silver bells. He had an odd sort of affection 
 — half love, half dislike — for his cousin. 
 But of all Matty's charms, there was none 
 which so tantalized and bewitched him as 
 this laugh, which was generally acknowl- 
 edged to be charming. "Much there is to 
 laugh about, by Jove ! " he muttered to him- 
 self, with an angry flush ; but he grew 
 grimly furious when he heard her voice. 
 
 "You wont give in," said Matty, " the 
 Scotch never w-ill, I know ; you are all so 
 dreadfully ai'gumentative and quarrelsome. 
 But you are beaten, though you wont ac- 
 knowledge it ; 3'ou know you are. I like 
 talking to you," continued the little witch, 
 dropping her voice a little, " because — hush ! 
 I thought I heard some one calling me from 
 the house." 
 
 " Because why? " said Colin. They were 
 a good way off, behind one of those great 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL, 
 
 holly- trees ; but young Frankland, with his 
 quickened ears, discerned in an instant the 
 softness, the tender admiration, the music of 
 the tutor's voice. "By Jove!" said the 
 heir to himself; and then he shouted out, 
 " INIatty, look here ! come here ! " in tones 
 as different from those of Colin as discord is 
 from harmony. It did not occur to him that 
 Miss ^Matty's ear being perfectly cool and un- 
 excited, was quite able to discriminate be- 
 tween the two voices which thus claimed her 
 regard. 
 
 "What do you want?" said Matty. 
 "Don't stand there in the fog like a ghost ; 
 if you have anything to say, come here. I 
 am taking my constitutional ; one's first duty 
 is the care of one's health," said the wicked 
 little creature, with her ring of laughter ; 
 and she turned back again under his very 
 eyes along the terrace without looking at him 
 again. As for Harry Frankland, the words 
 which escaped from his excited lips were not 
 adapted for publication. If he had been a 
 little less angry, he would have joined them, 
 and so made an end of the tutor ; but, being 
 furious, and not understanding anything 
 about it, he burst for a moment into profane 
 language, and then went off to the stables, 
 where all the people had a bad time of it 
 until the dressing-bell rang. 
 
 " What a savage he is ! " said Matty, con- 
 fidentially. " That is the bore of cousins ; 
 they can't bear to see one happy, and yet 
 they wont take the trouble of making them- 
 selves agreeable. How nice it used to be down 
 at Kilchurn that summer — you remember? 
 And what quantities of poetry you used to 
 write. I suppose Wodensbourne is not con- 
 genial to poetry? You have never shown 
 me anything since you came here." 
 
 "Poetry is only for one's youth," said 
 Colin; "that is, if you dignify my verses 
 with the name, — for one's extreme youth, 
 when one believes in everything that is 
 impossible ; and for Kilchurn and the 
 Lady's Glen and the Holy Loch," said the 
 youth, after a pause, with a fervor which 
 disconcerted Matty. " That summer was 
 not summer, but a bit of paradise — and life 
 is real at Wodensbourne." 
 
 " I wish you would not speak in riddles," 
 eaid Miss Matty, who was in the humor to 
 have a little more of this inferred worship. 
 " I should have thought life was a great deal 
 
 71 
 
 more real at Ramore than here. Here we 
 have luxuries and things — and — and — and 
 books and" — She meant to have implied 
 that the homely life was hard, and to have 
 delicately intimated to Colin the advantage 
 of living under the roof of Sir Thomas Frank- 
 land ; but, catching his eye at the outset of 
 her sentence, Matty had suddenly perceived 
 her mistake, and broke down in a way most 
 unusual to her. As she floundered, the 
 young man looked at her with a full, unhesi- 
 tating gaze, and an incomprehensible smile. 
 
 " Pardon me," he said; he had scarcely 
 ever attempted before to take the superiority 
 out of her hands, little trifler and fine lady as 
 she was ; he had been quite content to lay 
 himself down in the dust and suffer her to 
 march over him in airy triumph. But, while 
 she was only a little tricksy coquette, taking 
 from his imagination all her higher charms, 
 Colin was a true man, a man full of young 
 genius and faculties a world beyond any- 
 thing known to Matty ; and, when he was 
 roused for the moment, it was so easy for him 
 to confound her paltry pretensions. "Par- 
 don me," he said, with the smile which 
 piqued her, which she did not understand; 
 " I think you mistake. At Ramore I was a__ 
 poor farmer's son ; but we had other things 
 to think of than the difference between M'ealth 
 and poverty. At Ramore we think nothing 
 impossible; but here" — said Colin, looking 
 round him with a mixture of contempt and 
 admiration which Matty could not compre- 
 hend. " That, you perceive, was the age of 
 poetry, the age of romance, the golden age," 
 said the young man, with a smile. "The 
 true knight required nothing but his sword, 
 and was more than a match for all kinds of 
 ugly kings and wicked enchanters ; but Wo- 
 densbourne is prose, hard prose, — fine English, 
 if you like, and much to be applauded for its 
 style." The tutor ran on, delivering him- 
 self up to his fancy. " Not Miltonian, to be 
 sure ; more like Macaulay — fine, vigorous Eng- 
 lish, not destitute of appropriate ornament, 
 but still prose, plain prose, Miss Frankland, 
 — only prose! " 
 
 " It appears to me that you are cross, Mr. 
 Campbell," said Matty, with a little spite 
 for her young vassal showed signs of enfran ^ 
 chisement when he called her by her name. 
 " You like your rainy loch better than any- 
 thing else in the world ; and you are sorry," 
 
72 A SON OF 
 
 said the sjrcn, dropping her voice, — "you arc 
 even bo unkind as to be sorry that you have 
 come here? " 
 
 " Sometimes, yes," said Colin, suddenly 
 clouding over. " It is true." 
 
 " Sei?iprc se,'' said Matty; "though you 
 cannot deny that we freed you from the de- 
 lightful duty of listening to Sir Thomas after 
 dinner," she went on, with a laugh. " Dear 
 old uncle, why docs he snore? So you are 
 really sorry you came ? I do so wish you 
 would tell mc why. Wodensbourne, at least, 
 is better than Ardmartin," said Miss Matty, 
 with a look of pique. She was rather relieved 
 and yet horribly disappointed at the thought 
 that Colin might perhaps be coming to his 
 senses, in so far as she herself was concerned. 
 It would save him a good deal of embarrass- 
 ment, it was true ; but she was intent upon 
 preventing it all the same. 
 
 " I will tell you why I am sorry, if you 
 will tell me why I ought to be glad," said 
 Colin who was wise enough, for once, to see 
 that he had the best of the argument. 
 
 "Oh, I don't know," said Matty; "if 
 you don't see yourself — if you don't care 
 about the advantages — if you don't mind liv- 
 ing in the same — I mean, if you don't see 
 the good." 
 
 " I don't see any good," said Colin, with 
 suppressed passion, " except one which, if I 
 stated it plainly, you would not permit me 
 to claim. I see no advantages that I can ven- 
 ture to put in words. On the other hand, 
 Wodensbourne has taught me a great deal. 
 This fine, perspicuous English prose points an 
 argument a great deal better than k]\ the 
 Uighland rhymings in existence," said the 
 young man, liittcrly ; " I'll give you a pro- 
 fessional example, as I'm a tutor. At the 
 Holy Loch we conjugate all our verbs affirm- 
 atively, interrogatively. Charley and I are 
 getting them up in the negative form here, 
 and it's hard work," said Charley's tutor. 
 He broke olf with a laugh which sounded 
 strange and harsh, an unusual efi'cct, in his 
 companion's car. 
 
 "Affirmatively? Interrogatively?" said 
 Miss Matty, with a pretty puzzled look ; " I 
 hate long words. Uow do you suppose 1 can 
 know what you mean ? It is sucli a long 
 time since I learnt my \ erbs — and then one 
 always hated them so. Look here, what a 
 lovely holly-leaf! Jl m'aiine, il ne m'aimc 
 ■pas? " said Miss Matty, pricking her fingers 
 
 THE SOIL. 
 
 on the verdant spikes, and casting a glance 
 at Colin. When their eyes met, they both 
 laughed, and blushed a little in their several 
 ways — that is to say. Miss Matty's swart 
 complexion grew alittle, a very little, brighter 
 for one moment, or Colin at least thought it 
 did, whereas the blood flushed all over his 
 face, and went dancing back like so many 
 streams of new life and joy to exhilarate his 
 foolish youthful heart. 
 
 , " By theiby, I wonder if that foolish 
 Harry came from my aunt ; perhaps she 
 wants me," said Miss Matty, who had gone 
 as far as she meant to go. " Besides, the fog 
 gets heavier ; though, to be sure, I have seen 
 it twenty times worse at Kilchurn. Perhaps 
 it is the fog and the rain that makes it poeti- 
 cal there ? I prefer reality, if that means a 
 little sunshine, or even the fire in my lady's 
 dressing-room," she cried, with a shiver. 
 " Go indoors and write me some pretty 
 verses : it is the only thing you can do after 
 being such a savage. Au revoir — there are 
 no half- partings in English, and it's so ridicu- 
 lous to say good-by for an hour or two," 
 said Miss Matty. She made him a little 
 mock courtesy as she went away, to which, 
 out of the fulness of her grace, the little 
 witch added a smile and a pretty wave of 
 her hand as she disappeared round the cor- 
 ner of the great holly, which ■/rere meant to 
 leave Colin in a state of ecstasy. He staj-ed 
 on the foggy terrace a long time after she 
 had left him ; but the young man's thoughts 
 were not ecstatic. So long as she was pres- 
 ent, so long as the strongest spell of natural 
 magic occupied his eyes in watching and his 
 ears in listening to her, he was still carried 
 along and kej)t up by the witchery of young 
 love. But in the intervals when her presence 
 was withdrawn, matters grew to be rather 
 serious with Colin. He was not like a love- 
 sick girl, able to exist upon these occasional 
 sweetnesses ; he was a man, and required 
 something more to satisfy his mind than the 
 tantalizing enchantments and disappointments 
 of this intercourse, which was fascinating 
 enough in its way, but had no substance or 
 reality in it. lie had spoken truly ; it had 
 been entire romance, sweet as a morning 
 dream at the Holy Loch. There the two 
 young creatures, wandering by the glens and 
 streams, were the ideal youth and maidea 
 entering upon their natural inheritance of 
 beauty and love and mutual admiration ; 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 and at homely Ramore, ■where the Avovld to 
 which Matty belonged was utterly unknown, 
 it was not difficult cither for Colin himself, 
 or for those around him, to believe that — 
 with his endowments, his talents, and genius 
 —he could do anything, or win any woman. 
 "Wodensbourne was a most sobering, disen- 
 chanting reality after this wonderful delu- 
 sion. The Franklanks were all so kind to 
 the young tutor, and their sense of obliga- 
 tion toward him made his position so much 
 better than any other tutor's of his preten- 
 sions could have been, that the lesson came 
 with all the more overwhelming force upon 
 his awakening faculties. The morning and 
 its dreams were gliding away, — or, at least, 
 Colin thought so ; and this clear daylight, 
 which began to come in, dissipating all the 
 magical effects of sunshine and mist and dew, 
 had to be faced as he best could. He was 
 not a young prince, independent of ordinary 
 requirements ; he was truly a poor man's 
 son, and possessed by an ideal of life and 
 labor such as has inspired many a young 
 Scotchman. He wanted not only to get on 
 in the world, to acquire an income and marry 
 Matty, but also to be good for something in 
 his generation. If the course of true love 
 had been quite smooth with him, if Matty 
 had been his natural mate, Colin could not 
 have contented himself with that personal 
 felicity. He was doubtful of all his sur- 
 roundings, like most young men of his pe- 
 riod, — doubtful what to do and how to do 
 it, — more than doubtful of all the local ways 
 and fashions of the profession to which he 
 had been trained. But underneath this un- 
 certainty lay something of which Colin had 
 no doubt. He had not been brought into 
 the world without an object; he did not 
 mean to leave it without leaving some mark 
 that he had been here. To get through life 
 easily and secure as much pleasure as possi- 
 ble by the way was not the theory of exist- 
 ence known at Ramore. There it was un- 
 derstood to be a man's, a son's duty to better 
 his position, to make his way upward in the 
 world : and this philosophy of life had been 
 enlarged and elevated in the poetic soul of 
 iColin's mother. He had something to do in 
 bis own country, in his own generation. 
 Vhat was the master-idea of the young 
 man's mind. How it was to be reconciled 
 with this aimless, dependent life in the rich 
 English household — with this rivalry, which 
 
 73 
 
 could never come to anything, with Sir 
 Thomas Frankland's heir— with this vain 
 love, which, it began to be apparent to 
 Colin, must, like the rivalry, end in noth- 
 ing—it was hard to see. He remained on 
 the terrace for about an hour, walking up 
 and down in the fog. All that he could see 
 before him were some indistinct outlines of 
 trees, looking black through the steaming 
 white air, and, behind, the great ghost of 
 the house, with its long front and wings re- 
 ceding into the mist, — the great, wealthy, 
 stranger house, to which he and his life 
 had so little relationship. Many were the 
 thoughts in Colin 's mind during this hour ; 
 and they were far from satisfactory. Even 
 the object of his love began to be clouded 
 over with fogs, which looked very different, 
 breathing over those low, rich, English levels, 
 from the fairy mists of the Lady's Glen. He 
 began to perceive dimly that his devotion was 
 a toy and plaything to this little woman of 
 the world. He began to perceive what an 
 amount of love would be necessary to make 
 such a creature as Matty place herself con- 
 sciously by the side of such a lover as him- 
 self. Love ! — and as yet all that he could 
 say certainly of Matty was that she liked a 
 little love-making, and had afforded him a 
 great many fticilities for that agreeable but 
 unproductive occupation. Colin's heart lost 
 itself in an uncertainty darker than the fog. 
 His own position galled him profoundly. He 
 was Charley's tutor. They were all very 
 kind to him ; but, supposing he were to ask 
 the child of the house to descend from her 
 eminence and be his wife — not even his wife, 
 indeed, but his betrothed ; to wait years and 
 years for him until he should be able to claim 
 her, — what would everybody think of him ? 
 Colin's heart beat against his breast in loud 
 throbs of wounded love and pride. At Wo- 
 densbourne everything seemed impossible. 
 He had not the heart to go away and end 
 abruptly his first love and all his dreams, and 
 how could he stay to consume his heart and 
 his life? How go back to the old existence, 
 which would now be so much harder? How 
 begin anew and try another existence apart 
 from all his training and traditions, for the 
 sake of that wildest of incredible hopes ? 
 Colin hj^d lived for some time in this state of 
 struggle and argument with himself, and it 
 was only Matty's presence which at times 
 delivered him from it. Now, as before, he 
 
74 A SON OF 
 
 took refuge in the thought that he could not 
 immediately free hiniself: that, having ac- 
 cepted his position* as Charley's tutor, he 
 could not relinquish it immediately ; that 
 honor bound him to remain for the winter at 
 least. AVhcn he had come, for the fiftieth 
 time, to this conclusion, he went indoors, 
 and up-stairs to his room. It was a good 
 way up, but yet it was more luxurious than 
 anything in Ramore, and on the table there 
 were some flowers which she had given him 
 the night before. Poor Colin ! after his se- 
 rious reflections he owed liimself a little holi- 
 day. It was an odd enough conclusion, cer- 
 tainly, to his thoughts, but he had an hour 
 to himself and his writing-desk was open on 
 the table, and involuntarily he bethought 
 himself of Miss Matty's parting words. The 
 end of it was that he occupied his hour writ- 
 ing and rewriting and polishing into smooth 
 couplets the pretty verses which that young 
 lady had asked for. Colin's verses were as 
 follows, from which it will be seen that, 
 though he had a great deal of poetical senti- 
 ment, he was right in refusing to consider 
 himself a poet : — 
 
 " In English speech, my lady said. 
 
 There are no sweet half-part in irs made — 
 
 AVords half regret, half joy, that tell 
 
 We meet again and all is well. 
 
 Ah, not for sunny hours or days 
 
 Its grave ' Farewell ' our England says ; 
 
 Nor for a moment's absence, true, 
 
 Utters its prayer, ' God be with you.' 
 
 Other the thoughts that Love may reach, 
 
 In the grave tones of English speech ; 
 
 Deeper than Fancy's passing breath, 
 
 The blessing stands for life or death. 
 
 If Heaven in wrath should rule it so, 
 
 If earth were capable of woe 
 
 So bitter as that this might be 
 
 The last dear word 'twixt thee and me, 
 
 Thus Love in English speech, above 
 
 All lighter thoughts, breathes, ' Farewell, Love ; 
 
 For hours or ages if we part, 
 
 God be with thee, where'er thcJu art. 
 
 To no less hands than his alone 
 
 I trust thy soul out of my own.' 
 
 Thus speaks the Love that, grave and strong. 
 
 Can master death, neglect, and wrong, 
 
 Yet ne'er can learn, long as it lives. 
 
 To limit the full soul it gives. 
 
 Or clieat the pai-ting of its pain 
 
 With light words ' Till we meet again.' 
 
 Ah, no, while on a moment's breath 
 
 Love holds the poise 'twixt lifeand death, 
 
 He cannot leave who loves thee, sweet, 
 
 With light postponement ' Till we meet ; ' 
 
 But rather prays, ' Whate'er may be 
 
 My life or death, God be with tkce! 
 
 THE SOIL. 
 
 Though one brief hour my course may tell. 
 Ever and ever fare tliou well. ' " 
 
 Probably tlie readers of this history will 
 think that Colin deserved his fate. 
 
 He gavetlicmto her in the evening, when he 
 found her alone in the drawing-room, — alone, 
 at least, in so far that Lady Frankland was 
 nodding over the newspaper, and taking no 
 notice of Miss Matty's proceedings. "Oh, 
 thank you ! how nice of you I " cried the 
 young lady ; but she crumpled the little bil- 
 let in her hand, and put it, not into her 
 bosom as young ladies do in novels, but into 
 her pocket, glancing at the door as she did 
 so. " I do believe you are right in saying 
 that there is nothing but prose here," Baid 
 Matty. "I can't read it just now. It would 
 only make them laugh, you know ; " and 
 she went away forthwith to the other end of 
 the room, and began to occupy himself in 
 arranging some music. She was thus em- 
 ployed when Harry came in, looking black 
 enough. Colin was left to himself all that 
 evening. He had, moreover, the gratifica- 
 tion of witnessing all the privileges once ac- 
 corded to himself given to his rival. Even 
 in matters less urgent than love, it is disen- 
 chanting to see the same attentions lavished 
 on another of which one has imagined one's 
 self the only possessor. It was in vain that 
 Colin attempted a grim smile to herself at 
 this transference of Matty's wiles and witch- 
 eries. The lively table-talk — more lively 
 than it could be with him, for the two knew 
 all each other's friends and occupations ; the 
 little services about the tea-table which he 
 himself had so often rendered to Matty, but 
 which her cousin could render with a freedom 
 impossible to Colin ; the pleased, amused looks 
 of the elders, who evidently imagined matters 
 to be going on as they wished, — would have 
 been enough of themselves to drive the un- 
 fortunate youth half wild as he sat in the 
 background and witnessed it all. But, as 
 Colin's evil genius would have it, the curate 
 was that evening dining at "Wodensbourne. 
 And, in pursuance of his benevolent intention 
 of cultivating and influencing the young 
 Scotchman, this excellent ecclesiastic devoted 
 himself to Colin. He asked a great many 
 questions about Scotland and the Sabbath 
 question, and the immoral habits of the peas- 
 antry, to which the catechumen replied with 
 varying temper, sometimes giving wild an- 
 swers, quite wide of the mark, as he applied 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 his jealous ear to hear rather the conversation 
 going on at a little distance than the inter- 
 rogatory addressed to himself. Most people 
 have experienced something of the difficulty 
 of keeping up an indifferent conversation 
 ■while watching and straining to catch such 
 scraps as may be audible of something more 
 interesting going on close by ; but the diffi- 
 culty was aggravated in Colin 's case by the 
 flvct that his own private interlocutor was 
 doing everything in his power to exasperate 
 him in a well-meaning and friendly way, and 
 that the words which fell on his ear close at 
 hand were scarcely less irritating than the 
 half-heard words, the but too distinctly seen 
 combinations at the other end of the room, 
 where Matty was making tea, with her cousin 
 hanging over her chair. After he had borne 
 it as long as he could, Colin turned to 
 bay. 
 
 *' Scotland is not in the South Seas," said 
 the young Scotchman ; " a day's journey any 
 time will take you there. As for our uni- 
 versities, they are not rich like yours ; but 
 they have been heard of from time to time," 
 Baid Colin, with indignation. His eyes had 
 caught fire from long provocation, and they 
 were fixed at this moment upon Matty, who 
 was showing her cousin something which she 
 half drew out of her pocket under cover of 
 her handkerchief. Was it his foolish offering 
 that the two were about to laugh over? In 
 the bitterness of the moment, he could have 
 taken the most summary vengeance on the 
 irreproachable young clergyman. "Wedon't 
 tattoo ourselves nowadays, and no English- 
 man has eaten in my district within the mem- 
 ory of man," said the young savage, who 
 looked quite inclined to swallow somebody, 
 though it was doubtful who was the immedi- 
 ate object of his passion, which played in his 
 brown eyes. Perhaps Colin had never been 
 50 much excited in his life. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said the wondering 
 curate. " I tell you, I fear " — and he fol- 
 lowed Colin 's eyes, after his first movement 
 of offence was over, and perhaps compre- 
 hended the mystery ; for the curate himself 
 had been in his day the subject of experi- 
 ments. " They seem to have come to a very 
 good understanding, these two," he said, 
 with a gentle clerical leaning toward inev- 
 itable gossip. " I told you how it was likely 
 to be. I wish you would come to the vicar- 
 
 75 
 
 age oftener," continued the young priest. 
 " If Frankland and you don't get on " — 
 
 " Why should not we get on? " said Colin, 
 who was half mad with excitement, — he had 
 just seen some paper, wonderfully like his 
 own verses, handed from one to another of 
 the pair who were so mutually engrossed, — 
 and, if he could have tossed the curate or 
 anybody else who might happen to be at 
 hand out of window, it would have been a 
 relief to his feelings. " He and I are in very 
 different circumstances," said the young man, 
 with his eyes aflame. " I am not aware that 
 it is of theleast importance to any one whether 
 we get on or not. You forget that T am only 
 the tutor." It occurred to him, as he spoke, 
 how he had said the same words to !Matty at 
 Ardmartin, and how they had laughed to- 
 gether over his position. It was not any 
 laughing matter now ; and to see the two 
 heads bending over that bit of paper was 
 more than he could bear. 
 
 " I wish you would come oftener to the 
 parsonage," said the benevolent curate. " I 
 might be — we might be — of— of some use to 
 each other. I am very much interested in 
 your opinions. I wish I could bring you to 
 see the beauty of all th^Church's arrange- 
 ments and the happiness of those " — 
 
 Here Colin rose to his feet without being 
 aware of it, and the curate stopped speaking. 
 He was a man of placid temper himself, and 
 the young stranger's aspect alarmed him. 
 Harry Frankland was coming forward with 
 the bit of paper in his hand. 
 
 " Look here," said Frankland, instinct- 
 ively turning his back on the tutor, " here's 
 a little drawing my cousin has been making 
 for some schools you want in the village. 
 She says they must be looked after directly. 
 It's only a scratch ; but I think it's pretty — 
 a woman is always shaky in her outlines, you 
 know; but the idea aint bad; is it? She 
 says I am to talk to you on the subject," 
 said the heir ; and he spread out the sketch 
 on the table and began to discuss it with the 
 pleased curate. Harry was pleased, too, in a 
 modified way ; he thought he was gratifying 
 Matty, and he thought it was good of such a 
 wayward little thing to think about the vil- 
 lage children ; and finally, he thought if she 
 had been indifferent to the young lord of the 
 manor, she would not have taken so much 
 trouble — which were all agreeable and con- 
 
76 A SON OF 
 
 eolatory imaginations. As for Colin, stand- 
 ing up by the table, his cj-os suddenly 
 glowed and melted into a mist of sweet com- 
 punctions ; he stood quite still for a moment, 
 and then he caught the smallest possible ges- 
 ture, the movement of a finger, tlie scarce- per- 
 ceptible lifting of an eyelash, which called 
 him to her side. When he went up to Matty, 
 he found her reading very demurely, with 
 her book held in both her hands, and his lit- 
 tle poem placed above the printed page. 
 " It is charming ! " said the little witch ; 
 " I could not look at it till I had got rid of 
 Harry. It is quite delightful, and it is the 
 greatest shame in the world not to print it ; 
 but I can't conceive how you can possibly 
 remember the trumpery little things I say." 
 The conclusion was, that sweeter dreams than 
 usual visited Colin's sleep that night. Miss 
 Matty had not yet done with her interesting 
 victim. 
 
 THE SOIL. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Colin found a letter on the breakfast-table 
 next morning, which gave a new development 
 to his mental struggle. It was from the pro- 
 fessor in Glasgow in whose class he had won 
 his greatest laurels. He was not a corre- 
 spondent nor even a friend of Colin's, and 
 tiie effect of his letter was increased accord- 
 ingly. " One of our exhibitions to Balliol 
 is to be competed for immediately after Christ- 
 mas," wrote the professor. " I am very anx- 
 ious that you should be a candidate. From 
 all I have seen of you, I am inclined to augur 
 a brilliant career for your talents if they are 
 fully cultivated ; and for the credit of our 
 university, as well as for your own sake, I 
 should be glad to see you the holder of this 
 scholarship. Macdonald, your old rival, is 
 a very satisfactory scholar, and has un- 
 bounded perseverance and steadiness — dog- 
 gedncss, I might almost say ; but he is not 
 the kind of man — I speak to you frankly — to 
 do us any credit at Oxford, nor indeed to do 
 himself any particular advantage, llis is the 
 commonly received type of Scotch intelligence, 
 — hard, keen, and unsympathetic, — a form as 
 little true to the character of the nation as 
 conventional types usually arc. I don't want, 
 to speak the truth, to send him to my old 
 college as a specimen of what we can pro- 
 duce here. It would be much more satisfac- 
 tory to myself to send you, and I think you 
 
 mc that Sir Thomas Frankland is an old 
 friend and one under obligations to you or 
 your family ; probably in the circumstances, 
 he would not object to release you from your 
 engagement. The matter is so important, 
 that I don't think you should allow any false 
 delicacy in respect to your present occupa- 
 tion to deter you from attending to your own 
 interests. You are now just at the age to 
 benefit in tlie highest degree by such an op- 
 portunity of prosecuting your studies." 
 
 This was the letter which woke all the 
 slumbering forces of Colin's mind to renew 
 the struggle against his heart and his fancy 
 which he had already waged unsuccessfully. 
 He was not of much use to Charley for that 
 day at least ; their conjugations, negative or 
 afiirmative, made but small progress, and the 
 sharp-witted boy gave his tutor credit for be- 
 ing occupied with Matty, and scorned him 
 accordingly, — of which fact the young man 
 was fortunately quite unaware. "When it 
 became possible for Colin to speak to Sir 
 Thomas on the subject, he had again lost him- 
 self in a maze of conflicting inclinations. 
 Should he leave this false position, and be- 
 take himself again, in improved and altered 
 circumstances, to the business of his life? 
 But Colin saw very clearly that to leave his 
 present position was to leave ]Matty ; to re- 
 linquish his first dream ; to give up the Illu- 
 sion which , notwithstanding all its drawbacks, 
 had made life lovely to him for the past year 
 at least. Already he had so far recovered 
 his senses as to feel that, if he left her now, 
 he left her forever, and that no new tie could 
 be woven between his humble fortunes and 
 those of the little siren at Wodensbourne. 
 Knowing this, yet all the while subject to her 
 witcheries — hearing the song that lured him 
 on — how was he to take a strenuous resolu- 
 tion and leap back into the disenchanted ex- 
 istence, full of duty but deprived of delights, 
 which awaited him in his proper sphere? 
 He had gone out to the terrace again in the 
 afternoon to argue it out with himself, when 
 he encountered Sir Thomas, who had a cold, 
 and was taking his constitutional discreetly 
 for his health's sake, not without an eye to 
 the garden in which Lady Frankland intended 
 sundry alterations which were not quite sat- 
 isfactory to her lord. " Of course I don't 
 mean to interfere with my lady's fancies, 
 
 could make better use of the opportunities said the baronet, who was pleased to find 
 thus opened to you, Lauderdale informs | some one to whom he could confide his griefs ; 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 " a flower-garden is a •woman's department 
 certainly, if anything is ; but I wont have 
 this terrace disturbed. It uned to be my 
 mother's favorite walk," said Sir Thomas. 
 The good man went on, a little moved by this 
 particular recollection, meditating his griev- 
 ance. Sir Thomas had got very nearly to the 
 other end of that table-land of existence which 
 lies between the ascent and the descent, — that 
 interval in which the suns burn hottest, the 
 winds blow coldest, but upon which, when it 
 is fair weather, the best part of life may be 
 spent. By right of his extended prospect, 
 he was naturally a little contemptuous of 
 those griefs and struggles of youth which 
 cloud on the ascending way. Had any one 
 told him of the real conflict which was going 
 on in Colin 's mind, the excellent middle-aged 
 man would but have laughed at the boy's folly 
 — a laughter softened yet confirmed by the 
 recollection of similar clouds in his ownexpe 
 rience which had long dispersed into thin air 
 He was a little serious at the present moment 
 about my lady's caprice, which aimed at al- 
 tering the smooth stretch of lawn to which 
 bis eyes had been accustomed for years, and 
 turned to listen to Colin, when the young 
 man addressed him, with a slight air of im- 
 patience, not knowing anything of impor- 
 tanqp which the youth could have to say. 
 
 "1 should be glad to know," said Colin, 
 with hesitation," how long you think Charley 
 will want my services. Lady Frankland was 
 speaking the other day of the improvement 
 in his health." 
 
 " Yes," interrupted the baronet, brighten- 
 ing up a little ; for his invalid boy was his 
 favorite. "We are greatly obliged to you, 
 Campbell. Charley has brightened and im- 
 proved amazingly since you came here." 
 
 This was an embarrassing way of receiving 
 Colin 'e attempt at disengaging himself from 
 Charley. The youth hesitated and stammered, 
 and could not well make up his mind what 
 to say next. In his perplexity he took out 
 the letter which had stimulated him to this 
 attempt. Sir Thomas, who was still a little 
 impatient, took it out of his hands and read it. 
 The baronet whistled under his breath with 
 puzzled astonishment as he read, "What 
 does it mean ? " said Sir Thomas. " You de- 
 clined to go to Oxford under my auspices, 
 and now here is something about a scholar- 
 ship and a competition. You want to go to 
 the university after all ; but why, then, reject 
 
 77 
 
 my proposal when I made it? " said Colin's 
 patron, who thought his protege had chosen 
 a most unlucky moment for changing his 
 mind. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Colin, " but I 
 could not accept your ofier at any time. I 
 could not accept such a favor from any man, 
 and I know no claim I have upon you to war- 
 rant " — 
 
 " Oh, stufi"! " said Sir Thomas ; " I know 
 very well what are the obligations I am un- 
 der to you, Campbell. You saved my son 
 Harry's life ; we are all very sensible of your 
 claims. I should certainly have expected you 
 to help Harry as far a» was possible, for he 
 is like myself: he is more in the way of 
 cricket and boating, and a day with the 
 hounds when he can get it, than Greek ; but 
 I should have felt real pleasure," said the 
 baronet, blandly, " in helping so deserving a 
 young man, and one to whom we all feel so 
 much indebted." 
 
 " Thank you," said Colin, who at that 
 moment would have felt real pleasure in 
 punching the head, or maltreating the per- 
 son of the heir of Wodensbourne ; "I sup- 
 pose we have all some pride in one way or 
 another. I am obliged to you. Sir Thomas, 
 but I could not accept such a favor from you ; 
 whereas a prize won at my own university," 
 said the young man, with a little elevation, 
 " is no discredit, but," — 
 
 "Discredit!" said Sir Thomas; "you 
 must have a very strange idea of me, Mr. 
 Campbell, if you imagine it discreditable to 
 accept a kindness at my hands." 
 
 "I beg your pardon," again said Colin, 
 who was at his wits' end ; " I did not mean 
 to say anything uncivil, — but I am Scotch. 
 I dislike receiving favors, I prefer " — 
 
 Sir Thomas rubbed his hands. The apol- 
 ogy of nationality went a long way with him, 
 and restored his temper. " Yes, yes ; I un- 
 derstand," he said, with good-humored supe- 
 riority : " you prefer conferring favors, — you 
 like to keep the upper hand. I know a great 
 deal of you Scotchmen ; I flatter myself I un- 
 derstand your national character. I should 
 like to know now," said the baronet, confi- 
 dentially, " if you are set upon becoming a 
 Scotch minister, as you once told me, what 
 good it will do you going to Oxford ? Sup- 
 posing you were to distinguish yourself, 
 which I think very possible ; supposing you 
 were to take a— a second-class, or even a 
 
78 
 
 first-class, for example, what would be the 
 good ? The reputation and the — the prestige 
 and that sort of thing would be altogether 
 lost in Scotland. All the upper classes, you 
 know, have gone from the old Kirk, and you 
 would not please the peasants a bit better for 
 being — indeed, the idea of an Oxford first- 
 class man spending his life preaching to a set 
 of peasants is absurd," said Sir Thomas. 
 " I know more about Scotland than most 
 men : I paid a great deal of attention to that 
 Kirk question. If you go to Oxford I shall 
 expect you to change your mind about your 
 profession. If you don't take to something 
 more ambitious, at least you'll go in for the 
 Church." 
 
 " I have always intended so," said Colin, 
 with his grand air, ignoring the baronet's 
 meaning. "To preach, if it is only to peas- 
 ants, is more worth a man's while than read- 
 ing prayers forever, like your curate here. 
 I am only Scotch ; I know no better," said 
 Colin. " We want changes in Scotland, it is 
 true ; but it is as good to work for Scotland 
 as for England — better for me — and I should 
 not grudge my first-class to the service of my 
 native Church," said the youth, with a 
 movement of his head which tossed his heavy 
 brown locks from the concealed forehead. 
 Sir Thomas looked at him with a blank 
 amazement, not knowing in the least what 
 he meant. He thought the young fellow 
 had been piqued somehow, most probably by 
 Matty, and was in a heroical mood, which 
 mood Colin's patron did not pretend to un- 
 derstand. 
 
 " Well, well," he said, with some impa- 
 tience, " I suppose you will take your own 
 way ; but I must say it would seem very odd 
 to see an Oxford first-class man in a queer 
 little kirk in the Highlands, preaching a ser- 
 mon an hour long. Of course, if you like it, 
 that's another matter ; and the Scotch cer- 
 tainly do seem to like preaching," said Sir 
 Thomas, with natural wonder; "but we 
 flattered ourselves you were comfortable 
 here. lam sorry you want to go away." 
 
 This was taking Colin on his undefended 
 side. The words brought color to his cheeks 
 and moisture to his eye. " Indeed, I don't 
 want to go away," he said, and paused and 
 faltered and grew still more deeply crimson. 
 " I can never forget ; I can never tliink oth- 
 erwise than with — with gratitude of Wodens- 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 bourne." He was going to have said ten- 
 derness, but stopped himself in time ; and 
 even Sir Thomas, though his eyes were no- 
 way anointed with any special chrism of in- 
 sight, saw the emotion in his face. 
 
 "Then don't go," said the straightfor- 
 ward baronet ; " why should you go if you 
 don't want to? We are all most anxious 
 that you should stay. Indeed, it would up- 
 set my plans dreadfully if you were to leave 
 Charley at present. He's a wonderful fel- 
 low, is Charley. He has twice as much 
 brains as the rest of my boys, sir ; and you 
 understand him, Campbell. He is happier, 
 he is stronger, he is even a better fellow, — 
 poor lad, when he's ill he can't be blamed 
 for a bit of temper, — since you came. In- 
 deed, now I think it over," said Sir Thomas, 
 " you will mortify and disappoint me very 
 much if you go away. I quite considered 
 you had accepted Charley's tutorship for a 
 year at least. My dear, here's a pretty busi- 
 ness," he said, turning round at the sound 
 of steps and voices, which Colin had already 
 discerned from afar with a feeling that he 
 was now finally vanquished, and could yield 
 with a good grace ; " here's Campbell threat- 
 ening to go away." 
 
 "To go away ! " said Lady Frankland. 
 " Dear me, he can't mean it. Why, he*nly 
 came the other day; and Charley, you know," 
 — said the anxious mother; but she recol- 
 lected Harry's objection to the tutor, and 
 did not make any very warm opposition. 
 Colin, however, was totally unconscious of 
 the lukewarmness of the lady of the house. 
 The little scream of dismay with which Miss 
 Matty received the intelligence might have 
 deluded a wiser man than he. 
 
 " Going away ! I call it downright treach- 
 ery," said Miss Matty. " I think it is using 
 you very unkindly, uncle ; when he knows 
 you put such dependence on him about Char- 
 ley, and when we know the house has been 
 quite a different thing since Mr. Campbell 
 came," said the little witch, with a double 
 meaning, of which Colin, poor boy, swal- 
 lowed the sweeter sense, without a moment's 
 hesitation. lie knew it was not the improve- 
 ment in Charley's temper which had made 
 the house different to Matty; but Lady 
 Frankland, who was not a woman of imag- 
 ination, took up seriously what seemed to be 
 the obvious meaning of the words. 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 79 
 
 " It 'is quite true. I am sure wc are much 
 obliged to Mr. Campbell," she said ; " Char- 
 ley is quite an altered boy ; and I had hoped 
 you were liking \Yodensbourne. If we could 
 do anything to make it more agreeable to 
 you," said Lady Frankland, graciously, re- 
 membering how Charley's " temper " was 
 the horror of the house. " I am sure Sir 
 Thomas would not grudge " — 
 
 '• Pray do not say any more," said Colin, 
 confused and blushing ; " no house could be 
 more — no hoa«e could be so agreeable to me. 
 You are all very kind. It was only my — my 
 own " — 
 
 What he was going to say is beyond the 
 reach of discovery. He was interrupted by 
 a simultaneous utterance from all the three 
 persons present, of which Colin heard only 
 the soft tones of Matty. " He does not mean 
 it," she said ; "he only means to alarm us. 
 I shall not say good-by, nor farewell either. 
 You shall have no good wishes if you think 
 of going away. False as a Campbell," said 
 the siren under her breath, with a look which 
 overpowered Colin. He never was quite ^re 
 what words followed from the elder people ; 
 but even Lady Frankland became fervent 
 when she recalled what Charley had been be- 
 fore the advent of the tutor. "What we 
 should do with him now, if Mr. Campbell 
 was to leave and the house full of people, I 
 tremble to think," said the alarmed mother. 
 When Colin returned to the house, it was 
 with a slightly flattered sense of his own 
 value and importance now to the young 
 man, — with a sense, too, that duty had fully 
 acquitted and justified inclination, and that 
 he could not at the present moment leave his 
 post. This delicious unction he laid to his 
 soul while it was still thrilling with the 
 glance and with the words which Matty, in 
 her alarm, had used to prevent her slave's 
 escape. Whatever haj^pened, he could not, 
 he would not, go ; better to perish with such 
 a hope than to thrive without it ; and, after 
 all, there was no need for perishing, and nest 
 year Oxford might still be practicable. So 
 Colin said to himself, as he made his simple 
 toilet for the evening, with a face which was 
 radiant with secret sunshine, "It was only 
 my — my own " — How had he intended to 
 complete that sentence which the Frank- 
 lands took out of his mouth ? Was he going 
 to say interest, advantage, peace? The un- 
 
 finished words came to his mind involunta- 
 rily when he was alone. They kept flitting 
 in and out, disturbing him with vague touches 
 of uneasiness, asking to be completed. " My 
 own — only my own," Colin said to himself 
 as he went down-stairs. He was saying over 
 the words softly as he came to a landing, 
 upon which there was a great blank stair- 
 case-window reaching down to the floor, and 
 darkly filled at this present moment with a 
 gray waste of sky and tumbling clouds, with 
 a wild wind visibly surging through the 
 vacant atmosphere, and conveying almost to 
 the eye in palpable vision an equal demon- 
 stration of its presence as it did to the ear. 
 
 " My own — only my own. I wonder what 
 you mean : the words sound quite sentimen- 
 tal," said Miss Matty, suddenly appearing at 
 Colin's side, with a light in her hand. The 
 young man was moved strangely; he could 
 not tell why. " I meant my own life, I be- 
 lieve," he said with a sudden impulse, un- 
 awares; "only my own life," and went 
 down the next flight of stairs before the 
 young lady, not knowing what he was about. 
 When he came to himself, and stood back, 
 blushing with hot shame, to let her pass, the 
 words came back in a dreary whirl, as if the 
 wind had taken them up and tossed them at 
 him, out of that wild windowful of night. 
 His life — only his life ; was that what he had 
 put in comparison with Charley's temper and 
 Matty's vanity, and given up with enthusi- 
 asm? Something chill, like a sudden cold 
 current through his veins, ran to Colin's heart 
 for a moment. Next minute he was in the 
 room, where bright lights, and lively talk, 
 and all the superficial cordiality of prosperity 
 and good-humor filled the atmosphere round 
 him. Whatever the stake had been, the cast 
 was over and the decision made. 
 
 CHAPTER xvin. 
 The Christmas guests began to arrive at 
 Wodensbourne on the same day that Colin 
 concluded this sacrifice ; and for some days 
 the tutor had scant measure of that society 
 which had lured him to the relinquishment 
 even of his "life." When the house was 
 full of people, Matty found a thousand oc- 
 cupations in which of necessity Colin had 
 no share, — not to say that the young lady 
 felt it a matter of prudence, after she 
 had accepted his sacrifice, to be as little 
 as possible in his society. It was pleas- 
 
80 
 
 ant enough to feel her power, and to know 
 that for her invaluable smile the boy had bar- 
 tered his independent career ; but to put him 
 in the vray of claiming any reward for his of- 
 fering would have been exceedingly incon- 
 venient to Matty. lie paid the full penalty 
 accordingly for at least a week thereafter, 
 and had abundant opportunity of counting 
 the cost and seeing what he had done. It 
 was not exhilarating to spend the mornings 
 with Charley, to answer his sharp questions, 
 to satisfy his acute but superficial mind, — in 
 which curiosity Avas everything, and thought 
 scarcely existed, — and to feel that for this 
 he had given up all that was individual in 
 his life. lie had left his own university ; he 
 had given up the chance of going to Oxford ; 
 he had separated himself from, his companions, 
 and given up his occupations — all for the 
 pleasure of teaching Charley, of standing in 
 a corner of the Wodensbournc drawing-room, 
 and feeling acutely through every fibre of 
 his sensitive Scotch frame that he was the 
 tutor, and stood accordingly in about as 
 much relationship to the society in which 
 he found himself as if he had been a New 
 Zealand chief. Colin, however, had made 
 up his mind, and there was nothing for it 
 now but to consent and accept his fate. But 
 it was astonishing how different things looked 
 from that corner of the drawing-room, un- 
 speakably different from the aspect they bore 
 when Colin himself was the only stranger 
 present, and even different from the state of 
 affairs after Harry came home, when the tu- 
 tor had been thrown into the shade, and a 
 fever of excitement and jealousy had taken pos- 
 session of Colin's breast. He was very young, 
 and was not used to society. When Matty 
 addressed to her cousin the same witcheries, 
 which she had expended on her worshipper, 
 the young man was profoundly wretched and 
 jealous beyond description. But when he 
 saw her use the same wiles with others, lav- 
 ishing freely the smiles which had been so 
 precious to his deluded fancy upon one and 
 another, a painful wonder seized the mind of 
 Colin. To stand in that corner possessed by 
 one object was to be behind the scenes. Co- 
 lin was mortal ; he had made a great sacri- 
 fice, and he was glad to have made it ; but 
 he could not forget it, nor stand at his case, 
 accepting the civilities that might be offered 
 him like another. At first he expected the 
 equivalent which he imagined had been 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 pledged to him, and when he found out hie 
 mistake in that, he discovered also how im- 
 possible it was to refrain from a feeling of 
 injury, a jealous consciousness of inadequate 
 appreciation. He himself knew, if nobody 
 else did, the price at which he had bouglit 
 those siren smiles, and under these circum- 
 stances to stand by and sec them bestowed 
 upon others, was an experience whicli con- 
 veyed wonderful insight to Colin's inexperi- 
 enced eyes. If ^liss Matty saw him at all, 
 she saw him in tlie corner, and gave him a 
 nod and a smile in passing, which she thought 
 quite enough to keep him happy for the time 
 being ; for, unluckily, the professors of this 
 art of fascination, both male and female, 
 are apt now and then to deceive themselves 
 in the extent of their own powers. While 
 Matty was so perfectly easy in her mind about 
 the tall figure in the corner, he, for his part, 
 was watciiing her with feelings which it 
 would be very hard to describe. His very 
 admiration, the sincerity of his love, intensi- 
 fied the smouldering germs of disappointment 
 anck disgust of which he became uneasily con- 
 scious as he stood and watched. He saw by 
 glimpses "the very heart of the machine" 
 from that unnoticed observatory. He saw 
 how she distributed and divided her bright 
 looks, her playful talk ; he perceived how 
 she exerted herself to be more and more 
 charming if any victim proved refractory and 
 was slow to yield. Had Colin been kept 
 
 I more perfectly in hand himself, had she de- 
 voted a little more time, a little more pains 
 to him, it is probable that the sweet flattery 
 
 ] would have prevailed, and that he might Iiave 
 forgiven her the too great readiness she 
 showed to please others. But, as it was, the 
 glamour died out of Colin's eyes, ray by ray, 
 
 ' and bitter in the consciousness of all he had 
 sacrificed, he began to find out how little the 
 reward, even could he have obtained it, was 
 
 I worth the price. The process was slow ; but 
 it went on night by night — and night by 
 night, as the disenchantment progressed, Co- 
 
 ' lin became more and more unhappy. It was 
 wretched to see the sweet illusion which had 
 made life so beautiful disappearing under 
 his very eyes and to feel that the enchant- 
 ment, which had to him been so irresistible, 
 was a conscious and studied art, which could 
 be used just when the possessor pleased, with 
 as much coolness as if it had been the art of 
 embroidery or any other feminine handicraft. 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 81 
 
 A wise spectator might, and probably would, 
 Lave said, that to learn this lesson was the 
 best thing possible for Colin ; but that did 
 not make it the less cruel, the less bitter. In 
 his corner the young man gradually drew 
 nearer and nearer to the fierce misanthropy 
 of outraged youth, that misanthropy which 
 is as warm a protest against common worldli- 
 ness as the first enthusiasin. But his heart 
 was not yet released, though his eyes were 
 becoming enlightened, — reason works slowly 
 against love, — and bitter at the bottom of all 
 lay the sense of the sacrifice, which was only 
 his life. 
 
 A few days after Christmas, a party of the 
 young men staying at Wodensbourne were 
 bound upon a boating expedition, to decide 
 some bet which bore remotely upon one of 
 the greatest events of the university year, — 
 the great match between Oxford and Cam- 
 bridge. Harry Frankland, who was an Ox- 
 ford man, though the spires of Cambridge 
 might almost have been visible from his 
 father's park, had there been any eminence 
 high enough to afford a view, was deeply in- 
 terested on the side of his own university ; 
 and some unfortunate youths, belated at Cam- 
 bridge during the holidays for want of friends, 
 or money, or some other needful adjunct of 
 festival-keeping, were but too glad to seize 
 the opportunity of a day's pleasure. Colin 
 never knew how it was that he came to be 
 asked to join the party. Though Harry's 
 jealousy was gone, for the moment at least, 
 there was not even a pretence of friendship 
 between the tutor and the heir. Nor could 
 Colin ever explain how it was that he con- 
 sented to go , for scores of objections naturally 
 presented themselves at the first proposal. 
 He was sensitive, affronted, feeling deeply 
 his false position, and ready to receive with 
 suspicion any overtures of friendliness from 
 any man possessed by a benevolent wish to be 
 kind to the tutor. It was, however, his fate 
 to go, and the preliminaries arranged them- 
 selves somehow. 
 
 They started on a frosty bright morning, 
 when the trees of the park were still only 
 emerging from mists tinted red by the sun- 
 shine, a joyous, rather noisy party ; they 
 were to walk to the river, which was about 
 sis miles off, and, when their business was 
 decided, to lunch at a favorite haunt of the 
 Cambridge undergraduates. Lady Frank- 
 land, who did not much approve of the expe- 
 
 dition, gave them many counsels about the 
 way. " I wish you would drive and get 
 back by daylight," she said; "otherwise I 
 know you will be taking that path across the 
 fields," 
 
 " "What path? " said some one present ; 
 " if there is one specially objectionable, we 
 will be sure to take it." 
 
 " I would not if I were you," said Miss 
 Matty. " There is a nasty canal in the way ; 
 if you pass it after it is dark, some of you 
 will certainly fall in. It would be a pity to 
 be drowned in such a slimy, shabby way. 
 Much better have all sorts of dog-carts and 
 things, and drive back in time for a cup of 
 tea." 
 
 At which speech there was a general laugh . 
 "Matty would give her soul for a cup of 
 tea," said her cousin. " What a precious 
 fright you'll all be in if we're late for din- 
 ner. I ought to know all about the canal by 
 this time. Come along. It's too cold to 
 think of drowning," said Harry Frankland, 
 with a filial nod of leave-taking to his mother. 
 As for IMatty, she went to the door with them 
 to see them go off, as did some others of the 
 ladies. Matty lifted her pretty cloak side- 
 ways and stretched out her hand into the 
 frosty atmosphere as if to feel for rain. 
 
 " I thought I saw some drops," she said ; 
 " it would be frightful if it came on to rain 
 now, and spoiled our chances of skating. 
 Good-morning, and, whatever you do, I beg 
 of you don't get drowned in the canal. It 
 would be such a shabby way of making an 
 end of one's self," said Matty. When she 
 looked up, she caught Colin's eye, who was 
 the last to leave the house. She was in the 
 humor to be kind to him at that moment. 
 " Shall I say good-by or farewell? " she said, 
 softly, with that look of special confidence 
 which Colin, notwithstanding his new en- 
 lightenment, had no heart to resist. 
 
 "You shall say what you please," said 
 Colin, lingering on the step beside her. The 
 young man was in a kind of desperate mood. 
 Perhaps he liked to show his companions that 
 he, too, could have his turn. 
 
 " Good-by — farewell," said Matty, " but 
 then that implies shaking hands ; ' ' and she 
 gave him her pretty hand with a little laugh, 
 making it appear to the group outside that 
 the clownish tutor had insisted upon that 
 unnecessary ceremony. " But whatever you 
 please to say, I like au revoir best," said Miss 
 
82 
 
 A SON OF* THE SOIL. 
 
 Matty; " it does not even suggest parting." 
 And she waved lier hand as she turned away. 
 *' Till we meet again," said the little en- 
 chantress. It might be to him especially, or 
 it might he to all, that she made this little 
 gesture of farewell . Anyhow , Colin followed 
 the others with indescribable sensations. He 
 no longer believed in her ; but her presence, 
 her looks, her words, had still mastery over 
 him. He had walked half the way before 
 the fumes of that leave-taking had gone out 
 of his brain, though most part of the time 
 he was keeping up a conversation about 
 things in general with the stupidest of the 
 party, who kept pertinaciously by the tutor's 
 side. 
 
 The day went off with considerable satis- 
 faction to all the party, and, as Colin and 
 Frankland did not come much in contact, 
 there was little opportunity for displaying 
 the spirit of opposition and contradiction 
 which existed between them. Fortunately, 
 Colin was not at hand to hear Harry's stric- 
 tures upon his method of handling the oats, 
 nor did Frankland perceive the smile of con- 
 temptuous recollection which came upon the 
 tutor's face as he observed how tenderly the 
 heir of TVodensbourne stepped into the boat, 
 keeping clear of the wet as of old. " That 
 fellow has not a bit of science," said young 
 Frankland ; " he expects mere strength to 
 do everything. Look how he holds his oar. 
 It never occurs to him that he is in anything 
 lighter than a Highland fishing-cobble. What 
 on earth, I wonder, made us bring him 
 here? " 
 
 " Science goes a great way," said the most 
 skilled oarsman of the party ; " but I'd like 
 to have the training of Campbell all the 
 same. He talks of going to Balliol, and I 
 shall write to Cox about him." 
 
 " What a chest the fellow has," said the 
 admiring spectators. Meanwhile Colin had 
 not hesitated to explain his smile. 
 
 *' I smile because I recollect smiling years 
 ago," said Colin. " See how Frankland steps 
 into the boat. When he was a boy he did 
 the same. I remember it, and it amused 
 me ; for wet feet were a new idea to me in 
 those days;" and Colin laughed outright, 
 and the eyes of the two met. Neither knew 
 what the other had been saytng ; but the spec- 
 tators perceived without more words that the 
 young men -svere not perfectly safe compan- 
 
 ions for each other, and took precautions, 
 with instinctive comprehension of the case. 
 
 " These two don't get on," said one of the 
 party, under his breath. "It is hard upon 
 a fellow, you know, to have another fellow 
 stuck at his side who saved his life, and that 
 sort of thing. I shouldn't like it myself. 
 Somebody keep an eye on Frankland — and 
 on the Scotch fellow, too," said the impar- 
 tial peacemaker. Luckily, neither of the 
 two who were thus put under friendly sur- 
 veillance was at all aware of the fact, and 
 Colin submitted, with as good a grace as pos- 
 sible, to the constant companionship of the 
 stupidest and best-humored of the party, 
 who had already bestowed his attentions and 
 society upon the tutor. This state of things, 
 however, did not endure after the lunch, a1 
 which it was not possible for Colin to remain 
 a merely humble spectator and sharer of the 
 young men's entertainment. He had not 
 been broken in to such duty ; and, excited by 
 exercise and the freedom round him, Colin 
 could no more help talking than he could 
 help the subsequent discovery made by his 
 companions that " the Scotch fellow" was 
 very good company. The young men spent 
 — as was to be expected — a much longer 
 time over their lunch than was at all neces- 
 sary ; and the short winter day was just over 
 when they set out on their way home through 
 the evening mists, which soon deepened into 
 darkness, very faintly lighted by a few doubt- 
 ful stars. Everybody declared, it is true, 
 that there was to be a moon ; indeed, it t\d8 
 with the distinct understanding that there 
 was to be a moon that the party had started 
 walking from Wodensbourne. But the moon 
 showed herself lamentably indifferent to the 
 arrangements which depended on her. She 
 gave not the least sign of appearing anywhere 
 in that vast, windy vault of sky, which in- 
 deed had a little light in itself, but could 
 spare scarcely any to show the wayfarers 
 where they were going through the dreary 
 wintry road and between the rustling leafless 
 hedges. When they got into the fields, mat- 
 ters grew rather worse. It was hard to keep 
 the path, harder still to find the stiles and 
 Bteer through gaps and ditches. The high- 
 road made a round which would lead them 
 three or four miles out of their way, and 
 Frankland insisted upon his own perfect 
 knowledge of the by-way by which they 
 could reach Wodensbourne in an hour. 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 83 
 
 " Mind the canal we were warned of this 
 morning," suggested one of the party, as 
 they paused in the dark at the corner of a 
 black field to decide which way they should 
 go. " Oh, confound the canal ; as if I didn't 
 know every step of the way ; ' ' said young 
 Frankland. " It's a settled principle in the 
 female mind that one is bent upon walking 
 into canals whenever one has an opportunity. 
 Come along ; if you're afraid, perhaps Camp- 
 bell will show you the other way." 
 
 " Certainly," said Colin, without the least 
 hesitation. *' I have no wisli to walk into 
 the canal, for my part ; " upon which there 
 was a universal protest against parting com- 
 pany. " Come along," said one, who thrust 
 his arm through Colin's as he spoke, but 
 who was no longer the stupid member of the 
 party, " we'll all take our chance together ;" 
 but he kept the tutor as far as possible fi-om 
 the line of Wodensbourne. " Frankland and 
 you don't seem to get on," said Colin's 
 companion; "yet he's a very nice fellow 
 when you come to know him. I suppose you 
 must have had some misunderstanding, eh ? 
 Wasn't it you who saved his life ? " 
 
 " I never saved any one's life," said Colin, 
 a little sharply ; " and we get on well enough 
 — as well as is necessary. We have no call 
 to see much of each other." After this they 
 all went on through the dark as well as they 
 could, getting into difficulties now and then, 
 sometimes collecting together in a bewildered 
 group at a stile or turning, and afterward 
 streaming on in single file — a succession of 
 black figures which it was impossible to iden- 
 tify except by the voices. Certainly they 
 made noise enough. What with shouts from 
 the beginning to the end of the file, what 
 with bursts of song which came occasionally 
 from one or another or even taken up in up- 
 roarious chorus, the profound stillness which 
 enveloped and surrounded them was com- 
 pelled to own their human presence to the 
 ear at least. In the natural course of their 
 progress, Colin and his immediate companion 
 had got nearly to the front, when the laugh- 
 ter and noise was suddenly interrupted. " I 
 don't quite see where we are going," said 
 Harry. "Stop a bit ; I shouldn't mind go- 
 ing on myself, but I don't want to risk you 
 fellows who are frightened for canals. Look 
 here ; the road ought to have gone on at this 
 corner, but here's nothing but a hedge. 
 Keep where you are till I look out. There's 
 
 a light over there, but I can't tell what's be- 
 tween. 
 
 " Perhaps it's the canal," said some one 
 behind. 
 
 " Oh, yes, of course it's the canal," said 
 Frankland, with irritation. " You stand 
 back till I try ; if I fall in, it's my own fault, 
 which will be a consolation to my friends," 
 cried the angry guide. He started forward 
 impatiently, not, however, without being 
 closely followed by two or three, among 
 whom was Colin. 
 
 " Don't be foolish, Frankland," said one 
 voice in the darkness ; "let us all go together 
 — let us be cautious. I feel something like 
 gravel under my feet. Steady, steady ; feel 
 with your foot before you putitdown. Oh ! 
 good heavens, what is it ? " The voice broke 
 off abruptly ; a loud splash and a cry ensued, 
 and the young men behind saw the figures 
 in advance of them suddenly drop and dis- 
 appear. It was the canal, upon which they 
 had been making unawares. Two out of the 
 four had only stumbled on the bank, and rose 
 up again immediately ; and as those behind, 
 afraid to press forward,- not knowing what to 
 do, stood appalled, another and another figure 
 scrambled up with difficulty, calling for help 
 out of the water, into which they had not, 
 however plunged deeply enough to peril their 
 lives. Then there was a terrible momentary 
 pause. 
 
 ' ' Are we all here ? " said Colin . His voice 
 sounded like a funaral bell pealing through 
 the darkness. He knew they were not all 
 there. He, with his keen eyes, rendered 
 keener by opposition and enmity, had seen 
 beyond mistake that the first of all went down 
 and had not risen again. The consciousness 
 made his voice tragic as it ran through the 
 darkness. Somebody shouted, "Yes, yes, 
 thank God ! " in reply. It was only a second, 
 but years of life rolled up upon Colin in that 
 moment of time, — years of most troublous 
 existence behind ; years of fair life before. 
 Should he let him die? It was not his fault ; 
 nobody could blame him. And what right 
 had he to risk his life a second time for 
 Harry Frankland? All that a murderer, all 
 that a martyr could feel rushed through Co- 
 lin's mind in that instant of horrible indecis- 
 ion. Then somebody said, "Frankland, 
 Frankland! where is Frankland?" That 
 voice was the touch of fate. With a strange 
 shout, of which he was unconscious, Colin 
 
84 
 
 plunged into the black invisible stream. By 
 this time the others of the party saw with 
 unspeakable relief lights approaching, and 
 heard through the darkness voices of men 
 coming to their assistance. They were close 
 by one of the locks of the canal ; and it was 
 the keeper of it, not unused to such accidents, 
 who came hurrying to give what help was 
 possible. His lantern and some torches which 
 the anxious young men managed to light, 
 threw a wild illumination over the muddy, 
 motionless stream, in which two of their num- , 
 ber, lately as gay and light-hearted as any, 
 were now struggling for their life. The 
 same light flared horribly over the two mo- 
 tionless figures, which, after an interval which | 
 seemed like years to the bystanders, were at 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 length brought out of the blackness ; one of 
 them still retaining strength and conscious- 
 ness to drag the other with him up the stony 
 margin before his senses failed. They lay 
 silent both, with pallid faces, upon tho hard 
 path ; one as like death as the other, with a 
 kind of stony, ghostly resemblance in their 
 white insensibility, except that there was 
 blood on the lips of one, who must have 
 struck, the lockman said, upon some part of 
 the lock. They were carried into the cot- 
 tage, and hurried messengers sent to the 
 nearest doctor and to Wodcnsbourne. Mean- 
 while the two lay together, pallid and mo- 
 tionless, nobody knowing which was living 
 and which dead. 
 
 ^ 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 PART Til. — CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Colin never ascertained what were the 
 events immediately succeeding his plunge in- 
 to the canal ; all he could recall dimly of 
 that strange crisis in his life was a sense of 
 slow motion in which he himself was passive, 
 and of looking up at the stars in a dark-blue, 
 frosty, winterly sky, with a vague wonder in 
 his mind how it was that he saw them so 
 clearly, and whether it was they or he that 
 moved. Afterwards, when his mind became 
 clear, it grew apparent to him that he must 
 have opened his eyes for a moment while he 
 was being carried home ; but there inter- 
 vened a period during which he heard noth- 
 ing distinctly, and in which the only clear 
 point to him was this gleam of starlight, and 
 this accompanying sense of motion, which 
 perplexed' his faculties in his- weakness. 
 While he lay feverish and unconscious, he 
 kept repeating, to the amazement of the by- 
 standers, two stray lines which had no ap- 
 parent connection with any of the circum- 
 stances surrounding him. 
 
 " Each with its little space of sky, 
 And little lot of stars," 
 
 poor Colin said to himself over and over, 
 without knowing it. It liad been only for a 
 moment that he opened his eyes out of the 
 torpor which was all but death ; but that mo- 
 ment was enough to color all the wanderings 
 of his mind while still the weakness of the 
 body dominated and overpowered it. Like 
 a pietui-e or a dream, he kept in his recol- 
 lection the sharp, frosty glimmer, the cold 
 twinkling of those passionless, distant lights, 
 and with it a sense of rushing air and univer- 
 sal chill, and a sound and sense of wending 
 his way between rustling hedges, though all 
 the while he was immovable. That feeling 
 remained with him till he woke from a long 
 sleep one afternoon when the twilight was 
 setting in, and found himself in a room 
 which was not his own room, lying in a 
 great bed hung with crimson curtains, which 
 were made still more crimson by a ruddy 
 glow of firelight, which flashed reflections 
 out of the great mirror opposite the end of 
 the bed. Colin lay awhile in a pause of 
 wonder and admiration when he woke. The 
 starlight went out of his eyes and the chill 
 out of his frame, and a certain sense of lan- 
 guid comfort came over him. When he 
 said, "Where am I?" faintly, in a voice 
 
 85 
 
 which he could scarcely recognize for his own, 
 two woman rose hastily and approached him. 
 One of these was Jliady Frankland, the other 
 a nurse. While the attendant hurried for- 
 ward to see if he wanted anything, Lady 
 Frankland took his hand and pressed it 
 warmly in both hers, " You shall hear all' 
 about it to-morrow," she said, with the tears 
 in her eyes; "now you will do well; but 
 you must not exert yourself to-night. We 
 have all been so anxious about you. Hush, 
 hush ! You must take this ; you must not 
 ask any more questions to-night." What 
 he had to take was some warm jelly, of 
 which he swallowed a little, with wonder and 
 difficulty. lie did not understand what had 
 befallen, or how he had been reduced to this 
 invalid condition. " Hush, hush ! you must 
 not ask any questions to-night," said Lady 
 Frankland ; and she went to the door as if 
 to leave the room, and then came back again 
 and bent over Colin and kissed his forehead, 
 with her eyes shining through tears. " God 
 bless you and reward you ! " she said, smil- 
 ing and crying over him; "you will do 
 well now ; you have a mother's blessing and 
 a mother's prayers ; " and with these strange 
 words she went away hastily, as if not trust- 
 ing herself to say more. Colin lay back on^ 
 his pillow with his mind full of wonder, and, 
 catching at the clew she had given him, made 
 desperate, feeble efforts to piece it out, and 
 get back again into his life. He found it so 
 hard fighting through that moment of star- 
 light which still haunted him that he had to 
 go to sleep upon it, but by and by woke up 
 again when all was silent, — when the light 
 was shaded, and the nurse reclining in an 
 easy-chair, and everything betokened night, — 
 and lying awake for an hour or two, at last be- 
 gan to gather himself up, and recollect what 
 had happened. He had almost leaped from 
 his bed when he recalled the scene by the ca- 
 nal, — his conviction, that Frankland had gone 
 down, his own desperate plunge. But Colin 
 was past leaping from his bed, for that time 
 at least. He followed out this recollection, 
 painfully trying to think what had occurred. 
 AVas Harry Frankland alive or dead ? Had 
 he himself paused too long on the brink, 
 and was the heir of Wodensbourne gone out 
 of all his privileges and superiorities? That 
 was the interpretation that appeared most 
 likely to Colin. It seemed to him to explain 
 Lady Frankland 's tears and pathos of grati- 
 
86 
 
 tude. The tutor had euffercd in his attempt 
 to save the son, and the parents, moved by 
 the tenderness of grief, ware thankful for his 
 ineffectual efforts. xVs he lay awake in the 
 silence, it appeared to him that this was the 
 explanation, and he, too, thought with a cer- 
 tain pathos and compunction of Harry, — his 
 instinctive rival, his natural opponent. "Was 
 it thus .he had fallen, so near the begin- 
 ning of the way, — snatched out of the life 
 which had so many chai-cis, so many advan- 
 tages for him? As Colin lay alone in the 
 silence, his thoughts went out to that un- 
 known life into which he could not but 
 imagine the other young man, who was yes- 
 terday — was it yesterday? — as strong and 
 lifelike as himself, had passed so suddenly. 
 Life had never seemed so fair, so bright, so 
 hop3ful to himself as while he thus followed 
 with wistful eyes the imaginary path of Har- 
 ry into the unknown awe and darkness. 
 The thought touched him deeply, profoundly, 
 with wistful pity, with wonder and inquiry. 
 Where was he now, this youth who had so 
 lately been by his side? Had he found out 
 those problems that trouble men for their life 
 long? Had existence grown already clear 
 and intelligible to the eyes which in this 
 world had cared but little to investigate its 
 mysteries ? 
 
 "While Colin 's mind was thus occupied, it 
 occurred to him suddenly to wonder why he 
 himself was so ill and so feeble. He had 
 no inclination to get up from the bed on 
 which he lay. Sometimes he coughed, and 
 the cough pained him ; his very breathing 
 was a fatigue to him now and then. As he 
 lay pondering this new thought, curious 
 half-recollections, as of things that had hap- 
 pened in a dream, came into Colin's mind ; 
 visions of doctors examining some one, — he 
 scarcely knew whether it was himself or an- 
 other, — and of conversations that had been 
 held over his bed. As he struggled through 
 these confusing mazes of recollection or im- 
 agination, his head began to ache and his 
 heart to beat ; and finally his uneasy move- 
 ments woke the nurse, who was alarmed, and 
 would not listen to any of the questions he 
 addressed to her. 
 
 " My lady told you as you'd hear every- 
 thing to-morrow," said Colin's attendant ; 
 " for goodness gracious' sake, take your 
 draught, do, and lie still; and don't go a- 
 moidering and a-bothering, and take away a 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 poor woman's character, as was never known 
 to fall asleep before, nor wouldn't but for 
 thinking you was better and didn't want 
 nothing." It was strange to the vigorous 
 young man, who had never been in the hands 
 of a nurse in his life, to feel himself con- 
 strained to obey, — to feel, indeed, that he 
 had no power to resist, but was reduced to 
 utter humiliation and dependence, he could 
 not tell how. He fell asleep afterward, and 
 dreamed of Harry Frankland drowning, and 
 of himself going down, down through the 
 muddy, black water — always down, in giddy 
 circles of descent, as if it were bottomless. 
 "\^'hen he awoke again, it was morning, and 
 his attendant was putting his room to right^, 
 and disposed to regard himself with more 
 friendly eyes. " Don't you go disturbing of 
 yourself, " said the nurse, " and persuad- 
 ing of the doctor as you aint no better. 
 You're a deal better, if he did but know it. 
 "What's come to you ? It's all along of fall- 
 ing in the canal that night along of Mr. 
 Harry. If you takes care and don't get no 
 more cold, you'll do well." 
 
 " Along with Mr. Harry — poor Harry ! — 
 and he" — said Colin. His own voice 
 sounded very sti'ange to him, thin and far-off, 
 like a shadow of its former self. When he 
 asked this question, the profoundest wistful 
 pity filled the young man's heart. He was 
 sorry to the depths of his soul for the other 
 life which had, he supposed, gone out in 
 darkness. " Poor Frankland ! " he repeated 
 to himself, with an action of mournful regret. 
 He had been saved, and the other lost. So 
 he thought, and the thought went to his 
 heart. 
 
 "Mr. Harry was saved, sir, when you was 
 drownded," said the nurse, who was totally 
 unconscious of Colin's feelings; "he's fine 
 and hearty again, is Mr. Harry. Bless you, 
 a ducking aint nothing to him. As for you," 
 continued the woman, going calmly about her 
 occupations, — " they say it wasn't the drown- 
 ing, it was the striking against " — 
 
 " I understand," said Colin. He stopped 
 her further explanations with a curious 
 sharpness which he was not responsible for, 
 at which he himself wondered. "Was not he 
 glad that Harry Frankland lived ? But then, 
 to be sure, there came upon him the everlast- 
 ing contrast, — the good fortune and unfiling 
 luck of his rival, who was well and hearty, 
 while Colin, who would have been in no dan- 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 ger but for him, lay helpless in bed ! He 
 began to chafe at himself, as he lay, angry 
 and helpless, submitting to the nurse's at- 
 tentions. What a poor weakling anybody 
 must think him, to fall ill of the ducking 
 •which had done no harm to Harry ! He felt 
 ridiculous, contemptible, weak, — which was 
 the worst of all, — thinking with impatience 
 of the thanks, which, presently. Lady Frank- 
 land would come to pay him, and the renew- 
 ed obligations of which the family would be 
 conscious. If he only could get up, and get 
 back to his own room ! But, when he made 
 the attempt, Colin was glad enough to fall 
 back again upon his pillows, wondering and 
 dismayed. Harry was well, and had taken 
 no harm ; what could be the meaning of his 
 sudden, iinlooked-for weakness? 
 
 Lady Frankland came into the room, as he 
 had foreseen, while it was still little more 
 than daylight of the winter morning. She 
 had always been kind to Colin, — indifferent- 
 ly, amiably kind, for the most part, with a 
 goodness which bore no particular reference 
 to him, but sprung from her own disposition 
 solely. This time there was a change. She 
 sat down by his side with nervous, wistful 
 looks, with an anxious, almost frightened 
 expression. She asked him how he was, with 
 a kind of tremulous tenderness, and question- 
 ed the nurse as to how he had slept. " I am 
 80 glad to hear you have had a refreshing 
 sleep," she said, with an anxious smile, and 
 even laid her soft white hand upon Colin's, 
 and caressed it as his own mother might 
 have done, while she questioned his face, his 
 aspect, his looks, with the speechless scrutiny 
 of an anxious woman. Somehow, these 
 looks, which were so solicitous and wistful, 
 made Colin more impatient than ever. 
 
 ' ' I am at a loss to understand why I am 
 lying here," he said, with a forced smile ; 
 " I used to think I could stand a ducking as 
 well as most people. It is humiliating to 
 find myself laid up like a child, by a touch 
 of cold water ' ' — 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Campbell, pray don't say so ! " 
 said Lady Frankland ; "it was not the cold 
 water; you know you struck against — Oh, 
 how can we thank you enough ! — how can I 
 even now express my gratitude ! " said the 
 poor lady, grasping his hands in both hers, 
 her eyes filling unawares with tears. 
 
 " There is no need for gratitude," said 
 
 87 
 
 Colin , drawing away his hand with an impa- 
 tience that he could not have explained. " I 
 am sorry to find myself such a poor creature 
 that I have to be nursed, and give you trou- 
 ble. Your son is all right, I hear." Thig 
 he said with an effort at friendliness, which 
 cost him some trouble. He scorned .to seem 
 to envy the young favorite of fortune ; but, 
 it was annoying to feel that the strength he 
 was secretly proud of had given way at 
 so slight a trial. He turned his face a little 
 more towards the wall, and away from Har- 
 ry's mother, as he spoke. 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Lady Frankland, " he is 
 quite weU, and he is very, very grateful to 
 you, dear Mr. Campbell. Believe me, we 
 are all very grateful. Harry is so shy, and 
 he has never once had an opportunity to 
 pay you that — that attention which you de- 
 serve at his hands, and it showed such noble 
 and disinterested regard on your part ' ' — 
 
 " Pray, don't say so," said Colin, abrupt- 
 ly ; "you make me uncomfortable; there 
 was no regard whatever in the case." 
 
 " Ah, yes ! you say so to lighten our sense 
 of obligation , ' ' said Lady Frankland . " It is 
 so good, so kind of you ! And when I think 
 what it has made you suffer, — but I am sure 
 you will believe that there is nothing we 
 would not do to show our gratitude. If you 
 were our own son, neither Sir Thomas nor I 
 could be more anxious. "We have sent for 
 Sir Apsley "Wen down, and I hope he will ar- 
 rive to-day ; and we have sent for your dear 
 mother, Mr. Campbell." 
 
 "My mother?" said Colin. He was so 
 much startled that he raised himself up on 
 his pillows without thinking, and as he did 
 so, was seized by a horrible pain which took 
 away his bi'eath. " Sir Apsley Wendown 
 and my mother? What does it mean? " the 
 young man said, gasping, as he managed to 
 slide dovm again into his former recumbent 
 position. "Am I ill ? or does all this commo- 
 tion arise simply from an unlooked-for duck- 
 ing, and a knock against the side of the ca- 
 nal ? " He got this out with difficulty, though 
 he strode with all his might to conceal the 
 trouble it gave him ; then he turned his 
 eyes to Lady Frankland, who sat wringing 
 her hands, and full of agitation by his bed- 
 side. The poor lady had altogether lost her 
 good-natured and amiable composure . What- 
 ever she had to say to him, — whatever the 
 
88 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 character of th« communication might be, 
 disturbed her greatly. She wrung her hands, 
 gave a painful, hurried glance at him, and 
 then withdrew her eyes from his inquiring 
 looks. All this time, Colin lay impatient, 
 looking at her, wondering, with a sharp sen- 
 sation of anger, what she could have to say. 
 
 " Dear Mr. Campbell," she said at length, 
 ■' you are ill ; you have been wandering and 
 insensible. Oh, it is hard to think you are 
 suffering for your goodness, — suffering for us ! 
 We could not trust you to our doctor here 
 after we knew ; we thought it best to have 
 the best advice, and we thought you would 
 prefer to have your mother. I would have 
 nursed you myself and tended you night and 
 day," said Lady Frankland, with enthusi- 
 asm ; "I owe you that and a great deal 
 more, — you who have saved my dear boy." 
 
 "What is the matter with me ?" said Colin. 
 It appeared to him as if a great cloud was 
 rolling up over the sky, throwing upon him a 
 strange and ominous shadow. He scarcely 
 heard what she said. He did not pay any 
 attention to her. What was Henry Frank- 
 land's mother to him, or her thanks, or the 
 things she was willing to do to show her 
 gratitude ? He wanted to know why he was 
 lying there powerless, unable to move him- 
 self. That was the first thing to be thought 
 of. As for Lady Frankland, she wrung her 
 hands again, and hesitated more and more. 
 
 " I hope God will reward you!" said the 
 agitated woman ; " I would give everything 
 I have in the world to see you well and 
 strong as you were when you came here. 
 Oh, Mr. Campbell, if you only could know 
 the feeling that is in all our hearts ! " It 
 was her kindness, her rekictance to give him 
 pain, her unfeigned distress, that made her 
 prolong Colin's suspense, and drive him fran- 
 tic with these exasperating professions of re- 
 gard, for which, true as they doubtlci-s were, 
 he did not care. 
 
 " I suppose I've broken some of my 
 bones," said Colin ; " it would be real kind- 
 ness if you would tell me what is the matter. 
 Will it take a long time to mend E|^e ? I 
 should be glad to know, at least, what it is." 
 
 Impelled by his looks and his tone, Lady 
 Frankland burst into her statement at last. 
 " You have broken some of your ribs," she 
 said ; " but I don't think that is of so much 
 importance ; Sir Apslcy, when he comes, will 
 tell us. He is coming to-day and you are 
 
 looking so much better. It was old Mr. 
 Eyre who gave us such a fright yesterday. 
 He said your lungs had been injured some- 
 how, and that you might never — that it might 
 be a long time — that it might keep you del- 
 icate ; but even if that were the case, with 
 care and a warm climate — oh, Mr. Campbell ! 
 I think he is mistaken ; he is always such a 
 croaker. I tliink — I hope — I am almost sure 
 Sir Apsley will set you all right." 
 : Again Colin had risen in his bed with a 
 ' little start. This time he was scarcely sensi- 
 ble of the pain which every motion caused 
 him. He fancied afterwards that for that 
 moment his heart stood still in his bosom, 
 and the pulses in his veins stopped beating. 
 The shock was so strange, so sudden, so un- 
 lookcd for. He sat up— struggled up — upon 
 ' his pillows, and instinctively and unawares 
 ' faced and confronted the new Thing which 
 approached him. In that moment of strange 
 consciousness and revelation he felt that the 
 ' intimation was true, — that his doom was 
 sealed and his days numbered. He did not 
 look at the anxious woman who v'as wring- 
 ' ing her hands by his bedside, nor at any ex- 
 : tcrnal object ; but with an irresistible im- 
 ! pulse confronted dumbly the new world, — the 
 I changed existence. When he laid himself 
 I down again, it seemed to Colin as if years 
 I had passed over his head. He said some 
 j vague words of thanks, without being very 
 ! well aware what he was saying, to Lady 
 I Frankland, and then lay silent, stunned, and 
 bewildered, like a man who had received a 
 i blow. What she said to him afterward, or 
 j how long she remained in the room, he was 
 scarcely aware of. Colin belonged to a race 
 which had no weak members ; he had been 
 used to nothing but strength and health — 
 wholesome rural life and vigor — all his days. 
 He had even learned, without knowing it, to 
 take a certain pride in his own physical gifts, 
 and in those of his family, and to look with 
 compassionate contempt on people who were 
 " delicate " and obliged to take care of them- 
 selves. The idea that such a fotc might by 
 any possibility fall to himself had never once 
 occurred to him. It was an impossible con- 
 tingency at which, even a week ago, the 
 strong young man, just entering upon tin- 
 full possession of his powers, would have 
 laughed, as beyond the range of imagina- 
 tion. He might die, no doubt, like any 
 otlier man, — might be snatched out of the 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 89 , 
 
 ■world by violent disease or sudden fever, as 
 other strong men had been ; but to have his 
 strength stolen from him while still his life 
 remained had appeared a thing beyond the 
 bounds of possibility to Colin. As he lay 
 now, stunned by this unlooked-for fall, there 
 came before his eyes, as vividly as if he saw 
 them in actual presence, the sick people of 
 his native district, — the young men and the 
 young women who now and then paid, even 
 on the sweet shores of the Holy Loch, the 
 terrible toll which consumption takes of all 
 the nations of the north. One of them, a 
 young man about his own age, who, like him- 
 self, had been in training for the Scotch 
 Church, whom Colin had pitied with all his 
 kind heart, — with the deepest half-remorseful 
 sense of his own superior happiness, — came 
 before him with intense distinctness as he lay 
 silent-struck by the cold shadow of fate. He 
 could almost have thought that he saw the 
 spectral, attenuated form, with its hectic 
 cheeks, its thin, long, wasted hands, its pre- 
 ternatural length of limb, seated in the old, 
 high-backed easy-chair which harmonized 
 well enough with the other articles in the 
 farmhouse parlor, but would have been 
 oddly out of place in the room where Colin 
 lay. All the invalid's life appeared to him 
 in a sudden flash of recollection, — the kindly 
 neighbors' visits ; the books and j^apers which 
 were lent him ; the soup and jellifis which 
 the minister's wife and the other ladies of 
 the parish, few in number as they were, kept 
 him provided with. Colin could even re- 
 member his own periodical visits ; his efforts 
 to think what would interest the sick man ; 
 his pity and wonder and almost contempt 
 for the patience which could endure, and 
 even take a pleasure in, the poor comforts of 
 the fading life. God help him ! was this 
 what he himself was coming to ? was this all 
 he had to anticipate? Colin 's heart gave a 
 strange leap in his breast at the thought. A 
 sudden wild throb, a sense of something in- 
 tolerable, a cry against the fate which was 
 too hard, which could not be borne, rose 
 within him, and produced a momentary 
 sickness, which took the light out of his 
 eyes, and made everything swim round him 
 in a kind of dizzy gloom. Had he been 
 standing, he would have fallen down, and the 
 bystanders would have said he had fainted. 
 But he had not fainted ; he was bitterly, 
 painfully conscious of everything. It was 
 
 only his heart that fluttered in his breasf 
 like a wounded bird ; it was only his mind 
 that had been struck, and reeled. So much 
 absorbed was he that he did not hear the 
 voice of the nurse, who brought him some 
 invalid nourishment, and who became fright- 
 ened when she got no answer, and shook him 
 violently by the arm. " Lord bless us, he's 
 gone ! " exclaimed the woman ; and she was 
 but little reassured when her patient turned 
 upon her with dry lips and a glittering eye. 
 " I am not gone yet," said Colin ; " there is 
 no such luck for me ; " and then he began 
 once more to picture out to himself the sick 
 man at the Holy Loch, with the little tray 
 on the table beside him, and his little basin 
 of soup. God help him ! was this how he 
 was to be for all the rest of his life ? 
 
 This was how he sustained the first physi- 
 cal shock of the intimation which poor Lady 
 Frankland had made to him with so much 
 distress and compunction. It is hard enough 
 at any time to receive a sentence of death ; 
 yet Colin could have died bravely, had that 
 been all that was required of him. It was 
 the life in death thus suddenly presented be- 
 fore his eyes that appalled his soul and made 
 his heart sick. And after that. Heaven 
 knows, there were other considerations still 
 more hard to encounter. If we were to say, 
 that the young man thus stopped short in 
 the heydey of his life bethought himself im- 
 mediately of what is called preparation for 
 dying, it would be both false and foolish. 
 Colin had a desperate passage to make be- 
 fore he came to that. As these moments, 
 which were like hours, passed on, he came to 
 consider the matter in its larger aspects. 
 But for Harry Frankland , he would have been 
 in no danger, and now Harry Frankland was 
 safe, strong, and in the full enjoyment of his 
 life, while Colin lay broken and helpless, 
 shipwrecked at the beginning of his career. 
 Why was it ? Had God ordained this hor- 
 rible injustice, this cruel fate? As Colin 
 looked at it, out of the clouds that were 
 closing round him, that fair career which 
 was never to be accomplished stretched bright 
 before him, as noble a future as ever was 
 contemplated by man. It had its drawbacks 
 and disadvantages when he looked at it a 
 week before, and might, perhaps, have turned 
 out a commonplace life enough, had it come to 
 its daily fulfilment ; but now, when it had 
 suddenly become impossible, what a career it 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 90 
 
 Bcemed ! Not of selfish profit, of money- 
 making, or pci'soaal advantage, — a life which 
 was to be for the use of his country, for the 
 service of bis church, for the furtherance of 
 everything that was honest and lovely and 
 .of good report. lie stood here, stayed upon 
 the threshold of his life, and looked at it 
 with wonder and despair. This existence 
 God had cut short and put an end to. Why ? 
 That another man might live and enjoy his 
 commonplace pleasures ; might come into 
 possession of all the comforts of the world ; 
 might fill a high position without knowing, 
 without caring for it ; might hunt and shoot 
 and fall asleep after dinner, as his father had 
 dqne before him. 
 
 In the great darkness, Colin's heart cried 
 out with a cry of anguish and terrible sur- 
 prise to the invisible, inexorable God, "Why? 
 Why?" Was one of His creatures less 
 dear, less precious to him tlian anothci 
 that he should make this terrible diflFercncfc 
 The pure life, the high hopes, the humac 
 purpose and human happiness, were they as 
 nothing to the great Creator who had brought 
 them into being and suflEered them to bud and 
 'blossom only that he might crush them with 
 his hands? Colin lay still in his bed, with 
 his lips set close and his eyes straining into 
 that unfathomable darkness. The bitterness 
 of death took possession of b'.8 soul, — a bitter- 
 ness heavier, more terrible than that of death. 
 His trust, his faith, had given way. God sat 
 veiled upon his awful throne, concealed by a 
 horrible cloud of disappointment and incom- 
 prehension. Neither love nor justice, neither 
 mercy nor equal dealing, was in this strange, 
 unintelligible contrast of one man's loss and 
 another man's gain. As the young man lay 
 struggling in this hour of darkness, the God 
 of his youth disappeared from him, the 
 Saviour of his childhood withdi'ew, a sorrow- 
 ful shadow, into the angry heavens. What 
 was left? Was it a capricious Deity, ruled 
 by incomprehensible impulses of favor and of 
 scorn ? Was it a blind and hideous Chance, 
 indifierent alike to happiness and misery? 
 Was it some impious power, owning no ever- 
 lasting rule of right and wrong, of good and 
 evil, who trampled at its will upon the hearts 
 and hopes of men ? Colin was asking him- 
 self these terrible questions when the curtain 
 was softly drawn, and a face looked down 
 upon him, in which tenderness and grief and 
 pity had come to such a climax as no words 
 
 could convey any impression of. It was hi? 
 mother who stood beside him, stretching out 
 her arms like a pitying angel, yearning over 
 him with the anguish and the impatience of 
 love. Sometimes, surely, the Master gives us 
 in the fellowship of his sufferings a human 
 pang beyond his own, — the will to suffer in 
 the stead of those we love, without the 
 power. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 " They're awfu' grateful, Colin ; I canna 
 but say that for them," said ^Mrs. Campbell ; 
 " and as anxious as if you were their own 
 son. I'll no undertake to say that I havena 
 an unchristian feeling myself to Harry Frank- 
 land ; but, when you're a' weel and strong, 
 Colin"— 
 
 ' ' And what if I am never well and strong? ' ' 
 said the young man. ' His mother's presence 
 had subdued and silenced, at least for a time, 
 the wild questions in his heart. She had 
 taken them upon herself, though he did not 
 know it. So far human love can stretch its 
 fellowship in the sufferings of its Master, — 
 not to the extent of full substitution, of sal- 
 vation temporal or spiritual, but, at least, to 
 a modified deliverance. She had soothed her 
 son and eased him of his burden, but in so 
 doing had taken it to herself. The eagle that 
 had been gnawing his heart had gone to fix 
 its talons in hers ; but she carried it, like the 
 Spartan, under her mantle, and smiled while 
 it rent her in twain. 
 
 " Whisht, whisht ! " ehe said, in her mar- 
 tyrdom of composure and calm looks, and 
 took her boy's hand and held it between hers 
 — God only could tell how fondly — with a 
 firm, warm grasp that seemed to hold him 
 fast to life. "Colin, my man, it's a''in 
 God's hands," said the mistress of Ramore ; 
 " whiles his ways are awfu' mysterious. I'm 
 no one that proposes to read them, or see 
 a'thing plain, like some folk ; but I canna 
 think he ever makes a mistake, or lets any- 
 thing go by hazard. We'll bide his time, 
 Colin ; and who can tell what mercy and 
 goodness he may have in his hand? " 
 
 "IMerey and goodness, or, perhaps, the 
 contrary," said Colin, If he had not been a 
 little comforted and eased in his heart, he 
 would not] have given utterance to words 
 which he felt to be unchristian. But now, 
 with his longing to be soothed and to accept 
 the softenino; influence which surrounded 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL 91 
 
 him, came an impulse to speak, — to use ; at night, like a sudden thunderbolt into the 
 ■words which were even more strong than his quiet house, the Holy Loch was asleep and 
 feelings. As for his mother, she was too 
 thoughtful a woman, and had in her own 
 heart too heavy a burden, to appear shocked 
 by what he said. 
 
 " Maybe what appears to us the contrary," 
 she said, " though that maun be but an ap- 
 pearance, like most things in this life. I'm 
 no one to deny my ain heart, or make a show 
 as if I understood the ways of the Lord, or 
 could, ay, in my poor way, approve of them, 
 if a mortal creature might daur to say so, 
 Colin. There's things he does that appear 
 a' wrang to me, — I canna but say it. I'm no 
 doubting his wisdom nor yet his love, but 
 there's mony a thing he does that I canna 
 follow, nor see onything in but loss and mis- 
 
 at rest, cradled in sweet darkness, and 
 watched by fitful glances of that moon for 
 which Colin and his friends had looked to 
 guide them on the night of the accident ; a«d 
 no means of communicating with the world 
 until the morning was possible to the inhab- 
 itants of Ramore. The anxious mother, 
 whose eyes had not been visited with sleep 
 through all the lingering winter night, set 
 off by dawn to thread her weary, unaccus- 
 tomed way through all the mazes of the rail- 
 ways which were to convey her to Wodens- 
 bourne. She had neither servant nor friend 
 to manage for her ; and no fine lady, accus- 
 tomed to the most careful guardianship, could 
 be more unused to the responsibilities of travel- 
 ery. But oh, Colin, my bonnie man, that's i ling than Mrs. Campbell. When she arrived, 
 nae cause for doubting him ! He maun have ' it was to find her boy, her first-born, stretched 
 his ain reasons, and they maun be better i helpless upon his bed, to see the examination 
 reasons than ours. If you'll close your eyes, j made by the great doctor from London, to 
 and try and get a sleep, I'll take a breath of j hear his guarded statements, his feebly-ex- 
 air to myself before night sets in. I was aye \ pressed hopes, which conveyed only despair, 
 an awfa' woman for the air ; and eh, laddie ! | and with that sudden arrow quivering in 
 I think ye'll be thankful to get back to her heart, to undertake the duties of a cheer- 
 Ramore after this dreary country, where ful nuree, — to keep smiling upon Colin, 
 there's neither hill nor glen ; though maybe telling him the news of the parish, the events 
 it might be cauld for you in the spring, when - of the country-side, as if her coming here had 
 there's so much soft weather," said the tender j been a holiday. All this together — though 
 woman, smoothing his pillows, and bending so many women have borne it, and though 
 over him with her anxious smile. " It minds the mistress of Ramore was able to bear it, 
 me o' the time when you were my baby, and more, for her boy's sake — was a hard 
 Colin, to get you into my hands again. They ! strain upon her. When she got down-stairs 
 say a woman's aye a queen in a sick-room," into the air, the first thing she did was to sit 
 said the mistress. Her smile was such that . down on the steps of the glass-door which led 
 "tears would have been less sad ; and she was j into the terrace and cry bitterly and silently, 
 impatient to be gone, — to leave her son's bed- j She was alone among strangers, with scarcely 
 side, — because she felt herself at the furthest even a friendly feature of familiar nature to 
 stretch of endurance, and knew that her ; give her a little confidence. The aspect of 
 strained powers must soon give way. Per- j the great house, stretching its long wings and 
 haps Colin, too, understood what it was '■ solemn front into the twilight, containing a 
 which made his mother so anxious to leave I whole community of people unknown to her, 
 him ; for he turned his face to the waning I whose very voices were strange, and sounded 
 evening light, and closed his eyes, and after a ' like a foreign tongue, completed the forlorn 
 while, seemed to sleep. When he had lain sense she had of absence from everything that 
 thus quietly for some time, the poor mother could help or console ; and when, in the rest- 
 stole down-stairs and out into the wintry lessness of her musing, she got up and began 
 twilight. Her heart was breaking in her to walk about upon that deserted terrace, 
 tender bosom; her strength had been strained which Colin had paced so often, all Colin 's 
 to the utmost bounds of possibility ; and questions, all his doubts, rushed with double 
 nature demanded at least the relief of tears. I force and feminine passion into his mother's 
 Two days before, she had been tranquil and j mind. As she pursued her uncertain way, 
 content in her peaceful life at home. When I her eye was attracted by the lights in the 
 Sir Thomas Frankland's telegram came late windows. One of them was large and low, 
 
92 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 and 80 close upon the terrace that she could 
 not help seeing the interior, and what was 
 passing there. Harry Frankland was stand 
 ing by the fire with his cousin. The long 
 billiard-table behind them, and the cue which 
 Miss Matty still held in her hand did not 
 enlighten Mrs. Campbell as to what they had 
 been doing. Matty had laid her disengaged 
 hand on her cousin's shoulder, and was look 
 ing up, as if pleading for something, into hi( 
 face ; and the firelight, which gleamed upon 
 them both, gave color and brightness to the 
 two young faces, which seemed to the 6or 
 powful woman outside to be glowing with 
 health and love and happiness. When ^1: 
 Campbell looked upon this scene, her heart 
 cried out in her breast. It was Colin 
 question that came to her lips as she hurried 
 past in the cold and the gathering dark- 
 ness : — 
 
 "Why? OGod! why?" Her son struck 
 to the earth in the bloom of his young life, — 
 rooted up like a young tree, or a silly flow- 
 er, — and this youth, this other woman's son, 
 taking the happiness that should have been 
 for Colin. Why was it ? The poor woman 
 called in her misery upon the heavens and the 
 earth to answer her — Why ? One deprived 
 of all, another possessed of everything that 
 Boul of man could desire, — one heart smitten 
 and rent asunder, and another reposing in 
 quiet and happiness- As she went on in her 
 haste, without knowing where she went, 
 another window caught the mistress's eye. 
 It was the nursery window where all the lit- 
 tle ones were holding high carnival. Little 
 boys and little girls, the younger branches 
 of the large happy family, with again the 
 light gleaming rosy over their childish faces. 
 The eldest of all was having her toilet made 
 for presentation in the drawing-room, and at 
 eight of lier, another blow keen and poignant 
 went to Mrs. Campbell's heart. Just such 
 a child had been the little maiden, the little 
 daughter who once made sunshine in the 
 homely house of Ramorc. It came upon the 
 poor mother in the darkness, to think what 
 that child would have been to her now, had she 
 , lived, — how her woman-child would have 
 suffered with her, wept with her, helped to 
 bear the burden of her woe. Her heart 
 yearned and longed in her new grief over the 
 little one who had been gone four years. She 
 turned away hastily from the bright window 
 and the gay group, and sunk down upon her 
 
 knees on the ground with a sob that came 
 from her heart, — " Why? oh, why ? " God 
 had his reasons ; but what were they ! The 
 agony of loss, in which there seemed no pos- 
 sible gain ; the bitterness of suifering, with- 
 out knowing any reason for it, overpowered 
 her. The contrast of her own trouble with 
 the happiness, the full possession, the uni- 
 versal prosperity and comfort which she saw, 
 struck her sharply with something wliich was 
 not envy of her neighbor, but the appeal of 
 an amazed anguish to God. " The waj's of 
 the Lord are not equal," she was saying in 
 her soul. Was it, as nature suggested, with 
 natural groans, because he loved her less, or, 
 as the minister said, because he loved her 
 more, that God sent upon her those pangs, 
 and demanded from her those sacrifices? 
 Thus she cried out of the depths, not know- 
 ing what she said. " If I had but had my 
 Jeanie ! " the poor woman moaned to her- 
 self, with a vision of a consoling angel, a 
 daughter, another dearer, fairer self, who 
 would have helped to bear all her burdens. 
 But God had not afforded her that comfort, 
 the dearest consolation to a woman. When 
 she had wept out those few bitter tears, that 
 are all of which the heart is capable when 
 it is no longer young, she gathered herself 
 up out of the darkness and prepared to go in 
 again to Colin's bedside. Though she had 
 received no answer to her question, — though 
 neither God himself, nor his angels, nor any 
 celestial creature, had gleamed through the 
 everlasting veil, and given her a glimpse of 
 that divine meaning which it is so hard to 
 read, — there was a certain relief in the ques- 
 tion itself, and in the tears that had been 
 wrung out of her heart. And so it was that, 
 when Matty Frankland came lightly out of 
 the billiard-room, on her way to dress for 
 dinner, Mrs. Campbell, whom she met com- 
 ing in from the terrace, did not appear to 
 her to bear a different aspect from that of the 
 mistress of Ramore. Matty did not lose a 
 minute in making her advances to Culiu's 
 mother. She was, indeed, extremely sorry, 
 lud had even been conscious of a passing 
 thought similar to that which had struggled 
 passionately into being, both in Colin's mind 
 and in his mother's, — a passing sense of won- 
 der why Harry, who was good for nothing in 
 particular, should have been saved, and Colin, 
 who was what Miss Matty called "so very 
 clever," should have been the sufferer. Such 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 a doubt, Lad it gone deep enough, — had it 
 become an outcry of the soul, as it was with 
 the others, — would have made an infidel of 
 that little woman of the world. She ran to 
 ilrs. Campbell, and took her hand, and led 
 lj3r into the billiard-room, the door of which 
 stood open. " Oh, dear Mrs. Camj^bell, 
 come and tell me about him," she said ; and, 
 as it had been the conjunction of a little real 
 feeling with her habitual wiles that brought 
 Colin under her influence, the same thing 
 moved his mother at least to tolerate the in- 
 quiry. She drew away her hand with some 
 impatience from the little enchantress, but 
 her tender heart smote her when she saw an 
 involuntary tear in Matty's eye. Perhaps, 
 after all, it was less her fault than her mis- 
 fortune ; and the mistress followed the girl 
 into the room with less dislike, and more tol- 
 eration, than she would have supposed pos- 
 sible. It might be, after all, the older peo- 
 ple — to whom worldliness came by nature, 
 as the Hindoos thought — who were to 
 blame. 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Campbell, I am so sorry, — I 
 cannot tell you how sorry I am," cried Matty, 
 — and she spoke only the truth, and had real 
 tears in her eyes, — " to think that he should 
 save my cousin again, and suffer so for his 
 goodness. Don't be angry with us, though, 
 indeed, I should not wonder if you could 
 not bear our very name ; I am sure I should 
 not, if I were you." 
 
 " Na, God forbid," said the mistress. She 
 was but half satisfied of the reality of the 
 young lady's professions, and this suspicion, 
 60 unusual to her, gave diguity to her speech. 
 
 " It wasna you nor ony mortal person, but 
 his own heart, that moved my Colin. You 
 could do an awfu' deal," said Colin's moth- 
 er, looking with a woman's look of disap- 
 proving admiration on Matty's pretty face ; 
 " but you couldna move my son like his ain 
 generous will. He never was one to think 
 of his ain — comfort " — continued Mrs. Camp- 
 bell with a little shudder for something in 
 her throat prevented her from saying his life 
 — " when a fellow-creature was in danger. 
 It was his ain heart that was to blame, — if 
 'anything was to blame, — and not you." 
 '' And the homely woman's eyes went past 
 her questioner with that same look which in 
 Colin had bo often b%pled Miss Matty, show- 
 ing that the higher spirit had gone beyond 
 the lesser into its own element, where only 
 
 93 
 
 its equals could follow. The girl was awed 
 for the moment, and humbled. Not for her 
 poor sake, not for Harry Frankland, who was 
 of no great account to anybody out of his own 
 family, but because of his own nature, which 
 would not permit him to see another perish, 
 had Colin suffered. This thought, imper- 
 fectly as she understood it, stopped the vol- 
 uble sympathy, pity, and distress on Matty's 
 lips. She no longer knew what to say, and, 
 after an awkward pause, could only stammer 
 over her old commonplaces. "Oh, dear, 
 Mrs. Campbell, I am so sorry ; I would give 
 anything in the world to make him well 
 again, and I only hope you wont be angry 
 with us," said Matty, with a suppressed sob, 
 which was partly fright and partly feeling. 
 The eyes of the mistress came back at the 
 sound of the girl's voice. 
 
 " I'm no angry," she said. — " God forbid ; 
 though I might have something to say to you 
 if my heart could speak. The like of you 
 whiles do mair harm in this world. Miss 
 Frankland, than greater sinners. I'm no say- 
 ing you kent what you were doing ; but, if 
 it had not been for you, my Colin would 
 never have come near this place. You be- 
 guiled my son with your pleasant words and 
 your bonnie face. He had nae mair need to 
 come here to be tutor to yon bit crooked cal- 
 lant," said the mistress, with involuntary 
 bitterness, " than Maister Frankland himself. 
 But he thought to be near you, that had be- 
 guiled him, and made him give mair heed to 
 your fables than to anything else that was 
 true in life. I'm no blaming my Colin," 
 said the mistress, with an unconscious ele- 
 vation of her head ; "he never had kent 
 onything but truth a' his days, and, if he 
 wasna to believe in a woman that smiled on 
 him and enticed him to her, what was he to 
 believe in at his years ? Nor I'm no to call 
 angry at you," said Colin's mother, looking 
 from the elevation of age and nature upon 
 Miss Matty, who drooped instinctively, and 
 became conscious what a trifling little soul 
 she was. " We a' act according to our ain 
 nature, and you wasna capable of perceiving 
 what harm you could do ; but, if you should 
 ever encounter again one that was true him- 
 self and believed in you " — 
 
 Here Matty, who had never been destitute 
 of feeling, and who, in her heart, was fond 
 of Colin in her way, and had a kind of un- 
 derstanding of him, so far as she could go, 
 
94 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 fell into such an outburst of natural tears 
 as disarmed the mistress, -who faltered and 
 stopped short, and had hard ado to retain 
 some appearance of severity in sight of this 
 weeping, for -which she was not prepared. 
 Colin's mother understood truth, and in an 
 abhorring, indignant, resentful way, believed 
 that there was falsehood in the world. But 
 how truth and falsehood were mingled — how 
 the impulses of nature might have a little 
 room to work even under the fictions of art, 
 or the falseness of society — was a knowledge 
 unimagined by the simple woman. She be- 
 gan to think she had done Matty injustice 
 when she saw her tears. 
 
 '« Oh, Mrs. Campbell, I know how good 
 he is ! I — I never knew any one like him. 
 How could I help — But, indeed — indeed, 
 I never meant any harm ! " cried Matty, in- 
 geniously taking advantage of the truth of 
 her own feelings, as far as they went, to dis- 
 arm her unconscious and single-minded judge. 
 The mistress looked at her with puzzled but 
 pitiful eyes. 
 
 " It would be poor comfort to him to say 
 you never meant it," she said ; and in the 
 pause that followed, Matty had begun to rec- 
 ollect that it was a long time since the dress- 
 ing-bell rung, though she still had her face 
 bid on the table, and the tears were not dried 
 from her cheeks. "And things may turn 
 out more merciful than they look like," said 
 the mistress, with a heavy sigh and a wist- 
 ful smile. Perhaps it occurred to her that- 
 the gratitude of the Franklands mighi go so 
 far as to bestow upon Colin the woman he 
 loved. " I'll no keep you longer," she con- 
 tinued, laying her tender hand for a moment 
 on I\Iatty's head. " God bless you for every 
 kind thought you ever had to my Colin. 
 He's weel worthy of them all," said the wist- 
 ful motlier. 
 
 Matty, who did not know what to say, and 
 who, under this touch, felt her own artifice 
 to her heart, and was for a moment disgust- 
 ed with herself, sprung up in a little agony 
 of shame and remorse, and kissed Mrs. Camp- 
 bell as she went away. And Cokn's mother 
 w^ent back to her son's room to find him 
 asleep, and sat down by his side, to ponder 
 in herself whether this and that might not 
 still be possible. Love and happiness were 
 physicians in whom the simple woman had a 
 confidence unbounded. If they came smiling 
 hand in hand to Colin's pillow, who could 
 
 tell what miracle of gladness might yet fall 
 from the tender heavens ? 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 But, though Mrs. Campbell's heart relent- 
 ed toward Matty, and was filled with vague 
 hopes which centred in her, it was very hard 
 to find out what Colin's thoughts were on the 
 same subject. lie scarcely spoke of the 
 Franklands at all, and never named or re- 
 ferred to the ladies of the house. When his 
 mother spoke, with natural female wiles to 
 tempt him into confidence, of special inquiries 
 made for him, Colin took no notice of the in- 
 ference. She even went so far as to refer 
 specially to Miss Matty with no greater ef- 
 fect. " There's one in the house as anxious 
 as me," said the mistress, with tender ex- 
 aggeration, as she smoothed his pillow and 
 made her morning inquiries ; but her eon 
 only smiled faintly and shook his head with 
 an almost imperceptible movement of incre- 
 dulity. He asked no questions, showed no 
 pleasure at the thought, but lay most of the 
 day in a silence which his mother could find 
 no means of breaking, even now and then, 
 for a moment. The first horror, the first re- 
 sistance had gone out of Colin's mind ; but 
 he lay asking himself inevitable questions, 
 facing the great problem for which he could 
 find no solution, which no man has been able 
 to explain. Had the thoughts of his mind 
 been put into words, the chances are that to 
 most people who have never themselves come 
 to such a trial, Colin would have seemed a 
 blasphemer or an infidel. But he was neither 
 the one nor the other, and was indeed inca- 
 pable by nature either of scepticism or of 
 profanity. The youth had been born of a 
 sternly-believing race, which recognized in 
 all God's doings an eternal right, beyond 
 justice and beyond reason, — a right to deal 
 with them and theirs as he might please; 
 but Colin himself was of the present age, and 
 was fully possessed by all those cravings af- 
 ter understanding and explanation which be- 
 long to the time. Without any doubt of 
 God, he was arrested by the Avouderful mys- 
 tery of Providence, and stood questioning, in 
 the face of the unanswering silence, "Why?" 
 Tlic good God, the God of the Gospels, the 
 Father of our Lord, was the divine Ruler 
 whom Colin recognize^ in his heart ; but 
 the young man longed and struggled to find 
 reasonableness, coherence, any recognizable. 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 95 
 
 comprehensible cause, for the baffling ar- 
 rangements and disarrangements, the myste- 
 rious inequalities and injustices of life. He 
 wanted to trace the thread of reason which 
 God kept in his own hand ; he wanted to 
 make out why the Father who loved all 
 should dispense so unequally, so diiferently, 
 his gifts to one and another. This awful 
 question kept him silent for days and nights ; 
 he could not make anything of it. Social 
 inequalities, which speculatists fret at, had 
 not much disturbed Colin. It had not yet 
 occurred to him that wealth or poverty made 
 much difference ; but why the life of one 
 should be broken off incomplete and that of 
 another go on, — why the purposes of one 
 should end in nothing, — why his hopes should 
 be crushed and his powers made useless", 
 while another flourished and prospered, con- 
 founded him, in the inexperience of his 
 youth. And neither heaven nor earth gave 
 him any answer. The Bible itself seemed to 
 append moral causes which were wanting in 
 his circumstances to the perennial inequali- 
 ties of existence. It spoke of the wicked 
 great in power, flourishing like the green 
 bay-tree, and of the righteous oppressed and 
 Buffering for righteousness' sake, which was, 
 in its way, a comprehensible statement of the 
 matter. But the facts did not agree in Co- 
 lin 'a case. Harry Frankland could not, by 
 any exertion of dislike, be made to represent 
 the wicked, nor was Colin, in his own think- 
 ing, better than his neighbor. They were 
 two sons of one Father, to whom that Father 
 was behaving with the most woful, the most 
 extraordinary partiality, and nothing in heav- 
 en or earth was of half so much importance 
 as to prove the proceedings of the Father of 
 all to be everlastingly just and of sublime 
 reason. What did it mean? This was what 
 Colin was discussing with himself as he lay 
 on his bed. It was not wonderful that such 
 thoughts should obliterate the image of Miss 
 Matty. When she came into his mind at all, 
 he looked back upon her with a pensive sweet- 
 ness, as on somebody he had known a lifetime 
 before. Sterner matters had now taken the 
 place of the light love and hopes of bountiful 
 and lavish youth. The hopes had grown few, 
 and the abundance changed into poverty. 
 If the Author of the change had chosen to re- 
 veal some reason in it, the young soul thus 
 stopped short in its way could have consented 
 that all was well. 
 
 And then Lady Frankland came every day 
 to pay him a visit of sympathy, and to ex- 
 press her gratitude. "It is such a comfort 
 to see him looking so much better ! " Lady 
 Frankland said ; " Harry would like so much 
 to come and sit with you, dear Mr. Campbell. 
 He could read to you, you know, when you 
 feel tired ; I am sure nothing he could do 
 would be too much to show his sense of your 
 
 At which words Colin raised himself up. 
 
 "I should be much better pleased," said 
 Colin, " if you would not impute to me 
 feelings which I don't pretend to. It was 
 no regard for Mr. Frankland that induced 
 me" — 
 
 "Oh, indeed ! I know how good you 
 are," said Harry's mother, pressing his 
 hand, " always so generous, and disposed 
 to make light of your own kindness ; but we 
 all know very well, and Harry knows, that 
 there is many a brother who would not have 
 done so much. I am sure I cannot express 
 to you a tenth part of what I feel. Harry's 
 life is so precious! " said my lady, with a 
 natural human appreciation of her own con- 
 cerns, and unconscious, unintentional indif- 
 ference to those of others. " The eldest son, 
 — and Sir Thomas has quite commenced to 
 rely upon him for many things — and I am 
 sure I don't know what I should do without 
 Harry to refer to," Lady Frankland contin- 
 ued, with a little smile of maternal pride and 
 triumph. When she came to this point, it 
 chanced to her to catch a side-glimpse of Mrs. 
 Campbell's face. The mistress sat by her 
 son's bedside, pale, with her lips set close, 
 and her eyes fixed upon the hem of her apron, 
 which she was folding and refolding in her 
 hands. She did not say anything, nor give 
 utterance in any way to the dumb remon- 
 strance and reproach with which her heart 
 was bursting ; but there was something in 
 her face which imposed silence upon the tri- 
 umphant, prosperous woman beside her. 
 Lady Frankland gave a little gasp of min- 
 gled fright and compunction. She did not 
 know what to say to express her full sense 
 of the service which Colin had done her ; 
 and there was nothing strange in her in- 
 stinctive feeling that she, a woman used to 
 be served and tended all her life, had a nat- 
 ural claim upon other people's services. She 
 was very sorry, of course, about Mr. Camp- 
 bell ; if any exertion of hers could have cured 
 
96 
 
 biuQ, he would have been well ia lialf an 
 hour. But, as it was, it appeared to her 
 'rather natural than otherwise that the tutor 
 should suffer and that her own son should 
 be saved. 
 
 " I felt always secure about Harry when 
 you were with him, " slie said, with an in- 
 voluntary artifice. "He was so fond of 
 you, Mr. Campbell, — and I always felt that 
 you knew how important his safety was, and 
 how much depended " — 
 
 " Pardon me," said Colin, — he was angry 
 in his weakness at her pertinacity. " I have 
 no right to your gratitude. Your son and I 
 have no love for each other. Lady Frankland. 
 1 picked him out of the canal, not because I 
 thought of the importance of his life, but 
 because I had seen him go down, and should 
 have felt myself a kind of murderer, had I 
 not tried to save him. That is the whole. 
 Why should I be supposed to have any spe- 
 cial regard for him? Perhaps," said Colin, 
 whose words came slowly and whose voice 
 was interrupted by his weakness, — " I would 
 have given my life with more comfort for any 
 other man." 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Campbell! don't be bo angry 
 and bitter. After all, it was not our fault," 
 said Lady Frankland, with a wondering of- 
 fence and disappointment, and then she hur- 
 riedly changed her tone, and began to con- 
 gratulate his mother on his improved looks. 
 
 " I am so glad to see him looking so much 
 better ! There were some people coming 
 here," said my lady, faltering a little ; " we 
 would not have them come, so long as he was 
 80 ill. Neither Harry nor any of us could 
 have suffered it. "We had sent to put them 
 off; but now that he is so much better " — 
 said Lady Frankland, with a voice which 
 was half complaint and half appeal. She 
 thought it was rather ill-tempered of the 
 mother and eon to make so little response. 
 
 '•When I almost asked their permission ! " 
 she said, with a little indignation, when she 
 had gone down-stairs ; " but they seem to 
 think they should be quite masters, and look 
 as black as if we had done them an injury. 
 Send to everybody, and say it is to bo on 
 Wednesday, Matty; for Henry's interests 
 must not be neglected." Il was a ball, for 
 which Lady Frankland had sent out her in- 
 vitations some time before the accident ; for 
 Harry Frankland was to ask the suffrages 
 of the electors of Earic at the approaching 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 : election. " I don't mean to be ungrateful to 
 I Mr. Campbell," said the lady of Wodens- 
 ! bourne, smoothing those ruffled plumes. " I 
 I am sure nobody can say I hdvc not been 
 grateful ; but at the same tiaic, I can't be 
 i expected to sacrifice my own son." Such 
 , were the sentiments with which Lady Frank- 
 land came down-stairs. As for the other 
 mother, it would be hard to describe what 
 was in her mind. In the bitterness of her 
 heart, she was angry with the God who had 
 no pity upon her. If Harry Frankland's 
 life was precious, what was Colin's? and the 
 mistress, in her anguish, made bitter com- 
 parisons, and cried out wildly with a wom- 
 an's passion. Down-stairs, in the fine rooms, 
 which her simple imagination filled with 
 splendor, they would dance and sing uncon- 
 cerned, though her boy's existence hung 
 trembling in the balance ; and was not 
 Heaven itself indifferent, taking no notice? 
 She was glad that twilight was coming on to 
 conceal her face, and that Colin, who lay 
 very silent, did not observe her. And so, 
 while Lady Frankland, feeling repulsed and 
 injured, managed to escape partially from 
 the burden of an obligation which was too 
 vast to be borne, and returned to the consid- 
 eration of her ball, the two strangers kept" 
 silence in the twilight chamber, each dumbly 
 contending with doubts that would not be 
 overcome, and questions which could not be 
 answered. What did God mean by permit- 
 ting this wonderful, this incomprehensible 
 difference between the two? But the great 
 Father remained silent and made no reply. 
 The days of revelation and explanation were 
 over. For one, joy and prosperity ; for an- 
 other, darkness and the shadow of death, — 
 plain facts not to be misconceived or con- 
 tested — and in all the dumb heavens and si- 
 lent, observant earth no wisdom nor knowl- 
 edge which could tell the reason why. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 " Av, I heard of the accident. No that I 
 thought anything particular of that. You're 
 no the kind of eallant, nor come of the kind 
 of race, to give in to an accident. I came 
 for my own pleasure. I hope I'm old enough 
 to ken what pleases myself. Take your din- 
 ner, eallant, and leave me to mind my busi- 
 ness. I could do that much before you were 
 born." 
 
 It was Lauderdale who made this answer 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 to Colin's half-pleased, half-impatient, ques- 
 tioning. The new-comer sat, gaunt and 
 strange, throwing a long shadow over the 
 8ick-bed, and looking, with a suppressed 
 emotion, more pathetic than tears, upon, the 
 tray which was placed on a little table by 
 Colin's side. It was a sad sight enough. 
 The young man, in the flush and beauty of 
 his youth, with his noble physical develop- 
 ment, and the eager soul that shone in his 
 eyes, lay helpless, with an invalid's repast 
 before him, for which he put out his hand 
 with a languid movement, like a sick child. 
 Lauderdale himself looked haggard and care- 
 worn. He had travelled by night, and was 
 unshaven and untrimmed, with a wild gleam 
 of exhaustion and hungry anxiety in his 
 eyes. 
 
 " Whatever the reason may be, we're real 
 glad to see you," said Mrs. Campbell. " If 
 I could have wished for anything to do Colin 
 good more than he's getting, it would have 
 been you. But he's a great deal better, — a 
 wonderful deal better ; you would not know 
 him for the same creature that he was when 
 I came here ; and I'm in great hopes he'll no 
 need to be sent away for the rest of the win- 
 ter, as the doctor said," said the sanguine 
 mother, who had reasoned herself into hope. 
 She looked with wistful inquiry as she spoke 
 into Lauderdale's eyes, trying hard to read 
 there what was the opinion of the new-comer. 
 "It would be an awfu' hard thing for me 
 to send him away by himsel', and him no 
 well," said the mistress, with a hope that 
 his friend would say that Colin's looks did not 
 demand such a proceeding, but that health 
 would come back to him with the sweet air 
 of the Holy Loch. 
 
 " I heard of that," said Lauderdale, " and, 
 to tell the truth, I'm tired of staying in one 
 place all my life mysel'. If a man is to have 
 no more good of his ain legs than if he were 
 a vegetable, I see no good in being a man ; it 
 would save an awfu' deal of trouble to turn 
 a cabbage at once. So I'm thinking of tak- 
 ing a turn about the world as long as I'm 
 able ; and if Colin likes to go with me " — 
 
 " Which means, mother, that he has come 
 to be my nurse," said Colin, wliose heart was 
 climbing into his throat ; " and here I lie like 
 a log, and will never be able to do more than 
 say thanks. Lauderdale" — 
 
 " Whisht, callant," said the tender giant, 
 who stood looking down upon Colin with 
 
 7 
 
 97 
 
 eyes which would not trust themselves to 
 answer the mother's appealing glances ; " I'm 
 terrible fatigued with my life, and no able to 
 take the trouble of arguing the question. 
 Not that I consent to your proposition, which 
 has a fallacy on the face of it ; for it would 
 be a bonnie-like thing to hear you say thanks 
 either to your mother or me. Since I've 
 been in my situation, — which, maybe, I'll tell 
 you more about by and by, now that my 
 mouth's opened, — I've saved a little siller, a 
 hundred pounds, or maybe mair," said the 
 philosopher, with a momentary smile, " and 
 I see no reason why I shouldna have my bit 
 holiday as well as other folk. I've worked 
 long for it." He turned away just then, 
 attracted by a gleam of sunshine at the win- 
 dow, his companion thought, and stood look- 
 ing out, disposing as he best could of a little 
 bitter moisture that had gathered in the deep 
 corners of his eyes. ' ' It'll no be very joyful 
 when it comes," he said to himself, with a 
 pang of which nobody was aware, and stood 
 forming his lips into an inaudible whistle to 
 conceal how they quivered. He, too, had 
 built high hopes upon this young head which 
 was now lying low. He had said to himself, 
 with the involuntary bitterness of a mind dis- 
 appointed and forlorn, that here at least was 
 a life free from all shadows, — free from the 
 fate that seemed to follow all who belonged 
 to himself, — through whom be might again 
 reconcile himself to Providence, and recon- 
 ne^ himself with existence. As he stood 
 now, with his back to Colin, Lauderdale was 
 again going over the burning ploughshares, 
 enduring the fiery ordeal. Once more his 
 unselfish hope was going out in darkness. 
 When he returned to them, his lips had 
 steadied into the doleful turn of a familiar 
 air, which was connected in Colin'a mind 
 with many an amusing and many a tender 
 recollection. Between the two people who 
 were regarding him with love and anguish so 
 intense, the sick youth burst into pleasant 
 laughter, — laughter which had almost sur- 
 prised the bystanders into helpless tears, — 
 and repeated, with firmer breath than Laud- 
 erdale's, the fragment of his favorite air. 
 
 " He never gets beyond that bar," said 
 Colin. " It carries me back to Glasgow, and 
 all the old days. We used to call it Lauder- 
 dale's pibroch. Give me my dinner, mother. 
 I don't see what I should grumble about as 
 long as you and he are by me. Help me to 
 
98 
 
 get up, old fellow," the younc; in;in said, 
 holding out iiis handi?, and ate hio invalid 
 meal cheerfully, with eager questions about 
 all his old coippanions, and bursts of passing 
 laughter, which to the ears of his friend were 
 more terrible than so many groans. As for 
 the mistress, she had. become by this time 
 accustomed to connect together those two 
 ideas of Colin and a sick-bed, the conjunction 
 of which was as yet misery to Lauderdale; 
 and she was glad in her boy's pleasure, and 
 took trembling hope from every new evidence 
 of his unbroken spirit. Before long the old 
 current of talk had flowed into its usual chan- 
 nel ; and, but for the strange, novel circum- 
 stances which surrounded them, one at least 
 of the party might have forgotten for the mo- 
 ment that they were not in the pleasant par- 
 lor of Ramore ; but that one did not see his 
 own countenance, its eloquent brightness, its 
 flashes of sudden color, and the shining of its 
 too brilliant eyes. 
 
 But there could not be any doubt that 
 Colin iuiproved from that moment. Lauder- 
 dale had secured a little lodging in the vil- 
 lage, from which he came every morning to 
 the " callant," in whom his disappointed 
 xianhood, too careless of personal good, too 
 i.'cditative and speculative for any further 
 ambition on his own account, had fixed his 
 last hopes. He even came, in time, after he 
 had accustomed himself to Colin's illness, to 
 share, by moments, in the mistress's hopes. 
 When Colin at last got up from his be^kit 
 was Lauderdale's arm he leant on. That 
 was an eventful day to the little anxious 
 group in the sick-chamber, whose hopes 
 sometimes leaped to certainty, — whose fears, 
 with an intuition deeper still, sometimes fell 
 to the other extreme, and were hushed in the 
 silence of an anguish too deep to be fathomed, 
 from which thought itself drew back. It was 
 a bright winter day, with symptoms of spring 
 in the air, when the young patient got up 
 from his weary bed. Colin made very light 
 of his weakness in the rising tide of his 
 spirits. He faltered across the room upon 
 Lauderdale's arm, to look out again, as he 
 said, upon the world. It was an unfortunate 
 moment for his renewal of acquaintance 
 with the bright outside sphere of ordinary 
 life, which had passed on long ago, and for- 
 gotten Colin. The room in which they had 
 placed him when his illness beg-.m was one of 
 the best rooms in the house, and looked out 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 upon the terrace and the big holly-trees 
 which Colin knew so well. It was the morn- 
 ing of the day on which Lady Frankland's 
 ball was to take place, and symptoms of 
 excitement and preparation were apparent. 
 Immediately in front of the window, when 
 Colin looked out. Miss Matty was standing 
 in animated talk with her cousin. They had 
 been loitering about, as people do in the 
 morning about a country-house, with no par- 
 ticular occupation, — for the sun was warm, 
 though it was still only the end of January, — 
 and Mi>tty was at the moment engaged in 
 indicating some special designs of her own, 
 which were involved in Lady Frankland's 
 alterations in the flower-garden, for Harry's 
 approval. She had, indeed, just led liira by 
 the sleeve into the midst of the half-com- 
 pleted design, and was describing circles 
 round him with the walking-stick which she 
 had taken out of his hand for the purpose, as 
 Colin stood tremulous and uncertain by the 
 window, looking out. Nobody could look 
 brighter than Miss Matty ; nobody more 
 happy than the heir of Wodensbourne. If 
 the sick man had entertained any hope that 
 his misfortune threw a sympathetic shadow 
 over them, he must now have been undeceived 
 very summarily. Colin, however, bore the 
 trial without flinching. He looked at them 
 as if they were miles or ages away, with a 
 strange smile, which did not seem to the 
 anxious spectators to have any bitterness in 
 it. But he made no remark until he had left 
 the window, and taken his place on the sofa 
 which had been arranged for him by the fire. 
 Then he smiled again, without looking at any 
 one, with abstract eyes, which went to the 
 hearts of his attendants. " How far ofl" the 
 world seems ! " said Colin. " I feel as if I 
 ought to be vexed by that paltry scene on the 
 terrace. Don't you think so, mother ? But 
 I am not vexed, no more than if it was a pic- 
 ture. I wonder what it means? " 
 
 "Eh, Colin, my man, it means you're get- 
 ting sti-ong and no heeding about them and 
 their vanities ! " "cried the mistress, whoso 
 indignant eyes were full of tears ; but Colin 
 only shook his head and smiled, and made 
 no reply. He was not indignant. He did 
 not seem to care or be interested one way 
 or another, but, as a spectator might have 
 done, mused on the wonderful contrast, and 
 asked himself what God could mean by it? — 
 a question which there was no one to answer. 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 Later the curate came to visit him, as indeed 
 he had done several times before, praying out 
 of his well-worn prayer-book by Colin's bed- 
 side in a way which at first scandalized the 
 mistress, who had, however, become used to 
 him by this time. " It's better to speak out 
 of a book than to speak nonsense," Mrs. 
 Campbell had said ; " but eh, Colin, it's aw- 
 ^fu' to think that a man like that hasna a 
 word out of his ain heart to make interces-» 
 eion for his fellow-creatures when they're in 
 trouble." However, the curate was kind, 
 and the mother was speedily mollified. As 
 for that excellent clergyman himself, he did 
 not at all understand the odd company in 
 which he found himself when he looked from 
 Colin, of whom he knew most, to the mother 
 with her thoughtful eyes, and to the gaunt, 
 gigantic friend, who looked upon everything 
 in a speculative way of which the curate had 
 an instinctive suspicion. To-day Colin's vis- 
 itor was more instructive and hortatory than 
 was at all usual for him. He spoke of the 
 mercy of God, which had so far brought the 
 patient toward recovery, and of the motives 
 for thankfulness ; to which Mrs. Campbell 
 assented with silent tears. 
 
 " Yes," said Colin ; and there was a little 
 pause that surprised the curate. " It is com- 
 fortable to be better," said the patient ; " but 
 it would be more than comfortable if one 
 could but.know, if one could but guess, what 
 meaning God has in it all. There is Frank- 
 land down-stairs with his cousin, quite well," 
 said Colin. " I wonder does he ever ask him- 
 self why ? When one is on the wrong side 
 of the contrast, one feels it more, I suppose." 
 The curate had passed Harry Frankland be- 
 fore he came up-stairs, and had, perhaps, been 
 conscious in his own mind of a momentary 
 personal comparison and passing wonder, 
 even at the difference between his own lot 
 and that of the heir of Wodensbourne. But 
 he had thought the idea a bad one, and crush- 
 ed it at once ; and Colin's thought, though 
 more justifiable, was of the same description, 
 and demanded instant extinction. 
 
 " You don't grudge him his good fortune, 
 I am sure ; and then we know there must be 
 inequalities in this life," said the curate. 
 " It is very mysterious, but nothing goes 
 without compensation ; and then we must 
 always remember that ' whom the Lord lev- 
 
 99 
 
 eth he chasteneth,' " said the good clergy- 
 man. "You are young to have so much 
 suffering ; but you can always take comfort 
 in that." 
 
 " Then you mean me to think that God 
 does not love Harry Frankland," said Colin, 
 " and makes a favorite of me in this gloomy 
 way? Do you really think so? — fori can- 
 not be of that opinion, for my part." 
 
 " My dear Mr. Campbell," said the curate, 
 " I am very much grieved to hear you speak- 
 ing like this. Did not God give up his own 
 Son to sufferings of which we have no con- 
 ception ? Did not he endure " — 
 
 " It was for a cause," said Colin. The 
 young man's voice fell, and the former bitter- 
 ness came back upon him. "He suffered 
 for the greatest reason, and knew why ; but 
 we are in the dark, and know nothing ; why 
 is it? One with all the blessings of life — 
 another stripped, impoverished, brought to 
 the depths, and no reason in it, no occasion, 
 no good ! " said Colin, in the momentary out- 
 cry of his wonder and passion. He was in- 
 terrupted, but not by words of sacred conso- 
 lation. Lauderdale was sitting behind, out 
 of the way, humming to himself, in a kind 
 of rude chant, out of a book he held in his 
 hand. Nobody had been taking any notice 
 of him ; for it was his way. Now his voice 
 rose and broke in, in an uncouth swell of 
 sound, not unharmonious with the rude verse, 
 
 " Theirs not to reason why, 
 Theirs not to make reply, 
 Theirs but to do and die," 
 
 said Lauderdale, with a break of strong emo- 
 tion in his voice ; and he got up and threw 
 down the book, and came forward into the 
 little circle. It was the first time that he 
 had intimated by so much as a look his 
 knowledge of anything perilous in Colin's 
 illness. Now he came and stood opposite him, 
 leaning his back against the wall. " Cal- 
 lant," said the strong man, with a voice that 
 sounded as if it were blown about and inter- 
 rupted by a strong win5, " if I were on a 
 campaign, the man I would envy would be 
 him that was chosen by his general for the 
 forlorn hope, — him that went first, and met 
 the wildest of the battle. Do you mean to 
 tell me- you're no ready to follow when he 
 puts the colors in your hand ? ' ' 
 
100 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 • PART VIII. — CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 It was for about six weeks altogether that 
 the niietrees of Ramore remained Sir Thomas 
 Frankland's guest. For half of that time 
 Lauderdale, too, tall and gaunt and grim, 
 strode daily over the threshold of Wodens- 
 bourne. lie neyer broke bread, as he him- 
 self expressed it, nor made the slightest 
 claim upon the hospitality of the stranger's 
 house. On the contrary, he declined stead- 
 ily every advance of friendship that was 
 made to him with a curious Scotch pride, 
 extremely natural to him, but odd to con- 
 template from the point of view at which 
 the Franklands stood. They asked him to 
 dinner or to lunch as they would have asked 
 any other stranger who happened to come in 
 their way ; but Lauderdale was far too self- 
 conscious to accept such overtures. He had 
 come uninvited, an undesired, perhaps un- 
 welcome, visitor ; but not for the worl(J 
 would the philosopher have taken advantage 
 of his position, as Colin's friend, to procure 
 himself the comfort of a meal. Not if he 
 had been starving, would he have shared 
 Colin's dinner, or accepted the meat oifered 
 him at the luxurious table below. " Na, 
 na ! I came without asking," said Lauder- 
 dale ; " when they bid me to their feasts, 
 it's no for your sake, callant, or for my 
 sake, but for their own sakes, — for good 
 breeding and good manners, and not to be 
 uncivil. To force a dinner out of civility is 
 every bit as shabby an action as to steal it. 
 I'm no the man to sorn on Sir Thomas for 
 short time or long." And in pursuance of 
 this whimsical idea of independence, Lauder- 
 dale went back every evening along the dark 
 country lanes to the little room he had rented 
 in the village, and subdued his reluctant 
 Scotch appetite to the messes of bacon and 
 beans he found there, — which was as severe 
 a test of friendship as could have been im- 
 posed upon him. He was not accustomed to 
 fare very sumptuously at home ; but the fare 
 of an English cottager is, if more costly, at 
 least as distasteful to an untravelled Scotch 
 appetite as the native porridge and broth of 
 a Scotch peasant could be to his neighbor 
 over the Tweed. The greasy meal filled 
 Lauderdale with disgust ; but it did not 
 change his resolution. He lived like a 
 Spartan on the bread which he could cat, 
 and cauie back daily to his faithful tendance 
 of the young companion who now repre- 
 
 sented to him almost all that he loved in the 
 world. Colin grew better during these 
 weeks. The air of home which his mother 
 brought with her, the familiar discussions 
 and philosophies with which Laudei-dale 
 filled the weary time, gave him a connect- 
 ing link once more with the old life. And 
 the new life again rose before Colin, fresh 
 and solemn and glorious. Painfully and 
 eharply he had been delivered from his delu- 
 sions, — those innocent delusions which were 
 virtues. He began to see that, if indeed 
 there ever was a woman in the world for 
 whom it was worth a man's while to sacri- 
 fice his existence and individuality. Miss 
 Matty, of all women, was not she. And 
 after this divergence out of his true path, — 
 after this cloud that had come over him, and 
 which looked as though it might swallow 
 him up, it is not to be described how beauti- 
 ful his own young life looked to Colin, when 
 it seemed to himself that he was coming 
 back to it, and was about to enter once more 
 upon his natural career. 
 
 " I wonder how Macdonald will get on at 
 Baliol," he said ; "of course he'll get the 
 scholarship. It's no use regretting what 
 cannot be helped ; but when a man takes the 
 wrong turning once in his life, do you think 
 he can get into the right road again? " said 
 Colin. He had scarcely spoken tlie words 
 when a smile gradually stealing over his 
 face, faint and soft like the rising of the 
 moon, intimated to his companions that he 
 had already answered himself. Not only so, 
 but that the elasticity of his youth bad de- 
 livered Colin from all heavier apprehensions. 
 He was not afraid of the wrong turning he 
 had taken. He was but playing with the 
 question in a kind of tender wantonness. 
 Neither his Health nor his lost opportunity 
 gave him much trouble. The tide of life 
 had risen in his heart, and again everything 
 seemed possible ; and such being the case, 
 he trifled pleasantly with the dead doubts 
 which existed no longer. " There is a tide 
 in the affairs of men," Colin said to him- 
 self, smiling over it; and the two people 
 who were looking at him, whose hearts and 
 whose eyes were studying every change in 
 his fiicc, saw that a new era had begun, and 
 did not know whether to exchange looks of 
 gratulation or to betake themselves to the 
 silence and darkness to shed tears of despair 
 over the false hope. 
 
A SON OF 
 
 " When a callant goes a step astray, you 
 mean," said Lauderdale, with a harshness 
 in his voice which sounded contemptuous to 
 Colin, — " goes out of his way a step to 
 gather a flower or the like ; a man that 
 takes a wrong turn is altogether a false 
 eemage. Everything in this world is awfu' 
 mysterious," said the philosopher. " I'm 
 no clear in my mind about that wrong turn- 
 ing. According to some theories, there's no 
 such thing in existence. ' All things work 
 together for good.' I would like to know 
 what was in Paul's head when he wrote 
 down that. No to enter into the question 
 of inspiration, the opinion of a man like 
 ^^m is aye worth having ; but it's an awfu' 
 ^Rysterious saying to me." 
 
 " Eh, but it's true," said the mistress; 
 "you're no to throw ony of your doubts 
 upon Providence. 1*11 no say but what it's 
 a hard struggle whiles ; but if God doesna 
 ken best, — if he's not the wisest and the kind- 
 est, I would rather, for my part, come to an 
 end without ony more ado about it. I'm no 
 wanting to live either in earth or heaven if 
 there's ony doubts about him." 
 
 " That's aye the way with women," said 
 Lauderdale, reflectively. " They've nae pa- 
 tience for a philosophical question. But the 
 practical argument is no doubt awfu' power- 
 ful , and I. can say nothing against it. I'm 
 greatly of the same way o' thinking myself. 
 Life's no worth having on less terms, but at 
 the same time " — 
 
 " I was speaking only of the Baliol Schol- 
 arship," said Colin, with a momentary pet- 
 tishness ; " you are more abstruse than ever, 
 Lauderdale. If there should happen to be 
 another vacancy next year, do you think I've 
 injured myself by neglecting this one ! I 
 never felt more disposed for work," said the 
 young man, raising himself out of his chair. 
 It said a great deal for his returning strength 
 that the two anxious spectators allowed him 
 to get up and walk to the window without 
 offering any assistance. The evening was 
 just falling, and Colin looked out upon a gray 
 landscape of leafless trees and misty flats, 
 over which the shadows gathered. He came 
 back again with a little exclamation of im- 
 patience. " I hate these dull levels," said 
 the restless invalid ; " the earth and the 
 skies are silent here, and have nothing to say. 
 Mother, why do we not go home?" He 
 Btood before her for a moment in the twilight, 
 
 THE SOIL 101 
 
 looking, in his diminished bulk and ajipar- 
 ently increased height, like a shadow of what 
 he was. Then he threw himself back in hia 
 chair with an impatience partly assumed to 
 conceal the weakness of which he was pain- 
 fully sensible. " Let us go to-morrow, "said 
 Colin, closing his eyes. He was in the state 
 of weakness which feels every contradiction 
 an injury, and already had been more rufiied 
 in spirit than he cared to acknowledge by 
 the diversion of the talk from his own indi- 
 vidual concerns to a general question so large 
 and so serious. He lay back in his chair, 
 with his eyes closed, and those clouds of 
 brown hair of which his mother was so proud 
 hanging heavily over the forehead which, 
 when it was visible, looked so pale and worn 
 out of its glory of youth. The color of day 
 had all gone out of the whispering, solemn 
 twilight ; and when the mistress looked at 
 the 'face before her, pale, with all its outlines 
 rigid in the gray light, and its eyes closed, 
 it was not wonderful that a shiver went 
 through her heart. 
 
 " That was just what I had to speak about, 
 Colin, my man," said Mrs. Campbell, nerv- 
 ing herself for the task before her. " I see 
 no reason myself against it, for I've aye had 
 a great confidence in native air ; but your 
 grand doctor that was brought down from 
 London " — 
 
 " Do not say anything more. I shall not 
 stay here, mother ; it is impossible ! I am 
 throwing away my life ! " cried Colin, hast- 
 ily, not waiting to hear her out. " Anybody 
 can teach this boy. As for the Franklands, 
 I have done enough for them. They have no 
 right to detain me. We will go to-morrow," 
 the young man repeated, with the petulance 
 of his weakness ; ■ to which Mrs. Campbeli 
 did not know how to reply. 
 
 " But, Colin, my man," said the mistress, 
 after a pause of perplexity, " it's no that 
 I'm meaning. Spring's aye sweet, and it's 
 sweet aboon a' in your ain place, when ye ken 
 every corner to look for a primrose in. I 
 said that to the doctor, Colin ; but he wasna 
 of my opinion. A' that was in his mind was 
 the east wind (no that tHwe's much o' that 
 in our country-side ; but those English canna 
 tell one airt from another) and the soft 
 weather, and I couldna say but what it was 
 whiles damp," said the candid woman ; " and 
 the short and the long is, that he said you were 
 to gang south and no north. I'm no mean- 
 
102 
 
 ing hia. If it waena for your healtlrs sake, 
 which keeps folks anxious, it would sound 
 ewer grand to be possible," she continued, 
 with a wistful smile, " and awfu' proud I 
 would be to think of my laddie in ItaLy " — 
 
 " In Italy ? " said Colin, with a cry of ex- 
 citement and surprise ; and then they both 
 stopped short, and he looked in his mother's 
 eyes, whigh would not meet his, and which 
 he could see, hard as she struggled to keep 
 them unseen, were wet and shining with 
 tears. " People are sent to Italy to die," 
 said the young man. " I suppose that is 
 what the doctor thinks, and that is your 
 opinion, ray poor mother? and Lauderdale 
 thinks so? Don't say no. No, I can see it 
 in your eyes." 
 
 " Oh, Colin, dinna say that ! dinna break 
 my heart! " cried the mistress. " I'm tell- 
 ing you every word the doctor said. He 
 said it would be better for you in future,— ^for 
 your strength, and for getting free of danger 
 in the many hard winters, — dour Scotch win- 
 ters, frost, and snow, and stormy weather, 
 and you your duty to mind night and day." 
 She made a little pause to get her breath, 
 and smiled upon Colin, and went on hastily, 
 lest she should break down before all was said. 
 " In the many hard winters that you have 
 to look forward to — the lang life that's to 
 come " — 
 
 " Lauderdale," said Colin, out of the 
 darkness, " do you hear her saying what she 
 thinks is deception and falsehood ? My moth- 
 er is obliged to tell me the doctor's lie ; but it 
 stumbles on her lips. That is not how she 
 would speak of herself. She would say " — 
 
 " Callant, hold your peace," said Lauder- 
 dale. His voice was so harsh and strange 
 that it jarred in the air, and he rose up with a 
 sudden movement, rising like a tower into 
 the twilight, through which the pleasant re- 
 flections from the fire sparkled and played as 
 lightly as if the talk had been all of pleasure. 
 " Be silent, sir ! " cried Colin'e friend. " How 
 dare you say to me that any word but truth 
 can come out of the mistress's lips? How 
 dare ye " — But here Lauderdale himself 
 came to a sudden pRise. He went to the win- 
 dow, as Colin had done, and then came quick- 
 ly back again. "Because we're a wee con- 
 cerned and anxious about him, he thinks he 
 may say what he likes," said the philosopher, 
 with a strange, short laugh. " It's the way 
 with such callants. They're kings, and give 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 the laws to us that ken better. You may 
 say what you like, Colin ; but you must not 
 name anything that's no true with your 
 mother's name." 
 
 It is strange to fcel that you are going die. 
 It is stranger still to see your friends, pro- 
 foundly conscious of the awful news they 
 have to convey, painfully making light of it, 
 and trying to look as if they meant nothing. 
 Colin perceived the signification of his moth- 
 er's pathetic smiles, of hie friend's impa- 
 tience, of the vigilant watch they kept upon 
 him. He saw that, if perhaps h?r love kept 
 a desperate spark of hope alight in the mis- 
 tress' heart, it was desperate, and she put 
 no confidence in it. All this he perceived, 
 with the rapid and sudden perception whiclf^ 
 comes at such a crisis. Perhaps for a mo- 
 ment tlie blood. went back upon his heart 
 with a suffocating sense of danger, against 
 which he could make no stand, and of an 
 inevitable approaching fate which he could 
 not avoid or flee from. The next minute he 
 laughed aloud. The sound of his laughter 
 was strange and terrible to his companions. 
 The mistress took her boy's hand and caressed 
 it, and spoke to him in the soothing words of 
 his childhood. " Colin, my man, — Colin, 
 my bonnie man," said the mother, whose 
 heart was breaking. She thought his laugh 
 sounded like defiance of God, — defiance of the 
 approaching doom ; and such a fear was 
 worse even than the dread of losing him. 
 She kept his reluctant fingers in hers, hold- 
 ing him fast to the faith and the resigna- 
 tion of his home. As for Lauderdale, he 
 went away out of sight, struggling with a 
 hard sob which all his strength could not re- 
 strain ; and it was in the silence of this mo- 
 ment that Colin'e laugh, more faintly, more 
 softly, with a playful sound that went to his 
 heart, echoed again into the room. 
 
 " Don't hold me, mother," he said : " I 
 could not run away from you if I would. 
 You think I don't take my discovery as I 
 ought to do? If it is true," said Colin, grasp- 
 ing hie mother's hand, " you will have time 
 enough to be miserable about me after ; let 
 us be happy as long as we can. But I don't • 
 think it is true. I have died and come alive 
 again. I am not going to die any more 
 just now," said Colin, with a smile jvhich 
 was more than his mother could bear, and 
 his eyes so fixed upon her, that her efforts to 
 swallow the climbing sorrow in her throat 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 •were such as consumed her strength. But 
 even then it was of him and not herself that 
 she thought. " I wasna moaning, — I wasna 
 saying," she tried to articulate in her broken 
 voice ; and then at intervals, " A' can' be 
 borne — a' can be borne — that doesna go 
 against the will of God. Oh, Colin, my ain 
 laddie ! we maun a' die ; but we must not' 
 rebel against him ! " cried the mistress. A 
 little more, and even she, though long-en- 
 during as love could make her, must have 
 reached the limits of her strength ; but Colin, 
 strangely enough, was noway disposed for 
 solemnity, nor for seriousness. He was at 
 the height of the rebound, and disposed to 
 carry his nurses with him to that smiling 
 mountain-top from which death and sorrow 
 had dispersed like samany mists and clouds. 
 
 " Come to the window, and look out," said 
 Colin : " take my arm, mother ; it feels nat- 
 ural to have you on my arm. Look here — 
 there are neither hills nor waters, but there 
 are always stars about. T don't mean to be 
 discouraged," said the young man, — he had 
 to lean against the window to support himself; 
 but, all the same, he supported her, keeping 
 fast hold of the hand on his arm, — " I don't 
 mean to be discouraged," said Colin, "nor 
 to let you be discouraged. I have been in 
 the valley of the shadow of death ; but I have 
 come out again. It does not matter to me 
 what the doctor says, or what Lauderdale 
 says, or any other of my natural enemies. 
 You and T, mother, know better," he said; 
 " I am not going to die." The two stood at 
 the window, looking up to the faint stars, 
 two faces cast in the same mould, — one dis- 
 traught with a struggling of hope against 
 knowledge, against experience ; the other ra- 
 diant with a smile of youth. " I am not 
 quite able to walk over the Alps, at present," 
 said Colin, leading the mistress back to her 
 chair ; " but for all that, let us go to Italy, 
 since the doctor says so. And, Lauderdale, 
 come out of the dark and light the candles, 
 and don't talk any more nonsense. "We are 
 going to have a consultation about the ways 
 and means. I don't know how it is to be 
 done," said Colin, gayly, " since we have not 
 a penny, nor has anybody belonging to us ; 
 but still, since you say so, mother, and the 
 doctor and Lauderdale " — 
 
 TlUg mistress, all trembling and agitated, 
 rose at this moment to help Lauderdale, who 
 had come, forward wfthout saying anything. 
 
 103 
 
 to do the patient's bidding. " You'll no be 
 angry? " said Mrs. Campbell, under breath : 
 " it's a' his spirits; he means nothing but 
 love and kindness. ' ' Lauderdale met her eye 
 with a countenance almost as much disturbed 
 as her own. 
 
 " Me angry ! " said Colin's friend ; " he 
 might have my head for a football, if that 
 would please him." The words were said in 
 an undertone which sounded li^e a sup- 
 pressed growl ; and as such Colin took the 
 little clandestine exchange of confidence. 
 
 " Is he grumbling, mother? " said the ob- 
 ject of their cares. " Never mind ; he likes 
 to grumble. Now come to the fire, both of 
 you, and talk. They are oracles, these great 
 doctors ; they tell you what you are to do 
 without telling you how to do it. Must I go 
 to Italy in a balloon? " said Colin. " After 
 all, if it were possible, it would be worth be- 
 ing ill for," said the young man, with a sud- 
 den illumination in his eyes. He took the 
 management of aifairs into his own hands for 
 the evening, and pointed out to them where 
 they were to sit with the despotism of an in- 
 valid. " Now we look comfortable," said 
 Colin, " and are prepared to listen to sug- 
 gestions. Lauderdale, your mind is specula-^ 
 tive ; do you begin." 
 
 It was thus that Colin defeated the gath- 
 ering dread and anguish which, even in the 
 face of his apparent recovery, closed more 
 and more darkly round him ; and as what 
 he did and said did not arise from any set 
 purpose or conscious intention, but was the 
 mere expression of instinctive feeling, it had 
 a certain inevitable effect upon his auditors, 
 who brightened up, in spite of themselves 
 and their convictions, under his influence. 
 When Colin laughed, instead of feeling in- 
 clined to sob or groan over him, evcn^ Lau- 
 derdale, after a while, cleared up, too, into a 
 wistful smile, and as for the mistress, her 
 boy's confidence came to her like a special 
 revelation. She saw it was not assumed, 
 and her heart rose. " When a young crea- 
 ture's appointed to be taken, the Lord gives 
 him warning," she said in secret ; " but my 
 Colin has nae message in himself; " and her 
 tender soul was charmed by the visionary 
 consolation. It was under the influence, 
 of the same exhilaration tijut Lauderdale 
 spoke. ^ 
 
 "I'vegivenupmysituation," hesaid. "No 
 but what it was a very honorable situation, 
 
104 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 and no badly remunerated ; hut a man tires 
 of anything that's aye the same day by day. 
 I've been working hard a' my life ; and it's 
 in the nature of a man to be craving. I'm 
 goini;; to Eetaly for my own hand," said Lau- 
 derdale ; " no on your account, callant. I've 
 had enough of the prose, and now's the time 
 for a bit poetry. No that I undertake, to 
 write verses, like you. If he has not me to 
 take care of him, he'll flee into print," said 
 the philosopher, reflectively. " It would be 
 a terrible shock to me to sec our first prize- 
 man, the most distinguished student, as the 
 principal himself said, coming out in a book 
 with lines to Eetaly, and verses about vine- 
 yards and oranges. That kind of thing is a' 
 very well for the callants at Oxford and Cam- 
 bridge ; but there's something more expected 
 from one of m5," said Lauderdale. " I'm go- 
 ing to Eetaly, as I tell you, callant, as long 
 as there's a glimmer of something like youth 
 left in me, to get a bit poetry into my life. 
 You and me will take our knapsacks on our 
 backs and go off together. I have a trifle in 
 the bank, — a hundred pounds, or maybe 
 mair : I couldn't say as to a shilling or twa. 
 If I'm speculative, as you say, I'm no with- 
 out a turn for the practical, " he continued, 
 with some pride; "and everything's awfu' 
 cheap when you know how to manage. This 
 curate callant, — he has no a great deal of 
 sense, nor ony philosophical judgment, that 
 I can see ; and as for theology, he doesna 
 understand what it means ; but he does not 
 seem to me to be deficient in other organs," 
 said the impartial observer, " such as the 
 heart, for example ; and he's been about the 
 world, and understands about inns and things. 
 Every living creature has its use in this life. 
 I wouldna say he was good for very much in 
 the way of direct teaching from the pulpit ; 
 but he's been awfu' instructive to me." 
 
 " And you mean me to save my life at 
 your cost?" said Colin. "This is what I 
 have come to, — at your cost, or at my father's, 
 or by somebody's charity ? No ; I'll go home 
 and sit in an easy-chair, like poor Hugh Car- 
 lyle ; and, mother, you'll take care" — 
 
 When the sick man's fitful spirits thus 
 yielded again, his mother was near to soothe 
 him with a better courage. Again she held 
 his hands, andj||d, "Colin, my man,— Colin, 
 my bonnie ma^lFwith the voice of his child- 
 hood. " You'll come back hale and strong 
 to pay a'body back the trouble," said the 
 
 mistress, while Lauderdale proceeded un- 
 moved, without seeming to hear what Colin 
 said. 
 
 " They're a mystery to me, those English 
 priests," said the meditative Scotcliman. 
 " They're not to call ignorant, in the general 
 sense ; but they're awfu' simple in their ways. 
 To think of a man in possession of his facul- 
 ties reading a verse, or maybe a chapter, out 
 of the Bible, which is very near as myste- 
 rious as life itself to the like of me, and then 
 discoursing about the church and the lessons 
 appointed for this day or that. It's a grand 
 tether, that praj'er-book, though. Yon kind 
 of callant, so long as he keeps by that, he's 
 safe in a kind of a way ; but he knows noth- 
 ing about W'hat's doing outside bis printed 
 walls, and when he hears suddenly a' the 
 stir tliat's in the world, he loses his head al- 
 together, and takes to ' Essays and Reviews,' 
 and that description of literature. But he's 
 awful instructive, as I was saying, in the ar- 
 ticle of inns and steamboats. Not to say 
 that he's a grand Italian scholar, as far as 1 
 can understand, and reads Dante in the orig- 
 inal. It's a wonderful thought to realize the 
 like of that innocent reading Dante. You 
 and me, Colin," said Lauderdale, with a 
 sudden glow in his eyes, " will take the 
 poets by the hand for once in our lives. 
 What you were saying about cost was a won- 
 derful sensible saying for yours. When the 
 siller's done, we'll work our way home ; it's 
 a pity you have no voice to speak of, and I 
 canna play the — guitar is't they call it? " said 
 the philosopher, with a quaint grimace. He 
 ; was contemptuous of the lighter arts, as was 
 natural to his race and habits, and once more 
 I Colin "s laugh sounded gayly through the room 
 j which, for many weeks, had known little 
 laughter. They discussed the whole matter, 
 half playfully, half seriously, as they sat over 
 the fire, growing eager about it as they went 
 on. Lauderdale's hundred pounds "or more" 
 was the careful hoarding of years. He had 
 j saved it as poor Scotchmen are reported to 
 ] save, by minute economies, unsuspected by 
 I richer men. But he was ready to spend his 
 I little fortune with the composure of a mil- 
 lionnaire. "And myself after it, if that 
 ! would make it more effectual," he said to 
 I himself, as he went back in the darkness to 
 I his little lodging in the village. LetiUnot 
 be supposed, however, that any idea ofself- 
 sacrifice was in the mind of Lauderdale. On 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 105 
 
 the contrary, he contemplated this one possi- 
 ble magnificence of his life with a glow of 
 sweet patis&ction and delight. He was will- 
 ing to expend it all upon Colin, if not to 
 eave him, at least to please him. That was 
 his pleasure, the highest gratification of 
 which he was capable in the circumstances. 
 
 ^ He made his plans with the liberality of a 
 prince, without thinking twice about the 
 matter, though it was all the wealth he had 
 in the world which he was about to lavish 
 freely, for Colin's sake. 
 
 " I don't mean to take Lauderdale's money; 
 but we'll arrange it somehow," said Colin; 
 " and then for the hard winters you speak of, 
 mother, and the labor night and day." He 
 sent her away with a smile ; but when he 
 had closed the door of his own apartment, 
 which now, at length, he was well enough to 
 have to himself without the attendance of any 
 nurse, the light went out of the young man's 
 face. After they were both gone, he sat down 
 and began to think ; things did not look so 
 serene, so certain, so infallible when he was 
 alone. He began to think, What if, after all, 
 the doctor might be right? What if it were 
 death and not life that was written against 
 his name? The thought brought a little 
 thrill to Colin's heart, and then he set him- 
 self to contemplate the possibility. His faith 
 was shadowy in details, like that of most peo- 
 ple ; his ideas about heaven had shifted and 
 grown confused from the first vague vision of 
 
 , beatitude, the crowns and palms and celes- 
 tial harps of childhood. What was that 
 other existence into which, in the fulness 
 of his youth, he might be transported ere he 
 was aware? Then, at least, must be the so- 
 lution of all the difficulties that crazed the 
 minds of men ; then, at least, nearer to God, 
 there must be increase of faculty, elevation 
 of soul. Colin looked it in the face, and the 
 Unknown did not appall him ; but through 
 the silence he seemed already to hear the cry 
 of anguish which would go up from one 
 homely house under the unanswering skies. 
 It had been his home all his life : what would 
 it be to him in the event of that change, 
 which was death, but not destruction? Must 
 le look down from afar off, — from some 
 cold, cruel distance, — upon the sorrow of his 
 friends, himself being happy beyond reach, 
 bearing no share in the burden ? Or might 
 he, according to a still harder imagination, 
 be with them, beside them, but unable by 
 
 word or look, by breath or touch, to lift 
 aside even for a moment the awful veil, trans- 
 parent to him, but to them heavy and dark 
 as night, which drops between the living and 
 the dead ? It was when his thoughts came to 
 this'point that Colin withdrew, faint and sick 
 at heart, from the hopeless inquiry. He went 
 to his rest, saying bis prayers, as he said them 
 at his mother's knee, for Jesus' sake. Heaven 
 and earth swam in confused visions rpund the 
 brain which was dizzy with the encounter 
 of things too mysterious, too dark to be fath- 
 omed. The only thing in earth or heaven of 
 which there seemed to be any certainty was 
 the sole Existence which united both, in whose 
 name Colin said his prayers. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 Miss Matty Fkankland all this time bad 
 not been without her trials. They were tri- 
 als a? unlike Colin's as possible, but not 
 without some weight and poignancy of their 
 own, such as might naturally belong to the 
 secondary heartaches of a woman who was 
 far from being destitute either of sense and 
 feeling, and yet was at the same time a lit- 
 tle woman of the world. In the first place, 
 she was greatly aggravated that Harry, who, 
 on the whole, seemed to be her fate, an inev- 
 itable necessity, should allow himself to be 
 picked out of a canal at the hazard of an- 
 other man's life. Harry was, on the whole, 
 a very good fellow, and was not apt to fall 
 into an inferior place among his equals, or 
 show himself less manful, courageous, or for- 
 tunate than other people. But it wounded 
 Matty's pride intensely to think that she 
 might have to marry a man whose life had 
 been twice saved, all the more as it was not 
 a fault with which he could be reasonably up- 
 braided. And then, being a woman, it was 
 impossible for her to refrain from a little 
 natural involuntary hero-worship of the 
 other, who was not only the hero of these 
 adventures, but her own chivalrous adorer to 
 boot, — perhaps the only man in the world 
 who had suffered his life to be seriously af- 
 fected by her influence. Not only so ; but 
 at the bottom Mies Matty was fond of Colin, 
 and looked upon him with an affectionate, 
 caressing regard, which was not love, but 
 might very easily bear the aspect of love by 
 moments, especially when its object was in a 
 position of special interest. Between these 
 two sentiments the young lady was kept in a 
 
106 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 state of harass and worry, disadvantageous 
 both to her looks and her temper, — a con- 
 sciousness of which reacted in its turn upon 
 her feelinp;8. She put it all down to Harry's 
 score when, looking in her glass, she found 
 herself paler than usual. " I wonder how 
 he could be such an ass ! " she said to herself 
 at such periods, with a form of expression 
 unsuitable for a boudoir ; and then her heart 
 would melt toward his rival. There were 
 some moments when she felt, or imagined 
 she felt, the thraldom of society, and uttered 
 to herself sighs and sneers, half false and 
 half true, about the "gilded chains," etc., 
 which bound her to make her appearance at 
 Sir Thomas's dinner-party, and to take an 
 active part in the ball. All this conflict of 
 sentiment was conscious, which made mat- 
 ters worse ; for all the time Matty was never 
 quite clear of the idea that she was a hum- 
 bug, and even in her truest impulse of feel- 
 ing kept perpetually finding herself out. If 
 Colin had been able to appear down-stairs, 
 her position would have been more and more 
 embarrassing ; as it was, she saw, a? clearly 
 as any one, that the intercourse which she 
 had hitherto kept up with the tutor must 
 absolutely come to an end now, when he 
 had a claim so much stronger and more ur- 
 gent on the gratitude of the family. And 
 the more closely she perceived this, the more 
 did Matty grudge the necessity of throwing 
 aside the most graceful of all her playthings. 
 Things might have gone on in the old way 
 for long enough, but for this most unnecessary 
 and perplexing accident, which was entirely 
 Harry's fault. Now she dared not any 
 longer play with Colin's devotion, and yet 
 was very reluctant to give up the young 
 worshipper, who amused and interested and 
 affected her more than any other in her train. 
 With this in her mind. Miss Matty, as may 
 be supposed, was a little fitful in her spirits, 
 and felt herself, on the whole, an injured 
 woman. The ordinary homage of the draw- 
 ing-room felt stale and unprofitable after 
 Colin's poetic worship ; and the wooing of 
 Harry, who felt he had a right to her, and 
 conducted himself accordingly, made the con- 
 trast all the more distinct. And in her heart, 
 deep down beyond all impulses of vanity, 
 there lay a woman's pity for the sufferer, — a 
 woman's grateful but remorseful admiration 
 for the man who had given in cxcliangc for 
 all her false coin a most unquestionable heart. 
 
 Matty did not suspect the change in Colin's 
 sentiments ; perhaps she could not liy any 
 effort of her understanding havc^ealiz.cd the 
 silent revolution which these few weeks had 
 worked in his mind. She would have been 
 humbled, wounded, perhaps angry, had she 
 known of his disenchantment. But in her 
 ignorance, a certain yearning was in the m 
 young lady's mind. She was not reconciled 
 to give him up ; she wanted to see him again, 
 — even, so mingled were her sentiments, to 
 try her power upon him again, though it 
 could only be to give him pain. Altogether, 
 the business was complicated to an incredible 
 extent in the mind of Matty, and she had not 
 an idea of the simple manner in which Colin 
 had cut the knot and escaped out of all its 
 entanglements. When the accident was dis- 
 cussed down-stairs, the remarks of tlic gen- 
 eral company were insufferable to the girl 
 who knew more about Colin than any one 
 else did ; and the sharpness of her criticism 
 upon their jocular remarks confounded even 
 Lady Frankland, whose powers of observa- 
 tion were not rapid. " My dear, you seem 
 to be losing your temper," said the aston- 
 ished aunt ; and the idea gave Lady Frank- 
 land a little trouble. " A woman who loses ^. 
 her temper will never do for Harry," she 
 said in confidence to Sir Thomas. " And poor 
 fellow, he is very ready to take offence since 
 this unfortunate accident. I am sure, I am 
 quite ready to acknowledge how much we 
 owe to Mr. Campbell ; but it is very odd 
 that nothing has ever happened to Harry 
 except in his company," said the aggrieved 
 mother. Sir Thomas, for his part, was more 
 reasonable. 
 
 " A very lucky thing for Harry," said the 
 baronet. " Nobody else would have gone 
 into that canal after him. I can't conceive 
 how Harry could be such a confounded ass!" 
 Sir Thomas added, with a mortified air. 
 " But as for Campbell, poor fellow, anything 
 that I can do for him— By Jove, i\Iary, if 
 he were to die, I should never forgive my- 
 self! " 
 
 On the whole, it will be seen that the agita- 
 tions occasioned by Colin were not confined 
 to his own chamber. xYs for Harry, he kept 
 silence on the subject, but did not the less 
 feel the inferior position in which his misfor- 
 tune had lef thim. He was grateful so far, — 
 that, if he could have persuaded Colin to ac- 
 cept any recompense, or done him any over- 
 
whelming favor, he would have gladly given 
 that evidence of thankfulness. But after 
 the first shock of horror with which he heard 
 of the tutor's danger, it is certain that the 
 mortification of feeling that his life had been 
 saved at the risk of another man's life pro- 
 duced in young Frankland anything but a 
 friendly sentiment. To accept so vast an 
 obligation requires an amount of generosity 
 of which Harry was not capable. The two 
 young men were, indeed, placed in this sin- 
 gular relationship to each other, without the 
 existence of a spark of sympathy between 
 them. Not only was the mind of the saved 
 in a sore and resentful, rather than a grate- 
 ful and afl'ectionate, state ; but even the 
 other, from whom more magnanimity might 
 have been expected, had absolutely no pleas- 
 ure in thinking that he had saved the life of 
 a fellow-creature. That sweet satisfaction 
 and approval of conscience which is said to 
 attend acts of benevolence did not make itself 
 felt in the bosom of Colin. He was rather 
 irritated than pleased by the consciousness of 
 having preserved Harry Frankland from a 
 watery grave, as the apothecary said. The 
 entire household was possessed by sensations 
 utterly unlike those which it ought to have 
 felt, when, on the day succeeding his con- 
 6ultation with Lauderdale, Colin for the first 
 time came down-stairs. There were still some 
 people in the house giving full occupation to 
 Lady Frankland's hours of hospitality, and 
 Matty's of entertainment ; but both the ladies 
 heard in a minute or two after his appear- 
 ance that Mr. Campbell had been seen going 
 into the library. " Perhaps it would be best 
 if you were to go and speak to him, Matty," 
 said Lady Frankland. " There is no occa- 
 sion for being too enthusiastic ; but you may 
 say that 1 am very much occupied, or I would 
 have come myself to welcome him. Say any- 
 thing that is proper, my dear, and I will try 
 and induce Harry to go and shake hands, and 
 make his acknowledgments. Men have such 
 a horror of making a fuss," said the per- 
 plexed mother. As for Matty, she went upon 
 her errand with eagerness and a little agita- 
 tion. Colin was in the library, seated at the 
 table beside Sir Thomas, when she went in. 
 The light was shining full upon him, and it 
 did not subdue the beatings of Matty's con- 
 tradictory little heart to see how changed he 
 was, and out of caves how deep the eyes 
 loeked which had taken new meanings unin- 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 107 
 
 telligible to her. She had been, in her secrel 
 heart, a little proud of understanding Colin'f 
 
 eyes ; and it was humiliating to see the new 
 significations which had been acquired during 
 his sickness, and to which she had no clew. 
 Sir Thomas was speaking when she came in ; 
 so Matty said nothing, but came and stood 
 by him for a momont, and gave her hand to 
 Colin. When their eyes met, they were both 
 moved, though they were not in love with 
 each other ; and then Matty drew a chair to 
 the othec side of the table, and looked re- 
 morsefully, pitifully, tenderly, on the man 
 whom she supposed her lover. She was sur- 
 prised that he did not seek her eye, or show 
 himself alive to all her movements, as he 
 used to do ; and at that moment, for the first 
 time, it occurred to Matty to wonder whether 
 the absolute possession of Colin's heart might 
 not be worth a sacrifice. She was tired of 
 Harry and, to tell the truth, of most other 
 people just then. And the sight of this youth 
 — who was younger than she was, who was 
 so much more ignorant and less experienced 
 than she, and who had not an idea in his 
 head about settlements and establishments, 
 but entertained visions of an impossible life, 
 with incomprehensible aims and meanings in 
 it — had a wonderfully sudden efiect upon 
 4ier. For that instant Matty was violently 
 tempted, — that is to say, she took it into her 
 consideration as actually a question worth 
 thinking of, whether it might not be practi- 
 cable to accept Colin's devotion, and push 
 him on in the world, and make something of 
 him. She entertained the idea all the more, 
 strangely enough, because she saw none of 
 the old pleadings in Colin's eyes. 
 
 " I hope you will never doubt our grati- 
 tude, Campbell," said Sir Thomas. " I un- 
 derstand that the doctor has said you must 
 not remain in this climate. Of course you 
 must spend the spring in Nice, or somewhere. 
 It's charming scenery thereabouts. You'll 
 get better directly you get into the air. And 
 in summer, you know, there's no place so 
 good as England, — you must come back here. 
 As for expenses, you shall have a travelling 
 allowance over your salary. Don't say any- 
 thing ; money can never repay " — 
 
 " As long as I was Charley's tutor," said 
 Colin, " money was natural. Pardon me, — 
 I can't help the change of circumstances, — 
 there is no money bond between us now, — only 
 kindness," said the young man, with an effort. 
 
108 
 
 »' You have all been very good to rue eince I 
 fell ill. I come to thank you, and to say I 
 must give up " — 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Sir Thomas ; "but you 
 can't imagine that I will let you suffer for 
 your exertions on my son's behalf, and for the 
 regard you have shown to my family ? " 
 
 "I wish you would understand," said 
 Colin, with vexation. " I have explained to 
 Lady Franicland more than once. It may 
 seem rude to say so ; but there was no regard 
 for your family involved in that act, at least. 
 I was the only one of the party who saw that 
 your son had gone down. I had no wish to 
 go down after him ; I can't say I had any 
 impulse, even ; but I had seen him, and I 
 should have felt like his murderer if I had 
 not attempted to save him. 1 am aware it is 
 an ungracious thing to say ; but I cannot 
 accept praise which I don't deserve," said 
 Colin, his weakness brir>ging a hot, sudden 
 color over his face ; and then he stopped 
 short, and looked at Sir Thomas, who was 
 perplexed by this interruption, and did not 
 quite know how to shape his reply. 
 
 " Well, well," said the baronet ; " I don't 
 exactly understand you, and I dare say you 
 don't understand yourself. Most people that 
 are capable of doing a brave action give 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 to you all about it." And so the good- 
 hearted squire went away, thinking every- 
 
 queer explanations of it. That's what you* and you never took to each other; but you 
 
 mean, 1 suppose. No fellow that's worth 
 anything pretends to fine motives, and so 
 forth. You did it because you could not 
 help it. But that does not interfere with 
 my gratitude. When you are ready to go, 
 you will find a credit opened for you at my 
 bankers, and we must see about letters of 
 introduction and all that ; and I advise you, 
 if you're going to Italy, to begin the lan- 
 guage at once, if you don't know it. Miss 
 Matty used to chatter enough for six when 
 we were there. I dare say she'd like nothing 
 better than to teach you," said Sir Thomas. 
 He was so much relieved by the possibility 
 of turning over his difficult visitor upon 
 Matty that he forgot the disadvantages of 
 such a proposal. He got up, delighted to 
 escape and to avoid any further remon- 
 strance, and held out his hand to Colin. 
 " Delighted to see you down-8t%irs again," 
 said the bai'onet; " and I hope you'll bring 
 your friend to dinner with you to-night. 
 Good-by just now ; I have, unfortunately, 
 an engagement " — 
 
 " Good-by," said Colin. " I will write 
 
 thing was settled. After that it was verj 
 strange for the two who had been so muct 
 together to find themselves again in the same 
 room, and alone. As for Colin, he did not 
 well know what to say. Almost the lasl 
 time he had been by ^latty'e side withoul 
 any witnesses was the time when he con- 
 cluded that it was only his life which hi 
 was throwing away for her sake. Since thai 
 time, what a wonderful change had passed 
 over him ! The idea that he had thought 
 her smile, the glance of her eyes, worth such 
 a costly sacrifice, annoyed Colin. But still 
 her presence sent a little thrill through him 
 when they were left alone together. And 
 as for Miss Matty, there was some anxiety 
 in her eyes as she looked at him. What did 
 he mean ? Was he taking a desperate resolu- 
 tion to declare his sentiments ? or what other 
 reason could there be for his unusual silence? 
 for it never occurred to her to attribute it to 
 its true cause. 
 
 " My uncle thinks you have consented to 
 his plan," said Matty; "but I suppose I 
 know what your face means better than he 
 does. Why are you so hard upon us, I 
 wondcv? I know well enough that Harry 
 
 used to like the rest of us, — or, at least, 
 thought so," said the little siren. She gave 
 one of her pretty glances at him under her 
 eyelashes, and Colin looked at her across the 
 table candidly, without any disguise. Alas ! 
 he had seen her throw that same glance at 
 various other persons, while he stQ()d in the 
 corner of the drawing-room observing every- 
 thing ; and the familiar artillery this time 
 had no effect. 
 
 " I have the greatest respect for everybody 
 at Wodcnsbourne," said Colin; "you did 
 me only justice in thinking so. You have 
 all been very good to me." 
 
 " I did not say anything about rcsjiect," 
 said Miss Matty, with pouting lips. " We 
 used to be friends, or, at least, I thought so. 
 I never imagined we were to break off into 
 respect so suddenly. I am sure I wisli Harry 
 had been a hundred miles away when he 
 came to disturb us all," said the disarmed 
 enchantress. She saw aflliirs were in the 
 most critical state, and her words were so 
 far true that slie could have expressed her 
 feelings best at the moment by an ho^t fit 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 109 
 
 of crying. As this was impracticable, Miss 
 Matty tried lees urgent measures. " We 
 have caused you nothing but suffering and 
 vexation," said the young lady, dropping her 
 voice and fixing her eyes upon the pattern 
 of the table-cover, which she began to trace 
 with her finger. " I do not wonder that 
 we have become disagreeable to you. But 
 you should not condemn the innocent with 
 the guilty," said Miss Matty, looking sud 
 denly up into his eyes. A touch of agita- 
 tion, the slightest possible, gave interest to 
 the face on which Colin was looking ; and 
 perhaps all the time he had known her she 
 had never so nearly apjffoached being beau- 
 tiful, as certainly, all the time, she had 
 never so narrowly escaped being true. If 
 things had been with Colin as they once 
 were, the probability is that, moved by her 
 emotion, the whole story of his love would 
 have poured forth at this emergency ; and, 
 had it done so, there is a possibility that 
 Matty, carried away by the impulse of the 
 moment, might have awoke next morning 
 the affianced wife of the farmer's son of Ra- 
 more. Providence, however, was kinder to 
 the pair. Colin sat on the other side of the 
 table, and perceived that she was putting her 
 little delicate probe into his wound. He saw 
 all the asides and stage directions, and looked 
 at her with a curious, vicarious sense of 
 shame. 
 
 Colin, indeed, in his new enlightenment, 
 was hard upon Matty. He thought it was 
 all because she could not give up her power 
 over the victim, whom she intended only to 
 torture, that she had thus taken the trouble 
 to reopen tne ended intercourse. He could 
 no more have believed that at this moment, 
 while he was looking at her, such a thing 
 was possible as that Matty might have ac- 
 cepted his love, and pledged her life to him, 
 than he would have believed the wildest 
 nonsense that ever was written in a fairy 
 tale. So the moments passed, while the 
 ignorant mortal sat on the opposite side of 
 the table, — which was a very fortunate thing 
 for both parties. Nevertheless, it was with 
 a certain sense of contempt for him, as, after 
 all, only an ordinary blind male creature, 
 unconscious of his opportunities, mingled 
 with a thrill of excitement, on her own part, 
 natural to a woman who has just escaped a 
 great danger, that Miss Matty listened to 
 what Colin had to say. 
 
 " There is neither guilty nor innocent that 
 I know of," said Colin ; " you have all been 
 very kind to me. It is very good of you to 
 take the pains to understand me. I don't 
 mean to take advantage of 'Sir Thomas 
 Frankland's kindness ; but I am not such a 
 churl as to fling it back in his teeth as if it 
 were pride alone that made mere fuse it. It 
 is not pride alone," said Colin, growing red, 
 " but a sense of justice ; for what I have 
 done has been done by accident. I will 
 write and explain to Sir Thomas what I 
 mean." 
 
 " Write and explain? " said Matty. "You 
 have twice said you would write. Do you 
 mean that you are going away? " 
 
 "As soon as it is possible," said Colin; 
 and then he perceived that he was speaking 
 with rude distinctness. " Indeed, I have 
 been taking advantage of your kindness too 
 long. I have been a useless member of the 
 household for six weeks at least. Yes, I 
 must go away." 
 
 "You speak very calmly," said Matty. 
 She was a little flushed, and there were tears 
 in her eyes. If they had been real tears she 
 would have hidden them carefully; but as 
 they were only half real, she had no objection 
 to let Colin see that she was concealing 
 them. "You are very composed about* it, 
 Mr. Campbell. One would think you were 
 going away from a place distasteful to you, 
 or, at least, which you were totally indiffer- 
 ent about. I dare say that is all very right 
 and proper ; but I have a good memory, and 
 it appears rather strange to me." 
 
 It was altogether a trying situation for 
 Colin. If she had been able to seduce him 
 into a little recrimination, she would have 
 succeeded in dragging the reluctant captive 
 back again into his toils; which, having by 
 this time entirely recovered her senses, was 
 all Miss Matty wanted. Her downcast, 
 tearful eyes, the faltering in her voice, were 
 wonderfully powerful weapons, which the 
 young man was unable to combat by means 
 of mere indifference. Colin, however, being 
 a man of impulses, was never to be calcu- " 
 lated on beforehand for any particular line 
 of conduct ; and on the present occasion, he 
 entirely overleaped Miss Matty's bounds. 
 
 " Yes, it is strange," said Colin, " Per- 
 haps nothing but the sight of Death, whohaa 
 been staring into my eyes for some time, could 
 have shown me the true state of affairs. 1 
 
110 
 
 have uttered a great deal of nongense since I 
 came to Wodensbourne, and you have lis- 
 tened to it, Miss Frankland, and perhaps 
 rather enjoyed seeing my tortures and my 
 dcliglits. But nothing could come of that ; 
 and when Death hangs on behind, everything 
 but love flics before him," said Colin. " It 
 was pleasant sport while it lasted ; but every- 
 thing, except love, comes to an end." 
 
 " Except love," said Miss Matty. She was 
 terribly piqued and mortified on the surface, 
 and a little humble and sorrowful within. 
 She had a sense, too, that, for one moment, 
 at the beginning of this interview, she had 
 almost been capable of that sentiment which 
 Colin exalted so highly ; and that, conee- 
 qnently, he did her injustice in speaking of 
 it as something with which she had nothing 
 to do. "I remember hearing you talk of 
 that sometimes in the midst of what you call 
 nonsense now. If you did not understand 
 yourself, you can't expect that I should have 
 understood you," she went on. To tell the 
 truth. Miss Matty was very near crying. She 
 had experienced the usual injustice of human 
 affairs, and been punished for her vanity just 
 at that moment when she was inclined to do 
 better ; and her heart cried out against such 
 cruel usage. This time, however, she kept 
 her tears quite in subjection and did not 
 show them, but only repeated, "You could 
 not expect that I should understand you, if 
 you did not understand yourself." 
 
 "No; that is true at least," said Colin, 
 with eyes that strayed beyond her, and had 
 gone off in other regions unknown to Matty. 
 This which had piqued her even at the height 
 of their alliance gave her an excuse for her 
 anger now. 
 
 " And when you go off into sentiment, I 
 never understand you," said the young lady. 
 " I will leave V incomodo, as the Italians say. 
 That shall be your first lesson in the language 
 which my uncle says I am to teach you," 
 said the baffled little witch ; and she went 
 away with a glance half-spiteful, half-wist- 
 ful, which had more effect upon Colin than 
 a world of words. He got up to open the 
 door for her, weak as he was, and took her 
 hand and kissed it as she went away. Then 
 Colin took himself laboriously up-stairs, 
 having done his day's work. And so unrea- 
 sonable was the young man, that Matty's last 
 glance filled his heart with gentler tliouglits 
 of the world in general, though he was not 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 I in love any longer. " I was not such a fool 
 I after all," he said to himself ; which was a 
 great consolation. As for Matty, she cried 
 heartily when she got to her room, and felt 
 as if she had lost something. Nor did she re- 
 cover until about luncheon, when some peo- 
 ple came to call, and it was her duty to be 
 entertaining, and relieve Lady Frankland. 
 " I hope you said everything that was proper 
 to Mr. Campbell, my dear," said the lady of 
 the house when lunch was over. And so that 
 chapter came to an end. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 After this inter^ew, it was strange to 
 meet again the little committee up-stairs, 
 and resume the consideration of ways and 
 means, which Sir Thomas would have settled 
 so summarily. Colin could not help think- 
 ing of the difference with a little amusement. 
 He was young enough to be able to dismiss 
 entirely the grave thoughts of the previouE 
 night, feeling in his "elastic, youthful mind, 
 as he did, something of the fresh influence 
 of the morning, or at least, — for Colin had 
 found out that the wind was easterly, a 
 thing totally indifferent to him in old times, 
 — of the sentiment of the morning, which, 
 so long as heart and courage are unbroken, 
 renews the thoughts and hopes. !Money was 
 a necessary evil, to Colin's thinking. So 
 long as there happened to be enough of it 
 for necessary purposes, he was capable of 
 laughing at the contrast between his own 
 utter impecuniosity and the wealth which 
 was only important for its immediate uses. 
 Though he was Scotch, and of a careful, 
 money-making race, this was as yet the as- 
 pect which money bore to the young man. 
 lie laughed as he leaned back in his easy- 
 chair. 
 
 " What Lauderdale makes up by working 
 for years, and what we can't make up by 
 any amount of working. Sir Thomas does 
 with a scrape of his pen," said Colin. 
 " Down-stairs they need to take little thought 
 about these matters, and up here a great 
 deal of thought serves to very little purpose. 
 On the whole, it seems to me that it would 
 be very good for our tempers and for our 
 minds in general if we all had plenty of 
 money," said the young philosopher, still 
 laughing. lie was tolerably indifferent on 
 the subject, and able to take it easily. While 
 he spoke, his eye lighted on his mother's face. 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 who was not regarding the matter by any 
 means so lightly. Mrs. Campbell, on the 
 contrary, was suffering under one of the great- 
 est minor trials of a woman. She thought her 
 son's life depended on this going to Italy, and 
 to procure the means for it there was nothing 
 on earth his mother would not have done. 
 She would have undertaken joyfully the 
 rudest and hardest labor that ever was under- 
 taken by man. She would have put her 
 hands, which indeed were not accustomed to 
 work, to any kind of toil ; but with this 
 eager longing in her heart she knew at the 
 same time that it was quite impossible for her 
 to do anything by which she could earn those 
 sacred and precious coins on which her boy's 
 life depended. While Colin spoke, his moth- 
 er was making painful calculations what she 
 could save and spare, at least, if she could 
 not earn. Colin stopped short when he 
 looked at her ; he could not laugh any longer. 
 What was to him a matter of amused specu- 
 lation was to her life or death. 
 
 " There canna but be inequalities in this 
 world," said the mistress, her tender brows 
 still puckered with their baffling calculations. 
 " Tm no envious of ony grandeur, nor of 
 taking my ease, nor of the pleasures of this 
 life. We're awfu' happy at hame in our 
 sma' way when a's weel with the bairns ; 
 but it's for their sakes, to get them a' that's 
 good for them ! Money's precious when it 
 means health and life," said Mrs. Campbell, 
 with a sigh ; " and it's awfu' hard upon a 
 woman when she can do nothing for her ain, 
 and them in need." 
 
 " I've known it hard upon a man," said 
 Lauderdale ; " there's little diffei-ence when 
 it comes to that. But a hundi'cd pounds," 
 he continued, with a delightful consciousness 
 of power and magnificence, " is not a bad 
 Bum to begin upon ; before that's done, there 
 will be time to think of more. It's none of 
 your business, callant, that I can see. If 
 you'll no come with me, you must even stay 
 behind. I'v.e set my heart on a holiday. A 
 man has a little good of his existence when 
 he does nothing but earn and eat and eat and 
 earn again as I've been doing. I would like 
 to take the play awhile, and feel that I'm 
 living." 
 
 When the mistress saw how Lauderdale 
 stretched his long limbs on his chair, and 
 how Colin's face brightened with the look, 
 half sympathetic, half provocative, which i 
 
 111 
 
 usually marked the beginning of a long 
 discussion, she went to the other end of 
 the room for her work. It was Colin's linen 
 which his mother was putting in order, and 
 she was rather glad to withdraw to the other 
 side of the room, and retire within that ref- 
 uge of needlework, which is a kind of sanc- 
 tuary for a woman, and in which she could 
 pursue undisturbed her own thoughts. After 
 a while, though these discussions, were much 
 in My8. Campbell's way, and she was not 
 disinclined in general to take part in them, 
 she lost the thread of the conversation. The 
 voices came to her in a kind of murmur, now 
 and then chiming in with a chance word or 
 two with the current of her own reflections. 
 The atmosphere which surrounded the con- 
 valescent had never felt so hopeful as to-day, 
 and the heart of the mother swelled with a 
 sense of restoration, a trust in God's mercy 
 which recently had been dull and faint with- 
 in her. Restoration, recovery, deliverance — 
 Nature grows humble, tender, and sweet un- 
 der these influences of heaven. The mis- 
 tress's heart melted within her, repenting of 
 all the hard thoughts she had been thinking, 
 of all the complaints she had uttered. " It 
 is good for me that I was afflicted," said the 
 Psalmist ; but it was not until his affliction was 
 past that he could say so. Anguish and loss 
 make no such confession. The heart, when it 
 is breaking, has enough ado to refrain from 
 accusing God of its misery, and it is only the 
 inhumanity of human advisers that would 
 adjure it to make spiritual merchandise out 
 of the hopelessness of its pain. 
 
 Matters were going on thus in Colin's 
 chamber, where he and his friend sat talk- 
 ing ; and the mother at the other end of the 
 room, carefully sewing on Colin's buttons, 
 began to descend out of her heaven of thank- 
 fulness, and to be troubled with a pang of 
 apprehension, lest her husband should not see 
 things in the same light as she did, but might, 
 perhaps, demur to Colin's journey as an un- 
 warrantable expense. People at Ramore did 
 not seek such desperate remedies for failing 
 health. Whenever a cherished one was ill, 
 they were content to get " the best doctors," 
 and do everything fbr him that household 
 care and pains could do ; but, failing that, 
 the invalid succumbed into the easy-chair, 
 and when domestic cherishing would serve 
 the purpose no longer, into a submissive 
 grave, without dreaming of those resources 
 
112 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 of the rich which might still have prolonged 
 the fading life. Colin of Ramore was a kind 
 father ; but he was only a man, as the mis- 
 tress recollected, and apt to come to different 
 conclusions from an anxious and trembling 
 mother. Possibly he might tliink this great 
 expense unnecessary, not to be thought of, 
 an injustice to his other children ; and tliis 
 thought disturbed her reflections terribly, 
 as she sat behind their backs examining 
 Colin's wardi'obe. At all events, present 
 duty prompted her to make everything sound 
 and comfortable, that he might be ready to 
 encounter the journey without any difficulty 
 on that score ; and absorbed in these mingled 
 cares and labors, she was folding up carefully 
 the garments she had done witii, and laying 
 them before her in a' snowy heap upon the 
 table, when the curate knocked softly at the 
 door. It was rather an odd scene for the 
 young clergyman, who grew more and more 
 puzzled by his Scotch acquaintances the more 
 he saw of them, not knowing how to account 
 for their quaint mixture of homeliness and 
 intelligence, nor whether to address them po- 
 litely as equals, or familiarly as inferiors. 
 Mrs. Campbell came forward, when he opened 
 the door, with her cordial smile and looks 
 as gracious as if she had been a duchess. 
 '* Come away, sir," said the farmer's wife, 
 " we are aye real glad to see you," and then ! 
 the mistress stopped short ; for Henry Frank- [ 
 land was behind the curate, and somehow, { 
 the heir of Wodcnsbourne was not a favor- 1 
 ite with Colin's mothfcr. But her discon- j 
 tentment lasted but a moment. "I canna ! 
 bid ye welcome, Mr. Frankland, to your own , 
 house," said the diplomatical woman ; " but j 
 if it was mine, I would say I was glad to see 1 
 you." That was how she got over the difB- ; 
 culty. But she followed the two young men ' 
 toward the fire, when Colin had risen from i 
 his easy-chair. She could but judge accord- I 
 ing to her knowledge, like other people ; and 
 she was a little afraid that the man who had ' 
 taken his love from him, who had hazarded 
 health and, probably, his life, would find lit- ' 
 tie favor in Colin's eyes ; and to be anything ' 
 but courteous to a man who came to pay her 
 a visit, even had he been her greatest en- 1 
 emy, was repugnant to her barbaric-princely 
 Scotch ideas. She followed accordingly, to i 
 be at hand and put things straight if they ; 
 went wrong. i 
 
 " Frankland was too late to see you to-day 
 
 when you were down-stairs; so he thought 
 he would come up with me," sitid the curate, 
 giving this graceful version of the fact that, 
 dragged by himself and pursued bj Lady 
 Frankland, Harry had most reluctantly as- 
 cended the stair. " I am very glad indeed to 
 hear that you were down to-day. You are 
 looking — ah — better already,'^ said the kind 
 young man. As for Harry Frankland, he 
 came forward and offered his hand, putting 
 down at the same time on the table a pile of 
 books with which he was loaded. 
 
 " My cousin told me you wanted to learn 
 Italian," said Harry; "so I brought you 
 the books. It's a very easy language, 
 though people talk great nonsense about its 
 being musical. It is not a bit sweeter than 
 English. If you only go to Nice, French 
 will answer quite well." Ho eat down sud- 
 denly and uncomfortably as he delivered him- 
 self of this utterance : and Colin, for his part, 
 took up the grammar, and looked at it as if 
 he had no other interest under the sun. 
 
 "I don't agree with Frankland there," 
 said the curate ; " everything is melodious in 
 Italy except the churches. I know you are 
 a keen observer, and I am sure you will be 
 struck with the fine spirit of devotion in the 
 people ; but the churches are the most im- 
 pious edifices in existence," said the An 
 glian, with warmth, — which was said, not 
 because the curate was thinking of ecclesias- 
 tical art at the moment, but by way of mak- 
 ing conversation, and conducting the inter- 
 view between the saved man and his deliverer 
 comfortably to an end. 
 
 " I think you said you had never been in 
 Scotland?" said Lauderdale. "But we'll 
 no enter into that question, though I would 
 not say myself but there is a certain influence 
 in the form of a building independent of 
 what you may hear there, — which is one ad- 
 vantage you have over us in this half of the 
 kingdom," said the critic, with an emphasis 
 which was lost up on the company. " I'm 
 curious to see the workings of an irrational 
 system where it has no limit. It's an awfu' 
 interesting subject of inquiry, and there is' 
 little doubt in my mind that a real popular 
 system must aye be more or less irrational." 
 
 "I beg your pardon," said the curate. 
 " Of course, there arc many errors in the 
 Church of Rome ; but I don't sec that such a_ 
 word as irrational " — 
 
 " It's a very good word," said Lauderd^ile; 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 " I'm not using it in a contemptuous sense. 
 Man's an irrational being, take him at his 
 best. I'm not saying if it's above reason or 
 below reason, but out of reason ; which 
 makes it none the worse to me. All reli- 
 gion's out of reason for that matter, — which 
 is a thing we never can be got to allow in 
 Scotland. You understand it better in your 
 church," said the philosopher, with a keen 
 glance — half sarcastic, half amused — at the 
 astonished curate, who was taken by sur- 
 prise, and did not know what to say. 
 
 During this time, however, Colin and 
 Harry were eying each other over the Italian 
 books. " You wont find it at all difficult, 
 said young Frankland; "if you had been 
 staying longer, we might have helped you 
 I say — look here — I am much obliged to 
 you," Harry added, suddenly: "a fellow 
 does not know what to say in such circum- 
 stances. I am horribly vexed to think of 
 your being ill. I'd be very glad to do as 
 much for you as you have done for me." 
 
 " Which is simply nothing at ail," said 
 Colin, hastily ; and then he became conscious 
 of the effort the other had made. " Thank 
 you for saying as much. I wish you could, 
 and then noMWy would think any more about 
 it," he said, laughing; and then they re- 
 garded each other for another half-minute 
 across the table, while Lauderdale and the 
 curate kept on talking heresy. Then Colin 
 suddenly held out his hand. 
 
 " It seems my fate to go away without a 
 grudge against anybody," said the young 
 man, " which is hard enough when one has 
 a certain right to a grievance. Good-by. 
 I dare say after this your path and mine 
 will scarcely cross again." 
 
 " Good-by," said Harry Frankland, ris- 
 ing up — and, he made a step or two to the 
 door, but came back again, swallowing a 
 lump in his throat. " Good-by," he re- 
 peated, holding out his hand another time. 
 " I hope you'll soon get well ! God bless 
 you, old fellow ! I never knew you till now," 
 — and so disappeared very suddenly, closing 
 'the door after him with a little unconscious 
 violence. Colin lay back in his chair with a 
 smile on his face. The two who were talk- 
 ing beside him had their ears intently open 
 to this little by-play ; but they went on with 
 their talk, and left the principal actors in 
 this little drama alone. 
 ',' I wonder if I am going to die? " said 
 
 113 
 
 Colin softly to himself ; and then he caught 
 the glance of terror, almost of anger, with 
 which his mother stopped short and looked 
 at him, with her lips apart, as if her breath- 
 ing had stopped for the moment. " Mother, 
 dear, I have no such intention," said the 
 young man; "only that lam leaving VVo- 
 densbourne with feelings so amicable and 
 amiable to everybody that it looks alarming. 
 Even Harry Frankland, you see — and this 
 morning his cousin" — 
 
 "What about his cousin, Colin?" said 
 the mistress, with bated breath. 
 
 Upon which Colin laughed — not harshly, 
 or in mockery — softly, with a sound of ten- 
 derness, as if somewhere, not far off, there lay 
 a certain fountain of tears. 
 
 " She is very pretty, mother," he said, 
 "very sweet and kind and charming. I 
 dare say she will be a leader of fashion, a few 
 years hence, when she is married ; and I 
 shall have great pleasure in paying my re- 
 spects to her when I go up from the Assembly 
 in black silk stockings, with a deputation to 
 present an address to the queen." 
 
 Mrs. Campbell never heard any more of 
 what had been or had not been betM'een her 
 son and the little siren whom she herself, in* 
 the bitterness of her heart, had taken upon 
 herself to reprove ; and this was how Colin, 
 without, as he said, a grudge against any- 
 body, concluded the episode of Wodens- 
 bourne. 
 
 Some time, however, elapsed before it was 
 possible for Colin and his companion to leave 
 England. Colin of Ramore was, as his wife 
 had imagined, slow to perceive the necessity 
 for so expensive a proceeding. The father's 
 alarm by this time had come to a conclusion. 
 The favorable bulletins which the mistress 
 had sent from time to time by way of calm- 
 ing the anxiety of the family, had appeared 
 to the farmer the natural indications of a 
 complete recovery ; and so thought Archie, 
 who was his father's chief adviser, in the ab- 
 sence of the mistress of the house. "The 
 wife's gone crazy," said big Colin. "She 
 thinks this laddie of hers should be humored 
 and made of as if he was Sir Thomas Frank- 
 land's son." And the farmer treated with 
 a little carelessness his wife's assurances that- 
 a warmer climate was necessary for Colin. 
 
 " Naebody woold ever have thought of 
 such a thing, had he been at hame when the 
 accident happened," said Archie, which was, 
 
114 
 
 indeed, very true : and the father and son, 
 who wci-e the money-makers of the family, 
 thought the idea altogether fantastical. The 
 matter came to be mentioned to the minister, 
 who was, like everybody else on the Holy 
 Loch, interested about Colin, and, as it hap- 
 pened, finally reached the ears of the same 
 professor who had urged him to compete for 
 the Baliol scholarship. Now, it would be 
 hard, in this age of competitive examinations, 
 to say anything in praise of a university 
 prize awarded by favor, — not to say that the 
 prizes in Scotch universities arc so few as to 
 make such patronage specially invidious. 
 Matters are differently managed nowadays, 
 and' it is to be hoped that pure merit always 
 wins the tiny rewards which Scotch learning 
 has at its disposal ; but in Colin's day, the 
 interest of a popular professor was worth 
 something. The little conclave was again 
 gathered round the fire in Colin's room at 
 Wodensbourne, reading, with mingled feel- 
 ings, a letter from Ramore, when another 
 communication from Glasgow was put into 
 Colin's hand. The farmer's letter had been 
 a little impatient, and showed a household 
 disarranged and out of temper. One of the 
 cows was ill, and the maid-servant of the 
 period had not proved herself equal to the 
 emergency. "I don't want to hurry you, 
 or to make Colin move before he is able," 
 wrote the head of the house ; " but it ap- 
 pears to me that he would be far more likely 
 to recover his health and strength at home." 
 The mistress had turned aside, apparently to 
 look out at the window, from which was 
 visible a white blast of rain sweeping over 
 the dreary plain which surrounded Wodens- 
 bourne, though in reality it was to hide the 
 gush of tears that had come to her eyes. Big 
 Colin and his wife were what people call " a 
 very united couple," and had kept the love 
 of their youth wonderfully fresh in their 
 hearts ; but still there were times when the 
 man was impatient and dull of understanding, 
 and could not comprehend the woman, just 
 as, perhaps, though ^Irs. Campbell was not 
 so clearly aware of that side of the question, 
 there might be times when, on her side, the 
 woman was equally a hinderancc to the man. 
 She looked out upon the sweej^ing rain, and 
 tliouglit of the " soft weather " op the Holy 
 Loch, which had so depressing an effect upon 
 herself, notwithstanding her sound health 
 and many duties, and of the winds of March 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 I which were approaching, and of Colin's life, 
 j — the most precious thing on earth, because 
 the most in peril. What was she to do, — a 
 I poor woman who had nothing, who could 
 j earn notliing, who had only useless yearnings 
 and cares of love to give her son ? 
 
 While Mrs. Campbell was thus contem- 
 plating her impotence, and wringing her 
 hands in secret over the adverse decision from 
 home, Lauderdale Avas walking about the 
 room in a state of high good-humor and con- 
 tent, radiant with the consciousness of that 
 hundred pounds, " or maybe mair," with 
 which it was to be his unshared, exclusive 
 privilege to succor Colin. " I see no reason 
 why we should wait longer. The mistress is 
 wanted at home, and the east winds are com- 
 ing on ; and, when our siller is spent, we'll 
 make more," said the exultant philosopher. 
 And it was at this moment of all others that 
 the professor's letter was put into the inva- 
 lid's hands. He read it in silence, while the 
 mistress remained at the window, concocting 
 in her mind another appeal to her husband, 
 and wondering in her tender heart how it 
 was that men were so dull of comprehension 
 and BO hard to manage. " If Colin should 
 turn ill again," — for she daredjltot even think 
 the word she meant, — " his^ither would 
 never forgive himsel'," said the mistress to 
 herself; and, as for Lauderdale, he had re- 
 turned to the contemplation of a Continental 
 Bradshaw, which was all the literature of 
 which, at this crisis, Colin's friend was capa- 
 ble. They were both surprised when Colin 
 rose up, flushed and excited, with this letter, 
 which nobody had attached any importance 
 to, in his hands. " They have given me one 
 of the Snell scholarships," said Colin with- 
 out any preface, " to travel and complete my 
 studies. It is a hundred pounds a year ; 
 and I think, as Lauderdale says, we can start 
 to-morrow," said the young man, who in his 
 weakness and excitement was moved almost 
 to tears. 
 
 "Eh, Colin, the Lord bless them ! " said 
 the mistress, sitting down suddenly in the 
 nearest chair. She did not know who it was- 
 upon whom she was bestowing that bene- 
 diction, which came from the depths of her 
 heart ; but she had to sit still after she had 
 uttered it, blinded by two great tears tliat 
 made even her son's face invisible, and with 
 a trembling in her frame which rendered her 
 incapable of any movement. She was incon- 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 Bistent, like other human creatures. When 
 she had attained to this sudden deliverance, 
 and had thanked God for it, it instantly 
 darted through her mind that her boy was 
 going to leave her on a solemn and doubtful 
 journey, novr to be delayed no longer ; and 
 it was some time before she was able to get 
 up and arrange for the last time the carefully- 
 mended linen, which was all ready for him 
 now. She packed it, shedding a few tears 
 over it, and saying prayers in her tender 
 heart for her first-born ; and God only knows 
 the difficulty with which she preserved her 
 smile and cheerful looks, and the sinking of 
 her heart when all her arrangements were 
 completed. Would he ever come back again 
 to make her glad ? " You'll take awfu' care 
 of my laddie? " she said to Lauderdale, who, 
 for his part, was not delighted with theSnell 
 scholarship ; and that misanthrope answered, 
 " Ay, I'll take care of him." That was all 
 that passed between the two guardians, who 
 knew, in their inmost hearts, that the object 
 of their care might never come back again. 
 
 115 
 
 All the household of Wodensbourne turned 
 out to wish Colin a good journey next morn- 
 ing when he went away ; and the mistress 
 put down the old-fashioned veil when the 
 express was gone which carried him to Lon 
 don, and went home again humbly by the 
 night-train. Fortunately there was in the 
 same carriage with her a harassed young 
 mother with little children, whose necessities 
 speedily demanded the lifting-up of Mrs. 
 Campbell's veil. And the day was clear on 
 the Holy Loch, and all her native hills held 
 out their arms to her, when the good woman 
 reached her home. Sne was able to see the 
 sick cows that afternoon, and her experience 
 suggested a means of relieving the speechless 
 creatures, which filled the house with admira- 
 tion. " She may be a foolish woman about 
 her bairns," said big Colin, who was half 
 pleased and half angry to hear her story ; 
 but it's a difierent-looking house when the 
 wife comes hame." And thus the natural 
 sunshine came back again to the mistress's 
 eyes. 
 
 # 
 
116 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 PART IX. — CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 Colin and his guardian went on their way 
 in a direction opposite to that in which the 
 mistress travelled sadly alone. They made 
 all the haste possible out of the cold and 
 boisterous weather, to get to eea ; which was 
 at once, according to all their hopes, to bring 
 health to the invalid. Lauderdale, who car- 
 ried his little fortune about him, had been at 
 great pains in dispersing it over his person ; 
 so that, in case of falling among thieves, — 
 which, to a man venturing into foreign parts, 
 seemed but too probable, — he might, at least, 
 have a chance of saving some portion of his 
 store. But he was not prepared for the dire 
 and dreadful malady which seized him un- 
 awares, and made him equally incapable of 
 taking care of his money and of taking care 
 of Colin. He could not even make out how 
 many days he had lain helpless and useless in 
 what was called the second cabin of the 
 steamer, — where the arrangements and the 
 provisions were less luxurious than in the 
 more expensive quarters. But Lauderdale 
 was unconscious altogether of any possibility 
 of comfort. He gave it up as a thing im- 
 possible. He fell into a state of utter scep- 
 ticism as he lay in agonies of sea-sickness on 
 the shelf which represented a bed. " Say 
 nothing to me about getting there," he said, 
 with as much indignation as he was capable 
 of. " What do you mean by there, callant. 
 As for land, I am far from sure that there's 
 such a thing existing. If there is, we'll 
 never get to it. It's an awful thing for a 
 man in his senses to deliver himself up to this 
 idiot of a sea, to be played with like a bairn's 
 ball. It's very easy to laugh, — if you had 
 been standing on your head, like me for 
 twenty days in succession" — 
 
 " Only four days," said Colin, laughing, 
 " and the gale is over. You'll be better to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " To-morrow ! " said Lauderdale, with a 
 contemptuous groan ; "I've no faith in to- 
 morrow. I'm no equal to reckoning time 
 according to ordinary methods, and I'm no 
 conscious of ever having existed in a more 
 agreeable position. As for the chances of 
 ever coming head uppermost again, I would 
 Dot give sixpence for them. It's all very 
 well for the like of you. Let me alone, cal- 
 lant ; if this infernal machine of a ship would 
 but go down without more ado, and leave a 
 man in peace, — that's the pleasantest thing I 
 
 can think of. Don't speak to me about 
 Italy. It's all a snare and delusion to get 
 honest folk oif firm ground. Let me get to 
 the bottom in peace and quiet. Life's no 
 worth having at such a price," sighed the 
 sufferer ; to whom his undutiful charge an- 
 swered only by laughter and jibes, which, 
 under the circumstances, were hard to bear. 
 
 "You are better now," said the heartless 
 youth, " or you could not go into the philos- 
 ophy of the subject. To-morrow morning 
 you'll eat a good breakfast, and" — 
 
 " Dinna insult my understanding," said 
 Colin's victim. " Go away, and look out for 
 your Italy or whatever you call it. A callant 
 like you believes in everything. Go away 
 and enjoy yourself. If you don't go peacea- 
 bly, I'll put you out," cried the miserable 
 man, lifting himself up from his pillow, and 
 seizing a book which Colin had laid there, to 
 throw at his tormentor. A sudden lurch, 
 however, made an end of the discomfited 
 philosopher. He fell back, groaning, as Co- 
 lin escaped out of the little cabin. " It's 
 quite intolerable, and I'll no put up with it 
 any longer," said Lauderdale, to himself. 
 And he recalled, with a sense of injury, Co- 
 lin's freedom from the overpowering malady 
 under which he was himself suffering. " It's 
 me that's ill, and no him," he thought, with 
 surprise, and the thought prevailed even over 
 j sea-sickness. By and by it warmed with a 
 delicious glow of hope and consolation the 
 heart of the sufferer. " If it sets the callant 
 right, I'm no heeding for myself," he said in 
 his own mind, with renewed heroism. Per- 
 hapsi it was because, as Colin said, Lauder- 
 dale was already beginning to be better that 
 he was capable of such generosity. Certainly 
 the ship lurched less and less as the evening 
 went on, and the moonlight stole in at the 
 port-hole and caressed the sufferer, widening 
 his horizon a little before he was aware. He 
 had begun to wonder whether Colin had his 
 great-coat on, before long, and fell asleep in 
 that thought, and worked out his remaining 
 spell of misery in gigantic efforts — continued 
 all through, the night — to get into Colin's 
 coat, or to get Colin into his coat, he was not 
 quite sure which. Meanwhile, the object of 
 Lauderdale's cares was on deck, enjoying the 
 moonlight, and the sense of improving health, 
 and all the excitement and novelty of his new 
 life. 
 
 They had been four days at sea, and Colin, 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL, 
 
 117 
 
 who had not been ill, had become acquainted 
 •with the aspect of all his fellow-passengers, 
 ■who were as good sailors as himself. They 
 were going to Leghorn , as the easiest way of 
 reaching Italy ; and there were several inva- 
 lids on board, though none whose means made 
 necessary a passage in the second cabin, of 
 which Colin himself and Lauderdale were the 
 sole occupants. Of the few groups on the 
 quarter-deck who were able to face the gale, 
 Colin had already distinguished one, a young 
 man, a little older than himself, exceedingly 
 pale and worn with illness, accompanied by 
 a girl a year or two younger. The two were 
 BO like each other as to leave no doubt that 
 they must be brother and sister, and so unlike 
 as to call forth the compassionate observation 
 of everybody who looked at them. The young 
 lady's blooming face, delicately round and 
 full, with the perfect outline of health and 
 youth, had been paled at first by the struggle 
 between incipient seasickness and the deter- 
 mination not' to leave her brother ; but by 
 this time — at the cost of whatever private 
 agonies — she had apparently surmounted the 
 common weakness, and was throwing into 
 fuller and fuller certainty, without knowing 
 it, by the contrast of her own bloom, the sen- 
 tence of death written on his face. When 
 they were on deck, which was the only time 
 that they were visible to Colin , she never left 
 him, — holding fast by his arm with an anxious 
 tenacity ; not receiving, but giving support, 
 and watching him with incessant, breathless 
 anxiety, as if afraid that he might suddenly 
 drop away from her side. Th& brother, on 
 his side, had those hollow eyes, set in wide, 
 pathetic niches, which are never to be mis- 
 taken by those who have once watched be- 
 loved eyes widening out into that terrible 
 breadth and calm. He was as pale as if the 
 warm blood of life had already been wrung 
 out of him drop by drop ; but, notwithstand- 
 ing this aspect of death, he was still possessed 
 by a kind of feverish activity, the remains of 
 strength, and seemed less disturbed by the 
 gale than any other passenger. He was on 
 deck at all hours, holding conversations with 
 such of the sailors as he could get at, — talking 
 to the captain, who seemed to eschew his so- 
 ciety, and to such of his fellow-travellers as 
 were visible. "What the subject of his talk 
 might be, Colin from his point of observation 
 could not tell ; but there was no mistaking 
 the evidences of natural eloquence and the 
 
 eagerness of the speaker. " He ought to be 
 a preacher, by his looks," Colin said to him- 
 self, as he stood within the limits to which, as 
 a second-class traveller, he was confined, and 
 saw^t a little distance from him, the worn 
 figure of the sick man,* upon whose face the 
 moonlight was shining. As usual, the sister 
 was clinging to his arm, and listening to him 
 with a rapt countenance ; not so much con- 
 cerned about what he said as absorbed in anx- 
 ious investigation of his looks. It was one of 
 the sailors this time who formed the audience to 
 whom theSnvalid was addressing himself, — a 
 man whom he had stopped in the midst of some- 
 thing he was doing, and who was listening with 
 great evident embarrassment, anxious to es- 
 cape, but more anxious still, like a good-heart- 
 ed fellow as he was, not to disturb or irritate 
 the suffering man. Colin drew a step neacer, 
 feeling that the matter under discussion could 
 be n8 private one, and the sound of the little 
 advance he made caught the invalid's nervous 
 ear. He turned round upon Colin before he 
 could go back, and suddenly fixed him with 
 those wonderful dying eyes. " I will see you 
 again another time, my friend," he said to 
 the released seaman, who hastened off with 
 an evident sense of having escaped. When 
 the stranger turned round, he had to move 
 back his companion, so that in the change of 
 position she came to be exactly in front of 
 Colin, so near that the two could not help 
 seeing, could not help observing each other. 
 The girl withdrew her eyes a minute from 
 her brother to look at the new form thus pre- 
 sented to her. She did not look at Colin as a 
 young woman usually looks at a young man. 
 She was neither indifferent, nor did she at- 
 tempt to seem so. She looked at him eagerly, 
 with a question in her eyes. The question 
 was a strange one to be addressed, even from 
 the eyes, by one stranger to another. It said 
 as plain as words, " Are you a man to whom 
 I can appeal — are you a man who will under- 
 stand him ? Shall I be able to trust you, and 
 ask your help ? ' ' That and nothing else "was 
 in the wistful, anxious look. If Colin's face 
 had not been one which said "Yes" to all 
 such questions, she would have turned away, 
 and thought of him no more ; as it was, she 
 looked a second time with a touch of interest, 
 a gleam of hope. The brother took no more 
 apparent notice of her than if she had been a 
 cloak on his arm, except that from time to 
 time he put out his thin, white hand to make 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 118 
 
 sure that her hand was still there. He fixed 
 his eyes on Colin with a kind of solemn stead- 
 fastness, which had a wonderful efTcot upon 
 the young man, and said something hasty 
 and brief, a most summary preface, aboift the 
 beautiful night. " Are you ill ? " he added, 
 in the same hasty, breathless way, as if im- 
 patient of wasting time on such preliminaries. 
 " Are you going abroad for your health ? " 
 
 Colin, who was surpi-ised by the question, 
 felt nearly disinclined to answer it ; for in 
 spite of himself it vexed him to think that 
 anybody could read that necessity lb his face. 
 He said, " 1 think so," with a smile which 
 was not quite spontaneous ; " my friends at 
 least have that meaning," he added more nat- 
 urally a moment afterward, with the inten- 
 tion of returning the question ; but that pos- 
 sibility was taken rapidly out of his hands. 
 
 " Have you ever thought of death ? " said 
 the stranger. " Don't start ; I am dying, or 
 I would not ask you. When a man is dying, 
 he has privileges. Do you know that you 
 are standing on the brink of a precipice ! 
 Have you ever thought of death ? " 
 
 " Yes, a great deal," said Colin. It would 
 be wrong to say that the question did not 
 startle him ; but, after the first strange shock 
 of such an address, an impulse of response 
 and sympathy filled his mind. It might have 
 been difficult to get into acquaintance by 
 means of the chit-chat of society, which re- 
 quires a certain initiation ; but such a grand 
 subject was common ground. He answered 
 as very few of the people interrogated by the 
 sick man did answer. He did not show either 
 alarm or horror ; he started slightly, it is 
 true, but he answered without much hesita- 
 tion, — 
 
 " Yes, I have thought often of death," 
 said Colin. Though he was only a second- 
 class passenger, this was a question which 
 put all on an equality ; and now it was not 
 difficult to understand why the captain es- 
 chewed his troublesome question, and how the 
 people looked embarrassed to whom he spoke. 
 
 " Ah, I am glad to hear such an answer," 
 said the stranger ; " so few people can say 
 so. You have found out, then, the true aim 
 of life. Let us walk about, for it is cold, 
 and I must not shorten my working-days by 
 any devices of my own. My friend, you give 
 me a little hope that, at last, I have found a 
 brother in Christ." 
 
 " I hope so," said Colin, gravely. He was 
 
 still more startled by the strain in which his 
 new companion proceeded than by his first 
 address ; but a dying man had privileges. 
 " I hope so," Colin repeated ; " one of many 
 here." 
 
 "Ah, no, not of many," said the invalid ; 
 " if you can feel certain of being a child of 
 God, it is what but few are permitted to do. 
 My dear friend, it ia not a subject to deceive 
 ourselves upon. It is terribly important for 
 you and me. Are you sure that you are flee- 
 ing from the wrath to come ? Are you sure 
 that you are prepared to meet your God? " 
 
 They had turned into the full moonlight, 
 which streamed upon their faces. The ship 
 was rushing along through a sea still agitated 
 by the heavings of the past storm, and there 
 was nothing moving on deck except some 
 scattered seamen busy in their mysterious 
 occupations. Colin was slow to answer the 
 new question thus addressed to him. He 
 was still very young ; delicate, and reticent 
 about all the secrets of his soul ; not wearing 
 his heart upon his sleeve even in particulars 
 less intimate and momentous than this. " I 
 am not afraid of my God," he said, after a 
 minute's pause ; " pardon me, I am not used 
 to speak much on such subjects. I cannot 
 imagine that to meet God will be less than 
 the greatest joy of which the soul is capable. 
 He is the great Father. I am not afraid." 
 
 " Oh, my friend ! " said the eager stranger, 
 — his voice sounded in Colin's ear like the 
 voice of a desperate man in a life-boat, call- 
 ing to somebody who w^as drowning in a 
 storm, — " don't deceive yourself; don't take 
 up a sentimental view of such an important 
 matter. There is no escape except through 
 one way. The great object of our lives is to 
 know how to die, — and to die is despair, 
 without Christ." 
 
 " What is it to live without him?" said 
 Colin. " I think the great object of our lives 
 is to live. Sometimes it is very hard work. 
 And, when one sees what is going on in the 
 world, one does not know how it is possible 
 to keep living without him," said the young 
 man, whose mind had taken a profound im- 
 pression from the events of the last three 
 months. " I don't see any meaning in the 
 world otherwise. So for we are agreed. 
 Death, which interests you so much, will clear 
 up all the rest." 
 
 "Which interests me?" said his new 
 friend; " if we were indeed rational crea- 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 tures, would it not interest every one ? Be- 
 yond every other subject, beyond every kind of 
 ambition and occupation. Tliink what it is 
 to go out of this life, with which we are fa- 
 miliar, to stand alone before God, to answer 
 for the deeds done in the body." 
 
 "Then, if you are so afraid of God," 
 said Colin, " what account do you make of 
 Christ?" 
 
 A gleam of strange light went over the 
 gaunt eager face. He put out his hand with 
 his habitual movement, and put it upon his 
 sister's hand, which was clinging to his arm. 
 " Alice, hush! " said the sick man! don't 
 interrupt me. He speaks as if he knew what 
 I mean ; he speaks as if he, too, had some- 
 thing to do with it. I may be able to do 
 him good, or he me. I have not the pleasure 
 of knowing your name,"' he said, suddenly 
 turning again to Colin with the strangest 
 difference of manner. " Mine is Meredith. 
 My sister and I will be ^lad if you will come 
 to our cabin. I should like to have a little 
 conversation with you. Will you come?" 
 
 Colin would have said no ; but the word 
 was stayed on his lips by a sudden look from 
 the girl who had been drawn on along with 
 with them, without any apparent will of her 
 own. It was only in her eyes that any indi- 
 cation of individual exertion on her part was 
 visible. She did not speak, nor appear to 
 think it necessary that she should second her 
 brother 's invitation ; but she gave Colin a 
 hasty look, conveying such an appeal as went 
 to his heart. He did not understand it ; if 
 he had been asked to save a man's life, the 
 petition could not have been addressed to him 
 more imploringly. His own inclination gave 
 way instantly before the eager supplication 
 of those eyes ; not that he was charmed or 
 attracted by her, for she was too much ab- 
 sorbed, and her existence too much wrapt up 
 in that of her brother, to exercise any per- 
 sonal influence. A woman so pre-occupied 
 had given up her privileges of woman. Ac- 
 cordingly there was no embarrassment in the 
 direct appeal she made. ' The vainest man 
 in existence would not have imagined that 
 she cared for his visit on her own account. 
 Yet it was at her instance that Colin changed 
 his original intention, and followed them 
 down below to the cabin. His mind was suf- 
 ficiently free to leave him at liberty to be in- 
 terested in others, and his curiosity was al- 
 ready roused. 
 
 119 
 
 The pair did not look less interesting when 
 Colin sat with them at the table below, in 
 the little cabin, which did not seem big 
 eaough to hold anything else except the 
 lamp. There, however, the sister exerted 
 herself to make tea, for which she had all the 
 materials. She boiled her little kettle over 
 a spirit-lamp in a corner apart, and set every- 
 thing before them with a silent rapidity very 
 wonderful to Colin, who perceived at the 
 same time that the sick man was impatient 
 even of those soft and noiseless movements. 
 He called to her to sit down two or three times 
 before she was ready, and visibly fumed over 
 the slight commotion, gentle as it was. He 
 had seated himself in a corner of the hlird 
 little sofa which occupied one side of the 
 cabin, and where there already lay a pile of 
 cushions for his comfort. His thoughts were 
 fixed on eternity, as he said and believed ; 
 but his body was profoundly sensitive to all 
 the little annoyances of time. The light ti-ead 
 of his sister's foot on the floor seemed to send 
 a cruel vibration through him, and he glanced 
 round at hsr with a momentary glance of an- 
 ger, which called forth an answering senti- 
 ment in the mind of Colin, who was looking 
 on. 
 
 " Forgive me, Arthur," said the girl, " I 
 am so clumsy ; I can't help it," — an apology 
 which Arthur answered with a melancholy 
 frown, 
 
 " It is not you who are clumsy ; it is the 
 Evil One who tempts me perpetually, even 
 by your means," he said. "Tell nii what 
 your experience is," he continued, turning to 
 Colin with more eagerness than ever; "I 
 find some people who are embarrassed when 
 I speak to them about the state of their souls ; 
 some who assent to everything I say, by way 
 of getting done with it ; some who are shocked 
 and frightened, as if speaking of death would 
 make them die the sooner. You alone have 
 spoken to me like a man who knows some- 
 thing about the matter. Tell me how you 
 have grown familiar with the subject ; tell 
 me what your experiences are. 
 
 Perhaps no request that could possibly have 
 been made to him would have embarrassed 
 him so much. He was interested and touched 
 by the strange pair in whose company he 
 found himself, and could not but regard with 
 a pity, which had §ome fellow-feeling in it, 
 the conscious state of life-in-death in which 
 his questioner stood, who was not, at the 
 
120 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 same time, much older than himself, and still 
 in what ought to be the flower of his youth. 
 Though his own thoughts were of a very dif- 
 ferent completion, Colin could not but be 
 impressed by the aspect of the other youth, 
 who was occupying the solemn position from 
 which he himself seemed to have escaped. 
 
 " Neither of us can have much experience 
 one way or another," he said, feeling some- 
 how his own limitations in the person of his 
 new companion ; " I have been near dying ; 
 that is all." 
 
 " Have been ? " said Meredith. " Are you 
 not — are not we all — near dying now ? A 
 gale more or less, a spark of fire, a wrong 
 turn of the helm, and we are all in eternity! 
 How can any reasonable creature be indiffer- 
 ent for a moment to such a terrible thought." 
 
 " It would be terrible, indeed, if God had 
 nothing to do with it," said Colin ; and, no 
 doubt, death overcomes one when one looks 
 at it far off. I don't think, however, that 
 his face carries much terror when he is near. 
 The only thing is the entire ignorance we are 
 in. What it is ; where it carries us ; what 
 is the extent of the separation it makes, — 
 all these questions are so hard to answer." 
 Colin's eyes went away as he spoke ; and his 
 new friend, like Matty Frankland, was puz- 
 zled and irritated by the look which he could 
 not follow. He broke in hastily, with a de- 
 gree of passion totally unlike Colin's calm. 
 
 " You think of it as a speculative ques- 
 tion," he said ; " I think of it as a dreadful 
 realitySJ You seem at leisure to consider 
 when and how ; but have you ever considered 
 the dreadful alternative? Have you never 
 imagined yourself one of the lost, — in outer 
 darkness, — shutout, — separated from all good, 
 — condemned to sink lower and lower ? Have 
 you ever contemplated the possibility? " — 
 
 " No," said Colin, rising ; " I have never 
 contemplated that possibility, and I have no 
 wish to do so now. Let us postpone the dis- 
 cussion. Nothing anybody can say," the 
 young man continued, holding out his hand 
 to meet the feverish thin fingers which were 
 stretched toward him, " can make me afraid 
 of God." 
 
 " Not if you had to meet him this night 
 in judgment? " said the solemn voice of the 
 young prophet, who would not lose a last op- 
 portunity. The words and the look sent a 
 strange chill through Colin's veins. His hand 
 was held tight in the feverish hand of the sick 
 
 man ; the dark hollowed eyes were looking 
 him through and through. Death himself, 
 could he have taken shape and form, could 
 scarcely have confronted life in a more solemn 
 guise. " Not if you had to meet him in 
 judgment this night? " 
 
 " You put the case very strongly,'" said 
 Colin, who grew a little pale in spite of him- 
 self. " But I answer. No — no. The gospel 
 has come for very little purpose if it leaves 
 any of his children in fear of the Heavenly 
 Father. No more to-night. You look tired , 
 as you may well be, with all your exertions, 
 and after this rough weather." 
 
 " The rough weather ie nothing to me," 
 said Meredith; " I must work while it is day 
 — the night cometh in which no man can 
 work." 
 
 " The night has come," said Colin, doing 
 the best he could to smile, — " the quiet hu- 
 man night, in which men do not attempt to 
 work. Don't you think you should obey 
 the natural ordinances as well as the spirit- 
 ual ? To-morrow we will meet, better qual- 
 ified to discuss the question." 
 
 " To-morrow we may meei in eternity," 
 said the dying man. 
 
 " Amen. The question will be clear then, 
 and we shall have no need to discuss it," 
 said Colin. This time he managed better to 
 smile. "• But, wherever we meet to-morrow, 
 good-by for to-night, — good-by. You know 
 what the word means," said the young man. 
 He smiled to himself now at the thoughts 
 suggested to him by bis own words. He too 
 was pale, and had no great appearance of 
 strength. If he himself felt the current of life 
 flowing back into his veins, the world, and 
 even his friends, were scarcely of his opinion. 
 He looked but a little way farther off the 
 solemn verge than his new acquaintance did, 
 as he stood at the door of the little cabin, his 
 face lit up with the vague, sweet, brighten- 
 ing of a smile, which was not called forth by 
 anything external, but come out of the mus- 
 ings and memories of his own heart. Such a 
 smile could not be counterfeit. When he had 
 turned toward the narrow stair which led to 
 the deck, he felt a touch upon his arm, like 
 the touch of a bird, it was so light and mo- 
 mentary. " Come again," said a voice in his 
 ears, " come again." He knew ii was the 
 sister who spoke ; but the voice did not sound 
 in Colin's ears as the voice of a woman to a 
 man. It was impersonal, disembodcd, inde- 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 pendeat of all common restrictions. She 
 had merged her identity altogether in that of 
 her brotlier. All the light, all the warmth, 
 all the human influence she had, she was 
 pouring into him, like a lantern, bright only 
 for the bearer, turning a dark side to the 
 world. Colin's head throbbed and felt giddy 
 when he emerged into the open air above 
 into the cold moonlight, to which the heav- 
 ing of the sea gave a look of disturbance and 
 agitation which almost reached the length of 
 pain. There was nothing akin, in that pas- 
 sionless light, to the tumult of the great chaf- 
 ing ocean, the element most like humanity. 
 True, it was not real storm, but only the long 
 pan tings of the vast bosom, after one of those 
 anger-fits to which the giant is prone ; but a 
 fanciful spectator could not but link all kinds 
 of imaginations to the night, and Colin was 
 preeminently a fanciful spectator. It looked 
 like the man storming, the woman watching 
 with looks of powerless anguish ; or like 
 the world heaving and struggling, and some 
 angel of heaven grieving and looking on. 
 Colin lingered on the deck^ though it was 
 cold, and rest was needful. 
 
 What could there be in the future existence 
 more dark, more hopeless than the terrible 
 enigmas which built up their dead walls 
 around a man in this world, and passed in- 
 terpretation. Even the darkest hellof poetic 
 invention comprehended itself and knew why 
 it was ; but this life who comprehended, who 
 could explain ? The thought was very dif- 
 ferent from those with which Arthur Mere- 
 dith resigned himself reluctantly to rest. 
 He could not consent to sleep till he had 
 written a page or two of the book which he 
 meant to leave as a legacy to the world, and 
 which was to be called " A Voice from the 
 Grave ; ' ' the poor young fellow had forgotten 
 that God himself was likely to take some 
 pains about the world which had cost so 
 much. After the " unspeakable gift " once 
 for all, it appeared to young Meredith that 
 the rest of the work was left on his shoulders, 
 and on the shoulders of such as he ; and, ac- 
 cordingly, he wore his dying strength out, ad- 
 dressing everybody in season and out of sea- 
 son, and working at " A Voice from the 
 Grave." A strange voice it was, — saying 
 little that was consolatory ; yet, in its way, 
 true as everything is true, in a certain limited 
 sense, which comes from the heart. The name 
 of the Redeemer was named a great many 
 
 121 
 
 times ; but the spirit of it was as if no Re- 
 deemer had ever come. A world dark, con- 
 fused, and full of judgments and punish- 
 ments, — a world in which men would not be- 
 lieve though one rose from the grave, — was 
 the world into which he looked, and for which 
 he was working. His sister Alice, watching 
 by his side, noting with keen anxiety every 
 time the pen slipped from his fingers, every 
 time it went vaguely over the paper in starts 
 which told he had gone half to sleep over his 
 work, sat with her intelligence unawakened, 
 and her whole being slumbering, thinking of 
 nothing but him. After all, Colin was not 
 so fanciful when in his heart it occurred to 
 him to connect these two with the appearance 
 of the moon and the sea. They had opened 
 the book of their life to him fortuitously, 
 without any explanations, and he did not 
 know what to make of it. When he de- 
 scended to his own cabin and found Lauder- 
 dale fast asleep, the young man could not but 
 give a little time to the consideration of this 
 new scene which had opened in his life. It 
 was natural to Colin's age and temperament 
 to expect that something would come of such 
 a strange accidental meeting ; and so he lay 
 ■and pondered it, looking out at the troubled 
 moonlight on the water, till that disturbed, 
 guardian of the night had left her big trouble- 
 some charge to himself. The ship ploughed 
 along its lonely road with tolerable composure 
 and quietness, for the first time since it set 
 out, and permitted to some of its weary pas- 
 sengers unwonted comfort and sleep; Hbut, as 
 for Colin, a sense of having set out upon a 
 new voyage came into his mind, be could not 
 tell why. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII- 
 
 " I'm no saying if I'm well or ill," said 
 Lauderdale ; "I'm saying it's grand for you 
 to leave your friends in a suffering condition, 
 and go off and make up to other folks. It's 
 well to be off with the old love. For my own 
 part, however," said Colin's Mentor, " I'm no 
 for having a great deal to do with women. 
 They're awfu ' doubtful creatures, you maytake 
 my word for it : some seem about as good as the 
 angels, — no that I have any personal acquain- 
 tance with the angels, but it's aye an intelli- 
 gible metaphor ; some just as far on the other 
 side. Besides, it's a' poor thing for a man to 
 fritter away what little capability of a true 
 feeling there may be in him. I've no fancy 
 
122 
 
 for the kind of friendships that are carried 
 on after the manner of flirtations. For my 
 part, I'm a believer in /ore," said the philos- 
 opher, with a sudden fervor of reproof which 
 brought an unusual amount of color to his 
 face. 
 
 " You are absurd all the same," said Co- 
 lin, laughing ; " here is no question either of 
 love, or flirtation, or even friendship. I know 
 what you mean," he added with a slightly 
 heightened color ; " you think that, having 
 once imagined 1 admired Miss Frankland, I 
 ought to have continued in the same mind all 
 my life. You don't appreciate my good sense, 
 Lauderdale ; but, at all events, the young 
 lady has nothing to do with my interest here." 
 
 " I was saying nothing about Miss Frank- 
 land," said Lauderdale; "I was making a 
 confession of faith on my own part, which 
 has naetbing to do with you that I can see. 
 As for the young leddy, as you say, if it 
 doesna begin with her, it's a' the more likely 
 to end with her, according to my experience. 
 To be sure, there's no great amount of time ; 
 but a boat like this is provocative of intimacy. 
 You're aye in the second cabin, which is a 
 kind of safeguard ; but, as for your good 
 sense " — 
 
 " " Don't associate that poor fellow's name 
 with anything ridiculous," said Colin ; " but 
 come up on deck, like a reasonable man, and 
 judge for yourself." 
 
 "Ay, ay," said Lauderdale, slowly; "I 
 understand the kind of thing. I've seen it 
 many a day myself. Partly youthfujness, 
 that thinks the thing that is happening to 
 itself more important than anything else in 
 the world ; partly a kind of self-regard ; 
 partly a wish to take compensation out of the 
 world for what it is giving up. I'm no say- 
 ing but there's something better at the bot- 
 tom ; but it's awfu' hard to separate the phys- 
 ical and the spiritual. I wouldna say but 
 even you, your own self — but it took a dif- 
 ferent form with you," said Lauderdale, stop- 
 ping short abruptly. Looking at Colin, and 
 seeing that still there was not much bloom 
 on his worn checks, it occurred to his careful 
 guardian that it might be as well not to re- 
 call the distempered thoughts of the sick- 
 room at Wodensbourne to the mind of his 
 patient. '• This is a diflerent kind of con- 
 stitution, I'm thinking," he went on, in 
 some haste. 
 
 " I suppose you are right," said Colin;] 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 *' it took a diflerent form with me, — a more 
 undutiful, unbelieving form; for Meredith 
 makes no question what it means, as I used 
 to do." 
 
 " I'm no so clear of that," said Lauder- 
 dale. " It's seldom unbelief that asks a rea- 
 son. I would not say, now I'm on my feet, 
 but what there may be a place known among 
 men by the name of Italy. Come, callant, 
 and let me see if the skies are aught like 
 what they are at hame." 
 
 Everytliing was changed when Colin and 
 his friend stood again on deck. The calm 
 weather had restored to life the crowd of sea- 
 sick passengers who, like Lauderdale, had, 
 up to this moment, kept themselves and their 
 miseries under cover below. The universal 
 scepticism and doubt of ever being better had 
 given way to a cheerful confidence. Every- 
 body believed — happy in his delusion — that 
 for himself he had mastered the demon, and 
 would be sea-sick no more. Among so many, 
 it was not so easy to distinguish Meredith as 
 Colin had expected ; and he had time to dis- 
 cuss several matters with Lauderdale, show- 
 ing a certain acrid feeling on his side of the 
 question which surprised his interlocutor, be- 
 fore his new^ friends appeared. Colin had 
 taken his second-class berth gladly enough, 
 without thinking of any drawback ; but, 
 when he saw the limit clearly before his eyes, 
 and perceived within reach, and indeed with- 
 in hearing, the little " society " which he was 
 not able to join, the fact of this momentary 
 inferiority chafed him a little. Like most 
 other people, he had a dislike to the second 
 place, — not that he cared about society, as he 
 took pains to convince himself. But the truth 
 was, that Colin did care for society, and, 
 though too proud to confess such a thought, 
 even to himself, secretly longed to join those 
 new groups which were gradually growing 
 into acquaintance before his eyes. When he 
 saw the two figures approaching which had 
 attracted him so strongly on the previous 
 night, his heart gave a little jump, though 
 his eyes were fixed in another direction. 
 They were not only two curious human crea- 
 tures whom it was hard to comprehend, but, 
 at the same time, they represented the world 
 to Colin, who was at this present moment 
 shut out from intercourse with anybody but 
 Lauderdale, whose manner of musing he 
 knew by heart. He did not look round, but 
 he heard the footsteps approaching, and would 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 have been equally disappointed and irritated 
 had they turned back. This danger, how- 
 ever, speedily terminated. Meredith came 
 up hastily, drawing along with him, as usual, 
 the sister who had not any being except in 
 him, and laid his thin hand on Colin 's shoul- 
 der. The sunshine and the brightened skies 
 did not change the strain of the young preach- 
 er's thoughts. He laid his hand on Colin, 
 pressing the young man's shoulder with an 
 emphatic touch. " We meet again in the 
 land of living men, in the place of hope," 
 he said, leading his sister with him as he 
 turned. She clung to him so closely that 
 they moved like one, without any apparent 
 volition on her part ; and even Colin's saluta- 
 tion seemed to disturb her, as if it had been 
 something unnecessary and unexpected. Her 
 little hurried bow, her lips that just parted, 
 in an anxious momentary smile, had a certain 
 surprise in them ; and there was even a little 
 impatience, as if she had said, " Answer him ; 
 why should you mind me? " in the turn of 
 her head. 
 
 " Yes, we meet on a bright morning, which 
 looks like life and hope," said Colin, " and 
 everybody seems disposed to enjoy it ; even 
 my friend here, who has been helpless since 
 we started, has come to life at last." 
 
 Thus directed, Meredith's eager eyes turned 
 to Lauderdale, upon whom they paused with 
 their usual solemn inquiring look. " I hope 
 he has come to life in a higher sense," said 
 the sick man, who thought it his duty to 
 speak in season and out of season ; but for 
 that true' life, existence is only the payment 
 of a terrible penalty. I hope, like you, he 
 has thought on the great subject." 
 
 When he stopped short, and looked straight 
 in Lauderdale's face, there was a wonderful 
 silence over the little group. The dying 
 prophet said nothing, but looked down, aw- 
 ful and abstracted, from the heights of death 
 on which he was standing, to receive an an- 
 swer, which Lauderdale was too much taken 
 by surprise, and Colin todpauch alarmed for 
 the result of the inquiry, to give. 
 
 " I've thought on an awfu' quantity of 
 subjects," said Lauderdale, after a moment, — 
 " a hundred or two more than ever have gone 
 through your mind at your age ; and I'm no 
 averse to unfolding my experiences, as this 
 callant will tell you," he added, with a smile, 
 which, however, was lost upon his questioner. 
 
 " Your experiences ! " said Meredith. He 
 
 123 
 
 put his thin arm eagerly, before any one 
 was aware what he intended to do, through 
 Laudei-dale's arm. "I frighten and horrify 
 many," said the invalid, not without a gleam 
 of satisfaction ; " but there are so few, so 
 miserably few, with whom it is possible to 
 have true communion. Let me share your 
 experiences ; there must be instruction in 
 them." 
 
 The philosopher, thus seized, made a comi- 
 cal grimace, unseen by anybody but Colin ; 
 but the sick man was far too much in ear- 
 nest to observe any reluctance on the part of 
 his new acquaintance, and Lauderdale sub- 
 mitted to be swept on in the strange wind of 
 haste and anxiety and eagerness which sur- 
 rounded the dying youth, to whom a world 
 lying in wickedness, and " I, I alone" left to^ 
 maintain the knowledge of God among men, 
 was the one great truth. There was not 
 much room to move about upon the deck ; 
 and, as Meredith turned and went on, with 
 his arm in Lauderdale's, his sister, who was 
 sharply turned round also by his movement, 
 found it hard enough to maintain her position 
 by his side. Though he was more attached 
 to her than to any other living creature, it 
 was not his habit, as it might have been in 
 happier circumstances, to care for her com- 
 fort, or to concern himself about her personal 
 convenience. He swept her along with him 
 on the hampered deck, through passages 
 which were barely wide enough for two, but 
 through which she crushed herself as long as 
 possible, catching her dress on all the corners, 
 and losing he* breath in the effort. As for 
 Colin, he found himself left behind with a 
 half-amazed, half-mortified sensation. 
 
 " Not his the form, not his the eye, 
 That youthful maidens wont to fly ; " 
 
 and though he was not truly open to Lauder- 
 dale's' jibe concerning flirtations, the very 
 name of that agreeable but dangerous amuse- 
 ment had roused him into making the dis- 
 covery that Meredith's sisterwas very pretty, 
 and that there was something extremely in- 
 teresting in the rapt devotion to her brother 
 which at first had prevented him from ob- 
 serving her. It seemed only natural that, 
 when the sick man seized upon Lauderdale, 
 the young lady should have fallen to Colin's 
 share ; and he kept standing where they had 
 left him, as has been described, half amused 
 and half mortified, thinking to himself that, 
 
124 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL, 
 
 f.i?ler all, he was not an ogre, nor a person i 
 whom ladies in general are apt to avoid. 
 After poor little Alice ha'd hurt herself and 
 torn her dress in two or three rapid turns 
 through tlic limited space, she gave up her 
 brother's arm with a pained, surprised look, 
 which went to Colin's heart, and withdrew to | 
 the nearest bench, gathering up her torn 
 dress in her hand, and still keeping her eyes 
 upon him. What good she thought she could 
 do by her watching it was difficult to tell ; but 
 it evidently was the entire occupation nnd 
 object of her life. She scarcely turned her 
 eyes upon Colin when he approached ; and, 
 as the eyes were like a. fawn's, — brown, wist- 
 ful, and appealing (whereas Miss Matty's 
 were blue, and addicted to laughter), — it is 
 not to be wondered at that Colin, in whom 
 his youth was dimly awakening, with all its 
 happier susceptibilities, should feel a little 
 pique at her neglect. The shadow of death 
 bad floated away from the young man's hori- 
 zon. He believed himself, whether truly or 
 not, to have come to a new beginning of life. 
 He had been dead, and was alive again ; and 
 the solemn interval of suflering, during which 
 he questioned earth and heaven, had made 
 the rebound all the' sweeter, and restored 
 with a freshness almost more delightful than 
 the first, the dews and blossoms to the new 
 world. Thus he approached Alice Meredith, 
 who had no attention to spare to him, — not 
 with any idea that he had fallen in love with 
 her, or that love was likely, but only with that 
 vague sense that Paradise still exists some- 
 where, not entirely out of reach|kind, that the 
 sweet Eve, who alone can reveal it, might 
 meet him unawares at any time of his dreary 
 path, which is one of the sweetest privileges 
 of youth. But he did not know what to say 
 to the other youthful creature, who ought to 
 have been as conscious of such possibilities as 
 he. No thought was in her mind that she 
 ever would be the Eve of any paradise ; and 
 the world to her was a confused and darkling 
 universe, in which death lay lurking some- 
 where, she could not tell how close at hand ; 
 death, not for herself, which would be sweet, 
 but for one far dearer than herself. The 
 more she felt the nearness of this adversary, 
 the more she contradicted herself and would j 
 not believe it ; and so darkness spread all 
 round the beginning path of the poor girl, 
 who was not much more than a child. She 
 would not have understood the meaning of I 
 
 any pretty speeches, had Colin been so far left 
 to himself as to think of making them. As 
 ■it was, she looked up for a moment wist- 
 fully as he sat down beside her. She thought 
 in her mind that he would be a good friend 
 for Arthur, and might cheer him ; which was 
 the chief thing she cared for in this world. 
 
 " Has your brother been long ill? " said 
 Colin. It seemed the only subject on which 
 the two could speak. 
 
 " 111? " said Alice ; " he is not very ill ; 
 he takes a great deal of exercise. You must 
 have observed that ; and his appetite is very 
 good." The question roused her to contra- 
 dict her own fears, and doing so out loud to 
 another was more effectual somehow than 
 anything she could say to herself. " The 
 storm which made everybody else so ill had 
 no effect upon Arthur," she went on almost 
 with a little irritation. " He is thin, to be 
 sure ; but then many people are thin who are 
 quite well ; and I am sure you do not look 
 very strong yourself." 
 
 "No," said Colin, who possessed the in- 
 stinct, rare among men, of divining what his 
 companion wished him to say ; " my people 
 had given me up a few weeks ago. I gave 
 myself a poke somewhere in the lungs which 
 very nearly made an end of me ; but I mean 
 to get better if I can," he said with a smile 
 which for the moment brought a doubtful 
 look upon the girl's face. 
 
 " You don't think it wrong to talk like 
 that," she said ; " that was what made me 
 wish so much you should come to see Arthur. 
 Perhaps if he were more cheerful, it would do 
 him good. Not that he is very ill, you know, 
 but still — We are going to Italy," she went 
 on with a little abruptness," " to a place 
 near Rome, — not to Rome itself, because I am 
 a little afraid of that ; but into the country. 
 Are you going there ? " 
 
 " I suppose so," said Colin ; " it is the 
 place in the world most interesting. Do you 
 not think so ? But everything will be new 
 tome." gk 
 
 ' ' If you were to come where we are go- 
 ing," said his compainion with a composure 
 which was wonderful to Colin, " you would 
 find it cheaper, and you could see things al- 
 most as easily, and it would not be so hot 
 when summer comes. I think it would do 
 Arthur a great deal of good. It is so hard to 
 know what to do with a man," she went on, 
 unconsciously yielding to that inexpressible 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 125 
 
 influence of a sympathetic listener which few 
 people can resist ; " they cannot occupy 
 themselves, you know, as we women can, and 
 they get tired of our society. I have so longed 
 to find some man who would understand him, 
 and whom he could talk to," cried the poor 
 girl, with tears in her eyes. She made a 
 pause when she had said so much ; not that 
 it occurred to her that any one could mis- 
 understand her, but because the tears were 
 getting into her voice, which was a weakness 
 not to be yielded to. " I don't know why I 
 should cry," she added a minute after, with 
 a faint smile ; " it is talking about Italy I 
 suppose ; but you will like it when you get 
 there." 
 
 " Yet you do not seem to like it," said 
 Colin, with a little curiosity. 
 
 This time she made him no direct answer. 
 Her eyes were following her brother and 
 Lauderdale as they walked about the deck. 
 "Is he nice?" she asked with a little ti- 
 midity, pointing at Lauderdale, and giving 
 another hasty, wistful look at Colin's face. 
 
 " I don't know if you would think so," 
 said Colin ; "he is very Scotch, and a little 
 odd sometimes, but kinder and better, and 
 more truly a friend than words can describe. 
 He is tender and true," said the young man, 
 with a little enthusiasm which woke up the 
 palest ghost of an answering light in his 
 young companion's face. 
 
 " Being Scotch is a recommendation to 
 mc," she said; "the only person I ever 
 loved, except Arthur, of course, — and those 
 who are gone, — was Scotch." After this 
 quaint intimation, which woke in Colin's 
 mind an incipient spark of the earliest stage 
 3f jealousy, — not jealousy proper, but only a 
 lively and contemptuous curiosity to know 
 ' who the fellow was," — she dropped back 
 igain into her habitual silence. When Colin 
 tried to bring her back by ordinary remarks 
 about the voyage and their destination, she 
 answered him simply by " Yes," or " No." 
 She was of one idea, incapable apparently of 
 exerting her mind on any other subject. 
 When they had been thus sitting silent for 
 some time, she began again abruptly at the 
 point whei-e she had left oif. 
 
 " If you were coming to the same place," 
 she said, — " Arthur can speak Italian very 
 well, and I know it a little, — we might be 
 able to help you, and you would have very 
 good air, — pure air off the sea. If he had 
 
 society, he would soon be better." This was 
 said softly to herself, and then she went on, 
 drawn farther and farther by the sympathy 
 which she felt in her listener. " There are 
 only us two in the world." 
 
 " If I can do anything," said Colin-, " as 
 long as we are here at least ; but there is no 
 lack of society," he said, pointing to the 
 groups on the quarter-deck, at which Alice 
 Meredith shook her head. 
 
 " He frightens them," she said ; " they 
 prefer to go out of his way ; they don't want 
 to answer his questions. I don't know why 
 he does it. When he was young, he was fond 
 of society, and went out a great deal ; but he 
 has changed so much of late," said the anx- 
 ious sister, with a certain look of doubt and 
 wonder on her face. She was not quite sure 
 whether the change was an improvement. 
 " I don't understand it very well myself," 
 she went on, with a sigh ; " perhaps I have 
 not thought enough about it. And then he 
 does not mind what I say to him — men never 
 do ; I suppose it is natural. But, if he had 
 society, and you would talk and keep him 
 from writing " — 
 
 " Does he write? " said Colin, with new, 
 interest. It was a bond of sympathy he had 
 not expected to hear of ; and here again the 
 tears, in spite of all her exertions, got into 
 Alice's voice. 
 
 " At night, when he ought to be sleeping," 
 said the poor girl. " I don't mean to say he 
 is very ill ; but, oh ! Mr. Campbell, is it not 
 enough to make any man ill to sit up when 
 he is so tired he cannot keep awake, writing 
 that dreadful book? He is going to call it 
 ' A voice from the Grave.' I s'ometimes think 
 he wants to break my heart ; for what has 
 the grave to do with it ? He is rather deli- 
 cate, but so are you. Most people are deli- 
 cate," said poor Alice, " when they sit up at 
 night, anddon't take care of themselves. If 
 you coulcronly get him to give up that book, 
 I would bless you all my life." 
 
 Such an appeal from sweet lips quivering 
 with suppressed anguish, from beautiful eyes 
 full of heavy tears, was not likely to be with- 
 out effect ; and, when Colin went to his own 
 cabin in the evening, hearing but imperfectly 
 the criticisms of Lauderdale on his new friend 
 and his affairs, he was more and more im- 
 pressed by the conviction that something must 
 come of an encounter so singular and unex- 
 pected. The young man immediately set 
 
126 
 
 himself to wind new threads of fate about his 
 feet, and, while he was doing so, thought 
 with a little thrill of the wonderful way in 
 which things came about, and the possible 
 purposes of Providence in this new change. 
 It aroused and excited him to see the new 
 scenery coming into its place, and the ground 
 preparing for another act of his life. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 " What for? " said Lauderdale. " I'll no 
 say but what it's an interesting study, if life 
 was long enough to allow such indulgences ; 
 but — take you my word for it, calla'«t— it's 
 awfu' hard to see a life wearing out like that, 
 drop by drop. It's not only that you might 
 get to be fond of the poor lad himself, and 
 miss him sae when he was gone," said the 
 philosopher, who had not just then perfect 
 command of himself; but it raises awfu' 
 questioiss, and you are not one of those that 
 can take things as they come and ask no rea- 
 son. What should you bind yourself for ? I 
 see a' that would happen as clear as day. 
 You would go into a bit country place with 
 him, only to watch him die ; and, when he 
 was gone, you would be left with the bit bon- 
 nie sister, two bairns together — and then ; 
 but you're no destitute of imagination," said 
 Lauderdale, grimly ; " and I leave you to 
 Bgure that part of the business to yoursel"." 
 
 " This is foolish talk," said Colin. " The 
 sister, except that I am very sorry for her, 
 has nothing iu the world to do with it. If 
 we could manage as well beside them as any- 
 where else, one should be glad to be of some 
 use to one's fellow-creatures. I am not afraid 
 of anything that might happen," the young 
 man added, with a slight additional color. 
 •'As for responsibility, it is strange to hear 
 you warning me against that, — you who were 
 willing to take upon yourself all the responsi- 
 bility of travelling with me when you thought 
 [ was dying " — 
 
 " No such thing," said Lauderdale, hotly. 
 " I'm fool enough, no doubt ; but no such a 
 fool as that. Gallants of your age canna 
 keep a medium. When you have a sore fin- 
 ger, you take thoughts of dying ; but I'm a 
 man of some experience in this world. I'm 
 travelling for my own pleasure and no for 
 you, nor no man. As for this lad, I've seen 
 the like before. He's no singular, thougli 
 I've little doubt he thinks he is. It's awfu' 
 hard work to stop short just when you've 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 come to the brow of the hill, and see a' the 
 fair prospect before you," said Colin 's guar- 
 
 dian, whose countenance was overcast and 
 cloudy. " When the mind's no very strong, 
 the like of that sets it off its balance. I've 
 seen them that came out of the trial as calm 
 as the angels of God," he went on, after a 
 little pause, with a strain in his voice which 
 showed unusual emotion ; " and I have seen 
 them that battled with him that made them, 
 to make him render a reason ; and I have seen 
 them that took it with a high hand, and 
 tus'ned into preachers like this one. ' A 
 Voice from the Grave,' did she say? But 
 you're a' babies that ken no better. How 
 are the like of you to know that there's men 
 like me — ay, and women more than men — 
 tliat would give a' their living, and would 
 not grudge life itself, no for a voice only, but 
 for two or three words — for one word and no 
 more." He put down his face in his hands 
 for a moment as he spoke, though not to con- 
 ceal tears ; for Lauderdale's sorrows, what- 
 ever they might have been, were wrapped in 
 the deadly stillness of that past grief with 
 which no stranger intermeddles ; and his 
 young companion was watching him sorrow- 
 fully, sympathetically, but in ignorance, and 
 with the timidity of youth, not knowing what 
 to say. 
 
 " Him, and the like of him," said Lauder- 
 dale, going on more softly when he found that 
 Colin made no reply, " their voice from the 
 grave is like a Halloween ghost to frighten 
 the unwary. Whisht, callant ; I'm no laugh- 
 ing at the poor dying lad. There's nae laugh- 
 ing iu my head one way or another ; but it's 
 so little you know. You never think, with 
 your warnings and your terrors, of us that 
 have sat by our graves for years, and been 
 confounded by the awfu' silence. Why can 
 they no speak nor we hear? You'll no tell 
 me that Heaven and the presence of God can 
 take the love out of a living soul. I wish 
 you would not disturb my mind with your 
 vain thoughts," he said, with a momentary 
 fretfulness. " It's no a question I dare go 
 into. If love's no everlasting, I've no desire 
 to bQ everlasting myself; and, if I'm to be no 
 more to them that belong to me hereafter 
 than to those legions of strange angels, or a 
 haill nation of other folk ! — Whisht, cal- 
 lant ! you're no to say such things to me." 
 
 Colin said- nothing at all to interrupt this 
 monologue. He let his friend wear himself 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 out, pacing up and down the narrow little 
 cabin, which it required but two of Lauder- 
 dale's strides to traverse from end to end. 
 He had known a chance word to produce 
 gimilar results before ; but had never been 
 made acquainted with the I'eal history of his 
 friend's life. He waited now till this excite 
 ment was over, knowing by experience that 
 it was the best way ; and, after a while 
 Lauderdale calmed down and came back to 
 his seat, and resumed the conversation where 
 ^he had left it before his heart within him 
 Was rouoed to make brief utterance of its un- 
 known burden. 
 
 " The short and the long of it is," said 
 Lauderdale, " that you're making up your 
 mind, by some pi-ocess of your own — I'm no 
 saying what it is — to give up our own plan 
 and tack yourself on to a poor failing callant 
 that has not above a month or two to live." 
 
 " How do you know he has not above a 
 month or two to live ? " said Colin. " You 
 thought the same of me a few weeks ago. 
 One hears of the climate working wonders : 
 and, if he had some one by him to amuse and 
 interest him, and keep him off that book, as 
 ■^— as Miss Meredith says " — 
 
 '- Oh, ay, no dcpbt, no doubt," said Lau- 
 derdale, dryly. " He has one nurse already 
 bound to him body and soul, and, maybe, if 
 he had another to undertake the spiritual de- 
 partment! — But you're no old enough, 
 callant, to take him in hand, and you're no 
 strong enough, and I cannot say, for my own 
 part, that I see any special qualification for 
 such an office in ye," said the merciless crit- 
 ic, looking at Colin in a seriously contem- 
 plative way, with his head a little on one side. 
 After he had shown any need emotion, Lau- 
 derdale, like a true Britain, despised himself, 
 and made as great a leap as was practicable 
 on the other side. 
 
 " No," said Oblin, who was a little piqued 
 in spite of himself ; "I don't suppose I am 
 good for much ; and I never thought cff being 
 his nurse. It is out of the question to imag- 
 ine that I could be for Meredith, or any other 
 man, what you have been for me." 
 
 " I've kent ye longer than two days, "said 
 Colin's guardian, without showing any signs 
 of propitiation, "which to be sure makes a 
 little difference. Those that are destined to 
 come together need little time to make it up 
 — I've aye been a believer, for my part, not 
 only in love, but in friendship, at first sight." 
 
 127 
 
 " There's no question of cither love or 
 friendship," said Colin, with prompt irrita- 
 tion. " Surely one may feel pity, sympathy, 
 fellow-feeling, with a man of one's own age 
 without being misunderstood." 
 
 " I understand you an awfu' deal better 
 than you understand yourself," said Lauder- 
 dale ; " and, as I was saying, I am a great 
 believer in first impressions. It's a mercenary 
 kind of thing to be friends with a man for his 
 good qualities, — there's a kind of barter in 
 it that goes against my instincts ; but, when 
 you take to a man for nae reason, but out of 
 pure election and choice, that's real friend- 
 ship — or love, as it might me," he went on, 
 without pity, enjoying the heightened color 
 and air of embarrassment on Colin's face. 
 
 " You say all this to make me lose my tem- 
 per," said Colin. " Den't let us say any 
 more to-night ; I will think it all over again, 
 since you oppose it, and to-morrow " — 
 
 "Ay, to-morrow," said Lauderdale, — " it's 
 a bonnie rai-e world, and we'll no interfere 
 with it. Good-night, callant ; I'm no a man 
 that can be quarrelled with if you tried ever 
 so hard, — to-morrow you'll take your own 
 way." 
 
 Colin did not sleep till the night was far 
 advanced . He lay awake, watching the moon- 
 light, and pondering over this matter, which 
 looked very important as he contemplated it. 
 By thinking was meant, in his mind, as in 
 most minds of his age, not any complicated 
 course of reasoning, but a rapid framing of 
 pictures on one side and the other. On one 
 side he saw Meredith beguiled from his book, 
 persuaded to moderate his words in season 
 and out of season, and induced to take a lit- 
 tle interest in ordinary human affairs, gradu- 
 ally recovering his health, and returning to a 
 life which should no longer appear to him a 
 near preparation for dying ; and it cannot be 
 denied that there did come into Colin's mind 
 a certain consciousness of grateful looks and 
 sweet-voiced thanks attending this restora- 
 tion, which made the pictures wonderfully 
 pleasant. Then, on the other side, there 
 was Lauderdale's sketch of the sudden possi- 
 bilities filled in by Colin's imagination : poor 
 Meredith dying slowly, looking death in the 
 face for long days and lonely nights, sorely 
 wanting all the succor that human compas- 
 sion could give him ; and the forlorn and soli- 
 tary mourner that woul 1 be left, so young and 
 friendless, by the stranger's grave. Perhaps, 
 
128 
 
 on the whole, this suggestion of Lauderdale's 
 decided the matter. The thought was too 
 pitiful, too sad to be borne. She was nothing 
 ir. the world to him ; but she was a woman, 
 and Colin thought indignantly of the unchris- 
 tian cowardice which, for fear of responsibil- 
 ity, would desert a friendless creature ex- 
 posed to such dangers. Notwithstanding, he 
 was prudent, very prudent, as was natural. 
 It was not Alice, but Arthur Meredith who 
 was his friend. She had nothing to do with 
 this decision whatever. If such a melan- 
 choly necessity should happen, Colin felt it 
 was in him, respectfully, sympathetically, to 
 take the poor girl home ; and if, somehow, 
 the word "home" suggested to Kim his 
 mother, who that knew anything of the mis- 
 tress could wonder at that thought? Thus 
 he went on drawing the meshes closer about 
 his feet, while the moonlight shone on the 
 sea, and poor Meredith wrote his book, and 
 Lauderdale, as sleepless as his charge, anx- 
 iously pondered the new state of affairs. At 
 home that same moon suggested Colin to more 
 minds than one in the peaceful country over 
 which the March winds were blowing. Miss 
 Matty thought of him, looking out over the 
 Wodensbourne avenue, where the great trees 
 stood stately in the moonlight streaming a 
 glory on their heads. She was so late because 
 she had been at a ball, where her Cousin 
 Harry had made himself highly disagreeable, 
 and when, prompted by his sulky looks, she 
 had carried a little flirtation a hair's-breadth 
 too far, which was not a comfortable con- 
 Bciousness. Why she should think of Colin 
 under such circumstances it would be hard to 
 say ; but the thoughts of a young woman at 
 two o'clock in the morning are not expected 
 to be logical. She thought of him with a 
 shadow of the same feeling that made the 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 psalmist long for the wings of a dove ; though, 
 if Miss Matty had but known it, l;cr recep- 
 tion — could she have made her escape to her 
 former worshipper at that moment — would 
 have been of a disappointing character. And 
 about the same time the mistress wolcc out of 
 her quiet sleep, and saw the broad wliite flood 
 of light streaming through the little square 
 window of the room in which Colin was born. 
 Her fancy was busy enough about him night 
 and day; and she fancied she could see, as 
 clear as a picture, the ship speeding on, with 
 perhaps its white wings spread over the glis- 
 tening sea, and the moon stealing in at the 
 cabin window, and caressing her boy, who 
 was fast asleep, resting and gathering strength 
 with new life breathing in upon him in every 
 breath of favorable wind that crisped the 
 sleeping sea. Such was the vision that came 
 to the mind of the mistress when she awoke 
 in the " dead of night," and saw the moon- 
 light at her window. " God bless my Co- 
 lin," she said to herself, as she closed her 
 tender eyes ; and in the mean time Colin, 
 thinking nothing of his old love, and not very 
 much of his home-life, was busily engaged in 
 weaving for himself another tangle in the va- 
 ried web of existence, alUjough none of the 
 people most interested in him^except Lau- 
 derdale, who saw a faint shadow of the fu- 
 ture — had the least idea that this night at 
 sea was of any moment in his life. He did 
 not know it himself, though he was conscious 
 of a certain thrill of pleasant excitement and 
 youthful awe, half voluntary, half real. And 
 so the new scene got arranged for this new 
 act in the wonderful drama ; and all the mar- 
 vellous, delicate influences of Providence and 
 will, poising and balancing each other, began 
 to form and shape the further "outlines of Co- 
 lin's life. 
 
 An Ample Apology. — A clergyman at Cam- 
 bridge preached a sermon which one of his audi- 
 tors commended. " Yes," said the gentleman to 
 whom it was mentioned, " it was a good sermon, 
 but he stole it." This was repeated to the preach- 
 er, lie resented it, and called on the gentleman 
 to retract. «' I am not," replied the aggressor, 
 " very apt to retract my words ; but in this in- 
 stance I will. I said you had stolen the sermon. 
 I find I was wrong, for on returning home and re- 
 
 ferring to the book whence I thought it was taken, 
 I found it there J* 
 
 The English Woman 's Journal for May has an 
 article commending in warm terms the conduct 
 of the American women during our civil war, 
 both their readiness to meet self-sacrifices and 
 their effective co-operation to supply the needs of 
 the soldiers. The writer predicts an increased in- 
 fluence of woman upon the coui"se of public affairs. 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 PART X. — CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 The place which the Meredith's had chosen 
 for their residence was Frascati, where every- 
 thing was quieter, and most things cheaper, 
 than in Rome, — to which, besides, the broth- 
 er and sister had objections, founded on for- 
 mer passages in their family history, of which 
 their new friends were but partially aware ; 
 and to Frascati, accordingly, the two Scotch 
 pilgrims were drawn with them. Colin 
 having, as usual, persevered in his own way, 
 and obtained it, as Lauderdale prophesied, 
 the arrangement came about, naturally 
 enough, after the ten days' close company on 
 board ship, when young Meredith, whom 
 most people were either contemptuous of, or 
 inclined to avoid, found refuge with his new 
 friends, who, though they did not agree 
 with him, at least understood what he meant. 
 He slackened nothing of those exertions 
 which he thought to be his duty, — and on 
 which, perhaps unconsciously, the young in- 
 valid rather prided himself, as belonging to 
 his role of dying man — during the remainder 
 of thei voyage ; but, finding one of the sailors 
 ill, succeeded in making such an impression 
 upon the poor fellow's uninstructed and un- 
 certain mind as repaid him, he said, for all 
 the exertions he had made. After that event, 
 he passed by very often to the forecastle to 
 pray with his convert, being, perhaps, dis- 
 posed to the opinion that they two were the 
 salt of the earth to their small community ; 
 for which proceeding he was called fool, and 
 fanatic, and Methodist, and a great many 
 pther hard names by the majority of his fel- 
 low-passengers, — some of whom, indeed, be- 
 ing, like most ordinary people, totally unable 
 to discriminate between things that differ, 
 confidently expected to hear of some secret 
 vice on the part of Meredith ; such things 
 being always found out, as they maintained, 
 of people who considered themselves better 
 than their neighbors. " After a while, it 
 will be found out what he's up to," said a 
 comfortable passenger, who knew the world ; 
 " such fellows always have their private pec- 
 cadilloes. I dare say he don't go so often to 
 the forecastle for nothing. The stewardess 
 aint bad-looking, and I've seen our saint en- 
 gaged in private conversation when he didn't 
 know I was there," said the large-minded 
 Christian who denounced poor Meredith's un- 
 charitableness. And, to be sure, he was un- 
 charitable, poor fellow. As for Colin, and, 
 
 129 
 
 indeed, Lauderdale also, who had been at- 
 tracted, in spite of himself, they looked on 
 with a wonderful interest, from amid-ships, 
 knowing better. They saw him dragging his 
 sister after him, as far as she could go, along 
 the crowded deck, when he went to visit his pa- 
 tient, — neither he, whose thoughts were oc- 
 cupied solely with matters of life and death, 
 nor she, who was thinking entirely of him, 
 having any idea that the dark dormitory be- 
 low, among the sailors' hammocks, M'as an 
 unfit place for her. It was Colin who stepped 
 forward to rescue the girl from this unneces- 
 sary trial, and Meredith gave her up to him, 
 with as little idea that this, too, was a doubt- 
 ful expedient, as he had had of anything un- 
 suitable in his original intention. "It is a 
 privilege, if she but knew it," the invalid 
 would say, fixing his hollow eyes on her, as 
 if half doubtful whether he approved of her 
 or not ; and poor Alice stayed behind him, 
 with a bad grace, without feeling much in- 
 debted on her own account to her new friends. 
 " It does not matter where I go, so long as I 
 am with him," she said, following him with 
 her anxious looks ; and she stopped seated 
 patiently upon her bench, with her eyes fixed 
 on the spot where he had disappeared, until 
 he rejoined her. When Arthur's little 
 prayer-meeting was ended, he came with a 
 severe, and yet serene, countenance towards 
 the sister he had left behind him, and the 
 two friends who did not propose to accompa- 
 ny him. " He is a child of God," said the 
 sick man ; "his experiences are a great com- 
 fort to me " — and he looked with a little de- 
 fiance at the companions, who, to be sure, so 
 far as the carnal mind was concerned, were 
 moi-e congenial to him. Indeed, the new 
 chapter of the " Voice from the grave " was 
 all about Lauderdale and Colin. They were 
 described under the initials N. and M., with 
 a heightening of all their valuable qualities, 
 which was intended to make more and more 
 apparent their want of the " one thing need- 
 ful." They were like the rich young man 
 whom Jesus loved, but who had not the heart 
 to give up all and follow him, — like " him 
 who, through cowardice, made the great re- 
 fusal." The sick man wrote without, how- 
 ever, quoting Dante, and he contrasted with 
 their virtuous and thoughtful worldlinesa 
 the condition of his convert, who knew noth- 
 ing but the love of God, poor Meredith said. 
 Perhaps it was true that the sick sailor knew 
 
130 
 
 the love of God, and certainly the prayers of 
 the dying apostle were not less likely to reach 
 the ear of the Divine ^Majesty for being ut- 
 tered by the poor fellow's bedside. But, 
 though he wrote a chapter in his book about 
 them, Meredith still clung to his friends. 
 The unseen and unknown were familiar to their 
 thoughts, — perhaps even too familiar, being 
 considered by them as reasonably and nat- 
 urally interesting ; and poor JNIcredith was 
 disposed to think that anything natural must 
 be more or less wicked. JJut still he con- 
 sidered them interesting, and thought he 
 might be able to do them good, and, for his 
 own part, found all the human comfort he was 
 capable of iri their society. Thus it was that, 
 with mutual companions and sympathy, — 
 he sorry for them and they for him, and mu- 
 tual good ofiBccs, — the three grew into friend- 
 ship. As for Alice, her brother was fond of 
 her, but had never had his attention special- 
 ly attracted to her, nor been led to imagine 
 her a companion for himself. She was his 
 tender little nurse and attendant, — a crea- 
 ture made up of loving, watchful eyes, and 
 anxious little noiseless cares. He would have 
 missed her terribly, had she failed him, 
 vithout quite knowing what it was he missed, 
 r.ut, though he was in the habit of instruct- 
 ing her now and then, it did not occur to 
 him to talk to his sister. She was a creature 
 of another species, — an unawakcned soul, 
 with few thoughts or feelings worth speak- 
 ing of. At least such was the estimate her 
 brother had formed of her, and in which Al- 
 ice herself agreed to a great extent. It was 
 not exactly humility that kept the anxious 
 girl in this mind, but an undisturbed habit 
 and custom, out of which no personal impulse 
 had delivered her. The women of her kin- 
 dred had never been remarkable one way or 
 another. They were good women, — perfect- 
 ly virtuous and a little tiresome, as even Al- 
 ice was sensible ; and it had not been the cus- 
 tom of the men of the house to consult or 
 confide in their partners. Her mother and 
 aunts had found quite enough to occupy them 
 in housekeeping and needlework, and had ac- 
 cepted it as a matter of faith that men, ex- 
 cept, perhaps, when in love, or in "a pas- 
 sion," did not care to talk to women, — a 
 family creed from which so young and sub- 
 missive a girl had not dreamt of enfranchis- 
 ing herself. Accordingly, she accepted quite 
 calmly Arthur's low estimate of her powers 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 of companionship, and was moved by no in- 
 jured feeling when he sought the company 
 •of his new friends, and gave himself up to the 
 pleasure of conversation. It was the most 
 natural thing in the world to Alice. She 
 kept by him, holding by "his arm when he 
 and his companions walked about the deck 
 together, as long as there was room for her ; 
 and when there was no room, she withdrew 
 and sat down on the nearest seat, and took 
 out a little bit of needlework which never 
 made any progress ; for, though her intellect 
 could not do Arthur any good, the anxious 
 scrutiny of her eyes could, — or at least she 
 seemed to think so. Very often, it was true, 
 she was joined in her watch by Colin ; of 
 whom, however, it never occurred to her to 
 think under any other possible aspect than 
 that of Arthur's friend. Lauderdale might 
 have spared his anxieties so far as that went ; 
 for, notwithstanding a certain proclivity 
 on the part of Colin to female friendship, Al- 
 ice was too entirely unconscious, too utterly 
 devoid of any sense or feeling of self, to be 
 interesting to the young man. Perhaps a 
 certain amount of self-regard is necessary to 
 attract the regard of others. Alice was not 
 awai-e of herself at all, and her insensibility 
 communicated itself to her silent companion. 
 He sometimes even wondered if her intelli- 
 gence was up to the ordinary level, and then 
 felt ashamed of himself when by chance she 
 lifted upon him her wistful eyes ; not that 
 those eyes were astonishingly bright, or con- 
 veyed any intimations of hidden power, — 
 but they looked, as they were, unawakened,. 
 suggestive eyes, which might wake up at any 
 moment and develop unthought-of liglits. 
 But, on the whole, this twilight was too dim 
 to interest Colin, except by moments ; and it 
 was incomprehensible, and to some extent 
 provoking and vexatious, to the young man, 
 to see by his side a creature so young, and 
 with so many natural graces, who neutral- 
 ized them all by her utter indifference to her- 
 self. 
 
 So that, after all, it came to be a very nat- 
 ural and reasonable step to accompany the 
 Merediths, to whose knowledge of the coun- 
 try and language even Lauderdale found him- 
 self indebted wlieu suddenly thrown without 
 warning upon the tumultuous crowd of Log- 
 horn boatmen, which was his first foi'cign ex- 
 perience. " They all understand French," a 
 benevolent fellow-passenger said, as he went 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 on before them ; which did not convey the con- 
 solation it was intended to bear to the two 
 Scotch travellers, who only looked at each 
 other sheepishly, and laughed with a very 
 mixed and doubtful sort of mirth, not liking 
 to commit themselves. They had to give 
 themselves up blindly into the hands of IMere- 
 dith and his sister, — for Alice felt herself of 
 some importance in a country where she 
 " knew the language," — and it was altogeth- 
 er in the train of these two that Colin and 
 Lauderdale were dragged along, like a pair of 
 English eaptives, through the very gates of 
 Rome itself, and across the solemn Campagna 
 to the little city set upon a hill, to which the 
 sick man was bound. They made their way 
 to it in a spring afternoon when the sun was 
 inclining towards the west, throwing long 
 shadows of those long, weird, endless arches 
 of the Claudian aqueduct across the green 
 wastes, and shining full upon the white specks 
 of scattered villages on theAlban hills. The 
 landscape would have been impressive, even 
 had it conveyed no associations to the minds 
 of the spectators. But, as the reluctant 
 strangers left Rome, they saw unfold before 
 them a noble semicircle of hills, — the Sa- 
 bines, blue and mysterious, on one side, the 
 Latin range breaking bluntly into the centre 
 of the ring, and towards the right hand the 
 softer Alban heights with their lakes hidden 
 in the hollows, and the sunshine falling full 
 upon their crest of towns ; and, when they 
 had mounted the steep ascent to Frascati, it 
 was still more wonderful to look back and see 
 the sunset arranging itself over that great 
 Campagna, falling into broad radiant bands 
 of color with inconceivable tints and shad- 
 ings, betraying in a gpdden flash the distant 
 sea, and shining all misty and golden over 
 the dwarfed dome of St. Peter's, which rose 
 up by itself with a wonderful insignificance of 
 grandeur, — all Rome around being blotted 
 into oblivion. That would have been a sight 
 to linger over, had not Meredith been weary 
 and worn out, and eager to get to his jour- 
 ney's end. " You will see it often enough," 
 he said, with a little petulance; "neither 
 the sunset nor St. Peter's can run away : " 
 for it was to himself a sufiiciently familiar 
 sight. They went in accordingly to a large 
 house, which, a little to the disappointment 
 of Colin, was just as square and ugly as any- 
 thing he could have found at home, though 
 it stood all the days and nights gazing with 
 
 131 
 
 many eyes over that Campagna which looked 
 like a thing to dream over forever. It was 
 the third story of this house — tJie upper floor 
 — to which Meredith and hia sister directed 
 their steps ; Colin and Lauderdale following 
 them, not without a little expectation, natu- 
 ral enough under the circumstances. It was 
 cold, and they were tired, though not so 
 much as the invalid ; and they looked for a 
 bright fire, a comfortable room, and a good 
 meal, — with a little curiosity, it is true, about 
 the manner of it, but none as to the blazing 
 fire and spread board and all the other items 
 indispensable to comfort, according to English 
 ideas. The room where they got admittance 
 was very large, and full of windows, letting 
 in a flood of light, which, as the sunshine 
 was now too low to enter, was cold light, — 
 white, colorless, and chilling. Not a vestige 
 of carpet was on the tiled floor, except before 
 the fireplace, where a square piece of a 
 curious coarse fabric and wonderful pattern 
 had been laid down. A few logs were burn- 
 ing on the wide hearth, and close by was a 
 little stack of wood intended to replenish the 
 ►fire. The great desert room contained a world 
 of tables and four uncushioned chairs ; but the 
 tired travellers looked in vain for the spread 
 board which had pleased their imagination. 
 If Colin had thought the house too like an 
 , ordinary ugly English house outside to satis- 
 ' fy him, he found this abundantly made "up 
 for now by the interior, so unlike anything 
 English ; for the walls were iminted with a 
 brilliant landscape set in a frame of brilliant 
 scarlet curtains, which the simple-minded ar- 
 tist had looped across his sky vrithout any 
 hesitation ; and underneath this most gor- 
 geous bit of fresco was set a table against the 
 wall, upon which were spread out an humble 
 store of little brown rolls, a square slice of 
 butter, a basin full of eggs, and a flask of oil, 
 — the humble provisions laid in by the attend- 
 ant Maria, who had rushed forward to kiss 
 the young lady's hand when she opened the 
 door. While the two inexperienced Scotch 
 travellers stood horror-stricken, their com- 
 panions, who were aware of what they were 
 coming to, threw down their wraps and be- 
 gan to settle themselves in this extraordinary 
 desert. Meredith for his part threw himself 
 into a large primitive easy-chair which stood 
 by the fire. "This is a comfort I did not 
 look for," he said; "and, thaak Heaven, 
 here we are at last." Ho drew a long breath 
 
132 
 
 of satisfaction as he stretched out his long, 
 meagre limbs before the fire. " Come in and 
 make yourselves comfortable. Alice will at- 
 tend to everything else," he said, glaring 
 back at his annoyed companions, who, find- 
 ing themselves in some degree his guests, had 
 to subdue their feelings. They came and eat 
 by him, exchanging looks of dismay, — looks 
 which, perhaps, he perceived ; for he drew in 
 his long, languid limbs, and made a little 
 room for the others. " Many things, of 
 course, that are necessary in our severe cli- 
 mate are unnecessary here," he said, with a 
 slight shiver ; and, as he spoke, he reached 
 out his hand for one of the wraps he had 
 thrown oflF, and drew it round his shoulders. 
 That action gave a climax to the universal 
 discomfort. Colin and Lauderdale once more 
 looked at each other with mutual comments 
 that could find no utterance in words, — the 
 onl^ audible expression of their mutual sen- 
 timent being an exclamation of " Climate ! " 
 from the latter in an undertone of unspeak- 
 able surprise and consternation. This, then, 
 was the Italy of which they had dreamed ! 
 The mistress's parlor on the Holy Loch was 
 words could not tell how much warmer and 
 more genial. The tired travellers turned to- 
 wards the fire as the only possible gleam of 
 consolation, and Meredith put out his long, 
 thin arm to seize another log ^^nd place it on 
 the hearth : even he felt the difference. He 
 had done nothing to help himself till he came 
 here ; but habits of indulgence dropped off 
 on the threshold of this Spartan dwelling. 
 Colin repeated within himself Lauderdale's 
 exclamation, " Climate ! " as he shivered in 
 his chair. No doubt the invalid chair by the 
 fireside on the banks of the Holy Loch was a 
 very different thing, as far as comfort was 
 concerned. 
 
 In the mean time Alice found herself in 
 command of the position. Humble little wo- 
 man as she was, there came by moments, even 
 to her, a compassionate contempt for the male 
 creatures who got hur^ry and sulky after 
 this fashion, and could only sit down ill-tem- 
 pered and disconsolate before the fire. Alice, 
 for licr part, sent off Maria to the trattoria, 
 and clieerfuUy prepared to feed the creatures 
 who did not know how to set about it for 
 themselves. When she had done her utmost, 
 however, there was still a look of dismay on 
 Cul ill's face. The dinner from the trattoria 
 was a thing altogether foreign to the experi- 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 ences of the two Scotchmen. They suspected 
 j it while they ate, making secret wry faces to 
 j each other across the equivocal board. This 
 j was the land of poets into which they had 
 come, — the land of the ideal where, according 
 j to their inexperienced imaginations, every- 
 i thing was to share the general refinement! 
 But, alas, there was nothing refined about 
 the dinner from the trattoria, which was al- 
 together a native production, and with which 
 the Merediths, being acquainted and know- 
 ing what they had to expect, contented them- 
 selves well enough. When Lauderdale *and 
 his charge retired, chilled to the bone, to 
 their stony, chilly bedrooms, where every- 
 thing seemed to convey not warmth but a 
 sensation of freezing, they looked at each 
 other with amazement and disgust on their 
 faces. " Callant, you would have been 
 twenty times better at home," said Lauder- 
 dale, with a remorseful groan ; " and, as for 
 those poor innocents who have nobody to look 
 after them — but they kent what they were 
 coming to," he continued, with a flash of 
 momentary anger. Altogether it was as un- 
 «uccessful a beginning as could well be im- 
 agined of the ideal poetic Italian life. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX, 
 
 It is impossible to deny that, except in 
 hotels which are cosmopolitan, and chiefly 
 adapted to the many wants of the rich Eng- 
 lish, life in Italy is a hard business enough 
 for the inexperienced traveller, who knows 
 the strange country into which he has sud- 
 denly dropped rather by means of poetical leg- 
 ends than by the facts of actual existence. 
 A country of vineyards and orange-groves, 
 of everlasting verdure agAsunshine is, indeed, 
 in its way, a true eqP|h description of a 
 many-sided country : but these words of 
 course convey no intimation of the terrors of 
 an Italian palace in the depth of winter, 
 when everything is stone-cold, and the possi- 
 bilities of artificial warmth are of the most 
 limited description ; where the idea of doors 
 and windows closely fitting has never entered 
 the primitive mind, and where the cardinal 
 virtue of patience and endurance of necessary 
 evils wraps the contented native sufferer like 
 tlie cloak which he hugs round him. Yet, not- 
 withstanding, even Lauderdale relaxed out 
 of the settled gloom on his face when he 
 went to the window of the great bare sitting- 
 room and gazed out upon the grand expanse 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 of the Campagna, lighted up with the morn- 
 ijg sunshine. The silence of that depopulat- 
 ed plain, with its pathetic bits of ruin here 
 and there, — ruins, to be sure, identified and 
 written down in books, but for themselves 
 speaking, with a more \toful and suggestive 
 voice than can be conveyed by any historical 
 associations, through the very depths of their 
 dumbness and loss of all distinction, — went 
 to the spectator's heart. What they were or 
 had been, what human hands had erected or 
 human hearts rejoiced in them their linger- 
 ing remains had ceased to tell ; and it was 
 only with a vagueness which is sadder than 
 any story that they indicated a former forgot- 
 ten existence, a past too far away to be deci- 
 pherable. Lauderdale laid his hand on Co- 
 lin's shoulder, and drew him away. " Ay, 
 ay," he said, with an unusual thrill in his 
 voice, " it's grand to hear that yon's Soracte, 
 and thereaway is the Sabine country, and 
 that's Eome, lying away among the clouds. 
 It's no Rome, callant ; it's • a big kirk, or 
 heathen temple, or whatever you like to 
 call it. I'm no heeding about Rome. It's 
 the awfu' presence of the dead, and the skies 
 smiling at them — that's a' I see. Come away 
 with me, and let's see if there's ony living 
 creatures left. It's an awfu' thought to come 
 into a man's head in connection with that 
 bonnie innocent sky," the philosopher con- 
 tinued, with a slight shudder, as he drew 
 his charge with him down the chilly stair- 
 case ; " but it's aye bewildering to one to see 
 the indifference o' Nature. It's terrible like 
 as if she was a senseless heathen hersel', and 
 cared nothing about nobody. No that I'm 
 asserting that to be the case ; but it's grue- 
 some to look at her smiles and her wiles, as 
 if she kent no better. I'm no addicted to 
 little bairns in a general way," said Lauder- 
 dale, drawing a long breath, as he emerged 
 from the great door, and suddenly found him- 
 self in the midst of a group of ragged little 
 picturesque savages ; " but it's aye a com- 
 fort to see that there's still living creatures 
 in the world." 
 
 " It is not for the living creatures, however, 
 that people come to Italy," said Colin. 
 "Stop here and have another look at the 
 Campagna. I am not of your opinion about 
 nature. Sometimes tears themselves are less 
 pathetic than a smile." 
 
 "Where did you learn that, callant?" 
 said his friend. " But there's plenty of time 
 
 133 
 
 for the Campagna, and I have aye an awfu' 
 interest in human folk. What do the little 
 animals mean, raging like a set of little fu- 
 ries? Laddies, if you've quarrelled, fight it 
 out like men instead of scolding like a par- 
 cel of fishwives," said the indignant stranger, 
 addressing himself to a knot of boys who 
 were playing mona. When he found his re- 
 monstrance disregarded, Lauderdale seized 
 what appeared to him the two ringleaders, 
 and held them, one in each hand, with the 
 apparent intention of knocking their heads 
 together, entirely undisturbed by the outcries 
 and struggles of his victims, as well as by 
 the voluble explanations of the rest of the 
 party. " It's no use talking nonsense to 
 me," said the inexorable judge ; " they shall 
 either hold their tongues, the little cowardly 
 wretches, or they shall fi^t ! " 
 
 It was, luckily, at this moment that Alice 
 Meredith made iier appearance, going out to 
 provide for the wants of her family like a 
 careful little housewife. Her explanation 
 filled Lauderdale with unbounded shame and 
 dismay. " It's an awful drawback no to 
 understand the language said the philoso- 
 pher, with a rush of burning color to his 
 face ; for, Lauderdale, like various other peo-. 
 pie, could not help entertaining an idea, in 
 spite of his better knowledge, that English 
 (or what he was pleased to call English), 
 spoken with due force and emphasis, was 
 sure in the end to be perfectly intelligible. 
 Having received this sad lesson, he shrank 
 out of sight with the utmost discomfiture, 
 holding Colin fast, who betrayed an inclina- 
 tion to accompany Alice. " This will never 
 do ; we'll have to put to our hands and 
 learn," said Colin 's guardian. " I never put 
 much faith before in that Babel business. 
 It's awfu' humbling to be made a fool of by 
 a parcel of bairns." Lauderdale did not re- 
 cover his humiliating defeat during the 
 lengthened survey which followed of the lit- 
 tle town and its dependencies, where now and 
 then they encountered the slight little figure 
 of Alice walking alone, with a freedom per- 
 mitted (and wondered at) to the Signora In- 
 glese, who thus declared her independence. 
 They met her at the baker's, where strings 
 of biscuits, made in the shape of rings, hung 
 like garlands about the door, and where the 
 little Englishwoman was using all her power 
 to seduce the master of the shop into the 
 manufacture of fane Inghse, bread made 
 
134 A SON OF 
 
 with yeast instead of leaven ; and they met 
 her again in the dark vicinity of the trattoria, 
 consulting with a dingy trailcur about din- 
 ner. Fortunately for the success of the meal, 
 the strangers were unaware that it was out 
 of tliese dingy shades that their repast was 
 to come. Tlius the two rambled about, re- 
 covering their spirits a little as the first glow 
 of the Italian sunshine stole over them, and 
 finding summer in the bright piazza, though 
 winter and gloom lingered in the narrow 
 streets. Last of all they entered the cathe- 
 dral, which was a place the two friends ap- 
 proached with different feelings. Colin's 
 mind being full of the curiosity of a man 
 who was himself to be a priest, and who felt 
 to a certain degree that the future devotions 
 and even government of his country was in 
 his hands, he was^^nsequently quick to ob- 
 serve, and even, notwithstanding the preju- 
 dices of education, not disinclined to learn, 
 if anything worth learning was to be seen in 
 the quiet country church, where at present 
 nothing beyond the ordinary service was go- 
 ing on. Lauderdale, in whose mind a lively 
 and animated army of prejudices was in full 
 operation, though met and crossed at every 
 turn by an equally lively belief in the truth 
 of his fellow-creatures, — which was a sad 
 drawback to his philosophy, — went into tlie 
 Frascati Cathedral with a curious mixture 
 of open criticism and concealed respect, not 
 unusual in a Scotchman. He was even 
 ashamed of himself for his own alacrity in 
 taking off his hat, as if one place could be 
 holier than another ; yet, nevertheless, stowed 
 his gaunt, gigantic figure away behind the 
 pillars, and did what he could to walk softly, 
 lest he should disturb the devotions of one 
 or two kneeling women, who, however, paused 
 with perfect composure to look at the sti'an- 
 gers without apparently being conscious of 
 any interruption. As for Colin, he was in- 
 specting the arrangements of the cathedral 
 at his leisure, when a sudden exclamation 
 from Lauderdale attracted his attention. He 
 thought his friend had got into some new be- 
 wilderment, and hastened to join him, look- 
 ing round first, with the helplessness of a 
 speechless stranger in a foreign country, to 
 830 if there were any one near who could ex- 
 plain for them in case of necessity. When, 
 however, Colin had joined his friend, he 
 found him standing rapt and silent before a 
 
 THE SOIL. 
 
 tombstone covered with lettering which was 
 placed against the wall of the church. Lau- 
 derdale made a curious, unsteady sign, point- 
 ing to it, as Colin approached. It was a 
 pompous Latin inscription, recording imag- 
 inary grandeurs which had never existed, 
 and bearing the names of three British kings 
 who never reigned. Neitiicr of the specta- 
 tors who thus stood moved and speechless 
 before it had been brought up with any 
 Jacobite tendencies, — indeed, Jacobite ideas 
 liad died out of all reality before either of 
 them was born, — but Lauderdale, Whig and 
 sceptic as he was, uttered hoarsely out of his 
 throat the two words, " Prince Chairlie ! " 
 and then stood silent, gazing at thv» stone 
 with its pompous Latin lies and its sorrow- 
 ful human story, as if it had been, not an ex- 
 tinct family, but something of his own blo<3d 
 and kindred which had lain underneath. 
 Thus the two strangers went out, subdued and 
 silenced, from their first eight-seeing. It was 
 not in man, nor in Scotchman, to see the 
 names and not remember all the wonderful 
 vain devotion, all the blind heroic efforts that 
 had been made for these extinct Stuarts ; and, 
 with a certain instinctive loyalty, reverential 
 yet protesting, Colin and his friend turned 
 away from Charles Edward's grave. 
 
 " Well," said Lauderdale, after a long 
 pause, " they were little to brag of, either 
 for wisdom or honesty, and no credit to us 
 that I can see ; but it comes over a man with 
 an awfu' strange sensation to fall suddenly 
 without any warning on the grave of a race 
 that was once in such active connection with 
 his own. ' Jacobus III., Carolus III., Hcn- 
 ricus IX.' — is that how it goes? It's terri- 
 ble real, that inscription, though it's a' a 
 fiction. They might be a feckless race ; but, 
 for a' that, it was awfu' hard, when you 
 think of it, upon' Prince Chairlie. He .was 
 neither a fool nor a liar, so far as I ever 
 heard, — which is more than you can say for 
 other members of the family ; and he had to 
 give way, and give up his birthright for the 
 miserable little wretches from Hanover. 1 
 dinna so much wonder, when I think of it, 
 at the '45. It was a pleasant alternative for 
 a country, callant, to choose between a bit 
 Dutch idiot that knew nothing, and the son 
 of her auld kings. I'm no speaking of Wil- 
 liam of Orange, — he's awfu' overrated, and 
 a cold-blooded demon, but aye a kind of a man 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 notwithstanding, — but thae Hanover fellows — 
 And 6oy on's Prince Chairlie's grave ! " 
 
 Just then Meredith, who had come out to 
 bask in the sunshine, came up to them, and 
 took, as he had learned to do by way of sup- 
 porting himself, Lauderdale's vigorous arm. 
 
 " I forgot to toll you," he said, " that the 
 Pretender's grave was there. I never enter 
 these churches of Antichrist if I can help it. 
 Life is too short to be wasted even in looking 
 on at the wiles of the destroyer. Oh th^ 
 we could do something to deliver these dyi^ 
 souls ! " 
 
 " I saw little of the wiles of the destroyer 
 for my part," said Lauderdale, abruptly ; 
 "and, as for the Pretender, there's many 
 pretenders, and it's awfu' hard to tell which 
 is real. I know no harm of Prince Chairlie, 
 the little I do know of him. If it bad been 
 mysel', I'm no free in my mind to say that I 
 would have let go my father's inheritance 
 without striking a blow." 
 
 " These are the ideas of the carnal mind," 
 said Meredith. " Oh, my friend, if you 
 would but be more serious ! Does not your 
 arrival in this country suggest to you another 
 arrival which cannot be long delayed, — which 
 indeed, for some of us at least, may happen 
 any day," the sick man continued, putting 
 out his long, thin hand to clasp that of Colin, 
 who was on the opposite side. Lauderdale, 
 who saw this gesture, started aside with a 
 degree of violence which prevented the meet- 
 ing of the two invalid bands. 
 
 " I know little about this country," he 
 said, almost with sullenness ; " but I know 
 still less about the other. It's easy for you, 
 callants, to speak. I'm real willing to make 
 experiment of it, if that were possible," he 
 continued, softening ; " but there's no an 
 ignorant soul hereabouts that is more igno- 
 rant than me." • 
 
 ^' Let us read together, — let us consider it 
 together," said Meredith ; " it is all set down 
 very plain, you know. He that runneth may 
 read. In all the world there is nothing so im- 
 portant. My friend, you took pains to under- 
 stand about Italy '' — 
 
 " And a bonnie business I made of it," 
 said Lauderdale; "deluded by the very 
 bairns ; set free by one that's little more than 
 a baiin, that iittle sister of yours ; and not 
 letting myself be drawn into discussions ! 
 I'm tweatv years, or near it, older than you 
 are," he went on, " and I've walked with 
 
 135 
 
 them that have gone away yonder, as far as 
 flesh and blood would let me. I'm no mis- 
 doubting anything that's written, callant, if 
 that will satisfy you. It's a' an awful, dark- 
 ness with visions of white angels here and 
 there ; but the angels dinna belong to me. 
 Whisht — whisht, — I'm no profane ; I'm want- 
 ing more, — more than what's written; and, as 
 I cannot get that, I must even wait till I see 
 for myself. — Here's a grand spot for looking 
 at your Campagna now," he said, breaking 
 abruptly off; but poor Meredith, who had 
 so little time to spare, and whose words had 
 to be in season and out of season, could not 
 consent to follow, as a man without so great 
 a mission might have done, the leading of 
 his companion's thoughts. 
 
 " The Campagna is very interesting," he 
 said, " but it is nothing to the safety of your 
 soul. Oh, my dear friend! — and here is 
 Campbell, too, who is not far from the king- 
 dom of heaven. Promise me that you will 
 come with me," said the dying man. "I 
 shall not be able to stay long with you. 
 Promise me that you will come and join me 
 i/jere.' " He put out his thin arm, and raised 
 it toward the sky, which kept smiling always 
 serene, and took ngnote of these outbursts of* 
 human passion. " I will wait for you at the 
 golden gates," the invalid went on, fixing his 
 hollow eyes first on one and then on another, 
 ' ' You will be my joy and crown of rejoicing ! 
 You cannot refuse the prayer of a dyid^ 
 man." 
 
 Colin, who was young, and upon whom 
 the shadow of these golden gates was still 
 hovering, held out his hand this time, 
 touched to the heart. " I am coming," he 
 said, softly, almost under his breath, but 
 yet loud enough to catch the quick ear of 
 Lauderdale, whose sudden movement dis- 
 placed JMeredith's arm, which was clinging 
 almost like a woman's to his own. 
 
 "It's no for a man to make any such un- 
 founded promises," said Lauderdale, hoarse- 
 ly ; " though you read till your heart's sick, 
 there's nothing written like that. It's a' 
 imaginations and yearnings and dreams. 
 I'm no saying that it cannot be, or that it 
 will not be, but I tell you there's no such 
 thing written ; and as far as I ken or you" 
 ken, it may be a delusion and disappoint- 
 ment. Whisht, whisht, callants ! Dinna 
 entice each other out of this world, where 
 there's aye plenty to do for the like of you. 
 
13G 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 I'm saying, — 'Silence, sir!'" cried the 
 philosopher, with sudden desperation. And 
 then he became aware that he had withdrawn 
 the support which Meredith stood so much 
 in need of. " A sober-minded man like me 
 should have other company than a couple of 
 laddies, with their fancies," he said, in a 
 hurried, apologetic tone ; " but, as long as 
 we're together, you may as well take the 
 good of me," he added, with a rare, mo- 
 mentary smile, holding out his arm. As for 
 Meredith, for once in his life, — partly be-'- 
 causc of a little more emotion than usual, 
 partly because his weakness felt instantly 
 the withdrawal of a support which had be- 
 come habitual to him, — he felt beyond a pos- 
 sibility of doubt that further words would be 
 out of season just at that moment, and so 
 they resumed their way a little more silently 
 than usual. The road, like other Italian 
 roads, was m,arked by here and there a rude 
 shrine in a, niche in the wall, or a cross 
 erected by the wayside, — neitlier of which 
 objects possessed in the smallest degree the 
 recommendation of picturesqueness which 
 sentimental travellers attribute to them ; for 
 the crosses were of the rudest construction, 
 as rude as if meant for q,ctual use, and the 
 poor little niches, each with its red-eyed Ma- 
 donna daubed on the wall, suggested no more 
 idea of beauty than the most arbitrary sym- 
 bol could have done. But Meredith's soul 
 awoke within him when he saw the looks 
 with which Colin regarded these shabby em- 
 blems of religious feeling. The Protestant 
 paused tol-egain his breath, and could keep 
 silence no more. 
 
 " You look with interest at these devices of 
 Antichrist," said the sick man. " You think 
 they promote a love of beauty, 1 suppose, or 
 you tliink them picturesque. You don't 
 think how they ruin the souls of those who 
 trust in them," he said, eagerly and loudly ; 
 for they were passing another English party, 
 which was at the moment engaged in contem- 
 plating the cross, without much apparent 
 admiration, and already the young mission- 
 ary longed to accost them, and put the sol- 
 emn questions about life and death to their 
 (pi'esumably) careless souls. 
 
 " They don't appear to me at all pictur- 
 esque," said Colin; "and nobody looks at 
 them that I can see except ourselves ; so they 
 can't ruin many souls. But you and I don't 
 agree in all things, Meredith. I like the 
 
 cross, you know. It does not seem to me to 
 come amiss anywhere. Perhaps the uglier 
 and ruder it is it becomes the more suggest- 
 ive," the young man added, with a little 
 emotion. "I should like to build a few 
 crosses along our Scotch roads ; if anybody , 
 was moved to pray, I can't see what harm 
 would be done ; or, if anybody was surprised 
 by a sudden thought, it might be all the bet- 
 ter even ; one has heard of such a thing," 
 £aid Colin, whose heart was still a little out 
 y its usual balance. " A stray gleam of 
 sunshine might come out of it here and there. 
 If I was rich like some of you merchants, 
 Lauderdale," he said, laughing a little, "I 
 think, instead of a few fine dinners, I'd build 
 a cross somewhere. I don't see that it would 
 come amiss on a Scotch road " — 
 
 " I wish you would think of something 
 else than Scotch roads," said Meredith, with 
 a little vexation ; " when I speak of things 
 that concern immortal souls, you answer me 
 something about Scotland. AYhat is Scot- 
 land to the salvation of a. fellow-creature? 
 I would rather that Scotland, or England 
 either, was sunk to the bottom of the sea 
 than stand by and see a man dying in his 
 sins." 
 
 The two Scotchmen looked at each othei 
 as he spoke ; they smiled to each other with 
 a perfect understanding, which conveyed 
 another pang of irritation to the invalid, who 
 by nature had a spirit which insisted upon 
 being first and best beloved. "You see," 
 said Lauderdale, who had entirely recovered 
 his composure, " this callant, innocent as he 
 looks, has a consciousness within him that 
 Scotland's his kingdom. His meaning is to 
 mould his generation with these feckless 
 hands of his. It's a ridiculous aspiration," 
 continued Colin's guardian, " but that makes 
 it a' the more likel^? : he's thinking what hjdll 
 do when he comes into his kingdom.^ I 
 wouldna say but he would institute decora- 
 tions, and give crosses of honor like ony 
 other potentate. That's what the callant 
 means," said his friend, with pride which 
 was very imperfectly hidden by his pretended 
 sarcasm, — a speech which only made Mere- 
 dith more impatient, and to which he had no 
 clew. " I think we'd better go home," he 
 said, abruptly. " I know Scotch pretty well, 
 but can't quite follow when you speak on 
 these subjects. I want to have a talk with 
 Maria about her brother, who used to be 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 very religiously disposed. Poor fellow, he's 
 ill now, and I've got something for him," 
 said the young man. Here he paused, and 
 drew forth from his pocket a sheet folded 
 like a map, which he opened out carefully, 
 Jjoking first to see that there was nobody on 
 the road. " They took them for maps at the 
 dogana," said Meredith ; " and geogi'aphy is 
 not prohibited, — to the English at least ; but 
 this is better than geography. I mean to 
 send it to poor Antonio, who can read, poor 
 fellow." The map, which was no map, con- 
 sisted of a large sheet of paper, intended ap- 
 parently to be hung upon a wall, and con- 
 taining the words, " Come unto me all ye 
 that labor and are heavy laden," translated 
 into Italian. It was not without a little tri- 
 umph that Meredith exhibited this effort at 
 clandestine instruction. " He has to lie in 
 bed," he said, with a softened inflection of 
 his voice ; " this will console him and bear 
 him company. It is a map of his future in- 
 heritance," the young missionary concluded, 
 putting it fondly back into its deceitful folds ; 
 and after this there was an uneasy pause, 
 no one quite knowing what to say. 
 f " You fight Antichrist with his own weap- 
 ons, then," said Colin, " and do evil that 
 ■good may come," — and Lauderdale added 
 his comment almost in the same breath, — 
 
 " That's an awfu' fruitful principle if you 
 once adopt it," he said ; " there's no telling 
 where it may end. I would sooner leave 
 the poor lad in God's hands, as no doubt he 
 is, than smuggle in light to him after that 
 fashion. I'm no fond of maps that are no 
 maps," said the dissatisfied critic ; by which 
 time Colin had reloaded his guns, and was 
 ready to fire. 
 
 " It is short enough," said Colin ; " a man 
 might keep such an utterance in his mem- 
 ory wjthout any necessity for double dealing. 
 Do you think, for all the good it will do your 
 patient to look at that text, it is worth your 
 while to risk him and yourself? " 
 
 " For myself I am perfectly indifferent," 
 said Meredith, glad of an opportunity to de- 
 fend himself. • " I hope I could take impris- 
 onment joyfully for the saving o£ a soul." 
 
 " Imprisonment would be death to you," 
 B.id Colin, with a touch of compunction, 
 " and would make an end of all further pos- 
 sibilities of use. To be thrown into a stony 
 Italian prison at this season " — 
 
 137 
 
 "Hush," said Meredith; "for my Mas- 
 ter's sake could I not bear more than that ? 
 If not, I am not worthy to call myself a 
 Christian. I am ready to be offered," said 
 the young enthusiast. " It would be an end 
 beyond my hopes to die like my Lord for the 
 salvation of my brother. Such a prophecy 
 is no terror to me." 
 
 " If you two would but hold your tongues 
 for five minutes at a time," said Lauderdale, 
 with vexation, " it would be a comfort. No 
 doubt you're both ready enough to fling away 
 your lives for any nonsensical idea that comes 
 into your heads. Suppose we take the case 
 of the other innocent callant, the Italian lad 
 that a' this martyrdom's to be for. No to 
 say that it's awfu' cheating, — which my soul 
 loathes," said the emphatic Scotchman, — 
 " figure to yourself a wheen senseless women 
 maybe, or a wheen frightened priests, getting 
 on the scent o' this heresy of yours. I'm 
 real reluctant to thin^ that he would not get 
 the same words, poor callant, in his ain 
 books without being torn to pieces for the 
 sake of a map that was not a map. It's get- 
 ting a wee chilly," said the philosopher, 
 " and there's a fire to be had in the house if 
 nothing else. Come in, callant, and no ex- 
 pose yourself; and you would put your 
 grand map in the fire if you were to be guided 
 by me." 
 
 " With these words of consolation on it ! " 
 said Meredith. " Never, if it should cost me 
 my life." 
 
 " Nae fear of its costing you your life ; 
 but I wouldna use even the weapons of God 
 after the devil's manner of fighting," said 
 Lauderdale, with a little impatience. "Allow- 
 ing you had a' the charge of saving souls, as 
 you call it, and the Almighty himself took 
 no trouble on the subject, I'jn no for using 
 the sword o' the Spirit to give stabs in the 
 dark." 
 
 Just then, fortunately, there came a sea- 
 sonable diversion, which stayed the answer 
 on Meredith's lips. 
 
 " Arthur, we are going to dine early,' said 
 the voice of Alice just behind them ; " the 
 doctor said you were to dine early. Come 
 and rest a little before dinner. I met some 
 people just now who were talking of Mr. 
 Campbell. They were wondering where he 
 lived, and saying they had seen him some- 
 where. I told them you were with us," the 
 
138 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 girl went on, with the air of a woman who 
 might be Colin 's mother. " Will you please 
 come home in case they should call? " 
 
 This unexpected intimation ended the ram- 
 ble and the talk, which was of a kind rather 
 different from the tourist talk which Colin 
 had shortly to experience from the lips of his 
 visitors, who were people who had seen him 
 at Wodensbourne, and who were glad to 
 claim acquaintance with anybody in a strange 
 country. Little Alice received the ample 
 English visitors still with the air of being 
 Colin 's mother, or mature protecting female 
 friend, and talked to the young lady daugh- 
 ter, who was about half as old again as her- 
 self with an indulgent kindness which was 
 beautiful to behold. There were a mother, 
 father, daughter, and two sons, moving about 
 in a compact body, all of whom were ex- 
 ceedingly curious about the quaint little 
 brotherhood which, with Alice for its pro- 
 tecting angel, had taken possession of the 
 upper floor of the Palazzo 'Savvielli. They 
 VFcre full of a flutter of talk about the places 
 they had visited, and of questions as to 
 whether their new acquaintances had been 
 here or there ; and the ladies of the party 
 made inquiries after the Frankland family, 
 with a friendly significance which brought 
 the blood to Colin 's cheeks. " I promised 
 Matty to write, and I shall be sure to tell 
 her I have seen you, and all about it,'' the 
 young lady said, playfully. Was it possible, 
 or was it a mere reflection from his own 
 thoughts, throwing a momentary gleam 
 across her unimpassioned face? Anyhow, it 
 occurred to Colin that the little abstract 
 Alice looked more like an ordinary girl of 
 her years for the five minutes after the tour- 
 ist party, leaving wonderful silence and 
 sense of relief behind them, had disappeared 
 down the chilly stone stairs. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 It is not. to be inferred from what has just 
 been said that it had become a matter of im- 
 portance to Colin how Alice Meredith looked. 
 On the contrary, the relations between the 
 two young people grew more distant instead 
 of becoming closer. It was Lauderdale with 
 whom she talked about the domestic arrange- 
 ments, which he and she managed together ; 
 and indeed it was apparent tiiat Alice, on 
 the whole, had come to regard Colin, in a 
 modified degree, as she regarded her brother 
 
 — as something to be taken care of, watched, 
 fed, tended, and generally deferred to, with- 
 out any great possibility of comprehension 
 or fellowship. Lauderdale, like herself, 
 was the nurse and guardian of his invalid. 
 Though she lost sight of him altogether in 
 the discussions which perpetually arose 
 among the three (which was not so much 
 from being unable to understand tlieee dis- 
 cussions as from the conclusion made before- 
 hand that she had nothing to do with 
 them), it was quite a diflerent matter when 
 they fell into the background to consult 
 what would be best for their two charges. 
 Then Alice was the superior, and felt her 
 power. She talked to her tall companion 
 with all the freedom of her age, accepting 
 his as that of a grandfather at least, to the 
 amusement of the philosopher, to whom her 
 chatter was very pleasant. All the history 
 of her family (as he imagined) came una- 
 wares to Lauderdale's ears in this simple 
 fashion, and more of Alice's own mind and 
 thoughts than she had the least idea of. 
 lie walked about with her as the lion might 
 have done with Una, with a certain mixture 
 of superiority and inferiority, amusement 
 and admiration. She was only a little girl 
 to Lauderdale, but a delightsome thing in 
 her innocent way ; and, so far from approv- 
 ing of Colin's indifference, there were times 
 when he became indignant at it, speculating 
 impatiently on the youthful folly which did 
 not recognize good fortune when it saw it. 
 " Of all women in the world the wife for the 
 callant, if he only would make use of his 
 ecn," Lauderdale said to himself; but so far 
 from making use of his eyes, it pleased Colin, 
 with the impertinence of youth, to turn the 
 tables on his mentor, and to indulge in un- 
 seasonable laughter, which sometimes had all 
 but offended the graver and older man. 
 Alice, however, whose mind was bent upon 
 other things, was none the wiser, and for her 
 own part found " Mr. Lauderdale " of won- 
 derful service to her. When they sat mak- 
 ing up their accounts at the end of the week, 
 xVlice with her little pencil putting every- 
 thing down in pauls and scudi, which Lau- 
 derdale elaborately did into English money 
 as a preliminary to the exact division of ex 
 penses which the two careful housekeepers 
 made, the sight was pleasant enougli. By 
 times it occurred that Alice,' dreadfully puz- 
 zled by her companion's Scotch, but bound 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 139 
 
 in chains of iron by her good breeding, 
 which coming direct from the heart was of 
 Ao niost exquisite type, came stealing up to 
 Colin, after a long interview with his friend, 
 to ask the meaning of a word or two pre- 
 served by painful mnemonic exercises in her 
 memory ; and she took to reading the Wa- 
 verley novels by way of assisting her in this 
 new language ; but, as the only available 
 copies of these works were in the sliape of 
 an Italian translation, it may be imagined 
 that her progress was limited. Meanwhile, 
 Meredith lived on as best he could, poor fel- 
 low, basking in the sun in the middle of the 
 day, and the rest of his time sitting close to 
 the fire with as many pillows and cloaks in 
 his hard, old-fashioned easy-chair as might 
 have sufiiced for Siberia ; and, indeed, it was 
 a kind of Siberian refuge which they had set 
 up in the top floor of the empty cold palace, 
 the other part of which was used for a resi- 
 dence only during the hot season, and adapt- 
 ed to the necessities of a blazing Italian sum- 
 mer. For the Italian winter, — often so keen 
 and penetrating, with its cutting winds that 
 come from the mountains, and those rapid 
 and violent transitions which form the shad- 
 ow to its sunshine, — there, as elsewhere, 
 little provision had been made ; and the sur- 
 prise of the inexperienced travellers, who 
 had come there for warmth and the genial 
 atmosphere, and found themselves suddenly 
 plunged into a life of Spartan endurance, — 
 of deadly chill and iciness indescribable, — 
 has been already described. Yet neither of 
 them would consent to go into Rome, where 
 comfort might be had by paying for it, and 
 leave the brother and sister alone in this 
 chilly nest of theirs. So they remained 
 together on their lofty perch, looking over 
 the great Campagna, witnessing such sun- 
 sets and grandness of cloud and wind as few 
 people are privy to all their lifetime ; watch- 
 ing the gleam's of snow appear and disappear 
 over the glorious purple depths of the Sabine 
 hills, and the sun shooting golden arrows into 
 the sea, and gloom more wonderful still than 
 the light, rolling on like an army in full march 
 over that plain which has no equal. All 
 these things they watched and witnessed, 
 with comments of all descriptions, and with 
 silence better than any comment. In them- 
 selves they were a strange little varied com- 
 pany ; one of them, still in the middle of life, 
 but to his own cousciousness done with it, | 
 
 and watching the present actors as he watched 
 the sunsets ; two of them entirely full of 
 undeveloped prospects in the world which 
 was so familiar and yet so unknown ; the 
 last of all making his way steadily with few 
 delays into a world still more unknown, — a 
 world which they all by times turned to in- 
 vestigate. With spcculatijns, with questions, 
 with enthusiastic anticipation, with profound 
 childlike faith. Such was their life up 
 among the breezes across the soft slopes of 
 the Alban hills ; and in the midst of every- 
 thing more serious, of opening life and ap- 
 proaching death, Lauderdale and Alice sat 
 down together weekly to reckon up their ex- 
 penses in Italian and English money, and 
 keep their accounts straight, as the little 
 house-wife termed it, with the world. 
 
 During this wintry weather, however, the 
 occupations of the party were not altogether 
 limited to these weekly accounts. Meredith, 
 though he had been a little startled by the 
 surprise shownOy his companion at the too 
 ingenious device of the map, — which, after all 
 was not his device, but that of some Tract 
 Society, or other body more zealous than 
 scrupulous, — had not ceased his warnings, in 
 season and out of season. He talked to 
 Maria about dying, in a way which inspired 
 that simple woman to the unusual exertion 
 of a pilgrimage to Tivoli, where the kind Ma- 
 donna had just been proved upon ample testi- 
 mony to have moved her eyes, to the great com- 
 fort and edification of the faithful. " No 
 doubt, it would be much better to be walking 
 about all day among the blessed saints in heav- 
 en, as the Signor Arturo gives himself the 
 trouble of telling me," Maria said, with anxie- 
 ty in her face, " but vedi, cara signorina mia, 
 it would be very inconvenient at the begin- 
 ning of the season ;" and, indeed, the same 
 opinion was commonly expressed by Arthur's 
 Italian auditors, who had, for the most part, 
 affairs on hand, which did not admit of im- 
 mediate attention to such a topic. Even 
 the good-natured friars at Cape Cross declin- 
 ed to tackle the young Englishman after the 
 first accost : for they were all of opinion that 
 dying was business to be got over in the most 
 expeditious manner possible, not to be dwelt 
 on either by unnecessary anxiousness before 
 or lingering regret alter ; and, as for the in- 
 evitable event itself, there were the last sacra- 
 ments to make all right — though, indeed, 
 the English invalid, povero infelice, might 
 
140 
 
 well make a fuss about a matter which must 
 be 60 hopeless to him. This was all tiie fruit 
 he had of liis labors, there being at that time 
 no enterprising priest at hand to put a stop 
 to the discussions of . the heretic. But, at 
 the same time, he had Colin and Lauderdale 
 close at hand, and was using every means in 
 his power to " do them good," as he said ; 
 and still, in the quiet nights, when the cold 
 and the silenec had taken entire possession of 
 the great, vacant house and tiie half-frozen 
 village, poor Meredith dragged his chair and 
 his table closer to the lire, and drew his 
 cloak over his shoulders, and added yet 
 another and another chapter to his " Voice 
 from the Grave." 
 
 As for Colin, if he had been a litterateur 
 by profession, it is likely that, by this time, 
 he would have begun to compile " Letters 
 from Italy," like others of the trade ; but be- 
 ing only a Scotch scholar, the happy holder of 
 a Snell bursary, he felt himself superior to 
 such temptations ; thoughjSndeed, after a 
 week's residence at Frascati, Colin secretly 
 felt himself in a condition to let loose his 
 opinions about Italian affairs in general. In 
 the mean time, however, he occupied himself 
 in another fashion. Together, he and his 
 watchful guardian made pilgrimages into 
 Rome. They went to see everything that it 
 was right to go to see : but over and above 
 that, they went into the churches, — into all 
 manners of churches out of the way, where 
 there were no grand functions going on, but 
 only every-day worship. Colin was not a 
 watchful English divine spying upon the su- 
 perstition of Rome, nor a rampant Protestant 
 finding out her errors and idolatries. He was 
 the destined priest of a nation in a state of tran- 
 sition and renaissance, which had come to 
 feel itself wanting in the balance after a long 
 period of self-complacency. With the in- 
 stinct of a budding legislator and the eager- 
 ness of youth, he watched the wonderful 
 scene he had before him, — not the pope, with 
 his peacock feathers, and purple and scarlet 
 followers, and wonderful audience of heretics, 
 — not high masses in great basilicas, nor fine 
 processions, nor sweet music. The two 
 Scotsmen made part of very different assem- 
 blies in those Lenten days, and even in the 
 joyful time of Easter, when carriages of the 
 English visitors, rushing to the ceremonies of 
 the week, made the narrow Roman streets 
 almost impassable. Perhaps it was a feeling 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 of a different kind which drew the two stran" 
 gers to the awful and solemn temple, where 
 once the heathen gods were worshipped, ^|^ 
 where Raphael rests ; but let artists pard^ 
 Colin, whose own profession has apsociations 
 still more lofty than theirs, if, 5n his second 
 visit, he forgot Raphael, and even the austere 
 nobility of the place. An humble congrega- 
 tion of the commonest people about, — people 
 not even picturesque, — women with shawls 
 over their heads, and a few of the dreamy 
 poor old men who seem to spend their lives 
 about Italian churches, were dotted over the 
 vast floor, kneeling on those broken marbles 
 which are as old as Christianity, — some 
 dropped at random in the middle, beneath the 
 wonderful blue breadth of sky which looked 
 in upon their devotions, some about the steps 
 of the little altars round, and a little group 
 about the special shrine where vespers were 
 being sung. A lover of music would not 
 have found a voice wortli listening to in the 
 place, and perhaps neither time nor tune was 
 much attended to ; but there was not a soul 
 there, from the faint old men to the little chil- 
 dren, who did not, according to his capabilities, 
 take up the response, which was to every 
 one, apparently, matter as familiar as an 
 every-day utterance. These worshippers 
 had no books, and did not need any. It 
 might be words in a dead language ; it might 
 j be partially understood, or not understood at 
 ! all ; but at least it was known and familiar 
 as no religious service is in England, notwith- 
 standing all our national vaunt of the prayer- 
 book, and as nothing could be in Scotland, 
 where we have no guide (save " the minis- 
 ter") to our devotion. When Colin, still 
 weak and easily fatigued, withdrew a little, 
 and sat down upon the steps of the high altar 
 to listen, with a kind of shame in his heart at 
 being unable to join those universal devo- 
 tions, there came to his ear a wonderful chime 
 of echoes from the great dome, which sent 
 his poetic heart astray in spite of itself; for 
 j it sounded to the young dreamer like another 
 I unseen choir up there, who could tell of 
 what spectators and assistants'? — wistful 
 voices of the past, coming back to eclio the 
 Name which was greater than Jove or Apollo. 
 And then he returned to his legislative 
 thoughts, to his dreams, patriotic and priest- 
 ly, to his wondering, incredulous question with 
 himself whether worship so familiar and 
 so general, so absolutely a part of their daily 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 existence, could ever be known to his own 
 people. Such a thought, no doubt, had it 
 been known, would almost have warranted 
 the withdrawal of the Snell scholarship, and 
 certainly would have deferred indefinitely Co- 
 lin 's chances of obtaining license from any 
 Scotch Presbytery. But, fortunately, Presby- 
 terians are little interested in investigating 
 what takes place in the Pantheon at Rome — 
 whether old Agrippa breathes a far-off Amen 
 out of the dome of his dead magnificence, to 
 the worship of the Nazarene, as Colin thought 
 in his dreams ; or what vain imaginations 
 may possess the soul of a wandering student 
 there. He was aroused abruptly out of these 
 visions by the English party who had visited 
 him at Frascati, and who came up to salute 
 him now with that frank indifference to other 
 people for which our nation is said to be pre- 
 eminent. They shook hands with him all 
 round, for they were acquainted with his 
 story, and Colin was of the kind of man to 
 make people interested in him ; and then 
 they began to talk. 
 
 "A sad exhibition this, is it not, Mr. 
 Campbell ? " said the mother ; " one forgets 
 how dreadful it is, you know, when one sees 
 it in all its grandeur, — its fine music, and sil- 
 ver trumpets, and so forth ; but it is terrible 
 to see all, these poor creatures, and to think 
 they know no better. Such singing ! There 
 is not a charity school at home that would do 
 so badly, and they speak of music in Italy !" 
 said the English matron, who indeed in her 
 last observation had some truth on her side. 
 
 " Hush," said Colin, who was young, and 
 not above saying a fine thing when he could ; 
 " listen to the echo. Are there some kind 
 angels in the dome, do you think, to mend the 
 music? or is it the poor old heathens who 
 hang about for very wistfulness, and say as 
 good an Amen as they can, poor souls? 
 Listen ; I have heard no music like it in 
 Rome." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Campbell, what a beautiful 
 idea ! " said the young lady ; and then, the 
 service being ended, they walked about a 
 little, and looked up from the centre of the 
 place to the blue wintry sky, which forms the 
 living centre of that vault of ages, — an occu- 
 pation which Lauderdale interrupted hurried- 
 ly enough by reminding Colin that they had 
 still to get out to Frascati, and were already 
 after time. 
 
 " Oh ! you still live in Frascati," said Co- 
 lin's acquaintance, " with that very strange 
 young man ? I never spoke to anybody in my 
 life who startled me so much. Do you hap- 
 
 141 
 
 pen to know if he is a son of that very strange 
 Mr. Meredith, whom thei-e was so much talk 
 of last year ? — that man, you know, who pre- 
 tended to be so very good, and ran away with 
 somebody. Dear me, I thought everybody 
 knew that story. His son was ill, I know, 
 and lived abroad. I wonder if it is the 
 same." 
 
 " I don't think my friend has any father," 
 said Colin, who, stimulated by the knowledge 
 that the last train would start in half an 
 hour, was anxious to get away. 
 
 " Ah, well, I hope so, I am sure, for your 
 sake ; for that ]\Ir. Meredith was a dreadful 
 man, and pretended to be so good till he was 
 found out," said the lady. "Something 
 Hall was the name of his place. Let me rec- 
 ollect. Dear me, does nobody know the 
 name? " 
 
 "Good-by; it is over time," said Colin, 
 and he obeyed the gesture of Lauderdale, 
 and rushed after his already distant figure ; 
 but, before he 'had turned the corner of the 
 square, one of the sons overtook him. " I 
 beg your pardon, but my mother wishes you 
 to know that it was Meredith of Moreby she 
 was talking of just now," said the young 
 man out of breath. Colin laughed to him- 
 self as he hastened after his friend. What 
 had he to do with Meredith of IMoreby ? But 
 as he dashed along, he began to recollect an 
 ugly story in the papers, and to bethink him- 
 self of a certain odd prejudice which he had 
 been conscious of on first hearing the name 
 of the brother and sister. When he gqt 
 near enough to Lauderdale to lay hold of 
 his arm, Colin could not help uttering, as 
 was usual to him, what was at present on the 
 surface of his mind. 
 
 "You know all about them," he said; 
 " do you think they have a father? " which 
 simple words were said with a few gasps, as 
 he was out of breath. 
 
 " What's the use of coming after me 
 like a steam-engine ? " said Lauderdale ; 
 "did you think I would run away? and 
 you've need of a' your breath for that weary 
 brae. How should I ken all about them? 
 They're your friends and not mine." 
 
 " All very well, Lauderdale ; but she never 
 makes me her confidant," said the young 
 man with his usual laugh. 
 
 " It's no canny to speak of s/je," said 
 Lauderdale : " it's awfu' suggestive, and no 
 a word for either you or me. She has an 
 aunt in India, and two uncles that died in 
 the Crimea, if you want to kiasw exactly. 
 That is all she has ever told to me." 
 
 And with this they dismissed the subject 
 from their minds, and, arm in arm, addressed 
 themselves to the arduous task of getting to 
 the station through the narrow crowded 
 streets in time for the train. 
 
142 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 PART XI. — CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 The fatigue of sight-seeing, wound up by 
 a frantic rush to the railway to be in time 
 for the train, which after all was a train 
 quite at leisure, as most passengers are in 
 Italy, was too much for the early budding 
 of Colin's strength, and laid him up for 
 a day or two, as was only natural, an oc- 
 currence which had a curious effect upon the 
 little household. To Lauderdale it was a 
 temporary return into those mists of despair 
 which, partly produced by the philosopher's 
 own sad experience, had made him at first 
 come to 80 abrupt a conclusion touching 
 Colin's chances of life. When he saw him 
 once more prostrated, Lauderdale's patience 
 and courage alike gave way. He became like 
 a man in a sinking ship, who has not compo- 
 sure to await the end which is naturally at 
 hand, but flings himself into the sea to meet 
 it. lie talked wildly of going home, and 
 bitterly of the utter privation of comfort to 
 which his invalid was exposed ; and his heart 
 was closed for the moment even to the ap- 
 proaches of Alice. "If it hadna been for 
 you ! " he said within his clinched teeth, turn- 
 ing away from her, and was not safe to speak 
 to for the moment. But, oddly enough, the ef- 
 fect of Colin's illness upon the others was of 
 an entirely different character. Instead of 
 distressing Meredith and his sister, it pro- 
 duced, by some wonderful eubtile action 
 which we do not pretend to explain, an exhil- 
 arating effect upon them. It seemed to prove, 
 somehow, to Alice especially, that illness 
 was a general evil distributed over all the 
 world ; that it was a usual thing for young 
 men to be reduced to weakness and obliged 
 to be careful of themselves. " Mr. Campbell, 
 you see, is just the same as Arthur. It 
 is a great deal commoner than one thinks," 
 the poor little girl said to Sora Antonia, who 
 had charge of the house ; and though her 
 feelings towards Colin were of the most be- 
 nevolent and even affectionate description, this 
 thought was a sensible consolation to her. 
 Meredith regarded the matter from a different 
 point of view. " I have always hoped that 
 he was one of the chosen," the invalid said, 
 when he heard of Colin's illness ; " but I 
 found that God was leaving him alone. We 
 always judge his ways prematurely even when 
 we least intend it. We ought to thank God that 
 our dear friend is feeling his hand, and is 
 
 subject to chastisements which may lead him 
 to Christ." 
 
 " Callant," said Lauderdale, fiercely, 
 " speak of things ye understand ; it's not 
 for you to interfere between a man and his 
 Maker. A soul more like Him of whom you 
 dare to speak never came out of the Al- 
 mighty's bands. Do you think God is like a 
 restless woman and never can be done med- 
 dling?" said Colin's guardian, betrayed out 
 of his usual self-restraint ; but his own heart 
 was trembling for his charge, and he had not 
 composure enough to watch over his words. 
 As for the sick man, whose own malady 
 went steadily on without any great pauses or 
 sudden increase, he lifted his dyirjg eyes and 
 addressed himself eagerly, as he was wont, 
 to his usual argument. 
 
 " If any man can understand it, I should," 
 said Meredith. " Can I not trace the way 
 by which he has led me ? — a hard way to flesh 
 and blood. Can I not sec how he has driven 
 me from one stronghold after another, leaving 
 me no refuge but in Christ? And, such being 
 the case, can you wonder that I should wish 
 the same discipline to my friend ? The only 
 thing I should fear for myself is restoration to 
 health ; and are you surprised that I should 
 fear it for him? " 
 
 " I am not surprised at anything but my 
 ain idiocy in having any hand in the matter," 
 said Lauderdale, and he went away abruptly 
 to Colin's room with a horrible sense of calam- 
 ity and helplessness. There was something 
 in the invalid's confident explanation of God's 
 dealings which drove him half frantic, and 
 filled him with an unreasonable panic. Per- 
 haps it was true ; perhaps those lightnings 
 in the clouds had been but momentary — a 
 false hope. When, however, with his agi- 
 tation so painfully compressed and kept un- 
 der that it produced a morose expression upon 
 his grave face, he went into Colin's room, he 
 found his patient sitting up in bed, with his 
 great-coat over bis shoulders, writing with 
 a pencil on the fly-leaf of the book which his 
 faithful attendant had given him to " keep 
 him quiet." 
 
 " Never mind," said the disorderly invalid. 
 " I am all right, Lauderdale. Give us pen 
 and ink, like a kind soul. You don't imag- 
 ine I am ill, surely, because I am lazy after 
 last night ? " 
 
 " I've given up imagining anything on the 
 
subject," said Colin's grim guardian. " When 
 a man in his senses sets up house with a 
 parcel of lunatics, it's easy to divine wha* 
 will come of it. Lie down in your bed 
 and keep quiet, and get well again ; or else 
 get up," said Lauderdale, giving vent to a 
 sharp, acrid sound, as if he had gnashed his 
 teeth, " and let us be done with it all, and 
 go home." 
 
 At this Colin opened his quiet brown eyes, 
 which were as fer from being anxious or 
 depressed as could well be conceived, and 
 laughed softly in his companion's face. 
 
 " This comes of Meredith's talk, I sup- 
 pose," he said ; " and of course it has been 
 about me, or it would not have riled you. 
 How often have you told me that you under- 
 stood the state of mind which produced all 
 that? He is very good at the bottom, Lau- 
 derdale," said Colin. " There's a good fellow, 
 give me my little writing-case. I want to 
 write it out." 
 
 "You want to write what out?" asked 
 Lauderdale. " Some of your nonsense verses ? 
 I'll give you no writing-case. Lie down in 
 your bed and keep yourself warm. You're 
 awfu' fond of looking at your ain productions. 
 I've no doubt it's terrible rubbish if a man 
 could read it. Let's see the thing. Do you 
 think a parcel of verses in that halting ' In 
 Memoriam ' metre — I'm no saying anything 
 against ' In Memoriam ; ' but if / set up for a 
 poet, 1 would make a measure for mysel' — is 
 worth an illness ? and the cold of this wretch- 
 ed place is enough to kill any rational man. 
 Eetaly ! I wouldna send a dog here, to be 
 perished with cold and hunger. Do what I 
 tell you, callant, and lie down. It shows an 
 awfu' poverty of invention, that desire to 
 copy everything out." 
 
 " Stuif ! " said Colin ; " you don't suppose 
 it is for myself. I want to give it to some- 
 body," said the young man, with a conscious 
 smile. And to look at him with his counte- 
 nance all aglow, pleasure and fun and affec- 
 tion brightening the eyes which shone still 
 with the gentle commotion of thoughts ter- 
 minating in that writing of verses, it was 
 hard to consider him a man whom God for a 
 solemn purpose had weighted with affliction, 
 — as he had appeared in Meredith's eyes. 
 Rather he looked, what he was, one of God's 
 most joyful and gifted creatures ; glad with- 
 out knowing why, — glad because the sweet 
 imaginations of youth had possession of him, 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 143 
 
 and filled heaven and earth with brave ap- 
 paritions. Love and curiosity had intro- 
 
 duced into the heart of Lauderdale, as far as 
 Colin was concerned, a certain feminine ele- 
 ment, and he laughed unsteadily out of a 
 poignant thrill of relief and consolation, as 
 he took the book from his patient's hands. 
 
 " He's no a callant that can do without 
 an audience," said Lauderdale; " and, see- 
 ing it's poetry that's in question, no doubt 
 it's a female audience that's contemplated. 
 You may spare yourself the trouble, Colin. 
 She's bonnie, and she's good ; and I'm no 
 free to say that I don't like her all the better 
 for caring for none of these things ; but I see 
 no token that she'll ever get beyond VVattr.'s 
 hymns all her days. You needna trouble 
 your head about writing out things for her." 
 
 Upon which Colin reddened a little, and 
 said " stuff! " and made a long grasp at the 
 writing-case ; which exertion cost him a fit 
 of coughing. Lauderdale sat in the room . 
 gloomily enougli all day, asking himself 
 whether the color was hectic that brightened 
 Colin's cheeks, and listening to the sound of 
 his breathing and the ring of his voice with 
 indescribable pangs of anxiety. When even- 
 ing came, the watcher had considerably more 
 fever than the patient, and turned his eyes 
 abroad over the Campagna, with a gaze which 
 saw nothing glorious in the scene. At that 
 moment the sun going down in grandeur over 
 the misty distance, which was Rome — the 
 wonderful belts and centres of color in the 
 vault of sky which covered in that melancholy 
 waste with its specks of ruin — were nothing 
 in Lauderdale's eyes in comparison with the 
 vision that haunted him of acosy, homely room 
 in a Scotch farmhouse, full of warm glimmers 
 of firelight and hearth comforts. " He would 
 mend if he were but at home," he said to 
 himself, almost with bitterness, turning his 
 eyes from the landscape without, to which he 
 was indifferent, to the bare white stony walls 
 within. He was so cold sitting there, — he 
 who was well and strong, — that he had put on 
 his great-coat. And it was for this he had 
 brought the youth whom he loved so far 
 away from those " who belonged to him " ! 
 Lauderdale thought with a pang of the mis- 
 tress and what she would say if she could 
 see the comfortless place to which she had 
 sent her boy. Meanwhile, the patient who 
 caused so much anxiety was for his own 
 part very comfortable, and copied out hia 
 
144 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 verses with a care that made it very apparent 
 he had no intention of coming to a speedy 
 end, either of life or its enjoyments. He had 
 not written anything for a long time, and the 
 exercise was pleasant to him ; and when he 
 had finished, he lay back on his pillows, and 
 took the trouble to remark to Lauderdale 
 upon the decorations of the poor, bare, stony 
 chamber which the philosopher was cursing in 
 his heart. " Wc are before them in some 
 things,''' said Colin, reflectively ; " but they 
 beat us in a great many. See how simply 
 that effect is obtained,— just a line or two of 
 color, and yet nothing could be more perfect 
 in its way." To which observation Lau- 
 derdale responded only by an indescribable 
 growl, which provoked the laughter of his 
 unruly patient. The next observation Colin 
 made was, however, received with greater 
 favor ; for he asked plaintively if it were not 
 time for dinner, — a question more soothing to 
 Lauderdale's feelings than volumes of remon- 
 strances. He carried Colin's portion into the 
 room wh6n that meal arrived from the Trat- 
 toria, scorning female assistance, and arrang- 
 ing everything with that exquisite uncouth 
 tenderness which, perhaps, only a woman 
 could do full justice to ; for the fact is that 
 Colin, though ravenously hungry, and fully 
 disposed to approve of the repast, had a mo- 
 mentary thought that to have been served by 
 the little housekeeper herself, had that been 
 possible, would have been ever so much pleas- 
 anter. When the darkness had hushed and 
 covered up the Campagna, and stilled all the 
 village sounds, Lauderdale himself, a little 
 flushed from an addi-ess he had just been de- 
 livering to Meredith, went in and looked at 
 the sleeping face which was so precious to 
 him, and tortured himself once more with 
 questions whether it might be fever which 
 gave color to the young man's cheek. But 
 Colin, notwithstanding his cold, was breath- 
 ing full, long breaths, with life in every in- 
 spiration, and his friend went not uncomfort- 
 cd to bed. While Colin lay thus at rest, 
 Meredith had resumed his writing, and 
 was working into his current chapter the 
 conversation which had just taken place. 
 " The worldly man asks if the afllictions of 
 the just are signs of favoritism on Cod's 
 part," wrote the young author, " and ap- 
 peals to us whether a happy man is less 
 beloved of his Father than 1 am who suffer. 
 He virtually contradicts Scripture, and tells 
 
 me that the Lord does not scourge every one 
 whom ho receiveth. But I say, and the 
 Holy Bible says with me, Tremble, ye 
 who are happy ; our troubles are God's 
 tokens of love and mercy to our souls." As 
 he wrote this, the young eyes, which were so 
 soon to close upon life, heightened and ex- 
 panded with a wonderful glow. His mind 
 was not broad, nor catholic, nor capable of 
 perceiving the manifold diversity of those 
 ways of God which are beyond the compre- 
 hension of men. He could not understand 
 how, upon the last and lightest laborer, the 
 Master of the vineyard might bestow the 
 equal hire, and — taking that as the hardest 
 labor which fell to his own share — was bent 
 at least on making up for it b}' the most su- 
 preme compensation. And indeed, it was 
 hard to blame him for claiming, by way of 
 balance to his afflictions, a warmer and closer 
 share in the love of God. At least, that 
 was no vulgar recompense. As for the 
 " worldly man " of Arthur's paragraph, he, 
 too, sat a long while in his chamber, not 
 writing, but pondering, — gazing into the 
 flame of the tall Roman lamp on his table as 
 if some solution of the mysteries in his 
 thoughts were to be found in its smoky light. 
 To identify Lauderdale in this character 
 would have been difficult enough to any one 
 who knew him; yet, to Meredith, he had af- 
 forded a perfect example of " carnal reason- 
 ing," and the disposition Avhich is accord- 
 ing to the flesh and not according to the 
 spirit. This worldly-minded individual sat 
 staring into the lamp, even after his young 
 critic had ceased to write, — revolving things 
 that he could see were about to happen, 
 and things which he dreaded without be- 
 ing able to see ; and more than all, wonder- 
 ing over that awful mystery of Providence to 
 which the young invalid gave so easy a solu- 
 tion. " It wouldna be so hard to make out 
 if a man could think he was less loved than 
 his fellows, as they thought langsyne," said 
 Lauderdale to himself, " or more loved, as, 
 twisting certain Scriptures, it's the Hishion to 
 say now ; but it's awfu' ill to understand 
 such dealings in him that is the Father of all 
 and makes nae favorites. Poor callant ! it's 
 like he'll be the first to find the secret out." 
 And as he pondered, he could not restrain a 
 groan over the impending fate which threat- 
 ened Meredith, and on the complications that 
 were soon to follow. To be sure, he had 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 nothing particular to do with it, however it 
 might happen ; but every kind of Christian 
 tenderness and charity lurked in the heart of 
 the homely Scotch philosopher who stood in 
 Arthur Meredith's last chapter as the im- 
 personation of the worldly man. 
 
 Next day Colin reappeared, to the aston- 
 ishment of the brother and sister. Let us 
 not say to their disappointment ; and yet 
 poor little Alice, underneath her congratula- 
 tions, said to herself with a pang, " He has 
 got well, — they all get well but Arthur ;" 
 and when she was aware of the thought, 
 hated herself, and wondered wistfully wheth- 
 er it was because of her wickedness that her 
 prayers for Arthur were not heard. Anx- 
 iety and even grief are not the improving in- 
 fluences they are sometimes thought to be, — 
 and it is hard upon human nature to be 
 really thankful for the benefits which God 
 gives to others, passing over one's self. ]Mere- 
 dith, who was a sufferer in his own person, 
 could afford to be more generous. He said, 
 "I am glad you are better," with all his 
 heart ; and then he added, " The Lord does 
 not mean to leave you alone, Campbell. 
 Though he has spared you, he still continues 
 his warnings. Do not neglect them, I be- 
 seech you, my dear friend" — before he re- 
 turned to his writing. He was occupied now 
 day and night with his " Voice from the 
 Grave." He was less able to walk, less able 
 to talk, than he had been, and now, as the 
 night came fast in which no man can work, 
 was devoting all his time and all his feeble 
 strength to this last message to the world. 
 
 It would have been pitiful enough to any 
 indifferent spectator to note the contrast be- 
 tween the sick man's solemn labor apart and 
 the glow of subdued pleasure in Colin 's face 
 as he drew his seat in the evening towards 
 the table which Alice had chosen for herself. 
 The great bare room had so much space and 
 so many tables, and there was so large a stock 
 of lamps among the movables of the house, 
 that each of the party had a corner for him- 
 self, to which (with his great-coat on or oth- 
 erwise) he could retire when he chose. The 
 table of Alice was the central point ; and as 
 she sat with the tall, antique lamp throwing 
 its primitive unshaded light upon her, still 
 and graceful with her needlework, the sight 
 of her was like that of a supreme objct de luxe 
 in the otherwise bare apartment. Perhaps, 
 under due protection and control, the pres- 
 
 10 
 
 145 
 
 ence of womankind, thus calm, thus silent, 
 — letting itself, as the old maxim commanded, 
 be seen and not heard, — is to men of sober 
 mind and middle age — such as Lauderdale, 
 for example — the most agreeable ornament 
 with which a room could be provided. Young- 
 er individuals might prefer that the tableau 
 should dissolve, and the impersonation of 
 womankind melt into an ordinary woman. 
 Such at heart was the feeling of Colin. She 
 was very sweet to look at ; but if she had 
 descended from her pedestal, and talked a lit- 
 tle and laughed a little, and even, perhaps — 
 but the idea of anything like flirtation on the 
 part of Alice JMeredith was too absurd an 
 idea to be entertained for a moment. How- 
 ever, abstracted and preoccupied as she was, 
 she was still a woman, young and pretty, 
 and- Colin 's voice softened and bis eyes bright- 
 ened as he drew his chair to the other side 
 of the lamp, and looked across the table at 
 her soft, downcast face. " I hapo something 
 here I want you to look at," said the young 
 poet, who had been used to Mitty Frank- 
 land's sympathy and curiosity ; "not that it 
 is much worth your while ; but Lauderdale 
 told you that writing verses was a weakness 
 of mine," he went on, with a youthful blush 
 and smile. As for Alice, she took the paper 
 he gave her, looking a little frightened, and 
 held it for a moment in her hand. 
 
 " Oh, thank you, Mr. Campbell ; am I to 
 read it?" she said, with puzzled, uncei'tain 
 looks. Naturally enough she was perplexed 
 and even frightened by such an address ; for, 
 as Lauderdale said, her knowledge of poetry 
 was confined to hymns, over which hung an 
 awful shadow from "Paradise Lost." She 
 opened Colin's " copy of verses " timorously 
 as she spoke, and glanced at them, and stum- 
 bled at his handwriting, which, like most 
 other people's in these scribbling days, was 
 careless and indistinct. " I am sure it is 
 very pretty," faltered Alice, as she got to 
 the end of the page ; and then, more timidly 
 still, " What am I to do with it, Mr. Camp- 
 bell? " asked the poor girl. When she saw 
 the sudden flush that covered his face, Alice's 
 slumbering faculties were wakened up by the 
 sharp shock of having given pain, which was 
 a fault which she had very seldom consciously 
 committed in the course of her innocent life. 
 Colin was too much a gentleman to lose 
 his temper ; but it is impossible to deny that 
 the effort which he had to make to keep it 
 
146 
 
 ■was a violent one, and required all his man- 
 hood. "Keep it if you like it," he said, 
 with a smile which thinly covered his morti- 
 fication ; " or put it in the fire if you don't." 
 He said this as philosophically as was possi- 
 ble under the circumstances. And then he 
 tried a little conversation by way of proving 
 his perfect composure and command of his 
 feelings, during which poor Alice sat fluttered 
 and uncomfortable and self-conscious as slie 
 had never been before. Her w5rk was at an 
 end for that night at least. She held Colin's 
 little poem in her hand, and kept her eyes 
 upon it, and tried with all her might to in- 
 vent something gracious and complimentary 
 which could be said without oifence ; for, of 
 course, carefully as he imagined himself to 
 have concealed it, and utterly unconscious of 
 the fact as Lauderdale remained, who was 
 watching them, Alice was as entirely aware 
 of the state of Colin's mind and temper at 
 the moment as be was himself. After a 
 while, he got up and went to Meredith's table 
 by the fire ; and the two began to talk, as 
 Alice imagined, of matters much too serious 
 and momentous to leave either at leisure to 
 remark her movements. When she saw them 
 thus occujjied, she left the room almost steal th- 
 ly, carrying with her the tall lamp with its 
 four tongues of flame. She set down her 
 light in her own room, when she reached 
 that sanctuary, and once more read and pored 
 over Colin's poem. There was nothing about 
 love in it, and consequently nothing improper 
 or alarming to Alice. It was all about the 
 Pantheon and its vespers, and the echoes in 
 the dome. But then why did he give it to 
 her? — why did he look so much disturbed 
 when she in her surprise and unreadiness 
 hesitated over it? Such an offering was 
 totally new to Alice ; but how could she be 
 expected to understand exactly how it ought 
 to be received ? But it is impossible to de- 
 scribe how vexed and mortified she was to 
 find she had failed of what was expected of 
 her, and inflicted pain when she might have 
 given pleasure. She had been rude, and to 
 be rude was criminal in her code of manners; 
 and a flutter of other questions, other curiosi- 
 ties, awoke without any will of her own in the 
 young creature's maiden bosom ; for, indeed, 
 she was still very young, — not nineteen, — 
 and so preoccupied by one class of thoughts 
 that her mind had been absolutely barred 
 against all others until now. The end was 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 that she put Colin's poem, not in her bosom 
 — which, indeed, is an inconvenient recepta- 
 cle, and one not often chosen nowadays 
 even by young ladies, — but into the private 
 pocket of her writing-case, the very inner- 
 most of her sanctuaries. " IIow clever he 
 is! " Alice thought to herself; " how odd that 
 such things should come into any one's head ! 
 and to think 1 had not even the civility to 
 say that it was beautiful poetry ! " Then 
 she went back very humbly into the sitting- 
 room, and served Colin with the last cup of 
 tea, which was the most excellent. " For I 
 know you like strong tea, Mr. Campbell," 
 she said, looking at him with appealing eyes. 
 "It feels quite strange to thint that we 
 should know you so well, — you who can 
 write such beautiful poetry," * she managed 
 
 * Miss Matty had been so good an audicneo that 
 Colin at this time of his life was a little spoiled in 
 respect to his poetry, which, however, after all, he 
 did not consider poetry, but only verses, to amuse 
 himself with. The little poem in question, which 
 he had entitled " Vespers in the Pantheon," is, for 
 the satisfaction of his friends, given underneath : — 
 
 " What voice is in the mighty dome. 
 Where the blue eye of heaven looks through, 
 Aud where the rain falls, and the dew, 
 In the old heart of Rome ? 
 
 " On the vast area below 
 Are priests in robes of sullied white. 
 And humble servitors that light 
 The altars with a glow — 
 
 " Pale tapers in the twilight dim, 
 Poor humble folks that come to say 
 Their farewell to departing day, 
 
 Theh- darkling faith in Him. 
 
 " Who rules imperial Rome the last : 
 The song is shrill and sad below, 
 With discords harsh of want and woe 
 Into the music cast. 
 
 "Tiut in the mighty vault that bares 
 Its open heart into the sky 
 Vague peals of anthem sounding high 
 Echo the human prayers. 
 
 "Oh, solemn shrine ! wherein lie dead 
 
 The gods of old, the dreams of men. 
 
 What voice is this that wakes again 
 
 The echoes ovei-head, 
 
 " Pealing aloft the holiest name — 
 The lowliest name, Rome's ancient scorn — 
 Now to earth's furthest boundaries borne, 
 With fame above all fame ? 
 
 " Isit some soul whose mortal days 
 Had known no better God than Jove, 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 to say later in the evening. " I have always 
 supposed a poet so different." 
 
 " With wings, perhaps? " said Colin, who 
 was not displeased even with this simple tes- 
 timony. 
 
 " Oh, no," said Alice, " that is impossi- 
 ble, you know, — but certainly very different ; 
 and it was so very kind to think of giving it 
 to me." 
 
 Thus she made her peace vrith the young 
 man ; but it is doubtful how far she promot- 
 ed her own by so doing. It introduced a new 
 element of wonder and curiosity, if nothing 
 more, into her watching life. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 " It would be a great satisfaction to me," 
 said Lauderdale, " to have some understand- 
 ing about their relations. There's few folk 
 80 lonely in this world but vrhat they have 
 some kin, be they kind or not. It's awfu' to 
 look at that poor bit thing, and think how 
 forlorn she'll be by and by when " — 
 
 "When?" said Colin, — "what do you 
 mean? Meredith is not worse, that I can 
 see. In that what you are thinking of? " 
 
 "It's an awfu' gradual descent," said 
 Lauderdale ; " nae precipices there, and piti- 
 
 Though dimly prescient of a love, 
 
 Was worthy higher praise ? — 
 
 " Some soul that late hath seen the Lord : 
 Some wistful soul, eager to share 
 The tender trust of Christian prayer, 
 
 Though not by wish or word : — 
 
 " By homage inarticulate : 
 
 Murmurs and thunders of sweet sound : 
 And great Amens that circle round 
 Heaven's liberal open gate ? 
 
 " Great singer, wert thou one of those 
 
 Spirits in prison whom He sought, 
 i Soon as his wondrous work was wrought, 
 Ending all doubts and woes ? 
 
 " Alone? or comes there here a throng? 
 Agrippa — he who built the shrine : 
 And men who groped for the divine 
 
 Through lifetimes hard and long. 
 
 " Great Romans ! to this vault austere 
 'Tis meet we should return to tell 
 Of that which was inscrutable, 
 
 That God hath made it clear. 
 
 " So we, still bound in mortal pain. 
 Take courage 'neath the echoing dome, 
 In the dear heart of this sad Rome, 
 To give you back — Amen ! " 
 
 147 
 
 ful to behold ; but he's making progress on 
 his way. I'm no mistaken, callant ; a man 
 like me has seen such sights before. It looks 
 as if it could go on forever, and nae great 
 difference perceptible from day to day, but 
 the wheels a-turning and the thread spinning 
 off, and nobody can say for certain what mo- 
 ment it may break, like glass, and the spin- 
 ning come to an end. Ay, it's an awfu' mys- 
 tery. You may break your heart thinking ; 
 but you'll come to no solution. I've tried it 
 as much as most men, and should ken ; — but 
 that's no the rqfitter under consideration. I 
 would be glad to know something about their 
 friends." 
 
 " I don't suppose they have any friends," 
 said Colin, who had by this time forgotten 
 the suggestion of his English acquaintances. 
 " He would never have brought his sister 
 here with him alone if he had had any one to 
 leave her with, — that is, if he believed, as he 
 says he does, that he was going to die, — 
 which words," said the young man, with a 
 pang of fellow-feeling and natural pity, " are 
 terrible words to say." 
 
 " I'm no so sure about either of your pvop- 
 ositions," said Lauderdale ; "I've very little 
 objection to die, for my part. No to speak 
 of hopes a man has as a Christian, — though I 
 maybe canna see them as clear as that poor 
 callant thinks he does, — it would be an awfu' 
 satisfaction to ken what was the meaning of it 
 all, which is my grand difficulty in this life. 
 And I cannot say I am satisfied, for that 
 matter, that he brought his sister here for 
 want of somebody to leave her with ; she's a 
 kind of property that he wouldna like to 
 leave behind. He was not thinking of her 
 when they started, but of himsel' ; nor can I 
 see that his mind's awakening to any thought 
 of her even now, though he's awfu' anxious, 
 no doubt, about her soul and yours and mine. 
 Whisht ! it's temperament, callant. I'm no 
 blaming the poor dying lad. It's hard upon 
 a man if he cannot be permitted to take 
 some bit female creature that belongs to him 
 as far as the grave's mouth. She maun find 
 her way back from there the best way she can. 
 It's human nature, Colin, fora' you look like 
 a glaring lion at me." 
 
 "I prefer your ordinary manner of ex- 
 pounding human nature," said Colin. 
 " Don't talk like this ; if Miss Meredith is left 
 so really helpless and solitary, at all events, 
 Lauderdale, she can rely on you and me." 
 
148 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 " Ay," said the philosopher, shortly ; " and 
 grand protectors we would he for the like of 
 her. Two men no her equals in the eye of 
 the world,— I'm no heeding your indignant 
 looks, my freend ; I'm a better judge than 
 you of some things, — and one of us no of an 
 age to be over and above trusted. A lad like 
 you can take care of a bit thing like her 
 only in one way ; and that's out of the ques- 
 tion under present circumstances, — even if 
 either of you were thinking of such vanities, 
 of which I see no sign." 
 
 " None whatever," said Colin, with a mo- 
 mentary heat. " She is not in my way ; and, 
 besides, she is greatly too much occupied to 
 think of any such vanities, as you say." 
 
 " Hallo," said Lauderdale to himself ; and 
 he cast a half-amused, suspicious look at his 
 companion, whose face was flushed a little. 
 Colin was thinking only of Alice's want of 
 comprehension and sympathy on the previous 
 night ; but the touch of offence and mortifi- 
 cation was as evident as if she had been un- 
 kind to him in more important particulars. 
 
 " Being agreed on that point, it's easier 
 to manage the rest," Lauderdale resumed, 
 with the ghost of a smile ; " and I dinna 
 pretend, for my own part, to be a fit guardian 
 for a young leddy. It's a' very well for Telle- 
 machus to wander about the world like this 
 but I'm no qualified to keep watch and ward 
 over the princess. Poor thing! " said the 
 philosopher, " it's awfu' early to begin her 
 troubles ; but I would be easy in my mind, 
 comparatively, if we could find out about 
 their friends. She's no so very communica- 
 tive in that particular ; and she has her bit 
 woman's wiles, innocent as she looks. She'll 
 give me no satisfaction, though I'm awfu' 
 cunning in my questions. What was it yon 
 silly woman said about some Meredith of 
 some place ? I'm no without suspicions in 
 my own mind." 
 
 ♦' What sort of suspicions?" said Colin. 
 "She said Meredith of Mai thy. I wrote it 
 down somewhere. There was a row about him 
 in the papers — don't you remember — a few 
 years ago." 
 
 " Oh, ay, I remember," said Lauderdale ; 
 " one of those that consume widows' houses, 
 and for a pretence make long prayers. The 
 wonder to me is how this callaut, if he should 
 happen to be such a man's son, did not take 
 a sickening at religion altogether. That's 
 the consequence in a common mind. It gives 
 
 me a higher notion of this poor lad. He has 
 his faults, like most folk I ken," said Lau- 
 derdale. "He's awfu' young, which is the 
 chief of all, and it's one that will never mend 
 in his case in this life ; but, if he's yon man's 
 son, no to have abandoned a' religion, no to 
 have scorned the very name of preaching and 
 prayer, is a clear token to me that the root of 
 the matter's in him ; though he may be a wee 
 unrighteous to his ain flesh and blood," — the 
 philosopher went on philosophically, — "that's 
 neither here nor there." 
 
 " If religion does not make us righteous to 
 our own flesh and blood, what is the good of 
 it? " said Colin. " To care for souls, as you 
 say, but not to care for leaving his sister so 
 helpless and desolate, would be to me as bad 
 as his father's wickedness. Bah ! his father ! 
 — what am I saying ? He is no more his 
 father than the duke is mine. It is only a 
 coincidence of name." 
 
 " I'm making no assertions," said Lauder- 
 dale. " It may be or it may not be ; I'm no 
 saying ; but you should aye bear in mind 
 that there's an awfu' difference between prac- 
 tice and theory. To have a good theory — or, 
 if ye like, a grand ideal — o' existence, is 
 about as much as a man can attain to in this 
 world. To put it into full practice is reserved, 
 let us aye hope, for the life to come. How- 
 ever, I wouldna say," saidColin's guardian, 
 changing his tone. " but that kind of practi- 
 cal paradox might run in the blood. Our 
 friend Arthur — poor man ! — has no meaning 
 of neglect to his sister. Do no man injustice. 
 Maybe the other had as little intention of 
 cheating them that turned out his victims. 
 An awfu' practical accident like that might 
 be accompanied by a beautiful theory. Just 
 as in the case of his son " — 
 
 " StufiT ! " said Colin, who thought his 
 friend prosy. " Why will you insist on* 
 saying ' his son ' ? Meredith is not an un- 
 common name. You might as well say Owen 
 Meredith was his brother." 
 
 " There's nothing more likely," said the 
 philosopher, composedly; "brothers aye 
 take different roads, especially when they 
 come out of such a nest." 
 
 " Don't talk nonsense," said Colin ; " the 
 nest is entirely problematical, and your rea- 
 soning' is, — Scotch, Scotch to the heart, de- 
 ductive, and altogether independent of fiict. 
 You might as well say, because this is an 
 Italian landscape we are looking at, because 
 
A SON OP THE SOIL. 
 
 149 
 
 these gray trees are olives, and that plain the 
 Campagna, that it cannot be Prince Charlie 
 ■who lies down yonder under shelter of that 
 shabby dome. What a sermon it is ! I wish 
 I could preach like that when I come to my 
 pulpit ; but the burden, I fear, would be, — 
 ' What does it matter? what is the good of 
 laboring and fighting and conquering, win- 
 ning battles or losing them ; Great Hadrian 
 is all dissolved into patches and tatters yon- 
 der, and here is Charles Stuart in a stran- 
 ger's grave.' On the whole, it is the man 
 who has failed who has the best of it now. 
 It is odd to think of the perseverance of the 
 race, and how any man ever attempts to do 
 anything. Let us lie down here and dream 
 till we die." 
 
 " It's awfu' to be a poet," said Lauderdale ; 
 " the poor callant contemplates more verses. 
 That kind of thing is well enough for bits of 
 laddies at Oxford and Cambridge ; but we've 
 no Ncwdigates in our university. Dinna 
 you fash your bead about the race. I'm no 
 a man that believes in sermons myself, 
 whether they be from your lips, or from the 
 Campagna. Every man has his own affairs 
 in hand. He'll pay only a very limited at- 
 tention either to it or to you ; but listen 
 now to what I have got to say." 
 
 What Lauderdale had to say was still upon 
 the subject of which Colin by this time had 
 got tired, — the supposed connection of the. 
 brother and sister with the famous, or rather 
 notorious, Meredith of Maltby, who was one 
 of the great leaders of that fashion of swind- 
 ling so prevalent a few years ago, by means 
 of which directors of banks and joint-stock 
 companies brought so many people to ruin. 
 Of these practitioners Mr. Meredith of 
 Maltby had been one of the most successful. 
 He had passed through one or two disagreea- 
 ble examinations, it is true, in Insolvent 
 Courts and elsewhere ; but he had managed 
 to steer clear of the law, and to retain a 
 comfortable portion of his ill-gotten gains. 
 He was a pious man, who subscribed to all 
 the societies, and had, of course, since these 
 unpleasant accidents occurred, been held up 
 to public admiration by half the newspapers 
 of Great Britain as an instance of the nat- 
 ural effect produced upon the human mind 
 by an assumption of superior piety ; and 
 more than one clever leading article, intended 
 to prove that lavish subscriptions to benev- 
 olent purposes, and attendance at prayer- 
 
 meetings, were the natural evidences of a 
 mind disposed to prey on its fellow-creatures, 
 had been made pointed and emphatic by his 
 name. Lauderdale's " case " was subtile 
 enough, and showed that he, at least, had 
 not forgotten the hint given in the Pantheon. 
 He told Colin that all his cunning inquiries 
 could elicit n« information about the father 
 of the forlorn pair. Their mother was dead, 
 and, as far as she was concerned, Alice was 
 sufficiently communicative ; and she had an 
 aunt in India whom Lauderdale knew by 
 heart. "A' that is so easy to draw out that 
 the other is all the more remarkable," said 
 the inquisitor; "and it's awfu' instructive 
 to see the way she doubles out when I think 
 I've got her in a corner, — no bayiug what's 
 no true, but fencing like a little Jesuit, — that 
 is, speaking proverbially, and so vouching 
 for my premises, for I ken nothing about 
 Jesuits in my ain person. I would like to be 
 at the bottom of a woman's notions on such 
 subjects. The way that bit thing will lift 
 up her innocent face, and give me to under- 
 stand a lee without saying it " — * 
 
 " Be civil," interrupted Colin ; " a lie is 
 strong language, especially as you have no 
 right whatever to question her so closely.", 
 
 " I said nothing about lies," said Lauder- 
 dale; " I say she gives me to understand a 
 lee without saying a word that's no true, 
 which is not only an awfu' civil form of ex- 
 pression on my part, but a gift of woman- 
 hood that, so far as I ken, is just unpar- 
 alleled. If it werena instinct, it would be 
 genius. She went so far once as to say, in 
 her bit fine way, that they were not quite 
 happy in a' their connections : ' There are 
 some of our friendsthat Arthur can't approve 
 of,' said she, which was enough to make a 
 man laugh, or cry, whichever he might be 
 disposed to. A bonnie judge Authur is, 
 to be believed in like that. But the end of 
 the whole matter is that I'm convinced the 
 hot-headed callant has carried her off from 
 her home without anybody's knowledge, and 
 that it's an angry father you and me will 
 have to answer to when we are left her pro- 
 tectors, as you say." 
 
 ' ' I hope I am not afraid to meet anybody 
 when I have justice on my side," said Colin, 
 loftily. " She is nothing more to me than 
 any other helpless woman ; but I will do my 
 best to take care of her against any man 
 whatsoever, if she is trusted tome." 
 
160 
 
 Lauderdale laughed with mingled exasper- 
 ation and amusement. " Bravo," he said ; 
 " the like of that's grand talking ; but I'll 
 have no hand for my part, in aiding and abet- 
 ting domestic treason. I'm far from easy in 
 my mind on the subject ■altogether. It's ill to 
 vex a dying man, but it is worse to let a spirit 
 go out of the world with guilt on its head : I'm 
 in an awfu' difficulty whether to speak to him 
 or no. If you would but come down off your 
 high horse and give me a little assistance. 
 It's a braw business, take it all together. 
 A young woman, both bonnie and good, but 
 abject to what her brother bids her even now 
 when he's living, and us two single men, with 
 nae justification for meddling, and an indig- 
 nant father, no doubt, to make an account 
 to. It's no a position I admire for my part." 
 
 "It was I that drew you into it," said 
 Colin, with some resentment. ■ After all, 
 they were my friends to begin with. Don't 
 let me bring you into a responsibility which 
 is properly mine." 
 
 "Ay, ay, "said Lauderdale, calmly," that's 
 aye the way with you callants. If a man sees 
 a difficulty in anything concerning you, off 
 you fling, and will have no more to do with 
 him. I'm no one to be dismissed in that 
 fashion, — no to say that it would be more be- 
 coming to consider the difficulty, like reason- 
 able creatures, and make up our minds how it 
 is to be met." 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Colin, repent- 
 ant ; " only, to be sure, the imprudence, if 
 there was any imprudence, was mine. But it 
 is hard to be talking in this manner, as if all 
 were over, while Meredith lives, poor fellow. 
 Such invalids live forever sometimes. There 
 he is, for a miracle, riding ! When summer 
 comes, he may be all right." 
 
 " Ay," said Lauderdale, " Imakenodoubt 
 of that ; but no in your way. He'll be better 
 off when summer comes." Meredith turned 
 a corner close upon them as he spoke. He 
 was riding, it is true, but only on a mule, 
 jogging along at a funeral pace, with Alice 
 walking by his side. He smiled when he met 
 them ; but the smile was accompanied by a 
 momentary flush, as of shame or pain. 
 
 "The last step but one," he said. "I 
 have given up walking forever. I did not 
 think I should ever have come to this ; but 
 my spirit is proud, and needs to be mortified. 
 Campbell, come here. It is long since we 
 have had any conversation. I thought God 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 was dealing with your soul when I last talked 
 to you. Tell me, if you were as far gone as 
 I am, — if you were reduced to M?s," — and the 
 sick man laid his thin white hand upon the 
 neck of the animal he was riding, — " what 
 consolation would you have to keep you from 
 sinking? It may come sooner than you 
 think." 
 
 " It is not easy to imagine how one would 
 conduct one's self under such circumstances," 
 said Colin ; "let us talk of something else. 
 If it were coming, — and it may be, for any- 
 thing I can tell, — I think I should prefer not 
 to give it too much importance. Look at 
 that low blaze of sunshine, how it catches 
 St. Peter's. These sunsets are like dramas ; 
 but nobody plans the grouping beforehand," 
 said the young man, with an involuntary allu- 
 sion which he was sorry for the next moment, 
 but could not recall. 
 
 " That is an unkind speech," said Mere- 
 dith ; " but I forgive you. If I could plan 
 the grouping, as you say, I should like to 
 collect all the world to see me die. Heathens, 
 Papists, Mahometans, Christians of every de- 
 scription, — I would call them to see with what 
 confidence a Christian could travei'se the 
 dark valley knowing Him who can sustain, 
 and who has preceded him there." 
 
 " Yes, that was Addison's idea ; but his was 
 an age when people did things for effect," 
 said Colin : " and everything 1 have heard 
 makes me believe that people generally die 
 very composedly upon the whole. We who 
 have all possible assurances and consolations 
 are not superior in that respect to the igno- 
 rant and stupid, — scarcely even to the wicked. 
 Either people have an infinite confidence in 
 themselves and their good fortune, or else ab- 
 solute faith in God is a great deal more gen- 
 eral than you think it. I should like to be- 
 lieve that last was the case. Pardon me for 
 what I said. You who realize so strongly 
 what you arc going to should certainly die, 
 when that time comes, a glorious and joyful 
 death." 
 
 At these words a cloud passed over the 
 eager, hectic countenance which Meredith had 
 turned to his friend. " Ah, you don't know," 
 he said, with a sudden depression which Colin 
 had never seen in him before. " Sometimes 
 God sees fit to abandon his servants even in 
 that hour ; what, if after preaching to others 
 I should^myself be a castaway ? '' This con- 
 versation was going on while Alice talked to 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 151 
 
 Lauderdale of the housekeeping, and how the 
 man at the Trattoria had charged a ecudo too 
 much in the last weekly bill. 
 
 " Meredith," said Colin, laying his hand 
 on his friend's arm, and forgetting all the 
 discussion with Lauderdale which had occu- 
 pied the afternoon, " when you say such 
 words as Father and Saviour, you put some 
 meaning in them; do you not? You don't 
 ,think -it depends upon how you feel to-day 
 or to-morrow whether God will stand by his 
 children or not? I don't believe iu the cast- 
 away as you understanfj it," 
 
 "Ah, my dear friend, I am afraid you 
 don't believe in any castaways ; don't fall into 
 that deadly error and snare of the devil," said 
 the sick man. 
 * "We must not discuss mysteries," said 
 Colin . ' ' There are men for whom no punish- 
 ment is bad enough, and whom no amount 
 of mercy seems to benefit. I don't know 
 what is to become of them. For my own 
 part, I prefer not to inquire. But this I 
 knoio, that my father, much less my mother, 
 would not altogether abandon their son for 
 any crime ; and does not God love us better 
 than our fathers and our mothers? " said Co- 
 lin, with a moisture gathering in his brown 
 eyes and brightening his smile. A^ for Mere- 
 dith, he snatched his hand away, and pushed 
 forward with a feverish impulse. A sound, 
 half sigh, half groan, burst from him, and 
 Colin could see that this inarticulate com- 
 plaint had private references of which he 
 knew nothing. Then Lauderdale's suggestion 
 returned to his mind with singular force ; 
 but it was not a time to make any inquiries, 
 even if such had been possible. Instinctively, 
 without knowing it, Meredith turned from 
 that subject to the only other which could 
 mutually interest men so unlike each other : 
 and what he said betrayed distinctly enough 
 what had been the tenor of his thoughts. 
 
 '■'■She has no mother," said Meredith, 
 with a little wave of his hand towards his 
 sister. " Poor Alice ! But I have no doubt 
 God has gracious purposes towards her," he 
 continued, recovering himself. " This is in 
 the family, and I don't doubt she will follow 
 me soon." 
 
 It was thus he disposed of the matter which 
 for the strangers, to whose care he was about 
 to leave her, was a matter of so much anx- 
 ious thought. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIT. 
 
 After this Meredith's malady made grad- 
 ual but rapid progress. When Colin and 
 his friend returned from Rome in the even- 
 ing, after their expeditions there, they im- 
 agined themselves to be conscious of a diflfer- 
 ence in his looks even from the morning. 
 He ceased to move about ; he ceased to go 
 out ; finally, he ceased to get up from his bed. 
 All these changes were accomplished very 
 gradually, with a heartbreaking regularity 
 of succession. Alice, who was constantly 
 engaged about him, doing every kind of ofiSce 
 for him, was fortunately too much occupied 
 to take full recognizance of that remorseless 
 progress of decay ; but the two friends who 
 watched it with eyes less urgent than those of 
 love, yet almost more painfully pitii'ul, could 
 trace all the little advances of the malady. 
 Then there came the time, the last stage of 
 all, when it was necessary to sit up with him 
 all night, — an office which Colin and Lauder- 
 dale shared between them, to let the poor lit- 
 tle sister have a little reluctant rest. The 
 season had warmed into May, of all seasons 
 the sweetest in Italy. To see the sun shine, 
 it seqacd impossible to think that it would 
 not shiiie forever ; and when the window of* 
 the sick-room was opened in the early morn- 
 ing, such a breath of life and happiness 
 came in — such a sweet gust of air, wild from 
 the great breadth of the Campagna, breath- 
 ing of dews and blossoms — as felt to Colin's 
 lips like an elixir of life. But that 
 breathing balm imparted no refreshment to 
 the dying man. He was not suffering much ; 
 he was only weary to the bottom of his soul, 
 — languid and yet restless, eager to be moved, 
 yet unable to bear any motion. While little 
 Akce withdrew behind them for a chance mo- 
 ment to shed the tears that kept always gath- 
 ering, and say a prayer in her heart for her 
 dying brother, — a prayer in which, with a 
 child's simplicity, she still left room for his 
 restoration, and called it possible, — the two 
 others watched with the p^ofoundest interest 
 that which was not only the dying of a friend, 
 but the waning of a life. To see him so indi- 
 vidual and characteristic, with all the notable 
 features and even faults of his mind as distinct 
 and apparent as if he had been in the strong-.- 
 est health, and yet so near the end, was the 
 strangest spectacle. What was it the end of? 
 He directed them all from hisdeath-b^d, and. 
 
152 
 
 indeed, controlled them all with a will strong- 
 er than ever before, securing his own way in 
 face of all their remonstrances, and, indeed, 
 seemed to grow more and more strong, abso- 
 lute, and important, as he approached the 
 jSnal stage of weakness, which is a sight al- 
 ways wonderful to sec. lie kept on writing 
 his book, propped up upon pillows, as long 
 as he had strength enough to hold the pen ; 
 but when that power, too, failed him, the un- 
 yielding soul coerced itself into accepting 
 the pen of another, and dictated the last 
 chapter, at which Alice labored during the 
 day, and which occasionally, to beguile the 
 tedium of the long night-watches, his other 
 attendants were permitted to carry on. The 
 nights grew shorter and shorter as the season 
 advanced, and sometimes it was by the lovely 
 light of the dawning morning, instead of the 
 glimmer of the lamp, that these scattered 
 sentences were written. At other moments, 
 when the patient could not sleep, but was 
 content to rest, wonderful scraps of conver- 
 sation went on in that chamber of death. 
 Meredith lay gaunt and wasted among his 
 pillows, — his great eyes filling the room, as 
 the spectators sometimes thought ; agd by 
 his bedside sometimes the gigantic figure of 
 Lauderdale^ dimly visible by means of the 
 faint night-light, — sometimes Colin's young 
 softened face and air of tender compassion. 
 It did not occur to any of the three to ask by 
 what right they came together in relations so 
 near and sacred. The sick man's brothers, 
 had he possessed them, could not have watch- 
 ed him with more care, or with less doubt 
 about his right to all their ministrations ; but 
 they talked with him as perhaps no brother 
 could have talked, — recognizing the reality 
 of his position, and even discussing it as a 
 matter in which they, too, had the profoundest 
 interest. The room was bare enough, and 
 contained little comfort to English eyes, — un- 
 carpeted, with bare tiles underneath the feet, 
 and scantily furnished with an old sofa, a 
 chair or two, and a table. There were two 
 windows, which looked out upon that Cam- 
 pagna which the dying man was to see no 
 more, nor cared to see. But that great 
 living picture, of no benefit to him, was the 
 only one there ; for poor Meredith had him- 
 self caused to be taken down from the wall a 
 print of the Madonna, and the little cross 
 with its basin for holy water underneath, 
 which had hung at the head of his bed. lie 
 
 A SON OP THE SOIL. 
 
 had even sent away a picture of the Cruci- 
 fixion, — a bad, yet not unimpressive copy. 
 " I want no outward symbols," said the sick 
 man ; " there will be none where I am go- 
 ing," and this was the beginning of one of 
 those strange talks by night. 
 
 " It's awfu' difficult to ken," said Lauder- 
 dale. " For my part it's a great wonder to 
 me that there has never been any revelation 
 worthy of credit out of that darkness. That 
 poor fellow Dives, in the parable, is the only 
 man I mind of that takes a Christian view 
 of the subject. He #ould have sent one to 
 tell. The miracle is, that nae man was ever 
 permitted to come." 
 
 " Don't say so," said Meredith. " Oh, 
 my dear friend ! if you could but know the 
 joy it would give me to bring you to Christ 
 before I die, — to see you accept and receive 
 him. Has not he come to seek and to save ? " 
 
 " Gallant," said the watcher, with a long- 
 drawn breath, " I've longer acquaintance 
 with him than you can have ; and if I didna 
 believe in him, I would hang myself, and get 
 to an explauution of all things. If it was 
 not for him, wherefore should I, that have 
 nobody dependent on me, endure the mystery ? 
 But that's no answer to my question. He 
 came to put a meaning to the world that has 
 little enough signification without him, but 
 no to answer a' questions that a human spirit 
 can put to heaven and earth. I've heard of 
 bargains made between them that were to 
 die and them that had to live." 
 
 " You put it in a strange way, Lauder- 
 dale," said the dying man; "most people 
 would say, those who had to die. But what 
 can any one want beyond what is revealed, — 
 Jerusalem the golden ? How strange it is to 
 think that a worm like me shall so soon be 
 treading those shining streets, while you, — 
 you whom the -world thinks so much better 
 ofi""— 
 
 " Whisht," said Lauderdale, with a husky 
 voice. " Do you no think it would be an 
 awfu' satisfaction to us that stay behind if 
 we could have but a glint of the shining 
 streets you speak of? Many a long day we'll 
 strain our eyes and try hard to see you there ; 
 but a' to little purpose. I'm no saying I 
 would not take it on trust for myself, and be 
 content with what God pleased ; but it's 
 hard to part with them that belong to us, 
 and ken nothing about them, — where they 
 are, or how they are." 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 " They are in heaven ! If they were chil- 
 dren of God, they are with him," said the 
 sick man, anxiously. " Lauderdale, 1 can- 
 not bear to think that you do not believe, — 
 tfiat perhaps I may not meet you there." 
 
 "Maybe no," said the philosopher; 
 *• there's the awfu' question. A man might 
 go ranging about the shining streets (as you 
 say) forever, and never find them that be- 
 longed to him ; or, if there's no geographical 
 limits, there may be others harder to pass. 
 It's awfu' -little comfort I can get'for my own 
 mind out of shining streets. How am I to 
 picture you to myself, callant, when I take 
 thoughts of you ? I have the fancy in my 
 mind to give you messages to friends I have 
 away yonder ; but how can I tell if you'll 
 ever see them ? It's no a question of believ- 
 ing or not believing. I put little faith in 
 Milton, and none in the good books, from 
 which two sources we draw a great part of 
 our talk about heaven. It's no even to ken 
 if they're happy or no happy that troubles 
 me. I've nae hesitation to speak of in leav- 
 ing that in God's hand. It's but to have an 
 inkling ever so slight where ye are, and how 
 you are," said Lauderdale, unconsciously 
 changing his pronouns, " and that ye keep 
 thought of us that spend so many thoughts 
 on you." 
 
 After this there was a little pause, which 
 fell into the perfect stillness of the night 
 outside, and held the little dim-lighted cham- 
 ber in the midst of all the darkness, like the 
 picture of a shadowy " interior," with two 
 motionless figures, the living and the dying, 
 painted upon the great gloom of night. Mer- 
 edith, who, notwithstanding the superior in- 
 tensity of his own thoughts, had been moved 
 by Lauderdale's, — and who, used as he was 
 to think himself dying, yet perhaps heard 
 himself thus unconsciously reckoned among 
 the dead with a momentary thrill, — was the 
 first to speak. 
 
 " In all this I find you too vague," said 
 the patient. "You speak about heaven as 
 if you were uncertain only of its aspect ; you 
 have no anxiety about the way to get there. 
 My fritod, you are very good to me, — you 
 are excellent, so far as this world goes ; I 
 know you are. But, oh, Lauderdale, think ! 
 Our righteousnesses are as filthy rags. Be- 
 fore you speculate about heaven, ask yourself 
 are you sure to get there ! " 
 
 "Ay," said Lauderdale, vaguely, "it's 
 
 153 
 
 maybe a wee like the question of the Saddu- 
 cees, — I'm no saying ; and it's awfu', the 
 dead blanfc of wisdom and knowledge that's 
 put forth for a response, — no any informa- 
 tion to you ; nothing but a quenching of 
 your flippant questions and impident preten- 
 sions. No marrying nor giving in marriage 
 there, and the curious fools baffled, but nae 
 light thrown upon the darkness ! I'll have 
 to wait like other folk for my answer ; but, 
 if it's according to your new nature and fac- 
 ulties, — which surely it must be, — you'll 
 not forget to give us a thought at times. 
 If you feel a wee lonely at the first, — I'm no 
 profane, callant ; you're but a man when 
 a's done, or rather a laddie, and you'll surely 
 miss your friends, — dinna forget how long 
 and Jjow often we'll think of you." 
 
 " Shall you ?" said the dying man. "I 
 have given you nothing but trouble ever 
 since I knew you, and it is more than I de- 
 serve. But there is One who is worthy of 
 all your thoughts. When you think of me, 
 oh, love him, my dear friend, and so there 
 will be a bond between us still." 
 
 " Ay," said Lauderdale once more. It 
 was a word he used when his voice could not 
 be trusted, and his heart was full. " Ay," 
 he repeated, after a long pause, " I'll no 
 neglect that grand bond. It's a bargain be- 
 tween you and me no to be broken. If ye 
 were free for such an act, it would be awfu' 
 friendly to bring me word how things are," 
 he continued, in a low tone, " though it's 
 folly to ask ; for if it had been possible it 
 would have been done before now." 
 
 " It is God who must teach and not me," 
 said the dying man. " He has other instru- 
 ments, — and you must seek him for yourself, 
 and let him reveal his will to you. If you 
 are faithful to God's service, he will relieve 
 you of your doubts," said Arthur, who did 
 not understand his friend's mind, but even 
 at that solemn moment looked at him with a 
 perplexed mixture of disapproval and com- 
 passion. And thus the silence fell again like 
 a curtain over the room, and once more it 
 became a picture faintly painted on the dark- 
 ness, faintly relieved and lighted up by 
 t^^hes of growing light, till at length the 
 morning came in full and fair, finding out, as 
 with a sudden surprise, the ghostly face on 
 the pillow, with its great eyes closed in dis- 
 turbed sleep, and by the bedside another face 
 scarcely less motionless, — the face of the man 
 
164 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 who was no unbeliever, but whose heart 
 longed to know and see what others were 
 content in vague generalities to tell of, and 
 Bay they believed. 
 
 This was one of the conversations held in 
 the dead of night in Meredith's room. Next 
 evening it was Colin, reluctantly permitted 
 by his faithful guardian to share this labor, 
 who took the watcher's place ; and then the 
 two young men, who were so near of an age, 
 but whose prospects were so strongly differ- 
 ent, talked to each other after a different 
 fashion. Both on the brink of the world, 
 and with incalculable futures before them, 
 it was natural they should discuss the objects 
 and purposes of life, upon which Meredith, 
 who thought himself matured by death, had, 
 as he imagined, so much advantage ovea* his 
 friend, who was not going to die. 
 
 " I remember once thinking as you do," 
 said the dying man. " The world looked so 
 beautiful ! No man ever loved its vanities 
 and its pomp more than I. I shudder some- 
 times to think what would become of me if 
 God had left me to myself; but he was more 
 merciful. I see things in their true light 
 now." 
 
 " You will have a great advantage over 
 me," said Colin, trying to smile; " for you 
 will always know the nature of my occupa- 
 tions, while yours will be a mystery to me. 
 But we can be friends all the same. As for 
 me, I shall not have many pomps and vani- 
 ties to distract me, — a poor man's son ; and 
 a Scotch minister does not fall in the way of 
 such temptations." 
 
 " There are temptations to worldliness in 
 every sphere," said Meredith. " You once 
 spoke eagerly about going to Oxford and 
 taking honors. My dear friend, trust a dy- 
 ing man. There are no honors worth think- 
 ing of but the crown and the palm, which 
 Christ bestows on them that love him." 
 
 " Yes," said Colin ; " but we are not all 
 chosen for these. If I have to live, I must 
 qualify myself the best I can for my work. I 
 should like to be of a little use to Scotland, 
 if that were nossible. When I hear the poor 
 people here singing their vespers " — 
 
 " Ah, Campbell ! one word — letmespeaC," 
 said his friend. ' ' Alice showed me the poem 
 you had given her. You don't mean it, I 
 know ; but let me beg you not to utter such 
 sentiments. You seem to consent to the doc- 
 
 trine of purgatory, one of the worst delu- 
 sions of the Church of Rome. There are no 
 spirits in prison, my dear, dear friend. 
 When I leave you, I shall be with my Sav- 
 iour. Don't give your countenance to such 
 inventions of the devil." 
 
 '• That was not what I intended tQ say," 
 said Colin, who had no heart for argument. 
 " I meant that to see the habit of devotion of 
 all these people, whom we call so ignorant, 
 and to remember how little we have of that 
 among our own people,* whom we consider 
 enlightened, goes to my heart. I should like 
 to do a priest's duty." 
 
 " Again ! " said Meredith " Dear Camp- 
 bell, you will be a minister ; there is but one 
 great High Priest." 
 
 " Yes," said Colin, " most true, and the 
 greatest of all consolations. But yet I be- 
 lieve in priests inferior, — priests who need be 
 nothing more than men. I am not so much 
 for teaching as you are, you know ; I have 
 80 little to teach any man. With you who 
 are going to the Fount of all knowledge it 
 will be different. I can conceive, I can im- 
 agine, how magnificent may he your work," 
 the young man said, with his voice faltering, 
 as he laid his warm young hand upon the 
 fingers which were almost dead. 
 
 Meredith closed his hand upon that of his 
 friend, and looked at him with his eyes so 
 clear and awful, enlarged and lighted up with 
 the prescience of what was to come. *' If 
 you do your work faithfully, it will be the 
 same work," he said. "Our Master alone 
 knows the particulars. If I might have per- 
 haps to supplement and complete what you 
 do on earth ! — Ah, but I must not be tempt- 
 ed into vain speculations! Enough that I 
 shall know his will and see him as he is. I 
 desire no more." 
 
 "Amen," said Colin; "and when you 
 are in your new career, think of me some- 
 times, worried and vexed as I know I shall 
 be. We shall not be able to communicate 
 then ; but I know now beforehand what I 
 shall have to go through. You don't know 
 Scotland, Meredith. A man who tries any 
 new reformation in the church will liave to 
 fight for trifles of detail which are not worth 
 fighting for, and perhaps got both himself and 
 his work degraded in consequence. You will 
 know no such cares. Think of me some- 
 times when you are doing your work * with 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 155 
 
 thunders of acclaim.' I wonder — but you 
 would think it a profanity if I said what 
 was going to say." 
 
 " What was it? " said Meredith, who, in- 
 deed, would not have been sorry had his 
 friend uttered a profanity which might give 
 him occasion to speak, for perhaps the last 
 time, " faithfully " to his soul. 
 
 " I wonder," said Colin, whose voice was 
 low, " whether our Master, who sees us both, 
 though we cannot see each other, might tell 
 you sometimes what your friend was doing. 
 He, too, is a man. I mean no irreverence, 
 Meredith. There were men for whom, above 
 his tenderness for all, he had a special love. 
 I should like to think it. I can know noth- 
 ing of you ; but then I am less likely to for- 
 get you, staying behind in this familiar 
 world." 
 
 And the two youths again clasped hands, 
 tears filling the eyes of the living one, but 
 no moisture in the clear orbs of him who 
 was about to die. 
 
 " Let us be content to leave it all in his 
 hands," said Meredith. " God bless you, 
 Colin, for your love ; but think nothing of 
 me, — think of him who is our first and great- 
 est Friend." 
 
 And then again came silence and sleep, 
 and the night throbbed silently round the 
 lighted chamber and the human creatures 
 full of thought, and again took place the 
 perennial transformation, the gradual rising 
 of the morning light, the noiseless entrance 
 of the day, finding out, with surprised and 
 awful looks, the face of the dying. This is 
 how the last nights were spent. Down be- 
 low in the convent there was a good friar, 
 who watched the light in the window, and 
 pondered much in his mind whether he 
 should not go thither with his crucifix, and 
 save the poor young heretic in spite of him- 
 self ; but the Frate was well aware that the 
 English resented such interruptions, and did 
 better for Arthur ; for he carried the thought 
 of him through all his devotions, and mut- 
 tered under his breath the absolution, with 
 his eyes fixed upon the lighted window, and 
 prayed, if he had any credit in heaven through 
 the compassionate saints, the Blessed Virgin, 
 and by the aid of Him whose image he held 
 up towards the unseen sufierer, that the sins 
 which God's servant had thus remitted on 
 earth might be, even without the knowledge 
 of the penitent, remitted in heaven. Thus j 
 
 Colin's belief in priests was justified without 
 his knowing it ; and perhaps God judged the 
 intercession of Father Francisco more ten- 
 derly than poor Arthur would have done. 
 And with these private proceedings, which 
 the world was unaware of, night after night 
 passed on until the night came which was to 
 have no day. 
 
 They had all assembled in the room, in 
 which it seemed before morning so great an 
 event was to happen, — all worn and tired out 
 with watching ; the evidences of which ap- 
 peared upon Colin and Alice, though Lauder- 
 dale, more used to exertion, wore his usual 
 aspect. As usual, Meredith lay very solemnly 
 in a kind of pathetic youthful state in his 
 bed, — struggling for every breath, yet never 
 forgetting that he lay there before heaven 
 and earth, a monument, as he said, of God's 
 grace, and an example of how a Christian 
 could die. He called Alice, and the others 
 would have withdrawn ; but this he would 
 not permit. " We have no secrets to discuss," 
 he said. " I am not able to say much now. 
 Let my last words be for Christ. Alice, you 
 are the last. We have all died of it. It is 
 not very hard ; but you cannot die in peace, 
 as I do, unless you give yourself to Christ. 
 These are my last words to my sister. You 
 may not live long ; you have not a moment 
 to spare. Give yourself to Christ, my little 
 Alice, and then your death-bed will be as 
 peaceful as mine." 
 
 " Yes," said the docile sister, through her 
 sobs, " I will never, never forget what you 
 have said to me. Oh, Arthur, you are going 
 to them all ! " 
 
 "I am going to God," said the dying 
 man ; " I am going to my Lord and Saviour ; 
 that is all I desire to think of now." 
 
 And there was a momentary breathless 
 pause. She had his hand in both of hers, 
 and was crying with an utter despair and 
 abandonment to which she had never given 
 herself up before. " Oh, Arthur, — papa ! " 
 the poor girl said, under her breath. If they 
 had been less interested, or if the stillness 
 had been a degree less intense, the voice was 
 so low that the two other watchers could not 
 have heard her. But the answer was spoken 
 aloud. 
 
 ' Tell him I forgive him, Alice. I can 
 so now. Tell him to repent while there 
 is time. If you wish it, you can tell Colin 
 and Lauderdale ; they have been brothers to 
 
156 
 
 UB. Come here, all of you," said Meredith. 
 " Hear my last words. Nothing is of any 
 importance but tlic love of Christ. I have 
 tried evei'y thing in the world, — its pleasures 
 and its ambitions — and — But everything 
 except Christ is vanity. Come to him while 
 it is called to-day. And now come and kiss 
 me, Alice ; for I am going to die." 
 
 " Oh, no, Arthur. Oh, Arthur, do not 
 leave me yet ! " cried the poor girl. Lau- 
 derdale drew her gently away, and signed to 
 Colin to take the place by the bed. He drew 
 her hand through his arm and led her softly 
 into the great empty salonc, where there was 
 no light except thatof the moon, which came 
 in in broad white bars at the side windows. 
 " Whist ! it'll no be yet," said the kind 
 guardian who had taken possession of Alice. 
 No mother or lover could have been tenderer 
 with the little forlorn creature in this hour 
 which was the most terrible of all. He 
 made her walk softly about with him, beguil- 
 ing her awful suspense a little with that 
 movement. " A little more strength, for 
 his sake," said Lauderdale; "another trial 
 — and then nobody shall stop your tears. 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 It!s for his sake ; the last thing you can do 
 for him." 
 
 And then the poor little sister gave utter- 
 ance to a bitter cry. " If he would say some- 
 thing kind for papa, I would not care," she 
 said, smothering her painful sobs; and Lau- 
 derdale drew her closer on his arm, support- 
 ing and soothing her, and led her about, 
 slowly and noiselessly, in the great empty 
 room, lighted with those broad bars of moon- 
 light, waiting till she had regained a little 
 composure to return to the chamter of 
 death. 
 
 Meredith lay silent for some time, with 
 his great eyes gazing into the vacancy before 
 him, and the last thrill of fever in his frame. 
 He thought he was thus coming with all 
 his faculties alert and vivid to a direct con- 
 scious encounter with the unknown might of 
 death. " Get the book, Colin," he said, 
 with a voice which yet possessed a certain 
 nervous strength ; " it is now the time to 
 write the conclusion ; " and he dictated 
 with a steady voice the date of his last post- 
 script : " Frascati, Midnight, May 16th. — 
 The last hour of my life " — 
 
PART XII. — CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 Meredith died the next day, after a strug- 
 gle longer and harder than could have been 
 anticipated, and very differently from the 
 manner in which, v^hen he dictated his last 
 message to the world, he expected to die. 
 Few human creatures are strong enough, ex- 
 cept in books, to march thus solemnly and 
 statelily to the edge of the grave. The last 
 event itself was twenty-four hours later than 
 the anxious watchers expected it to be, and 
 wore them all out more utterly than any pre- 
 vious part of their patient's lingering illness. 
 He dictated his postscript, lying in great ex- 
 haustion, but solemn, calm, not without a 
 certain pomp of conscious grandeur, victori- 
 ous over death and the grave. " That great 
 angel whom men call the last enemy is stand- 
 ing by my bedside," the dying man said, 
 giving forth his last utterance slowly word 
 by word. "In an hour I shall be clay and 
 ashes. I send you, friends, this last message. 
 Death is not terrible to those who love Christ. 
 I feel a strength in me that is not my own. 
 I had fears and doubts, but I have them no 
 longer. The gates of heaven are opening. I 
 close my eyes, for I can no longer see the 
 lights of this world ; when I open them again, 
 it will be to behold the face of my Lord. 
 Amen. This 1 say to all the world with my 
 last breath. For those who love Christ it is 
 not hard to die." 
 
 Colin, who wrote the words, trembled over 
 them with a weakness like a woman's ; but 
 Meredith's broken and interrupted voice was 
 shaken only by the last pangs of mortality, 
 not by any faltering of the spirit. " I tell 
 you, Colin, it is not hard," he said, and 
 smiled upon his friend, and composed him- 
 self to meet the last encounter ; but such was 
 not the end. The long night lingered on, 
 and the dying man dozed a little, and woke 
 again less dignified and composed. Then 
 jame the weary morning, with its dreadful 
 daylight, which made the heart sick, and then 
 a long day of dying, terrible to behold, per- 
 haps not so hard to bear. The two who were 
 his brothers at this dreadful moment exer- 
 cised all their power to keep Alice out of the 
 room where this struggle was going on ; but 
 the gentle little girl was a faithful woman, 
 and kept her place. He had had his moment 
 of conscious victory, but now in its turn the 
 human soul was vanquished. He became 
 unconscious of their consoling presence, con- 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL 157 
 
 scions of nothing but the awful restlessness, 
 the intolerable languor and yet more intoler- 
 
 able nervous strength which kept him alive 
 in spite of himself; and then the veiled and 
 abstracted spirit awoke to matters of which, 
 when in full possession of his faculties, Ar- 
 thur had made no mention. He began to 
 murmur strange words as he lay tossing in 
 that last struggle. "Tell my father," he 
 said once or twice, but never finished the 
 message. That death so clear and conscious, 
 for which he had hoped, was not granted 
 to him ; and, when at last the deliverance 
 came, even Alice, on her knees by the bed- 
 side, felt in her desolation a moment's relief. 
 It was almost dawn of the second morning 
 when they raised her up and led her tenderly 
 away to Sora Antonia, the kind Italian wo- 
 man, who waited outside. Colin was scarcely 
 less overwhelmed than she. The young man 
 sank down by the table where, on the pre- 
 vious night he had been Arthur's secretary, 
 and almost fainting dropped his head upon 
 the book which still lay open there. Twenty- 
 four hours onlv of additional hard labor added 
 on to the ending life ; but it looked as many 
 years to the young, inexperienced spirit 
 which had thus, for the first time, followed 
 another, so far as a spectator can, through 
 the valley of the shadow of death. Lauder- 
 dale, who knew better, and upon whose 
 greater strength this dreadful strain of watch- 
 ing had made a less visible impression, had 
 to do for Colin what the kind peasant woman 
 was doing for the desolate sister, — to take 
 him away from the chamber of death, and 
 make him lie down, and put aside altogether 
 his own sensations on behalf of the younger 
 and more susceptible sufferer. All that had 
 to be done fell on Lauderdale ; he made the 
 necessary arrangements with a self-command 
 which nothing disturbed, and when the bright, 
 cloudless day had advanced, and he could sat- 
 isfy himself that both the young, worn-out 
 creatures, who were his children for the mo- 
 ment, had got the momentary solace of sleep, 
 as was natural, he threw himself into poor 
 Arthur's arm-chair and pondered with a^ 
 troubled countenance on all that might fol* 
 low. There he, too, slept and dozed, as Sora 
 Antonia went softly to and fro, moved with 
 pity. She had said her rosary for Arthur 
 many a morning, and had done all she could 
 to interest in his behalf that good St. Antonio 
 of Padua, who was so charitable, and per- 
 
158 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 haps might not be so particular about a mat- 
 ter of doctrine as St. Paul or St. Peter ; for 
 Sora Antonia was kind to the bottom of her 
 heart, and could not bear to think of more 
 than a thousand yec^rs or so of purgatory for 
 the poor, young heretic. " The signorino 
 was English and knew no better," she said 
 to her patron saint, and comforted herself 
 with the thought that the blessed Antonio 
 would not fail to attend to her recommenda- 
 tion, and that she had done the best she could 
 for her lodger ; and out of the room where 
 Alice slept the deep sleep of exhaustion the 
 good woman made many voyages into the si- 
 lent salonc, where the shutters were closed 
 upon the bare windows, though the trium- 
 phant sun streamed in at every crevice. She 
 looked at Lauderdale, who dozed in the great 
 chair, with curious looks of speculation and 
 inquiry. He looked old and gray, thus 
 sleeping in the daylight, and the traces of 
 exhaustion in such a face as his were less 
 touching than the lines in Alice's gentle 
 countenance or the fading of Colin's bright- 
 ness. He was the only member of the party 
 who looked responsible to the eyes of Sora 
 Antonia ; and already she had a little ro- 
 mance in hand, and wondered much whether 
 this uncle, or elder brother, or guardian, 
 would be favorable to her young people. 
 Thus, while the three watchers found a mo- 
 ment's sad rest after their long vigil, new 
 hopes and thoughts of life already began to 
 play about them unawares. The world will 
 not stand still even to see the act of death 
 accomplished ; and the act of death itself, if 
 Arthur was right in his hopes, — had not that 
 already opened its brighter side upon the sol- 
 itary soul which had gone forth alone ? 
 
 The day after everything was finally over 
 was Sunday, — the gayest and brightest of 
 summer festal days. Colin and Lauderdale, 
 who had on the day before carried their 
 friend to his grave, met each other sadly at 
 the table, where it was so strange to take up 
 again the common thread of life as though 
 Arthur Meredith had never had any share in 
 Jt. It was Sunday under its brightest as- 
 li|)ect ; the village was very gay outside, and 
 neither of them felt capable of introducing 
 their sombre shadows into the flowery and 
 sunny fcsta, the gayety of which jarred upon 
 their sadness, and they had no heart to go 
 about their usual occupations within. When 
 they had swallowed their cofiFce together, they 
 
 I withdrew from each other into different cor- 
 jners, and tried to read, which was the only 
 employment possible. Lauderdale, for his 
 part, in his listlessness and fatigue, went to 
 rummage among some books which a former 
 • occupant had left, and brought from among 
 j them — the strangest choice for him to make 
 — a French novel, a kind of production utter- 
 ly unknown to him. The chances are, he 
 had forgotten it was Sunday ; for his Scotch 
 ■ prejudices, though he held them lightly in 
 j theory, still held him fast in practice. 
 When, however, he had pored over it vague- 
 ly for half an hour (for reading French was 
 a laborious amusement to the imperfectly in- 
 structed scholar), Colin was roused out of 
 studies which he, too, pursued with a very 
 divided attention, by a sudden noise, and 
 saw the little yellow volume spin through 
 the air out of his friend's vigorous fingers, 
 and drop ignominiously in a corner. •' Me 
 to be reading stuff like that ! " said Lauder- 
 dale, with grim accents of self-disgust ; " and 
 him may be near to see what a fool is doing ! " 
 As he said this, he got up from his chair, 
 and began to pace about the quiet, lonely 
 room, violently endeavoring to recover the 
 composure which he had not been able to 
 preserve. Though he was older and stronger 
 than the others, watching and grief had told 
 upon his strength also ; and in the glory of 
 the summer morning which blazed all round 
 and about, the soul of this wayfaring man 
 grew sick within him. Something like a sob 
 sounded into the silence. "I'm no asking 
 if he's happy," Lauderdale burst forth ; " I 
 cannot feel as if I would esteem him the same 
 if he felt nothing but joy to get away. You're 
 a' infidels and unbelievers alike, with your 
 happiness and your heaven. I'm no saying 
 that it's less than the supreme joy to see the 
 face he hoped to see ; but joy's no inconsist- 
 ent with pain. Will you tell me the cal- 
 lant, having a heart as you know he had, 
 can think of us mourning for him and no 
 care ? Dinna speak of such inhuman imagi- 
 nations to me." 
 
 " No," said Colin, softly. " But worst 
 of all would be to think he was here," the 
 young man continued, after a pause, " un- 
 able to communicate with us anyhow, by 
 whatsoever effort. Don't think so, Lauder- 
 dale ; that is the most inhuman imagination 
 of all." 
 
 " I'm no so clear of that," said the phi- 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 losopher, subduing his hasty steps ; " nae 
 doubt there would be a pang in it, especially 
 when there was information like that to be- 
 stow ; but it's hard to tell, in our leemited 
 condition, a' the capabilities of a soul. It 
 might be a friend close by, and no yoursel', 
 that put your best thought in your head, 
 though you saw him not. I wouldna say 
 that I would object to that. It's all a ques- 
 tion of temperament, and, maybe, age," he 
 continued, calming himself entirely down, 
 and taking a seat beside Colin in the win- 
 dow. " The like of you expects response, 
 and has no conception of life without it ; but 
 the like of me can be content without re- 
 sponse," said Colin's guardian ; and then he 
 regarded his companion with eyes in which 
 the love was veiled by a grave mist of medi- 
 tation. " I would not object to take the 
 charge of you in such a manner," he said, 
 slowly. "But it's awfu' easy to dream 
 dreams, — if anything on this earth could but 
 make a man knoio ' ' — and then there fol- 
 lowed another pause. "He was awfu' 
 pleased to teach," Lauderdale said, with an 
 unsteady smile. "It's strange to think 
 what should hinder him speaking now, 
 when he has such news to tell. I never 
 could make it out, for my part. Whiles my 
 mind inclines to the thought that it must be 
 a peaceable sleep that wraps them a' till the 
 great day, which would account for the 
 awfu' silence ; but there's some things that 
 go against that. That's what makes me most 
 indignant at thae idiots with their spirit-rap- 
 ping and gibberish. Does ony mortal with 
 a heart within his bosom dare to think that, 
 if love doesna open their sealed lips, any 
 power in the world can? " cried the philoso- 
 pher, whose emotion again got beyond his 
 control. He got up again, and resumed his 
 melancholy march up and down the room. 
 "It's an awfu' marvel, beyond my reach," 
 he said, " when a word of communication 
 would make a' the difference, why it's no 
 permitted, if it were but to keep a heart 
 from breaking here and there." 
 
 " Perhaps it is our own fault," said Colin ; 
 " perhaps flesh and blood shrinks more than 
 we are aware of from such a possibility ; 
 and perhaps" — here the young man paused 
 a little, " indeed, it is not perhaps. Does 
 not God himself choose to be our comforter? " 
 said the youthful predestined priest ; upon 
 
 159 
 
 which the older and sadder man once more 
 composed himself with a groan. 
 
 " Ay," said Lauderlade, " I can say noth- 
 ing against that ai-gument. I'm no denying 
 it's the last and the grpatest. I speak the 
 voice of a man's yearning, but I've no in- 
 tention of contravening the truth. He's 
 gone like many a one before him. You and 
 me must bide our time. I'll say no more of 
 Arthur. The best thing you can do is to 
 read a chapter. If we canna hear of him di- 
 rect, which is no to be hoped for,*we can 
 take as good a grip as possible of the Friend 
 that stands between us. It's little use try- 
 ing to forget, or trying no to think and in- 
 quire and question. There is but one thing 
 in the world, so far as I can see, that a man 
 can feel a kind of sure of. Callant, read a 
 chapter," said the philosopher, with a long 
 sigh. He threw himself back, as he spoke, in 
 the nearest chair, and Colin took his Bible 
 dutifully to obey. The contrast between 
 this request, expressed as any Scotch peasant 
 would have expressed it, and the speculations 
 which preceded it did not startle Colin, and 
 he had opened the book by instinct in the lat- 
 ter part of St. John's Gospel, when he was 
 disturbed by the entrance of Alice, who came 
 in softly from her room without any warning. 
 Her long attendance on her brother had 
 withdrawn the color from her cheeks and 
 the fulness from her figure so gradually, that 
 it was only now in her mourning dress that 
 her companions saw how pale and thin she 
 had grown. Alice was not speculative, nor 
 fanciful, nor addicted to undue exercise of the 
 faculties of her own mind in any way. She 
 was a dutiful woman, young and simple, and 
 accepting God's will without inquiry or re- 
 monstrance. Though she had struggled long 
 against the thought of Arthur's death, now 
 that he was dead she recognized and sub- 
 mitted to the event which it was no longer pos- 
 sible to avert or change, with a tender and 
 sweet resignation of which some women are 
 capable. ^ A more forlorn and desolate crea- 
 ture than Alice Meredith did not exist on the 
 earth, to all ordinary appearance, at this mo- 
 ment ; but as she was not at all thinking of 
 herself, that aspect of the case did not occujr 
 to her. She came out of her room very softly, 
 with a faint smile on her face, holding some 
 prayer-books in her hands. Up to this sad 
 day it had been their custom to read prayers 
 
160 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 together on the Sundays, being too far off 
 Rome to make it practicable even for the 
 stronger members of the party to go to 
 church. xMice came up to Colin with her 
 books in her hands^ she said to him in a 
 •wistful whisper, " You will take his place," 
 and pointed out to him silently the marks she 
 had placed at the lessons and psalms. Then 
 she knelt down between the two awed and 
 astonished men, to say the familiar prayers 
 which only a week ago Arthur himself had 
 read wifti his dying voice. Though at times 
 articulation was almost impossible to Colin, 
 and Lauderdale breathed out of his deep 
 chest an amen which sounded like a groan, 
 Alice did not falter in her profound and still 
 devotions. She went over the well-known 
 prayers Avord by word, with eye and voice 
 steadfast and rapt in the duty which was at 
 the same time a consolation. There are 
 women of such sweet loyalty and submission 
 of spirit ; but neither Lauderdale nor Colin 
 had met with them before. Perhaps a cer- 
 tain passiveness of intellect had to do with 
 ' it, as well as Alice's steady English training 
 and custom of self-suppression ; but it made 
 a wonderful impression upon the two who 
 were now the sole companions and guardians 
 of the friendless young woman, and gave her 
 indeed for the moment an absolute empire 
 over tTiem, of which Alice was altogether un- 
 conscious, and of which, even had she known 
 it, she could have made no further use. 
 When the Morning Prayer was almost con- 
 cluded, it was she who indicated to Colin 
 another mark in the prayer-book, at the 
 prayer for Christ's church militant on earth, 
 and they could even hear the whisper of her 
 voice broken by an irrestrainable sob at the 
 thanksgiving for all " thy servant departed 
 this life in thy faith and fear," which Colin 
 read with agitation and faltering. When 
 they all rose from their knees, she turned 
 frora one to the other with her countenance 
 for the first time disturbed. " You were 
 very, very good to him," she said, softly. 
 " Godwin bless you for it," and so sank into 
 sobbing and tears, which were not to be sub- 
 dued any longer, yet were not passionate nor 
 out of accordance with her docile looks. Af- 
 ter that, Alice recovered her calm, and be- 
 gan to occupy herself with them as if she 
 had been their mother. " Have you been 
 out?" she said. "You must not stay in 
 and make yourself ill." This was addressed 
 
 specially to Colin. " Please go out and take 
 a walk ; it will do you a great deal of good. 
 If it had not been a great feeta, it would not 
 have been so bad ; but if you go up to the 
 Villa Conti, you will find nobody there. Go 
 up behind the terrace, into the alleys where 
 it is shady. There is one on the way to the 
 Aldobrandini ; you know it, Mr. Campbell. 
 Oh, go, please; it is such a beautiful day, it 
 will do you good." 
 
 '♦ And you ? " said Colin, who felt in his 
 heart an inclination to kneel to her as if she 
 had been a queen. 
 
 " I will etay at home to-day," said Alice. 
 " I could not go out to-day ; but I shall do 
 very well. Sora Antonia will come in from 
 mass presently. Oh, go out, please, and 
 take a walk. Mr. Lauderdale, he will go if 
 you tell him to go : you are both looking so 
 pale." 
 
 "Come, Colin," said Lauderdale "she 
 shall have her pleasure done this day, at 
 least, whatsoever she commands. If there 
 was anything within my power or his" — said 
 the philosopher, with a strange discord that 
 sounded like tears in his voice ; but Alice 
 stopped him short. 
 
 " Oh, yes," she said, softly, " it is very 
 good of you to do it because I ask you. Mr. 
 Campbell, you did not read the right lesson," 
 she added, turning her worn face to Colin 
 with a slight reproach. 
 
 " I read what I thought was better for us 
 all, mourning as we are," said Colin, star- 
 tled ; upon which the. sad little representa- 
 tive of law and order did her best to smile. 
 
 " 1 have always heard it said how wonder- 
 ful it was how the lesson for the day always 
 suited everybody's case," said Alice. " Ar- 
 thur never would make any change for cir- 
 cumstances. He — he said it was as if God 
 could ever be wanting," the faithful sister 
 said, through her sobs ; and then, again, put 
 force upon herself: " I shall be here when 
 you come back," she said, with her faint 
 smile ; and so, like a little princess, sent them 
 away. The two men went their way up the 
 slope and through the little town, in their 
 black coats, casting two tall, sombre shadows 
 into the sunshine and gayety of the bright 
 piazza. There had been a procession that 
 morning, and the rough pavement waa 
 strewed with sprigs of myrtle and' box, and 
 the air still retained a flavor of the candles, 
 not quite obliterated by the whiff of incense 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 which came from the open doors of the 
 cathedral, where even the heavy leathern 
 curtain, generally suspended across the en- 
 trance, had been removed by reason of the 
 crowd. People were kneeling even on the 
 steps; peasants in their laced buskins, and 
 Frascati women, made into countesses or 
 duchesses, at the least, by the long white 
 veil which streamed to their feet. The win 
 dows were all hung with brilliant draperies 
 in honor of the morning's procession and the 
 afternoon's Tombola. It was one of the very 
 chief of Italian holydays, a festal Sunday in 
 May, the month of Mary. No wonder the 
 two sad Protestant Scotchmen, with mourn, 
 ing in their dress and in their hearts, felt 
 themselves grow sick and faint as they went 
 dutifully to the gardens of the Villa Conti, 
 as they had been commanded. They did not 
 60 much as exchange a word with each other 
 till they had passed through all that sun- 
 shine and reached the identical alley, a close 
 arcade, overarched and shut in by the dense 
 foliage of ilex-trees, to which their little sov- 
 ereign had directed them. There was not 
 a soul there, as she had prophesied. A tun- 
 nel scooped out of the damp, dewy soil would 
 scarcely have been more absolutely shut in 
 from the sunshine, scarcely could have been 
 stiller or cooler, or more withdrawn from the 
 blazing noonday, with Its noises and rejoic- 
 ings, than this narrow, sombre aventie. They 
 strayed down its entire length, from one blue 
 arch of daylight to the other, before they 
 spoke ; and then it was Lauderdale who 
 broke the silence, as if his thoughts, gener- 
 ally BO busy and so vagrant, had never got 
 beyond Alice Meredith's last words. 
 
 " Another time, Colin," said the philoso- 
 pher, " you'll no make ony changes in the 
 lesson for the day. Whiles it's awfu' hard 
 to put up with the conditions o' a leemited 
 intellect ; but whiles they're half divine. 
 I'm no pretending to be reasonable. She 
 kens no more about reason than — the angels, 
 maybe — no that I have ony personal acquaint- 
 ance with their modes o' argument. I ad- 
 mit it's a new development to me ; but a 
 woman like yon, callant, would keep a man 
 awfu' steady in the course of his life." 
 
 "Yes," said Colin; and then with a 
 strange premonition, for which he himself 
 could not account, he added, " She would 
 keep a man steady, as you say ; but he would 
 find little response in her, — not that I regard 
 
 11 
 
 161 
 
 her less respectfully, less reverentially than 
 you do, Lauderdale," he went on, hurriedly, 
 " but"— 
 
 " It wasna your opinion I was asking for," 
 said the philosopher, somewhat morosely. 
 " She's like none of thfe women you and me 
 ken. I'm doubtful in my own mind wheth- 
 er that dutiful and obedient spirit has ever 
 been our ideal in our country. Intellect's a 
 grand gift, callant, baith to man and woman ; 
 but you'll no fly in my face and assert that 
 it's more than, second-best." 
 
 " I am not up to argument to-day," said 
 Colin ; and they walked back again the 
 whole length of the avenue in silence. Per- 
 haps a certain irritability, born of their mu- 
 tual grief, was at the bottom of this momen- 
 tary difference ; but somehow, in the stillness, 
 in the subdued leafy ehade, which at first 
 sight had been so congenial to his feelings, 
 an indescribable shadow stole over Colin 's 
 mind, — a kind of indistinct fear and reluc- 
 tance, which took no definite shape, but only 
 crept over him like a mist over the face of 
 the sun. His heart was profoundly touched 
 at once by the grief, and by the self-com- 
 mand of Alice, and by her utter helplessness 
 and dependence upon himself and his friend. 
 Never before had he been so atkacted 
 towards her, nor felt so much that dangerous 
 softening sentiment of pity and admiration, 
 which leads to love. And yet, the two 
 walked back silently under the dark ilex- 
 trees, and across the piazza, which was now 
 thronged with a gay and many-colored crowd. 
 The brighter the scene grew around them, 
 the more they shut themselves up in their 
 own silence and sorrow, as was natural ; and 
 Colin at length began to recognize a new 
 element, which filled him with vague uneasi- 
 ness, — an element not in the least new to the 
 perplexed cogitations of his guardian and 
 anxious friend 
 
 CHAPTER XXXTI. 
 
 When they entered the salone on their 
 return, the first object which met their eyes 
 was the stately figure of Sora Antonia in full 
 holiday costume, lately returned from mass. 
 She had still her fan and her rosary depend- 
 ing from her wrist, — adjuncts almost equally 
 necessary to devotion, as that is understood 
 at Frascati, — and was still arrayed in the 
 full splendors of the veil which, fastened 
 over her hair, fell almost to her feet behind, 
 
162 
 
 and gave grace and dignity to her tall and 
 stately person. Sora Antonia was a depend- 
 ant of the family Savvclli ; scarcely a ser- 
 vant, though she had once belonged to the 
 prince's household. She had charge of the 
 palace at Frascati, which was never occupied 
 except by a solitary ecclesiastic, the prince's 
 brother, for whom the first floor was kept 
 sacred. Even this sanctity, however, was 
 sometimes invaded when a good chance ofTered 
 of letting the piano nohile to some rich for- 
 eigner, which was the fate of all the other 
 apartments in the house. Sora Antonia had 
 charge of all the interests of the Savvelli in 
 their deserted mansion. When the tenants 
 did any damage, she made careful note of it, 
 and did not in any respect neglect the interests 
 of her master ; nor was she inconsiderate of 
 her own, but regarded it as a natural duty, 
 when it proved expedient, to make a little 
 money out of the Forestieri. " They give 
 one trouble enough, the blessed Madonna 
 knows," the good w'oman said, piously. But, 
 notwithstanding these prudent cares, Sora 
 Antonia was not only a very sensible woman 
 according to her lights, but had a heart, and 
 understood her duty to her neighbors. She 
 made her salutations to the two friends when 
 they entered with equal suavity, but addressed 
 her explanations to Colin, who was not only 
 her favorite in right of his youth and good 
 looks, but who could understand her best. 
 Colin, whose Italian was limited, called the 
 excellent housekeeper Madama, a courtesy 
 which naturally gained her heart ; and she 
 on her part appropriated to his use the title 
 of Signorino, which was not quite so flatter- 
 ing ; for Colin was still young enough to 
 object to being called young. To-day, how- 
 ever, her address was more dignified ; for the 
 crisis was an important one. Before she 
 began to speak the visitor sat down, which 
 in itself was an act requiring explanation, 
 especially as the table had been already ar- 
 ranged for dinner, and this was the last day 
 in the world on which the strangers were 
 likely to desire society. Sora Antonia took 
 matters with a high hand, and in case of op- 
 position secured for herself at least the first 
 word. 
 
 " Pardon, caro signore mio," she said, 
 "you are surprised to find me here. Very 
 well ; I am sorry to incommode the gentle- 
 men, but I have to do my duty. The siguo- 
 rina is very young, and she baa no one to 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 take care of her. The signori are very good, 
 very excellent, and kind. Ah, yes, I know 
 it, — never was there such devotion to the 
 poor sick friend ; — nevertheless, the signori 
 are but men, senza complimenli, and I am a 
 woman who has been married and had chil- 
 dren of my own, and know my duty. Until 
 some proper person comes to take charge of 
 the poor dear young lady, the signori will 
 pardon me, but I must remain here." 
 
 "Does the signorina wish it?" asked 
 Colin, with wondering looks ; for the idea of 
 another protector for Alice confounded him, 
 he scarcely knew why. 
 
 " The signorina is not much more than a 
 child," said Sora Antonia, loftily. " Besides, 
 she has not been brought up like an Italian 
 young lady, to know what is proper. Pov- 
 erina ! she does not understand anything 
 about it ; but the signori will excuse me, — 
 I know my duty, and that is enough." 
 
 "Oh, yes, certainly," said Colin, "but 
 then, in England, as you say, we have difier- 
 ent ideas, and if the signorina does not 
 wish ' ' — 
 
 Here, however, he was interrupted by 
 Lauderdale, who, having tardily apprehend- 
 ed the purport of Sora Antonia's communica- 
 tion, took it upon himself to make instant 
 response in the best Italian he could muster. 
 '■'■ Avcte -jnolto buono] molto huono!''' cried 
 Lauderdale, intending to say that she was 
 very kind, and that he highly approved, 
 though a chronic confusion in his mind, as to 
 which was which, of the auxiliary verbs, 
 made his meaning cloudy. " Grazie, Ab- 
 biamo contcnio! Grazie," he added, with a 
 little excitement and enthusiasm. Though 
 he had used the wrong verb, Sora Antonia 
 graciously comprehended his meaning. She 
 was used to such little eccentricities of dic- 
 tion on the part of the Forestieri. She 
 bowed her stately head to him with a look of 
 approbation, and it would be vain to deny 
 that the sense of having thus expressed him- 
 self clearly and eloquently in a foreign lan- 
 guage conveyed a certain satisfaction to the 
 mind of the philosopher. 
 
 "Bravo! The signore will speak very 
 well if he perseveres," said Sora Antonia, 
 graciously ; " not to say that His Excellency 
 is a man of experience, and perceives the 
 justice of what I propose. No doubt, it will 
 occupy a great deal of my time, but the 
 other Forestieri have not arrived yet, and 
 
how can one expect the Madonna Santissima 
 and the blessed St. Antunio to take so much 
 trouble in one's concerns if one will not exert 
 one's self a little for one's fellow-creatures ? 
 As the signorina has not left her room yet, I 
 will take away the inconvenience* for a few 
 minutes, Scusa Signori," said Sora Antonia, 
 and she went away with stately beai-ing and 
 firm steps, which resounded through the 
 house, to take off her veil and put aside her 
 rosary. She had seated herself again in her 
 indoor aspect, with the " Garden of the 
 Soul " in her hand, before Alice came into 
 the room ; and, without doubt, she made a 
 striking addition to the party. She was a 
 Frascati woman born, and her costume, con- 
 sequently, was perfect, — a costume less im- 
 posing than the scarlet Albano jacket, but 
 not less calculated to do justice to the ample 
 bust and stately head of the Roman peasant. 
 The dress itself, the actual gown, in this as 
 in other Italian costumes, was an indifferent 
 matter. The important particulars were the 
 long and delicate apron of embroidered mus- 
 lin, the busto made of rich brocade and shaped 
 to the exact Frascati model, and the large, 
 soft, snowy kerchief with embroidered cor- 
 ners, which covered her full shoulders, — not 
 to speak of the long heavy gold ear-rings and 
 coral necklace which completed and enriched 
 the dreee. She sat apart and contemplated, 
 if not the " Garden of the Soul," at least 
 the little pictures in borders of lace-paper 
 which were placed thickly between the leaves, 
 while the melancholy meal was eaten at the 
 table ; for Sora Antonia had educazione, and 
 had not come to intrude upon the privacy of 
 her lodgers. Alice, for her part, made -no 
 remark upon the presence of this new guar- 
 dian ; she accepted it as she accepted every- 
 thing else, as a matter of course, without 
 even showing any painful sense of the cir- 
 cumstances which in Sora Antonia's opinion 
 made this last precaution necessary. Her 
 two companions, the only friends she seemed 
 to have in the world, bore vicariously on her 
 account the pain of this visible reminder that 
 she was here in a false position and had no 
 legitimate protector ; but Alice had not yet 
 awaked to any such sense on her own behalf. 
 She took her place at the table and tried to 
 swallow a morsel, and interested herself in 
 the appetite of the others as if she had been 
 
 *"Levo rincomodo," a homely expression of 
 Italian politeness on leaving a room. 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 163 
 
 their mother. "Try to eat something; it 
 will make you ill if you do not," poor Alice 
 
 said, in the abstraction and dead calm of her 
 grief. Her own feeling was that she had 
 been lifted far away from them into an at- 
 mosphere of age and distance and a kind of 
 sad superiority, and to minister to some one 
 was the grand condition under which Alice 
 Meredith lived. As to the personal suffering, 
 which was confined to herself, that did not so 
 much matter ; she had not been used to much 
 sympathy, and it did not occur to her to look 
 for it. Consequently, the only natural busi- 
 ness which remained to her was to take a 
 motherly charge of her two companions, and 
 urge them to eat. 
 
 " You are not to mind me," she said, with 
 an attempt at a smile, after dinner. " This 
 is Sunday' to be sure ; but, after to-day, you 
 are just to go on as you used to dOj and never 
 mind. Thank you, I should like it better. 
 I shall always be here, you know, when you 
 come back from Rome, or wherever you wish 
 to go. But you must not mind for me." 
 
 Lauderdale and Colin exchanged looks al- 
 most without being aware of it. "But you 
 would like — somebody to be sent for — or 
 something done ? ' ' said Lauderdale. He was 
 a great deal more confused in having to sug- 
 gest this than Alice was, who kept looking at 
 him, her eyes dilated with weariness and 
 tears, yet soft and clear as the eyes of a child. 
 He could not say to her, in so many words, 
 " It is impossible for you to remain with us." 
 All he could do was to falter and hesitate, 
 and grow confused, under the limpid, sorrow- 
 ful look which she bent upon him from the 
 distant heaven of her resignation and inno- 
 cence. " You would like your friends— 
 — somebody to be written to," said Lauder- 
 dale ; and then, afraid to have given her pain 
 by the suggestion, went on hurriedly : " I'm 
 old enough to be your father, and no a thought 
 in my mind but to do you servive," he said. 
 " Tell me what you would like best. Colin, 
 thank God ! is strong, and has little need of 
 me. I'll take you home, or do whatever 
 you please ; for I'm old enough to be your 
 father, my poor bairn ! " said the tender- 
 hearted philosopher, and drew near to her, 
 and put out his hand with an impulse of piti- 
 ful and protecting kindness which touched 
 the heart of Alice, and yet filled her with 
 momentary surprise. She, on her own side, 
 was roused a little, not to think of herself. 
 
164 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 but to remember what appeared k) her a duty 
 unfulfilled. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Lauderdale! Arthur said I 
 might tell you," said Alice. " Papa ! you 
 heard what he said about papa ? I ought to 
 write and tell him what has happened. Per- 
 haps I ought to tell you from the beginning," 
 she continued after composing herself a little. 
 " We left home without his consent — indeed, 
 he did not know. For dear Arthur," said the 
 poor girl, turning her appealing eyes from 
 one to the other, " could not approve of his 
 ways. He did something that Arthur thought 
 was wrong. I cannot tell you about it," said 
 Alice through her tears ; " it did not make 
 so much difference to me. I think I ought to 
 write and tell him, and that Arthur forgave 
 him at the last. Oh, tell me, please, what do 
 you think I should do ? " 
 
 " If you would like to go home, I'll take 
 you home," said Lauderdale. " He did not 
 mean ony harm, poor callant, but he's left 
 an awfu' burden on you." 
 
 " Go home! " said Alice, with a slight 
 shudder. " Do you think I ought — do you 
 think I must? I do not care for myself, but 
 Mrs. Meredith, you know " — she added, with 
 a momentary blush ; and then the friends be 
 gan to perceive another unforeseen lion in 
 the way. 
 
 *' Out of my own head," said Lauderdale, 
 who took the whole charge of this business on 
 himself, and would not permit Colin to inter- 
 fere, " I wrote your father a kind of a letter. 
 If you are able to hear the — the event — which 
 has left us a' mourning — named in common 
 words, I'll read you what I have written. 
 Poor bairn, you're awfu' young and awfu' 
 tender to have such affairs in hand ! Are 
 you sure you are able to bear it, and can lis- 
 ten to what I have said ? ' ' 
 
 "Ah, I have borne it," said poor Alice. 
 " I cannot deceive myself, nor think Arthur 
 is still here. What does it matter then 
 about saying it ? Oh, yes, I can bear any- 
 thing ; it is only me to bear now and it 
 doesn't matter. It was very kind of you to 
 write. I should like to know what you 
 have said." 
 
 Colin who could do nothing else for her, put 
 forward the arm-chair with the cushions 
 towards the table, and Sora Antonia put 
 down the " Garden of the Soul " and drew a 
 little nearer with her heavy, firm foot, which 
 Bhook the house. She comprehended that 
 
 something was going on which would tax the 
 signorina's strength, and brought her solid, 
 steady succor to be in readiness. The pale 
 little girl turned and smiled upon them both 
 as she took the chair Colin had brought her. 
 She was herself quite steady in her weakness 
 and grief and loneliness. Sora Antonia was 
 not wanted there ; and Colin drew her aside 
 to the window, where she told him all about 
 the fireworks that were to be in the even- 
 ing, and her hopes that after a while the 
 signorina would be able to " distract herself " 
 a little and recover her spirits ; to which 
 Colin assented dutifully, watching from where 
 he stood the pale looks of the friendless young 
 woman, — friendless beyond disguise or possible 
 self-deception, with a step-mother whom she 
 blushed to mention reigning in her father's 
 house. Colin's thoughts were many and tu- 
 multuous as he stood behind in the window, 
 watching Alice and listening to Sora Anto- 
 nia's descriptions of the fireworks. Was it 
 possible that perhaps his duty to his neighbor 
 required from him the most costly of all offer- 
 ings, the rashest of all possible actions ? He 
 stood behind , growing more and more excited in 
 the utter quiet. The thought that had dawned 
 upon him under the ilex trees came nearer and 
 grew more familiar, and as he contemplated it, 
 he seemed to recognize all that visible machin- 
 ery of Providence bringing about the great 
 event which youth decides upon so easily. 
 While this vision grew before his mind, Alice 
 was wiping off the tears which obliterated Lau- 
 derdale's letter even to her patient eyes ; for, 
 docile and dutiful as she was, it was yet ter- 
 rible to read in calm, distinct words, which 
 put the matter beyond all doubt, the an- 
 nouncement of " what had happened. " This 
 is what Lauderdale said : — 
 
 " Sir, — It is a great grief to me to inform 
 you of an event for which I have no way of 
 knowing whether you are prepared or not. 
 Your son, Arthur Meredith, has been living 
 here for the last three months in declining 
 health , and on Thursday last died in great com- 
 fort and constancy of mind. It is not for me, 
 a stranger to offer vain words of consolation, 
 but his end was such as any man might be well 
 content to have, and he entered upon his new 
 life joyfully, without any shadow on his 
 mind. As far as love and friendship could 
 soothe the sufferings that were inevitable, 
 he had both ; for his sister never left his bed- 
 side, and myself and my friend, Colin Camp- 
 bell, were with him constantly, to his satis- 
 faction. His sister remains under our care. 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 [ who write am no longer a young man, and 
 know what is due to a young creature of her 
 tender years ; so that you may satisfy yourself 
 she is safe until such time as you can commu- 
 nicate with me, which I will look for as soon 
 as a reply is practicable, and in the mean time 
 remain, 
 
 " Your son's faithful friend and mourner, 
 " W. Lauderdale." 
 
 Alice lingered over this letter, reading it, 
 and crying, and whispering to Lauderdale a 
 long time, as Colin thought. She found it 
 easier, somehow, to tell her story fully to the 
 elder man. She told him that Mrs. Meredith 
 had " come home suddenly," which was her 
 gentle version of a sad domestic history, — 
 that nobody had known of her father's second 
 marriage until the step-mother arrived, with- 
 out any warning, with a train of children. 
 Alice's mild words did not give Lauderdale 
 any very lively picture of the dismay of the 
 household at this unlooked-for apparition ; 
 but he understood enough to condemn Arthur 
 less severely than he had been disposed to do 
 This sudden catastrophe had happened just 
 after the other misery of the bank failure 
 which had ruined so many ; and poor Mere- 
 dith had no alternative between leaving his 
 sister to the tender mercies of an underbred 
 and possibly disreputable step-mother, or 
 ■bringing her with him when he retired to die ; 
 and Alice, though she still cried for " poor 
 papa," recoiled a little from the conclusion ot 
 Lauderdale's letter. " I have enough to live 
 upon," she said, softly, with an appealing 
 glance at her companion. "If you were to 
 say that I was quite safe, would not that be 
 enough? " and it was very hard for Lauder- 
 dale to convince her that her father's judgment 
 must be appealed to in such a matter. When 
 she saw he was not to be moved on this point, 
 she sighed and submitted ; but it was clearly 
 apparent that as yet, occupied as she was by 
 her grief, the idea that her situation here 
 was embarrassing to her companions or un- 
 suitable for herself had not occurred to 
 Alice. When she retired, under the escort 
 of Sora Antonia, the two friends had a con- 
 sultation over this perplexing matter ; and 
 Lauderdale's sketch— filled in, perhaps, a lit- 
 tle from his imagination — of the home she 
 had left, plunged Colin into deeper and deep- 
 er thought, " No doubt he'll send some an- 
 swer," the philosopher said. " He may not 
 be worthy to have the charge of her, but he's 
 
 165 
 
 aye her father. It's hard to ken whether it's 
 better or worse that she should be unconscious 
 like this of onything embarrassing in her 
 position, which is a' the more wonderful, as 
 she's a real honest woman, and no way intel- 
 lectual nor exalted. You and me, Colin," 
 said Lauderdale, looking up in his young 
 companion's face, " must take good care 
 that she does not find it out from us." 
 
 "Of course," said Colin, with involun- 
 tary testiness ; " but I do not see what her 
 father has to do with it," continued the 
 young man. " She cannot possibly return 
 to such a home." 
 
 " Her father is the best judge of that," 
 said Lauderdale; "she canna remain with 
 you and me." 
 
 And there the conversation dropped, but 
 not the subject. Colin was not in love with 
 Alice ; he had, indeed, vague but bright in 
 the clouds before him, an altogether different 
 ideal woman ; and his heart was in the 
 career which he again saw opening before 
 him, — the life in which he meant to serve God 
 and his country, and which at the present 
 moment would admit of no rashly formed 
 ties. Was it in consequence of these hin- 
 drances that this new thing loomed so large, 
 before Colin's inexperienced eyes? If he 
 had longed for it with youthful passion, he 
 would have put force on himself and re- 
 strained his longing ; but the temptation 
 took another shape. It was as if a maiden 
 knight at the outset of his career had been 
 tempted to pass by a helpless creature and 
 leave her wrongs unredressed. The young 
 Bayard could do anything but this. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 In the mean time at least a fortnight must 
 pass before they could expect an answer to 
 Lauderdale's letter. During that time they 
 returned to all their old habits, with the 
 strange and melancholy difference that Ar- 
 thur, once the centre of all, was no longer 
 there. Every day of this time increased the 
 development of Colin's new thoughts, until 
 the unknown father of Alice had grown, in 
 his eyes, into a cruel and profligate tyrant, 
 ready to drag his daughter home and plunge 
 her into depraved society, without any re- 
 gard for either her happiness or her honor. 
 Colin had, indeed, in his own mind, in strict- 
 est privacy and seclusion of thought, indited 
 an imaginary letter, eloquent with youthful 
 
166 A SON OF 
 
 indignation to inform this unworthy parent 
 that his deserted daughter had found a better 
 protector ; but he was very silent about these 
 cogitations of his, and did not share them 
 even with Lauderdale. And there were mo- 
 ments when Colin felt the seriousness of the 
 position, and found it very hard that such a 
 necessity should meet him in the face at the 
 beginning of his career. Sometimes in the 
 sudden darkening, out of the rosy clouds 
 which hung over the Campagna, the face of 
 the impossible woman, the ideal creature, 
 her who could have divined the thoughts in 
 his mind and the movements in his heart 
 before they came into being, would glance 
 suddenly out upon him for an instant, and 
 then disappear, waving a shadowy farewell, 
 and leaving in his mind a strange blank, 
 which the eight of Alice rather increased 
 than "removed. That ineffable mate and com- 
 panion was never to be his, the young man 
 thought. True, he had never met her, nor 
 come upon any trace of her footsteps ; for 
 Matty Frankland at her best never could 
 have been she. But yet, as long as he was 
 unbound by other tie or affection, this vision 
 was the " not impossible She " to Colin as 
 to all men ; and this he had to give up ; for 
 Alice, most gentle, patient Alice, whom it 
 was not in the heart of man to be otherwise 
 than tender of, — she who had need of him, 
 and whom his very nature bound him to pro- 
 tect and cherish, — was not that woman. At 
 other moments he thought of his own life, 
 for which still so much training was neces- 
 sary, and which he should have entered in 
 the full freedom of his youth, and was pro- 
 foundly aware of the incumbered and help- 
 less trim in which he must go into the battle, 
 obliged to take thought not of his work only, 
 and the best means of doing it, but of those 
 cares of living which lie so lightly on a young 
 man alone. There may be some of Colin's 
 friends who will think the less of him for this 
 struggle in his mind ; and there may be 
 many who will think with justice that, un- 
 less he could have offered love to Alice, he 
 had no right to offer her himself and his life, 
 — an opinion in which his historian fully 
 Egrees. But then this gift, though less than 
 the best, was a long way superior to anything 
 else which, at the present moment, was likely 
 to be offered to the friendless girl. If he 
 could have laid at her feet the heart, which 
 is the only true exchange under euch circum- 
 
 THE SOIL. 
 
 stances, the chances are that Alice, in her 
 simplicity and gentleness, would have been 
 sadly puzzled what to do with that passionate 
 and ungovernable thing. What he really 
 could offer her — affection, tenderness, pro- 
 tection — was clearly comprehensible to her. ' 
 She had no other idea of love than was in- 
 cluded in those attributes and phases of it. 
 These considerations justified Colin in the 
 step which he contemplated, or rather in 
 the step which he did not contemplate, but 
 felt to be necessary and incumbent upon him. 
 It sometimes occurred to him how, if he had 
 been prudent and taken Lauderdale's advice, 
 and eschewed at the beginning the close con- 
 nection with INIeredith and his sister, which he 
 had entered into with his eyes open, and with 
 a consciousness even that it might affect his 
 life, this embarrassing situation might never 
 have come into being ; and then he smiled to 
 himself, with youthful superiority, contem- 
 plating what seemed so plainly the meaning of 
 Providence, and asking himself how he, by a 
 momentary exercise of his own will, could 
 have overthrown that distinct celestial inten- 
 tion. On the whole, it was comforting to 
 think that everything had been arranged 
 beforehand by agencies so very clear and 
 traceable ; and with this conclusion of the 
 argument he left off, as near contented as 
 possible, and not indisposed to enjoy the 
 advantages which were palpable before him ; 
 for, though they were not the eyes he had 
 dreamed of, there was a sweetness very well 
 worthy of close study in Alice Meredith's 
 eyes. 
 
 The days passed very quietly in this time 
 of suspense. The society of the two stran- 
 gers, who were more to her in her sorrow 
 than all her kindred, supported the lonely 
 girl more than she was aware of, — more than 
 any one could have believed. They were 
 absent during the greater part of the day, 
 and left her unmolested to the tears that 
 would come, notwithstanding all her pa- 
 tience ; and they returned to her in the even- 
 ing with attentions and cares to which she 
 had never been accustomed, devoting two 
 original and powerful minds, of an order at 
 once higher and more homely than any 
 which she had ever encountered, to her 
 amusement and consolation. Alice had never 
 known before what it was to have ordinary 
 life and daily occurrences brightened by the 
 thick-coming fancies, the tender play of 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 167 
 
 ■word and thought, which now surrounded 
 her. She had heard clever talk afar off " in 
 society," and been, awe-stricken by the 
 sound of it, and she had heard Arthur and 
 his friends uttering much fine-sounding lan- 
 guage upon subjects not generally in her 
 way ; but she was utterly unused to that 
 action of uncommon minds upon common 
 things which gives so much charm to the 
 ordinary intercourse of life. All they could 
 think of to lighten the atmosphere of the 
 house in which she sat in her deep mourning, 
 absorbed for hours together in those thoughts 
 of the dead to which her needlework afforded 
 little relief, they did with devotion, suspend- 
 ing their own talk and occupations to occupy 
 themselves with her. Colin read " In Memo- 
 riam " to her till her heart melted and relieved 
 itself in sweet abundant tears ; and Lauder- 
 dale talked and told her many a homely his- 
 tory of that common course of humanity, 
 full of sorrows sorer than her own, which 
 fills young minds with awe. Between them 
 they roused Alice to a higher platform, a 
 different atmosphere, than she had known 
 before ; and she raised herself up after them 
 with a half-bewildered sense of elevation, 
 not understanding how it was ; and so the 
 long days which were so hard, and which 
 nothing in the world could save from being 
 hard, brightened towards the end, not cer- 
 tainly into anything that could be called pleas- 
 ure, but into a sad expansion and elevation 
 of heart, in which faintly appeared those 
 beginnings of profound and deep happiness 
 which are not incompatible with grief, and 
 yet are stronger and more inspiring than 
 joy. While this was going on, unconsciously 
 to any one concerned, Sora Antonia, in her 
 white kerchief and apron, sometimes knit- 
 ting, sometimes with her distaff like a buxom 
 Fate, sat and twisted her thread and turned 
 her spindle a little behind, yet not out of 
 reach, keeping a wary eye upon her charge. 
 She, too, interposed, sometimesher own expe- 
 riences, sometimes her own comments upon 
 life and things in general, into the conversa- 
 tion ; and, whether it was that Sora Anto- 
 nia's mind was really of a superior order, or 
 that the stately Roman speech threw a refin- 
 ing color upon her narratives, it is certain 
 that the interpellations of the Italian peasant 
 fell without any sensible derogation into the 
 strain of lofty yet familiar talk which was 
 meant to wean Alice from her special grief. 
 
 Sora Antonia told them of the other Fores- 
 tieri who had lived like themselves in the 
 Savvelli palace : who had come for health and 
 yet had died, leaving the saddest mourners, — 
 helpless widows and little children, heart- 
 broken fathers and mothers, perhaps the 
 least consolable of all. Life was such, she 
 said solemnly, bowing her stately head. 
 She herself, of a hardy race, and strong, as 
 the signori saw, had not she buried her chil- 
 dren, for whom she would have gladly died? 
 But the good God had not permitted her to 
 die. Alice cried silently as she heard all 
 this ; she kissed Sora Antonia, who, for her 
 part, had outlived her tears, and with a nat- 
 ural impulse turned to Colin, who was young, 
 and in whose heart, as in her own, there 
 must live a natural protest against this aw- 
 ful necessity of separation and misery ; and 
 thus it came to be Colin's turn to interpose, 
 and he came on the field once more with " In 
 Memoriam," and with other poems which were 
 sweet to hear, and soothed her even when 
 she only partly entered into their meaning. 
 A woman has an advantage under such cir- 
 cumstances. By means of her sympathy and 
 gratitude, and the still deeper feeling which 
 grew unconsciously in her heart towards 
 him who read, she came to believe that she, 
 too, understood and appreciated what was to 
 him so clear and so touching. A kind of 
 spiritual magnetism worked upon Alice, and, 
 to all visible appearance, expanded and en- 
 larged her mind. It was not that her intel- 
 lect itself grew, or that she understood all 
 the beautiful imaginations, all the tender 
 philosophies thus unfolded to her ; but she 
 was united in a singular union of affectionate 
 companionship with those who did under- 
 stand, and even to herself she appeared able 
 to see, if not with her own eyes at least 
 with theirs, the new beauties and solemnities 
 of which she had not dreamed before. This 
 strange process went on day by day without 
 any one being aware of it ; and even Lau- 
 derdale had almost forgotten that their guar- 
 dianship of Alice was only for the moment, 
 and that the state of affairs altogether was 
 provisionary and could not possibly continue, 
 when an answer reached him to his letter. 
 He was alone when he received it, and all' 
 that evening said nothing on the subject 
 until Alice had retired with her watchful 
 attendant ; then, without a word of comment, 
 he put it into Colin's hand. It was written 
 
168 
 
 in a Btiltcd hand, like that of one unaccus- 
 tomed to writing, and was not quite irre- 
 proachable even in its spelling. This was 
 what Lauderdale's correspondent said : — 
 
 " Sir, — Your letter has had such a bad 
 effect upon the health of my dear husband, 
 that I beg you wont trouble him with any 
 more such communications. If its meant to 
 get money, that's vain ; for neither him nor 
 me knows anything about the friends Arthur 
 may have picked up. If he had stayed at 
 home, he would have received every attention. 
 As for his ungrateful sister, I wont have any- 
 thing to say to her. Mr. Meredith is very 
 ill, and, for anything I know, may never rise 
 from a bed of sickness, where he has been 
 thrown by hearing this news so sudden ; but 
 I take ujaon me to let her know as he will 
 have nothing to say to one that could behave 
 80 badly as she has done. I am always for 
 making friends ; but she knows she cannot 
 expect much kindness from me after all that 
 has happened. She has money enough to 
 live on, and she can do as she pleases. Con- 
 sidering what her ingratitude has brought 
 her dear father to, and that I may be left 
 alone to manage everything before many days 
 are past, you will please to consider that here 
 is an end of it, and not write any more beg- 
 ging Ifctters to me. 
 
 " Julia Meredith." 
 
 This communication Colin read with a 
 beating heart. It was so different from what 
 he expected, and left him so free to carry out 
 the dawning resolution which he had imag- 
 ined himself executing in the face of tyran- 
 nical resistance, that he felt at first like a 
 man who has been straining hard at a rope 
 and is suddenly thrown down by the instan- 
 taneous stoppage of the pressure on the other 
 side. When he had picked himself up, the 
 facts of the case rushed on him distinct and 
 unmistakable. The time had now come 
 when the lost and friendless maiden stood in 
 the path of the true knight. Was he to 
 leave her there to fight her way in the hard 
 world by herself, without defence or protec- 
 tion, because, sweet and fair and pure as she 
 was, she was not the lady of his dreams? 
 lie made up his mind at once with a thrill 
 of generous warmth, but at the same time 
 felt himself saying for ever and ever farewell 
 to that ideal lady who henceforward, in earth 
 or heaven, could never be his. This passed 
 while he was looking at the letter which 
 already his rapid eye had read and compre- 
 hended. " So there is an end of your hopes," 
 said Colin. " Now we are the only friends 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 she has in the world, — as I have always 
 thought." 
 
 "Softly," said Lauderdale. " Callants 
 like you aye rin away with the half of an 
 idea. Tlris is an ignorant woman's letter, 
 that is glad to get rid of her. The father 
 will mend, and then he'll take her out of our 
 hands." 
 
 " He shall do nothing of the kind," said 
 Colin, hotly. " You speak as if she was a 
 piece of furniture ; I look upon her as a sa- 
 cred charge. We are responsible to Mere- 
 dith for his sister's comfort and — happiness," 
 said the young man, who during this conver- 
 sation preferred not to meet his companion's 
 eye. 
 
 " Ay! " said Lauderdale, dryly, " that's 
 an awfu' charge for the like of you and me. 
 It's more that I ever calculated on, Colin. 
 To see her safe home, and in the hands of her 
 friends " — 
 
 " Lauderdale, do not be so heartless ! can- 
 not you see that she has no friends? " cried 
 Colin; "not a protector in the world ex- 
 cept " — 
 
 " Gallant, dinna deceive yourself," said 
 Lauderdale; "it's no a matter for hasty 
 judgment ; we have nae right to pass sen- 
 tence on a man's character. He's her father, 
 and it's her duty to obey him. I'm no heed- 
 ing about that silly woman's letter. Mr. 
 Meredith will mend. I'm here to take care 
 of you," said Colin's guardian. " Colin, 
 hold your peace. You're no to do for a mo- 
 ment's excitement, for pity and ruth and 
 your own tender heart, what you may regret 
 all your life. Sit down and keep still. You 
 are only a callant, too young to take burdens 
 on yourself ; there is but one way that the 
 like of you can protect the like of her, — and 
 that is no to be thought of, as you consented 
 with your own mouth." 
 
 " I am aware of that," said Colin, who 
 had risen up in his excitement. " There is 
 but one way. Matters have changed since 
 we spoke of it first." 
 
 " 1 would like to know how far they have 
 changed," said Lauderdale. " Colin, take 
 heed to what I say ; if it's love I'll no speak 
 a word ; I may disapprove a' the circum- 
 stances, and find fault with every step ye take ; 
 but if it's love " — 
 
 "Hush!" said Colin, standing upright, 
 and meeting his friend's eye ; "if it should 
 happen to be my future wife wc are speaking 
 
A SON OP THE SOIL. 
 
 of, my feelings toward her are not to be dis- 
 cussed with any man in the world." 
 
 They looked at each other thus for a mo- , 
 ment, the one anxious and scrutinizing, the 
 tther facing him with blank brightness, and 
 a smile which aiforded no information. Per- 
 Lape Lauderdale understood all that was im- 
 plied in that blank ; at all events, his own 
 delicate sense of honor could not refuse to 
 admit Col in 's plea. He Jurned away, shak- 
 ing his head, and groaning privately under 
 his breath ; while Colin, struck with com- 
 punction, having shut himself up for an in- 
 stant, unfolded again, that crisis being over, 
 with all the happy grace of apology natural 
 to his disposition. " You are not ' any man 
 in the world,' " he said, with a short laugh, 
 which implied emotion. " Forgive me, 
 Lauderdale ; and now you know very well 
 what I am going to do." 
 
 "Oh, ay, I ken what you are going to do ; 
 I kent three months ago, for that matter," 
 said the philosopher. " A man acts no from 
 circumstances, as is generally supposed, but 
 from his ain nature." When he had given 
 forth this oracular utterance, Lauderdale 
 went straight off to his room without ex- 
 changing another word with Colin. He was 
 satisfied in a way with this mate for his 
 charge, and belonged to too lowly a level of 
 society to give profound importance to the in- 
 expediency of early marriages, — and he was 
 fond of Alice, and admired her sweet looks 
 and sweet ways, and respected her self-com- 
 mand and patience ; nevertheless, he, too, 
 sighed, and recognized the departure of the 
 ideal woman , who to him as little as to Colin 
 resembled Alice, — and thus it was understood 
 between them how it was to be. 
 
 All this, it may be imagined, was little 
 compatible with that reverential regard for 
 womankind in general which both the friends 
 entertained, and evidenced a security in re- 
 spect to Alice's inclinations which was not 
 altogether complimentary to her. And yet 
 it was highly complimentary in a sense ; for 
 this security arose from their appreciation of 
 the spotless, unawakened heart with which 
 they had to deal. If Colin entertained little 
 ioubt of being accepted when he made his 
 proposition, it was not because he had an 
 overweening idea of himself, or imagined 
 Alice " in love" with him according to the 
 vulgar expression. A certain chivalrous, 
 primitive sense of righteous and natural ne- 
 
 169 
 
 cessity was in his confidence. The forlorn 
 maiden, knowing the knight to be honest and 
 true, would accept his protection loyally and 
 simply, without bewildering herself with 
 dreams of choice where no choice was, and 
 having accepted, would love and cleave as was 
 her nature. To be sure there were types of 
 women less acquiescent ; and we have already 
 said that Alice did not bear the features of 
 the ideal of which Colin had dreamed : but 
 such was the explanation of his confidence. 
 Alice showed little distress when she saw her 
 step-mother's letter except for her father's ill- 
 ness, though even that seemed rather consol- 
 atory to her than otherwise, as a proof of 
 his love for Arthur. As for Mrs. Meredith's 
 refusal to interfere on her behalf, she was 
 clearly relieved by the intimation ; and things 
 went on as before for another week or two, 
 until Sora Antonia, who had now other ten- 
 ants arriving and many occupations in hand, 
 began to murmur a little over the watch 
 which she would not relinquish. " Is it thus 
 young ladies are left in England," she asked 
 with a little indignation, " without any one 
 to take care of them except the signori, who, 
 though amiable and excellent, are only men ? 
 or when may madama be expected from Eng- 
 land who is to take charge of the signorina ? " 
 It was after this question had been put to 
 him with some force one evening, that Colin 
 proposed to Alice, who was beginning to lift 
 her head again like a flower after a storm, 
 and to show symptoms of awakening from the 
 first heaviness of grief, to go out with him 
 and visit those ilex avenues, which had now 
 so many associations for the strangers. She 
 went with a faint sense of pleasure in her 
 heart through the afternoon sunshine, look- 
 ing wistfully through her black veil at the 
 many cheerful groups on the way, and cling- 
 ing to Colin's arm when a kind neighbor 
 spoke to her in pity and condolence. She 
 put up her veil when they came to the favor- 
 ite avenue, where Lauderdale and Colin 
 walked so often. Nothing could be more 
 silent, more cool and secluded than this ver- 
 dant Qloister, where, with the sunshine still 
 blazing everywhere around, the shade and 
 the quiet were equally profound and unbro- 
 ken. They walked once or twice up and 
 down, remarking now and then upon the 
 curious network of the branches, which, out 
 of reach of the sun, were all bare and 
 stripped of their foliage, and upon the blue 
 
170 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 blaze of daylight at either opening, where 
 the low arch of dark verdure framed in a 
 space of brilliant Italian sky. Then they 
 both became silent, and grew conscious of it ; 
 and it was then, just as Alice for the first 
 time began to remember the privileges and 
 penalties of her womanhood, that Colin 
 spoke, — 
 
 " I brought you here to speak to you," he 
 said. " I have a great deal to say. That 
 letter that Lauderdale showed you did not 
 vex you ; did it ? Will you tell me ? Arthur 
 made me one of your guardians, and, what- 
 ever you may decide upon, that is a sacred 
 bond." 
 
 " Yes, oh, yes," said Alice, with tears, " I 
 know how kind you both are. No, it did not 
 vex me, except about papa. I was rather 
 glad, if I may say so, that she did not send 
 for me home. It is not — a — home — like 
 what it used to be," said Alice; and then, 
 perhaps because something in Colin's looks 
 had advertised her of what was coming, 
 perhaps because the awakening sense sprung 
 up in a moment, after long torpor, a sudden 
 change came upon her face. " 1 have given 
 you a great deal of trouble," she said ; " 1 
 am like somebody who has had a terrible fall, 
 — as soon as I come to myself I shall go away. 
 It is very wrong of me to detain you here." 
 
 "You are not detaining us," said Colin, 
 who, notwithstanding, was a little startled 
 and alarmed; "and you must not talk of 
 going away. Where would you go ? Are 
 not we your friends, — the 'friends you know 
 best in Italy ? You must not think of going 
 away." 
 
 But even these very words thus repeated 
 acted like an awakening spell upon Alice. 
 " I cannot tell what I have been thinking of," 
 she said. " I si^ppose it is staying indoors 
 and forgetting everything. I do not seem to 
 know even how long it is. Oh, yes, you are 
 my kindest friends. Nobody ever was so 
 good to me ; but, then, you are only — gen- 
 tlemen," said Alice, suddenly withdrawing 
 her hand from Colin's arm, and blushing over 
 all her pallid face. " Ah ! I see now how 
 stupid I have been to put off so long. And 
 I am sure I must have detained you here." 
 
 " No," said Colin, " do not say so ; but I 
 have something more to say to you. You are 
 too young and too delicate to face the world 
 alone, and your people at home are not going 
 
 to claim you. I am a poor man now, and I 
 never can be rich, but I woufd protect yon 
 and support you if you would have me. 
 Will you trust me to take care of you, Alice, 
 not for this moment, but always? 1 think it 
 would be the best thing for us both." 
 
 " Mr. Campbell, I don't understand you," 
 said Alice, trembling and casting a glance up 
 at him of wistful surprise and uncertainty. 
 There was an eager, timid inquiry in her 
 eyes besides the bewilderment. She seemed 
 to say, " What is it you mean?" " Is that 
 what you mean?" and Colin answered by 
 taking her hand again and drawing it through 
 his arm. 
 
 " Whether you will have me or rot," he 
 said, " there is always the bond between us 
 which Arthur has made sacred, and you must 
 lean on me all the same. I think you will 
 see what I mean if you consider it. There 
 is only one way that 1 can be your true pro- 
 tector and guardian, and that is if you will 
 consent to marry me, Alice. Will you? 
 -You know I have nothing to offer you ; but 
 I can work for you, and take care of you, 
 and with me you would not be alone." 
 
 It was a strange way of putting it cei^ 
 tainly, — very different from what Colin had 
 intended to say, strangely different from the 
 love-tale that had glided through his imagi- 
 nation by times since he became a man ; but 
 he was very earnest and sincere in what he 
 said, and the innocent girl beside him was 
 no critic in snch matters. She trembled 
 more and more, but she leaned upon him 
 and heard him out with anxious attention. 
 When he had ended, there was a pause, dur- 
 ing which Colin, who had not hitherto been 
 doubtful, began himself to feel anxious; and 
 then Alice once more gave a wistful, inquir- 
 ing look at his face. 
 
 " Don't be angry with me," she said ; 
 "it is so hard to know what to say. If yon 
 would tell me one thing quite truly and frank- 
 ly — Would it not do you a great deal of 
 harm if this was to happen as you say ? " 
 
 "No," said Colin. When he said the word 
 he could not help remembering, in spite of 
 himself, the change it would make in his 
 young prospects ; but the result was only that 
 he repeated his negative with more warmth- 
 " It can do me only good," said Colin, yielding 
 to the natural temptations of the moment, 
 "and I think I might do something fur your 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 happiness too. It is for you to decide, — do 
 not decide against me, Alice," said the young 
 man ; " I cannot part with you now." 
 
 " Ah! " — Baid Alice with a long breath. 
 "If it only would not do you any harm," 
 she added, a moment after, once more with 
 that inquiring look. The inquiry was one 
 which could be answered but in one way, 
 and Colin was not a man to remain unmoved 
 by the wistful, sweet eyes thus raised to him, 
 and by the tender dependence of the clinging 
 arm. He set her doubts at rest almost as 
 eloquently, and quite as warmly, as if she 
 had indeed been that woman who had disap- 
 peared among the clouds forever, and led her 
 home to Sora Antonia with a fond care, 
 which was very sweet to the forlorn little 
 maiden, and not irksome by any means to 
 the magnanimous knight. Thus the deci- 
 sive step was taken in obedience to the neces- 
 sities of the position, and the arrangements 
 (as Colin had decided upon them) of Provi- 
 dence. When he met Lauderdale and in- 
 formed him of the new event, the young man 
 looked flushed and happy, as was natural in 
 the circumstances, and disposed of all the 
 objections of prudence with great facility and 
 
 171 
 
 satisfaction. It was a moonlight night, and 
 Colin and his friend went out to the loggia 
 on the roof of the house, and plunged into a 
 sea of discussion, through which the young 
 lover steered triumphantly the frailest bark 
 of argument that ever held water. But, 
 when the talk was over, and Colin, before 
 he followed Lauderdale down-stairs, turned 
 round to take a parting look at the Campag- 
 na, which lay under them like a great map 
 in the moonlight, the old apparition looked 
 out once more from the clouds, pale and dis- 
 tant, and again seemed to wave to him a 
 shadowy farewell. "Farewell! farewell! 
 in heaven nor in earth will you ever find 
 me," sighed the woman of Colin's imagina- 
 tion, dispersing into thin white mists and 
 specks of clouds ; and the young man went 
 to rest with a vague sense of loss in his heart. 
 The sleep of Alice was sweeter than that of 
 Colin on this first night of their betrothal ; 
 but at that one period of existence, it often 
 happens that the woman, for once in her life, 
 has the advantage. And thus it was that 
 the event, foreseen by Lauderdale on board 
 the steamer at the beginning of their a**^ 
 quaintance, actually came to pass. 
 
172 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 TART XIII. — CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 This important decision, when at last 
 finally Bcttled, necessitated other steps more 
 embarrassing and diJEcult than anything that 
 could be discussed in the ilex avenue. Even 
 Sora Antonia's protection ceased to be alto- 
 gether satisfactory to the suddenly-awakened 
 mind of Alice, who at the same time was so 
 unaccustomed to think or act for herself that 
 she knew not what to do in the emergency. 
 If Colin had been the kind of man who would 
 have decided for her at once, and indicated 
 what he thought she ought to do, Alice was 
 the kind of woman to act steadily and bravely 
 upon the indication. But, unfortunately, 
 Colin did not understand how to dictate to 
 a woman, having known most intimately of 
 all womankind his mother, who was treated 
 after an altogether different fashion ; and 
 Lauderdale, though sufficiently aware of the 
 embarrassing nature of their position, be- 
 longed, notwithstanding his natural refine- 
 ment, to a class which sets no great store 
 upon punctilio. Now that everything was 
 settled between the " young folk," Alice's 
 unprotected state did not distress him so 
 much as formerly. The marriage, which 
 must take place immediately, was already in 
 his eye a sufficient shelter for the solitary 
 girl ; and the indecorum of the whole busi- 
 ness no longer occurred to him. As for 
 Colin, he, as was natural, regarded with 
 certain excitement the sti'ange step he was 
 about to take, not knowing what anybody 
 would think of it, nor how he. was to live 
 with his bride, nor what influence an act so 
 unsuitable to his circumstances would have 
 upon his prospects and position. It was of 
 a piece with the rashness and visionary char- 
 acter of the whole transaction, that Alice's 
 money, which she had herself recurred to as 
 "enough to live upon," never entered into 
 the calculations of the young man who was 
 going to marry on the Snell scholarship, 
 without being at all convinced in his own 
 mind that the Snell scliolarship could beheld 
 by a married man. A married man! the 
 title had an absurd sound as applied to him- 
 self, even in his own ears. He was just 
 over onc-and-twenty, and had not a penny 
 in the world. But these considerations, after 
 all, had not half so much effect upon him as 
 the thought of his mother's grave counte- 
 nance when she should read his next letter, 
 and the displeasure of bis father, who per- 
 
 haps already regarded with a not altogether 
 satisfied eye the spectacle of a son of his gone 
 abroad for his health. If Colin could but 
 have made sure of the nature of the recep- 
 tion he was likely to have at Ramore, pru- 
 dential considerations of any other cliaracter 
 would have had but a momentary weight ; 
 but at present, amid his other perplexities, 
 the young man felt a certain boyish confu- 
 sion at the thought of asking his mother to 
 receive and recognize his wife. However, 
 the important letter had been written and 
 was on its way, and he could only hope that 
 his previous letters had prepared the house- 
 hold for that startling intimation. Apart 
 from Ramore, the matter had a less serious 
 aspect ; for Colin, who had been poor all his 
 life, no more believed in poverty than if he 
 had been a prince, and had a certain instinct- 
 ive certainty of getting what he wanted, 
 which belonged to his youth. Besides, he 
 was not a poor gentleman, hampered and 
 helpless, but knew, at the worst, that ho 
 could always work for his wife. At the 
 same time, in the midst of all the serious- 
 ness of the position, — of his tender affection 
 for Alice, and reverence for her helplessness, 
 and even of that inexpressible blank and 
 sense of disappointment in his heart which 
 even his affection could not quite neutralize, 
 — a curious sense of humor, and feeling that 
 the whole matter was a kind of practical joke 
 on a grand scale, intruded into Colin's ideas 
 from time to time, and made him laugh, and 
 then made him furious with himself; for 
 Alice, to be sure, saw no joke in the mat- 
 ter. She was, indeed, altogether wanting in 
 the sense of humor, if even her grief would 
 have permitted her to exercise it, and was 
 sufficiently occupied by the real difficulties of 
 her position, secluding herself in Sora Anto- 
 nia's apartments, and wavering in an agony 
 of timidity and uncertainty over the idea of 
 leaving that kind protector and going somc- 
 wliere else, even though among strangers, in 
 order to obey the necessary proprieties. She 
 had not a soul .^ consult about what she 
 should do, except Sora Antonia herself and 
 Lauderdale, neither of whom now thought it 
 necessary to suggest a removal on the part 
 of either of the young people ; and though 
 thoughts of going into Rome, and finding 
 somebody who would give her shelter for a 
 week or two till Colin's arrangements were 
 complete, hovered in the mind of Alice, she 
 
had no courage to carry out such an idea, 
 being still in her first grief, poor child, al- 
 though this new excitement had entered into 
 her life. 
 
 As for Colin, affairs went much less easily 
 with him when he betook himself to the Eng- 
 lish clergyman to ask his services. The in- 
 quiries instituted by this new judge were of a 
 kind altogether unforeseen by the thoughtless 
 young man. To be sure, a mourning sister 
 is not usually married a few weeks after her 
 brother's death, and the questioner was justi- 
 fied . in thinking the circumstance strange. 
 Nor was it at all difficult to elicit from Colin 
 a story which, viewed by suspicious and igno- 
 rant eyes, threw quite a different color on 
 the business. The young lady was the daugh- 
 ter of Mr. Meredith of Maltby, as the clergy- 
 man, who had laid Arthur in his grave, was 
 already aware. She was young, under age, 
 and her father had not been consulted about 
 her proposed marriage ; and she was at pres- 
 ent entirely in the hands and under the influ- 
 ence of the young Scotchman, who, though 
 his manners were considered irreproachable 
 by Miss Matty Frankland, who was a critic 
 in manners, still lacked certain particulars 
 in his general demeanor by which the higher 
 class of Englishmen are distinguished. He 
 was more interested, more transparent, more 
 expressive than he would probably have been, 
 had he been entirely Alice's equal ; and he 
 was slightly wanting in calmness and th* 
 soft haze of impertinence which sets off good- 
 breeding, — in short, he had not the full ring 
 of the genuine metal ; and a man who lived in 
 Rome, and was used to stories of adventures 
 and interested marriages, not unnaturally 
 jumped at the conclusion that Colin (being a 
 Scotchman beside, and consequently, the im» 
 personation, save the mark ! of money-get- 
 ting) was bent upon securing to himself the 
 poor little girl's fortune. Before the cross- 
 examination was done, Colin began somehow 
 to feel himself a suspicious character ; for it 
 is astonishing what an effect there is in that 
 bland look of superior penetration and air 
 of seeing through a subject, however aware 
 the person under examination may be that 
 his judge knows nothing about it. Then the 
 investigator turned the discussion upon pe- 
 cuniary matters, which after all was the 
 branch of examination for which Colin was 
 least prepared. 
 
 " Miss IMeredith has some fortune, I pre- 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 173 
 
 sume?" he said. "Is it at her ovra dis- 
 posal? for on this, as well as on other mat- 
 
 ters, it appears to me absolutely necessary 
 that her father should be consulted." 
 
 " I have already told you that her father 
 has been consulted," said Colin, with a little 
 vexation, " and you have seen the answer to 
 my friend's letter. I have not the least idea 
 what her fortune is, or if she has any. Yes, 
 I recollect she said she had enough to live 
 upon ; but it did not occur to me to make any 
 inquiries on the subject," said the young 
 man ; which more than ever confirmed his 
 questioner that this was not a member of the 
 higher class with whom he had to deal. 
 
 "And you?" he said. "Your friends 
 are aware, I presume — and your means are 
 sufficient to maintain" — 
 
 " I, " said Colin, who with difficulty re- 
 strained a smile, — " I have not very much ; 
 but I am quite able to work for my wife. It 
 seems to me, however, that this examination 
 is more than I bargained for. If Miss Mere- 
 dith is satisfied on these points, that is surely 
 enough, — seeing, unfortunately that she has 
 no one to stand by her" — 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said the clergyman, 
 " it is the duty of my office to stand by her. 
 I do not see that I can carry out your wishes, 
 — certainly not without having a conversa- 
 tion with the young lady. I cannot say that 
 I feel satisfied ; not that I blame you, of 
 course, — but you are a very young man, and 
 your feelings, you know, being involved. 
 However, my wife and myself will see Miss 
 Meredith, and you can call on me again." 
 
 " Very well," said Colin, getting up ; and 
 then, after making a step or two to the door, 
 he returned. " I am anxious to have every- 
 thing concluded the earliest possible mo- 
 ment, " he said. " Pray do not lose any time. 
 She is very solitary, and has no proper pro- 
 tector," Colin continued, with an ingenuous 
 flush on his face. He looked so young, so 
 honest, and earnest, that even experience was 
 shaken for the moment by the sight of Truth. 
 But then it is the business of experience to 
 fence off Truth, and defy the impressions of 
 Nature, and so the representative of au- 
 thority, though shaken for a moment, did not 
 give in. 
 
 " By the by, I fear I did not understand 
 you," he said. " You are not living in the 
 same house? Considering all the circum- 
 stances, I cannot think that proper. Eithei 
 
174 
 
 she should find another home, or you should 
 leave the house, — any gentleman would have 
 thought of that," said the priest, severely, 
 perhaps 1)y way of indemnifying himself for 
 the passing sentiment of kindness which had 
 moved him. Colin 's face grew crimson at 
 these words. The idea flashed upon himself for 
 the first time, and filled him with shame and 
 confusion ; but the young man had so flir at- 
 tained that perfection of good breeding which 
 is only developed by contact with men, that 
 the reproof, which was just, did not irritate 
 him — a fact which once more made the clergy- 
 man waver in his opinion. 
 
 " It is very true," said Colin confused, yet 
 impulsive ; " though I am ashamed to say I 
 never thought of it before. We have all 
 been so much occupied with poor Arthur. 
 But what you say is perfectly just, and I am 
 obliged to you for the suggestion. I shall 
 take rooms in Rome to-night." 
 
 Upon which the two parted with more 
 amity than could have been expected : for 
 Colin's clerical judge was pleased to have his 
 advice taken so readily, as was natural, and 
 began to incline towards the opinion that a 
 young man who did not resent the imputa- 
 tion of having failed in a point which " any 
 gentleman would have thought of," but con- 
 fessed without hesitation that it had not oc- 
 curred to him, could be nothing less than a 
 gentleman. Notwithstanding, the first step 
 taken by this sensible and experienced man 
 was to write a letter by that day's post to 
 Mr. Meredith of Maltby, informing him of 
 the application Colin had just made. He 
 knew nothing against the young man, the 
 reverend gentleman was good enough to say, 
 — he was very young and well-looking, and 
 had a good expression, and might be an un- 
 exceptionable connection ; but still, without 
 her father's consent, Mr. Meredith might rest 
 assured he would take no steps in the busi- 
 ness. When he had written this letter, the 
 clergyman summoned his wife and took the 
 trouble of going out to Frascati to see Alice, 
 which he would not have done, had ho not 
 been a just and kind man : while at the same 
 time his heart was relenting to Colin, whom 
 the clerical couple met in the street, and who 
 took off his hat when he encountered them, 
 without the least shadow of resentment. It 
 is 80 long since all this happened that the 
 name of the clergyman thus temporarily oc- 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 cupying the place of the chaplain at Rome has 
 
 escaped recollection, and Colin's historian 
 has no desire to coin names or confuse identi- 
 ties. The gentleman in question was, it ia 
 supposed, anEnglishrectortaking his holiday. 
 lie went out to Frascati, like an honorable 
 and just person as he was, to see what the 
 solitary girl was about thus left to the 
 chances of the world, and found Alice in the 
 great salone in her black dress, under charge 
 of Sora Antonia, who sat with her white 
 handkerchief on her ample shoulders, twirl- 
 ing her spindle, and spinning along with her 
 thread many a tale of checkered human exist- 
 ence for the amusement of her charge ; who, 
 however, for the first time in her life, had 
 begun to be unconscious of what was said to 
 her and to spend her days in strains of reverie 
 all unusual to Alice, — mingled dreams and in- 
 tentions, dim pictures of the life that was to 
 be, and purposes which were to be carried out 
 therein. Sora Antonia's stories, which re- 
 quired no answer, were very congenial to 
 Alice's state of mind ; and now and then a 
 word from the narrative fell into and gave a 
 new direction to her thoughts. From all tliis 
 she woke up with a little start when the Eng- 
 lish visitors entered, and it was with difficulty 
 she restrained the tears which came in a 
 choking flood when she recognized the clergy- 
 man. He had seen Arthur repeatedly dur- 
 ing his illness and had given him the sacra- 
 •lent, and laid him in his grave, and all the 
 associations connected with him were too 
 much for her, although after Arthur's death 
 the good man had forgotten the poor little 
 mourning sister. When she recovered, how- 
 ever, Alice was much more able to cope with 
 her reverend questioner than Colin had been, 
 — perhaps because she was a woman, perhaps 
 because she had more of the ease of society, 
 perhaps because in this matter at least her 
 own feelings were more profound and un- 
 mixed than those of her young fiance. She 
 composed herself with an eflbrt when he in- 
 troduced the object of his visit, recognizing 
 the necessity of explanation, and ready to 
 give all that was in her power. 
 
 " No ; papa docs not know," said Alice, 
 " but it is because he hfis taken no charge of 
 me — he has left me to myself. I should not 
 have minded so much if you had been of our 
 county, for then you would have understood; 
 but you arc a clergjmian, and Mrs." — 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 " I am a clergyman's wife," the lady said, 
 kindly ; " anything you eay will be sacred to 
 me." 
 
 "Ah," said Alice, with a little impatient 
 Bigh ; and slic could not help looking at tlie 
 door, and longing for.Colin, who was coming 
 no more, though she did not know that ; for 
 the girl, though she was not clever, had a 
 perception within her, such as never would 
 have come to Colin, that, notwithstanding 
 tliis solemn assurance, the fact that her visitor 
 was a clergyman's wife would not prevent her 
 story from oozing out into the common cur- 
 rent of English talk in Rome ; but notwith- 
 standing, Alice, whose ideas of her duty to 
 the world were very clear, knew that the 
 story must be told. She went on accordingly 
 very steadily, though with tlirills and flushes 
 of color coming and going — and the chances 
 are that Colin's ideal woman, could she have 
 been placed in the same position would not 
 have acquitted herself half so well. 
 
 " It will be necessary to tell you everything 
 from the beginning, or you will not understand 
 it," said Alice. " Papa did not do exactly as 
 Arthur thought right in some things, and, 
 though I did not think myself a judge, I — I 
 took Arthur's side a little ; and then Mrs. 
 Meredith came to Maltby suddenly with the 
 children. It was a great surprise to vis, for 
 we did not know till that moment that papa 
 had married again. I would rather not say 
 anything abftut Mrs. Meredith," said Alice, 
 showing aOT;le agitation, " but Arthur did 
 dot think she was a person whom I could 
 stay with ; and when he had to leave himself, 
 he brought me with him. Indeed, I wanted 
 very much to come. I could not bear that 
 he should go away by himself; and I should 
 have died, had I been left there with papa, and 
 everything so changed . I wrote after we left , 
 but papa would not answer my letter, nor 
 take any notice of us. I am very sorry, Ijut 
 I cannot help it. That is all. I suppose you 
 heard of Mrs. Meredith's letter to Mr. Lauder- 
 dale. My aunt ia in India ; so I could not go 
 to her : and all the rest are dead ; that is why 
 I have stayed here." 
 
 "It is very sad to think you should be so 
 lonely," said the clergyman, " and it is a very 
 trying position for one so young. Still there 
 are families in Rome that would have received 
 you ; and I think, my dear Miss Meredith, — 
 you must not suppose me harsh ; it is only 
 your good I am thinking of, — I think you 
 
 175 
 
 should yourself have communicated with your 
 father. ' ' 
 
 " I wrote to Aunt Mary," said Alice. " I 
 told her everything. I thought she would 
 be sure to advise me for the best. But papa 
 would not answer the letter I wrote him after 
 we left home, and he refuses to have anything 
 to do with me in Mr. Lauderdale's letter. I 
 do not understand what I can do more." 
 
 " But you have not waited to be advised," 
 said the English priest, whose wife had taken 
 the poor little culprit's hand, and was whis- 
 pering to her, " Compose yourself, my dear," 
 
 and "We are your friends," and " Mr. 
 
 only means it for your good," with other 
 such scraps of consolation. Alice scarcely 
 needed the first exhortation, having, in a 
 large degree, that steady power of self-con- 
 trol which is one of the most valuable endow- 
 ments in the world. " You have not waited 
 for your aunt's advice," continued the cler- 
 gyman. " Indeed, I confess it is very hard 
 to blame you ; but still it is a very serious 
 step to take, and one that a young creature 
 like you should not venture upon without the 
 advice of her friends. Mr. Campbell also is 
 very young, and you cannot have known each 
 other very long." 
 
 " All the winter," said Alice, with a faint 
 color, for affairs were too serious for ordinary 
 blushing ; at least all the spring, ever since 
 we left England. And it has not been com- 
 mon knowing," she added, with a deepening 
 flush. " He and Mr. Lauderdale were like 
 brothers to Arthur, — they nursed him night 
 and day ; they nursed him better than I did," 
 said the poor sister, bursting forth into natu- 
 ral tears. " The people we have known aU 
 our lives were never so good to us. He said 
 at the very last that they were to take care 
 of me; and they have taken care of me," 
 said Alice, among her sobs, raised for a mo- 
 ment beyond herself by her sense of the chiv- 
 alrous guardianship which had surrounded 
 her, " as if I had been a queen." 
 
 " My dear child, lean upon me," said the 
 lady sitting by ; " don't be afraid of us ; don't 
 mind crying, it will be a relief to you. Mr. 
 
 only means it for your good ; he does not 
 
 intend to vex you, dear." 
 
 " Certainly not, certainly not," said the 
 clergyman, taking a little walk to the win- 
 dow, as men do in perplexity ; and then he 
 came back and drew his seat closer, as Alice 
 regained the mastery over herself. "My 
 
176 
 
 dear young ladj', have confidence in me. Am 
 I to understand that it is from gratitude you 
 have made up your mind toaccept Mr. Camp- 
 bell? Don't hesitate. I beg of you to let 
 me know the truth." 
 
 The downcast face of Alice grevr crimson 
 suddenly to the hair ; and then she lifted her 
 eyes, not to the man who was questioning 
 her, but to the woman who sat beside her. 
 Those eyes were full of indignant complaint 
 and appeal. " Can you, a woman, stand by 
 and see the heart of another woman searched 
 for its secret ? " That was the utterance of 
 Alice's look ; and she made no further an- 
 swer, but turned her head partly away, with 
 an offended pride which sat strangely and yet 
 not unbecomingly upon her. The change 
 was so marked that the reverend questioner 
 got up from his chair again almost as con- 
 fused as Alice, and his wife, instinctively re- 
 plying to the appeal made to her, took the 
 matter into her own hands. 
 
 " If you will wait for me below, George, 
 I will join you by and by," said this good 
 woman. " Men must not spy into women's 
 secrets." And " I have daughters of my 
 own," she added softly in Alice's ear. Let 
 UB thank Heaven that, though the number of 
 those be few who are able or disposed to do 
 great things for their fellows, the number is 
 many who are ready to respond to the calls 
 for sympathy at the moment, and own the 
 universal kindred. It was not an everlasting 
 friendship that these two English women, 
 left alone in the bare Italian chamber, formed 
 for each other. The one who was a mother 
 did not receive the orphan permanently into 
 her breast, neither did the girl find a parent 
 in her new friend. Yet for the moment na- 
 ture found relief for itself ; they were mother 
 and child, though strangers to each other. 
 The elder woman heard with tears and sym- 
 pathy and comprehension the other's inter- 
 rupted tale, and gave her the kiss which in 
 its way was more precious than a lover's. 
 " You have done nothing wrong, my poor 
 child," the pitying woman said, affording an 
 absolution more valuable than any priest's to 
 the girl's female soul ; and as she spoke, there 
 passed momentarily through the mind of tlic 
 visitor a rapid, troubled enumeration of the 
 rooms in her " apartment," which involved 
 the possibility of carrying this friendless 
 creature home with her. But that idea was 
 found impracticable almost as soon as con- 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 ceived. " I wish I could take you home with 
 me, my dear," the good woman said, with a 
 sigh ; " but our rooms are so small ; but I 
 
 will talk it all over with Mr. , and see 
 
 what can be done ; and I should like to know 
 more of Mr. Campbell after all you tell me; 
 he must be a very superior young man. You 
 may be sure we shall be your friends, both 
 your friends, whatever happens. I should 
 just like to say a word to the woman of the 
 house, and tell her to take good care of you, 
 my dear, before I go." 
 
 '< Sora Antonia is very kind," said Alice. 
 
 " Yes, my dear, I am sure of it ;• still she 
 will be all the more attentive when she sees 
 you have friends to take care of you," said 
 the experienced woman, which was all the 
 more kind on her part as her Italian was 
 very limited, and a personal encounter of this 
 description was one which she would have 
 shrunk from in ordinary circumstances. But 
 when she joined her husband, it was with a 
 glow of warmth and kindness about her 
 heart, and a consciousness of having com- 
 forted the friendless. "If it ever could be 
 right to do such a thing, I almost think it 
 would be in such a case as this," she said, 
 with a woman's natural leaning to the ro- 
 mantic side ; but the clergyman only shook 
 his head. "We must wait, at all events, 
 for an answer from Mr. Meredith," he said ; 
 and the fortnight which ensued was not a 
 cheerful one for Alice. ^ 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIS. 
 
 There can be no doubt that the clergyman 
 was right in suggesting that Colin should 
 leave Frascati, and that the strange little 
 household which had kept together since Ar- 
 thur's death, under the supervision of Sora 
 Antonia, was in its innocence in utter contra- 
 diction of all decorum and the usages of soci- 
 ety. It was true besides that Alice had be- 
 gun to be uneasy upon this very point, and 
 to feel herself in a false position ; neverthe- 
 less, when Lauderdale returned alone with a 
 note from Colin, and informed her that they 
 had found rooms in Rome, and were to leave 
 her with Sora Antonia until the arrange- 
 ments were made for the marriage, it is in- 
 conceivable how blank and flat the evening 
 felt to Alice without her two. knights. As 
 she sat over her needlework, her sorrow came 
 more frequently home to her than it had ever 
 done before, — her sorrow, her fricndlessnese, 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 and the vague dread that this great happi- 
 ness, which had come in tears, and which 
 even now could scarcely be separated from 
 the grief which accompanied it, might again 
 fly away from her like a passing angel. Sora 
 Antonia was indifferent company under these 
 circumstances ; she was very kind, but it was 
 not in nature that an elderly peasant woman 
 could watch the changing expressions of a 
 girl's face, and forestall her tears, and be- 
 guile her weariness like the two chivalrous 
 men who had devoted themselves to her j 
 amusement and occupation. Now that this i 
 rare morsel of time, during which she had 
 been tended " like a queen," was over, it 
 seemed impossible to Alice that it could ever 
 be again. She who was not clever, who was 
 nothing but Arthur's sister, how could she 
 ever expect again to be watched over and 
 served like an enchanted princess ? Though, 
 indeed, if she were Colin 's wife — ! but since 
 Colin's departure and the visit of the cler- 
 gyman, that possibility seemed to grow dim- 
 mer and dimmer, — she could not tell why. 
 She 1:)elieved in it when her lover came to 
 see her, which was often enough ; but when 
 he was absent, doubt returned, and the bright 
 prospect glided away, growing more and more 
 dim and distant. She had never indulged in 
 imagination, to speak of, before, and the few 
 dreams that had possessed her heart hai been 
 dreams of Arthur'srecovery, — fantastic, hope- 
 less visions of those wondrous doctors and 
 impossible medicines sometimes to be met 
 with in lx)oks. But now, when her own po- 
 sition began to occupy her, and she found 
 herself standing between hopes and fears, 
 with such a sweet world of tenderness and 
 consolation on one side, and so unlovely a| 
 prospect on the other, the dormant fancy i 
 woke up, and made wild work with Alice, i 
 Even in the face of her stepmother's refusal \ 
 to have anything to do with her, the spectre i 
 of Mrs. Meredith coming to take her home 
 was the nightmare of the poor girl's exist- | 
 ence. This was what she made by the cler- 
 gyman's attention to the proprieties of the 
 situation ; but there was at least the com- 
 fort of thinking that in respect to decorum 
 all was now perfectly right. 
 
 As for Colin, he, it must be confessed, bore 
 the separation better ; for he was not at all 
 afraid of Mrs. Meredith, and he had a great 
 many things to see and do, and when he paid 
 his Itetrothed a visit, it was sweet to see the 
 
 12 
 
 177 
 
 flush of unmistakable joy in her face, and to 
 feel that so fair a creature sat thinking of 
 him in the silence, referring everything to 
 him, ready to crown him with all the hopes 
 and blossoms of her youth. And then, but 
 for her sake, Colin, to tell the truth, was ia 
 no such hurry to be married as his clerica\ 
 censor supposed. The weeks that might have 
 to elapse before that event could be concluded 
 were not nearly so irksome to him as they 
 ought to have been ; and, even though he be- 
 gan to get irritated at the ambiguous respon- 
 ses of the clergyman, he was not impatient 
 of the delay itself, but found the days very 
 interesting, and, on the whole, enjoyed him- 
 self; which, to be sure, may give some peo- 
 ple an unfavorable impression of Colin's heart, 
 and want of sympathy with the emotions of 
 her he looked upon as his bride. At the 
 same time, it is but just to say that he was 
 not aware of these emotions, — for Alice said 
 nothing about her fears ; and his love for her, 
 which was genuine enough in its way, was 
 not of the nature of that love which divines 
 evei-ything, and reads the eye and the heart 
 with infallible perception. Such love as he 
 had to give her was enough for Alice, who 
 had known no better ; but Colin himself was 
 sensible by turns of the absence of the higher 
 element in it, — a sense which sometimes made 
 him vexed with himself, and sometimes with 
 the world and his fate, in all of which a vague 
 want, a something vanished, struck him dimly 
 but painfully whenever he permitted himself 
 to think. But this impression, which came 
 only now and then, and which at all times 
 was vague and unexpressed in words, was 
 the only thing which disturbed Colin's tran- 
 quillity at the present moment. He did not 
 suffer, like Alice, from fears that his dawning 
 happiness was too great, and could never 
 come true ; for, though he had fully accepted 
 his position, and even with the facility of 
 youth had found pleasure in it, and found 
 himself growing fonder every day of the sweet 
 and tranquil creature to whom he became day 
 by day more completely all in all, this kind 
 of calm, domestic love was unimpassioned , 
 and not subject to the hopes and fears, the 
 despairs and exultations, of more spontaneous 
 and enthusiastic devotion. So, to tell tie 
 truth, he endured the separation with phi- 
 losophy, and roamed about all day long with 
 many a thought in his mind, through that 
 town which is of all towns in the world most 
 
178 , A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 full of memories, most exciting, and most worships a bad picture. It is tlic something 
 sorrowful. Colin, being Scotch, was not represented by it never to be fully expressed, 
 classical to speak of, and the Cassars had but and ot which, indeed, a bad picture is almost 
 a limited interest for him ; but if the tutelary more touching than a good one " — 
 deities were worn out and faded, the shrine " Keep quiet, callant, and let other folk 
 to which pilgrims had come for so many ages have a chance to speak," said Lauderdale; 
 was musical with all the echoes of history, " I'm saying there's an awfu' deal of reason- 
 and affecting beyond description 1)y many an ablencss in Nature if you take her in the right 
 individual tone of human interest. And in way. I'm far from being above that feeling 
 Papal Rome the young priest had an interest mysel'. No that I have ony acquaintance 
 altogether different from that of a polemical with St. Cosmo and St. Damian and thereat ; 
 Protestant or a reverential High Churchman, but I wouldna say if there was ony rational 
 Colin was a man of his age, tolerant and in- way of getting at the car of one of them that's 
 dulgent to other people's opinions, and apt gone — even if it was Arthur, poor callant — 
 to follow out his own special study without that I wouldna be awfu' tempted to bid him 
 pausing to consider whether the people among mind upon me when he was near the Presence 
 whom he pursued it were without spot or Cha'amer. I'm no saying he had much wis- 
 blemish in matters of doctrine. The two dom to speak of, or was more enliglitened 
 friends spent a great deal of time in the than myself ; and there's no distinct evidence 
 churches ; not at the high mass, or sweet- that at this moment he's nearer God than I 
 voiced vespers, where irreverent crowds as- am ; but I tell you, callant, Nature's strong, 
 eembled, as in a concert room, to hear Musta- and if I kent ony way of communication, 
 phasing, but in out-of-the-way chapels, where there's nae philosophy in the world would 
 there were no signs of fcsta; in the Pantheon, keep me from asking, if he was nigh the pal- 
 in churches where there were no great pic- ace gates and could see Ilim that sits upon 
 tures nor celebrated images, but where the the throne, that he should mind upon me." 
 common people went and came unconscious " You may be sure he docs it without ask- 
 of any spectators; and many and strange were ing," said Colin, — and then, after a mo- 
 tbe discussions held by the two Scotchmen ment's pause, " Your illustration comes too 
 over the devotions they witnessed,— devotions close for criticism; but I know what you 
 ignorant enough, no doubt, but real, and full meai# I understand the feeling too ; but 
 of personal meaning. It was Rome without then the saints as they flourish in Rome 
 her glorious apparel, without her grandeur have nothing to do with Scotland," said the 
 and melodies, — Rome in very poor vestments, young man. " It would be something to get 
 not always clean, singing out of tune, and re- tlie peojDle to have a little respect for the 
 garding with eyes of intensest supplication saints ; but as to saying their prayers to 
 such poor dauljs of saints and weak-eyed Ma- them, there is little danger of that." 
 donnas as would have found no place in the ' "The callant's crazy about Scotland," 
 meanest exhibition anywhere in the world, said Lauderdale ; "a man that heard you 
 Strangely enough, this was the aspect in which and kent no better might think ye were the 
 she had most interest for the two friends. : king of Scotland in disguise, with a scheme 
 
 " It would be awfu' curious to hear the of church reform in your hand. If you're 
 real thoughts these honest folk have in their ever a minister, you'll be in hot water before 
 minds," said Lauderdale. "I'm no much of you're well placed. But, Colin, it's an awfu' 
 the idolatry way of thinking mysel'. It may descent from all your grand thoughts. Y"ou"ll 
 come a wee that way in respect to Mary, have to fight with the jiresbytery about or- 
 The rest of them are little more than fi'iends gans and suchlike rubbisli, — and when you're 
 at court so far as I can sec, and it's no an un- to stand, and when you're to sit ; that's 
 natural feeling. If you take the view that a' what ambitious callants come to in our kirk, 
 natural feelings are like to be wrong to start You were like enough for such a fate at any 
 with, that settles the question ; but if on the : time, but you're certain of it now with your 
 other hand " — English wife." 
 
 " I don't believe in idolatry under any cir- " Well," said Colin, " it is no worse than 
 cumstances," said Colin, hotly; " nobody ' the fight about candles and surplices in Eng* 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 land ; better, indeed, for it means Bome- 
 thing ; and if I fight on that point, at least, 
 I'll fight at the same time for better things." 
 
 " It's aye best no to fight at all," said the 
 philosopher, " though that's no a doctrine 
 palatalile to human nature so far as I have 
 ever seen. But it's aye awfu' easy talking ; 
 you're no ready for your profession yet ; and 
 how you are ever to be ready, and you a 
 married man ' ' — 
 
 " Stuff! " said Colin ; " most men are 
 married ; but I don't see that that fact hin- 
 ders the business of the world. I don't mean 
 to spend all my time with my wife." 
 
 "No," said Lauderdale with a momentary 
 touch of deeper seriousness, and he paused 
 and cast a side glance at his companion, as if 
 longing to say something ; but it happened 
 at that moment, either by chance or inten- 
 tion, that Colin turned the full glow of his 
 brown eyes upon his friend's face, looking at 
 him with that bright but blank smile which 
 he had seen before, and which imposed si- 
 lence more absolutely than any prohibition. 
 "No," said Lauderdale, slowly changing his 
 tone ; " I'll no say it was that I was think- 
 ing of. The generality of callants studying 
 for the kirk in our country are no in your 
 position. I'm no clear in my own mind how 
 it's to come to pass, — for a young man that's 
 the head of a family has a different class of 
 subjects to occupy his mind ; and as for the 
 Balliol scholarship " — said the philosopher, 
 regretfully ; " but that's no what I'm mean- 
 ing. You'll have to provide for your own 
 house, callant, before you think of the kirk." 
 
 " Yes, I have thought of all that," said 
 Colin. " I think Alice will get on with my 
 mother. She must stay there, you know, 
 and I will go down as often as I can during 
 the winter. What do you mean by making 
 no answer ? Do you think she will not like 
 Ramore? My mother is fit company for a 
 queen," said the young man with momen- 
 tary irritation ; for, indeed, he was a little 
 doubtful in his own mind how this plan 
 would work. 
 
 " I've little acquaintance with queens," 
 said Lauderdale ; " but I'm thinking history 
 would tell different tales if the half of them 
 were fit to be let within the door where the 
 mistress was. That's no the question. It's 
 clear to me that your wife will rather have 
 you than your mother, which is according to 
 nature, though you and me may be of a dif- 
 
 179 
 
 ferent opinion. If you listen to me, Colin, 
 you'll think a' that over again. It's an 
 awfu' serious question. I'm no saying a 
 word against' the kirk ; whatever fools may 
 say, it's a grand profession ; there's nae pro- 
 fession so grand that I ken of; but a man 
 shouldna enter with burdens on his back and 
 chains on his limbs. You'll have to make 
 your choice between love and it, Colin; and 
 since in the first place you've made choice 
 of love " — 
 
 " Stuff! " said Colin, but it was not said 
 with his usual lightness of tone, and he 
 turned upon his friend with a subdued esas- 
 peration which meant more than it- ex- 
 pressed. " Why do you speak to me of love 
 and — nonsense ? ' ' cried Colin . ' ' What choice 
 is there ? ' ' and then he recollected himself, 
 and grew red and angry. " My love has 
 Providence itself for a second," he said. 
 " If it were mere fancy, you might speak ; 
 but as for giving up my profession, nothing 
 shall induce me to do that. Alice is not like 
 a fanciful fool to hamper and constrain me. 
 She will stay with my mother. Two years 
 more will complete my studies, and then " — 
 here Colin paused of himself, and did not 
 well know what to say ; for, indeed, it was 
 then chiefly that the uttermost uncertainty 
 commenced. 
 
 " And then " — said Lauderdale, medita- 
 tively. " It's an awfu' serious question. 
 It's ill to say what may happen then. What 
 I'm saying is no pleasure to me. I've put 
 mair hope on your head than any man's jus- 
 tified in putting on another man. Y'e were 
 the ransom of my soul, callant," said the 
 philosopher, with momentary emotion. " It 
 was you that was to be, — nothing but talk 
 will ever come out of a man like me ; and 
 it's an awfu' consolation to contemplate a 
 soul that means to live. But there's more 
 ways of living — ay, and of serving God and 
 Scotland — than in the kirk. No man in the 
 world can fight altogether in the face of cir- 
 cumstance. I would think it a' well over 
 again, if I were you." 
 
 " No more," said Colin, with all the more 
 impatience that he felt the truth of what his 
 friend was saying. " No more ; I am not to 
 be moved on that subject. No, no, it is too 
 much; I cannot give up my profession," he 
 said, half under his breath, to himself; and, 
 perhaps, at the bottom of his soul, a momen- 
 tary grudge, a momentary pang, arose with- 
 
180 
 
 in him at the thought of the woman who 
 could accept euch a sacrifice without even 
 knowing it, or feeling how great it was. 
 Such, alas, was not the woman of Colin's 
 dreams ; yet so inconsistent was the young 
 man in his youth that, ten minutes after, 
 when the two walked past the Colosseum on 
 their way to the railway, being bound to 
 Frascati (for this was before the days when 
 the vulgar highway of commerce had entered 
 within the walls of Rome) , a certain waver- 
 ing smile on his lip, a certain color on his 
 cheeks, betrayed as plainly that he was bound 
 on a lover's errand as if it had been said in 
 words. Lauderdale, whose youthful days 
 were past, and who was at all times more a 
 man of one idea, more absolute and fixed in 
 his affections, than Colin, could understand 
 him less on this point than on any other ; 
 but he saw how it was, though he did not 
 attempt to explain how it could be, and the 
 two friends grew silent, one of them delivered 
 by sheer force of youthfulness and natural 
 vigor from the anxieties that clouded tlie 
 other. As they approached the gate, a car- 
 riage, which had been stopped there by the 
 watchful ministers of the Dogana, made a 
 sudden start, and dashed past them. It was 
 gone in a moment, flashing on in the sun- 
 shine at the utmost speed which a reckless 
 Italian coachman could get out of horses 
 which did not belong to him ; but in that 
 instant, both the bystandei-s started, and 
 came to a sudden pause in their walk. " Did 
 you hear anything? " said Colin. " What 
 was it? " and the young man turned round, 
 and made a few rapid strides after the car- 
 riage ; but then Colin stopped short, with 
 an uneasy laugh at himself. " Absurd," he 
 said ; "all English voices sound something 
 alike," which was an unlover-like remark. 
 And then he turned to his friend, who looked 
 almost as much excited as himself. 
 
 "I suppose that's it,'' said Lauderdale; 
 but he was less easily satisfied than Colin. 
 " I cannot see how it could be her," he said, 
 slowly; "but — Yon's an awfu' speed if 
 there's no reason for it. I'm terrible tempt- 
 ed to jump into that machine there, and fol- 
 low," the philosopher added, with a stride 
 towards a crazy little one-horse carriage 
 which was waiting empty at tlic gate. 
 
 "It is I who should do that," said Colin ; 
 and then he laughed, shaking off his fears. 
 *' It is altogether impossible and absurd," 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 the young man said. " Nonsense ! there are 
 scores of English girls who have voices 6ufi5- 
 ciently like hers to startle one. I have 
 thought it was she half a dozen times since I 
 came to Rome. Come along, or we shall lose 
 the train. Nothing could possibly bring her 
 into Rome without our knowledge ; and noth- 
 ing, I hope," said the young lover, who was 
 in little doubt on that branch of the subject, 
 " could make her pass by me." 
 
 " Except her father," said Lauderdale, to 
 which Colin only replied by an impatient ex- 
 clamation as they went on to the train. But 
 though it was only a momentary sound, the 
 tone of a voice, that had startled them, it 
 was with extreme impatience and an uneasi- 
 ness which they tried to hide from each other 
 that they made their way to Frascati. To 
 be suit, Colin amused himself for a little by 
 the thought of a pretty speech with which 
 he could flatter and flutter his gentle fiancee, 
 telling her her voice was in the air, and he 
 heard it everywhere ; and then he burst forth 
 into "Airy tongues that syllable men's 
 names," to the consternation of Lauderdale. 
 " But then she did not syllable any name," 
 he added, laughing, " which is proof posi- 
 tive that it can have been nothing." His 
 laugh and voice were, however, full of dis- 
 turbance, and betrayed to Lauderdale that 
 the suggestion he had made began to work. 
 The two mounted the hill to Frascati from 
 the station with a swiftness and silence nat- 
 ural to two Scotchmen at such a moment, 
 leaving everything in the shape of carriage 
 behind them. When they reached the Pa- 
 lazzo Savvelli, Colin cleared the long stair- 
 case at a bound for anything his companion 
 saw who followed him more slowly, more 
 and more certainly prescient of something 
 having happened. When Lauderdale reached 
 the salone, he found nobody there save Sora 
 Antonia, with her apron at her eyes, and 
 Colin, sunk into Arthur's chair, reading a 
 letter which he held in both his hands. Co- 
 lin's face was crimson, his hands trembling 
 with excitement and passion. The next mo- 
 ment he had started to his feet and was ready 
 for action. " Read it, Lauderdale," he said, 
 with a choking voice ; " you may read it ; 
 it has all come true ; and in the mean time 
 I'm off to get a vettura," said the young 
 man, rushing to the door. Before his friend 
 could say a word, Colin was gone, tearing 
 frantically down the stairs which he had 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 come up like lightning ; and in this bewil- 
 dering moment, after the thunderbolt had 
 fallen, with Sora Antonia's voice ringing in 
 his ear as loudly and ecarce more intelligibly 
 than the rain which accompanies a storm, 
 Lauderdale picked up poor Alice's letter, 
 which was blotted with tears. 
 
 " Papa has come to fetch me," wrote Al- 
 ice. "Oh, Colin, my heart is broken ! He 
 says we are to go instantly, without a mo- 
 ment's delay ; and he would not let me write 
 even this if he knew. Oh, Colin, after all 
 your goodness and kindness and love that I 
 was not worthy of! — oh, why did anybody 
 ever interfere? I do not know what I am 
 writing, and I am sure you will never be 
 able to read it. Never so long as I live shall 
 I think one thought of anybody but you ; but 
 papa would not let me speak to you, — would 
 not wait to see you, though I told him you 
 were coming. Oh, Colin, good-by, and do 
 not think it is I — and tell Mr. Lauderdale 
 I shall never forget his kindness. I would 
 rather, far rather, die than go away. Al- 
 ways, always, whatever any one may say, 
 your own poor Alice, who is not half nor 
 quarter good enough for you." 
 
 This was the hurried utterance of her disap- 
 pointment and despair which Alice had left 
 behind her ere she was forced away ; but 
 Sora Antonia held another document of a 
 more formal desci-iption, which she delivered 
 to Lauderdale with a long preface, of which 
 he did not understand a word. He opened 
 it carelessly; for, the fact being apparent, 
 Lauderdale, who had no hand in the busi- 
 ness on his own account, was sufficiently in- 
 different to any compliments which the fa- 
 ther of Alice might have to pay to himself. 
 
 " ^Ir. Meredith regrets to have the senti- 
 ments of gratitude with which he was pre- 
 pared to meet Mr. Lauderdale, on account of 
 services rendered to his son, turned into con- 
 tempt and indignation by the base attempt 
 on the part of Mr. Lauderdale's companion 
 to ensnare the affections of his daughter. 
 Having no doubt whatever that when re- 
 moved from the personal coercion in which 
 she has been held, Miss Meredith will see 
 the l3ase character of the connection which it 
 has been attempted to force upon her, Mr. 
 Meredith will, in consideration of the ser- 
 vices above mentioned, take no legal steps 
 for the exposure of the conspiracy which he 
 has fortunately found out in time to defeat 
 its nefarious object, but begs that it may be 
 fully understood that his leniency is only to 
 be purchased by an utter abstinence from any 
 
 181 
 
 attempt to disturb Miss Meredith, or bring 
 forward the ridiculous pretensions of wliich 
 she is too young to see the utterly interested 
 and mercenary character." 
 
 A man does not generally preserve his com- 
 posure unabated after reading such an epistle, 
 and Lauderdale was no more capable than 
 other men of dissembling his indignation. 
 His face flushed with a dark glow, more burn- 
 ing and violent than anything that had dis- 
 turbed his blood for years ; and it was as 
 •well for the character of the grave and sober- 
 minded Scotsman that nobody but Sora An- 
 tenia was present to listen to the first excla- 
 mation that rose to his lips. Sora Antonia 
 herself was in a state of natural excitement, 
 pouring forth her account of all that hap- 
 pened with tears and maledictions, which 
 were only stopped by Colin 's shout from the 
 bottom of the staircase for his friend. The im- 
 patient youth came rushing up-stairs when 
 he found no immediate response, and swept 
 the older man with him like a whirlwind. 
 "Another time, another time ! " he cried to 
 Sora Antonia. ' ' I must go first and bring the 
 signorina back ; " and Colin picked up both 
 the letters, and rushed down, driving Lauder- 
 dale before him to the carriage which he hadi 
 already hastened to the door ; and they were 
 driving off again, whirling down hill towards 
 the Campagna, before either had recovered 
 the first shock of this unlooked-for change in 
 all their plans. Then it was Lauderdale who 
 was the first to speak. 
 
 ' ' You are going to bring the signorina 
 back," he said, with a long breath. " It's 
 a fool's errand, but I'll no say but I'll go 
 with you. Colin, it's happened as was only 
 natural. The father has got better, as I 
 said he would, I'm no blaming the fa- 
 ther " — 
 
 "Not after this?'''' said Colin, who had 
 just read in a blaze of indignation Mr. Mere- 
 dith's letter. ■ 
 
 " Hout," said the philosopher, " certainly 
 not after that ; " and he took it out of Colin's 
 hand and folded it up and tore it into a dozen 
 pieces. " The man kens nothing of me. 
 Gallant," said Lauderdale, warming sudden- 
 ly, " there is but one person to be consid- 
 ered in this business. You and me can fend 
 for ourselves. Pain and sorrow cannot but 
 come on her as things are, but nothing is to 
 be done or said that can aggravate them, or 
 give her more to bear. You're no heeding 
 
182 
 
 what I say. Where arc you going now, if a 
 man might ask? " 
 
 " I am going to claim my bride," said Co- 
 lin, shortly. " Do you imagine I am likely 
 to abandon her now? " 
 
 " Colin," said hisfriend, anxiously," you'll 
 no get her. I'm no forbidding you to try, 
 but I warn you not to hope. She's in the 
 hands of her natural guardian, and at this 
 moment there's nac power on earth that 
 would induce him to give her to you. He's 
 to be blamed for ill speaking, but I'm not 
 clear that he's to be blamed for this." 
 
 " I wish you would not talk," said Colin, 
 roughly, and opened Alice's little letter 
 again, and read it and put it to his lips. 
 If he had never been impassioned before, he 
 was so now ; and so they went on, dashing 
 across the long, level Campagna roads, where 
 there was nothing to break the sunshine but 
 here and there a nameless pile of ruins. 
 
 The sunshine began to foil low and level 
 on the plain before they reached the gates. 
 " One thing at least is certain : he cannot 
 take her out of Rome to-night," said Colin. 
 It was almost the only word that was spoken 
 between them until they began their douljt- 
 ful progress from one hotel to another, 
 through the noisy, resounding streets. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 " Now we have found them, let me face 
 them by myself," said Colin, to whom the 
 interval of silence and consideration had been 
 of use. They were both waiting in the hall 
 of one of the hotels facing towards the Piazza 
 del Popolo, to which they had at last tracked 
 Mr. Meredith, and Lauderdale acquiesced 
 silently in Colin's decision. The young man 
 had already sent up his card, with a request 
 that he might see not Alice, but her father. 
 After a considerable time, the servant who 
 had taken it returned with an abrupt mes- 
 sage that Mr. Meredith was engaged. When 
 he had sent up a second tiiAe, explaining 
 that his business was urgent, but with the 
 same effect, Colin accompanied his third 
 message with a note, and went with his mes- 
 senger to the door of the room in whicl his 
 adversary was. There could 1)e no doubt of 
 the commotion produced within by this third 
 application. Colin could hear some one pa- 
 cing aibout the room with disturbed steps, and 
 the sound of a controversy going on, which, 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 though he was too far off to hear anything 
 that was said, still reached him vaguely in 
 sound at least. AYhen he had waited for 
 about five minutes, the clergyman, whom he 
 had not in the least thought of or expected 
 to see, made his appearance cautiously at the 
 door. He did not attempt to admit the 
 young man, but came up to him on tiptoe, 
 and took him persuasively, almost caressing- 
 ly, by the arm. " My good friend, my excel- 
 lent young friend," said the puzzled priest, 
 with a mixture of compunction and expostu- 
 lation which in other circumstances would 
 have amused Colin, " let us have a little con- 
 versation. I am sure you are much too gen- 
 erous and considerate to add to the distress 
 of — of" — But here the good man recollect- 
 ed just in time that he had pledged himself 
 not to speak of Alice, and made a sudden 
 pause. " There, in that room," he went on, 
 changing his tone, and assuming a little so- 
 lemnity, " is a sorrowful father, mourning 
 for his only son, and driven almost out of his 
 senses by illness and weakness, and a sense 
 of the shameful way in which his daughter 
 has been neglected, — not his fault, my dear 
 Mr. Campbell. You cannot have the heart 
 to increase his sufferings by claims, however 
 well founded, which have been formed at a 
 time ' ' — 
 
 " Stop," said Colin, " it is not my fault 
 if he has not done his duty to his children ; 
 I have no right to bear the penalty. He has 
 cast the vilest imputations upon me " — 
 
 "Hush, hush, I beg of you," said the 
 clergyman, " my excellent young friend " — 
 
 Colin laughed in spite of himself. " If I 
 am your excellent friend," he said, " why 
 do you not procure me admission to tell my 
 own story ? Why should the sight of me 
 distress your sorrowing father? I am not an 
 ogre, nor an enemy, but his son's friend ; 
 and up to this day, I need not remind you," 
 said the young man, with a rising color, " the 
 only protector, along with my friend Lauder- 
 dale, whom his daughter has had. I do not 
 say that he may not have natural objections 
 to give her to me, a poor man," said Colin, 
 with natural pride ; " but, at all events, he 
 has no reason to hurry her away by stealth, 
 as if I had not a right to be told why our en- 
 gagement is interrupted so summarily. I 
 will do nothing to distress Alice," the young 
 man went on , involuntarily lingering by the 
 
A SON OF 
 
 door, which was not entirely closed ; " but I 
 protest against being treated like a villain or 
 an adventurer ' ' — 
 
 " Hush, hush, hush ! " cried the unlucky 
 peacemaker, putting out his hand to close 
 the unfastened door ; but before he could do 
 so, Mr. Meredith appeared on the threshold, 
 flushed and furious. " What are you else, 
 sir, I should like to know," cried the angry 
 British father, " to drag an unprotected girl 
 into such an entanglement without even a 
 pretence of consulting her friends, to take 
 advantage of a death-bed for your detestable 
 fortune-hunting schemes ? Don't answer 
 me, sir! Have you a penny of your own? 
 have you anything to live on? That's the 
 question. If it was not for other considera- 
 tions, I'd indict you. I'd charge you with 
 conspiracy ; and even now, if you come here 
 to disturb my poor girl, — But, I promise 
 you, you shall see her no more," the angry 
 man continued. " Go, sir, and let me hear 
 no more of you. She has a protector now." 
 
 Colin stood a moment without speaking 
 after Mr. Meredith had disappeared, closing 
 the door violently after him. 
 
 " I have not come to distress Alice," said 
 the young man. He had to repeat it to him- 
 self to keep down the hot blood that was 
 burning in his veins ; and as for the unfor- 
 tunate clcrgjrman, who was the immediate 
 cause of all this, he kept his position by the 
 door in a state of mind far from enviable, 
 sorry for the young man and ashamed of the 
 old one, and making inarticulate efforts to 
 speak and mediate between them. But the 
 conference did not last very long outside the 
 closed door. Though it did not fortunately 
 occur to Colin that it was the interference of 
 his present companion which had originated 
 this scene, the young man did not feel the 
 insult the less from the deprecatory half- 
 sympathy offered to him. " It is a mistake, 
 — it is a mistake," said the clergyman, 
 " Mr. ]\Ieredith will discover his error. I 
 said I thought you were imprudent, and in- 
 deed wrong ; but I have never suspected you 
 of interested motives, — never since my first 
 interview with the young lady ; — but think 
 of her sufferings, my dear young friend ; 
 think of her," said the mediator, who was 
 driven to his wits' end. As for Colin, he 
 calmed himself down a little by means of 
 pacing about the corridor, — the common re 
 source of men in trouble. 
 
 THE SOIL. 183 
 
 " Poor Alice," he said, " if I did not 
 think of her, do you think I should have 
 stood quietly to be insulted ? But look here, 
 — the abuse of such a man can do no harm 
 to me, but he may kill her. If I could see 
 her, it might do some good. Impossible? 
 Do you suppose I mean to see her clandes- 
 tinely, or to run away with her, perhaps? I 
 mean," said Colin, with youthful sternness, 
 " that if I were permitted to see her, 1 might 
 be able to reconcile her a little to what is 
 inevitable. Of course he is her father. I 
 wish her father were a chimney-sweep in- 
 stead," said Colin ; " but it is she I have to 
 think of. Will you try to get me permis- 
 sion to see her? — only for ten minutes, if 
 you like, — in your presence, if that is neces- 
 sary ; but I must say one word to her before 
 she is carried away." 
 
 " Yes, yes, it's very natural, — very nat- 
 ural," said the peacemaker ; " I will do all 
 I can for you. Be here at eleven o'clock to- 
 morrow morning ; the poor dear young lady 
 must have rest after her agitation. Don't 
 be afraid ; I am not a man to deceive you ; 
 they do not leave till five o'clock for Civita 
 Vecchia. You shall see her ; I think I can 
 promise you. I will take the responsibility 
 on myself." 
 
 Thus ended Colin's attempt to bring back 
 the signorina, as he said. In the morning, 
 he had reached the hotel long before the hour 
 mentioned, in case of an earlier departure ; 
 but everything was quiet there, and the young 
 man hovered about, looking up at the win- 
 dows, and wondering which might be the one 
 which enclosed his little love, with sentiments 
 more entirely loverlike than he had ever ex- 
 perienced before. But when the hour of his 
 appointment came, and he hurried into the 
 hotel, he was met by the indignant clergyman, 
 who felt his own honor compromised, and was 
 wroth beyond measure. Mr. Meredith had 
 left Rome at dawn of day, certainly not for 
 Civita Veccbia, leaving no message for any 
 one. He had pretended, after hot resistance, 
 to yield to the kind-hearted priest's petition, 
 that the lovers might say farewell to each 
 other, and this was the way he had taken 
 of balking them. It was now the author of 
 the original mischief who felt himself insulted • 
 and scorned, and his resentment and indigna- 
 tion were louder than Colin's, whose mind 
 at first lost itself in schemes of following, and 
 vain attempts to ascertain the route the party 
 
184 
 
 had taken. Lauderdale, coming anxious but 
 steady to the scene of action half an hour af- 
 terward, found his friend absorbed in this in- 
 quiry, and balancing all the chances between 
 the road by Perugia and the road by Orvieto, 
 with the full intention of going oif in pur- 
 suit. It waa then his careful guardian's time 
 to interfere. lie led the youth away, and 
 pointed out to him the utter vanity of such 
 an undertaking. Not distance or uncertainty 
 of road, but her father's will, which was 
 likely to be made all the more rigorous by 
 a pursuit, parted Alice from her young pro- 
 tector and bridegroom ; and if he followed 
 her to the end of the world, this obstacle 
 would still remain as unremovable as ever. 
 Though he was hot-headed and young, and 
 moved by excitement and indignation and 
 pity to a height of passion which his love for 
 Alice by itself would never have produced, 
 Colin still could not help being reasonable, 
 and he saw the truth of what was said to him. 
 At the same time, it was not natural that the 
 shock which was so great and sudden should 
 be got over in a moment. Colin felt himself 
 insulted and outraged, in the first place ; and 
 in another point of view he was equally mor- 
 tified, — mortified even by the relief which he 
 knew would be felt by all his friends when 
 the sudden end of his unwelcome project was 
 made known to them. The Ramore house- 
 hold had given a kind of passive acquiescence 
 to what seemed inevitable; but Colin was 
 aware they would all be very glad at home 
 when the failure was known, — and it was a 
 failure, howsoever the tale might be told. 
 Thus the original disappointment was aggra- 
 vated by stings of apprehended ridicule and 
 jocular sympathy ; for to no living soul, not 
 even to his mother, would Colin have con- 
 fessed how great a share in his original deci- 
 sion Alice's helpless and friendless position 
 had, nor the sense of loss and bondage with 
 which he had often in his secret heart I'c- 
 garded the premature and imprudent marriage 
 which he had lived to hear stigmatized as the 
 scheme of a fortune-hunter. It was thus that 
 the very generosity of his intentions gave an 
 additional sting at once to the insult and the 
 sympathy. After a day or two, his thoughts 
 of Alice as the first person to be considered, 
 and deep sense of the terril)lc calamity it was 
 to her, yielded a little to those thoughts of 
 himself and all the humiliating accompani- 
 ments of this change in his intentions. Dur- 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 ing this period his temper became, even by 
 Lauderdale, unbearable ; and he threw aside 
 everything he was doing, and took to silence 
 and solitary rambles, in utter disgust with 
 the short-sightedness and injustice of the 
 world. But after that unhappy interval, it 
 lias to be confessed that the skies suddenly 
 cleared for Colin. The first symptom of re- 
 vival that happened to him came to pass on a 
 starry lovely May night, when he plunged 
 into the darkness of the lonely fjuarter about 
 the Colosseum alone, and in a state of mind 
 to which an encounter with the robbers sup- 
 posed to haunt these silent places would 
 have been highly beneficial. But it chanced 
 that Colin raised his moody eyes to the sk}--, 
 suddenly and without any premeditation, and 
 saw the moon struggling up through a maze 
 of soft white clouds, parting them witli her 
 hands as they threw themselves into baffling, 
 airy masses always in her way ; and suddenly, 
 without a moment of preface, a face — the face 
 — the image of the veiled woman, wlio was 
 not Alice, and to whom he had Indden fare- 
 well, gleamed out once more through the 
 clouds, and looked Colin in the eyes, thrilling 
 him through and through with a guilty as- 
 tonishment. The moment after was the 
 hardest of all Colin's struggle ; and he rushed 
 home after it tingling all over with self-con- 
 tempt and burning indignation, and plunged 
 into a torrent of talk when he found his friend, 
 by way of forgetting himself, which struck 
 Lauderdale Avith the utmost surprise. But 
 next day Colin felt himself somehow comforted 
 without knowing how ; and then he took to 
 thinking of his life and work, which now, 
 even for the sake of Alice, if nothing else, he 
 must pursue with determined energy ; and 
 then it seemed to him as if every moment was 
 lost that kept him away from home. AVas it 
 for Alice ? Was it that he might oflPer her 
 again the perfected mind and settled existence 
 to which his labors were to l«ad him ? He 
 said so to himself as he made his plans ; but 
 yet unawares a vision of deeper eyes came 
 gleaming ujion him out of the clouds. And 
 it was with the half-conscious thrill of another 
 existence, a feeling as of new and sweeter air 
 in the sails, and a widening ocean under the 
 keel, that Colin rose up after all these vary- 
 ing changes of sentiment were over, and set 
 his face to the north once more. 
 
 " It's awfu' strange to think it's the last 
 time," said Lauderdale, as they stood together 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 on the Fineian Hill, and -watched the glowing 
 colors of the Roman sunset. " It's little 
 likely that you and me will ever see St. Pe- 
 ter yonder start up black into the sun like 
 hat another time in our lives. It's grander 
 han a' their illuminations, though it's more 
 like another kind of spirit than an angel. 
 And this is Rome ! I dinna seem ever to have 
 realized the thought before. It's awfu' liv- 
 ing and lifelike, callant, but it's the graves 
 we'll mind it by. I'm no meaning kings and 
 Csesars. I'm meaning them that come and 
 never return. Testaccio's hidden out of sight, 
 and the cypress trees," said the philosopher ; 
 " but there's mony an eye that will never 
 lose sight of them even at the other end of 
 the world. I might have been going my ways 
 with an awfu' different heart, if it hadna been 
 -for the mercy of God." 
 
 "Then you thought I would die? "said 
 Colin, to whom, in the stir of his young life, 
 the words were solemn and strange to say ; 
 " and God is merciful ; yet Meredith is lying 
 yonder, though not me." 
 
 "Ay," said Lauderdale, and then there 
 
 185 
 
 was a long pause. " I'm no offering ony ex- 
 planation," said the philosopher. " Ifs a 
 question between a man and his Maker, — 
 spirit to spirit. It's an awfu' mystery to us 
 but it maun be made clear and satisfying to 
 them that go away. For me, I'll praise God,' ' 
 he said, abruptly, with a hareh ring in his 
 voice ; and Colin knew for the first time 
 thoroughly that his faithful guardian had 
 thought nothing better than to bring him 
 here to die. They went into the church on 
 the hill, where the nuns were singing their 
 sweet vespers as they descended for the last 
 time through the dusky avenues, listening as 
 they went to the bells ringing the Ave Maria 
 over all the crowded town ; and there came 
 upon Colin and his friend in different degrees 
 that compunction of happiness which is the 
 soul of thanksgiving. Others, — how many ! 
 — have stood speechless in dumb submission 
 on that same spot and found no thanks to 
 say ; and it was thus that Colin, after all the 
 events that made these four months so im- 
 portant in his life, entered upon a new period 
 of his history, and took his farewell of Rome, 
 
186 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 PART XIV. — CHAPTER XL. 
 
 " It's hard to ken what to say," said the 
 Mistress, going to the window for the hun- 
 dredtli time, and looking out wistfully upon 
 the sky which shone dazzling over the Holy 
 Loch with the excessive pathetic brightness 
 of exceptional sunshine. " I canna make 
 out for my part if he's broken-hearted or 
 no, and a word wrong just at a moment like 
 this would be hard ou the callant. It's a 
 wonderful mercy it's such a bonnie day. 
 That's aye a blessing both to the body and 
 the mind." 
 
 " Well, it's you that Colin takes after," 
 said the farmer of Ramore, with an under- 
 tone of dissatisfaction ; " so there's no say- 
 ing but what the weather may count for 
 something. I've lost understanding for my 
 part of a lad that gangs abroad for his 
 health, and gets himself engaged to be mar- 
 ked. In my days, when marriage came 
 into a man's head, he went through with it, 
 and there was an end of the subject. For 
 my part, I dinna i:>retend to understand 
 your newfangled ways." 
 
 " Eh, Colin, dinna be so unfeeling," 
 said the Mistress, roused to remonstrance. 
 " You were like to gang out of your mind 
 about the marriage when you thought it 
 was to be ; and now you're ready to sneer 
 at the poor laddie, as if he could help it. 
 It's hard when his ain friends turn against 
 him after the ingratitude he's met wi', and 
 the disappointment he's had to bear." 
 
 '• You may trust a woman for uphaudin' 
 her sou in §uch like nonsense," said big 
 Colin. " The only man o' sense among 
 them that I can see was yon Mr. Meredith 
 that took the lassie away. What the deevil 
 had Colin to do with a wife, and him no a 
 penny in his pouch ? But in the meantime 
 yonder's the steamboat, and I'm gaun down 
 to meet them. If I were you I would stop 
 still here. You're no that strong," said the 
 farmer, looking upon his wife with a certain 
 secret tenderness. "I would stop stUl at 
 hame if I were you. It's aye the best wel- 
 come for a callant to see his mother at her 
 ain door." 
 
 With which big Colin of Ramore strode 
 downwards to the beach, where his sons 
 were launching their own boat to meet the 
 little steamer by which Colin was coming 
 home. His wife looked after him with 
 mingled feelings as he went down the brae. 
 He had been a little hard upon Colin for 
 these six months past, and had directed 
 many a covert sarcftsm at the young man 
 who had gone so far out of the ordinary 
 course as to seek health in Italy. The 
 
 farmer did not believe in any son of his 
 needing such an expedient ; and, in propor- 
 tion as it seemed unnecessary to his own 
 vigorous strength, and ignorance of weak- 
 ness, he took opportunity for jeers and jests 
 which were to the mother's keen ears much 
 less good-natured than they seemed to be. 
 And then he had been very angry on the 
 receipt of Colin's letter announcing his in- 
 tended marriage, and it was with difficulty 
 ]\Irs. Campbell had prevented her husband 
 from sending in return such an answer as 
 might have banished Colin for ever from 
 his father's house. Now all these clouds 
 had blown past, and no harm had come of 
 them, and he was coming home as of old. 
 His brothers were launching the boat on 
 the beach, and his father had gone down to 
 meet the stranger. The IMistrcss stood at 
 her door, restraining her eagerness and 
 anxiety as best she could, and obeying her 
 husband's suggestion, as women do so often, 
 by way of propitiating him, and bespeaking 
 tenderness and forbearance for her boy. 
 For indeed the old times had passed 
 away, with all their natural family glad- 
 ness, and union clouded by no sense of dif- 
 ference. Now it was a man of independent 
 thoughts, with projects and pursuits of his 
 own difi'ering from theirs, and with a mind 
 no doubt altered and matured by those ad- 
 vantages of travel which the Mistress re- 
 garaea m ner ignorance with a certain awe, 
 who was coming back to Ramore. Colin 
 had made so many changes, while so few had 
 occurred at home; and even a bystander, 
 less anxious than his mother, might have had 
 reason to inquire and wonder how the ma- 
 tured and travelled son would look upon his 
 unprogressive home. 
 
 It Avas now the end of September, though 
 Colin had left Rome in May ; but then his 
 Snell Scholarship was intended to give him 
 the advantage of travel, and specially that 
 peculiar advantage of attendance at a Ger- 
 man University which is so much prized in 
 Scotland. He had accordingly passed the 
 intervening months in a little German town, 
 getting up the language and listening to lec- 
 tures made doubly misty by imperfect under- 
 standing of the tongue. The process left 
 Colin's theological ideas very much where 
 it found them — which is to say, in a state 
 of general vagueness and uncertainty ; but 
 then he had always the advantage of being 
 able to say that he had studied at Dickof- 
 ptenberg. Lauderdale had left his friend 
 after spending, not without satisfaction, his 
 hundred pounds, and was happily re-estab- 
 lished in the " honorable situation " which 
 he had quitted on Colin's account; or, if 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 not in that precise post, at least in a cognate 
 appointment, the nature of which came to 
 Colin's ears after\»ards ; and the young man 
 was now returning home alone, to spend a 
 little time with his'family before he returned 
 to his studies. The Mistress watched him 
 land from the boat, with her heart beating 
 so loudly in her ears that no other sound 
 was audible ; and Colin did not lose much 
 time in ascending the brae where she stood 
 awaiting him. " But you should not have 
 left your fother," Mrs Campbell said, even 
 in the height of her happiness. " He's awfu' 
 proud to see you home, Colin, my man ! " 
 Big Colin, however, was no way displeased 
 in his own person by his son's desertion. He 
 came up leisurely after him, not without a 
 thrill of conscious satisfaction. The farmer 
 was sufficiently disposed to scoff aloud at his 
 son's improved looks, at his beard, and his 
 dress, and all the little particulars which 
 made a visible difference between the pres- 
 ent Colin and the awkward country lad of 
 two years ago ; but in his heart he made in- 
 voluntary comparisons, and privately con- 
 cluded that the minister's son was far from 
 being Colin's equal, and that even the heir 
 and pride of the Duke would have little to 
 boast of in presence of the farmer's son of 
 Ramore. This — though big Colin would 
 not for any earthly inducement have owned 
 the sentiment — made him regard his son's 
 actions and intentions unawares with eyes 
 more lenient and gracious. No contempti- 
 ble weakness of health or delicacy of appear- 
 ance appeared in the sunburnt countenance, 
 so unexpectedly garnished by a light-brown, 
 crisp, abundant beard — a beard of which, 
 to tell the truth, Colin himself was rather 
 proud, all the more as it had by rare fortune 
 escaped that intensification of color which 
 is common to men of his complexion. The 
 golden glitter which lighted up the great 
 waves of brown hair over his forehead had 
 not deepened into red on his chin, as it had 
 done in Archie's young but vigorous whisk- 
 ers. His complexion, though not so ruddy 
 as his brother's, had the tone of perfect health 
 and vigor, untouched by any shade of fa- 
 tigue or weakness. He was not going to be 
 the " delicate " member of the famil}^ as the 
 farmer had foreboded, with a strange mix- 
 ture of contempt in his feelings ; for, natur- 
 ally, to be delicate included a certain weak- 
 ness of mind as well as of body to the health- 
 ful dwellers in Ramore. 
 
 "You'll find but little to amuse you here 
 after a' your travels," the farmer said. We're 
 aye busy about the beasts, Archie and me. 
 I'll no say it's an elevating study, like yours ; 
 but it's awfu' necessary in our occupation. 
 
 187 
 
 For my part, I'm no above a kind o' pride 
 in my cattle ; and there's your mother, she's 
 set her shoulder to the wheel and won a 
 prize." 
 
 "Ay, Colin," said the Mistress, hastening 
 to take up her part in the conversation, " it's 
 aye grand to be doing something.* And it's 
 no' me but Gowans that's won the prize. 
 She was aye a weel-conditioned creature, 
 that it was a pleasure to have onything to 
 do with ; but there's plenty of time to speak 
 about the beasts. You're sure you're weel 
 and strong yourself, Colin, my man? for 
 that's the first thing now we've got you 
 hame." 
 
 "There doesna look much amiss with him," 
 said the farmer, with an inarticulate growl. 
 " Your mother's awfu' keen for somebody to 
 pet and play wi' ; but there's a time for a' 
 thing; and a callant, even, though he's 
 brought up for a minister, maun find out 
 when he's a man." 
 
 " I should hope there was no doubt of that," 
 said Colin. " I'm getting on for two-and- 
 twenty, mother, and strong enough for any- 
 thing. Thanks to Harry Franliland for a 
 splendid holiday ; and now I mean to settle 
 down to work." 
 
 Here big Colin again interjected an inar- 
 ticulate exclamation. " I ken little about 
 your kind of work," said the discontented 
 father ; " but, if I were you, when I wanted 
 a bit exercise I would take a hand at the 
 plough, or some-wise-like occupation, instead 
 of picking fools out of canals — or even out 
 of lochs, for that matter," he added, with a 
 subdued thrill of pride. " Sir Thomas is aye 
 awfu' civil when he comes here ; and, as for 
 that bonnie little creature that's aye with 
 him, she comes chirping about the place with 
 her fine English, as if she belonged to it. I 
 never can make out what she and your moth- 
 er have such long cracks about." 
 
 " Miss Frankiand ? '' said Colin, with a 
 bright look of interest. The Mistress had 
 been so much startled by this unexpected 
 speech of her husband, that she turned right 
 round upon Colin with an anxious face, ea- 
 ger to know what effect an intimation so 
 sudden might have upon him. For the far- 
 mer's wife believed in true love and in first 
 love with all her heart, and had never been 
 able to divest herself of the idea that it was 
 partly pique and disappointment in respect 
 to Miss Matty which had driven her son into 
 so hasty an engagement. " Is she stiU Miss 
 Frankiand ? " ^continued the unsuspicious 
 Colin. "I thought she would have been 
 married by this time. She is a little witch," 
 the young man said with a conscious snule 
 — " but I owe her a great many pleasant 
 
188 
 
 hours. She was always the life of "Wodens- j 
 bourne. Were thoy here this year ? " he ! 
 asked; and then another thought struck 
 him. "Hollo! it's only September," said 
 Colin ; " I ought to ask, Are they here now ?" 
 
 " Oil, ay, Colin, they're here now," said 
 the Mistress, "and couldna be more your 
 friends if you were one of the family. I'm 
 no clear in my mind that thae two will ever 
 be married. No. that I ken of any obstacle 
 — but, so far as I can see, a bright bonny 
 creature like that, aye full of life "and spirit, 
 is nae match for the like of him." 
 
 "I do not see that," said the young man 
 who once was Matty Frankland's worship- 
 per. " She is very bright, as you say ; but 
 he is tht; more honest of the two. I used to 
 be jealous of Harry Frankland," said Colin, 
 laughing ; "he seemed to have everything 
 that was lacking to me ; but I have changed 
 my mind since then. One gets to believe 
 in compensations," said the young man ; and 
 he shut his hand softly where it rested on 
 the table, as if he felt in it the tools which 
 a dozen Harry Franklands could have made 
 no use of. But this thought was but dimly 
 intelligible to his hearers, to one of whom, at 
 least, the word "jealous" was limited in its 
 meaning; and, viewed in this light, the sen- 
 timent just expressed by Colin was hard to 
 understand. 
 
 " I'm no fond of what folk call compen- 
 sations," said the INIistress. "A loss is aye 
 a loss, whatever onybody can say. Siller 
 that's lost may be made up for, but uaeth- 
 ing more precious. It's aye an awfu' mar- 
 vel to me that chapter atjout Job getting 
 other bairns to fill the place o' the first. I 
 would rather have the dead loss and the va- 
 cant place," said the tender woman, with 
 tears in her eyes, " than a' your compensa- 
 tions. One can never stand for another — 
 it*s awfu' infidelity to think it. If I canna 
 have happiness, I'll be content with sorrow ; 
 but you're no to speak of compensations to 
 me." 
 
 " No," said Colin, laying his hand caress- 
 ingly on his mother's ; " but I was not speak- 
 ing of either love or loss. I meant only 
 that for Harry Frankland's advantages over 
 me, I might, perhaps, have a little balance 
 on my side. For example, I picked him 
 out of the canal, as my father says," the 
 young man went on laughing ; " but never 
 mind the Franklands ; I suppose I shall 
 have to see them, as they arc here." 
 
 " Weel, Colin, you can please yourself," 
 said his father. " I'm no' a man to court 
 the great, but an English baronet, like Sir 
 Thomas, is aye a creditable acquaintance 
 for a callant like you ; and he's aye awfu' 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 civil as I was saying ; but the first thing to 
 be sure of is what you mean to do. You 
 have had the play for near a year, and it 
 docsna appear to me that tutorships, and 
 that kind of thing, are the right training for 
 a minister. You'll go back to your studies, 
 and go through with them without more in- 
 terruptions, if you'll be guided by me." 
 
 But at this point Cohn paused, and had a 
 good many explanations to give. His heart 
 was set on the Balliol scholarship, wliich he 
 had once given up for Matty's sake ; but 
 now there was another chance for him, 
 which had arisen unexpectedly. This it 
 was which had hastened his return home. 
 As for his father, the farmer yielded with 
 but little demur to this proposal. A clear 
 Scotch head, even when it begins to lose its 
 sense of the ideal, and to become absorbed 
 in " the beasts," seldom deceives itself as to 
 the benefits of education ; and big Colin had 
 an intense secret confidence in the power,^ 
 of his son. Honors at Oxford, in the imagi- 
 nation of the Scotch farmer, were a vision- 
 ary avenue leading to any impossible alti- 
 tude. He made a "little resistance for ap- 
 pearance' sake, but he was in reality more 
 excited by the idea of the conflict — first, 
 for the scholarship itself ; then for all pos- 
 sible prizes and honors to the glory of Scot- 
 land and Ramore — than was Colin himseK 
 
 " But after a year's play you're no quali- 
 fied," he said, with a sense of speaking iron- 
 ically, which was very pleasant to his humor. 
 " A competition's an awfu' business ; your 
 rivals that have aye been keeping at it wiU 
 be better qualified than you." 
 
 At whit'L Colin smiled, as his father 
 meant him to smile, and answered, " I ana 
 not afraid," more modestly a great deal 
 than the farmer in his heart was answering 
 for him ; but then an unexpected antagonist 
 arose. 
 
 " I dinna pretend to ken a great deal 
 about Oxford," said the IMistress, whose brow 
 was clouded ; " but it's an awfu' put-ofi" of 
 time as far as I can see. I'm no fond of 
 spending the best of life in idle learning. 
 Weel, wecl, maybe its no idle learning for 
 them that can spare the time ; but for a lad 
 tliat's no out of the thought of settling for 
 himself and doing his duty to his fellow- 
 creatures — I was reading in a book no that 
 long ago," said Colins mother, " about thae 
 fellowships and things, and of men so mis- 
 guided as to stay on and live to be poor 
 bachelor bodies, with their Greek and their 
 Latin, and no mortal use in this world. Eh, 
 Colin, laddie, if that was a' that was to come 
 of you ! " — 
 
 '• You're keen to see your son in a pulpit 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 like the rest of the silly women," said the 
 farmer ; " for my part, I'm no that bigoted 
 to the kirk ; if he could do better for him- 
 sel' " — ' 
 
 But at this juncture the Mistress got up 
 •with a severe countenance, laying aside the 
 stocking she was knitting. " Eh, Colin, if 
 you wouldn't get so worldly," cried the 
 anxious mother. " I'm no one that's aye 
 thinking of a callant bettering himself^ If 
 he's taken arles in one service, would you 
 have him desert and gang over to another ? 
 For me, I would like to see my laddie 
 faithful to his first thoughts. I'm no saying 
 faithful to his Master, for a man may be that 
 though he's no a minister," continued the 
 Mistress; " but I canna bear to see broken 
 threads ; be one thing or be another, but 
 dinna melt away and be nothing at a'," the 
 indignant woman concluded abruptly, mov- 
 ing away to set things in order in the room 
 before they all retired for the night. It was 
 the faint, far-off, and impossible idea of her 
 son settling down into one of the Fellow- 
 ships of which Mrs. Campbell had been read- 
 ing which moved her to this little outburst. 
 Her authority probably was some disrespect- 
 ful novel or magazine article, and that was 
 all the idea she had formed in her ignorance 
 of the nurseries of learning. Colin, how- 
 ever, was so far of her mind that he re- 
 sjDonded at once. 
 
 " I don't mean to give up my profession, 
 mother ; I only mean to be all the more fit 
 for it," he said. " I should never hesitate if 
 I had to choose between the two." 
 
 " Hear him and his fine talk," said the 
 farmer, getting up in his turn with a laugh. 
 " It would be a long time before our minis- 
 ter, honest man, would speak of his profes- 
 sion. Leave him to himself, Jeanie. He 
 kens what he's doing ; that's to say, he has 
 an awfu' ambition considering that he's only 
 your son and mine," said big Colin of Ra- 
 more ; and he went out to take a last look 
 at his beasts with a thrill of a secret pride 
 which he would not for any reward have 
 expressed in words. He was only a humble 
 Westland farmer looking after his beasts, 
 and she was but his true wife, a helpmeet 
 no way above her natural occupations ; but 
 there was no telling what the boy might be, 
 though he was only " your son and mine." 
 As for Colin the younger, he went up to his 
 room half an hour later, after the family 
 had made their homely thanksgiving for his 
 return, smiling in himself at the unaccount- 
 able contraction of that little chamber, 
 which he had once shared with Archie with- 
 out finding it too small. Many changes and 
 many thoughts had come and gone since he 
 
 189 
 
 last lay down under its shelving roof. Miss 
 Matty who had danced away like a will-o'- 
 the-wisp, leaving no trace behind her ; and 
 Alice who had won no such devotion, yet 
 whose soft shadow lay upon him still ; and 
 then there was the deathbed of Meredith, 
 and his own almost deathbed at Wodens- 
 bourne, and all the thoughts that belonged 
 to these. Such influences and imaginations 
 mature a man unawares. While he sat re- 
 calling all that had passed since he left this 
 nest of his childhood, the Misti-ess tapped 
 softly at his door, and came in upon him 
 with wistful eyes. She would have given 
 all she had in the world for the power of 
 reading her son's heart at that moment, 
 and, indeed, there was little in it which 
 Colin would have objected to reveal to his 
 mother. But the two human creatures 
 were constrained to stand apart from each 
 in the bonds of their individual nature, — to 
 question timidly and answer vaguely, and 
 make queries which were aU astray from the 
 truth. The Mistress came behind her son 
 and laid one hand on his shoulder, and with 
 the other caressed and smoothed back the 
 waves of brown hair of which she had al- 
 ways been so proud. " Your hair is just as 
 long as ever, Colin," said the admiring mo- 
 ther ; " but it's no a' your mother's now," 
 she said with a soft, little sigh. She was 
 standing behind him that her eyes might 
 not disconcert her boy, meaning to woo him 
 into confidence and the opening of his 
 heart. 
 
 " I don't know who else cares for it," said 
 Colin ; and then he too was glad to respond 
 to the unasked question. " My poor Alice," 
 he said ; " if I could but have brought her 
 to you, mother — she would have been a 
 daughter to you." 
 
 Mrs. Campbell sighed. " Eh, Colin, I'm 
 awfu' hard-hearted," she said ; " I canna 
 believe in ony woman ever taking that 
 place. I'm awfu' bigoted to my ain ; but 
 she would have been dearly welcome for my 
 laddie's sake ; and I'm real anxious to hear 
 how it a' was. It was but little you said in 
 your letters, and a' this night I've been 
 wanting to have you to mysel' , and to hear 
 all that there was to say." 
 
 " I don't know what there is to say," said 
 Colin; "I must have written all about it. 
 Her position, of course, made no difference 
 to my feelings," he went on, rather hotly, 
 like a man who in his own consciousness 
 stands somewhat on his defence ; " but it 
 made us hasten matters. I thought if I 
 could only have brought her home to 
 you " — 
 
 " It was aye you for a kind thought," said 
 
190 
 
 A SON OF THE .SOIL. 
 
 the Mistress ; " but she would have had little 
 need of the auld mother when she had the 
 son; and Colin, my man, is it a' ended 
 
 now ? " 
 
 " Heaven knows ! " said Colin with a little 
 impatience. " I have written to her through 
 her father, and I have written to her by her- 
 self, and all that I have had from her is one 
 little letter saying that her father had for- 
 bidden all further intercourse between us, 
 and bidding me farewell ; but " — 
 
 " But," said the Mistres^s, " it's no of her 
 own will ; she's fixitliful in her heart ? And 
 if she's true to you, you'll be true to her ? 
 Isna that what you mean ? " 
 
 " I suppose so," said Colin ; and then he 
 made a little pause. " There never was any 
 one so patient and so dutiful," he said. 
 " When poor Arthur died, it was she who 
 forgot herself to think of us. Perhaps even 
 this is not so hard upon her as one thinks." 
 
 " Eh, but I was thinking first of my ain, 
 like a heartless woman as I am," said his 
 mother. "I've been thinking it was hard 
 on you." 
 
 He did not turn round his fece to her as 
 she had hoped ; but her keen eyes could see 
 the heightened color which tinged even his 
 neck and his forehead. " Yes," said Colin ; 
 " but for my part," he added, with a little 
 effort, " it is chiefly Alice I have been think- 
 ing of. It may seem vain to say so, but 'she 
 will have less to occupy her thoughts than- 1 
 shall have, and — and the time may hang 
 heavier. — You don't like me to go to Ox- 
 ford, mother ? " This question was said with 
 a little jerk, as of a man who was pleased 
 to plunge into a new subject ; and the Mis- 
 tress was far too close an observer not to un- 
 derstand what her son meant. 
 
 " I like whatever is good for you, Colin," 
 she said ; " but it was aye in the thought of 
 losing time. I'm no meaning real loss of 
 time. I'm meaning I was thinking of mair 
 hurry than there is. But you're both awfu' 
 young, and I like whatever is for your good, 
 Colin," said the tender mother. She kept 
 folding back his heavy locks as she spoke, 
 altogether disconcerted and at a loss, poor 
 soul ; for Colin's calmness did not seem to 
 his mother quite consistent with his love; 
 and a possibility of a marriage without that 
 foundation was to Mrs. Canipbell the most 
 hideous of all suppositions. And then, like 
 a true woman as she was, she went back to 
 her little original romance, and grew more 
 confused than ever. 
 
 " I'm maybe an awfu' foolish woman," she 
 said, with an attempt at a smile, which Colin 
 was somehow conscious of, though he did 
 not see it, " but, even if I am, you'll no be 
 
 angry at your mother. Colin, my man, 
 maybe it's no the best thing for you that 
 thae folk at the castle should be here?" 
 
 " Which folk at the castle ? " said Colin, 
 who had honestly forgotten for the moment. 
 " Oh, the Frauklands ! What sliould it 
 matter to me ? " 
 
 This time he turned round upon her with 
 eyes of unabashed surprise, which the Mis- 
 tress found herself totally unprepared to 
 meet. It was now her turn to falter, and 
 stammer, and break down. 
 
 " Eh, Colin, it's so hard to ken," said the 
 Mistress. " The heart's awfu' deceitful. 
 I'm no sajnng one thing or another ; for I 
 canna read what you're thinking, though 
 you are my ain laddie ; but if you were to 
 think it best no to enter into temptation" — 
 
 " Meaning Miss Matty ? " said Colin ; and 
 he laughed with such entire freedom that 
 his mother was first silenced and then of- 
 fended by his levity. "No fear of that, 
 mother ; and then she has Harry, I suppose, 
 to keep her right." 
 
 " I'm no so clear about that," said Mrs. 
 Campbell, nettled, notwithstanding her satis- 
 faction, by her son's indiSerence ; " he's away 
 abroad somewhere ; but I would not say but 
 what there might be another," she con- 
 tinued, with natural esprit du corps, which 
 was still more irritated by Colin's calm re- 
 sponse, — 
 
 " Or two or three others," said the young 
 man ; " but, for all that, you are quite right 
 to stand up for her, mother ; only I am not 
 in the least danger. No, I must get to 
 work," said Colin ; " hard work, -vvithout any 
 more nonsense ; but I'd like to show those 
 fellows that a man may choose to be a Scotch 
 minister though he is Fellow of an English 
 college " — 
 
 The ]\Iistress interrupted her son with the 
 nearest approach to a scream which her 
 Scotch self-control would admit of " A Fel- 
 low of an English college," she said, in dis- 
 may, " and you troth-plighted to an inno- 
 cent young woman that trusts in you, Colin ! 
 That I should ever live to hear such words 
 out of the mouth of a son of mine ! " 
 
 And, notwithstanding his explanations, 
 the Mistress retired to her own room, ill at 
 ease, and with a sense of coming trouble. 
 " A man that's engaged to be married 
 shouldna be thinking of such an awfu' off- 
 put of time," she said to herself; " and ah, if 
 the poor lassie is aye trusting to his coming, 
 and looking for him day by day." This 
 thought took away from his mother half the 
 joy of Colin's return. Perhaps her cherished 
 son, too, was growing " worldly," like his 
 father, who thought of the " beasts " even in 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 191 
 
 his dreams. And, as for Colin liimself, he, 
 too, felt the invisible curb upon his free ac- 
 tions, and chafed at it in the depths of his 
 heart when he was alone. With all this 
 world of woi-k and ambition before him, it 
 was hard to feel upon his proud neck that 
 visionary rein. Though Alice had set him 
 free in her httle letter, it was still in her 
 soft fingers that this shadowy bond remained. 
 He had not repudiated it, even in his most 
 secret thoughts ; but, as soon as he began to 
 act independently, he became conscious pf 
 the bondage, and in his heart resented it. 
 K he had brought her home, as he had in- 
 tended, to his father's house, his young de- 
 pendent wife, he probably would have felt 
 much less clearly how he had thus forestalled 
 the future, and mortgaged his very life. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 The Balliol Scholarship was, however, too 
 important a reality to leave the youn^ can- 
 didate much time to consider his position — 
 and Colin's history would be too long, even 
 for the patience of his friends, if we were to 
 enter into this part of his life in detail. 
 Everybody knows he won the scholarship ; 
 and, indeed, neither that, nor his subsequent 
 career at Balliol, are matters to be recorded, 
 since the chronicle has been already made 
 in those popular University records which 
 give their heroes a reputation, no doubt tem- 
 porary, but while it lasts of the highest pos- 
 sible flavor. He had so warm a greeting 
 from Sir Thomas Frankland that it would 
 have been churlish on Colin's part had he 
 declined the invitations he received to the 
 Castle, where, indeed, Miss Matty did not 
 want him just at that moment. Though she 
 was not the least in the world in love with 
 him, it is certain that between the intervals 
 of her other amusements in that genre, the 
 thought of Colin had often occurred to her 
 mind. She thought of him with a wonder- 
 ful gratitude and tenderness sometimes, as 
 of a man who had actually loved her with 
 the impossible love — and sometimes with a 
 ring of pleasant laughter, not far removed 
 from tears. Anything " between them " was 
 utterly impossible, of course — but, perhaps, 
 all the more for that. Miss Matty's heart, so 
 much as there was remaining of it, went 
 back to Colin in its vacant moments, as to a 
 green spot upon which she could repose her- 
 self, and set down her burden of vanities for 
 the instant. This very sentiment, however, 
 made her little inclined to have him at the 
 Castle, where there was at present a party 
 staying, Including, at least, one man of quali- 
 fications worthy a lady's regard. Harry and 
 
 his cousin had quarrelled so often that their 
 quarrel at last was serious, and the new man 
 was cleverer than Harry, and not so hard 
 to amuse ; but it was difficult to go over the 
 well-known ground with which Miss Frank- 
 land was so familiar in presence of one whom 
 she had put through the process in a still 
 more captivating fashion, and who was still 
 sufficiently interested to note what she was 
 doing, and to betray that he noted it. Colin, 
 himself, was not so conscious of observing 
 his old love in her new love-making as she 
 was conscious of his observation ; and, though 
 it was only a glance now and then, a turn of 
 the head, or raising of the eyes, it was 
 enough to make her awkward by moments, 
 an evidence of feeling for which ISIiss Matty 
 could not forgive herself. Colin consequent- 
 ly was not thrown Into temptation in the 
 way his mother dreaded. The temptation 
 he was thrown into was one of a much more 
 subtle character. He threw himself into his 
 work, and the preparations for his work, 
 with all the energy of his character ; he felt 
 himself free to follow out the highest visions 
 of life that had formed themselves among his 
 youthful dreams. He thought of the new 
 study on which he was about to enter, and 
 the honors upon which he ab-eady calculated 
 in his imagination as but stepping stones to 
 what lay after, and offered himself up with 
 a certain youthful effusion and superabun- 
 dance to his Church and his country, for 
 which he had assuredly something to do 
 more than other men. And then, when 
 Colin had got so far as this, and was tossing 
 his young head proudly In the glory of his 
 intentions, there came a little start and 
 shiver, and that sense of the curb, which had 
 strtjik him first after his confidence with his 
 mo^r, returned to his mind. But the bond- 
 age seemed to grow more and more vision- 
 ary as he went on. Alice had given him up, 
 so to speak ; she was debarred by her father 
 from any correspondence with him, and 
 might, for anything Colin knew, gentle and 
 yielding as she was, be made to marry some 
 one else by the same authority ; and, though 
 he did not discuss the question with himself 
 in words, it became more and more hard to 
 Colin to contemplate the possibility of hav- 
 ing to abridge his studies and sacrifice his 
 higher alms to the necessity of getting set- 
 tled In life. If he were " settled In life " to- 
 morrow, It could only be as an undistin- 
 guished Scotch minister, poor, so far as 
 money was concerned, and with no higher 
 channel either to use or fame; and, at his 
 age, to be only like his neighbors was irk- 
 some to the young man. Those neighbors, 
 or at least the greater part of them, were 
 
192 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 good fellows enough in their way. So far 
 as a vague general conception of life and its 
 meaning went, they were superior as a class 
 in Colin's opinion to the class represented 
 by that gentle curate of Wodensbourne, 
 whose soul was absorbed in the restoration 
 of his Church, and the fit states of mind for 
 the Sundays after Trinity ; but there were 
 also particulars in which, as a class, they 
 were inferior to that mild and gentlemanly 
 Anglican. As for Colin, he had not formed 
 his ideal on any curate or even bishop of the 
 wealthier Church. Like other fervent young 
 men, an eager discontent with everything he 
 saw lay at the bottom of his imaginations ; 
 and it was the development of Christianity — 
 " more chivalrous, more magnanimous, than 
 that of modern times " — that he thought of 
 A dangerous condition of mind, no doubt, and 
 the people round him would have sneered 
 much at Colin and his ambition had he 
 put it into words ; but, after all, it was an 
 ideal worth contemplating which he pre- 
 sented to himself. In the midst of these 
 thoughts, and of all the future possibilities of 
 life, it was a little hard to be suddenly 
 stopped short, and reminded of Mariana in 
 her moated grange, sighing, " He does not 
 come." If he did come, making all the un- 
 speakable sacrifices necessary to that end, 
 as his mother seemed to think he should, the 
 probabilities were that the door of the grange 
 would be closed upon him ; and who could 
 tell but that Alice, always so docile, might 
 be diverted even from the thought of him by 
 some other suitor presented to her by her 
 father ? Were Colin's hopes to be sacrificed 
 to her possible faith, and the possible re- 
 lenting of Mr. Meredith ? And, alas ! amid 
 all the new impulses that were rising within 
 him, there came again the vision of that wo- 
 man in the clouds, whom as yet, though he 
 had been in love with Matty Frankland, and 
 had all but married Alice Meredith, Colin 
 had never seen. She kissed her shadowy 
 hand to him by times out of those rosy va- 
 pors which floated among the hills when the 
 6un had gone down, and twilight lay sweet 
 over the Holy Loch — and beckoned him 
 on, on, to the future and the distance where 
 she was. When the apparition had glanced 
 out upon him after this old fashion, Colin 
 felt all at once the jerk of the invisible bridle 
 on his neck, and chafed at it ; and then he 
 shut his eyes wilfully, and rushed on faster 
 than before, and did his best to ignore the 
 curb. After all, it was no curb if it were 
 rightly regarded. Alice had released, and 
 her father had rejected him, and he had 
 been accused of fortune-hunting, and treated 
 like a man unworthy of consideration. So 
 
 far as external circumstances went, no one 
 could blame him for inconstancy, no one 
 could imagine that the engagement thus 
 broken was, according to any code of honor, 
 binding upon Colin ; but yet — This was 
 the uncomfortable state of mind in which he 
 was when he finally committed himself to 
 the Balliol Scholarship, and thus put off 
 that " settling in life " which the Mistress 
 thought due to Alice. When the matter 
 was concluded, however, the young man be- 
 came more comfortable. At all events, un- 
 til the termination of his studies, no decision, 
 one way or other, could be expected from 
 him ; and it would still be two years before 
 Alice was of the age to decide for herself. 
 He discussed the matter — so far as he ever 
 permitted himself to discuss it with any one 
 
 — with Lauderdale, who managed to spend 
 the last Sunday with him at Ramore. It 
 was only October, but winter had begun be- 
 times, and a sprinkling of snow lay on the 
 hills at the head of the loch. The water it- 
 self, all crisped and brightened by a slight 
 breeze and a frosty sun, lay dazzling be- 
 tween its gray banks, reflecting every shade 
 of color upon them ; the russet lines of wood 
 with wliich their little glens were outlined, 
 and the yellow patches of stubble, or late 
 corn, still unreaped, that made the lights of 
 the landscape, and relieved the hazy green 
 of the pastures, and the brown waste of 
 withered bracken and heather above. The ' 
 wintry day, the clearness of the frosty air, 
 and the touch of snow on the hills, gave to 
 the Holy Loch that touch of color which is 
 the only thing ever wanting to its loveliness ; 
 a color cold, it is true, but in accordance 
 with the scene. The waves came up with 
 a lively cadence on the beach, and the wind 
 blew showers of yellow leaves in the faces of 
 the two friends as they walked home to- 
 gether from the church. Sir Thomas had 
 detained them in the first place, and after 
 him the minister, who had emerged from his 
 little vestry in time for half an hour's con- 
 versation with his young parishioner, who 
 was something of a hero on the Holy Loch 
 
 — a hero, and yet subject to the ine^"itable 
 touch of familiar depreciation which belongs 
 to a prophet in liis own country. The crowd 
 of church-goers had dispersed from the roads 
 when the two turned their faces towards 
 Ramore. Perhaps by reason of the yew- 
 trees under which they had to pass, perhajjs 
 because this Sunday, too, marked a crisis, it 
 occurred to both of them to think of their 
 walk through the long ilex avenues of the 
 Frascati villa, the Sunday after Meredith's 
 death. It was Lauderdale, as was natural, 
 who returned to that subject the first. 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 193 
 
 " It's a wee hard to believe tliat it's the 
 same world," he said, " and that you and me 
 are making our way to Ramore, and not to 
 yon painted cha'amer, and our friend, with 
 her distatr in lier hand. I'm whiles no clear 
 in my mind that we were ever there." 
 
 At which Colin was a little impatient, 
 as was natural. "Don't be fantastic," he 
 said. " It does not matter about Sora An- 
 tonia ; but there are other things not so 
 easily dropped ; " and here the young man 
 paused and uttered a sigh, which arose half 
 from a certain momentary longing for the 
 gentle creature to whom his faith was 
 plighted, and half from an irksome sense of 
 •:he disadvantages of having plighted his 
 i^ith. 
 
 " Ay," said Lauderdale, " I'm no fond 
 myself of. dropping threads like that. 
 There's nae telling when they may be joined 
 again, or how; but if it's ony comfoi-t to 
 you, Colin, I'm a great believer in sequences. 
 I never put ony faith in things breaking off 
 clean in an arbitrary way. Thae two didna 
 enter your life to be put out again by the 
 will of an old fool of a father. I'll no say 
 that I saw the requirements of Providence 
 just as clear as you thought you did, but I 
 canna put faith in an ending like what's 
 happened. You and her are awfu' young. 
 You have time to wait." 
 
 " Time to wait," repeated Colin in his 
 impatience; "there is something more 
 needed than time. Mr. Meredith has re- 
 turned me my last letter with a request that 
 J should not trouble his daughter again. 
 You do not think a man can go on in the 
 face of that." 
 
 "He's naething but a jailer, callant," said 
 Lauderdale ; " no that I am saying anything 
 against an honorable occupation," he con- 
 tinued, after a moment's pause, with a grim 
 smile crossing his face ; " there was a man 
 at Ephesus in that way of living that I've 
 aye had an awfu' respect for — but the poor 
 bit bonnie bird in the cage is neither art 
 nor part in that. When the time comes 
 we'll a' ken better ; and here, In the mean- 
 time, you are making another beginning of 
 your life." 
 
 " It appears to me I am always — making 
 beginnings," said Colin. " It was much 
 such a day as this when Harry Frankland 
 fell into the loch — that was a kind of 
 beginning in its way. Wodensbourne was 
 a beginning, and so was Italy — and now 
 — It appears life is made up of such." 
 
 " You're no so far wrong there," said 
 Lauderdale; "but it's grand to make the 
 new start like you, with a' heaven and 
 earth on your side. I've kent them that 
 
 13 
 
 had to set their face to the brae with baith 
 earth and heaven against them — or any 
 way so it seemed. It's ill getting new 
 images," said the philosopher meditatively. 
 " I wonder who it was first found out that 
 life was a journey. It's no an original idea 
 nowadays, but its aye awfu' true. A man 
 sets out with a hantle mair things than he 
 needs, impedimenta of a' kinds ; but he 
 leaves the maist of them behind afore he's 
 reached the middle of the road. You've an 
 awfu' tJody of opinions, callant, besides 
 other things to dispose o'. I'm thinking 
 Oxford will do you good for that. You're 
 no likely to take up with their superfluities, 
 and you'll get rid of some of your ain." 
 
 " I don't know what you call superfluities," 
 said Colin. " I don't think I am a man of 
 many opinions. A few things are vital and 
 cannot be dispensed with, and these you are 
 quite as distinct upon as I can be. How- 
 ever,. I don't go to Oxford to learn that." 
 
 " Tm awfu' curious to ken in a general 
 way," said Lauderdale, " what you are going 
 to Oxford to learn. Latin and Greek and 
 Mathematics? You're no a bad hand at 
 the classics, callant. I would like to ken 
 what it was that you were meaning to pay 
 thi-ee good years of life to learn." 
 
 Upon which Colin laughed, and felt, with- 
 out knowing why, a flush come to his cheek. 
 " If I should prefer to win my spurs some- 
 where else than at home," said the young 
 man lightly, " should you wonder at that ? 
 Beside, the English universities have a 
 greater reputation than ours — and in 
 short " — 
 
 " For idle learning," said Lauderdale with 
 a little heat ; " not for the science of guid- 
 ing men, which, so far as I can see, is what 
 you're aiming at. No that I'm the man to 
 speak ony blasphemy against the dead 
 languages," said the philosopher, " if the 
 like of that was to be your trade ; but 
 for a Scotch parish, or maybe a Scotch 
 presbytery — or in the course of time, if a 
 goes well, an Assembly of the Kirk" — 
 
 " Stuff," cried Colin ; " does not all men- 
 tal discipline train a man, whatever his des- 
 tination may be ? Besides," the young man 
 said with a laugh, half of pride, half of 
 shame, " I want to show these fellows that a 
 man may win their honors and carry them 
 back to the old Chm-ch, which they talk 
 about in a benevolent way, as if it was in the 
 South Sea Islands. Well, that is my weak- 
 ness. I want to bring their prizes back 
 here, and'wear them at home. 
 
 " The callant's crazy," said Lauderdale, 
 but the idea was sufficiently in accord with 
 his national sentiments to be treated with 
 
194 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 indulgence ; " tut, as for stickino: a wheen 
 useless feathers into the douce bonnet of a 
 sober old Kirk like ours, I see nae advantage 
 in it. It miglit maybe be spoiling the Egyp- 
 tians," added the philosopher grimly, " but 
 as for ony good to us — You're like a' young 
 creatures, callant ; you're awfu' fond of the 
 impedimenta. Reputation of that descrip- 
 tion is a fashious thing to carry about, not to 
 say that three years of a callant's life is no a 
 time to be calculated upon. You may 
 change your mind two or three times over 
 between that and this." 
 
 " You have very little respect for my con- 
 stancy, Lauderdale," said Colin ; and then 
 he felt irritated with himself for the word 
 he had used. " In what respect do you 
 suppose I can change my mind ? " he asked 
 with a little impatience ; and Colin lifted 
 his eyes full upon his friend's face, as he 
 had learned to do when there was question 
 of Alice, though certainly it could not be 
 supposed that there was any question of 
 Alice in the present case. 
 
 " Whisht, callant," said Lauderdale ; " I've 
 an awfu' trust in your constancy. It's one 
 o' the words I like best in the English 
 language, or in the Scotch either for that 
 matter. It's a kind of word that canna be 
 slipped over among a crowd, but craves full 
 saying and a' its letters sounded. As I was 
 saying," he continued, changing his tone, 
 "I'ma great believer in sequences; there's 
 mony new beginnings, but there's nae abso- 
 lute end short of dying, which is aye an end 
 for this world, so far as a man can see. 
 And, next to God and Christ, which are the 
 grand primitive necessities, without which 
 no man can take his journey, I'm aye for 
 counting true love and goofl faith. I 
 wouldna say but what a' the rest were more 
 ovXq?,?, impedimenta " said Lauderdale ; "but 
 that's no the question under discussion. 
 You might change your mind upon a' the 
 minor matters, and no be inconstant. For 
 example, you might be drawn in your mind 
 to the English kirk after three years; or 
 you might come to think you were destined 
 for nae kirk at all, but for other occupations 
 in this world; and, as for me, I wouldna 
 blame you. As long as you're true to your 
 Master — and next to yoursel' — and next 
 to them that trust you," said Colin's faithful 
 counsellor ; " and of that I've no fear." 
 
 " I did not think of setting the question 
 on such a solemn basis," said Colin with an 
 amount of irritation which annoyed himself, 
 and which he could not subdue ; " however, 
 time will show ; and here we are at Ramore." 
 Indeed the young man was rather glad to be 
 so near Ramore. This talk of constancy 
 
 exasperated him, he could not tell how ; for, 
 to be sure, he meant no inconstancy. Yet, 
 when the sunset came again, detaching rosy 
 cloudlets from the great masses of vapor, 
 and shedtling a mist of gold and purple 
 over the hills — and when those wistful 
 stretches of " daffodil sky " opened out over 
 the western ramparts of the Holy Loch 
 — Colin turned his eyes from the wonderful 
 heavens as if from a visible enemy. Was 
 not she there as always, that impossible 
 woman, wooing him on into the future, into 
 the unimaginable distance where somewhere 
 she might be found any day waiting him ? 
 He turned his back upon the west, and went 
 down of his own will to the dark shade of 
 the yew-trees, which were somehow like 
 the ilex alleys of the sweet Alban hills ; but 
 even there he carried his impatience with 
 him, and found it best on the whole to go 
 home and give himself up to the home talk 
 of Ramore, in which many questions were 
 discussed unconnected with the beasts, but 
 where this one fundamental question was 
 for the present named no more. 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 CoLix's career at Oxford does not lie in 
 the way of his present historian, though, to 
 be sure, a few piquant particulars might be 
 selected of the way in which a pair of young 
 Scotch eyes, with a light in them somewhat 
 akin to genius, but trained to see the reali- 
 ties of homely life on the Holy Loch, regard- 
 ed the peculiar existence of the steady, ar- 
 tificial old world, and the riotous but sub- 
 missive new world, which between them 
 form a university. Colin who, like most of 
 his countrymen, found a great deal of the 
 " wit " of the community around him to be 
 sheer nonsense, sometimes agreeable, some- 
 times much the reverse, had also like his na- 
 tion a latent but powerful sense of humor, 
 which, backed by a few prejudices, and 
 stimulated a little by the different manners 
 current in the class to which he himself be- 
 longed, revealed to him many wonderful ab- 
 surdities in the unconscious microcosm which 
 felt itself a universe, — a revelation which 
 restored any inequality in the balance of af- 
 fairs, and made the Scotch undergraduate 
 at his case in his new circumstances. For 
 his own part, he stood in quite a dillerent 
 position from the host of young men, most 
 of them younger than himself, by whom he 
 found himself surrounded. They were ac- 
 complishing without any very definite object 
 the natural and usual coui-se of their edu- 
 cation — a process which everybody had to 
 <I0 throusih, and which, with more or less 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 195 
 
 credit, their fathers, brothers, friends, and 
 relatives had passed through before them. 
 Life beyond the walls of the University had 
 doubtless its objects more interesting than 
 the present routine ; but there was no such 
 immediate connection between those objects 
 and that routine as Colin had been accus- 
 tomed to see in his Scotch college. As for 
 Colin himself, he was aiming at a special 
 end, which made his course distinct for him 
 among his more careless companions; he 
 was bent on the highest honors attainable 
 by hard work and powers much above the 
 average ; and this determination would 
 have acted as a moral shield to him against 
 the meaner temptations of the place, even 
 if he had not already been by disposition 
 and habits impervious to them. The higher 
 danger — the many temptations to which 
 Colin, like other young men, was exposed, 
 of contenting himself with a brilliant impro- 
 duclive social reputation — were warded off 
 from him by the settled determination with 
 which he entered upon his work. For 
 Scotch sentiment is very distinct on this 
 question; and Colin understood perfectly 
 that, if he returned with only a moderate 
 success, his Alma Mater would be utterly 
 disgusted with her pet student, and his rep- 
 utation would fall to a considerably lower 
 ebb than if he had been content to stay at 
 home. He came upon that tranquil academ- 
 ic scene in the true spirit of an invader ; 
 not unfriendly — on the contrary, a keen 
 observer of everything, an eager and inter- 
 ested spectator of all the peculiar habitudes 
 of the foreign country — but chiefly bent 
 upon snatching the laurel, as soon as that 
 should be possible, and carrying home his 
 spoil in triumph. He entered Oxford, in 
 short, as the Czar Peter, had he been less a 
 savage, might have been supposed to estab- 
 lish himself in the bosom of the homely En- 
 glish society of his time, seeing, with eyes 
 brightened by curiosity and the novelty of 
 the spectacle, various matters in a ridiculous 
 light which were performed with the utmost 
 gravity and unconsciousness by the accus- 
 tomed inhabitants ; and, on the other hand, 
 discovering as many particulars from which 
 he might borrow some advantage to his own 
 people. Certainly, Czar Peter, who was at 
 once an absolute monarch and the most en- 
 hghtened man of his nation, stood in a some- 
 what different position from the nameless 
 Scotch student, between whom and other 
 Scotch students no ordinary observer could 
 have discovered much difference; but the 
 aspirations of young men of Colin's age are 
 fortunately unlimited by reason, and the 
 plan he had conceived of working a revolu- 
 
 tion in his native Church and country, or, 
 at least, aiming at that to the highest extent . 
 of his powers, was as legitimate, to say the 
 least, as the determination to make a great 
 fortune with which other young men of his 
 nation have confronted the world. Colin 
 frequented the Oxford churches as he had 
 frequented those in Rome, with his para- 
 mount idea in his mind, and listened to the 
 sermons in them with that prevailing refer- 
 ence to the audience which he himself ex- 
 pected, which gave so strange an aspect to 
 much that he heard. To be sure, it was not 
 the best way to draw religious advantage for 
 himself from the teachings he listened to ; 
 but yet the process was not without its bene- 
 fits to the predestined priest. He seemed to 
 himself to be looking on while the Universi- 
 ty preacher dehvered his dignified periods, 
 not to the actual assembly, but to a shrewd 
 and steady Scotch congregation, not easily 
 moved either to reverence or enthusiasm, 
 and with a national sense of logic. He 
 could not help smiling to himself when, in 
 the midst of some elaborate piece of reason- 
 ing, the least little step aside landed the 
 speaker upon that quagmire of ecclesiastical 
 authority which with Colin's audience would 
 go far to neutralize all the argument. The 
 young man fancied he could see the elders 
 shake their heads, and the rural philosophers 
 remark to each other, " He maun have been 
 awfu' ill off for an argument afore he landed 
 upon you." And, when the preacher pro- 
 ceeded to " our Church's admirable arrange- 
 ments," and displayed with calm distinct- 
 ness the final certainty that perfection had 
 been absolutely attained by that venerated 
 mother, the young Scotchman felt a prick of 
 contradiction in his heart on his own account 
 as well as that of his imaginary audience. 
 He thought to himself that the same argu- 
 ments employed on behalf of the Church of 
 Scotland would go a long way towards un- 
 settling the national faith, and smiled within 
 himself at the undoubting assumption which 
 his contradictory northern soul was so far 
 from accepting. He was not a bad emblem 
 of his nation in this particular, at least. He 
 consented without a remonstrance to matters 
 of detail, such as were supposed by anybody, 
 who had curiosity enough to inquire into the 
 singular semi-savage religious practices of 
 Scotland, to be specially discordant to the 
 ideas of his country; but he laughed at " our 
 Church's admirable arrangements " in such a 
 manner as to set the hair of the University 
 on end. The principles of apostolic succes- 
 sion and unbroken ecclesiastical descent 
 produced in this daring young sceptic, not in- 
 dignation nor argument,, which might have 
 
196 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 been tolerated, but an amused disreganl 
 ■which was unbearable. He was always so 
 conscious of what his Scotch audience, buried 
 soiiiewhere among the hills in the seclusion 
 of a country pari..i, would think of such pre- 
 tentions, and laughed not at the doctrine so 
 much as at the thought of their reception of 
 it. In this respect the young Scotchman, 
 embodying his country, was the most contra- 
 dictory of men. 
 
 He was not very much more satisfactory 
 in the other region, where the best of Angli- 
 cans occasionally wander, and where men 
 who hold with the firmest conviction the 
 doctrine of apostolic succession sometimes 
 show a strange degree of uncertainty about 
 things more important. Colin's convictions 
 were vague enough on a great many matters 
 which were considered vital on the ■ Holy 
 Loch ; and perhaps he was not a much more 
 satisfactory hearer in his parish church at 
 home than he was in Oxford when there 
 was question of the descendants of the 
 apostles. But amidst this sea of vague 
 and undeveloped thought, which was 
 not so much doubt as uncertainty, there 
 stood up several rocks of absolute faith 
 which were utterly impervious to assault. 
 His mind was so far conformed to his age 
 that he could hear even these ultimate and 
 fundamental matters canvassed by the calm 
 philosophers about him, without an)^ undue 
 theological heat or passion of defence ; but 
 it soon became evident that on these points 
 the young Scotchman was immovable, a cer- 
 tainty which made him an interesting study 
 to some of his companions and teachers. It 
 would be foolish to say that his faith procured 
 for him that awe and respect which the pop- j 
 ular mind takes it for g:-anted a company of 
 sceptics must always feel for the one among 
 them who retains his religious convictions. 
 On the contrary, Colin's world was amused 
 by his belief. It was, itself to start with, a 
 perfectly pious, well-conducted world, saying 
 its prayers like everybody else, and contain- 
 ing nothing within its placid bosom which in 
 the least resembled the li-ee-thinkers of an- 
 cient days. The Church was not the least 
 in the ^vorld in danger from that mild frater- 
 nity, to which every kind of faith was a thing 
 to ije talked about, to evolve lines of thought 
 upon, and give rise to the most refined, and 
 acute, and charming conversation. But as 
 for Colin, they regarded him with an amused 
 observation as a rare specimen of the semi- 
 cultivated, semi-savage intelligence which is 
 always so refreshing to a society which has 
 fclined itself to a point somewhat beyond na- 
 ture. He was " a most interesting young 
 man," and they found in him " a beautiful 
 
 i enthusiasm," an " engaging simplicity." As 
 I for Colin, he was quite aware of the some- 
 what unfounded admiration with which he 
 was regarded, and smiled in his turn at his 
 observers with a truer consciousness of the 
 ! humor of the position than they could possi- 
 bly have who saw only half of it; but lie 
 kept his .'ihrewd Scotch eyes open all the time, 
 and halfunconciously made himself acquaint- 
 ed with a great many new developments of 
 that humanity which was to be the material 
 of all the labors of his life. He had it in his 
 power to remark the exact and delicate points 
 at which Anglicanism joined on to the newer 
 fashion of intellectualism, and to note how a 
 morsel of faith the less might be now and 
 then conciliated and made up for by a mor- 
 sel of observance the more ; and, beside this, 
 he became aware of the convenient possibil- 
 ity of dividing a man, and making him into 
 two or three different 'f beings," as occasion 
 required ; so that the emotional human being 
 — having sundry natural weaknesses, such 
 as old association and youthful habit, and a 
 regard to the feelings of others, not to speak 
 of the affectionate prejudices of a good 
 Churchman — was quite free to do his daily 
 service at chapel, and say his prayers, even 
 at the very moment when the intellectual 
 being was busy with the most delicate de- 
 monstration that prayer in a universe govern- 
 ed by absolute law was an evident abstn-dity 
 and contradiction of all reason. Colin for 
 his part looked on at this partition, and smiled 
 in his turn. He was not shocked, as per- 
 haps he ought to have been ; but then, as 
 has been said, he too was a man of his age, 
 and found many things which were required 
 by absolute orthodoxy unnecessary impedi- 
 menta, as Lauderdale had called them. But, 
 with all this, the young man had never been 
 able to cut himself in half, and he wonld not 
 learn to regard the process as one either ad- 
 vantageous or honorable. Such, apart from 
 the work which was necessary in obedience 
 to his grand original impulse, were the stud- 
 ies he pursued in Oxford. At the same time 
 he had another occupation in hand, strangely 
 out of accord at once with those studies and 
 with his own thoughts. This was the publi- 
 cation of poor ]\Ieredith's book, the " Voice 
 from the Grave," at which he had labored to 
 the latest moment of his life. In it was rep- 
 resented another world, an altogether con- 
 tradictory type of existence. Between Col- 
 in's intellectual friends, to whom the " Here- 
 after " was a curious and interesting but al- 
 together bafiling subject of investigation, and 
 the dying youth who had gone out of this 
 world in a dauntless primitive confidence of 
 findinjr himself at once in the shining streets 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 .and endless sunshine of the New Jerusalem, 
 the difference was so great as to be past 
 counting. As for the young editor, his view 
 of life was as far different from Meredith's as 
 it was from that of his present companions. 
 The great light of heaven was to Colin, as 
 to many others, as impenetrable as the p 
 fouudest darkness ; he could neither see into 
 it, nor permit himself to make guesses of 
 what was going on beyond ; and, consequent- 
 ly, he had httle sympathy with the kimd of 
 piety which regards life as a preparation for 
 death. Sometimes he smiled, sometimes he 
 sighed over the proofs as he corrected them ; 
 sometimes, but for knowing as he did the ut- 
 ter truthfnlness with which the dead writer 
 had set forth his one-sided and narrow con- 
 ception of the world, Colin would have been 
 disposed to toss into the fire those strange 
 warnings and exhortations. But when he 
 thought of the young author, dead in his 
 youth, and of all the doings and sayings of 
 those months in which they lived together, 
 and, more touching still, of those conversa- 
 tions that were held on the very brink of the 
 grave, and at the gate of heaven, his heart 
 smote him. And then his new friends broke 
 in upon him, and discussed the proofs with 
 opinions so various that Colin could but ad- 
 mire and wonder. One considered them a 
 curious study of the internal consciousness, 
 quite worthy the attention of a student of 
 mental phenomena. Another was of opin- 
 ion that such stuff was the kind of nutriment 
 fit for the uneducated classes, who had strong 
 religious prejudices, and no brains to speak 
 of. When Colin found his own sentiments 
 thrown back to him in this careless fashion, 
 he began to see for the first time the conceit 
 and self-importance of his judgement. For 
 Meredith had faced death with that faith of 
 his, and was at least as well able to judge as 
 his present critic. The result was that the 
 young man, thus seeing his own defects re- 
 flected out of the eyes of others, learned 
 humbleness, and went on with his work of 
 editing, without judging. Other lessons of 
 a similar kind came to him in the same way 
 unawares ; and thus he went on, thinking 
 still of that parish church in Scotland in which 
 all these gifts of his would be utterly lost and 
 buried according to the judgment of the world. 
 
 " If you have set your heart on being a 
 parson," some one said to him — and he could 
 , not help recalling the time when Sir Thomas 
 Frankland had said exactly the same — " go 
 into the Church, at least. Hang it ! Camp- 
 bell, don't go and bind vourself to a conven- 
 ticle," said his anxious acquaintance ; " a man 
 has always the chance of doing something 
 in the Church." 
 
 197 
 
 " That is precisely my idea,"" said Colin, 
 " though you fellows seem to think it the 
 last possibility. And, besides, it is the only 
 thing I can do, with my ideas. I can't be a 
 statesman, as you have a chance of being, 
 and I have not an estate to manage. What 
 else would you have me do ? " 
 
 "My dear fellow," said another of his 
 friends, "you are as sure of a Fellowship as 
 any man ever was. Go in for literature, 
 and send your old Kirk to Jericho : a fellow 
 like you has nothing to do in such a place. 
 One knows the sort of thing precisely ; any 
 blockhead that can thump his pulpit, and 
 drone out long prayers " — 
 
 "That is our weak point," said Colin, 
 who felt much more disposed to be angry 
 than became his philosophy, "but nobody 
 can make public prayers now-a-days ; it's a 
 forgotten faculty. Many thanks for your 
 advice, but I prefer my own profession. It 
 should be good for something, if any profes- 
 sion ever was." 
 
 " Well, now, taking it at the very best, 
 how much do you think you are likely to 
 have a year ? — a hundred and fifty per- 
 haps ? No, I don't mean to say that's final ; 
 
 — but, of course, a thoughtful fellow like 
 you takes it into consideration," said Colin's 
 adviser ; ," everything is badly paid now-a- 
 days — but, at all events, there are chances., , 
 If a man is made of iron and brass, and has '• 
 the resolution of an elephant, he may get to 
 be something at the Bar, you know, and 
 make a mint of money. And even in the 
 Church, to be sure, if he's harmless and civil, 
 something worth having may come in his 
 way ; but you are neither civil nor harmless, 
 Campbell. And, by Jove ! it's not the Church 
 you're thinking of, but the Kirk, which is 
 totally different. I've been in Scotland," 
 continued the Mentor, with animation ; " it's 
 not even one Kirk, which would be some- 
 thing. But there's one at the top of the hill 
 an-d one at the bottom, and I defy any man 
 to tell which is which. Come, Campbell, 
 don't be a Quixote — give it up ! " 
 
 " You might as Avell have told my name- 
 sake to give up the Queen's service after he 
 had lost a battle," said Cohn. " I don't sup- 
 pose Sir Colin ever did lose a battle, by the 
 way. I am not the sort of stuff for a Fellow 
 of Balliol," said the young man ; " I'd like to 
 work among men — that is my idea of being 
 a priest, or clergyman, or minister, or what- 
 ever you choose to call it. Next to that I 
 should like to command a regiment, I believe 
 
 — that's my ambition; and I don't mean, 
 you may be sure, to desert my standard, and 
 take to writing books, even if I could do it. 
 Yes, you are perfectly right," said Colin, turn- 
 
198 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 ing round uik)u one of his visitors, who was 
 silent — "it is almost the only kind of king- 
 ship possible to a son of the soil." 
 
 " I never said so," said the j'oung man he 
 addressed, in a patronizing tone ; " I thought, 
 indeed, you expressed yourself very well, 
 Campbell. It is a curious study altogether. 
 Scotland, though it is what one may call a 
 nation of dissenters, is always an interesting 
 country. If you happened to be of the seed 
 of the martyrs, you might lead her back to I 
 a better faith." 
 
 At which Colin laughed, and forgot his 
 momentary irritation. " None of you know 
 anything about it ; let us postpone our con- 
 clusion m the meantime for ten years," said 
 the cheerful young autocrat. Ten years was 
 like to be an eventful period to all that little 
 assembly who were standing on the verge of 
 life ; but they all made very'light of it, as" was 
 natural. As for Colin, he did not attempt to 
 make out to himself any clear plan of what 
 he intended to do and to be in ten years. 
 Certainly, he calculated upon having by that 
 time reached the highest culmination of which 
 life was capable. That he meant to be a 
 prince in his own country was a careless ex- ! 
 pression, unintentionally arrogant, and said j 
 out of the fulness of his heart, as so many 
 things are for which an account has to be 
 given in latter years ; for, in reality,*the high- ' 
 
 est projects that could move the spirit of a 
 man were in Colin's mind. lie had no thought 
 of becoming a popular preacher, or the ora- 
 cle of a coterie ; and the idea of personal ad- 
 vancement never came into his head, rash 
 though his words were. What he truly in- 
 tended was not quite known to himself, in 
 the vague but magnificent stimngs of his 
 ambition. He meant to take possession of 
 some certain corner of his native country, 
 and make of it an ideal Scotland, manful in 
 works and steadfast in belief; and he meant 
 from that corner to influence and move all 
 the land in some mystical method known only 
 to the imagination. Such are the splendid 
 colors in which fancy, when sufficiently live- 
 ly, can dress up even such a sober reality as 
 the life of a Scotch minister. While he 
 planned this, he seemed to himself so entire- 
 ly a man of experience, ready to smile at the 
 notions of undisciplined youth, that he suc- 
 ceeded in altogether checking and deceiving 
 his own inevitable good sense — that watchful 
 monitor which warns an imaginative mind of 
 its extravagance. This was the great dream 
 which, interrupted now and then by lighter 
 fancies, had accompanied Colin more or less 
 clearly through all his life. And now the 
 hour of trial was about to come, and the young 
 man's ambition was ready to accomplish itself 
 as best it mi^ht. 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 199 
 
 PART XV. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 It is unnecessary to say that Colin won tlie 
 prize on whicli he had set his heart. The 
 record is extant in the University, to save 
 his historian trouble ; and, to be sure, no- 
 body can be supposed to be ignorant on so 
 important a point — at least nobody who is 
 anybody and has a character to support. 
 He took a double first-class — as he had set 
 his heart on doing — and thereby obtained, 
 as some great man once said in a speech, an 
 equal standing to that of a duke in English 
 society. t is to be feared that Colin did 
 not experience the full benefits of his eleva- 
 tion ; for, to be sure, such a dukedom is of a 
 temporary character, and was scai'cely likely 
 to survive beyond his year. But the prize 
 when it was won, and all the long details 
 of the process of winning it, were not with- 
 out their effect upon him. Colin, being still 
 young and inexjjerienced, had, indeed, the 
 idea that the possessor of such a distinction 
 needed but to signify his august will, and 
 straightway every possible avenue of ad- 
 vancement would open before him. But for 
 that idea, the pride of carrying home his 
 honours, and laying them at the f3et of his 
 native church and country, would have been 
 much lessened ; and to tell the truth, when 
 the moment of triumph came, Colin yielded 
 a little to the intoxication, and lent his 
 thoughts, in spit^ of himself, to those 
 charmed voices of ambition which, in every 
 allegory that ever was invented, exercise 
 their siren influence on the young man at 
 the beginning of his career. He waited to 
 be wooed at that eventful moment. He had 
 a vague idea at the. bottom of his heart that 
 the State and the Church, and the Bar and 
 the Press, would all coine forward open- 
 armed to tempt the hero of the year ; and 
 he had nobly determined to turn a deaf ear 
 to all their temptations, and cling to his nat- 
 ural vocation, the profession to which he had 
 been trained, with a constancy to which the 
 world could not fail to do honour. Colin ac- 
 cordingly took possession of his honours with 
 a httle expectation, and waited for these 
 siren-voices. When they did not come, the 
 young man was a Httle astonished, a little 
 mortified and cast down for the moment. 
 But after that, happily the absurdity of the 
 position struck him. He burst into sudden 
 laughter in his rooms, where he sat in all 
 the new gloss of his fame and dignity, with 
 much congratulation from his friends, but no 
 particular excitement on the part of the 
 world. Great Britain, as it appeared for the 
 moment, was not so urgently in want of a 
 
 new Secretary of State as to contest the 
 matter with the parish of Glentuuunel, 
 which had a claim upon the young man as 
 its.minister ; and neither the Times nor the 
 Quarterly Review put then forth any pre- 
 tensions to him. And University life, to 
 which he might have had a successful entree, 
 did not exercise ony charm upon Colin. A 
 tutorship, though with unlimited prospect of 
 pupils, and hopes of reaching soon the au- 
 gust elevation of Master, was not the voca- 
 tion on which he had set his heart. 'The 
 consequence was, as we have said, that the 
 new Fellow of Balliol remained expectant for 
 some time, then began to feel mortified and 
 disappointed, and finally arose, with a stoi-m 
 of half-indignant laughter, to find that, after 
 all, his position was not vitaUy changed by 
 his successes. This was a strange, and per- 
 haps in some respects a painful, discovery 
 for a young man to make. He had distin- 
 guished himself among his fellows as much 
 as a young soldier who had made himself the 
 hero of a campaign would have distinguished 
 himself among his ; but this fact had very 
 little effect upon his entry into the world. 
 If he had been the Duke's son, his first-class 
 glories would have been a graceful addition 
 to the natural honours of his name, and per- 
 haps might have turned towards him with 
 favour the eyes of some of those great per- 
 sons who hold the keys of office in their 
 hands. But Colin was only the farmer of 
 Ramore's son, and his prize did him no more 
 good than any other useless laurel — except 
 indeed that it might have helped him to ad- 
 vancement in the way of pupils, had that 
 been Colin's role. But considering how 
 honourable a task it is to rear the new gen- 
 eration, it is astonishing how little enthusi- 
 asm generally exists among young men for 
 that fine and worthy office. Colin had not 
 the least desire to devote himself hencefor- 
 ward to the production of other first-cLass 
 men — though, doubtless, that would have 
 been a very laudable object of ambition ; and, 
 notwithstanding his known devotion to the 
 " Kirk," as his Oxford friends liked to call 
 it, the young man was, no doubt, a little dis- 
 appointed to find himself entirely at liberty 
 to pursue his vocation. To be sure, Colin's 
 " set " stiU remonstrated against his self-im- 
 molation, and assured him that with his ad- 
 vantages fabulous things might be done. 
 But the young Scotchman was too clear- 
 sighted not to see that a gi-eat many of his 
 congratulating friends had a very faint idea ^ 
 what to do with themselves, though some of 
 them were but a step or two beneath him 
 in honours. And, in the mean time, Colin 
 felt quite conscious that the world gave no 
 
200 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 sign of wanting him, nor even availed itself 
 of the commonest opportunities of seeking 
 his invaluable services. A man who takes 
 such a discovery in good part, and can turn 
 back without bitterness upon his original 
 intentions, is generally a man good for some- 
 thing; and this is precisely what, with 
 much less flourish of trumpets than at the 
 beginning, Colin found it necessary to do. 
 
 But he was not sorry to pay a visit to 
 Wodensbourne, where he was invited after 
 his victory, and to take a little time to think 
 it all over. Wodensbourne had always been 
 a kind of half-way house. It stood between 
 him and his youthful life, with its limited ex- 
 ternal circumstances and unlimited expec- 
 tations — and that other real life — the life 
 of the man, wonderfully enlarged in out- 
 waird detail, and miraculously shrunk and 
 confined in expectation — which by the 
 force of the contrast, young as he was, 
 seemed to make two men of Colin. It was 
 there first that he learned to distinguish be- 
 tween the bi'illiant peasant-firmament of 
 Ramore, full of indistinct mists of glory, un- 
 derneath which everything was possible — 
 an atmosphere in which poor men rose to 
 the steps of the throne, and princesses mar- 
 ried pages, and the world was still young 
 and fresh and primitive ; and that more real | 
 sky in which the planets shone fixed and 
 unapproachable, and where everything was 
 bound by bonds of law and order, forbidding 
 miracle. The more Colin had advanced, 
 the more had he found advancement impos- 
 sible according to the ideas entertained of 
 it in his original sphere ; and it was at 
 Wodensbourne that he had first made this 
 grand discovery. It was there he had 
 learned the impossibility of the fundamental 
 romance which at the bottom of their hearts 
 most people like to believe in — of that love 
 which can leap over half a world to unite 
 two people and to make them happy ever 
 after, in spite not only of diiferences of for- 
 tune but of the far larger and greater differ- 
 ences by which society is regulated. Colin 
 was on perfectly pleasant terms with Miss 
 Matty by this time, and did not hide from 
 himself how much he owed her, — though 
 perhaps she, who owed him a momentary 
 perception of the possibility which she had 
 proved to his heart and understanding to be 
 impossible, would have been but little grateful 
 had she been made aware of the nature of 
 his indebtedness. And now, having made 
 still another discovery in his lite, the 
 young man was pleased to come to Woflens- 
 bourne to think over it, and make out what 
 it meant. And the Franklands were, as 
 always, very kind to Cohn. Miss Matty, 
 
 who had had a great many nibbles in the 
 interval, was at length on the eve of being 
 married. And Harry, who had nothing 
 particular to do, and who found Wodens- 
 bourne stupid now that he was not to marry 
 his cousin, was abroad, nobody seemed ex- 
 actly to know where ; and various things, 
 not altogether joyful, had happened in the 
 family smce the far-distant age when Colin 
 was the tutor, and had been willing for Miss 
 Matty's sake to resign everj'thing, if it should 
 even be his life. 
 
 " It will be a very nice marriage," said 
 Lady Frankland. " I will not conceal from 
 you, Mr. Campbell, that Matty has been 
 very thoughtless, and given us a great deal 
 of anxiety. It is always so much more dif- 
 ficult, you know, when you have the charge 
 of a girl who is not your own child. One 
 can say anything to one's own child; but 
 your niece, you know — and, indeed, not 
 even your own, but your husband's niece " — 
 
 " But I am sure Miss Frankland is as 
 much attached to you," said Colin, who did 
 not like to hear Matty blamed, " as if" — 
 
 " Oh yes," said Lady Frankland ; " but still 
 it is different. You must not think I am 
 the least vexed about Harry. I never 
 thought her the proper person for Harry. 
 He has so much feeling, though strangers do 
 not see it ; and, if he had been disappointed 
 in his wife after they were married, fancy 
 what my feelings would have been, Mr. 
 Campbell. I was always sure they never 
 would have got on together ; and you know, 
 when that is the case, it is so much better 
 to break off at once." 
 
 " What is that you are saying about break- 
 ing off at once ? " said Miss Matty, who 
 came into the room at that moment. " It 
 must.be Mr. Campbell who is consulting you, 
 aunt. I thought he would have asked m7j 
 advice in such a case. I do believe my 
 lady has forgotten that there ever was a 
 time when she was not married and settled, 
 and that is why she gives you such cruel ad- 
 vice. Mr. Campbell, I am much the best 
 counsellor, and I beg of you, don't break it 
 off atonce !" said Miss Matty, looking up in his 
 face with eyes that were half moclang and 
 half pathetic. She knew very well it was 
 herself whom my lady had been talking of 
 — which made her the more disposed to 
 send back the arrow upon Colin. But 
 Matty, after all, was a good deal discon- 
 certed — more disconcerted than he was, 
 when she saw the sudden flush that came to 
 Colin's face. Naturally, no woman likes to 
 make the discovery that a man who has 
 once been her worshipper has learned to 
 transfer his affections to somebody else. 
 
A SON OP THE SOIL. 
 
 201 
 
 When she saw that this chance shaft had 
 touched him, she herself was couscious of a 
 sudden flush — a Hush which had nothing 
 whatever to do M'ith love, but proceeded 
 from the indescribable momentary vexation 
 and irritation with which she regarded Co- 
 lin's desertion. That he was her adorer no 
 longer was a fact which she had consented 
 to ; but Mss Matty experienced a natural 
 movement of indignation when she perceived 
 that he had elevated some one else to the 
 vacant place. " Oh, if you look like that, 
 I shall think it quite unnecessary to advise," 
 she said with a little spitefulness, lowering 
 her voice. 
 
 " What do I look like ? " said Colin with 
 a smile ; for Lady Frankland had withdrawn 
 to the other end of the room, and the young 
 man was perfectly disposed to enter upon 
 one of the half-mocking, half-tender conver- 
 sations which had given a charm to his life 
 of old. 
 
 " What do you look like ? " said Miss 
 Matty. " Well, I think you look a great 
 deal more like other people than you used 
 to do ; and I hate men who look like every- 
 body else. One can generally tell a wo- 
 man by her dress," said the young Udy pen- 
 sively ; " but most men that one meets in 
 society want to have little labels with their 
 names on them. I never can tell any differ- 
 ence between one and another for my part." 
 
 " Then perhaps it would clear the haze a 
 little if I were to name myself," said Colin. 
 " I am Colin Campbell of Ramore, at your 
 ladyship's service — once tutor to the learn- 
 ed and witty Charley, that hope of the house 
 of Wodensbourne — and once also your lady- 
 ship's humble boatman and attendant on the 
 Ploly Loch." 
 
 " Fellow of Balliol, double-first — Coming 
 man, and reformer of Scotland," said Miss 
 Matty with a laugh. "Yes, I recognise 
 you ; but I am not my ladyship just yet. I 
 am only Matty Frankland for the moment. 
 Sir Thomas's niece, who has given my lady 
 a great deal of trouble. Oh, yes ; I know 
 what she was saying to you. Girls who 
 live in other people's houses know by in- 
 stinct what is being said about them. Oh, 
 to be sure, it is quite true ; tlaey have been 
 very, very kind to me ; but don't you know, 
 it is dreadful always to feel that people are 
 kind. Ah ! how sweet it used to be on the 
 Holy Loch. But you have forgotten one of 
 your qualifications, Mr. Campbell ; you used 
 to be poet as well as tutor. I think, so far 
 as I was concerned, it was the former capac- 
 ity which you exei'cised with most applause. 
 I have a drawer in my desk full of certain 
 efiusions ; but, I suppose, now you are a 
 
 Fellow of Balliol yon are too dignified for 
 that." 
 
 " I don't see any reason why I should be," 
 said Colin ; " I was a great deal more digni- 
 fied, for that matter, when I was eighteen, 
 and a student at Glasgow College, and had 
 very much more loftly expectations then 
 than now." 
 
 " Oh, you always were devoted to the 
 Kirk," said Miss Matty ; " which was a 
 thing I never could understand — and now 
 less than ever, when everybody knows that 
 a man who has taken such honours as you ' 
 have, has everything open to him." 
 
 " Yes," said Colin ; " but then what every- 
 body knows is a little vague. I should like 
 to know of any one thing that really is open 
 to me except taking pupils. Of course," 
 said the young man, with dignity, "my 
 mind is made up long ago, and my profession 
 fixed ; but for the good of other people in 
 my position — and for my own good as well," 
 Colin added with a laugh — " for you know 
 it is pleasant to feel one's self a martyr, re- 
 jecting every sort of advantage for duty's 
 sake." 
 
 " Oh, but of course it is quite true," said 
 Matty; "you are giviflg up everything — 
 of course it is true. You know you might 
 go into Pai'liament, or you might go into the 
 Church, or you might — I wish you would 
 speak to my uncle about it ; I suppose he 
 knows. For my part, I think you should go 
 into Parliament; I should read all your 
 speeches faithfully, and always be on your 
 side." 
 
 " That is a great inducement," said Colin. 
 " With that certainty one could face a great ' 
 many obstacles. But, on the other hand, 
 when I have settled down somewhere in 
 my own profession, you can come and hear 
 me preach." 
 
 "That will not be half so interesting," 
 said Miss Matty, making a little vioue of 
 disdain ; " but, now, tell me," she continued, 
 sinking her voice to its most confidential 
 tone, "what it was that made you look so? 
 
 — you know we are very old friends," said 
 Miss Matty, with the least little tender touch 
 of jiathos ; " we have done such quantities 
 of things together — rowed on the Holy 
 Loch, and walked in the woods, and dis- 
 cussed Tennyson, and amused Sir Thomas 
 
 — you ought to tell me your secrets ; you 
 don't know what a good confidante I should 
 be, and if I know the lady — But, at all 
 events, you must tell me what made you 
 look so ? " said with her sweetest tone of 
 inquisitive sympathy, the siren of CoHn's 
 youth. 
 
 " Perhaps — when you have explained 
 
202 
 
 to me what it moans to look so," said Colin ; I 
 " after being buried for three years one for- | 
 gets that little language. And then I am i 
 disposed to deny ever having looked so," he [ 
 Trent on, laughing ; but, notwithstanding 
 his laugh, Colin was much more annoyed i 
 than became his reasonable years and new 
 dignities to feel once more that absurd crim- j 
 sou rising to his hair. The more he laughed \ 
 the higher rose that guilty and conscious j 
 colour ; and, as for Miss Matty, she pointed 
 her little pink finger at him with an air of | 
 triumph. 
 
 " There ! " she said, " and you dare to pre- 
 tend that you never looked so ! I shall be \ 
 quite vexed now if you don't tell me. If it 
 Avas not something very serious," said Miss 
 Matty, " you would not change like that." 
 
 '' Here is Sir Thomas ; he will never 
 . accuse me of looking so, or changing like tlial 
 
 — and it is a guest's first duty to make him- 
 self agi'eeable to his host, is it not ? " said 
 Colin, who was rather glad of Sir Thomas's 
 arrival. As for Matty, she was conscious 
 that Lady Frankland had given her what , 
 she would have called " a look " before leav- ' 
 ing the room, and that her uncle regarded , 
 her with a little anxiety as he approached. 
 Decidedly, though she liked talking to | 
 Colin, it was necessary to be less confiden- j 
 tial. " I won't say au revoir," she said, 
 shrugging her pretty shoulders ; " you know 
 what you said about that once upon a time, 
 when you were a poet." And then Matty 
 felt a Uttle sorry for herself as she went 
 away. " They might know, if they had any 
 sense, that it does not matter in the least 
 what I say to him," the young lady said to 
 herself; but then she was only suffering the 
 natural penalty of a long course of conquest, 
 and several good matches sacrificed, and 
 matters were serious this time, and not to 
 be trifled with. Miss Matty accordingly 
 gave up her researches into Colin's secret ; 
 but not the less regarded, with a certain de- 
 gree of lively despite, the revelation out of 
 the clouds of that unknown woman at 
 thought of whom Colin blushed. " I dare 
 say it is somebody quite stupid, who does 
 not understand Mm a bit," she said to her- 
 self, taking a little comfort from the thought 
 
 — for Matty Frankland was not a model 
 woman, desiring only tlie hero's happiness ; 
 and a man who is sufficiently insensible to 
 console himself under such circumstances 
 with another attachment deserves to have 
 his inconstancy punished, as anybody Avill 
 allow. 
 
 To tell the truth, Colin, though guiltless 
 of any breach of allegiance towards Matty, 
 was punished sufficiently for his second at- 
 
 A SON OF THE SOU. 
 
 tempt- at love. He had heard nothing of 
 Alice all these three years, but, notwith- 
 standing, had never ceased to feel upon his 
 neck that invisible bridle which restrained 
 him against his will. Perhaps, if the woman 
 of his imagination had ever faii'ly revealed 
 hei-self, the sight would have given hun 
 courage to break for ever such a visionary 
 bond, and to take possession of his natural 
 liberty; but she contented herself with wav- 
 ing to him those airy salutations out of the 
 clouds, and with now and then throwing a 
 glance at him out of the eyes of some pas- 
 ser-by, who either disappeared at once from 
 his sight, or turned out upon examination 
 to be utterly unlike that not impossible She ; 
 and Colin had two sentinels to keep watch 
 upon his honour in the forms of his mother 
 and Lauderdale, both of whom believed in 
 Love, and did not know what inconstancy 
 meant. lie said to himself often enough 
 that the struggle in his heart was not incon- 
 stancy; but then he was not a man who 
 would admit to them, or even to himself, 
 that the bond b"tween him and Alice was a 
 great and tender pity, and not love. She 
 had been on the eve of becoming his wife — 
 she might be hia wife still for anything he 
 knew to the contrary — and Colin, who in 
 this respect was spotless as any Bayard, 
 would not, even to his dearest friends, hu- 
 miliate by such a confession the woman he 
 had once sought to marry. 
 
 But now the time was almost come when he 
 could in reality " settle in life." His Scotch 
 parish came nearer and nearer, in the, 
 natural course of affairs, without any daz- 
 zling obstacles and temptations between it 
 and himself, as he had once hoped; and 
 Alice was of age by this time ; and honour 
 seemed to demand that, now when his pro- 
 posal really meant something, he should 
 offer to her the possibility of confirming 
 her early choice. But somehow Colin was 
 not at all anxious to take this step ; he hung 
 back, and nursed the liberty which still 
 remained to him, and longed, in spite of 
 himself, towards the visionary creature of 
 his dreams, who was not Alice. According- 
 ly, he had two rather troublesome matters 
 to tliink over at Wodensbourne, and occu- 
 pied a position which was made all the more 
 vexatious because it was at the same time 
 amusing and ridiculous. His mind had been 
 made up from the beginning as to his future 
 life, as he truly said ; but then he had quite 
 intended it to be a sacrifice which he made 
 out of his supreme love for his Church and 
 his country. He meant to have fought his 
 Avay back to the venerable mother through 
 every sort of brilliant temptation, and to 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 203 
 
 cany his honours to hei* with a disinterested 
 love which he should prove by leaving be- 
 hind him still higher honours and ambitions ; 
 whereas, in reality, the world was permit- 
 ting him to return very q-uietly to his native 
 country as if it was the most natural thing 
 in the world. The disappointment was per- 
 haps harsher in its way than if Colin had 
 meant to avail himself of those splendid 
 imaginary chances ; and it did not make it 
 any the less hard to bear that he himself 
 saw the humour of the situation, and could 
 not buL laugh grimly at himself. Perhaps 
 Colin will suffer in the opinion of the read- 
 ers of this histoiy when we add that, not- 
 withstanding the perplexing and critical 
 character of the conjuncture, and notwith- 
 standing the other complication in his his- 
 tory in regard of Alice; he employed his 
 leisure at Wodensbourne, after the interview 
 we have recorded, in writing verses for IMiss 
 Matty. It was true she had challenged 
 him to some such task, but still it was un- 
 doubtedly a weakness on the part of a man 
 with so much to think of. Truth, however, 
 compels his historian to confess to this frivol- 
 ity. As he strayed about the flat country, 
 and through the park, the leisure in which 
 he had intended to think over his position 
 only betrayed him to this preposterous idle- 
 ness — for, to be sure, life generally arranges 
 itself its own way without much help from 
 thinking ; but one cannot succeed in writing 
 a farewell to a fu-st love, for whom one 
 retains a certain kindness, without a due 
 attention to one's rhymes : 
 
 Underneath we give the last copy of non- 
 sense-verses which Colin was seduced into writ- 
 ing, though the chief interest they possess is 
 chronological as marking the end of the period 
 of life in which a man can express himself in 
 this medium. As for Miss Matty, to tell the 
 truth, she received them with less of her usual 
 good grace than might have been desired ; for, 
 though in her own person she was perfectly re- 
 conciled to the loss of his devotion, and quite 
 safe ki entertaining the mildest sentiments of 
 friendship, still she was naturally vexed a little 
 to see how he had got over it — which was 
 a thing not to be expected, nor perhaps desired. 
 This, however, was the calm and self-controlled 
 tone of Colin's farewell : — 
 
 Be it softly, slowly said, 
 
 With a smile and with a sigh, 
 As life's noiseless hands untie 
 Links that youth has made — 
 Not with soiTOw or with tears : 
 With a sigh for those sweet years 
 Drawing slow apart the while ; 
 For those sweetest years a smile. 
 
 Thus farewell ! The sound is sweet ; 
 Parting leaves no sting behind : 
 One bright chamber of the mind 
 Closing gracious and complete, 
 Softly shut the silent door ; 
 Never shade can enter more — 
 Safe, for what is o'er can last ; 
 Somewhat sad, for it is past, 
 
 • So farewell ! The accents blend 
 With sweet sounds of life to be j' 
 Never could there dawn for me 
 Hope of any dearer end. 
 Dear it is atar to greet 
 The bright path before thy feet, 
 Thoughts that do thy joy "no Avrong 
 Chiming -soft the even-song, 
 Till morn wakes the bridal bell 
 Fair and sweet, farewell ! farewell ! " 
 
 and this was the sole result, as far as any- 
 body was aware, of Colin's brief but pleas- 
 ant holiday at Wodensbourne. 
 
 CHAPTER xirv. 
 
 It is so difficult a matter to tell the story 
 of a man's life without wearying the audi- 
 ence, that we will make a leap over all the 
 cu'cumstances of Colin's probation in Scot- 
 land, though they were sufficiently amusing. 
 For, naturally, the presbytery of Glen-Di- 
 armid — in which district the Holy Loch, 
 Colin's native parish, is situated — were a 
 little at a loss what to make of a Fellow of 
 Balliol when he oflered himself for license. 
 To be sure, they made a long pause over the 
 fact of his Fellowship, which implied that 
 he was a member of the Church of Eng- 
 land ; but the presbytery permitted Colin to 
 be heard in defence, and he had friends 
 among them, and had sufficient skill Avith 
 his weapons to perplex and defeat any 
 rising antagonist. Besides, it was not in the 
 nature of a country presbytery in this tol- 
 erant age to be otherwise than a little 
 proud of the academical honours which the 
 young neophyte bore. " If we accept any 
 lout who comes up for license, and refuse a 
 lad of his attainments, what do you suppose 
 the world will think of us ? " said one of the 
 more enlightened members of the clerical 
 court, forgetting, as was natural, that the 
 world concerned itself very little with the 
 doings of the presbytery of Glen-Diarmid. 
 " It's safe to leave aU that to the objectors 
 when he comes to be placed," said another 
 of Colin's judges, more waiy than his 
 brother; " if he's not sound, you may trust 
 it to them to find that out," — and the 
 young man was accordingly endued with 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 204 
 
 the prelluaiuary privileges of preacher, and 
 licensed to exercise his gift. Colin had 
 made friends all along the road of his life, 
 as some men are happy enough to do, and 
 had many who would have been pleased to 
 do liiiu a service, and one, as it happened, 
 who at this juncture could ; and so it befell 
 that, a very short time after, the second 
 and more serious trial to which the prudent 
 presbyter had referred came into the life of 
 the young preacher. He was presented, as 
 people say in Scotland, to the parish of Laf- 
 ton, in the country, or, as the natives prefer 
 to call it, the kingdom of Fife. It Avas 
 a good living enough, making up, when the 
 harvest was of average productiveness, and 
 wheat steady, rather more than three hun- 
 dred pounds a year — and more than that 
 when the harvest was bad and the price of 
 corn high ; — and there was an excellent 
 manse, not much inferior to an English par- 
 sonage, and a compact little comfortable 
 glebe, of which a minister of agricultural 
 tastes might make something if he chose ; 
 and, above all, there were " heritors " of 
 good conditions, and a university town, of 
 small dimensions but wealtliy in point of| 
 society, within reach — all of which points 
 seemed to Colin's English friends a fabulous 
 conbination of advantages to be found in a 
 Scotch parish. Colin, however, did not 
 fully describe the horrible gulf which lay 
 between him and his benefice to anybody 
 out of Scotland ; for he was not the man to 
 betray the imperfections of his beloved 
 country, even while he suffered from them. 
 His historian, however, does not require to 
 exercise so much delicacy ; and, as Colin's 
 case was exactly the same as that of any 
 other young clei-gyman in the Church of 
 Scotland, there is no betrayal of confidence 
 involved. Between him and that haven 
 there was a channel to cross before which 
 the boldest might have quailed. The parish 
 of Lafton was g, large parish, and there 
 were seven hundred and fifty people in 
 it who had a right to "object" to Colin. 
 They had a right to object, if they liked, to 
 his looks, or his manners, or his doctrines, or 
 the colour of his hair; they had a right to 
 investigate all his life, and make a complaint 
 at "the bar of the presbytery" — which 
 meant, at the same time, in all the local 
 newspapers, eager for any kind of gossip — 
 that he had once been guilty 'of bird's nesting, 
 or had heard the midnight chimes at some 
 unguarded moment of his youth. When 
 Colin entered the pulpit for the first time in 
 the pai'ish to which he was presented, he 
 made his appearance there not to instruct 
 the congregation, but to be inspected, 
 
 watched, judged, and finally objected to 
 — and all the process was vigorously en- 
 forced in his case. For, to be sure, there 
 were several things to be remarked in this 
 young man — or, as the people of Lafton 
 expressed it, " this new laud " — which were 
 out of the way, and unlike other people. 
 He was a lad that had not found Scotch 
 education good enough for him, but had 
 gone to England for at least part of his 
 training. To be sure, he had partly made 
 up for this by taking the highest honours 
 possible, and coming out of the contest in a 
 manner creditable to Scotland — which was 
 a point in his favour. And then his pray- 
 ers (which was odd, as Colin was decidedly 
 a liturgist) were wanting in those stock ex- 
 pressions which, more pertinacious than any 
 liturgy, haunt the public prayers of the 
 ordinary ministei-s of the Church of Scot- 
 land ; and his sermons were short and inno- 
 cent of divisions, and of a tenor totally un- 
 like what the respectable parishioners had 
 been used to hear. Some of the shrewder 
 elders were of opinion that this or that ex- 
 pression "might mean ony tiling" — a con- 
 clusion in which there was a certain truth, 
 for Colin, as we have said, was not perfectly 
 clear on all points as to what he believed. 
 If he was not altogether heterodox on the 
 subject of eternal punishment, for example, 
 he was, to say the least, extremely vague*, 
 and, indeed, deserted doctrinal ground al- 
 together as often as he could, and took 
 refuge in life and its necessities in a way 
 which doubtless had its effect on the unin- 
 structed multitude, but was felt to be meagre 
 and unsatisfactory to the theologians of the 
 parish. Two or three public meetings were 
 held on the subject before it was time to 
 lodge the final objections against the " pres- 
 entee ; " and Colin himself, who was living 
 at St. Rule's, within a few miles of the 
 theatre of war, naturally found those meet- 
 ings, and the speeches thereat, which ap- 
 peared in the Fife xirgns, much less amusing 
 than an impartial spectator might have done. 
 And then the same enlightened journal con- 
 tained all sorts of letters on the subject — 
 letters in which " An Onlooker " a ked 
 whether the Rev. Mr. Campbell, whoswas 
 pi-esentee to the parish of Lafton, was the 
 same Mr. Campbell who had passed a spring 
 at Rome three or four year before, and had 
 been noted for his leaning to the Papacy 
 and its superstitious observances ; while, on 
 the other hand, " A Fife Elder " implored 
 the parishioners to take notice that the man 
 whom an Erastian patron — not himself 
 a member of the Church, and perhaps una- 
 ware how dearly the spiritual privileges pur- 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 205 
 
 chased by the blood of their martyred fore- 
 fathers are regarded by Scotsmen — thus 
 endeavoured to force upon them was noto- 
 riously a discijile of Jowett, and belonged 
 to the most insidious school of modern infi- 
 delity. It was the main body of the oppos- 
 ing army which made such attacks; but 
 there was no lack of skirmishers, who treat- 
 fid the subject in a lighter manner, and ad- 
 dressed the obliging editor in a familiar 
 and playful fashion: — " Sir, — Having 
 nothing better to do last Sunday morning, 
 I strayed into the parish church of Lafton, 
 with the intention of worshipping with the 
 congregation ; but you may judge of my 
 surprise when I observed ascending the pul- 
 pit-stairs a young gentleman presenting all 
 the appearance of a London swell or a cav- 
 alry officer, with a beard upon which it was 
 evident he had spent more time than on his 
 sermon " — wrote a witty corresjX)ndent ; 
 while another indignant Scot demanded 
 solemnly, "Is it to be tolerated that our 
 very pulpits should be invaded by the scum 
 of the English Universities, inexperienced 
 lads that make a hash of the Prayer-book, 
 and preach sermons that may do Yery well 
 on the other side of the Tweed, but won't 
 go down here ? " 
 
 Such were the pleasant effusions with 
 which Colin's friend at St. Rule's amused his 
 guest at breakfast. They were very amus- 
 ing to a spectator safely established in the 
 Elysian fields of a Scotch professorship, and 
 beyond the reach of objections; but they 
 were not amusing, to speak of, to Colin ; 
 and the effect they produced upon the house- 
 hold at Ramore may l^e faintly imagined by 
 the general public, as it will be vividly 
 realized by such Scotch families as have 
 sons in the Church. The Mistress had said 
 to herself, with a certain placid thankful- 
 ness, " It's little they can have to say about 
 my Colin, that has been aye the best and 
 the kindest." But when she saw how much 
 could be made of nothing, the indignation 
 of Colin's mother did not prevent her from 
 being wounded to the heart. " I will never 
 mair believe either in justice or charity," 
 she said, with a thrill of wrath in her voice 
 which had never before been heard at Ra- 
 more ; " him that was aye so true and faith- 
 ful — him that has aye served his Master 
 first, and made no account of this world ! " 
 And, indeed, though his mother's estimate of 
 him might be a little too favourable, it 
 is certain that few men more entirely devot- 
 ed to his work than Colin had ever taken 
 upon them the cure of souls. That, how- 
 ever, was a matter beyond the ken of the 
 congregation and parish of Lafton. There 
 
 were seven hundred and fifty communicants, 
 and they had been well trained in doctrine 
 under their late minister, and had a high 
 character for intelligence ; and, when an 
 opportunity thus happily arrived for distin- 
 guishing themselves, it was not in human 
 nature to neglect it. Had not West Port 
 worried to the point of extinction three un- 
 happy men whom the Crown itself had suc- 
 cessively elevated to the unenviable distinc- 
 tion of presentee ? The Lafton case now 
 occupied the newspapers as the West Port 
 case had once occuj^ied them. It combined 
 all the attractions of a theological contro- 
 versy and a personal investigation; and, in- 
 deed, there could have been few better 
 points of view for observing the humours of 
 Scotch character and the peculiarities of ru- 
 ral Scotch society of the humbler levels; 
 only that, as we have before said, the pro- 
 cess was not so amusing as it might have 
 been to Colin and his friends. 
 
 " Me ken Mr. Jowett ? " said the leading 
 weaver of Lafton ; " no, I ken nothing 
 about him. I'm no prepared to say what he 
 believes. For that matter (but this was 
 drawn out by cross-examination), I'm no 
 just prepared to say at a moment's notice 
 what I believe myself I believe in the 
 Confession of Faith and the Shorter Cate- 
 chism. No, I cannot just say that I've ever 
 read the Confession of Faith — but eh, man, 
 you ken little about parish schools if you 
 think I dinna ken the Catechism. Can I 
 say ' What is Effectual Calling ' ? I would 
 like to know what right you have to ask me. 
 I'll say it at a proper time, to them that 
 have a title to ask. I'm here to put in my 
 objections against the presentee. I'm no 
 here to say my questions. If I was, may 
 be I would ken them better than you." 
 
 " Very well ; but I want to understand 
 what you know about Mr. Jowett," said the 
 counsel for the defence. 
 
 " I've said already I ken naething about 
 Mr. Jowett. Lord bless me ! it's no a man, 
 it's a principle we're thinking of. No, I deny 
 that ; it's no an oath. ' Lord bless me ! ' is 
 a prayer, if you will be at the bottom o't. 
 We've a' muckle need to say that. I say 
 the presentee is of the Jowett school of infi- 
 delity ; and that's the objection I'm here to 
 support." 
 
 " But, my friend," said a member of the 
 presbytery, "it is necessary that you should 
 be more precise. It is necessary to say, you 
 know, that Mr. Jowett rejects revelation; 
 that he " — 
 
 " Moderator, I call my reverend brother 
 to order," said another minister ; " the wit- 
 ness is here to give evidence about Sir. 
 
206 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 Campbell. No doubt he is prepared to show 
 us how the presentee has proved himself to 
 belong to the Jowett school." 
 
 "Oh ay," said the witness; "there's 
 plenty evidence of that. I took notes mysel' 
 of a' the sermons. Here's one of them. 
 It's maybe a wee in my ain words, but 
 there's nae change in the sense, — 'My 
 freends, it's aye best to look after your ain 
 business : it's awfu' easy to condemn others. 
 We're all the children of the Heavenly 
 Father. I have seen devotion among a 
 wheea poor uninstructed Papists that would 
 put the best of you to shame ' — No, that's 
 no what I was looking for ; that's the latitu- 
 dinarian bit." 
 
 " I think it has been said, among other 
 things," said another member of the presby- 
 tery, " that Mr. Campbell had a leaning 
 towards papal error ; it appears to me that 
 the witness's note is almost a proof of that." 
 
 " Moderator," said Colin's counsel, " I beg 
 to call your attention to the fact that we 
 are not discussing the presentee's leaning 
 towards papal error, but his adherence to 
 the Jowett school of infidelity, whatever 
 that may be. If the witness will inform us, 
 or if any of the members of the court will 
 inform us, what Mr. Jowett believes, we 
 will then be able to make some reply to this 
 part of the case." 
 
 " I dinna ken naething about INIr. Jowett," 
 said the cautious witness. "I'm no pre- 
 pared to enter into ony personal question. 
 It's no the man but the principle that we 
 are heeding, the rest of the objectors and 
 me." 
 
 " The witness is perfectly right," said a 
 conscientious presbyter; "if we were 
 tempted to enter into personal questions 
 there would be no end to the process. My 
 friend, the thing for you to do in this deli- 
 cate matter is to lead proof. No doubt the 
 presentee has made some statement which 
 has led you to identify him wit'n Sir. Jowett. 
 He has expressed some doubts, for example, 
 about the origin of Christianity or the truth 
 of revelation " — 
 
 " Order, order," cried the enlightened 
 member ; " I protest against such leading 
 questions. Indeed, it appears to me, Mod- 
 erator, that it is impossible to proceed with 
 this part of the case unless It has been made 
 clearly apparent to the court what Mr. 
 Jowett believes." 
 
 Upon which there naturally ensued a 
 lively disf'ussion in the presbytery, in which 
 the witness was with difliculty prevented 
 from joining. The subject was without 
 doubt sufficiently unfathomable to keep half- 
 a-dozen presbyteries occupied and there 
 
 were at that period, in the kingdom of FIf-*, 
 men of sufficient temerity to pronounce au- 
 thoritatively even upon a matter so mysteri- 
 ous and indefinite. The court, however, 
 adjourned that day without coming to any 
 decision; and even the Edinbui-gh papers 
 published a report of the Lafton case, which 
 involved so many important interests. 
 However, an accident, quite unforeseen', 
 occured in Colin's favour before the next 
 meeting of his reverend judges. It hap- 
 pened to one of these gentlemen to meet 
 the great heresiarch himself, who has been 
 known to visit Scotland. This respectable 
 presbyter did not ask — for to be sure it 
 was at dinner — what the stranger believed ; 
 but he asked him instead if he knew Mr. 
 Campljell, the presentee to Lafton, who had 
 taken a first-class at Oxford. If the answer 
 had been too favourable, Colin's fate might 
 have been considered as sealed. " Camp- 
 bell of Balliol — oh, yes; a very interest- 
 ing young man ; strange compound of prej- 
 udice and enlightenment. He interested 
 me very much," said the heresiarch : and, 
 on that {^'round of objection at least, Colin 
 was saved. 
 
 He was saved on the others also, as it 
 happened, but more by accident than by any 
 effect which he produced on his reluctant 
 pai'ishioners. By dint of repeated exami- 
 nations on the model of that which we have 
 quoted above, the presbytery came to the 
 decision that the presentee's leaning to pa- 
 pal error was, like his adherence to the Jowett 
 school of theology, not proven ; and they 
 even — for presbyteries also march to a cer- 
 tain extent with the age — declined to con- 
 sider the milder accusation brought against 
 him, of favouring the errors of his namesake, 
 Mr. Campbell of Row. By this time, it is 
 true, Colin was on the point of abandoning 
 for ever the Church to which at a dis- 
 tance he had been willing to give up all his 
 ambitions, and the Mistress was wound up 
 to such a pitch of indignant excitement as 
 to threaten a serious illness, and Lauderdale 
 had publically demonstrated his wrath by 
 attending " the English chapel," as he said, 
 "two Sundays running." As for Colin, in 
 the quiet of St. Rule's, feeling like a culprit 
 on his trial, and relishing not at all the no- 
 tion of being taken to pieces by the papers, 
 even though they were merely papers of 
 Fife, he had begun to regard with some re- 
 lief the idea of going back to Balliol and 
 reposing on his Fellowship, and even taking 
 pupils, if nothing better came in his way. 
 If he could have gone into Pivrliament, as 
 JNIatty Frankland suggested, the indignant 
 young man would have seized violently on 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 that means of exposing to the House and 
 the world the miseries of a Scotch presentee 
 and the horrors of Lord Aberdeen's Act. 
 But, fortunately, he had no means of get- 
 ting into Parliament, and a certain sense at 
 the bottom of his heart that this priesthood 
 which had to be entered by a channel so 
 painful and humiliating was in reality his 
 true vocation retained him as by a silken 
 thread. If he had been less con-vinced on 
 this point, no doubt he would have aban- 
 doned the mortifying struggle, and the par- 
 ish of Lafton, having whetted its appetite 
 upon him, would have gone freshly to work 
 upon another unhappy young preacher, and 
 crunched his bones with equal satisfaction ; 
 and, what is still more important to us, this his- 
 tory would have broken off abruptly short 
 of its fit and necessary period. None of 
 these misfortunes happened, because Colin 
 had at heart a determination to make him- 
 self heard, and enter upon his natural voca- 
 tion, and because, in the second place, he 
 was independent, and did not at the present 
 moment concern himself in the smallest de- 
 gree abont the stipend of the parish, whether 
 corn was at five pounds the chaldron or five 
 shillings. To be sure, it is contrary to the 
 ordinary habit of biography to represent a 
 young clergyman as entering a parish against 
 the will or with the dishke of the inhabi- 
 tants ; as a general rule it is at worst ; an 
 interested curiosity, if not a lively enthusi- 
 asm, which the young parish priests of liter- 
 ature find in their village churches; but 
 theu it is not England or Arcadia of which 
 we are writing, nor of an ideal curate or 
 spotless primitive vicar, but only of Colia 
 Campbell and the parish of Lafton, in the 
 kingdom of Fife, in the country of Scotland, 
 under the beneficent operation of Lord 
 Aberdeen's Act. 
 
 However, at last the undignified combat 
 terminated. After the objections were all 
 disposed of, the seven hundred and fifty com- 
 municants received their minister, it is to be 
 hoped, with the respect due to a victor. 
 Perhaps it was a touch of disdain on Colin's 
 part — proving how faulty the young man 
 remained, notwithstanding, as the Mistress 
 said, "all he had come through" — that 
 prompted him to ascend the pulpit, after the 
 struggle was over, with his scarlet hood 
 glaring on his black gown to the consterna- 
 tion of his parishioners. It cannot be de- 
 nied that tins little movement of despite was 
 an action somewhat unworthy of CoUn at 
 such a moment and in such a place ; but 
 then he was young, and it is difficult for a 
 young man to do under all circumstances 
 exactly what he ought. When he had got 
 
 207 
 
 there and opened his mouth, Colin forgot all 
 about his scarlet hood — he forgot they had 
 all objected to him and put him in the pa- 
 pers. He saw only before him a certain 
 corner of the world in which he had to per- 
 form the highest office that is confided to 
 man. He preached without thinking he 
 was preaching, forgetting all about doc- 
 trines, and only remembering the wonderful 
 bewildering life in which every soul before 
 him had its share, the human mysteries and 
 agonies, the heaven, so vague and distant, 
 the need so urgent and so near. In sight of 
 these, which had nothing to do with Lord 
 Aberdeen's Act, Colin forgot that he had 
 been put innocently on his trial and taken 
 to pieces ; and what was still more strange, 
 when two or three harmless weeks had 
 passgd, the seven hundred and fifty com- 
 municants had clean forgotten it too. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 But, after all, there are few trials to 
 which a man of lofty intentions and an ele- 
 vated ideal can be exposed, more severe 
 than the entirely unexpected one which 
 comes upon him when he has had his way, 
 and finds himself for the first time In the 
 much-desired position in which he can carry 
 out all the plans of his youth. Perhaps few 
 people arrive so completely at this point as 
 to acknowledge it distinctly to themselves ; 
 for, to be sure, human projects and devices 
 have a knack of expanding and undergoing 
 a gradual change from moment to moment. 
 Sometliing of the kind, however, must ac- 
 company, for example, every happy mar- 
 riage ; though perhaps it is the woman more 
 than the man who comes under its influence. 
 The beautiful new world of love and good- 
 ness into which the happy bvlde supposes 
 herself to be entering comes to bear after a 
 while so extraordinary a resemblance to the 
 oi'dinary mediocre world which she has 
 quitted that the young woman stands aghast 
 and bewildered. The happiness which has 
 come has withdrawn a more subtle happi- 
 ness, that ideal perfection of being to which 
 she has been more or less looking forward 
 all her life. Colin, when he had gone 
 through all his trials, and had fairly reached- 
 the point at which the heroic and magnifid 
 cent existence which he meant to live shoul 
 commence, found himself very mudh in th® 
 same position. The young man was still In 
 the fantastic age. To preach his sermons ev- 
 ery Sunday, and do his necessary duty, and 
 
208 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 take advantage of the good society at St. 
 Rule's, did not seem a life sufficient for the 
 new minister. What he had tliought of 
 was something impossible, a work for his 
 country, an elevation of the national firma- 
 ment, an influence which should mellow the 
 rude goodness of Scotland, and link her 
 again to all the solemn past, to all the good 
 and gracious present, to all the tender lights 
 and dawns of hope. Cohn had derived from 
 all the religious influences with which he 
 had been brought in contact a character 
 which was perhaps only possible to a young 
 Scotchman and Presbyterian strongly an- 
 chored to his hereditary creed, and yet feel- 
 ing all its practical deficiencies. He was 
 High Church, though he smiled at Apostolic 
 succession ; he was Catholic, though the 
 most gorgeous High Mass that ever was cel- 
 ebrated would have moved him no more than 
 one of Verdi's operas. When other enlight- 
 ened British spectators regarded with lofty 
 superiority the poor papist people coming 
 and going into all the tawdry little churches, 
 and singing vespers horribly out of tune, 
 Colin for his part looked at them with a 
 sigh for his own country, which had ceased 
 to recognise any good in such devotion. 
 And all through his education, from the 
 moment whgn he smiled at the prayer-book 
 under the curate's arm at Wodensbourne, 
 and wondered what a Scotch peasant would 
 think cf it, to the time when he studied in 
 the same light the pi'electlous of the Uni- 
 versity preacher In St. Mary's, Colin's 
 thought had been, " Would I were in the 
 field." It appeared to him that If he were 
 but there, in all his profusion of strength 
 and youth, he could breathe a new breath 
 Into the country ho loved. What he meant 
 to do was to untie the horrible bands of 
 logic and knit fair links of devotion ai'ound 
 that corner of the universe which it has 
 always seemed possible to Scotsmen to make 
 into a Utopia; to persuade his nation to 
 join hands again with Christendom, to. take 
 back again the festivals and memories of 
 Christianity, to rejoice in Christmas and 
 sing lauds at Easter, and say common pray- 
 ers with a universal voice. These were to 
 be the outward signs ; but the fact was 
 that it was a religious revolution in Scot- 
 land at which Colin aimed. He meant to 
 dethrone the pragmatic and arrogant 
 preacher, whose reign has lasted so long. 
 He meant to introduce a more humble self- 
 estimate, and a more gracious temper into 
 the world he swayed In Imagination. From 
 this dream Colin woke up, after the rude 
 experience of the objectors, to find himself 
 at the head of his seven hundred and fifty 
 
 communicants, with authority to say any- 
 thing he liked to them (always limited by 
 the knowledge that they might at any time 
 " libel " him before the presbytery, and that 
 the presbytery might at any time prosecute, 
 judge, and condemn him), and to a certain 
 extent spiritual ruler of the parish, with a 
 right to do anything he liked in it, always 
 subject to the approval of the Session, 
 which could contravent him in many in- 
 genious ways. The young man was at last 
 in the position to which he had looked for- 
 ward for years — at last his career was be- 
 gun, and the course of his ambition lay 
 clear before him. Nothing now remained 
 but to realize all these magnificent projects, 
 and carry out his dreams. 
 
 But the fact is that Colin, instead of 
 plunging Inio his great work, stood on the 
 threshold struck dumb and bewildered, much 
 as a bride might do on the threshold of the 
 new home which slie had looked forward to 
 as something superior to Paradise. The 
 position of his dreams was obtained, but 
 these dreams had never till now seemed ac- 
 tually hopeless and preposterous. When 
 he took his place up aloft In his high pulpit, 
 from which he regarded his people much as 
 a man at a first-floor window might regard 
 the passers-by below, and watched the ruddy 
 countrymen pouring in with their hats on 
 their heads and a noise like thunder, the 
 first terrible blow was struck at his palace* 
 of fancy. They were diSerent altogether 
 from the gaping rustics at Wodensbourne, 
 to whom that good little curate preached 
 harmless sermons out of his low desk, about 
 the twenty-first Sunday after Trinity, and 
 the admirable arrangements of the Church. 
 Colin upstairs at his first-floor window was 
 in no harmless position. He was put up 
 there for a certain business, which the au- 
 dience down below understood as well as be 
 did. As for prayers and psalm-singing, 
 they were necessary preliminaries to be got 
 over as quickly as possible. The congrega- 
 tion listened and made internal criticisms 
 as the young minister said his prayers. 
 " He's awfu' limited In his confessions," one 
 of the elders whispered to another. "I 
 canna think he's fathomed the nature o' sin, 
 for my part ; " and Colin was conscious by 
 something in the atmosphere, by a certain 
 hum and stir, that, though his people were a 
 little grateful to find his'first attempt at de- 
 votion shorter than usual, a second call up- 
 on them was regarded Avith a certain dis- 
 pleased surprise ; for, to be sure, the late 
 minister of Lafton had been of the old school. 
 And then, this inevitable preface having 
 been disposed of, the congregation settled 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 209 
 
 down quietly to the business of the day. 
 Colin was young, and had kept his youthful 
 awe of the great mysteries of faith, though 
 he was a minster. It struck him with a sort 
 of panic — when he looked down upon all 
 those attentive faces, and recalled to himself 
 the idea that he was expected to teach them, 
 to throw new light upon all manner of doc- 
 trines, and open up the Bible, and add addi- 
 tional surety to the assurance already pos- 
 sessed by the audience — that it was a very 
 well-instructed congregation and knew all 
 about the system of Christian theology. It 
 gleamed upon Colin in that terrible moment 
 that, instead of being a predestined reformer, 
 he was a very poor pretender indeed, and to- 
 tally inadequate to the duties of the post 
 which he had taken upon him thus rashly ; 
 for, indeed, he was not by any means so 
 clear as most of his hearers were about the 
 system of theology. This sudden sense of 
 incapacity, which came upon him at the 
 very moment when he ought to have been 
 strongest, was a terrible waking up for Co- 
 lin. He preached his sermon afterwards, 
 but with pale lips and a heart out of which 
 all the courage seemed to have died for the 
 moment ; and betook himself to his manse 
 afterwards to think it all over, with a horri- 
 ble sense overpowering aU his faculties that, 
 after all, he was a sham and impostor, and 
 utterly unworthy of exercising influence up- 
 on any reasonable creature. For, to be 
 sure, though a lofty ideal is the best thing 
 in the world, according to its elevation is 
 the pain and misery of the fall. 
 
 The consequence was that Colin stopped 
 short in a kind of fright after he had made 
 his first discovery, and that, after all his 
 great projects, nothing in the world was 
 heard all that winter of the young reformer. 
 To return to our metaphor, he was silent as 
 a young wife sometimes finds herself among 
 the relics of her absui'd youthful fancies, 
 contemplating the ruin ruefully, and not 
 yet fully awakened to the real possibilities 
 of the posiuon. During this little interval 
 he came gradually down out of his too lofty 
 ideas to consider the actual circumstances. 
 When Lauderdale came to see him, which he 
 did on the occasion of the national new-year 
 holiday, Colin took his friend to see his church 
 with a certain comic despair. " I have a 
 finer chancel than that at Wodensbourne, 
 which was the curate's object in life," said 
 Cc^in ; " but, if I made any fuss about it, 
 1 should be set do^vn as an idiot ; and, if any 
 man has an imagination sufficiently lively to 
 conceive of your ploughmen entei'ing my 
 church as our poor friends went into the 
 Pantheon" — 
 
 14 
 
 " Dinna be unreasonable," said Lauder- 
 dale. " You were aye awfu' fantastic in your 
 notions ; what should the honest men ken 
 about a chancel? I wouldna say that I'm 
 just clear on the subject mysel'. As for the 
 Pantheon, that was aye an awfu' delusion on 
 your part. Our cathedral at Glasgow is an 
 awfu' deal mair Christian-like than the Pan- 
 theon, as far as I can judge ; but I wouldna 
 say that it's an idea that ever enters my 
 head to go there for my ain hand to say my 
 prayers ; and, as for a country kirk with 
 naked pews and cauld stone " — 
 
 " Look at it," said Colin with an air of 
 disgust which was comprehensible enough 
 in a Fellow of Balliol. The church of Laf- 
 ton was worth looking at. It illustrated with 
 the most wonderful, almost comic, exactness 
 two distinct historic periods. At one end of 
 it was a wonderful Norman chancel, gloomy 
 but magnificent, with its heavy and solemn 
 arches almost as perfect as when they were 
 completed. This chancel had been united 
 to a church of later date (long since demol- 
 ished) by a lighter and loftier pointed arch, 
 which however, under Colin's incumbency, 
 was filled up with a partition of wood, in 
 which there was a little door giving admis- 
 sion to the church proper, the native and 
 modern expression of ecclesiastical necessi- 
 ities in Scotland. This edifice was like no- 
 thing so much as a square box, encircled by 
 a level row of windows high up in the wall, 
 so many on each side; and there it was that 
 Colin's lofty pulpit, up two , pairs of stairs, 
 rigidly and nakedly surveyed the rigorous 
 lines of naked pews which traversed the un- 
 lovely area. Colin regarded this scene of 
 his labours with a disgust so melancholy, yet 
 so comical, that his companion, though not 
 much given to mirth, gave forth a laugh 
 which rang into the amazed and sombre 
 echoes. 
 
 " Yes, it is easy enough to laugh," said 
 Colin, who was not without a sense of the 
 comic side of his position; "but, if it was 
 your own church " — 
 
 " Whisht, callant," said Lauderdale, whose 
 amusement was momentary ; " if I had ever 
 come to onything in this world, and had a 
 kirk, I wouldna have been so fanciful. It's 
 weI4 for you to get your lesson written out 
 so plain. There's nae place to speak of 
 here for the prayers and the thanksgivings. 
 r m no saying but what they are the best, 
 but that's no our manner of regarding things 
 in Scotland. Even the man that has mais 
 set his heart on a revolution must aye be 
 gin with things as they are. This is no' a 
 place open at a' times to every man that has 
 a word to say to God in quietness, like yon 
 
210 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 Catholic chapels. It's a place for preachhig ; 
 and you maun preach." 
 
 " Preach ! " said Colin ; " what am I to 
 preach ? What I have learned Eere and 
 there, in Dlchopftenburg for example, or In 
 the Divinity Hall ? and much the better 
 they would all be for that. Besides, I don't 
 believe In preaching, Lauderdale. Preach- 
 ing never did me the least service. As for 
 that beastly pulpit perched up thei-e, all 
 wood and noise as it is " — but here Colin 
 paused, overcome by the weight of his dis- 
 content, and the giddiness natural to his ter- 
 rible fall. 
 
 " Well, ' said Lauderdale, after a pause, 
 " Pm no saying but what there's some jus- 
 tice in what you say ; but I would like to 
 hear, with your ideas, what you're meaning 
 to do." 
 
 To which Colin answered with a groan. 
 " Preach," he said gloomily ; " there is no- 
 thing else I can do : preach them to death, 
 I suppose : preach about everything in 
 heaven and earth ; it is all a priest is good 
 for here." 
 
 " Ay," said Lauderdale ; " and then the 
 worst o't it is that you're no a priest, but 
 only a minister. I wouldna say, however, 
 but what you might pluck up a heart and go 
 into the singing business, and maybe have a 
 process In the presbytery about an organ ; 
 that's the form that reformation takes In our 
 kirk, especially with young ministers that 
 have travelled and cultivated their minds, 
 like you. But, Colin," said the philosopher, 
 " you've been in more places than the Di- 
 vinity Hall. There was once a time when 
 you were awfu' near dying, if a man daur 
 say the truth now It's a' past ; and there was 
 once a bit little cham'er out yonder, between 
 heaven and earth." 
 
 Out yonder. Lauderdale gave a little 
 jerk with his hand, as he stood at the open 
 door, across the grey, level country which 
 lay between the parish church of Lal'ton and 
 the sea ; and the words and the gesture con- 
 veyed Colin suddenly to the lighted window 
 that shone feebly over the campagna, and 
 to the talk within over Meredith's deathbed. 
 The recollection brought a wonderful change 
 over his thoughts. He took his friend's arm 
 in silence, when he had locked the door. 
 " I wonder what he is doing," said Colin. 
 " I wonder whether the reality has fallen 
 short of the expectation there. If there 
 should be no golden gates or shining streets 
 as yet, but only another kind of life with 
 other hopes and trials ! If one could but 
 know ! " 
 
 " Ay," said Lauderdale, in a tone that Col- 
 in knew so well ; and then there was a long 
 
 pause. " I'm no saying but what it's natu- 
 ral," said the philosopher. "It's aye awfu' 
 hard upon a man to get his ain way ; but 
 once in a while there's one arises that can take 
 the good of all that. You'll no make Scotland 
 of your way of thinking, Colin ; but you'll 
 make it worth her Avhile to have brought ye 
 forth for a' that. As for Arthur, poor c'al- 
 lant, I wouldna say but that his ideal may 
 have changed a wee on the road there. I'm 
 awfu' indifferent to the shining streets for 
 my part; but I'm no indllTercnt to them 
 that bide yonder in the silence," said Laud- 
 erdale, and then he made another pause. 
 " There was one now that wasna in your 
 case," he went on ; " he was aye pleased to 
 teach in season and out of season. For the 
 sake of the like of him, I'm whiles moved to 
 hope that a's no so awfu' perfect in the other 
 world as we think. I canna see ony ground 
 for it in the Bible. Naething ever comes to 
 an end in this world, callant ; — and that 
 was just what I was meaning to ask in res- 
 pect to other things." 
 
 " I don't know what you mean by other 
 things," said Colin ; " that is, if you mean 
 Miss Meredith, Lauderdale, I have heard 
 nothing of her for years. That must be con- 
 cluded" to come to have an end if anything 
 ever did. It is not for me to subject myself to 
 rejection any more." 
 
 Upon which Lauderdale breathed out a 
 long breath wliich sounded like a sigh, and 
 was visible as well as audible in the frosty 
 air. " It's, aye weel to have your lesson writ- 
 ten so plain," he said after a minute with 
 that want of apparent sequence which was 
 sometimes amusing and sometimes irritating 
 to Colin ; " it's nae disgrace to a man to do 
 his work under strange conditions. When 
 a lad like you has no place to work in but a 
 pulpit, It's clear to me that God intends him 
 to preach whether he likes it no." 
 
 And this was all the comfort Colin re- 
 ceived, In the midst of his disenchantment 
 and discouragement, from his dearest friend. 
 
 But before the winter was over life had 
 naturally asserted its rights in the minds of 
 the young minister. He had begun to stretch 
 out his hands for his tools almost without 
 knowing it, and to find that after all a man 
 in a pulpit, although he has two flights of 
 stairs to ascend to it, has a certain pow- 
 er in his hand. Cohu found eventually, 
 when he opened his eyes, that he had after 
 all a great deal to say, and that even in one 
 hour in a week it was possible to convey 
 sundry new ideas into the rude, but not stu- 
 pid, minds of his parishioners. A great 
 many of them had that impracticable and 
 hopeless amount of intelligence natural to a 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 211 
 
 well brouglit-up Scotcli peasant, with opi- 
 nions upon theological matters and a lofty 
 estimate of his own powers ; but withal 
 there were many minds open and thought- 
 ful as s Hence, and the fields, and much ob- 
 servation of the operations of nature, could 
 make them. True, there were all the dis- 
 advantages to be encountered in Lafton 
 which usually exist in Scotch parishes of the 
 present generation. There was a free church 
 at the other end of the parish very well fill- 
 ed, and served by a minister who was much 
 more clear in a doctrinal point of view than 
 Colin ; and the heritors, for the most part — 
 that is to say, the land-owners of the parish — 
 though they were pleased to ask a Fellow 
 of Balliol to dinner, and to show him a great 
 deal of attention, yet drove placidly past 
 his church every Sunday to the English 
 chapel in St. Rule's ; which is unhappily the 
 general fortune of the National Church in 
 Scotland. It was on this divided world that 
 Colin looked from his high pulpit, where, at 
 least for his hour, he had the privilege of 
 saying what he pleased without any contra- 
 diction ; and it is not to be denied that after 
 a while the kingdom of Fife grew conscious 
 to its extremity tbat in the eastern corner a 
 man had arrived who had undoubtedly some- 
 thing to say. As his popularity began to rise, 
 Colin's ambitions crept back to his heart 
 one by one. He preached the strangest sort 
 of baffling, unorthodox sermons, in which, 
 however, when an adverse critic took notes, 
 there was found to be nothing upon which 
 in these days he could be brought to the bar 
 of the presbytery. Thirty years ago, indeed, 
 matters were otherwise regulated ; but even 
 presbyteries have this advantage over popes, 
 that th(?y do take a step forward occasion- 
 ally to keep in time with their age. 
 
 This would be the proper point at which 
 to leave Colin, if there did nx)t exist certain 
 natural, human prejudices on the subject 
 which require a distinct conclusion of one 
 kind or another. Until a man is dead, it is 
 impossible to say what he has done, or to 
 make any real estimate of his work; and 
 Colin, so far from being dead, is only as yet 
 at the commencement of his career, having 
 taken the first steps with some success and 
 eclat, and ha'ving recovered the greater part 
 of his enthusiasm. There was, indeed, a 
 time w!ien his friends expected nothing else 
 for him than that early and lovely ending 
 which makes a biography perfect. There is 
 
 only one other ending in life, which is equal- 
 ly satisfactory, and, at least on the face of 
 it, more cheerful than dying ; and that, we 
 need not say, is marriage. Accordingly, as 
 it is impossible to pursue his course to the 
 one end, all that we can do is to turn to the 
 other, which, though the hero himself was 
 not aware of it, was at that moment shadow- 
 ing slowly out of the morning clouds. 
 
 It is accordingly with a feeling of relief 
 that we turn from the little ecclesiastical 
 world of Scotland, where we dare not put 
 ourselves in too rigorous contact with reality, 
 or reveal indiscreetly, without regard to the 
 sanctity of individual confidence, what Col- 
 in is doing, to the common open air and day- 
 light, in which he set out, all innocent and 
 unfearing, on a summer morning, accompa- 
 nied as of old by Lauderdale, iipon a holiday 
 voyage. He had not the remotest idea, any 
 more than the readers of lijs history have at 
 this moment, what was to happen to him be- 
 fore he came back again. He set out with 
 all his revolutionary ideas in his mind, with- 
 out pausing to think that circumstances 
 might occur which would soften down all in- 
 surrectionary impulses on his part, and pre- 
 sent him to the alarmed Church, not under 
 the aspect of an irresistible agitator and re- 
 former, but in the subdued character of a 
 man who has given hostages to society. Col- 
 in had no thought of this downfall in his im- 
 agination when he set out. He had even 
 amused himself with the idea of a new series 
 of " Tracts for the Times," whch might per- 
 adventure work as much commotion in the 
 Church of Scotland as the former series had 
 done in the Anglican communion. He went 
 off in full force and energy with the draft of 
 the first of these revolutionary documents in 
 the writing-case in which he had once cop- 
 ied out his verses for Alice Meredith. Poor 
 Ahce Meredith! The bridle which Colin 
 had once felt on his neck had worn by this 
 time to such an impalpable thread that he 
 was no longer aware of its existence ; and 
 even the woman in the clouds had passed 
 out of his recollection for the moment, so 
 much was he absorbed with the great work 
 he had embarked on. Thus he set out on a 
 pedestrian excursion, meaning to go to the " 
 English lakes, and it is hard to say where 
 besides, in his month's holiday ; and nothing 
 in the air or in the skies gave any notice to 
 Colin of the great event that was to befall 
 him before he could return. 
 
212 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 It was, as we have said, a lovely summer 
 morning when Colin set out on his excur- 
 sion, after the fatigues of the winter and 
 spring. His first stage was naturally Ra- 
 more, where he arrived the same evening, 
 having picked up Lauderdale at Glasgow 
 on his way. A more beautiful evening had 
 never shone over the Holy Loch ; and, as 
 the two friends approached Ramore, all the 
 western sky was Haming behind the dark 
 hills, which stood up in austere shadow, 
 shutting out from the Loch and its immedi- 
 ate banks the later glories ^f the sunset. 
 To leave the eastern shore, where the light 
 still lingered, and steal up under the shadow 
 into the soft beginning of the twilight, with 
 Ramore, that " shines where it stands," look- 
 ing out hospitably from the brae, was like 
 leaving the world of noise and commotion 
 for the primitive life, with its silence and its 
 thoughts; and so, indeed, Colin felt it, 
 though his world was but another country 
 parish, primitive enough in its ways. But 
 then it must not be forgotten that there is a 
 difference between the kingdom of Fife, 
 where wheat grows golden on the broad 
 fields, and where the herrings come up to 
 the shore to be salted and packed in barrels, 
 and the sweet Loch half liiddeu among the 
 hills, where the cornfields arc scant and few, 
 and where grouse and heather divide the 
 country with the beasts and the pastures, 
 and where, in short, Gaelic was spoken 
 within the memory of man. Perhaps there 
 was something of the vanity of youth in that 
 look of observation and half amused, half 
 curious ci'iticism which the young man cast 
 upon the peaceful manse, where the minis- 
 ter, who had red hair, had painfully begun 
 his career when Colin himself was a boy. 
 It was hard to believe that anything ever 
 could happen in that calm house, thus refpos- 
 ing among its trees, with only a lawn be- 
 tween it and the church, and looking as 
 peaceful and retired and silent as the 
 church itself did. It is true Colin knew 
 very well that things both bitter and joyful 
 had happened there within his own recollec- 
 tion ; but that did not prevent the thought 
 striking him, as he glided past in the little 
 bustling steamer, which somehow, by the 
 contrast, gave a more absolute stillness to 
 the pretty rural landscape. Perhaps the 
 minister was walking out at that moment, 
 taking his peaceful stroll along the de\ry 
 road, — a man whose life was all fixed and 
 settled long ago, to whom nothing could 
 ever happen in his own person, and whose 
 
 } life consisted In a repetition over and over 
 of the same things, the same thoughts, pretty 
 I nearly the same words. To be sure, he had 
 a wife, and children, and domestic happi- 
 ness ; but Colin, at his time of life, made but 
 a secondary account of that. He looked at 
 ] the manse accordingly.- with a smile as he 
 , passed on out of sight. The manse of Laf- 
 I ton was not nearly so lovely, but — it was 
 different ; though perhaps he could not have 
 told how. And the same thought was in 
 his mind as he went on past all the tranquil 
 houses. How did they manage to keep ex- 
 isting, those people for whom life was over, 
 who had ceased to look beyond the day, or 
 to anticipate either good or evil? To be 
 sure this was very unreasonable musing; 
 for Colin was aware that things did happen 
 now and then on the Holy Loch. Some- 
 body died occasionally, when it was impos- 
 sible to help it, and by turns somebody was 
 born, and there even occurred, at rare inter- 
 vals, a marriage, with its suggestion of life 
 beginning ; but these domestic incidents 
 were not what he was thinking of. Life 
 seemed to be in its quiet evening over all 
 that twilight coast ; and then it was the 
 morning with Colin, and it did not seem 
 possible for him to exist without the hopes, 
 and motives, and excitements which made 
 ceaseless movement and commotion In his 
 soul. To be sure, he too was only a coun- 
 try minister, and was expected to live and 
 die among " his people " as peaceably as his 
 prototype was doing on the Holy Loch ; 
 and this thought somehow it was that, fall- 
 ing into his mind like a humorous sugges- 
 tion, made Colin smile ; for his ideas did not 
 take that peacefid turn at this period of his 
 existence. He was so full of what had to 
 be done, even of what he himself hf^d to do, 
 that the silence seemed to recede before him, 
 and to rustle and murmur round him as he 
 carried into it his conscious and restless life. 
 He had even such a wealth of existence to 
 dispose of that it kept flowing on in two or 
 three distinct channels, a thing which 
 amused him when he thought of it. For 
 underneath all this sense of contrast, and 
 Lauderdale's talk, and his own watch for the 
 Ramore boat, and his mother at the door, 
 No. 1 of the Tracts for the Times was at the 
 same time shaping itself in Colin's brain ; and 
 there are moment? -when a man can stand 
 apart fi-om himself, and note what Is going 
 on in his own mind. He was talking to 
 Lauderdale, and greeting the old friends 
 who recognised him in the boat, and looking 
 out for home, and planning his tract, and 
 making that contrast between the evening, 
 and the morning all at the same moment. 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 213 
 
 And at the same time lie had taken off the 
 front of his mental habitation, and was 
 looking at all those different processes going 
 on in its different compartments with a cu- 
 rious sense of amusement. Such were the 
 occupations of his mind as he went up to the 
 Loch, to that spot where the Kamore boat 
 lay waiting on the rippled surface. It was 
 a diSerent homecoming from any that he 
 had ever made before. Formerly bis pros- 
 pects were vague, and it never was quite 
 certain what he might make of himself. 
 Now he had fulfilled all the ambitions of his 
 family, as far as his position went. There 
 was nothing more to hope for or to desire in 
 that particular; and, naturally, Colin felt 
 that his influence with his father and broth- 
 ers at least would be enhanced by the reali- 
 zation of those hopes, which, up to this time, 
 had always been mingled with a little un- 
 certainty. He forgot all about that when 
 he grasped the hands of Archie and of the 
 farmer, and dashed up the brae to where the 
 ]\Iistres3 stood wistful at the door ; but, not- 
 withstanding, there was a difference, and it 
 was one which was sufliciently apparent to 
 all. As for his mother, she smoothed down 
 the sleeve of his black coat with her kind 
 hand, and examined with a tender smile the 
 cut of the waistcoat which Colin had brought 
 from Oxford — though, to tell the truth, he 
 had still a stolen inclination for " mufti," and 
 wore his uniform only when a solemn occa- 
 sion occurred like this, and on grand parade ; 
 but, for all her joy and satisfaction at sight 
 of him, the Mistress still looked a little shat- 
 tered and broken, and had never forgotten 
 
 — though Colin had forgotten it long ago — 
 the " objections " of the parish of Lafton, and 
 all that her son had had " to come through," 
 as she said, " before he was placed." 
 
 " I suppose a's weel now ? " Mrs. Camp- 
 bell said. " No that I could have any doubts 
 in my own mind, so far as you were con- 
 cerned ; but, the mair experience a person 
 has, the less hope they have in other folk 
 
 — though that's an awfu' thing to say, and 
 gangs against Scripture. Me that thought 
 there was not a living man that could say a 
 word of blame to my Colin ! And to think 
 of a' the lees that were invented. His fa- 
 ther there says it's a necessary evil, and that 
 we maun have popular rights ; but for me 
 I canna see the necessity. I'm no for doing 
 evil that good may come," said the Mistress ; 
 " it's awfu' papistry that — and to worry a 
 poor callant to death, and drive a' thart be- 
 longs to him out o' their wits — " 
 
 " He's not dead yet," said the farmer, 
 " nor me out of my ordinary. I'll not say 
 it's pleasant; but so long as they canna 
 
 allege onything against a man's morality 
 I'm no so mucli heeding; and it's a poor 
 kind of thing to be put in by a patron that 
 doesna care a pin, and gangs to another 
 kirk." 
 
 " I'm awfu' shaken in my mind about 
 that," said the Mistress ; " there's the Free 
 Kirk folk — though I'm no for making an 
 example of them — fighting among them- 
 selves about their new minister, like th4e 
 puir senseless creatures in America. Tha- 
 mas, at the IVIill-head, is for the ane candi- 
 date, and his brother Dugald for the tither ; 
 and they're like to tear each other's eeu out 
 when they meet. That's ill enough, but 
 Lafton's waur. I'm no for setting up priests, 
 nor making them a sacerdotal caste as some 
 folk say ; but will you tell me," said Mrs. 
 Campbell, indignantly, " that a wheen igno- 
 rant weavers and canailye like that can 
 judge my CoUn ? ay, or even if it was thae 
 Fife farmers driving in their gigs. I would 
 like to ken what he studied for and took a' 
 thae honours, and gave baith time and sil- 
 ler, if he wasna to ken better than the like 
 of them. I'm no pretending to meddle 
 with politics that are out of my way — but 
 I canna shut my een," the Mistress said, em- 
 phatically. " The awfu' business is that we've 
 nae respect to speak of for onything but 
 ourselves ; we're so awfu' fond of our ain bit 
 poor opinions, and the little we ken. K 
 there was ony chance in our parish — and 
 the minister's far from weel, by a' I can 
 hear — and that man round the point at the 
 English chapel was na such an awfu' have- 
 rll — I would be tempted to flee away out 
 of their fechts and their objections, and get 
 a quiet Sabbath-day there." 
 
 " I'm no for buying peace so dear, for my 
 part," said Lauderdale ; " they're terrible 
 haverils, most of the English ministers in 
 our pairts, as the INIIstress says. We're a' 
 in a kind of dissenting way now-a-days, the 
 mair's the pity. Whisht a moment, callant, 
 and let a man speak. — I'm no saying ony- 
 thing against dissent ; it's a wee hard in its 
 ways, and It has an awfu' opinion of itsel', and 
 there's nae beauty in it that it should be 
 desired ; but, when your mind's made up 
 to have popular rights and your ain way in 
 everything, I canna see onything else for it, 
 for my part. It's pure democracy — that's 
 what it is — and democracy means naething 
 else, as far as I'm informed, but the reign of 
 them that kens the least and skreighs the 
 loudest. It's no a bonnie spectacle, but 
 I'm no a man that demands beauty under a' 
 conditions. Our friend the curate yonder," 
 said Lauderdale, pointing his finger vaguely 
 over his shoulder to indicate Wodensbourne, 
 
214 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 " was awfu' taken up about his auld arches 
 and monuments — that's what you ca' the 
 chancel, I suppose ; but as for our young 
 minister here, though he's just as caring about 
 thae vanities, it's a' filled up with good deal j 
 boards and put behind his back like a hidie- 
 hole. There's something awfu' instructive | 
 in that ; for I wouldna say that the compar- 
 ison was ony Avay in the curate's favour," 
 said the philosopher, with a gleam of sup- 
 pressed pride and tenderness, " if you were 
 to turn your een to the pulpit and take yonr 
 choice of tlie men." 
 
 Mrs. Campbell lifted her eyes to her son's 
 face and regarded him solemnly as Lauder- 
 dale spoke ; but she could not escape the in- 
 fluence of the recollection that even Colin 
 had been objected to. " Nae doubt the like 
 of him in a kirk should make a difference," 
 she said with candour, yet melancholy, 
 " but I dinna see what's to be the end of it 
 for my part — a change for good is aye aw- 
 fu' slow to work, and I'U no live to see the 
 new days." 
 
 " You'll live to see all I am good for, moth- 
 er," said Colin ; " and it appears to me 
 you are all a set of heretics and schismatics. 
 Lauderdale is past talking to, but I expect- 
 ed something better of you." 
 
 " Weel, we'll a' see," said big Colin, who 
 in his heart could not defend an order of 
 ecclesiastical economy which permitted his 
 son to be assaulted by the parish of Lafton, 
 or any other parish, " if it's the will of God. 
 We're none of us so awfu' auld ; but the 
 world's aye near its ending to a woman that 
 sees her son slighted ; there's nae penitence 
 can make up for that — no that he's suifered 
 much that I can see," the farmer said with 
 a laugh. " That's enough of the Kii-k for 
 one night." 
 
 " Eh, Colin, dinna be so worldly," said 
 his wife ; " I think whiles it would be an 
 awfu' blessing if the world was to end as 
 some folk tliink ; and a' tiling cleared up, 
 and them joined again that had been parted, 
 and the bonnie earth safe through the fire — 
 if it's to be by fire," she added with a ques- 
 tioning glance towards her son ; " I canna 
 think but it's gwer good to be true. When 
 I mind upon a' we've to go through in this 
 life, and a' that is so hard to mend ; eh, if 
 He would but take it in His ain hand ! " said 
 the Mistress with tears in her eyes. No one 
 was so hard-hearted as to preach to her at 
 that moment, or to enlarge upon the fact 
 that everything was in His hand, as indeed 
 she knew as Avell as her companions ; but it 
 happens sometimes that the prayers and the 
 wishes which are out of reason, are those 
 
 that come warmest, and touch deepest to the 
 heart. 
 
 But, meanwhile, and attending the end of 
 the world, Colin, when he was settled for 
 the night in his old room, with its shelving 
 roof, took out and elabooated his Tract for 
 the Times. It was discontent as great as that 
 of his mother's which breathed out of it; 
 but then hers was the discontent of a life 
 which had nothing new to do or to look for, 
 and which had found out by experience how 
 little progress can be made in a lifetime, 
 and how difficult it is to change evil into 
 good. Colin's discontent, on the contrary, 
 was that exhilarating sentiment which stim- 
 ulates youth, and ojjens up an endless field 
 of combat and conquest. At his end of the 
 road it looked only natural that the obstacles 
 should move of themselves out of the way, 
 iind that which was just and best should 
 have the inevitable victory. When he had 
 done, he thought with a tenderness which 
 brought tears to his eyes, yet at the same 
 moment a smile to his lips, of the woman's 
 impatience that would hasten the wheels of 
 fate, and call upon God to take matters, as 
 she said, in his own hand. That did not, as 
 yet, seem a step necessary to Colin. He 
 thought there was still time to work by the 
 natural means, and that things were not ar- 
 rived at such a pass that it was needful to 
 appeal to miracle. It could only be when 
 human means had failed that such a resource 
 could be necessary ; and the human means 
 had certainly not failed entirely so long as 
 he stood there in the bloom of his young 
 sti'ength, with his weapons in his hand. 
 
 He preached in his native church on the 
 following Sunday, as was to be expected; 
 and from up the Loch and down the Loch all 
 the world came to hear young Colin of Ra- 
 more. And Colin the farmer, the elder, sat 
 glorious at the end of his pew, and in the 
 pride of his heart listened, and noted, and 
 made inexorable criticisms, and commented 
 on his sou's novel ideas with a severe irony 
 which it was difficult to understand in its true 
 sense. The Duke himself came to hear 
 Colin's sermon, which was a wonderful hon- 
 our for the young man, and aU the parish 
 crltizised him with a zest which it was exhil- 
 arating to hear. '' I mind when he couldna 
 say his Questions," said Evan of Barnton ; " I 
 wouldna like to come under ony engage- 
 ment that he kens them noo. He was aye 
 a callant awfu' fond of his ain opinion, and 
 for my part I'm no for Presbyteries, passing 
 ower objections so easy. Either he's of Jow- 
 ett's SL'hool or he's no ; but I never saw that 
 there was ony right decision come to. There 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 215 
 
 were some awfu' suspicious expressions under 
 his second head — if you could ca' yon ahead," 
 said the spiritual ruler, with natural con- 
 tempt ; for indeed Colln's divisions were not 
 what they ought to have been, and he was 
 perfectly open to criticism so far as that 
 was concerned. 
 
 " A lot of that was out of Maurice," said 
 another thoughtful spectator. "I'm aye 
 doubtful of thae misty phrases. If it wasna 
 for hurting a' their feelings I would be awfu' 
 tempted to say a word. He's no' that auld, 
 and he might mend. 
 
 " He'll never mend," said Evan. " I'm 
 no one that ever approved of the upbringing 
 of these laddies. They have ower much opin- 
 ion of themselves. There's Archie, that 
 thinks he knows the price of cattle better 
 than a man of twice his age. She's an aw- 
 fu' fanciful woman, that mother of theirs — 
 and then they've a' been a wee spoiled with 
 that business about the English callant ; but 
 I'll no say but what he has abilities," the 
 critic added, with a national sense of clan- 
 ship. The parish might not appi-ove of the 
 upbringing of the young Campbells, nor of 
 their opinions, but still it had a national 
 share in any reputation that the family or 
 any of its members might attain. 
 
 Colin continued his course on the Mon- 
 day with his friend. He had stayed but a 
 few days at home, but it was enough, and 
 all the party were sensible of the fact. 
 Henceforward that home, precious as it was, 
 could not count for much in his life. It was 
 a hard thing to think of, but it was a neces- 
 sity of nature. Archie and the younger 
 sons greeted with enthusiasm the elder 
 brother, who shared with them his better 
 fortunes and higher place ; but, when the 
 greeting was given on both sides, there did 
 not remain veiy much to say ; for, to be 
 sure, seen by Colin's side, the young Camp- 
 bells, still gauclie, and shamefaced, and with 
 the pride of a Scotch peasant in arms, look- 
 ed inferior to what they really were, and 
 felt so — and the mother felt it for them, 
 though Colin was her own immediate heir 
 and the pi-ide of her heart. She bade 
 him farewell with suppressed tears, and a 
 sense of loss which was not to be suppress- 
 ed. " He has his ain hame, and his ain 
 Elace, and little need of us now, the Lord 
 e praised," the Mistress said to herself as 
 she watched him going down to the boat ; 
 " I think I would be real content if he had 
 but a good wife," But still it was with a 
 sigh that she went in again and closed the 
 door upon the departing boat that carried 
 her son back to the world. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 As for Colin and his friend, they went 
 upon their way steadily, with that rare sym- 
 pathy in difference which is the closest bond 
 of friendship. Lauderdale by this time 
 had lost all the lingerings of youth which 
 had hung long about him, perhaps by right 
 of his union with the fresh and exuberant 
 youth of his brother-in-arms. His gaunt 
 person was gaunter than ever, though, by 
 an impulse of the tenderest pride — not for 
 himself but for his companion • — his dress 
 fitted him better, and was more carefully 
 put on than it had ever been during all his 
 life ; but his long hair, once so black and 
 wild, was now gray, and hung in thin locks, 
 and his beard, that relic of Italy, which 
 Lauderdale preserved religiously, and had 
 ceased to be ashamed of, was gray also, and 
 added to the somewhat solemn aspect of his 
 long thoughtfid face. He was still an inch 
 or two taller than Colin, whose great waves 
 of brown hair, tossed up hke clouds upon 
 his forehead, and shining brown eyes, which 
 even now had not quite lost the soft shade 
 of surprise and admiration which had given 
 them such a charm in their earlier years, 
 contrasted strangely with the worn looks of 
 his friend. They were not like father and 
 son, for Lauderdale preserved in his ap- 
 pearance an indefinable air of solitude and 
 of a life apart, which made it impossible to 
 think of him in any such relationship ; but 
 perhaps their union was more close and 
 real than even that tie could have made it, 
 since the unwedded childless man was at 
 once young and old, and had kept in his 
 heart a virgin freshness more visionary, and 
 perhaps even more spotless, than that of 
 Colin's untarnished youth — for, to be sure, 
 the young man not only was conscious of 
 that visionary woman in the clouds, but had 
 already solaced himself with more than one 
 love, and still meant to marry a wife like 
 other men, though that was not at present 
 the foremost idea in his mind ; whereas 
 whatever love Lauderdale might have had 
 in that past from which he never drew the 
 veil, it had never been replaced by another, 
 nor involved any earthly hope. This made 
 him naturally more sympathetic than a man 
 who had gone through all the ordinary ex- 
 periences of life could have been ; and at 
 the same time it made him more intolerant 
 of what he supposed to be Colin's incon- 
 stancy. As they crossed the borders, and 
 found themselv.es among the Cumberland 
 hills, Lauderdale approached nearer and 
 nearer to that subject which had been for 
 so long a time left in silence between thein. 
 
216 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 Perhaps it required that refinement of 
 ear natural to a born citizen of Glasgow 
 to recognize that it was " English " which 
 was being spoken round them as' they ad- 
 vanced — but the philosopher supposed him- 
 self to have made fchat discovci-y. He re- 
 curred to it with a certain pathetic meaning 
 as they went upon their way. They had 
 set out on foot from Carlisle, each with liis 
 knapsack, to make their leisurely way to the 
 Lakes ; and, when they rested and dined 
 in the humble roadside inn which served 
 for their first resting-place, the plaintive 
 cadence of his friend's voice struck Colin 
 with a certain amusement. "They're a' 
 English here," Lauderdale said, with a tone 
 of sad recollection, as a man might have 
 said in Norway or Russia, hearing for the 
 first time the foreign tongue, and bethink- 
 ing himself of all the dreary seas and long 
 tracts of country that lay between him and 
 home. It might have been pathetic under 
 such circumstances, though the chances are 
 that even then Colin, graceless and fearless, 
 would have laughed ; but at present, when 
 the absenge was only half a day's march, 
 and the difference of tongue, as we have 
 said, only to be distinguished by an ear fine 
 and native, the sigh was too absurd to be 
 passed over lightly. " I never knew you 
 have the mal du pays before," Colin said 
 with a burst of laughter : — and the pat- 
 riot himself did not refuse to smile. 
 
 " Speak English," he said, with a quaint 
 self-contradiction, " though I should say 
 speat Scotch if I was consistent; — you 
 needna make your jokes at me. Oh ay, 
 it's awfu' easy laughing. I'ts no tliat I'm 
 thinking of; t'here's nothing out of the way 
 in the association of ideas this time, though 
 they play bonnie pranks whiles. I'm think- 
 ing of the first time I was in England, and 
 how awfu' queer it sounded to hear the 
 bits of callants on the road, and the poor 
 bodies at the cottage doors." 
 
 " The first time you were in England — 
 that was when you came to nurse me like a 
 good fellow as you are," said Colin ; " I 
 should have died that time but for my moth- 
 er and you." 
 
 " I'm not saying that," said Lauderdale ; 
 " you're one of the kind that's awfu' hard 
 to kill — a dour callant like you would have 
 come through a' the same ; but it's no that 
 I'm thinking of. There are other things 
 that come to my mind with the sound of 
 the English tongue. Hold your peace, 
 callant, and listen ; is there nothing comes 
 back to you, Avill you tell me, when you 
 hear the like of that f " 
 
 " I hear a woman talking in very broad 
 
 Cumberland," said Colin, who notwithstand- 
 ing began to feel an uncomfortable heat 
 mounting upwards in his face ; " you may 
 call it English, if you have a mind. There 
 is some imperceptible difference between 
 that and the Dumfriesshire, I suppose ; but 
 I should not like to have to discriminate 
 whei'e the dllTerence lies." 
 
 As for Lauderdale, he sighed ; but with- 
 out intending it, as it appeared, for he made 
 a great efibrt to cover his sigh by a yawn, 
 for which latter indulgence he had evident- 
 ly no occasion, and then he tried a faint 
 little unnecessary laugh, which sat still 
 more strangely on him. " I'm an awfu' 
 man for associations," he said ; " I'm no to 
 be held to ony account for the things that 
 come into my head. You may say it's Cum- 
 berland, and I'm no disputing ; but for a' 
 that thei'c's something in the sound of the 
 voice " 
 
 "Look here," said Colin impatiently; 
 " listen to my tract. I want you to give me 
 your opinion now it is finished ; turn this 
 way, with your face to the hiUs, and never 
 mind the voice." 
 
 " Oh ay," said Laudei-dale, with another 
 sigh ; " there's nae voice like his ain voice 
 to this callant's ear ; it's an awfu' thing to 
 be an author, and above a' a reformer ; for 
 you may be sure it's for the sake of the 
 cause, and no because he's written a' that 
 himself. Let's hear this grand tract of 
 yours : no that I've any particular faith in 
 that way of working," the philosopher add- 
 ed slowly, settling into his usual mode of 
 talk, without consideration of his com- 
 panion's impatience ; " a book, or a poem, 
 or a tract, or whatever it may be, is no 
 good in this world without an audience. 
 Any man can write a book ; that's to say, 
 most men could if they would but take the 
 trouble to try ; but, as for the audience, 
 that's different. If it doesna come by na- 
 ture, I see nae way of manufiicturing that ; 
 but I'm no objecting to hear what you have 
 got to say," Lauderdale added impartially. 
 It was not encouraging perhaps to the 
 young author; but Colin was sufficiently 
 used by this time to his friend's prelections, 
 and for his own part was very well pleased 
 to escape from memories more perplexing 
 and difficult to manage. It was with this 
 intention that he had taken out No. I. of 
 the Tracts for the Times. If any of the 
 writers of the original series of these re- 
 nowned compositions could but have looked 
 over the shoulder of the young Scotch 
 minister, and beheld the dltlerent fashion 
 of thoughts, the curious fundamental dif- 
 ference which lay underneath, and yet the 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 217 
 
 apparent similarity of intention on the face 
 of it ! Rome and the Pope were about as 
 far oif as Mecca and the prophet from 
 Colin's ideas. He was not in the least 
 urgent for any infallible standard, nor at 
 all concerned to trace a direct line of de- 
 scent for himself or his Church ; and yet 
 withal his notions were as high and absolute 
 and arbitrary on some points as if he had 
 been a member of the most potent of hier- 
 archies — though this might perhaps be set 
 down to the score of his youth. It would, 
 however, be doing Colin injustice to repro- 
 duce here this revolutionary document : to 
 tell the truth, circumstances occurred very 
 soon after to retard the continuation of the 
 series, and, so far as his histoi'ian is aware, 
 the publication of this preliminary* ad- 
 dress was only partial. For, to be sure, 
 the young man had still abundance of time 
 before him, and the first and the most im- 
 portant thing, as Lauderdale had suggested, 
 was the preparation of the audience — an 
 object which was on the whole better car- 
 ried out by partial and private circulation 
 than by coming prematurely before the 
 public, and giving the adversary occasion 
 to blaspheme, and perhaps frightening the 
 Kirk herself out of her wits. Having said 
 so much, we may return to the more pri- 
 vate and individual aspect of affairs. The 
 two friends were seated, while all this was 
 going on, out of doors, on a stone bench by 
 the gray wall of the cottage inn, in which 
 they had just refreshed themselves with a 
 nondescript meal. The Cumberland hills 
 — at that moment bleaching under the 
 sunshine, showing all their scars and stains 
 in the fullness of the light — stretched far 
 away into the distance, hiding religiously 
 in their depths the sacred woods and wa- 
 ters that were the end of the pilgrimage on 
 which the two friends were bound. Laud- 
 erdale sat at leisure and listened, shading 
 the sunshine from his face, and watching 
 the shadows play on the woods and hills ; 
 and the same force of imagination which 
 persuaded the unaccustomed traveller that 
 he could detect a difference of tone in the 
 rude talk he heard in the distance, and that 
 that which was only Cumberland was Eng- 
 lish, persuaded him also that the sun- 
 shine in which he was sitting was warmer 
 than the sunshine at home, and that he was 
 really, as he himself would have described 
 it, " going south." He was vaguely follow- 
 ing out these ideas, notwithstanding that he 
 
 * Numbers I. and II. of the Scotch Tracts for the 
 Times, together with fragments of subsequent num- 
 bers uncompleted, will be given, if desired by Colin's 
 friends, in ihe apuendix to the second edition of 
 this biography. 
 
 also listened to Colin, and gave him the 
 fullest attention. Lauderdale had not trav- 
 elled much in his life, nor enjoyed many 
 holidays; and, consequently, the very sense 
 of leisure and novelty recalled to him the 
 one great recreation of his life — the spring 
 he had spent in Italy, with all its vicissi- 
 tudes, prefaced by the mournful days at 
 Wodensbourne. AH this came before Laud- 
 erdale's mind more strongly a great deal 
 than it did before that of Colin, because it 
 was to the elder man the one sole and 
 clearly marked escape out of the monotony 
 of a long life — a thing that had occurred 
 but once, and never could occur again. 
 How the Cumberland hills, and the peasant 
 voices in their rude dialect, and the rouffli||k 
 stone bench outside the door of a gray limq^ 
 stone cottage, could recall to Lauderdale 
 the olive slopes of Frascati, the tall houses 
 shut up and guarded against the sunshine, 
 and the far-off solemn waste of the Gam- 
 I^agna, would have been something unin- 
 telligible to Colin. But in the meantime 
 these recollections were coming to a climax 
 in his companion's mind. He gave a great 
 start in the midst of Colin's most eloquent 
 paragraph, and jumped to his feet, crying, 
 " Do you hear that ? " with a thrill of ex- 
 citement utterly inexplicable to the aston- 
 ished young man ; and then Lauderdale 
 grew suddenly ashamed of himself, and 
 took his seat again, abashed, and felt that 
 it was needful to explain. 
 
 *' Do I hear what ? " said Colin ; and, as 
 this interruption occurred just at the mo- 
 ment when he supposed he had roused his 
 hearer to a certain pitch of excitement and 
 anxiety, by his account of the religious 
 deficiencies of Scotland, which he was on 
 the point of relieving by an able exposition 
 of the possibilities of reform, it may be for- 
 given to him if he spoke with a little asper- 
 ity. Such a disappointment is a trying ex- 
 perience for the best of men. " What is it, 
 for Heaven's sake ? " said the young man, 
 forgetting he was a minister ; and, to tell 
 the truth, Lauderdale was so much ashamed 
 of himself that he felt almost unable to ex- 
 plain. 
 
 " She's singing something, that's a'," said 
 the confused philosopher. " I'm an awfu' 
 haverll, Colin. There's some things I can- 
 na get out of my head. Never you mind ; 
 a' that's admirable," said the culprit, with a 
 certain deprecatory eagerness. " I'm awfu' 
 anxious to see how you get us out of the 
 scrape. Go on." 
 
 Colin was angry, but he was human, and 
 he could not but laugh at the discomfiture 
 and conciliatory devices of his disarmed 
 
218 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 critic. " I am not going to tlarow away my 
 pearls," he said ; " since your mind is in 
 such a deplorable state you shall hear 
 no more to-day. Oh, no. I understand the 
 extent of your anxiety. And so here's 
 Lauderdale going the way of all flesh. 
 Who is she? and what is she singing? 
 The best policy is to make a clean breast of 
 it," said the young man, laughing ; " and 
 then, perhaps, I may look over tlie insult, 
 you have been guilty of to myself." 
 
 But Lauderdale was in no mood for 
 
 laughing. " I'm not sure that it wouldna 
 
 be "he best plan to go on," he said ; " for 
 
 notwithstanding, I've been giving my best 
 
 ttention ; and maybe if I was to speak out 
 
 "" at was iii my heart " 
 
 ' Speak it out." said Colin. He was a 
 little affronted, but he kept his composure. 
 As he folded up his papers and put them 
 away in his pocket-book, he too heard the 
 song which Lauderdale had been listening 
 to. It was only a country-woman singing 
 as she went about her work, and there was 
 no marked resemblance in either the voice 
 or the song to anything he had heard be- 
 fore. All that could be said was that the 
 voice was young and fresh, and that the 
 melody was sad, and had the quality of sug- 
 gestiveness, which is often wanting to more 
 elaborate music. He knew what was 
 coming when he put up his papers in his 
 pocket-book, and it occurred to him that 
 perhaps it would be well to have the ex- 
 planation over and be done with it, for he 
 knew how persistent his companion was. 
 
 " It's no that there's much to say," said 
 Lauderdale, changing his tone ; " a man 
 like me, that's little used to change, gets 
 awfu' like a fool in his associations. There's 
 naething that ony reasonable creature could 
 see in thae hills, and a' the sheep on them, that 
 should bring that to my mind ; and, as you 
 say, callant, it's Cumberland they're a' 
 speaking, and no English. It's just a kind 
 of folly "that men are subject to that live 
 their lane. I canna but go a' through 
 
 again, from the beginning to Well, I 
 
 suppose," said Lauderdale with a sigh, 
 " wliat you and me would call the end." 
 
 " What any man in his senses would call 
 the end," said Colin, beginning to cut his 
 pencil with some ferocity, which was the 
 only occupation that occurred to him for 
 the moment ; " I don't suppose there can be 
 any question as to what you mean. ^ Was it 
 to be expected that I would court rejection 
 over again for the mere ])leasure of being 
 rejected ? — as you know I have been, both 
 by letter and in person ; and then, as if even 
 that was not enough, accused of fortune- 
 
 hunting ; when Heaven knows " Here 
 
 Colin stopped short, and cut his pencil so 
 violently that he cut his finger, which was 
 an act which convicted him of using un- 
 necessary force, and of which accordingly, 
 he was ashamed. 
 
 " It is no that I was thinking of," said 
 Lauderdale ; " I was minding of the time 
 Avhen we a' met, and the bit soft English 
 voice. It's no that I'm fond of the Eng- 
 lish, or their ways," continued the philoso- 
 pher. " We're maybe no so well in our 
 ain country, and maybe we're better ; I'll 
 no say. It's a question awfu' hard to settle. 
 But, if ever we a' foregather again, I can- 
 not think there will be that difference. It 
 wasna to say musical that I ken of, but it 
 was aye soft and pleasant — maybe ower 
 soft, Colin, for the like of you — and with 
 a bit of yielding tone in it, as if the heart 
 would break sooner than make a stand for 
 its own way. I mind it real weel," said 
 Lauderdale, with a sigh. " As for the fa- 
 ther, no doubt there was little to be said in 
 his favour. But, after a', it wasna him that 
 you had any intention to marry. And yon 
 Sabbath-day after he was gone, poor man ! 
 — when you and me' didna ken what to do 
 with ourselves till the soft thing came out 
 of her painted cha'amer, and took the guid- 
 ing of us into her hands. It's that 1 was 
 thinking of," said Lauderdale, fixing his 
 eyes on a far off" point upon the hills, and 
 ending his musing with a sigh. 
 
 Colin sighed, too, for sympathy — ho 
 could not help it. The scene came before 
 him as his friend spoke. He thouglit he 
 could see Alice, in her pallor and exhaus- 
 tion, worn to a soft shadow, in her black 
 dress, coming into the bare Italian room in 
 the glorious summer day, Avhich all the 
 precautions possible could not shut out from 
 the house of mourning — with her prayer- 
 book in her hand ; and then he remembered 
 how she had chidden him for reading an- 
 other lesson than that appointed for the 
 day. It was in the height of his own rev- 
 olutionary impulses that this thought 
 struck him ; and he smiled to liimself in 
 the midst of his sigh, with a tender thought 
 for Alice, and a passing wonder for himself, 
 what change might have been wrought up- 
 on him if that dutiful little soul had actually 
 become the companion of his life. Colin 
 was not the kind of man who can propose 
 to himself to form his wife's mind, and rule 
 Ijer thoughts, and influence her without be- 
 ing sensible of her influence in retin-n. 
 That was not the order of domestic affairs 
 in Ramore ; and naturally he judged the 
 life that might have been, and even yet 
 
ION OF THE SOIL. 
 
 219 
 
 might be, by tliat standard. The Mistress's 
 son did not understand having a nullity, or 
 a shadow of himself, for a wife ; and in- 
 sensibly he made his way back from the 
 allendrissement into which Lauderdale's mu- 
 sings had led him, into half-amused specula- 
 tion as to the effect Alice and her influence 
 might have had upon him by this time. " If 
 (hat had hapjiened," he said with a smile, 
 bursting out, as was usual to him when Lau- 
 derdale was his companion, at that particu- 
 lar jx)int of his thoughts which required 
 expression, without ti-oubling himself to ex- 
 plain how he came there — '' if that had 
 happened," said Colin, with' the ^nscious 
 smile of old, "I wonder what soW of fel- 
 low I should have been by this time ? I 
 dpubt if 'I should have had any idea of 
 disturbing the constituted order of affairs. 
 Things are always for the best, you per- 
 ceive, as everybody says. A man who has 
 any revolutionary work to do must be free 
 and alone. But don't let us talk any more 
 of that — I don't like turning back upon 
 the road. But for that feeling I should 
 have settled the business before now about 
 poor Arthur's ' Voice from the Grave.' " 
 
 " I was aye against that title," said Lau- 
 derdale, *' if he would have paid any atten- 
 tion; but you're a' the same, you young 
 Gallants; it's nae more a voice from the 
 grave than mine is. It's a voice from an 
 awfu' real life, that had nae intention to 
 lose a minute that was permitted. It would 
 be something, to be sure that he was kept 
 informed, and had a pleasure in his book ; 
 but then, so far as I can judge, he maun 
 ken an awfu' deal better by this time — and 
 maybe up there they're no heeding about a 
 thu'd edition. It's hard to say ; he was so 
 terrible like himself up to the last moment ; 
 I cauna imagine, in my own mind, that he's 
 no like himself still. There should be a 
 heap of siller," said Lauderdale, " by this 
 time ; and sooner or later you'll have to 
 open communication, and let them ken." 
 
 "Yes," said Colin, with a momentary 
 look of sullenness and repugnance ; and 
 then he added, in a lighter tone, " heaps of 
 money never came out of a religious pub- 
 lisher's hand. A third edition does not 
 mean the same thing with them as with 
 other people. Of course, it must be set 
 right some time or other. We had better 
 set off, I can tell you, and not talk idle talk 
 like this, if we mean to get to our journey's 
 end to-night." 
 
 " Oh, ay," said Lauderdale, " you're aye 
 in a hurry, you young callants. As for me, 
 I've aye found time to finish what I was 
 about. Is it the father that makes you so 
 
 unwilling for any correspondence ? — but 
 it's awfu' easy to settle a thing like that." 
 
 " I think you want to try how far my pa- 
 tience can go," said Colin, who had grown 
 crimson up to the hair. " Do you think a 
 man has no feeling, Lauderdale ? Do you 
 think it is possibla to be treated as I have 
 been, and yet go back again with humility, 
 hat in hand ? I don't feel myself capable 
 of that." 
 
 " If you're asking me my opinion," said 
 Lauderdale, calmly, " I've nae objection to 
 tell you what I think. You're no vindictive, 
 and you've nae pride to speak of — I'm 
 meaning pride of that kind. It's no in you 
 to bear a grudge at onybody beyond, maybe, 
 the hour or the day. So I'm no heeding 
 much about that^|nestion, for my part. If 
 you had an awfu' regard for the man, he 
 might affront you ; but no being indifferent, 
 I'm telling you just my opinion, with my 
 partial knowledge of the premises — but 
 for her, I cannot but say what is in my ain 
 mind. I've a kind of longing to see her 
 again ; we used to be awfu' good friends, 
 her and me. I had you to take care of, cal- 
 lant, and she had hi7n ; and whiles she had 
 a moment of envy, and grudged terrible in 
 her heart to see the air and the sun, that are 
 for baith the good and the evil, so hard up- 
 on him, and so sweet to you ; there was little 
 in her mind to hide, and her and me were 
 good friends. I'll never forget our counts 
 and our reckonings. It's awfu' hard for the 
 like o' me to divine wherefore it is that a' 
 that has come to an end, and her and you 
 dropped out of one another's life." 
 
 "Lauderdale," said Colin, with a little 
 choking in his voice, " I will tell you what I 
 
 never told you before " and then the 
 
 j'oung man stopped short, as if he had re- 
 ceived a blow. What was it that came over 
 him like an imperious sudden prohibition, 
 stopping the words upon his lips the first 
 time he had ever dreamt of uttering them 
 to mortal ear ? He had a feeUng somehow 
 as if one of those flying shadows that kept 
 coming and going over the mountains had 
 taken another shape and come before him, 
 and put a cold hand on his lips. He was 
 about to have confessed that his love had 
 been no more than tender compassion and 
 kindness ; he was about to have said what 
 Lauderdale might have guessed before, what 
 Colin had kept secret and hidden in his 
 breast — that Alice never was nor could be 
 the ideal woman of his thoughts, the true 
 love, who waited for him somewhere in the 
 future. But perhaps, after all, it was no 
 shadow nor unseen influence, but only the 
 young man's magnanimous heart that spared 
 
220 
 
 that humiliation to the name of Alice — sole- 
 ly to her name ; for, now that all was over 
 between them, it was only that abstract 
 representation of her that was concerned. 
 " Ay," said Lauderdale, after a moment, 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 you were goinj 
 
 to tell 
 
 and then 
 
 he rose as Colin had done, and threw his 
 knapsack on his shoulder, and prepared to 
 resume his march. 
 
 " We shall have an hour's walking in the 
 dark, if we don't make all the better prog- 
 ress," said Colin ; " which is uncomfortable 
 when one does not know the way. And 
 now to return to No. I." he said with a 
 laugh, as they went on along the dusty road. 
 There was not another word said between 
 them of the confession thus abruptly stopped. 
 Perhaps Lauderdale in Hliheart had a per- 
 ception of what it meant ; but, however that 
 might be, both fell at once with eagerness, 
 as if they had never digressed for a moment, 
 upon the first number of Colin's Tracts for 
 the Times. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 Tliis conversation, however, as was natu- 
 ral, had a certain effect upon both the 
 friends. It threw Colin, who, to be sure, was 
 chiefly concerned, into a world of confused 
 imaginations, which influenced even his 
 dreams, and through his dreams reacted up- 
 on himself. When he was alone at night, 
 instead of going to sleep at once, as would 
 have been natural after his day's journey, 
 he kept falling into absurd little dozes and 
 waking up suddenly with the idea that Alice 
 was standing by him, that she was calling 
 him, that it was the marriage-day, and that 
 somebody had found him out, and was about 
 to tell his bride that he did not love her ; 
 and at last, when he went to sleep in good 
 earnest, the fantastic melange of recollection 
 and imagination carried him back to Fras- 
 cati, where he found Arthur and Alice, as 
 of old, in the great salone, with its frescoed 
 ■walls, and talked to them as in the former 
 days. He thought Meredith told him of an 
 important journey upon which he was setting 
 out, and made arrangements in the mean- 
 time for his sister with an anxiety which the 
 real Arthur had never dreamt of exhibiting. 
 " She will be safe with you at present," 
 the visionary Arthur seemed to say, " and 
 
 by-and-by you will send her to me " 
 
 And when Colin woke it Avas hard for him 
 to convince himself at first that he had not 
 been in actual communication with his 
 friend. He accounted for it, of aourse, as it 
 is very easy to account for dreams, and con- 
 vinced himself, and vet left behind in some 
 
 I crevice of his heart a dumb consciousness 
 I which hid itself out of sight that it might 
 f not be argued with, that after all jVrthur 
 and he in the dark had passed by each oth- 
 er, and exchanged a word or thought in 
 passing. Colin took care not to betray even 
 to himself the existence of this conviction ; 
 but deep down in the silence it influenced 
 him unawares. As for Lauderdale, his 
 thoughts, as might have been expected, had 
 taken another direction. Perhaps he was 
 past the age of dreaming. Colin's revela- 
 tion which he did not make had possibly told 
 his friend more than if it had been said out 
 in words: and all the thoughts of the elder 
 man h jP fixed upon the strange problem 
 which has been discussed so often with so 
 little result — how there are some jieople 
 who can have love for the asking, and reject 
 it, and how there are some Avho would die 
 for that dear consolation, to whom it does 
 not come. To be sure, he was not philo- 
 sophical on this subject, and the chances arc 
 that he attributed to Alice feelings much 
 deeper and more serious than any that had 
 actually moved her. The chances were, in- 
 deed, for all that Lauderdale knerr, that she 
 had accepted her position, as Colin thought, 
 dutifully, and obeyed her father, and ceased 
 to think anything about the romantic pro- 
 jects and strange companionship of their 
 Italian life. But the friend was more faith- 
 ful than the lover, and had a more elevated 
 idea of Alice, and her capabilities; and he, 
 took to talking in his vague way, hovering 
 round the subject in wide circles, now and 
 then swooping down for a moment on some 
 point that approached, as closely as he 
 thought it right to approach, to the real 
 centre of his thoughts. 
 
 " Thae great hills are awfu' in the way," 
 said Lauderdale. "I'm no saying but 
 they're an ornament to a country, and grand 
 things for you, and the like of you, that 
 make verses; but I canna see any reason 
 Avhy they should come between me and the 
 sun. I'm no so high, but I'm maybe mair 
 important in the economy of creation. Yet, 
 for a' that, there's yen Ijald fellow yoniler, 
 with a' those patches on his crown, puts him- 
 self right between us and the light without 
 even asking pardon. It's no respectful to 
 you in your position, Colin. They're awfu' 
 like men. I've seen a man standing like 
 that across another man's life — or whiles 
 another woman's," said the philosopher. 
 "It's not an encouraging spectacle. I'm 
 no heeding about Nature, that kens no bet- 
 ter ; but for a man " 
 
 " Perhaps the man, too, might know no 
 better," said Colin, laughing ; but his laugh 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL, 
 
 221 
 
 was slightly uneasy, for he, too, had been 
 thinking, and it seemed to him that the sub- 
 ject was an unfortunate one to start with. 
 " I don't see that he is much more resi^on- 
 sible than the mountain. It may be in pur- 
 suing his own path, simply enough, that he 
 shadows another man's for the moment — or 
 another woman's, as you say, Lauderdale," 
 he said, breaking off and laughing again. 
 Somehow a little absurd colour had come to 
 his face, he could not tell why. 
 
 " Ay," said Lauderdale, " and you're 
 thinking that above a', that's real dangerous 
 for a minister. When he's popular Hke you 
 he has so many paths to cross — and young 
 — and a kind of genius in his way — and 
 no to call bad-looking neither," said the crit- 
 ic, turning upon Colin a somewhat savage 
 look ; " and then the women part of them, 
 they're often awfu' haverils, and a young 
 minister canna be uncivil. It's nae feult of 
 the hill, but it's awfu' silly of me to let my- 
 self be kept in the shade." 
 
 " Hit fair," said Colin, laughing ; " none 
 of your blows in the dark. I am an inno- 
 cent man ; besides there are no interesting 
 pathways in my way to cross,"the young man 
 added with natural pathos; for, indeed, 
 since the days of Matty Franklin and Alice, 
 his opportunities on the whole in that par- 
 ticular had been small. 
 
 " It's grand when he does not lose his 
 road himself," said Lauderdale. " That's an 
 awfu' advantage on the part of the hills. 
 They've nae responsibility, no being volun- 
 tary agents ; but I've seen a man lose 
 his ain way that had been a shadow on 
 another man's road — or woman's, as you 
 were saying. We're done with that now," 
 said the philosopher ; " the shadows are no so 
 long lingering in the morning — but I am 
 real glad to be clear of it myself You see, 
 after a', we're no in Italy, though we're 
 coming south. I dinna understand a coun- 
 try that makes you hide in the midday, and 
 lose your time in a' the corners. Here a 
 man can walk in the sun." 
 
 " Even in another man's sun," said Colin, 
 "or woman's, according to what you have 
 just been saying. But we will have enough 
 of it to-day, before we get to our journey's 
 end." 
 
 "Ay," said Lauderdale; "there's some- 
 thing awfu' unreasonable in this life, take it 
 at the best. As for logic, I never was great 
 on that point. The grand thing of a man 
 is, that you never can tell what he'll do the 
 next moment. I'm no denying the force of 
 character. It's the only thing in this world 
 that gives a kind of direction, but I wouldna 
 even put my trust in character. I ken you 
 
 very well, for example," he continued; 
 "wonderful well, considering . you're a hu- 
 man creature like mysel$ I have a kind of 
 idea what you would be most likely to think 
 on most subjects, and could very near run 
 the risk of prophesying what you would say ; 
 but, when you turn that corner out of my 
 sight, I ken no more what may be the next" 
 thing you'll do than if I had never heard 
 your name. No, I'm no tired at this hour of 
 the morning — but I've an awfu' objection to 
 dust, and the road is as powdery as a mill. 
 My intention is to take a seat on this brae 
 and let that carriage pass." 
 
 "Wait a little, then; it comes on very 
 slowly ; there must be some invalid in it, 
 for the horses look good enough," said 
 Colin, and he turned his back to the car- 
 riage which was approaching, in order to 
 survey the green slope, covered with trees 
 and bi-ushwood, upon which Lauderdale 
 meant to rest. They were separated a little 
 when the carriage came up, and neither of 
 them paid much attention to it. Lauder- 
 dale was already half way up the slope, and 
 Colin was standing by the side of the road, 
 looking after him. The horses had quick- 
 ened their pace at the last moment, and had _ 
 passed before Colin could turn round to see " 
 who the travellers were ; but at that mo- 
 ment, as the carriage rolled along behind 
 him, he gave a start so violent that the stones 
 uiJder his feet seemed suddenly to get in his 
 way and trip him up, and Lauderdale for 
 his part came down from the brae with a 
 long leap and strange exclamation. " What 
 was that ? " they said to each other, in the 
 same breath, and paused for a moment, and 
 looked in each other's faces, and listened. 
 The carriage went on faster, raising a cloud 
 of dust, and nothing was to be heard except 
 the sound of the horses' hoofs and the wheels. 
 It was Colin that was the first to break the 
 silence. He detached himself from among 
 the stones and bushes, where he got entan- 
 gled in that moment of agitation, and sprang 
 back again to the high road which lay be- 
 fore him, veiled in a cloud of dust. " It is 
 simply absurd," said Colin. "Lauderdale, 
 I cannot imagine what you mean ; you are 
 enough to drive a man mad. Some one gives 
 a chance outcry in passing, and you make 
 
 up your mind that it is Good heavens ! 
 
 I never knew such folly ! " cried the young 
 man. He took off his hat without knowing 
 it, and thrust his hair up over his forehead, 
 and made an effort to take courage and re- 
 gain his composure as he took breath. But 
 it was very clear that Lauderdale had noth- 
 ing to do with Colin's excitement. He had 
 himself heard the cry, and felt in his heart 
 
222 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 tliat it was no imagination. As Le stood | 
 there in his pretended indignation the im- j 
 pulse of flight camainpon him — a certain ter- 
 ror, which he could not explain nor compre- j 
 heud, came over him. There was not a man 
 in existence before whom he would have ; 
 flown ; but that httle cry of recognition took 
 away all his courage. He did not feel in him- 
 self the strength to go forward, to venture 
 upon a meeting. The blood which had rushed 
 to his face for the first moment seemed to go 
 back upon his heart and stifle it. He had 
 made a step or two forward without think- 
 ing ; but then he arrested himself, and wa- 
 vered, and looked upon the road which lay 
 quite tranquil behind him in the shadow of 
 the liills. It seemed to him for the moment 
 as if his only safety was in flight. 
 
 As for Lauderdale, it took him all the 
 time which Colin had occupied in these 
 thoughts to get down from his elevation and 
 return to his friend's side. He for his part 
 was animated and eager. " This is no her 
 country," said Lauderdale ; " she's a traveller, 
 as we are. The carriage will stop at our next 
 stage, but there's no time to be lost; " and 
 as he said these words he resumed his march 
 ,with his long steady step without remarking 
 the hesitation of Colin or what he had said. 
 The young man himself felt that saving im- 
 pulse fail him after the first minute. After- 
 wards, all the secondaiy motives came into 
 his mind, and urged him to go on. Had lie 
 allowed that he was afraid to meet or to re- 
 new his relationship with Alice Meredith, 
 supposing that by any extraordinary chance 
 this should be she, it would be to betray the 
 secret which he had guarded so long, and to 
 betray himself; and he knew no reason that 
 he could give for such a cowardly retreat. 
 He could not say, " K I see her again, and 
 find that she has been thinking of me, I shall 
 be compelled to carry out my original mis- 
 take, and give up my brighter hopes," — for 
 no one knew that he had made any mistake, 
 or that she was not to his eyes the type of all 
 that was dearest in woman. "The chances are 
 that it is all a piece of folly — a deception 
 of the senses," he said to himself instead — 
 "something like what people have when they 
 think they see ghosts. We have talked of her, 
 and I have dreamed of her, and now, to be 
 sure, necessity requires that I should hear 
 her. It should have been seeing, to make 
 all perfect ; " and, after that little piece of 
 self-contempt, he went on again with Lau- 
 derdale without making any objection. The 
 dust which had been raised by the carriage 
 came towards them like a moving pillar ; 
 but the carriage itself went rapidly on and 
 turned the corner and went out of sight. 
 
 And then Colin did his best to comfort and 
 strengthen himself by oflier means. 
 
 " Don't put yourself out of breath," he 
 said to Lauderdale ; " the Avhole thing is 
 quite explainable. That absurd imagination 
 of yours yesterday has got into both our 
 heads. I don't mind saying I dreamt 
 of it all last night. Anything so wild was 
 never put into a novel. It's an optical illu- 
 sion, or, rather I should say, it's an ocular 
 illusion. Things don't happen in real life in 
 this kind of promiscuous way. Don't walk 
 so quick and put yourself out of breath." 
 
 " Did you no hear ? " said Lauderdale. 
 " If you hadna heard I could understand. 
 As for me, I canna say but I saw as well. 
 I'm no minding at this moment about my 
 breath." 
 
 " What did you see ? "■ cried Colin, with 
 a sudden thrill at his heart. 
 
 " I'll no say it was her" said Lauderdale ; 
 " no but what I am as sure as I am of life 
 that she was there. I saw somethng white 
 laid back in the carriage, somebody that 
 was ill ; it might be her or it might be 
 another. I've an awfu' strong opinion that 
 it was her. It's been borne in on my mind 
 that she was ill and wearying. "We mightna 
 ken her, but she kent you and me." 
 
 " "What you say makes it more and more 
 unlikely," said Colin. " I confess that I was 
 a little excited my!=elf by those dreams and 
 stuff; but nothing could be more improbable 
 than that she should recognize you and me. 
 Bah ! it is absurd to be talking of /ur in this 
 ridiculous way, as if we had the slightest 
 reason to suppose it was her. Any little 
 movement might make a sick lady cry out ; 
 and, as for recognizing a voice at such a 
 distance of time ! — All this makes me feel 
 like a fool," said Colin. " I am more dis- 
 posed to go back than to go on. I wish you 
 would dismiss that nonsense from your 
 thoughts." 
 
 " If I was to do that same, do you think 
 you could join me ? " said Lauderdale. 
 " There's voices I would ken after thirty 
 years instead of after three ; and I'm no 
 iikely to forget the bit English tone of it. 
 I'm a wee slow about some things, and I'll 
 no pretend to fathom your meaning; but, 
 whether its draft-like or no, this I'm sure of, 
 that if you make up to that carriage that's 
 av/ay out of our siglit at this moment, you'll 
 find Alice Meredith there." 
 
 " I don't beheve anything of the kind. 
 Your imagination has deceived you," said 
 Colin, and they went on for a long time in 
 silence ; but at the bottom of his heart Cclin 
 felt that his own imagination had not de-. 
 ceived him. The oulv thing that had de- 
 
A SON GF THE SOIL. 
 
 223 
 
 ceived liiin was that foolish feeling of liberty, 
 that sense that he had escaped fate, and that 
 the rash engagements of his youth were to 
 have no consequences, into which he had de- 
 luded himself for some time past. Even 
 while he professed his utter disbelief in this 
 encounter, he was asking himself how in his 
 changed circumstances he could bear the 
 old Ijridle, the rein upon his proud neck ? 
 If it had been a curb upon his freedom, even 
 at the moment when he had formed it -^ if 
 it had become a painful bondage afterwards 
 while still the impression of Alice's gentle 
 tenderness had not quite worn off his mind 
 — what would it be now when he had eman- 
 cipated himself from those soft prejudices of 
 recollection, and when he had acknowledged 
 so fully to himself that his heart never had 
 been really touched ? He marched on by 
 Lauderdale's side, and paid no attention to 
 what his friend said to him; and nothing 
 could be more difficult to describe than the 
 state of Colin's mind during this walk. Per- 
 haps the only right thing, the only sensible 
 thing, he could have done in the circumstan- ] 
 ces would have been to turn back and de- 1 
 eline altogether this re-awakening of the | 
 past. But then at six-and-twenty the mind 
 is still so adverse to turning back, and has 
 so much confidence in its own power of sur- 
 mounting difficulty, and in its good stai-, and 
 in the favour and assistance of all p6wers and 
 influences in heaven and earth ; and then 
 his pride was up in arms against such a 
 mode of extricating himself from the appar- 
 ent difficulty, and all the delicacy of his na- 
 ture revolted from the idea of thus throwing 
 the wrong and humiliation upon the woman, 
 upon Alice, a creature who had loved him 
 and trusted him, and whom he had never 
 owned he did not love. Underneath all 
 these complications there was, to be sure, a 
 faint, sustaining hope that an encounter of 
 this kind was incredible, and that it might 
 turn out not to be Alice at all, and that all 
 these fears and embarrassments might come 
 to nothing. With all this In his mind he 
 marched on, feeling the sweet air and fresh 
 winds and sunshine to be all so many spec- 
 tators accompanying him perhaps to the 
 turning-point of his life, where, for all he 
 knew, things might go against him, and his 
 wings be clipped and his future limited for 
 ever and ever. Perhaps some of Colin's 
 friends may think that he exhibited great 
 weakness of mind on this occasion, as, in- 
 deed, it is certain that there are many peo- 
 ple who beheve with some reason that it is 
 next thing to a sin to put honour in the 
 place of love, or to give to constancy the 
 rights of passion. But then, whatever a 
 
 man's principles may be, it is his character 
 in most cases that carries the day. Every 
 man must act according to his own nature 
 as says the Arabian sage. Sir Bayard, 
 even, thinking It all over, might not approve 
 of himself, and might see a great deal of folly 
 in what "he was doing ; but, as for a man's 
 opinion of himself, that counts for very little; 
 and he could only go on and follow out his 
 career in his own way. 
 
 Lauderdale, on his side, had less compre- 
 hension of his friend at this point of his char- 
 acter than at any other. He had discour- 
 aged as far as he was able the earlier steps 
 of the engagement between Colin and Al- 
 ice ; but when things " had gone so far " the 
 philosopher understood no compromise. 
 He hastened on through the dust, for his 
 part, with a tender anxiety in his heart, con- 
 cerned for the girl who had approached him 
 more liearly than any woman had done 
 since the days of his youth ; who had been 
 to him that mingled type of sister, daughter, 
 dependant, and ruler, wliich a very young, 
 very innocent, ivoman sometimes is to a man 
 too old to fall in love with her, or even to 
 think of such a weakness. Such love as 
 had been possible to Lauderdale had been 
 given early in his life — given once and 
 done with ; and Colin had filled up all the 
 place in his heart which miight have been 
 left vacant as a prey to vagrant aff"ections. 
 At present he was occupied with the 
 thought that Alice was ill, and that the little 
 cry she had uttered had a tone of appeal in 
 it, and was in reality a cry for help to those 
 who had succoured her in her loneliness, 
 and been more to her for one little period 
 of her life than father or famUy. And Col- 
 in's fi'iend and guardian pursued his way 
 with great strides, going to the rescue of the 
 tender, little suffering creature, the mourn- 
 ful, yet dutiful, little woman who had borne 
 her grief so courageously at Frascati, where 
 they two were all the protectors, all the 
 comforters she had. Thus the friends went* 
 on with their different sentiments, saying 
 little to each other, and not a word upon this 
 particular subject. They had meant to 
 pause at a village which was on their way to 
 Windermere to rest during the heat of the 
 day and refresh themselves ; and it was here, 
 according to all likelihood, that the carriage 
 which had passed with the invahd would al- 
 so stop, to repose the sick lady if she was a 
 stranger — to await the approach of the two 
 pedestrians if it was Alice, and if she was 
 free to take such a step. Lauderdale iiad 
 no doubt either of the one or the other of 
 these facts ; and, to tell the truth, Colin, re- 
 garding the matter under an altogether dif- 
 
224 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 ferent aspect, had little doubt on his part 
 that the moment of fate had arrived. 
 
 Nevertheless, when he saw the first strajT- 
 fjling houses of the liamlet — rude little 
 Westmoreland houses, gray and simjjle with 
 a mooiUuid air, and no grand Seirjneur near 
 at hand to trim tliem into model cottages — 
 It is so hard to believe what goes against 
 one's washes. After all, perhaps, the end 
 would be a laugh, an exclamation of sur- 
 prise, a blessed sense of relief; and no dread- 
 ftil apparition of old tics and old vows to 
 bind the freed-man over again in cold blood 
 and without any illusion. Such feverish 
 hopes came into Colin's mind against his will, 
 as they drew nearer. The road was as dusty 
 as ever, but he did not see the broad mark 
 of the carriage wheels; and with a great 
 throb of relief found when they came in 
 sight of the little inn that there was no car- 
 riage, nothing but a former's gig before the 
 door. lie began to breathe again, throw- 
 ing off his burden. "It might be one of 
 my farmers for anything one could tell to 
 the conti-ary," said Colin, with a short laugh 
 and a sense of relief past describing. " You 
 see now what fools we were to suppose — " 
 
 At that moment, however, the young man 
 stopped short in the midst of his sentence. 
 A man was coming to meet them who might 
 have been, for anything, as Colin said, that 
 one could say to th^ contrary, the farmer to 
 whom the gig belonged. He was at present 
 but a black figure against the sunshine, with 
 his face shaded by his hat; but notwith- 
 standing Colin stopped short when he came 
 in sight of him, and his heart stopped beat- 
 ing, — or at least he thought so. He had 
 seen this man once in his life before, — but 
 once, and no more. But there are some cir- 
 cumstances which sharpen and intensify the 
 senses. Colin recognised him the moment 
 Lis eyes rested on him. He stopped short, 
 because what he was saying was proved to 
 be folly, and worse that folly. It was a de- 
 nial of the certainty which had suddenly ap- 
 peared before his eyes. He stopped without 
 explaining why he stopped, and made a step 
 onwards in a confused and bewildered way. 
 Henceforward Lauderdale had nothing to 
 do with it. It was Colin himself as the prin- 
 cipal and contracting party who was con- 
 cerned. 
 
 And the stranger, for his part, who had 
 also seen the young man but once in his 
 life, recognised Colin. It had only been 
 for a moment, and it was nearly four years 
 ago,' but still Mr. Meredith knew, when he 
 saw him, the young man whom he had bid- 
 den to begone for a fortune-hunter ; who had 
 closed his son's eyes, and laid Arthur in his , 
 
 grave ; and given to Alice in her desolation 
 the tenderest guardianship. He did not 
 know Lauderdale, who had his share in all 
 but the last act of that sad little domestic 
 drama ; but he recognised Colin by intuition, 
 lie came forward to him with the courtesy 
 of a man whom necessity compels to change 
 all his tactics. " Mr. Campbell, I think V " 
 he said. " I feel that I cannot be mistak- 
 en. Alice was sure she saw you on the 
 road. I came back after I had taken her 
 home, to try whether I could meet you. 
 Will you do me the favour to introduce me 
 to your friend. . I believe I am almost as 
 much indebted to him as to you." 
 
 " There is no debt on one side or the oth- 
 er," said Lauderdale, interposing, for Colin 
 found it difficult to speak. " Tell us how 
 she is, which is far more important. We 
 heard her give a cry, and since then we've 
 been hurrying on to see." 
 
 " She is not at all well," said Mr. Mere- 
 dith. " I hope you will consent to gratify 
 my daughter by going back to dine with me. 
 My house is close by here, and I came on 
 purpose. Mr. Campbell, you may think 
 you have a just grievance against me. I 
 hope you will overlook it at present, and 
 hear my explanation afterwards. "We can 
 never be sufficiently grateful ibr all you 
 have done for my son, both before his 
 death and after. It was a terrible dispen- 
 sation of Providence; but I cannot be 
 thankful enough that my poor boy lived to 
 produce a work which has been of value to 
 so many ; and but for you it never could 
 have been successfully published. I\Iy dear 
 sir, I hope you will not suffer any personal 
 feeling to me — I beg you to believe that 
 what I said was said in ignorance — I mean, 
 I trust that you will not refuse to gratify 
 Alice. She is almost all I have left," Mr. 
 Meredith said, with a faltering voice. " I 
 have had great losses in my family. She 
 has not been so much intei'ested about any- 
 thing for a long time. You will come with 
 me, will you not, for Arthur's and for my 
 daughter's sake ? " 
 
 If any man could have said No to that 
 appeal, Colin was not the man. He made 
 little answer except by a bow, and ]\Ir. 
 Meredith turned with them, and they all got 
 into the country vehicle at the door of the 
 little inn, and drove off silent enough to 
 the house where Alice was awaiting them. 
 Colin had scarcely a word to say as he drove 
 along by her father's side. The gaiety, and 
 freedom, and happy thoughts with which he 
 had set out on liis journey seemed to de- 
 tach themselves from his mind, and abandon 
 him one by one. His fate had encountered 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 225 
 
 him where ho had least expectation of 
 meeting it. And yet at the same time a 
 compunction awoke in his heart to think 
 that it was in this way, like a captive 
 brought back to her presence, that the man 
 whom Alice loved was going to her. He 
 could have felt aggrieved and angry for her 
 sake, if the claim of his own reluctance and 
 dread had not been nearer, and gained upon 
 the more generous feeling. And yet withal 
 
 15 
 
 he had a longing to see her, a kind of incli- 
 nation to carry her off from this man, who 
 had but a secondary claim upon her, and 
 heal and cherish the wounded dove. It 
 was this singular chance which changed the 
 course of the excursion which the two 
 friends had planned into the lake country, 
 and made that holiday expedition of so 
 much importance in the history of Colin's 
 life. 
 
226 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 PART XVII. — COXCLUSION. 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 " HoLMBY is not my house," said Mr. 
 Meredith, as they drove up the avenue ; " I 
 took it to please Alice. She has a fancy 
 for the North now, as she used to have for 
 the South." As he said this he gave a 
 wistful side-glance at Colin, who had scarce- 
 ly spoken during all the drive ; and even 
 to this speech the young man made little 
 response. The house was a pale gray 
 house, of rough limestone, like the humbler 
 houses, surrounded with wood, and bearing 
 anything but a cheerful aspect. The ave- 
 nue was long and straight, and the cold 
 commonplace outline of this secluded dwell- 
 ing-place filled up the vista between the 
 two dark lines of trees, growing gradually 
 more distinct as they approached. Every- 
 thing had a certain visionary aspect to 
 Colin at this moment, and the look of the 
 house irritated him, as if it had been a tj-pe 
 of the commonplace existence which he 
 was hencefoi'ward to lead. He could not 
 keep the cloud that was on his mind from 
 appeai-ing also on his countenance, though, 
 at the same time, he could not help observ- 
 ing that IMr. Meredith looked at him often 
 with a regard that was almost pathetic. 
 To be sure, there was nothing very eleva- 
 ted in the aspect of this man, whose history 
 was not one which Colin liked to think of; 
 but still it was evident that his heart was 
 trembling for his child, and that he was 
 conveying to her the lover whom he had 
 once rejected and insulted, as he might 
 have carried a costly medicine, hard to 
 procure, and of doubtful efficacy, but still 
 the only thing that there was any hope in. 
 Colin recognized this wistful look by the 
 freemasonry of a mind equally excited, 
 though in a different way ; and, as for Lau- 
 derdale, he looked on at both with a pain- 
 ful doubt and uncertainty which had never 
 yet entered into his thoughts in respect to 
 Colin. For all this time he had been try- 
 ing to think it was Alice's father, or even 
 Alice herself, who was to blame ; and now 
 only he began to see clearly the reluctance 
 of his friend to its fullest extent — his re- 
 luctance and, at the same time, that almost 
 fantastic honour and delicacy which kept 
 the young man from avowing even to his 
 closest companion the real state of his feel- 
 ino's. So that now, at the first moment for 
 a long time in which the fulfilment of 
 Colin's engagement began to appear pos- 
 sible, Lauderdale, who had preached to 
 him of constancy, who had longed after 
 Alice, who had taken every opportunity of 
 
 directing to her the truant thoughts of his 
 friend, for the first time faltered. He be- 
 gan to see the other side of the question 
 just at the time when it would have been 
 agreeable to ignore it. He saw not only 
 that Colin's happiness was at stake, but 
 that it would be better for Alice even to 
 break her heart, if that was inevitable, 
 than to be man-icd, not for love, but for 
 honour; and unhappily he recognized this 
 just at the moment when Sir Bayard, Sir 
 Quixote, whatever absurd title you may 
 please to give him — the Mistress's son, 
 who was incapable of leaving a woman 
 in the lurch, or casting upon her the shame 
 of rejection — was going on to meet his 
 fate. From this it will be seen that it was 
 a very subdued and silent party which was 
 at this moment driving along the long ave- 
 nue under the trees, and making Alice's 
 heart beat, in-doors on her sofa, with every 
 turn of those wheels on the gravel. " Is 
 papa alone ? " she asked of her little sister, 
 who was at the window ; and her heart was 
 jumping up into her throat when she ut- 
 tered that simple question, as if it would 
 take away her breath. When she received 
 for answer a lengthened and inteiTupted 
 description of the two gentlemen who ac- 
 companied Mr. Meredith, Alice put her 
 head back on her pillows and closed her 
 eyes in the sudden faintness of her great 
 joy. For she in her simplicity had no 
 doubt about Colin. If he had not loved 
 her he would not have turned back; he 
 would never have come to her. It was 
 the tender guardian of her loneliness, the 
 betrothed in whom she had reposed the en- 
 tire faith of her nature, whom her father 
 was bringing back to her; and, so far as 
 AUce was concerned at this moment, the 
 four intervening years had no existence. 
 She had seen nobody and done nothing 
 during that dreary intei-wil. Ill-health, 
 and seclusion, and mourning, had made it 
 appear to her that her life had temporarily 
 stopped at the time when ]\Ii-. Meredith 
 carried her off from Frascati. And now, 
 with Colin, life and strength and individu- 
 ality were coming back. This was how 
 the matter appeared on her side of affairs, 
 and it seemed to Alice the natural solution 
 of the difficulty ; for, after all, but for her 
 father's cruel persistence against her, which 
 Providence by many blows had broken and 
 made to yield, she would have been Colin's 
 wife for all those years. And now, the 
 one obstacle being removed, it seemed only 
 natural to her straightforward and simple 
 intelligence that the long-deferred conclu- 
 sion should arrive at last. 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 Both she and the little sister at the win- 
 dow were in mourning. Mrs. Meredith 
 was dead — the stepmother, who had been 
 Alice's greatest enemy ; and, of all the 
 children who had once made their father 
 indifferent to his elder son and daughter, 
 the only one left was the little girl, who 
 was giving her sister an elaborate descrip- 
 tion of the gentlemen who were with papa. 
 This was why Mr. Meredith had yielded. 
 Alice judged, according to her simple reck- 
 onings, with a little awe of the terrible 
 means employed, that it was Providence 
 who had thus overturned her father's res- 
 olution, and made him yielding and ten- 
 der. It did not occur to her to ask wheth- 
 er for her happiness it was just or reason- 
 able that so many should suffer ; she only 
 accepted it as providential, just as Colin 
 four years before had persuaded himself 
 that all the circumstances which had thrown 
 them together were providential. And 
 now the climax, which the poor girl per- 
 mitted herself to think God had been 
 bringing about by all the family convul- 
 sions of these four years, came close, and 
 the heart of Alice grew faint with thank- 
 fulness and joy. When she heard them 
 coming up stairs she sat upright, recover- 
 ing with her old force of self-restraint her 
 composure and calmness. Mr. Meredith 
 came in with a little bustle to spare his 
 daughter the agitation of the meeting. 
 " You were quite right, Alice, my love," 
 he said, bringing them hurriedly up to her. 
 " Here is Mr. Campbell and your friend, 
 Mi\ Lauderdale. They recognized you at 
 the same minute as you recognized them ; 
 and, if I had not been so foolish as to tell 
 John to drive on, we might have picked 
 them up and saved them their walS. I 
 thought she was ill," the anxious father 
 continued, turning his back upon Ahce, 
 and occupying himself with Lauderdale. 
 " She had a fainting fit yesterday, and I 
 was frightened it was that, or I should have 
 stopped and picked you up. We are a 
 little dark here with all these trees. I 
 would have them cut down if Holmby was 
 mine; but at this window, if you are fond 
 of fine scenery, I can show you a beautiful 
 view." 
 
 And It was thus that the two, who parted 
 at Frascati as lovers within a few weeks of 
 their marriage, met In the shaded drawing- 
 room at Holmby. The most exciting events 
 of Colln's life were framed within the in- 
 terval ; but nothing had happened individ- 
 ually to Alice. He leeemed to find her 
 exactly where he had left her, though with 
 the sense of having himself travelled to an 
 
 227 
 
 unutterable distance In the meantime. She 
 did not say much in the tumult and con- 
 fusion fef her joy ; she only held out her 
 hand to him, and lifted her soft eyes to his 
 face with a look of su2:)reme content and 
 satisfaction, which had the strangest effect 
 upon Colin. He felt his doom fixed for 
 ever and ever as he looked into the gentle 
 blue eyes which conveyed to him all that 
 was In Alice's heart. And she had not 
 the slightest suspicion of the heaviness that 
 was in his as he drew a chair near her 
 sofa. " At last ! " she said softly, under 
 her breath. The little sister stood by, 
 looking on with round eyes opened to their 
 widest ; but, as for Alice, she had no con- 
 sciousness of any presence but one. And 
 Colin sat down by her without any answer. 
 In his heart not knowing what to say. Her 
 black dress, her languid air, the paleness 
 one moment, and the flush of delicate col- 
 our the next, all moved him strangely. 
 Even had he not been Bayard he could not 
 have done anything to wound the fair, 
 feeble creature who looked at him with 
 her heart In her eyes. And naturally the 
 consequence was, that Colin answered in 
 a way far more decisive than any words — 
 by clasping the soft clinging hand, and 
 bending down to kiss it as in the old Ital- 
 ian days. Alice had never had any doubt 
 of her betrothed, but at that moment she 
 felt herself receiving the pledge of a new 
 and more certain troth — and in the re- 
 vulsion from despondency and weakness 
 her mouth was opened for the first time in 
 her life — opened with a fullness, the 
 thought of which would have covered poor 
 Alice with misery and confusion if she 
 could but have known what was passing 
 in her companion's heart. 
 
 " I had grown so tired of waiting," she 
 said, scarcely aware that she was speaking ; 
 " I was wearying, wearying, as Mr. Lauder- 
 dale used to say ; and to think you should 
 be passing so near and perhaps might have 
 passed altogether, and never have known I 
 was here ! Oh, Cohn, it was Providence ! " 
 said Alice, with the tears in her eyes. 
 
 And poor Colin, who did not know what 
 to say, whose heart was bursting with the 
 profound pity and instinctive tenderness of 
 old, and with that sense that all his own im- 
 aginations were ended forever, and his future 
 decided for him without any action of his 
 own — Colin could find no answer to make. 
 He bent down again on the pale, soft hand 
 which he held in his own, and kissed it once 
 more, with that tender affection which was 
 anything In the world but love. " Yes," he 
 said, but it was more to himself than to her, 
 
228 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 '•I tffink it was Providence." Alice had 
 not an ear tliat could hear the despair that 
 was in the words — for indeed it was a de- 
 spair so mingled with softer emotions, with 
 sympathy and anxiety, and a kind of fond- 
 ness, that nobody could have found it out 
 who did not know Colin to the bottom of his 
 heart. This was how the meeting was ac- 
 complished after all those years ; lor by this 
 time Lauderdale had looked at the view 
 without seeing it, and was returning to see 
 how his fi-iend had gone through this en- 
 counter, and to claim Ahce's recognition for 
 himself. The two spectators who approach- 
 ed from the window, whei'e they had been 
 pretending to look at the view, were, to tell 
 the truth, as much agitated as the young 
 people themselves. Perhaps even, on the 
 whole, a stranger, not knowing anything 
 about the matter, would have concluded that 
 it was Lauderdale and Mr. Meredith who 
 wei'e moved the most ; for perhaps there is 
 nothing which can happen to one's self, 
 which moves one so profoundly as to watch 
 a crisis of fate passing over another human 
 creature whom one loves, yet whom one 
 cannot die for or suffer for, and whose bur- 
 den has to be borne, not by us, but by him- 
 self. Alice's father, for his part, looked up- 
 on this meeting somehow as his child's last 
 chance for life, or rather, it would be better 
 to say, as his own last chance to save her life 
 and preserve her to himself; and Lauderdale 
 saw Colin's happiness, which was almost of 
 more importance than his life, hanging uj.on 
 the doubtful expression in the sick girl's 
 eyes. Whep the two turned back, it was 
 impossible to mistake the sweet joy and se- 
 renity of Alice's looks. Excitement was 
 unnatural to her In all circumstances. She 
 had been agitated profoundly for a moment ; 
 but now all that was over, and the content 
 of old had returned to her face. The same 
 look that Lauderdale remembered at Fras- 
 cati — the look which greetedi Colin's arriv- 
 al — ■ not any tumult of deUght, but a su- 
 preme satisfaction and completeness, as if 
 there remained nothing more in the world 
 to be looked for or desired ! She half rose 
 up to meet her old friend as he came back 
 to her, himself greatly moved, and not ven- 
 turing to look at Colin, and held out both 
 her hands to him. " Oh, Mr. Lauderdale, I 
 have not told you how glad I am, nor how I 
 have been toearjjing" said Alice. She said 
 even that word — the word she had once 
 laughed at — as if with a soft appeal to his 
 recollection. She had said it so often to 
 herself in those long years — half because 
 it was Scotch, and pleased her yearning 
 fancy ; and half because there was a linger- 
 
 ing depth of expression in it, like her long 
 watch and vigil. And then she smiled in 
 his face, and then cried a little. For not- 
 withstanding her tranquillity, all this had 
 tried her weakness, and proved a little more 
 than she could bear. 
 
 " You must not agitate yourself, Alice," 
 said Mr. Meredith, taking, as most men do, 
 the result of her past agitation for the thing 
 itself. " She is still a little weakly, but I 
 hope now we shall soon see her strong again." 
 This he said with again a covert glance at 
 Colin, who was still sitting close to the sofa 
 of Alice, with his face shaded by liis hand. 
 Notwithstanding that shade the young man 
 knew by instinct the look that was being di- 
 recited upon him, and turned to meet it ; and 
 on his face there were greater marks of agi- 
 tation than on that of Alice, which had been 
 relieved by her tears. He was pale, and to 
 Lauderdale's anxious eyes seemed to have 
 fallen back from his vigour of manhood for 
 the moment into that unassured youth which 
 he had left behind him for years. And then 
 the voice of Mr. Meredith had an effect up- 
 on Colin's mind altogether different from 
 that produced by the so^'t familiar tones of 
 Alice. When the father spoke, Colin's 
 heart shut fast its doors, and rose up against 
 the impending fate. 
 
 " If Miss Meredith was ill," he said, with 
 a little bitterness, taking at least advantage 
 of the rights thus pressed back upon him to 
 repulse this man, whom he could not help 
 dishking in his heart, " I am surprised that 
 you did not let me know." 
 
 This speech was so unexpected and sud- 
 den, and there was in it such an amount of 
 suppressed exasperation, that Lauderdale 
 made a step forward without knowing it, and 
 Alice" put out her hand vaguely to arrest the 
 vehemence of her betrothed. As for "Mx. 
 Meredith, he was as much relieved by the 
 assumption of right in Colin's words, as he 
 was disturbed by his unfi'iendly tone. 
 
 " My dear sir," said the father, " I hope 
 you will let bygones be bygones. I have 
 learned many severe lessons, and Providence 
 has dealt with me in a way to make me see 
 my errors ; but I can safely say that, since I 
 understood the true state of the case, I have 
 always reproached myself for not having 
 shown the gratitude I felt to you." 
 
 Colin, for his part, did not make any an- 
 swer. His temper was disturbed by the 
 struggle he had been going through. He 
 could not cry and get over it, like Alice ; 
 being a man it was only in this way that he 
 could give a little vent to his feelings. And 
 then he could relieve himself by putting out 
 some of his pain upon INIr. Meredith, with- 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 229 
 
 out injury to her who had thus thrown her- 
 self undoubtingly upon his love, as she sup- 
 posed. Perhaps Bayard himself, under the 
 same circumstances, would have done as 
 much. 
 
 " I may say, my gi-atitude to both," said 
 Mr. Meredith, whose anxiety that he might 
 not lose this chance for Alice was so great 
 that it made him alnaost smile, and who 
 could not help recollecting at that inoppor- 
 tune moment the letter he had written to 
 Lauderdale ; " I know that Mr. Lauderdale 
 also was very kind to my poor boy. I hope 
 you will both excusQ the error of the mo- 
 ment," he said, faltering a little. It was 
 hard to own himself altogether in the wrong, 
 and yet in his anxiety he would have done 
 even that for Alice's sake. 
 
 " Speak no more of that," said Lauder- 
 dale. " Our friend Arthur spoke of his 
 father with his last breath, and we're no like 
 to forget any of his words. It's an awfu' 
 consolation to my mind to see her again, and 
 to feel that we're a' friends. As for Cohn, 
 he's a wee out of himself, as is natural. I 
 would have been real vexed," said the phil- 
 osopher, with the smile that was half tears, 
 ■and that Alice remembered so well, " being 
 sure of Arthur for a fast fiiend whenever 
 we may meet again, to have lost all sight 
 and knowledge of you. ' 
 
 He looked at Alice, but it was to Arthur's 
 father that he held out his hand ; and, as 
 for Colin, it was impossible for him not to 
 follow the example, though he did it with a 
 certain reluctance which did not escape any 
 of the spectators. And then they all made 
 believe to be composed and at their ease, 
 and began to talk, forming a little circle round 
 Alice's sofa, outside of which the little sister, 
 with her eyes open to their widest extent, still 
 stood, drinking in everything, and wonder- 
 ing much what it could mean. 
 
 " And, now that we have you," said Mr. 
 Meredith, "we cannot let you go again. 
 You can go to Windermere, and any other 
 place worth seeing, from Holmby. You 
 must tell me where to send for your things, 
 and we will try to make you corafortable 
 here." 
 
 " We have no things but those we carry 
 with us," said Colin. " We are pedestrians, 
 and not fit for ladies' society. I am afraid 
 we must go upon our dusty way, and re- 
 turn again," he added, with an involunta- 
 ry glance at Alice, It was because he 
 thought he was failing of his duty that he 
 said these last words ; but they were unne- 
 cessary so far as Alice were concerned, who 
 had no suspicions, and, mcst likely, if she 
 had known his secret, would not have un- 
 
 derstood it. It did not come into her head 
 as a possible idea that he would thus have 
 come to her again and accepted his old po- 
 sition had he not loved her; and in her 
 truthfulness she had the superiority over 
 Colin, notwithstanding, perhaps, that his 
 motives were of a higher order, and his 
 mode of thinking more exalted than any- 
 thing that could ever have come into her 
 honest and simple mind. 
 
 " Oh, we will -put up with your dress," said 
 Mr. Meredith, putting on a heartiness that 
 was scarcely natural to him. " We can be 
 tolerant on that point. I will give orders 
 directly about your rooms. Alice is not 
 well enough to see visitors, and your coats do 
 not matter to her," he went on, with a little 
 laugh ; not that he was merry, poor man, 
 but that, like all the rest, he was agitated, 
 and did not know how to give it vent. 
 As for Alice, she did not say anything, but 
 she turned her soft eyes upon Colin with a 
 look that seemed to caress him and his dusty 
 vestments. If he had been in the roughest 
 peasant's dress, it would not have made any 
 difference to Alice. Her soft, tranquil eyes 
 rested upon him with that content and satis- 
 faction which are the highest compliments 
 that eyes of woman can make to man. When 
 he was there she had no longer any occasion 
 to look into the world, or seek further; and 
 she could not but smile at the idea that his 
 dusty coat mattered anything. Thus it was 
 that everything was settled before CoHn knew 
 what was being done. The sun was still 
 high in the heavens when he found himself 
 established at Holmby, by Alice's side, an 
 inmate of her father's house ; he who had 
 got up that morning with the idea that he 
 was entirely sundered from his old ties, and 
 that nothing in the world was so impossible 
 as such a return upon the past. Even now, 
 when it had taken place, he did not believe 
 it was true or possible, but sat as in a dream, 
 and saw the fair shadow of the Alice of Fras- 
 cati moving and speaking like a phantom. 
 Would it remain for ever, looking at him 
 with the soft eyes which he felt ashamed to 
 meet, and to which he could make so little 
 response ? A kind of despair came over 
 Colin as the slow afternoon waned, and the 
 reality of the vision began more and more to 
 force itself upon him. Everything was so 
 frightfully true and natural, and in reason. 
 He had to baffle not only the eyes of Alice, 
 but those of Lauderdale, who, he felt sure 
 by instinct, was watching him, though he 
 never could catch him in the act, and put 
 him down as of old by the broad, full, half- 
 defiant look which he had learned was his 
 best shield against all question. Lauderdale 
 
230 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 had grown too skilful to subject himself to 
 that repulse, and yet Colin knew that his 
 friend observed his smallest action, and 
 heard every word he was saying, however 
 distant he might be. And thus the day pass- 
 ed on in a kind of distracting vision; and 
 they all dined and talked, and looked, as it 
 is the duty of any party of people in Eng- 
 land to look, exactly as if they had been all 
 their lives together, and it was the most nat- 
 ural thing in the world. 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 The evening passed on, Colin could not 
 very well tell how ; and he began to see a 
 prospect of escaping a little, and gaining a 
 moment's breathing time, to realize, if he 
 could, the astonishing revolution which had 
 taken place. Alice, who was an invalid, 
 retired early ; and after that the conversa- 
 tion had flagged, and the three men who 
 had so little in common, and who had been, 
 on the sole occasion which had brought them 
 into contact with each other before, so en- 
 tirely in opposition, found it hard to know 
 what to say, so as to cultivate all the friend- 
 ly feelings that were possible, and dissipate 
 the disagreeable reminiscences. Mr. Mere- 
 dith betook himself to the only subject that 
 seemed to him possible — his sou's book, 
 which Colin had edited so carefully; but 
 then it is already known to the readers of 
 this history that Coliu's opinions were by no 
 means those of the " Voice from the Grave." 
 And then the young man was burning to 
 escape — to get out of doors and feel the 
 wind on his face, 'and endeavour in the si- 
 lence and darkness to realize his position. 
 He had to escape not only from Mr. Mere- 
 dith, who watched him with the anxiety of 
 a man who fears to see his last hope escape 
 him, but also from Lauderdale, who was 
 concerned less for Alice than for Colin, and 
 whose anxiety, now that his mind had been 
 fully awakened, was as great that Colin 
 should not risk his own happiness, as_ was 
 Mr. Meredith's anxiety that the happiness 
 of Alice should be secured. Of the two, it 
 was the latter whom Colin could meet with 
 most ease ; for it was no way necessary that 
 he should open his heart to a man who sought 
 him only as he might have sought a physician, 
 and, indeed, there was a certain _ relief to 
 his mind in the expression of some irritation 
 and resentment towards Mr. Meredith, who 
 had once insulted him, and was friendly 
 now only from the most interested motives. 
 When he at last found it possible to leave 
 the room where he was sitting, and had ac- 
 tually opened the door to escape into the 
 
 open air, it was Mr. Meredith who detained 
 him. " Pardon me," he said ; " but, if you 
 would but give me five minutes in my own 
 room — I have a great deal to say to you." 
 Colin was obliged to yield, though his impa- 
 tience was unspeakable ; and he followed 
 Mr. Meredith into the library, which, like 
 all the other rooms in the house, was but 
 partially lighted. Here Alice's father gave 
 his guest a chair, with solemnity, as for an 
 important conference, and this was more 
 than Colin's powers of self-restraint could 
 bear. 
 
 " I cannot a^k you to pardon me" he s^d, 
 putting his hand on the back of the chair. 
 " You will, perhaps, understand that all that 
 has happened to-day has disturbed my cal- 
 culations a little. A man cannot go back 
 four years of his life in so unexpected a way 
 without feehng a little off his equilibrium. 
 May I ask you to postpone till to-morrow 
 what you have to say ? " 
 
 "Only a moment — only three words," 
 said Mr. IMeredith ; " I hope you have for- 
 given me for the mistake which I have re- 
 gretted ever since. I meant no slight to 
 you, whom I did not know. I was naturally 
 excited to find my daughter in such circum- 
 stances ; and, Mr. Campbell, I am sure you 
 are generous ; you will not let a mere mis- 
 take prejudice you against me." 
 
 " It was not a mistake," said Colin coldly ; 
 " you were right enough in everything but 
 the motives you imputed to me ; and I am 
 almost as poor a man now as I was then, 
 with very little chance of being richer — I 
 may say, with no chance," he went on, with 
 a certain pleasure in exaggerating his dis- 
 advantages. " A Scotch minister can make 
 no advance in his profession. Instead of 
 finding fault with what you did then, I feel 
 disposed to bid^ou weigh well the circiun- 
 stances now." 
 
 Mr. Meredith smiled, with a little air of 
 protection, and drew a long breath of rehef. 
 " Alice will have enough for both," he said ; 
 " and Providence has taught me by many se- 
 vere lessons the vanity of riches. She wiU 
 have enough for both." 
 
 It was at this moment that all the bitter- 
 ness of the sacrifice he was making rushed 
 upon Cohn's mind — rushed upon him like 
 a flood, quenching even the natural courtesy 
 of his disposition, and giving him a certain 
 savage satisfaction in wreaking his ven- 
 geance upon the rich man, whose riches he 
 despised, and whose money smelt of spolia- 
 tion and wrong. All the silent rage against 
 his fiite which possessed Colin — all the re- 
 luctance and disappointment wliich a high- 
 er principle kept in abeyance in presence of 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 231 
 
 the innocent Alice — blazed up against her 
 father in a momentary glare wliicli appalled 
 the victim. Colin might give up his ideal 
 and his dreams for tender friendship and 
 honour and compassion ; but the idea of 
 any sordid inducement mingled with these 
 motives drove him the length of passion. 
 It was, however, not with any demonstra- 
 tion, but in a white heat of bitterness and 
 angry resistance that he spoke. 
 
 " It will be better that we should under- 
 stand each other clearly on this point," said 
 Colin. " I am not your judge, to say you 
 have done well or ill ; but it is a matter on 
 which I may be permitted to have my own 
 opinion. I will not accept a shilling of your 
 fortune. If Alice is content to have me as 
 I am, she shall have all the care, all the 
 tenderness that I can give her ; but — par- 
 don me, it is necessary to speak plainly — I 
 will take nothing from you." 
 
 Colin stood up with his hand on the back 
 of his chair, and delivered his charge full 
 into the breast of his unsuspecting oppo- 
 nent. Perhaps it was cruel ; but there are 
 circumstances under which it is a relief to 
 be cruel to somebody, and the pain in his 
 soul found for itself a certain expression in 
 these words. As for the unhappy victim 
 who received them, the sense of surprise al- 
 most deadened the effect for the moment ; he 
 could not believe that he had heard rightly. 
 Mr. Meredith was of the Low Church, and 
 was used to say every day that wealth was 
 vanity, and that the true treasure had to be 
 laid up above ; but still his experience had 
 not shown him that poor young priests of 
 any creed were generally so far moved by 
 these sentiments as to despise the fortune 
 which a wife might bring them. He was so 
 much amazed that he gave a gasp of con- 
 sternation at the young man who thus de- 
 fied him, and grew not pale but gray with 
 an emotion which was more wonder than 
 anger. But Mr. Meredith was not a bad man, 
 notwithstanding that he had ruined several 
 households, and made himself rich at other 
 people's expense ; and, even had he felt the 
 lull force of the insult personally, his anxiety 
 about Alice would have made him bear it. 
 That fatherly dread and love made him for 
 the moment a great deal more Christian 
 than Colin, who had thus assaulted him in 
 the bitterness of his heart. 
 
 " Mr. Campbell," he replied, when he had 
 sufficiently recovered himself to speak, " I 
 don't know what you have heard about me. 
 I don't mean to enter upon any defence of 
 myself. My poor boy, I know, misunder- 
 stood some transactions, not knowing any- 
 thing about business. But, so far as I can 
 
 see, that matters very little between you 
 and me. I have explained to you that my 
 conduct in reference to yourself was found- 
 ed on a mistake. I have expressed my grati- 
 tude to you in respect to my son ; and now, 
 if we are to be more closely connected " — 
 
 _" That depends upon Miss Meredith," 
 said CoHn, hastily, "You have opened 
 your doors to me voluntarily, and not by my 
 solicitation ; and now it is to her that I have 
 a right to address myself Otherwise it 
 would have been better if you had not asked 
 me to come here." 
 
 " Yes, yes," saidMr. Meredith. He thought 
 he saw a doubtful gleam in Colin's eye, and 
 an accent of repugnance in his voice, and 
 he trembled to the'bottom of his heart lest 
 perhaps, after all, he miglit lose this chance 
 of preserving his daughter. " Yes, yes," he 
 said, with a smile, which it cost him a little 
 trouble to assume, and which looked horri- 
 bly out of. place to Colin ; " I ought to have 
 learned by this time that it does not do to 
 interfere between lovers. I allow that it 
 lies entirely between her and you." 
 
 He might have said a great deal more if 
 his young hearer would have given him time ; 
 but Colin was only too glad to escape. The 
 word " lovers " which Mr. Meredith used, 
 the smile whi(^ the poor man was so far 
 from meaning, the lighter tone which belied 
 his feehngs quite as much as Colin's, drove 
 that young man half frantic with impatience 
 and disgust. At last he managed to get his 
 will, and escaped out of doors, with the 
 cigar which was an excuse for his thoughts. 
 The night was dark, and agitated by a 
 ghostly wind, and the country, utterly un- 
 known, which lay round the house in the 
 darkness, and which neither memory nor im- 
 agination presented to the mind of the 
 stranger, increased the natural eifect of the 
 gloom and the solitude. He went down 
 through the long, straight opening of the 
 avenue, which was a little less black than 
 the surrounding world, with a sensation of 
 loneliness which was as strange as it was 
 painful. He did not seem to know himself 
 or his life henceforward any more than he 
 knew the wild, strange country over which 
 the night and the wind ruled supreme. It 
 seemed to him as if. the solace of friendship, 
 the consolation of sympathy, was also ended 
 forever ; he could not talk, even to those who 
 were most dear to him, of his betrothed or 
 of his man-iage — if, indeed, that was what 
 it must come to. He had walked up and 
 down the avenue two or three times, from 
 one end to another, before even a little co- 
 herence came to his thoughts. All was so 
 strange and unbelievable as yet ; so like a 
 
232 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 trick of magic played upon Lim by some 
 malign magician. He was not capable of 
 thinking ; but everything passed before him 
 like a vision, appearing and disappearing 
 out of the darkness. His old freedom, his im- 
 pulses of resolution, the force and fulness of 
 life with which he was young enough to 
 sport, even in its most serious strength, and 
 all the sweet wealth of imagination that had 
 lain hoarded up for him among the clouds — 
 these were things that belonged to yesterday. 
 To-night it was another world that seemed 
 to lie before him in the gloom, a separate 
 sphere from the actual world in which he 
 was standing. Vague limitations and re- 
 strictions which he could not identify were 
 awaiting him, and he saw no way of escap- 
 ing, and yet did not know how he was to 
 bear the future thraldom, ks this ferment 
 calmed down a little, Colin began to think 
 of Alice, sweet, and patient, and dutiful as 
 she always was. He even resented, for her 
 sake, his own indifference and repugnance, 
 and said bitterly to himself that it was hard 
 that such a woman should be accepted as a 
 necessary burden, and not longed for as a 
 crown of blessing ; but yet, with all that, he 
 could not cheat his own heart, or persuade 
 himself thathe wanted to marry her,or thatit 
 was less than the sacrifice of ^\\ his individ- 
 ual hopes to enter again upon the old rela- 
 tionship, and fulfil the youthful bond. 
 When, however, he attempted to ask him- 
 self if he could escape, the same heart which 
 sank at the thought of this bond baffled 
 and stopped him m his question. It was 
 not the same case as that of Lancelot and 
 Elaine, though Colin was the Lancelot in so 
 far that 
 
 " He loved her with all love except the love 
 Of men and women when they love the best." 
 
 But then it was he who had knitted in 
 youthful generosity and indiscretion the 
 chain that now lay on his limbs like iron. 
 Alice had done nothing unmaidenly, nothing 
 that in all honour and delicacy she ought 
 not to have done. To be sure, another man 
 as honourable as Colin might have given her 
 to understand, or permitted her to find out, 
 the change which had taken place in his 
 sentiments. But then Colin could not even 
 assert with any truth that his sentiments had 
 changed. For he was almost as .conscious 
 that she was not the woman of his imagina- 
 tion when he led her home from the ilex 
 avenue on the day which determined their 
 fortunes as he was now after the long sepa- 
 ration which had not broken the link be- 
 tween them. He had known in his heart 
 that it was not broken, even when he had 
 
 most felt his freedom ; and now what could 
 he do ? Perhaps that morning, after the 
 carriage had passed him, after the little cry 
 of recognition which convinced his heart, 
 but which his mind could still have struggled 
 against, he might have turned back as he 
 had once thought of doing, and fled ignomin- 
 iously. But that moment was past, and 
 there was nothing to be done but accept the 
 results of his own youthful rasljness. These 
 were the thoughts that went through his 
 mind as he walked up and down the avenue 
 between the two long lines of trees, hearing 
 the wind roar among the branches overhead, 
 and feeling that henceforward there must 
 always be a secret in his heart, something 
 which nobody must discovei", a secret which 
 neither now nor at any time could be 
 breathed into any sympathetic ear. This 
 sense of something to conceal weighed hard- 
 er upon Colin than if it had been a crime 
 — for there is no crime so terrible but a 
 human creature may entertain the hope 
 some time of relieving his mind of it, and 
 breathing it into the ear of some confidant, 
 covenanted either by love or religion, who 
 will not sin-ink from him in consequence of 
 that revelation. The sting of Colin's burden 
 was that he could never relievehimself of it, 
 that all the questions raised by it must abso- 
 lutely confine themselves to his own mind, 
 and must lie unnamed and even unsuggested 
 between him and those friends from whom 
 he had never hidden anything but this. All 
 this he revolved in his mind as he contem- 
 plated his position. So far from seeking 
 sympathy, it would be his business to refuse 
 and ignore it, should it be given by any 
 implication, and to seek congratulations, 
 felicitations, instead. All this he was going 
 to do for Alice's sake ; and yet he did not 
 love Alice. He looked up at a faintly- 
 lighted window, where there seemed to be 
 a shaded light as in an invalid's room, and 
 thought of her with a mixture of bitterness 
 and sweetness, of tender aff«ction and un- 
 conquerable reluctance, of loyalty almost 
 fantastic, and the most painful sense of hard- 
 ship, which it would be impossible to de- 
 scribe. She, for her part, was lying down 
 to rest with her heart full of the sweetest 
 content and thankfulness, thinking with 
 ! thoughts so different from him how her life 
 j had changed since the morning, and how 
 the almost-forgotten sunshine had come back 
 again to remain for ever. This was how 
 I Alice was looking at the matter, and Cohn 
 I knew it in his heart. If she could but walk 
 out of that soft paradise to see the darkness 
 I and the turmoil m his nund ! But that was 
 \ what she must never find out. And thus 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 Colin made up his mind, if he could ever be 
 said to have had any doubt in his mind, as 
 to what was to be done. He did not even 
 cheat himself by the hope that anything 
 could happen to deliver him. It was Provi- 
 dence, as Alice had said. Perhaps it might 
 come darkly into the young man's mind to 
 wonder whether those severe lessons which 
 Mi\ Meredith said he had had in his family, 
 whether all those fatal losses and sorrows 
 which Alice regarded with awe, yet with a 
 certain devout admiration, as God's mysteri- 
 ous way of bringing about her own happi- 
 ness, could be considered as designed to 
 effect tbat end which did not make him 
 happy, for in such a question, personal con- 
 tent or dissatisfaction has a great deal to do 
 with the way in which a man regards the 
 tenor of Providence. Had he been as happy 
 as Alice was, perhaps he too would have 
 concluded that this was but another instance 
 how all things work together for good. But, 
 as he was not hap])y, he plunged into a 
 world of more painful questions, and re- 
 turned again as before, always at the end of 
 a few minutes, after his favourite specula- 
 tions had beguiled him for a little out of the 
 immediate matter in hand, to realize, as if 
 by a flash of lightning, all the facts of the 
 case, and all the necessities before him. 
 There may be many people who will con- 
 demn Colin both for remaining indifferent 
 to Alice, and for remaining faithful to her 
 in his indifference. But this is not a de- 
 fence nor eulogium of him, but simply a 
 history. It Avas thus his mind acted under 
 the circumstances. He could conduct him- 
 self only according to his own nature ; and 
 this is all that there is to say. 
 
 All this time Lauderdale was standing 
 at his window, watching in the darkness 
 for an occasional glimpse of something 
 moving among the trees. He had put out 
 his hght by instinct, that Colin might not 
 think he was being watched. He kept 
 looking out upon the wild tree-tops sway- 
 ing about in the wind, and upon the wild- 
 er clouds, dashed and heaped about the 
 sky, with a great sadness in his heart. 
 Colin's nature was not like his; yet by 
 dint of a sympathy which had been ex- 
 panding and growing with the young man's 
 growth, and a knowledge of him and his 
 ways, which no one in the world perceived 
 to the same extent, Lauderdale had very 
 nearly divined what was in his friend's 
 heart. He divined at the same time that 
 he must never divine it, nor betray by 
 word or look that such an idea had ever 
 entered his mind. And that was why he 
 put his light out, and, watching long till 
 
 233 
 
 Colin had come in, said his prayers in the 
 dark, and went to rest without seeking any 
 communication with him, though his heart 
 was yearning over him. It was Colin, and 
 not Lauderdale, who was J;he hero of that 
 silent struggle. Yet perhaps there was no 
 single pang in the young man's suffering 
 so exquisite as that which thrilled through 
 his companion as he resigned himself to an 
 appearance of repose, and denied himself 
 so much as a look at his friend, to whom he 
 had been like a father. At such a moment 
 a look might have been a betrayal ; and 
 now it was Lauderdale's business to second 
 Colin's resolution to avoid all confidence, 
 and to save him even from himself. 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 
 After this agitated night the morning 
 came, as morning has a knack of coming, 
 with that calm freshness and insouciance 
 which exasperates a mind in distress. What 
 does Nature care about what happened 
 last night or may happen to-morrow? If 
 she had disturbed herself for such trifles 
 she must have died of it in her first thou- 
 sand years. The new day, on the contrary, 
 was as gay and as easy in her mind as if 
 in all the world there were no painful puz- 
 zles awaiting her, and no inheritance of 
 yesterday to be disposed of. Somehow 
 the sight of that fresh and joyous hght 
 revealed to Colin the looks of the fair 
 spring mornings in Italy, which used to 
 burst in upon Arthur's deathbed with what 
 always seemed to him a look of careless 
 surprise and inquiry. But Alice for her 
 part lound a tender sweetness in the new 
 day. All that was bright in nature came 
 and paid court to her by reason of her 
 happiness, for there is no fair-weather 
 friend so frank in her intruded attentions 
 as Nature, though it is happiness and not 
 grandeur to which she attaches herself. 
 Alice went down to breakfast that morn- 
 ing, which she had not been able to do for 
 a long time. She had laid aside her black 
 dress by instinct, and put on a white one, 
 which had nothing but its black ribbons 
 to mark it as mourning ; and there was a 
 little delicate colour on her cheek, and her 
 eyes, though a Httle too large and clear, 
 had a glimmer of sunshine in them, like 
 the light in a dewdrop. Coliii would have 
 been hard-hearted indeed, had he refused 
 to be moved by that tender revival of 
 health and hope, which was owing to him 
 solely ; and his friends are aware tliat Colin 
 was not hai'dhearted. He was, perhaps, 
 even more thoughtful of her, more devoted 
 
234 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 to her, than be would have been bad the 
 timidity of real love been upon him. When 
 the breakfast was over — and naturally 
 there was still a certain embarrassment 
 upon the party so abruptly united, and 
 made up of elements so unlike each other 
 — Colin and Alice were left together. He 
 proposed to her to go out, and they went 
 out, for Alice had forgotten all about the 
 precautions which the day before were so 
 necessary for her. They went into the 
 avenue, where the dayhght and the sun- 
 shine had tamed down the wind into a 
 cheerful breeze. Nothing of the landscape 
 outside was to be seen from that sheltered 
 enclosure — no more than could have been 
 seen through the close shade of the ilexes 
 at Frascati, which they were both thinking 
 of as they strayed along under the shadow 
 of the trees; but the stately elms and 
 green transparent lime-leaves which shad- 
 owed the avenue of Holmby were as un- 
 like as could be supposed to the closely- 
 woven sombre green which shut out the 
 overwhelming sunshine in the grounds of 
 the Villa Conti. Here the sun was very 
 supportable, to say the truth; there was 
 no occasion to shut it out, and even when 
 a great tree came in the way, and inter- 
 fered with it, a little shiver came over Alice. 
 And yet it was June, the same month in 
 which they had wandered through the ilex 
 cloister, and watched the span of blue sky 
 blazing at the end, the only indication 
 visible that the great shining glowing world 
 lay outside. Colin was so full of recollec- 
 tions, so full of thoughts, that at first he 
 could find but little to say; and, as for 
 Alice, her content did not stand in need of 
 any words to express it. And, indeed, 
 no words could have expressed, on the 
 other hand, the profound remorseful ten- 
 derness, almost more tender than love it- 
 self, with which Colin bent over her, and 
 held her supported on his arm. 
 
 " Do you remember the ilexes in the 
 Villa Conti ? " he said. " It was about this 
 time, was it not ? " 
 
 "It was on the second of June," said 
 Alice, hastily. She was half vexed that 
 the day had not been marked by him as by 
 her. " Oh, yes, I remember every twig, I 
 think," she said, with a smile. " The second 
 of June was on a Sunday this year. I 
 think I cried nearly all day, for it seemed 
 as if you never would come. And not to 
 know where you were, or bow you wei-e, 
 all these four dreary, dreary years ! " 
 
 What could Colin do ? lie pressed the 
 band that clung to bis arm, and answered 
 as he best could, touched even more and 
 
 more with that tenderness of remorse to- 
 wards the woman who loved bim. " You 
 know it was not any fault of mine. It was 
 your father who sent me away." 
 
 " Yes, I know," said Alice ; " it was that 
 always that kept me up, for I knew yoii 
 woiUd not change. Poor papa! he 'has 
 bad such dreadful lessons. Mrs. Meredith, 
 you know, and the poor little children ! 
 I used to think, if God would only have 
 taken me, and left them who were so hap- 
 py" 
 
 And here there was a little pause, for 
 Alice bad some tears to brush away, and 
 Colin, ever more and more attendri, could 
 not but offer such consolations as were 
 natural under the circumstances. And it 
 was Alice who resumed after that, with the 
 simple certainty natural to her mind. 
 
 " I see now that it was all for the best," 
 she said ; " God has been so good to us. 
 Oh, Colin, is it not true about his mysteri- 
 ous ways ? And that everything works to- 
 gether for good, though it may seem hard 
 at the time V " 
 
 Perhaps Colin found it difficult to answer 
 this question ; perhaps, not being absorbed 
 by his own happiness, he could not but 
 wonder over again if the poor Mrs. Mere- 
 dith and her children who were dead could 
 have seen that working of Providence in 
 the same light as Alice did. But then this 
 was not a subject to be discussed between 
 two lovers ; and, if it was not Providence 
 who bad seized upon him in the midst of 
 his thoughtless holiday, and brought bim 
 back to the bonds of his youth, and changed 
 all his prospects in the twinkling of an 
 eye, what was it ? Not the heathen Fate, 
 taking a blind vengeance upon Folly, 
 which was a harder thing to think of than 
 the ways, however mysterious, of God. 
 These were not thoughts to be passing 
 thi'ough a man's mind at such a moment ; 
 but Colin avoided the answer which was 
 expected of bim, and plunged into more 
 urgent affairs. 
 
 " I must* go away," be said ; " do not 
 look reproachful, Alice. I do not mean to 
 continue my holiday after this. It seems to 
 me we have waited a great deal too long 
 already." Colin went on with a smile, 
 which he felt to be forced, but which had 
 no such effect upon Alice. " Now that the 
 obstacles are removed, I cannot consent to 
 any longer delay ; and you know I have a 
 bouse to take you to now, which I bad not 
 in the old times." 
 
 " You bad always Ramore," said Alice ; 
 and the way in which she said it proved to 
 him still once more that, though he had put 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 235 
 
 her out of his mind, Alice had forgotten 
 nothing he had ever said to her. She 
 spoke of the farmer's homely house not as 
 of a place which she heard some vague 
 talk of so many years ago, but as a home 
 for which she had been longing. "And 
 your mother ! " said Alice ; " if you had 
 the most beautiful house in the world, I 
 want you to take me there first of all ; I 
 want you to take me to her." 
 
 It will be seen from this that Alice did 
 not think there was anything to be de- 
 precated in Colin's haste. She accepted 
 it as most reasonable, and the thing that 
 was to be looked foi*. She thought it 
 natural that he should be reluctant to lose 
 sight of her again, as she, for her part, 
 was very reluctant to lose sight of him ; 
 and thus they went on to make all their 
 necessary arrangements. In this close and 
 tender interview, as he saw even more 
 and more how Alice depended upon him, 
 how real the link between them had been 
 to her even during those years of separa- 
 tion, and how, in her perfect good faith and 
 simplicity, she considered him, and aU be- 
 longing to him, as hers, Colin himself came 
 to consider it the most natural and unques- 
 tionable conclusion. The pain in his heart 
 softened, his reluctance seemed to melt 
 away. Alice had more beauty at this time 
 of her hfe than ever she had had before. 
 Her weakness, and the charm of that hid- 
 den love which had been so long working 
 in her, and which had now brightened into 
 the fullest blossom, had given an expres- 
 sion hitherto wanting to her eyes. She 
 was more individual and distinct by right 
 of having kept and hoarded that individual 
 attachment in her heart, in defiance of 
 everything that could be done against it ; 
 and now in Colin's presence, believing as 
 she did with that confidence which can be 
 born only of love, in his entire interest in 
 everything connected with her, her timidity 
 disappeared, and she hourly gained interest 
 and character. All this had its efl[ect upon 
 Colin so long as the two were together, 
 straying through the avenue, crossing the 
 bars of shade and the rays of sunshine, 
 listening to the birds singing overhead and 
 to the rustle of the summer leaves. It was 
 harder work when they went indoors again, 
 when Mr. Meredith's anxious face ap- 
 peared, and the grave countenance of Lau- 
 derdale, carefully cleared of all anxiety, 
 and become, so far as that was possible, 
 altogether inexpressive. Colin was of so 
 uncertain a mood that the very absence 
 of all question in Lauderdale's eyes jarred 
 upon him, though he could not have borne 
 
 to be interrogated. He was high-fentasti- 
 cal beyond all previous precedent at that 
 moment; and the readers of this history 
 are aware that already, at various periods 
 of his life, it had happened to him to be 
 fantastical enough. The conversation and 
 confidences of the avenue broke clean off 
 when the party were all assembled within. 
 Alice could not say anything before her 
 father of her weariness and waiting, or it 
 would have sounded like a reproach ; and 
 Colin, for his part, could not utter a word 
 about his intentions or prospects to any 
 ears but hers. He could speak to her, and 
 she, who accepted everything said with- 
 out any question, found nothing wanting 
 in his words ; and that was already a new 
 Hnk between them ; but before her father 
 and his own friend he was dumb. He 
 could not even talk to Lauderdale as he 
 had talked to him four years ago at Fras- 
 cati ; and yet he resented that Lauderdale 
 did not ask him any questions. From 
 which it will be seen that nothing could 
 well be less manageable and reasonable 
 than the state of Colin's mind at this mo- 
 ment, when the most important decision 
 of his Hfe was being made. 
 
 That evening it was he who sought an in- 
 terview with Mr. Meredith. It was very 
 clear, in every point of view, that every- 
 thing should be arranged, with the least de- 
 lay possible. " I have served half as long 
 as Jacbb did," Colin said, with a smile, 
 which, however, was far from being the ra- 
 diant smile of a happy lover ; and Alice's 
 father, who was not by any means as confi- 
 dent in Colin's love as Alice was, was so 
 much concei'ned that his daughter should 
 not lose the hajipiness which meant not only 
 happiness, but life and strength as well, that 
 he did not venture to make any objections. 
 Neither did the poor man resent the insult, 
 when Colin repeated with mildness, yet with 
 steadiness, his determination to receive 
 nothing from him. Alice had something of 
 her own, which came to her from her mother, 
 the little revenue which Arthur had once 
 had his share of, and on which the two had 
 lived at Frascati : but beyond that, Colin, al- 
 ways superlative, would have none of the 
 rich man's fortune, which was soiled, as he 
 thought, with fraud and cruelty. Whether 
 this accusation was just or unjust, poor ]\ir. 
 Meredith, who was a kind father, swallowed 
 it without saying anything, and consented to 
 all his future son-in-law's requirements. Colin 
 had made up his mind to leave Holmby at 
 once, to hasten back to Lafton, and make 
 all the preparations necessary to receive his 
 bride ; and the marriage was fixed to take 
 
236 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 place in two months, in August, when Colin 
 could take up again his broken thread of holi- 
 day. All this was arranged between the 
 two as an absolute matter of business, re- 
 quiring no expression of sentiment. If Mr. 
 Meredith thought the young man a little 
 cold and stern, and swallowed that senti- 
 ment as he had swallowed the other, after 
 all, perhaps, it was best that in discussing 
 what was a business matter even a bride- 
 groom should talk in a business way. And, 
 then, Alice was unquestionably satisfied, 
 and had regained some colour on her cheek, 
 and some elasticity in her step. She had 
 never been poilrinaire, like Arthur. Her 
 illness was a kind of hopelessness, a linger- 
 ing languor, which was quite as capable of 
 killing her as if it had been a legitimate 
 disease ; and this was a malady from which, 
 to all appearance, only Colin and a happy 
 life could deliver her. Under these circum- 
 stances, therefore, it was natural that Mr. 
 Meredith, though a little wounded, and even a 
 little alarmed, by the new son-in-law, who 
 meant to have everything his own way, con- 
 sented to his wishes, being anxious above all 
 things to preserve his daughter. He caressed 
 and petted Alice all the more when his consent 
 had been made known to her, with a kind of 
 faint idea, in his ignorance, that all the in- 
 dulgences which had surrounded her would 
 be at an end whan she put herself under 
 the power of this abrupt and imperious 
 young man. As for Alice, she looked from 
 her lather to her betrothed with a serenity 
 and confidence so profound that it went to 
 Colin's heart. " She has been used to be 
 taken care of all her life," her father said, 
 as fathers generally say, but with an odd 
 forgetfulness, for the moment, that Colin 
 knew something about that. " I hope you 
 will be very good to her." 
 
 Alice opened her soft lips at this, to give 
 vent to a little ring of laughter so soft that 
 it did not wound even the fantastical delica- 
 cy of her Bayard. To doubt Colin seemed 
 to her not so much wrong as absurd, out of 
 all reason. She said, half under her breath, 
 " He has taken care of me before now " — 
 and, to relieve herself of that which she 
 could not express to her father without 
 blaming him, it was to Lauderdale she turn- 
 ed. " You made me feel as if I were a 
 princess," she said to him, and held out her 
 hand to the friend who was looking on with 
 an anxiety so intense that it precluded 
 speech. As for Colin, in the high state of 
 irritation in wliich he was, the very silence 
 with which Lauderdale pressed tiie little 
 hand of Alice between his own aggravated 
 and exasperated him. Why did he not say 
 
 something ? "Why did he not look him, the 
 betrothed, straight in the eyes, and ask, 
 " Are not you happy '? ' Had he done so 
 Colin would have taken it as the direst and 
 most unpardonable offence, but in the dis- 
 turbed state of his heart and mind he re- 
 sented the very absence of the question. A 
 man must have some one to bear the brunt 
 of his discontent when things go wrong with 
 him, and in the meantime there was nobody 
 but Lauderdale to bear this blow. 
 
 Accordingly, when all was settled, and 
 when it was finally arranged that Colin 
 should leave Holmby next morning and 
 make haste home, to commence his prepara- 
 tions, it was of his own accord that he in- 
 vited Lauderdale to join him in the avenue 
 for half an hour's talk. The wind had fall- 
 en, and the night was very still, but it was 
 almost as dark as on the previous evening, 
 and the gloom had this advantage, that they 
 could not see each other's faces, which was 
 all the better under the circumstances. 
 They had walked almost all the length of 
 the avenue before Colin spoke, and then it 
 was to this effect. 
 
 "Lauderdale, look here. I am going 
 home, and leaving you in the lurch. We 
 are not going to Windermere together, as 
 we meant to do. You see, I have things 
 more important in hand. What I want to 
 say is, that you are not to think yourself 
 bound by me. I see no reason why you 
 should return because a — a good fortune so 
 unexpected has come to me." 
 
 " Do you mean that you want me to go 
 on my way ? " said Lauderdale. " With me 
 there is little need to speak in parables. 
 Say plain out if you would rather be your 
 lane. I am no a man to take offence — not 
 from you." 
 
 " Good heavens ! " said Colin, in his im- 
 patience, " why should you or any one take 
 offence ? What I tell you is the plainest 
 statement of the case. I have to go home, 
 but you are not obliged to go home. And 
 why should you break off your excursion for 
 me'?" 
 
 " If I was minding about the excursion," 
 said Lauderdale, '* I would go on. You aye 
 make so much account of yourselves, you 
 callants. As for Windermere, I'm no bigot- 
 ed, but if it's mair worth seeing than our 
 ain lochs it would be a wonder to me. I'm 
 no for parting company. It's aye been my 
 way of thinking, that even a railroad, seen 
 Avith four een, was better than the bonniest 
 country in the world, seen with two only. 
 We'll go twain, Colin, if you have no ob- 
 jections, you and me." 
 
 And then there was a silence, and the two 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 237 
 
 friends went on together side by side in the 
 darkness, without a word to each other. 
 Between them the ordinary words of con- 
 gratulation would have sounded like mock- 
 ery, and then the one divined too clearly the 
 condition of the other to know what to say. 
 Lauderdale, however, knew Colin so well 
 that be knew silence to be as dangerous as 
 speech. 
 
 " I have an awfu' desire in my mind," he 
 said at length ; " no doubt it's daft-like, but 
 that is no extraordinary. I would like to do 
 something with my hands to please her, now 
 we've found her. I'm no rich, and, what's 
 an 'awful deal worse, I'm no much good for 
 anything but talk — and maybs she has an 
 inkling of that. What was that yon lad 
 Browning says about Raphael's sonnets and 
 Dante's picture ? I'm of that opinion my- 
 sel'. I would like to do something with my 
 hands that was nae fit work for the like of 
 me, just to please her ; if it was naething 
 better than the things they whittle with 
 their knives away yonder among the Alps," 
 said Lauderdale 5 and even in the darkness 
 Cohn could see the little flourish of his arm 
 with which he had the habit of indicating 
 the never-to-be-forgotten region " away 
 yonder." "Have patience a moment till 
 I've done speaking," he went on ; " I've been 
 thinking I would like to take a good day's 
 work at the Manse garden. It's as innocent 
 a thing in its way to plant flowers as to 
 write verses. So I'm saying I'll go home 
 with you, if you've nae objections," said 
 Lauderdale. He came to a conclusion so 
 suddenly, that Colin, who had gradually 
 yielded to the influence of the famlHar tran- 
 quIUizing voice, came to a sudden pause 
 when he stopped short. Lauderdale paused 
 too in his walk when his friend did so, 
 though without knowing why. It was in- 
 difierent to him whether he kept walkin"- or 
 stood still ; his mind went on pursuinfr' its 
 leisurely meditations all the same. 
 
 But Colin's heart was full. He grasped 
 Lauderdale's arm without knowing it, with 
 that sudden impulse of saying something 
 which sometimes comes upon people who 
 must not say what is in their hearts. 
 "Come," he said, with a little choking in 
 his voice, " we will do that day's work to- 
 gether ; for I suppose there never was gain, 
 however great, but had loss in it; " said Colin. 
 Perhaps he. did not know very well himself 
 what he meant, but even these vague words 
 were a little ease to him in their way. And 
 then they went indoors, and the long day 
 came to an end. 
 
 This was how the holiday excursion ter- 
 minated. They left Holmby next day, and 
 
 went home again ; neither the one nor the 
 other thinking any moi'e of the Church Re- 
 formation, or of the " Tracts for the Times." 
 When Colin found his MS. in his writing- 
 case when he opened it on the night of his 
 arrival at Ramore to write to Alice, he look- 
 ed at it with a little wonder, as if it had 
 been a fossil of an early formation unexpect- 
 edly disinterred among the fragments of 
 daily use and wont. And then he returned 
 it to its pocket, with something that looked 
 like a very clumsy attempt at a smile. There 
 are points of view from which a good-sized 
 tree or a shepherd's cottage may blot out a 
 mountain ; and everybody knows how easily 
 that is accomplished on the moral horizon, 
 where a tiny personal event can put the 
 greatest revolution in the background. It 
 would be too long to tell the wonder and 
 admiration and perplexed joy of the Mis- 
 tress, when she heard of the accident which 
 had put an end to her son's journey. Her 
 joy was perplexed, because there was always 
 a shadow which she could not decipher upon 
 Colin's countenance ; and, even if her mo- 
 ther's pride would have permitted her to 
 consult Lauderdale on such a subject, or to 
 suffer either him or herself to suppose for a 
 moment that he could know more about her 
 boy than she did, Lauderdale's lips were 
 sealed. Colin stayed only a night at Ramore 
 to let his family know of what was going to 
 happen, and then he hurried on to Lafcon, 
 still accompanied by his friend. They talked 
 of almost anything in the world during that 
 journey, except of the preparations they 
 were going to make, and the change that 
 was to follow ; but Colin's great ambition, 
 and his work, ahd the more important 
 change he meant to work in his native 
 Church and country, had little part In their 
 discussions. At such a moment, when It is 
 next to impossible to a man to talk of what 
 he is thinking of, it is such a wonderful re- 
 lief for him to escape into metaphysics ; and, 
 fortunately, in that department of human in- 
 vestigation, there are still so many questions 
 to discuss. 
 
 CHAPTER LII. 
 
 If this had been anything but a true his- 
 tory, it would have been now the time for 
 Alice Meredith to overhear a chance con- 
 versation, or find a dropped letter, which 
 would betray to her Colin's secret ; but this 
 is not an accident with which the present 
 historian can give Interest to his closing 
 chapter, because, in the first place, it did 
 not happen, and in the second, if a second 
 should be thought necessary, Colin had 
 
238 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 never confided his secret either to writing 
 or to any mortal ear — which is of all ways 
 of securing a private matter the most certain. 
 He thought to himself, as he put his manse 
 in order to receive her, with a certain inex- 
 pressible content, that never to any living 
 creature, never even to the air that might 
 have repeated the matter, had he so much 
 as whispered what was the real founda- 
 tion of the old betrothals, which were now 
 about to be carried out. He had never been 
 so near telling it as on the night before 
 Alice re-appeared in his life, — that moment 
 when the words were half formed on his lips, 
 and nothing but a chivalrous, visionary sense 
 of the respect he owed to a woman had pre- 
 vented him putting an end to Lauderdale's 
 recollections by a confession which would 
 have closed his friend's lips forever. For- 
 tunately he had been saved from that dan- 
 ger ; and now nobody, even in the depths 
 of their hearts, could say or feel that Alice 
 had been ever regarded by her husband 
 otherwise than as the chosen of a man's 
 heart, the companion of his existence, should 
 be regarded. He had by turns a hard enough 
 struggle during these weeks, when he took 
 refuse in his study at Lafton, in the midst 
 of the disorganized house, where thino;s were 
 being prepared for the arrival of his wife, 
 and "in her garden, where Lauderdale had 
 done more than a day's work, and had, in- 
 deed, taken the charge of re-arrangement 
 into his hand. But the garden, in those hn- 
 o-erin"-, never-ending summer twilights, in 
 their northern sweetness, was too much for 
 Colin ; when the early stars came out on the 
 skirts of the slow -departing day, they seeni- 
 ed to cast reproachful glances at him, as if 
 he had abandoned that woman in the clouds. 
 He used to go in with a sigh, and shut him- 
 self up in his study, and light his candles ; 
 and then, after all, it was a great good for- 
 tune that she had never come down out of 
 those wistful distances, and walked upon the 
 common soil, and looked him in the face. 
 As for Alice, if anybody had betrayed to her 
 the exact state of affairs, if she had been 
 made aware of this mysterious and invisible 
 rival towards whom, in the depths of his 
 heart, Colin sighed, the chances are that 
 she would only have laughed, in the supreme 
 security of her ignorance. She could no 
 more have understood the rivalry that was 
 in that dream than she could have_ compre- 
 hended any other or better description of 
 love than that which her betrothed gave her. 
 For the fact is, that nobody need in the 
 least bemoan Alice, or think that her posi- 
 tion was one to call for sympathy. She was 
 perfectly content, knowing so little of Colin's 
 
 heart as she did, and she would have still 
 been perfectly content had she known it 
 much more profoundly. If he had regarded 
 her as he could have regarded his ideal wo- 
 man, Alice would not have understood, and 
 probably even would have been embarrassed 
 and made uneasy by such devotion. She had 
 all that she had ever dreamed of in the way 
 of love. Her ideal, such as it was, was fully 
 reali^d. CoUn's tenderness, which had so 
 much remorse in it, was to Alice the most 
 perfect of all manifestations of attachment. 
 When his heart was full of compunctions 
 for not giving her enough, hers was smiling 
 with the sweetest pride and satisfaction in 
 receiving so much. It even seemed to her 
 odd by turns how a man so superior should 
 be so fond of her, as she said to herself, in 
 her innocence : for, to be sure, Arthur, 
 though he was not equal to Cohn, had given 
 but a very limited consideration to his little 
 sister. And her sense of the difference be- 
 tween Arthur's estimation of her and the 
 rank she held with her betrothed was like 
 the sweetest flattery to her mind. And, to 
 be sure, Alice had reason in these conclu- 
 sions of hers. She described Colin's affec- 
 tion perfectly in her simple words. It was 
 as true to say he was fond of her, as it was 
 that he did not love her according to his es- 
 timate of love. But then his estimate of love 
 was not hers, and she was entirely content. 
 
 Thus it came about that these two were 
 married after all the long delay and separa- 
 tion. Alice recovered her health by magic 
 as soon as she began to be happy. And ]\ir. 
 Meredith, notwithstanding that he smarted 
 a little under the affront put upon him by 
 his new son-in-law, in that singular and (luite 
 original development of disinterestedness, 
 which Alice's father, being Low Church, 
 could not but think most unlike a clergy- 
 man, was yet so exhilarated by the unri- 
 valled success of his expedient to save his 
 daughter, that all the lesser annoyances 
 were swallowed up. And then he had always 
 the little one remaining, whom he could 
 make an heiress of. It was a quiet wedding 
 — for the Merediths were comparatively 
 strangers in Westmoreland — but, at the 
 same time, it was not in the least a sad one, 
 for Mr. Meredith did not thiiik of weeping, 
 and there was nobody else to take that part 
 of the business. Ahce had only her little sis- 
 ter to leave, who was too much excited and 
 delighted with all the proceedings, and with 
 her own future position as Miss Mei'edith, to 
 be much overcome by the parting. It was, 
 indeed, a beginning of hfe almost entirely 
 without drawbacks to the bride. She had 
 nothing much to regret in the past ; no links 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 239 
 
 of tender affection to break, and no sense of 
 a great blank left behind, as some young -wo- 
 men have. On the contrary, all that was 
 dark and discouraging was left behind. The 
 most exquisite moments of her life, the winter 
 she had spent in Frascati under the tender 
 and chivalrous guardianship of the compan- 
 ions who had devoted all their powers to 
 amuse and console Arthur's sister, seemed 
 but an imperfect rehearsal, clouded with 
 pain and sorrow, for the perfect days that 
 were to come. " I wish for nothing biit Sora 
 Antonia to kiss me, and bid God bless us," 
 . she said, with the tears of her espousals in 
 her eyes. And it was the best thing Alice 
 could have said. The idyll for which Colin 
 felt himself so poor a hero now, had existed, 
 in a way, among the pale olive-groves, on 
 the dear Albine hills. " Dio te benedica," 
 he said, as he took away his bride from her 
 father's door. It meant more than a blessint^f. 
 when he said it, as Sora Antonia might have 
 said it, in that language which was consecra- 
 ted to them both by love and death. 
 
 The scene and the circumstances were all 
 very different when a few weeks later Colin 
 took his bride to the Holy Loch. It was 
 evening, but perhaps Colin had not time for 
 the same vivid perceptions of that twilight 
 and peaceful atmosphere which a few months 
 before had made him smile, contrasting it 
 with the movement and life in his own 
 mind. But perhaps this was only because 
 he was more occupied by external matters ; 
 by Alice at his side, to whom he had to 
 point out everything ; and by the greetings 
 and saluvations of everybody who met him. 
 As for Alice herself, in her wistfulness and 
 happiness, with only one anxiety remaining 
 in her heart, just enough to give the appeaf 
 ing look which suited them best to her soft 
 eye, she was as near beautiful as a woman 
 of her unimposing stature and features 
 could be. She was one of those brides who 
 appeal to everybody, in the shy radiance of 
 their gladness, to share and sympathize with 
 them. There are some people whose joy is 
 a kind of affront and insult to the sorrowful ; 
 but AHee was not one of them. Perhaps at 
 that supreme hour of her life she was think- 
 ing more of the sad people under the sun — 
 the mourners and sufferers — than she had 
 done when she used to lie on her sofa at 
 Holmby, and think to herself that she never 
 would rise from it, and that he never would 
 come. The joy was to Alice like a sacra- 
 ment, which it was so hard to think the 
 whole world could not share, and, ' as her 
 beauty was chiefly beauty of expression, 
 this tender sentiment shed a certain loveli- 
 ness over her face as she stood by Colin's 
 
 side, with her white veil thrown back, and 
 the tender countenance, which was veiled 
 in simplicity, and required no other cover- 
 ing, turned towards Ramore. Her one re- 
 maining anxiety was, that perhaps Colin's 
 mother might not respond to the longing 
 affection that was in her heart — might not 
 take to her, as she said ; and this was why 
 her eyes looked so appealing, and besought 
 all the world to take her into their hearts. 
 When it came to the moment, however, 
 when CoHn lifted her out upon the glisten- 
 ing beach, and put her hand into that of his 
 father, who was waiting there to receive 
 them, Alice, as was her nature, recovered 
 her composure. She held up her soft cheek 
 to Big Colin of Ramore, who was half 
 abashed by the action, and yet wholly de- 
 lighted, although in Scotch reserve he had 
 contemplated nothing more familiar than a 
 hearty clasp of her hand. She was so fair 
 a woman to his homely eyes, and looked so 
 like a little princess, that the farmer had 
 scarcely courage to take her into his arms, 
 or, as he himself would have said, " use so 
 much freedom" with such a dainty little 
 lady. But Alice had something more im- 
 portant in her mind than to remark Big 
 Colin's hesitation. " Where is she '? " she 
 cried, appealing to him first, and then to her 
 husband ; " where is she, Colin ? " And 
 then they led her up the brae to where the 
 Mistress, trembling and excited, propped 
 herself up against the porch awaiting her. 
 Alice sprang forward before her escort, 
 when she saw this figure at the door. She 
 left Colin's arm as she had never left it be- 
 fore, and threw herself upon his mother. 
 She took this meeting into her own hands, 
 and accomplished it her own way, nobody 
 interfering. " Mamma," said Alice, " I 
 should have come to you four years ago, 
 and they have never let me come till now. 
 I have been longing for you all this time. 
 Mamma, kiss me, and say you are glad, for 
 I love you dearly," cried Alice. As for the 
 Mistress, she could not make any reply. 
 She said " my darling " faintly, and took 
 the clinging creature to her bosom. And 
 that was how the meeting took place, for 
 which Alice had been longing, as she said, 
 for four long years. When they took her . 
 into the homely parlour of Ramore, and 
 placed her on the old-fashioned sofa, beside 
 the Mistress, it was not without a little 
 anxiety that Colin regarded his wife, to see 
 the effect made upon her by this humble 
 interior. But, to look at Alice, nobody could 
 have found out that she had not been ac- 
 customed to Ramore all her life, or that the 
 Mistress was not her own individual prop- 
 
240 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 erty. It even struck Colin witli a curious 
 sense of pleasure that she did not say 
 " mother," as making a claim on his mother 
 for bis sake, but claimed her instantly as 
 her own, as though somehow her claim had 
 been meant. " Sometimes I thought of run- 
 ning away and coming to you," said Alice, 
 as she sat by the Mistress's side, in radiant 
 content and satisfaction ; and it would be 
 rain to attempt to describe the admiration 
 and delight of the entire household with 
 Colin's little tender bride. 
 
 As for the Mistress, when the first excite- 
 ment was over, she was glad to find her boy 
 by himself for a moment, to bid God bless 
 him, and say what was in her heart. " If it 
 wasna that she's wiled the heart out of my 
 breast," said Mrs. Campbell, putting up her 
 hand to her shining eyes. " Eh, CoUn, my 
 man, thank the Lord ; it's like as if it vras 
 an angel He had sent you out of heaven." 
 
 " She will be a daughter to you, mother," 
 said Colin, in the fulness of his heart. 
 
 But at this two great tears dropped out 
 of Mrs. Campbell's eyes. " She's sweet and 
 bonnie ; eh, Colin, she's bonnie and sweet ; 
 but I'm an awfu' hardhearted woman," said 
 the Mistress. " I cannot think ony woman 
 will ever take that place. I'm aye so bigoted 
 for my ain ; God forgive me ; but her that is 
 my Colin's wife has nae occasion for ony 
 other name," she said with a tender artifice, 
 stooping over her boy and putting back 
 those great waves of his hair which were 
 the pride of her heart. " And I have none 
 of my ain to go out of my house a bride," 
 the Mistress added, under her breath, with 
 one great sob. Colin could not tell why his 
 mother should say such words at such a 
 moment. But perhaps Alice, though she 
 was not so clever as Colin, had she been 
 there, might have divined their meaning 
 after the divination of her heart. 
 
 It is hard to see what can be said ab^-.-'i 
 a man after he is married, unless he quarrels 
 with his wife, and makes her wretched, and 
 gets into trouble, or she does as much for 
 him. This is not a thing which has happen- 
 ed, or has the least chance of happening in 
 Colin's case. Not only did Alice receive a 
 very flattering welcome in Lafton, and what 
 was still more gratifying in St. Rule's, where, 
 as most people are aware, very good society 
 is to be tound ; but she did more than that, 
 and grew very popular in the parish, where, 
 to be sure, no curate could have been more 
 serviceable. She had undoubted Low Church 
 tendencies, Avhich helped her on with 
 many of the people ; and in conjunction with 
 them she had little High Church habits, 
 which were very quaint and captivating in 
 
 , their way ; and, all unconscious as she was 
 of Colin's views in respect to Church refor- 
 mation, Alice was " the means," as she 
 herself would have said, of introducing some 
 edifying customs among the young people of 
 the parish, which she and they were equally 
 unaware were capable of havit.g been inter- 
 preted to savour of papistry had the power 
 and inclinations of the Presbytery been in 
 good exercise as of old. As for Colin, he was 
 tamed down in his revolutionary intentions 
 without knowing how. A man who has 
 given hostages to society, who has married 
 a wife, and especially a wife who does not 
 know anything about his crotchets, and 
 never can understand why the bishop (see- 
 ing that there certainly is a bishop in the 
 Idngdom of Fife, though few people pay any 
 attention to him) docs not come to Lafton 
 and confirm the catechumens, is scarcely in 
 a position to throw himself headlong upon 
 the established order of things and prove 
 its futility. No. I. of the " Tracts for the 
 Times," got printed certainly ; but it was in 
 an accidental sort of way, and though it 
 cannot be said to have been without its use, 
 still the effect was transitory, in consequence 
 of the want of continuous effort. No doubt 
 it made a good deal of sensation in the 
 Scotch papers, where, as such of the readers 
 of this history as live north of tiie Tweed 
 may recollect, there appeared at one time a 
 flood of letters signed by parish ministers on 
 this subject. But then, to be sure, it came 
 Into the minds of sundry persons that the 
 Church of Scotland had thoughts of going 
 back to the ante-Laudian times, in robes of 
 penitence, to beg a prayer-book from her 
 richer sister — which was not altogether 
 Colin's intention, and roused his national 
 spirit. For we have already found it neces- 
 sary to say that the young man, notwith- 
 standing that he had many gleams of in- 
 sight, did not always know "'...the would 
 be at, or what it was precisely that he want- 
 ed. What he wanted, perhaps, was to be 
 catholic and belong to Chi-Isteudom, and not 
 to shut himself up In a corner and preach 
 himself and his people to death, as he once 
 said. He wanted to keep the Christian 
 feasts, and say the universal prayers, and 
 link the sacred old observances with the 
 daily life of his dogmatical congregation, 
 which preferred logic. All this, however, 
 he pursued in a milder way after that fa- 
 mous journey to Windermere, upon which 
 he had set out like a lion, and from which 
 he returned home like a lamb. For it would 
 be painful to think that this foithful but hum- 
 ble history should have awakened any ter- 
 rors in the heart of the Church of S»otland 
 
A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 241 
 
 in respect to the revolutionary in her bosom ; 
 and it is pleasant to be able to restore the 
 confidence to a certain extent of the people 
 and presbyters of that venerable corpora- 
 tion. Colin is there, and no doubt he has his 
 work to do in the world ; but he is married 
 and subdued, and goes about it quietly, like 
 a man who understands what interests are 
 involved ; and up to the present moment he 
 has resisted the urgent appeals of a younger 
 brotherhood, who have arisen since these 
 events, to continue the publication of the 
 " Tracts for the Times." 
 
 It is at this point that we leave Colin, 
 who has entered on a period of his life, 
 which is as yet unfinished, and accordingly 
 is not yet matter for history. Some people, 
 no doubt, may be disposed to ask, being 
 aware of the circumstances of his marriage, 
 whether he was happy in his new position. 
 Pie was as happy as most people are ; and, 
 if he was not perfectly happy, no unbiassed 
 judge can refuse to acknowledge that it was 
 his own fault. He was young, full of genius, 
 full of health, with the sweetest little woman 
 in the kingdom of Fife, as many people 
 thought, for his wife, and not even the trou- 
 blesome interpellations of that fantastic wo- 
 man in the clouds to disturb his repose. She 
 had waved her hand to him for the last time 
 from among the rosy clouds on the night 
 before his marriage day ; for if a man's mar- 
 
 16 
 
 riage is good for anything, it is surely good 
 against the visitings of a visionary creature 
 who had refused to reveal herself when she 
 had full time and opportunity to do so. And 
 let nobody suppose that CoUn kept a cup- 
 board with a skeleton in it to retire to for 
 his private delectation when Alice was sleep- 
 ing, as it is said some people have a habit of 
 doing. There was no key of that description 
 under his pillow ; and yet, if you will know 
 the truth, there was a key, but not of Blue- 
 beard's kind — it was a key that opened the 
 innermost chamber, the watch-tower and cit- 
 adel of his heart. So far from shutting it 
 up from Alice, he had done all that tender 
 aifection could do to coax her in, to watch 
 the stars with him and ponder their se- 
 crets ; but Alice had no vocation for that sort 
 of recreation. And the fact was, that from 
 time to time Colin went in and shut the 
 door behind him, and was utterly alone un- 
 derneath -ihe distant wistful skies. When he 
 came out, perhaps his countenance now and 
 then was a little sad ; and perhaps he did 
 not see so clear as he might have done un- 
 der other circumstances. For Colin, like 
 Lauderdale, believed in the quattr' occlii — 
 the four eyes that see a landscape at its 
 broadest and heaven at its nearest. But 
 then a man can live without that last climax 
 of existence when everything else is going 
 on well in his life. 
 
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 193. The Young Husband. By Mrs. Grey 50 
 
 194. The Mother's i;ecompen.^e. By Grace Aguilar. 75 
 
 195. Avillion, &c. By Miss Mulock 125 
 
 196. North and South. By Mrs. Gaskell 50 
 
 197. Country Neigliborhood. By Miss Dupuy 50 
 
 193. Constance Herbert. By Miss Jewsbury 50 
 
 199. The Heiress of Haughton. By Mrs. Marsh 50 
 
 200. The Old Dominion. By James 50 
 
 201. John Halifax. By the Author of "Olive," &.c. 75 
 
 202. Evelyn JIarston. By Mrs. Marsh 50 
 
 203. Fortunes of Glencore. By Lever 50 
 
 204. Leonora d' Oreo. By James 50 
 
 20.5. Nothing New. By Miss MuIo«k 50 
 
 206. The Rose of Ashurst. By Mr.s. 5Iar.<h 50 
 
 207. The Athelings. By Mrs. Oliphant 75 
 
 208. Scenes of Clerical Life 75 
 
 209. My Lady Ludlow. By Mre. Gaskell 25 
 
 210. 211. Gerald Fitzgerald. By Lever 50 
 
 213. A Life for a Life. By Miss Mulock 00 
 
 213. Sword and Gown. By the Author of "Guy 
 
 Livingstone" 25 
 
 214. Jlisrepresentation. By Anna II. Drury 1 00 
 
 215. The Mill on the Floss. By George Eliot 75 
 
 216. One of Them. By Lever 75 
 
 217. A Day's Ride. By Lever 50 
 
 218. Notice to Quit. By Wills 50 
 
 219. A Strange Story 1 00 
 
 220. The Struggles of Brown, Jones, and Robinson. 
 
 By Trollope 50 
 
 221. Abel Drake's Wife. By John Saunders 75 
 
 223. Olive Blake's Good Work. By Juhn Cordy 
 
 Jeaflfreson 75 
 
 223. The Professor's Lady 25 
 
 224. Mistress and Maid. By Miss Mulock 50 
 
 225. Aurora Floyd. By M.'e. Braddon 75 
 
 226. Barrington. By Lever 75 
 
 227. Sylvia's Lovers. By Mrs. Gaskell 75 
 
 223. A First Friendship 50 
 
 229. A Dark Night's Work. By Mrs. Gaskell 50 
 
 230. Mrs. Lirriper's Lodgings 25 
 
 23L St.Olave's 75 
 
 232. A Point of Honor 53 
 
 233. Live it Down. Ry Jc.ififreson 1 00 
 
 234. Martin Pole. By Saunders 50 
 
 235. JIary Lyndsay. By Lady Ponsonby 00 
 
 236. Eleanor's Victoiy- By M. E. Braddon 75 
 
 237. Rachel Ray. By Trollope 50 
 
 23S. John Marchmont's Legacy. By M. E. Braddon 75 
 
 239. Annis Warlcigh's Fortunes. By Holme Lee. . . 75 
 
 240. The Wife's Evidence. By Wills 50 
 
 241. Barbara's History. By Amelia B. Edwards 75 
 
 242. Cousin Phillis 25 
 
 243. What will he do with It? By Bulwer 1 50 
 
 244. Tlic Ladder of Life. By Amelia B. Edwards. . . 50 
 
 245. Denis Di'val. By Thackeray 50 
 
 240. Maurice Dering. By the Author of " Guy Liv- 
 ingstone" 50 
 
 247. Margaret Denzil's Ilistoiy. Annotated by her 
 
 Husband ; 75 
 
 248. Quite Alone. By George Augustus Sala 75 
 
 249. Mattie : a Stray 75 
 
 250. My Brother's Wife. By Amelia B. Edwards. . . 50 
 
 251. Uncle Silas. By J. S. Le Fanu 75 
 
 252. Kate Kennedy 50 
 
 253. Miss Mackenzie. By Anthony Trollope 50 
 
 2.54. On Guard. By Aunie Thomas 50 
 
 2.55. Theo Leigh. By Annie Thomas 50 
 
 256. Denis Donne. By Annie Thomas 50 
 
 2.57. Belial CO 
 
 253. Cany's Confession 75 
 
Library Edition of Thackeray's Works. 
 
 VANITY FAIR: A Novel without a Hero. By William Makepeace 
 Thackeray. With lUustrations by the Author, and a Portrait on 
 Steel, engraved by Halpin after Lawrence's Picture. A new and ele- 
 gant Library Edition, in Three Volumes, Post 8vo, on Toned Paper, 
 Cloth, $7 50. 
 
 "Vanity Fair" needs no recommendation. But tliis 
 beautiful edition of it deserves special notice. The de- 
 signs with which Tliackeray illustrated his works, wliich 
 are, so to speak, his own commentary upon them, and 
 without which the story loses half its point — which illus- 
 trate Thacker.ay's character scarcely less than hia pages — 
 are admirably reproduced. — Xorth American Review. 
 
 In the tenderness which presided over its preparation, 
 in the profusion and beauty of its illustrations, in its ele- 
 gant type and delicate cream-laid paper, we have evidences 
 on the part of the publishers of a love and reverence for 
 the writer which will find an echo in the hearts of his 
 
 millions of admirers yew York Herald. 
 
 Perfect in all those externals which are so pleasing to 
 refined taste, and which make books as ornamental as 
 they are useful. Paper, type, illustrations, and binding 
 are all exquisite. — Boston Traveller. 
 
 This beautiful edition will receive a grateful and cordial 
 ■rt-elcome from every admirer of the great English master 
 of fiction. — Xeio York Tribune. 
 
 Nothing has been spared, in paper, type, and binding, 
 to gratify the most fastidious taste. — Boston Courier. 
 
 The paper is rich, heavy, and exquisitely tinted. The 
 type, marked with a racy dash of the antique, is the per- 
 fection of clearness. The illustrations are Tliackeray' s 
 own, reproduced in the best style of engraving, and the 
 
 binding faultless in taste Buffalo Courier. 
 
 American bookcraft has produced nothing more elegant 
 or artistic.—Alhantj Evening Journal. 
 
 If there is such a thing as an art amounting to poesy in 
 book-making, the enterprising publishers may certainly 
 be said to have achieved it here. This edition is some- 
 thing of which our country may well be proud. We thank 
 Messrs. Harper for having shown to the world that peace 
 has here its triumphs as well as war. We feel gratified 
 to tliink that America has anticipated Europe in embalm- 
 ing so fitly the memory of William Makepeace Thack- 
 eray. — Detroit Free Press. 
 
 " Thackeray in Full Dres.s."— Fine feathers do not al- 
 ways make fine birds ; but the finest birds do not disdain 
 their fine feathers, and therefore Thackeray, if he were 
 happily still living, with all his scorn of finery, would feel 
 proud of the garb in which he is arrayed by Messrs. 
 Harper & Brothers. — Philadelphia Evening Bulletin. 
 
 These volumes are almost perfect specimens of book- 
 making. The type is clear, the paper beautiful, the bind- 
 ing tasteful, and the illustrations, by Thackeray's own 
 hand, have never been better printed. —iV.l'.i'TC?iMi(; Post 
 A most elegant edition of the works of this greatest 
 master of English fiction of the present age. In every re- 
 spect it is among the most beautiful issues of the A^ner- 
 ican press — New York Daily Times. 
 
 Thackeray deserves a lasting monument— not a mere 
 bust in Westminster Abbey, the British Pantheon, but 
 under the roof-tree of every educated family. We rejoice 
 that Harper & Brothers have laid the first stone of the 
 new and magnificent monument. It is indeed a reproduc- 
 tion, in such a superior style, as regards fine type, care- 
 ful printing, tinted and hot-pressed paper, delicate yet 
 firm binding, and careful engraving, that it can best be 
 briefly described as an edition de luxe. A luxurious edi- 
 
 tion it is, worthy of the author, and lower in price than 
 that originally issued by the author himself. It has nev- 
 er been surpassed in execution here or iu England. It is 
 superb in all respects.— PhiladeljJhia Press. 
 
 The Harpers are embalming Thackeray. The odor of 
 sweet spices seems to hang about the edition of the great 
 satirist's works which these favorite publishers are now 
 issuing, and the reverence of art for genius is made ap- 
 parent in every detail. A more exquisite monument was 
 never dedicated to an author's memory. Daintier vol- 
 umes have seldom come from the press in any part of the 
 world — Kew York Express. 
 
 The volumes are faultless in every thing that pertains 
 to their mechanical execution, and in some particulars are 
 an advance on any thing yet attained in the art of book- 
 making. They are just of the right size. The printing 
 is of tlie best. The binding is exquisitely tasteful. It is 
 so well done as to give us the beauty of appearance of 
 cloth, with almost the substantial character of a firmer 
 material. The outside appearance of tlje book is a real 
 feast to the eye. Every thing about it combines the chaste 
 and the elegant to a -degree very seldom realized. — Nor- 
 folk County Journal (Roxbury). 
 
 The tributes paid to Thackeray, living and dead, by the 
 great English nation, whose literature he heightened and 
 adorned with the generous outpourings of his genius and 
 tenderness of speech, have not had— no, not one — such 
 solid worth and loving appreciation of the man and author 
 as these American publishers have shown in this superb 
 copy of his works. An earnest lover of rare books will 
 finger these volumes with dainty touch— will turn the 
 page more tenderly for looking again upon the tender 
 face, wliich Lawrence has preserved to us — will find now 
 beauties in th?m as he slowly and softly touches each 
 golden-tinted leaf, eloquent with sweet fancies, humor 
 most delicate, wit keen as the scimitar of Saladin, and 
 pathos deep and true as the heart of the great humani- 
 tarian who sadly penned them. The etchings are Thack- 
 eray's own, and tlie hand that copied them here perfonn- 
 ed its task with very loving fidelity. We accept this 
 tribute as the truest that has been ever paid to the great 
 humorist, and we feel a pardonable pride that we owe it to 
 the enterprise, taste, and liberality of American publish- 
 ers.— P/itfarfc^jj/na Legal Intelligencer. 
 
 The binding is the perfection of beauty and neatness. 
 Th'e smallest amount of gold upon a ground of delicate 
 green gives the sides the refreshing look of a meadow 
 starred with a single buttercup — Indianapolis Journal. 
 It is a matter of almost national congratulation that the 
 first excellent, complete edition of Thackeray's works is to 
 appear in America. No more appropriate testimony and 
 monument of his genius could be than the edition that 
 Messrs. Harper & Brothers have projected. It would 
 seem that the most loving appreciation has presided over 
 its preparation. Thackeray would like to have handled 
 it, and we can not but tliink that his honest regard for 
 this country would have been deepened by such a mark 
 of appreciation. Surely no novel has ever been so typo- 
 graphically honored in this country. It is such an editioa 
 as every lover of handsome books will want, and every 
 appreciator of Thackeray will have — Hartford Press. 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 Sent by Mail, postage free, on receipt of the price. 
 
ADVENTURES OF ARMINIUS VAMBERY. 
 
 "While cordially recommending Jlr. Hall's delightful volume, it may not be out of place to call renewed atten- 
 tion to the splendid aeries of books of discovery and adventure which Harper & Brothers have published within 
 the past two or three years. The list includes almost all the works which record the results of original explora- 
 tion, especially in the case of Africa, and the admirable manner in which they are printed and illustrated, rival- 
 ing the expensive London editions, indicates that a large capital must have been invested in the enterprise. 
 The works of Livingstone, Bartli, Speke, Reade, Du Chaillu, Burton, Gumming, and Davis are among these ever 
 Talnable and ever interesting books, and they should be in every well-selected library." — Boston Tramcript. 
 
 Just Ready, with Map and Illustrations, 8vo, Cloth, $3 75. 
 
 TRAVELS IN CENTRAL ASIA 
 
 IX THE 
 
 Disguise of a Dervish, 
 
 From Teheran across the Turkoman Desert to Khiva, 
 Bokhara, and Samarcand, 1863. 
 
 By ARMINIUS VAMBERY, 
 
 Member of the Hungarian Academy of Pesth (by whom he was dispatched on this 
 Scientific Mission). 
 
 This most remarkable journey, so full of graphic de- 
 scriptions, thrilling incidents, and sound information. 
 
 The gates of China and Japan are opened, and railw.iys 
 and telegraplis are in the course of constructioa through 
 the very heart of the lands of the Bible ; but there yet re- 
 mains a broad belt of country between the Russian posses- 
 sions in the north and the British in the South, where Eu- 
 ropean civilization has not yet penetrated ; where ICurope- 
 ans can not enter except at their peril ; where to hear is 
 regarded as impudence, to ask for information as a crime, 
 and to tabe notes as a deadly sin. Whoever wishes to ob- 
 tain a glimpse of this singular country should accompany 
 Mr. Vambory, who, in the disguise of a dervish, succeed- 
 ed in reaching the very centre of Asia, and now places be- 
 fore us a narrative which stands out as prominently 
 among recent works of travel as the author himself does 
 among modern explorers. 
 
 Mr. Vambery tells his story in a simple, unaffected man- 
 ner, and yet, from the opening to tlie closing paragraph, 
 he exercises a perfect spell over his readers. There is a 
 r<eality about the scenes and places he describes that makes 
 us feel as if we were one of his travelling companions. His 
 dangers are our dangers, his sufferings our sufferings. We 
 feel keenly the want of water after a few days in the 
 desert, and find ourselves behind the camels as the fear- 
 ful sand-storms are sweeping along. But what are want 
 of meat and drink, surprise by robbers, sand-storms, in- 
 extricable swamps, fatigue, and all the other thousand- 
 and-one dangers and difficulties of the journey, to the ter- 
 rible task imposed by the assumed disguise ? For ten long 
 months we must wear a mask. Nobody, not even those 
 •who have given the strong:st proofs of attachment to «s, 
 must know that we are Franks. F.very wiird, mien, or 
 action of ours must be unnal. Our " make-up" must be 
 perfect, and without any previous reliearsal we are ex- 
 pected to take a leading part in a farce which at any mo- 
 ment m:iy develop into a serious tragedy. To displease 
 our public by any awkwardness in our acting would lie 
 
 followed by our condemnation — our certain death. • • • 
 The author has accumulated a vast amount of geograph- 
 ical, ethnological, political, and commercial information 
 whicli is of great value. — London Reader. 
 
 Arminius Viimbjry, a Hungarian gentleman, furnished 
 with special firmans by the Sultan, travelled as a dervish, 
 and penetrated into the region from which so few Kurope- 
 ans have escaped alive. As a Mussulman he walked about 
 ^Yhere he would unmolested, hearing all the residents said, 
 watching them, and their creeds, and tlieir dialects, as no 
 European has ever been permitted to do. The volume is 
 full of information about places and tribes of wliich, as yet, 
 Europe knows exceedingly little — London Spectator. 
 
 Deeply interesting and instructive, as giving us a per- 
 sonal and practical knowledge of the inner life of a people 
 hitherto impei-fectly known to us, but who over and over 
 again had played an important part in the history of the 
 old world. It may he long before we ag;\in meet with a 
 book the materials of which have been collected under con- 
 ditions so singular, and which is at the same time so au- 
 thentic and reliable. — London Examiner. 
 
 It has made large and valuable additions to our knowl- 
 edge of the condition and character of the populations 
 of Centr.al Asia.— Lo?i(foJi Press. 
 
 Mr. \7imbery has collected a great deal of important in- 
 formation as to the political and commercial relations of 
 the countries which he visited. We know through him 
 a great deal more than we ever knew before about Klii- 
 va, Herat, " Bokhara the Noble," and Khokand — John 
 Bull. 
 
 Mr. Vambery is an extremely lively n.arrator, who dwells 
 with keen relish on all the incidents, pleasant or unpleas- 
 ant, which befall a traveller. His volume is written in an 
 easy, cheerful style, and illustrated with clever and cliar- 
 acteristic sketches — London Bevicw. 
 
 We admire Dr. Vambery's spirit of adventure, his in- 
 trepidity, and his perseverance. He has the art of attract- 
 ing and fascinating his listeners.— Saturday Bevicw. 
 
 Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 Z^" Sent by mail to any part of the United State, postage prepaid, on receipt of $3 75. 
 
A GREAT NATIONAL WORK.' 
 
 A RCTIC RESEARCHES AND LIFE AMONG THE ESQUIMAUX : 
 
 I\ 
 
 Being the Narrative of an Expedition in Search of Sir John Franklin, in the 
 Years i860, 1861, and 1862, By Charles Francis Hall. With Maps and 
 100 Illuftrations, beautifully engraved from Designs by Charles Parsons, Hen- 
 EY L. Stephens, Sol. Eytinge, W. S. L. Jewett, and Granville Perkins, after 
 Sketches by Mr. Hall and Photographs. 8vo, Cloth, $4 50 j Half Morocco, 
 $6 50. 
 
 EXTEACTS FROM CRITICAL NOTICES. 
 
 The -work is one of the most interesting as well as one 
 of the mo3t instructive yet written on the subject of 
 Arctic adventure and research, and is especially valua- 
 ble for the information it gives us respecting the inhabit- 
 ants of those regions of snow and ice. Mr. Hall acquired 
 the language, familiarized himself with the habits, and 
 entered into social relations with the Esquimaux, and his 
 reproduction of them in his boolc is done with dramatic 
 as well as descriptive felicity. The descriptive power of 
 the -writer has been ably seconded by the engraver in this 
 volume. The illustrations are of striking force and ex- 
 pressiveness, giving in pictures what the writer gives in 
 words Boston Daily Evening Transcript. 
 
 We can not be too thankful to Mr. Hall for this most 
 interesting account of his firs't expedition. We give 
 it the highest praise in our power when wc say that 
 in all respects it is wortliy to stand by the side of 
 Kane's account of his last expedition. Which should hold 
 the first place we will not.venture to say. Whichever may 
 he first or second, there ia no other work on the subject at 
 
 all worthy of ranking with either c f them America^i 
 
 Publishers' Circular and Literaiij Gazette. 
 
 An addition of the first importance to the present lim- 
 ited librai-y of Arctic literature. 
 
 Itis Mr. H.iU's fiiculty of making himself at home among 
 the natives that gives his book its interest to the general 
 reader. It gives, with the fidelity of a photograph, and 
 yet with the color of a painting, a picture of life among 
 the Esquimaux. Not merely Esquimaux life, but life 
 among them. The wann nature and large humanity of 
 the explorer seem to have received the tribute of apprecia- 
 tion at the Innuit hands that they well deserved, and to 
 have won the confidence and affection of them all. 
 
 Mr. Hall applied himself with all his energy and perse- 
 yerance to the task of becoming an Esquimaux, and of 
 making thorough explorations of the country where he 
 found himself. His book will show how fully he carried 
 out his purposes. Those persons only who have had the 
 privilege of looking over his original notes, made in the 
 snow huts or skin tents of the Innuits after hard work had 
 consumed the day, can entirely appreciate the fidelity of 
 the narrative. 
 
 We are sure that in this book we have the absolute tnith 
 given, not from memory, but noted down hi the midst of 
 snows. — N. Y. Evening Post. 
 
 Full of the most interesting and instructive incidents, 
 narrative, and adventure; it is life among the Esquimaux, 
 graphic and picturesque .V. 1'. Observer. 
 
 As a hook of travels this volume is one of rare excellence 
 —the book of the season—and quite equal, in both its lit- 
 erary character and in the strange and stirring events it 
 records, with any of the many works of the kind from the 
 prolific publishers. A capital volume for the long winter 
 evenings.— A''. Y. Christian Advocate and Jour 7Uil. 
 
 The author lived among the people, and did not merely 
 pass through the country: and accordingly he has been 
 able to give us a great deal that is really new and valu- 
 able. — y. Y. Home Journal. 
 
 Crammed with exciting incident, far more thrilling 
 than any thing to be found in fiction. A man who has 
 eaten scraps of whaleskin and raw walrus hide may cer- 
 tainly claim to have seen adventure, and there is plenty 
 of it here. The letter-press, paper, and illustrations are 
 excellent. — St. Louis Republican. 
 
 The author does not content himself with merely detail- 
 ing his adventures in the Arctic Regions, but endeavors to 
 make us acquainled with one of the most interesting of the 
 races of men. He spent much time among the Esquimaux 
 tribes, learned their language, became familiar with their 
 manners and customs, and ingratiated himself into their 
 confidence. His narrative is deeply interesting. He tells 
 much that is new, and in a style singulaily fresh and 
 graphic. lie gives us a far better insight into the social 
 life of the Frozen Regions than is furnished in the work 
 of Dr. Kane. The work is illustrated by a large number 
 of well-executed engTuviuga.— Albany Evening Journal. 
 
 Full of interest. — Philadelphia Inquirer. 
 
 A very important addition to the books of Arctic ad- 
 venture. In the specialty of life among the Esquimaux 
 the work is the most intelligent, thorough, and interesting 
 account that has yet been furnished. With a keen and 
 curious observation, he saw and noted every thing that 
 was unique or peculiar about the Esquimaux, and as the 
 result of this has given us a very racy and interesting vol- 
 ume. Though Mr. Hall modestly disclaims any merit of 
 literary style, none of his readers will fail to find in him 
 graphic power as a narrator. He makes the most of what 
 is novel or picturesque that comes in his way, and tells 
 his story often with truly graphic effect. This is seen 
 particularly in some of its dramatic episodes, as well as in 
 those descriptive portions which relate his adventurous 
 boat-journey, and his vivid account of the Aurora Borealis. 
 We know of no book of Arctic travel which is better wor- 
 thy to be called entertaining than this. It is superbly il- 
 lustrated throughout with some of the most spirited draw- 
 ings and carefully-finished engravings which American 
 art has yet attained. — Roxbury Journal. 
 
 He brings the bond of human brotherhood around thig 
 degraded race most feelingly — commending them to an 
 interest that even the graphic pen of Kane fails to awaken. 
 — iV. Y. Examiner. 
 
 Intensely interesting— the result of one of the most re- 
 markcable individual enterprises on record. — Salem Rcg'r. 
 
 Of absorbing interest. It reads more like a romance 
 than a grave description of travels. We dismiss HalVs 
 Arctic Research Expedition with reluctance. We earn- 
 estly advise our readers to purchase the volume and read 
 it from beginning to end. No more entertaining or in- 
 structive book has been, or wiU be, given to the public 
 this season.— iV. Y. Dispatch. 
 
 His adventures, suflferings, perils, his daring, and his 
 safe return, are told in a narrative of great simplicity, but 
 of absorbing interest A Ibany Atlas and Argus. 
 
 In hia Arctic Researches Mr. Hall has been successful to 
 
 a degree that has filled the world with his fame Troy 
 
 Daily Times. 
 
THE NEW NOVELS 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 HARPEK & BROTHERS, New York. 
 
 Sent by Mail, postage prepaid, to any part of tlie United States, on receipt of the price. 
 
 LUTTRELLOFARRAN. A Novel. By Ciiaeles Levee, 
 Author of " Barrington," "Maurice Tiernay," "-The 
 Daltons," "Charles O'Malley," &c., &c. Svo, Cloth, 
 $150; Paper, $100. 
 
 rXCLE SILAS. A Story of Bartram-IIangh. By J. S. 
 Le Fanu, Author of '-AVylder's Hand," "The House 
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 CHRISTIAN'S MISTAKE. A Novel. By Miss Mur.ocK-, 
 Author of "John Ilahfax, Gentleman." l-'mo, Cloth, 
 $1 50. 
 
 TONY BUTLER. A Novel. Svo, Cloth, $1 50; Paper, 
 $100. 
 
 OUR JIUTUAL TRIEND. A Novel. By CnAKi.E9 Dick- 
 ens. Part I. [Containing one half of the Work.] II- 
 lusti'ated. Svo, Paper, 50 cents. 
 
 MY BROTHER'S WIFE : A Life Ilii^toiT. By Amelia 
 B. EdwartiS, Author of "Barbara's History," "The 
 Ladder of life," &c. Svo, Paper, 50 cents. 
 
 5IATTIE : A STRAY. A Novel. Svo, Paper, 75 cents. 
 
 QUITE ALONE. A NoveL By George Augustus Sala. 
 Svo, Paper, 75 cents. 
 
 M.\RGARET DENZIL'S HISTORY. Annotated by her 
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 THE PERPETUAL CUR.\TE. A Novel. By the Author 
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 LINDISFARN chase, a Novel. By T. AnOLrHCS 
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 MAURICE DERING ; or. The Quadrilateral. A Novel. 
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 CAPTAIN BRAND, OF THE " CENTIPf.DE." A Pi- 
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 COUSIN PHILIS. A Tale. By Meb. Gaskell, Author 
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 BELIAL. 
 
 DENIS DONNE. By Miss Thomas. 
 
 CARRY'S CONFESSION. By the Author of " Mattie: 
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 BROKEN TO HARNESS. A Story of English Domestic 
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 MISS MARJORIBANKS. By Mrs. OurnANT. 
 
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 AATYES AND DAUGHTERS. By Mns. Gaskell. 
 
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