CHAPTER XXIII.

GRAHAM HALL.

It was a morning fraught with deep and painful memories, for as Roland related the story of his mother's trials, and his own struggles with poverty and suffering, Malcolm's manly heart was stirred within him; and when he read the manuscript which Mrs. Bruce had left, floods of memory overpowered him for one moment, for it took him back so painfully to the days of his youth.

"But she is at rest noo, Roland; there ne'er was a purer, holier heart in the form o' woman, than that which beat in the bosom o' Mary Gordon. I should hae made her happy, Roland, but God willed it otherwise, an' I am content; but how is it that she could hae suffered so much, with sic friends in Scotland? Did she na write home?"

"She did, frequently, Uncle Malcolm; for the first year we received answers; then we were surrounded by mystery; we could not imagine how it was, but at last, my mother thought that death must have removed her relatives, and she ceased to write."

Malcolm opened a small drawer that was kept carefully locked, and lifting an old pocket-book, took out a lock of golden hair, and a piece of faded blue ribbon.

"That is to be buried with me in my grave, Roland; it is a' that is left to me, on earth, o' Mary Gordon; but I believe that we shall meet in Heaven; for, Roland, we were made for each other, and shall hold communion yet; here is a perfect likeness o' your mother, when she was sweet Mary Gordon;" and Roland gazed upon the picture with feelings of loving reverence.

It was a bright young face, with deep blue eyes, and a profusion of light curly hair; innocence marked its general expression, but in the eyes there was a look of high and holy inspiration, such as she never lost.

"If ye should outlive me, Roland, that is yours; your name shall be placed upon the back; would that I could hae kenned my boy in the days o' his adversity; and now I hae ane request to make, and it is this; ca' me always Uncle Malcolm; would that I were mair to ye."

"That will be very easy, dear Uncle Malcolm; for I feel as if I had indeed found not only a friend, but a relative; but it is better that I had not known you before; the very discipline of my life has called out qualities which prosperity could never have fostered."

"That talisman, Roland, has been your a', it has been the making o' Mary Gordon's son. 'Looking aloft!' O, what blessedness in those holy, strengthening words! It shall be placed upon her miniature, Roland."

When Roland related the early struggles of his life in New York, the trials at college, the weariness of hope deferred, his "News-Boys' Home," Malcolm sat with head bowed upon his hands, and when he had finished his recital, he clasped Roland in his arms, and said,--

"Ye are indeed the chiel o' Providence; be my son, Roland, for I love ye as my ain."

But little was said concerning his early friend, Madeline, but even the few passing words spoke volumes to Malcolm Graham.

Bowing down together before the mercy-seat, Malcolm poured out his soul in earnest prayer for the youth kneeling by his side, and Roland took up the language of supplication and praise, and from a full heart poured out his gratitude. Arm in arm they left the study, and the servants wondered what the master had found in the lost traveller of the night before.

"I have some inquiries to make about Aunt Douglass, for I am strongly inclined to believe that my father still lives; I think perhaps that she may know something of him."

A painful expression passed over Malcolm's face, as he replied,--

"I can direct ye, Roland, but dinna gae yet; stay wi' me a few days; I want to tell ye aboot a' my plans, and as soon as the travelling will allow us, I hae mickle to show ye o' Highland life."

The next day brought Roland acquainted with Uncle Malcolm's daily habits. A part of each morning was devoted to Annot's studies, a part to superintending general business, keeping accounts, and a portion to regular systematic reading.

Sometimes Uncle Malcolm indulged in sporting, a part of the amusements of Scotch gentlemen.

Friday evening came, and after supper, the master said,

"Dugald, bring in the books an' get ready for the meeting," and the old servant soon returned with additional seats, and a large number of hymn books.

"We hae a meeting o' my tenants every Friday, Roland; we are vera far frae ony kirk, an' I hae to be minister to them, for they can only attend the quarterly communions."

Soon the people began to assemble; rough Highlanders, with their wives and elder children came flocking in.

Malcolm sat at the head of a long table, and as each one saluted him, it was manifest with what feelings of affectionate reverence good Uncle Malcolm was regarded by his humble people. A chapter from the Bible with some familiar remarks just to the point for his hearers, several beautiful Scotch psalms, in which all joined earnestly, and then a prayer from Malcolm, and another from Roland, closed the evening.

Several remained behind to ask advice; some about their business, their families, their spiritual needs, their cares and sorrows, their disputes and difficulties; and the kind words dropped by the good steward of his Master's goods, testified to the fidelity with which he discharged his holy trust.

Daily did Malcolm and Roland ride around among his humble dependents, and a book for one, a tract for another, some pecuniary help for others, marked all these visits.

"You see, Roland, that I am pretty busy for an old bachelor; I could na' live without employment. Then we hae some pleasant society here, although we live so far apart. When the gentry visit us, it is to stay several days, sometimes weeks at a time, for the latch o' Graham Hall is always up."

On Sabbath afternoon, a company of little ones flocked to the Hall, and Malcolm, Mrs. Lindsay, and Annot were the teachers on these occasions. It was quite a pleasant treat to Roland to aid in the good work.

In the evenings, Annot entertained them with her sweet Scotch songs, and Roland frequently accompanied her with his deep, rich voice, and Uncle Malcolm with his flute.

Malcolm often wondered what he should do when Roland would leave him, for every day he learned to love him, not only for Mary Gordon's, but for his own sake.

"We shall hae to ask for your room to-night, Roland," said Mrs. Lindsay, "for the minister is coming, and he always occupies that room."

"It makes no difference to me, dear Madam; put me anywhere that suits you."

The Rev. Mr. Murray was a fine specimen of a Scotch minister, grave, earnest, faithful; he was always welcome among his humble mountain parishioners, and came quarterly to look after their welfare.

"Are there ony ready for the Lord's supper, Mr. Graham?" inquired the minister.

"I think there are four; they will be here next Sabbath, when ye can examine them."

There was a large gathering at Graham Hall on that holy day, for notice had been given that the minister was coming.

He preached an earnest, faithful sermon, somewhat longer than Roland had been accustomed to, for an hour and a half were given up to that exercise; long prayers, and long psalms made the occasion tedious to one not accustomed to such services, but the people did net complain, although it brought their dinner two hours later than on other days.

In the afternoon, the minister examined several candidates for the Lord's Supper, which was to be administered on the following Sabbath, and paid a just tribute to the fidelity with which they had been instructed by the minister's earnest helper. Mr. Murray stayed all night, and gave some wise spiritual advice to Roland before he took his departure.

"He seems to be a chiel o' God," said Mr. Murray, "and can come to the sacrament, if he wishes, next Sabbath; it must be pleasant to hae sic a guest."

"He is a descendant o' the Gordons, Mr. Murray, and a chiel o' earnest prayer."

"They were aye a godly race, Mr. Graham, an' mony an ancient martyr bears their name."

On the following Sabbath, Malcolm, Roland, Mrs. Lindsay, and Annot started at early down in one carriage, and all the servants in a large, comfortable wagon; the house was closed for the day, for in Scotland these sacrament days occupy the whole Sabbath.

Arrived at the place of concourse, large numbers were seen coming in all directions; carriages, wagons, people on horseback and on foot, hurried to the service, for as it occurred so seldom, it was a great occasion to devout Scotch people.

Owing to the numbers, the services were out of doors; a table was spread under large shady trees, and temporary seats provided for the occasion.

A long sermon was preached, but full of power; long prayers, but full of unction; deep, sonorous, stirring psalms were sung by the great multitude, and Roland thought of the songs of the redeemed in the Revelations, where the hallelujahs were compared to the voice of many waters. The effect was sublime under these old trees; young men and old, mothers, maidens, and little children all joining in the solemn chorus, with the heavens for their canopy, and the green sward for their carpeted aisles.

"'Neath cloistered boughs each floral bell that swingeth, And tolls its perfume on the passing air, Makes Sabbath in the fields, and ever ringeth, A call to prayer!

"Not to the domes where crumbling arch and column, Attest the feebleness of mortal hand; But to that fane, most catholic and solemn, Which God hath planned!

"To that cathedral, boundless as our wonder, Whose quenchless lamps the sun and moon supply, Its choir, the winds and waves, its organ thunder, Its dome, the sky!"

But here was the voice of God's ambassador, and the presence of the Holy Ghost, and Roland listened and worshipped with solemn awe in nature's grand cathedral.

In the intervals between the services, the people assembled in serious groups under the trees to eat their meals, for all who lived at a distance had come with the intention to spend the Sabbath.

No lightness was manifest among the crowds, for Scotch people are proverbial for their reverence for the Sabbath. The minister mingled occasionally with his people; but none, not even the little children, seemed to forget that it was the holy Sabbath. At the close of the solemn day, Malcolm and his family returned to their mountain home, doubtless benefitted by the exercises of this holy service.

"We have had a pleasant day, Uncle Malcolm," said Roland, "but would it not be better if the services were not quite so long? I observed many old people nodding in the afternoon."

"It would be doubtless better, but the customs of the old Scotch church are very hard to remodel. The good Dr. Chalmers has done much in the way of reform, but it has not reached us yet."

"What a noble witness for the truth is that good man! There is but one such man in our age, Uncle Malcolm; at least but one given to an especial branch of the Christian church."

"Yes, Roland, the Church of England has her Bickersteth; the Baptist, her Robert Hall; the Methodist, her Wesley; and a' seeking one great end, the glory of the Saviour, and the spread of his kingdom. What a blessed day that will be, when these sects shall pass away, and we shall be truly one in Christ, once more the simple primitive Christians of Antioch!"

And thus they fulfilled the blessed command of their Master, talking of the things of his kingdom, until like the disciples on their way to Emmaus their hearts burned within them with emotions of holy love. Where the fountain is full, the streams will gush forth naturally, freely, healthfully.

"It is a fine day, Uncle Malcolm," said Roland, on the following Monday; "can we go to-day to visit the glen where my martyred ancestors lie?"

"I was thinking o' it mysel', Roland; the weather could na' be better, hard roads, and clear sharp air--it is a long ride frae' here, and we will set out early--hae the carriage ready, Dugald, and a basket o' provision; we will gae in aboot an hour."

It was a splendid ride over these mountain roads, winding around in their ascent to heights whence there were vistas charming in their grandeur even at this season; then descending into rural glens where the cottages of the peasantry ever and anon met their view. "There is Castle Kennicott, Roland;" and Malcolm pointed to a miserable range of buildings, so dilapidated that his companion smiled at the name.

"There lives old Sir Peter Kennicott; he is a specimen o' an auld Scottish laird, vera poor, and vera proud; his wife, Lady Catherine, and three daughters, make up his household; they visit us two or three times a year, and living as they do in the seclusion o' their Highland home, ken but little o' the ways o' the rest o' the warld; they are vera amusing wi' their quaint auld-fashioned manners; but Lady Catherine is a guid woman, and much esteemed."

Beguiling the way with pleasant chat, in a few hours they reached the spot they sought for. Dismounting, they stood around the lowly grave--the same ruined chimney, the same grand old trees, the same dark and sombre glen, where no human habitation was visible, recalled the picture so deeply engraved upon the memory of Roland.

"We stood just here, Uncle Malcolm," (and Roland almost whispered, for he felt in the midst of solemn associations,) "when my mother told me the story of old David Gordon and the sweet Lilian, and I think from that day my childish soul took a great leap in its existence, and I never could forget the thoughts which stirred within me, as I remembered that my ancestors were among the holy band of Christian martyrs."

"It is a great honor, Roland, to be descended frae those who will hereafter be kings and priests unto God."

"What a cruel being man must be that can slay such innocence as slumbers here!"

"And yet it is frae oot sic dreadful scenes o' bluidshed that great principles to bless our race arise; the struggles between right and wrong are often ushered in by the gibbet, the stake, or the battle-axe."

"O, what a happy time that will be, Uncle Malcolm, when the nations shall learn war no more! when man shall love his brother man."

"It is coming, Roland; sure as God's word is true, sic a day will dawn upon the earth."

Hours were spent around the humble grave, for both felt the inspiration of the scene.

"I hae something mair to show ye, Roland; here is ane o' the caves where our fathers used to hide in those dismal days; and mony a time in the midst o' baptismal or sacrament seasons in these lonely glens, at the sound o' the tramp o' Claverhouse and his troopers, would they hae to fly to these damp and gloomy shelters."

"How solemn must have been the worship of these days, Uncle Malcolm; ever on the borders of eternity, they must always have sounded like funereal hymns in these solitudes!"

"And yet how much we hae read o' their heroic spirit, their brave endurance, and their triumph over death! I can imagine strains o' victory always mingling wi' a martyr's hymn."

When they arrived at home, letters from Edmund awaited Roland; he seemed to be growing tired of travelling alone. Uncle Malcolm, with his accustomed hospitality, immediately wrote a few lines of cordial invitation to Graham Hall.

"Wha' hae we here?" asked Mrs. Lindsay.

Roland looked out, and, lumbering up the road, came a large old-fashioned carriage, with two fat, lazy horses.

"It is Sir Peter," continued the lady; and soon the party stopped at the door.

"How fares it wi' ye a'?" said the old man, as he stepped slowly from the carriage, and warmly shook the master's hand.

Lady Catherine followed, and then the three daughters, with their pets--Miss Juliana, with her cat; Miss Winnie, with a fat lap-dog; and Miss Jacky, with a large parrot, brought to her from abroad by a sailor cousin. Sundry bandboxes, and a trunk, indicated that they meant to stay for some days at least. The three ladies had all passed the hey-day of youth, for the youngest was thirty at least. Miss Juliana, the eldest, having passed two seasons at Edinburgh, was the only one who pretended to the manners of a lady; she still preserved carefully the wardrobe of those youthful days for extra occasions, such as a visit to Graham Hall. On this day, a worn-out travelling dress, made in the fashion of twenty years ago, looked rather antiquated; but the narrow purse of Kennicott Castle made a virtue of necessity.

Sir Peter, clad in the costume of ancient times, with his bob-wig and powdered hair, his small clothes, and silver knee and shoe-buckles, his three-cornered hat, and silver-headed cane, with a coat whose pockets were large enough to hold a change of clothing, presented a most grotesque appearance, and really might have been mistaken for a person rigged out for a dramatic scene. Lady Catherine was equally antique. After the ceremony of introduction, they were escorted to their rooms; and nothing more was seen of them until dinner-time, when their appearance at the table indicated the employment of the morning.

Miss Juliana was arrayed in a youthful dress of light blue silk; and, as the eldest, wore the old family jewels, which certainly were not of the most costly kind. Her hair was dressed in the most youthful style; but artificial rose-buds could not conceal the gray locks, or hide the shrivelled cheeks. She carried a fan, with which she performed certain singular manœuvres, which she considered the very tip of the haut-ton.

Miss Juliana was the oracle of the family; for had she not been in Edinburgh for two seasons? and ought she not to know the fashions of high life?

Miss Winnie was fat and coarse, with high cheek bones, large hands and feet, freckled skin, and red hair; she certainly did not pretend to be the beauty of the family.

Miss Jacky, the "Baby," as they still called her, was considered the "beauty."

A small figure, with a profusion of light flaxy hair, tortured into curling, light complexion, with high color, unmeaning china-blue eyes, and pursed-up little mouth, distinguished her from her sisters.

They were all bent upon Baby's making a great match; therefore, all the finery of the past generation, that remained in the old family chest, was kept especially for her. A heavy crimson brocade for winter, that stood alone, was made up with low neck and short sleeves; and in summer, one light pink taffeta was likewise remodelled. One wreath of roses for her hair, one string of pearls for the neck, with ear-rings to match, one pair of soiled kid gloves for the hands, and one pair of narrow pointed slippers, made up Baby's wardrobe, and this she had worn on her visits to Graham Hall, and Douglass Manor, ever since she was eighteen; and now, alas! Baby was thirty.

She had sung the same songs, danced the same Scotch reels, said the same pretty silly things; charming only to her family, and yet Baby was not married.

Sir Peter had long thought that a seat at the head of the table at Graham Hall, would be the very thing for Baby, but unfortunately, the master did not concur in sentiment.

"Annot, my dear, come sit by me," said the sweet young lady, for she knew that Malcolm dearly loved his little niece. Baby was devoted in her attentions to the child, but it all seemed lost upon Malcolm, who was busily engaged in talking to Sir Peter about the cattle and the sheep during the late snow storm. "I lost ten o' my best sheep, Mr. Graham," remarked the old man.

"I did na lose ane, Sir Peter," was the answer, and Malcolm dropped many hints which might have been useful, if the old man had not been too indolent to profit by them.

The politeness of the household was much taxed by their efforts to entertain their guests; for there were just four subjects of conversation for the four ladies.

Lady Catherine discussed household economy; Miss Juliana, her visit to Edinburgh, twenty years ago, an unfailing subject; Miss Winnie, her pet lap-dog, with all his wonderful tricks; and Baby, "The Children of the Abbey," and the "Sorrows of Werter."

It was in vain that Mrs. Lindsay tried to divert the channel of conversation to better things; back to the old worn-out sayings and doings of their little world they would come.

All the ladies employed themselves in knitting while they talked. Lady Catherine knit stockings for the winter; Miss Juliana mitts innumerable; Miss Winnie, tippets of all sizes; and Baby tidies and mats for parlor and chamber.

Knit! knit! knit! talk! talk! talk! Truly a visit from Kennicott Castle was a trial to Christian patience! And then, the darling pets! Miss Juliana's pet cat fought with the master's noble dog; Miss Winnie's lap-dog tried to tear out the eyes of Annot's little kitten; and Baby's parrot screamed night and day, "Polly wants Baby! Polly wants Baby!" Then Miss Juliana's cat must have sweet milk three times a day, and the most delicate pieces of meat cut up very fine; Miss Winnie's lap-dog must be fed upon cream; and Baby's parrot could open her cage-door, and help herself to whatever she liked upon the table. This was great fun to Baby, but disgusting to others, who could not bear a dirty parrot walking over the dinner-plates. Miss Juliana played two old marches, Miss Winnie two old pieces, and Baby three songs exactly.

They all attended punctually upon the family devotions, and then Malcolm could pray that all who knelt around that altar should set their affections upon things above, and not on the vain and fleeting things of earth; their frivolity pained him, and the good master tried many ways to do them good.

He talked to the ladies about schools for the poor children, and about comforts for their parents.

"Dear me!" said Miss Juliana, "Mr. Graham you would na' expect us to stoop to these wild Highlanders; why! they are na' mair than savages!"

"And sae they will continue, my dear Madam," ("Madam!" Miss Juliana did not like that,) "if you will na' step forward to their help; and in sic a lonesome place, I should think it would be pleasant wark."

"Why, Mr. Graham, it would take twa hunters ilka morn to catch the wild things; on the tops o' the highest hills, down in the deepest glens, hidden amang the steep rocks, we might as well try to tame the wild animals as these rough, outlandish children o' the crags."

"Try, Miss Juliana, gi' them something for the body, and, after awhile, they will come to ye for something for the mind."

Miss Juliana yawned, "It is sae mickle work, Mr. Graham, for a high-born lady; I could na' think of sic a thing."

For two weeks the visitors remained; but no visible progress was made by Baby, and the party turned their faces homeward.

"Ye will return our visit soon, Mr. Graham; bring yer young friend wi' ye; we canna promise mickle at Kennicott, but we will mak' ye welcome."

"Thank ye, Sir Peter, when we hae leisure, we will accept your kind invitation."

The old carriage was brought up, Sir Peter and Lady Catherine comfortably seated, followed by Miss Juliana and her cat, Tabby; Miss Winnie and her dog, Charley; and Baby with her talking Poll, screaming, as she went, "Poll wants Baby;" with sundry band-boxes and trunks, filled with the old finery, to be packed away for future occasions; while the ladies would now assume their tartan plaid and woollen hose, until making another visitation.

Mrs. Lindsay gave one long, expressive breath; good Uncle Malcolm smiled with a look of relief, and little Annot clapped her hands as she hugged up her pet kitten, and said, "Now, tittens! that horrid dog is gone, and ye shall hae some peace o' your life."

In a few days, Edmund arrived, and received a hearty welcome from the master of Graham Hall. Soon domesticated, he revelled in the comforts of the hospitable mansion; and day after day, seated by the blazing fire of the family-room, he would rub his hands with delight, exclaiming,

"This is living, Roland! How shall I ever content myself in that Babel of a city after these grand mountains, these noble trees, this free life out-of-doors, and this glowing, warm-hearted hospitality within!"

"It is a charming home, indeed!" was Roland's reply, "the very perfection of that sweet word; though so cold without, one feels all the time here in the midst of a warm glow of Christian love, and hearty welcome."'

"What a charming piece of simplicity is that dear little Annot, Roland! So fresh! so naive! After the glitter of New York belles, she is really captivating; and then her music--why, she warbles sweetly as a mavis."

Roland smiled as he replied, "Where is Miss Hamilton, Edmund?"

"O, she is out of my reach! a bright divinity that I may worship in the distance! But this little Scotch mountain girl! innocent child that she is, charms me daily more and more, with her winning ways, and her sweet, loving eyes."

"Take care, Edmund, how you allow yourself to become enchanted; for you may never see Scotland again."

"That is not so certain, my dear sir, for I have had a taste of Highland life that I shall never forget; and this sweet face I must see again."

Roland found that he must seek out his aunt; therefore, in a day or two, Uncle Malcolm and he sat out for Douglass Manor, leaving Edmund behind to seek his own pleasures. It was a long two-storied stone mansion, that had long been in the family, and therefore dignified by the name of "The Manor."

Mr. Graham inquired for the mistress; asked into the parlor, they awaited her arrival.

In a few minutes, a tall lady, with pleasing aspect, and dignified address, entered the parlor.

"Ye are welcome, Mr. Graham; it is a long time syne I hae had this honor."

"I cam' to introduce a family connexion, Mrs. Douglass."

The lady looked earnestly at Roland, a change passed over her countenance, as she advanced towards the young man, and taking his hand, she said,--

"I dinna ken what to think, but surely ye are vera like my brother Stephen, lost so lang ago."

Malcolm had left the room.

"I am Roland Bruce, your brother's son, Aunt Douglass; you are the first relative that I have met in Scotland."

She grasped his hand, and drawing him to her, kissed him affectionately.

"My dear nephew! This is joyful indeed! Nane o' my kindred hae I left on earth, but yoursel'!"

Roland then related his story to his aunt; she was deeply moved; as soon as he mentioned the name of Elsie Gibson, she exclaimed,

"Is it possible that Elsie is in America? We missed her years ago, but nane could tell whate'er became o' her."

"What relation does she bear to us?" inquired Roland.

"Roland, she luved your father dearly, an' had he married her, he wud hae been a happier mon; but he was aye like one crazed on the subject o' Mary Gordon."

"My mother made him a good wife, Aunt Douglass; she was most faithful and devoted."

"Yes, Roland, I ken a' that to be true; but her heart was na wi' her husband."

"It was with no one else, Aunt Douglass; I wish that you could have known my dear mother."

At the end of their interview, Mrs. Douglass was convinced that her brother was yet alive.

"I will gae wi' ye, Roland, when ye return to America; I maun find my brother, for our property is yet unsettled, although my father has been dead these four years; ye maun stay wi' me, Roland, it is sic a pleasure to see a branch o' my ain hoose," and Aunt Douglass affectionately laid her hand upon the young man's shoulder.

"Looking aloft!" thought Roland, "how many of my prayers and hopes have been fulfilled! I will never distrust a gracious God, so true to all his promises."

Malcolm left Roland with the promise to come once more to Graham Hall ere he left the country.

Mrs. Douglass busied herself in preparing all the documents necessary ere she left Scotland, and after having shown her nephew all that was interesting around the Manor, she started, with her nephew for Malcolm's home.

"Would it not be better, Uncle Malcolm, to settle my mother's estate before I leave Scotland? I should like to dispose of it, for my future home will be in America."

"I will attend to all that, Roland; I have taken charge o' a' ever syne the death o' your kindred; indeed, it is sold already."

Uncle Malcolm did not then tell Roland that he was himself the purchaser, and had given a higher price than any stranger would have done.

In a short time, all was arranged; Roland received a handsome price, and old Jennie Scott was sorely distressed at the thought of a stranger in the old manse.

"Dinna trouble yourself, Jennie," was Malcolm's word of comfort; "it will be the manse still, a guid minister shall abide there, and Jennie shall be the woman o' a' wark there yet."

She kissed Malcolm's hand,--"Ye're a guid an' faithfu' mon, Mr. Graham, an' God will bless ye evermair."

The time of parting had arrived--Roland was grieved to leave the dear shelter of Graham Hall, for it was indeed to him a home, and its master a kind and generous father. Mrs. Lindsay, too, had been like a dear mother, and little Annot clung around him, and cried at parting with "dear Cousin Roland."

Edmund could not leave the dear home-circle of Graham Hall without deep regret; and as he bade a sorrowful farewell to artless Annot Lindsay, and held her little hand fondly within his own, he whispered,

"I shall come again, Annot, and then we shall have the pleasant walks and rides once more."

She dropped her sweet eyes on the ground, then raising them to Edmund's face, swimming in tears, she replied,

"I shall miss ye, Mr. Norris, so vera, vera much; but ye'll come again, an' I'll learn so mony new songs just for ye, an' nane ither."

Annot stood at the window looking at the carriage as it turned away; and ere it vanished out of sight, a familiar face smiled at her from the back of the carriage, and a hand waved a last farewell, that she knew was Edmund's.

Soon in London, Malcolm took lodgings for himself, Mrs. Douglass, and his young friends; and many pleasant visits did they pay together among the homes of the destitute; and many useful hints were given by the wise and faithful friend to Roland and Edmund. Riding out one day, Mr. Graham perceived a carriage passing close by their side. It contained two ladies, one remarkable for her beauty. She looked startled, blushed, smiled, waved her hand, and was gone.

Roland was deeply agitated,

"Who was that, Roland?" inquired his friend.

"That was Madeline Hamilton, Uncle Malcolm," and Roland dropped his eyes beneath the earnest look of his friend.

"Ye never told me that she was in London, Roland."

"No, Uncle Malcolm, I did not."

"And why, my son, may I ask?"

"I am not on terms of intimacy with Miss Hamilton now."

"How is that, Roland?"

"She does not belong to my world, Uncle Malcolm; so her relatives think."

Uncle Malcolm bit his lip, as he replied slowly,

"Does Madeline think sae, Roland?"

"I think not; she is simple-hearted, truthful as a child, above all that is sordid, or worldly; but they may spoil her here in London."

Malcolm read at once the whole of Roland's secret.

"Ye could keep up intercourse wi' Miss Hamilton if ye please, Roland?"

"I think I could, Uncle Malcolm; but I would not tempt her from the path of duty."

Malcolm Graham smiled, a bright and happy smile; for in the future, he saw a path so high! so blessed for his dear young protégé. "Looking aloft!" in the right sense thought Malcolm, "and God will take care o' his interests, for time and eternity."

"Roland, my boy, trust in God; for he will make a' things work together for your good. Seek first the kingdom o' God and his righteousness, and a' these things shall be added unto ye; all _these_ things, Roland--whatever is for your real good."