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 LIBRARY I 
 
 JNIVERSITY OF 
 
 CALIFORNIA I 
 
 SAN DIEeO J
 
 ■46 
 
 a ■'• 
 
 V. 1
 
 MISS FEKPJEE'S NOVELS
 
 -~) 
 
 DESTINY 
 
 OR 
 
 THE CHIEF'S DAUGHTER 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 ' MARRIAGE ' axd ' THE INHERITANCE ' 
 
 ' Wliat's in a name?'— Shakspeabe 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES 
 VOLUME L 
 
 LONDON 
 
 RICHARD BENTLEY .^ SON 
 
 ^ublisljcrs in ©ttimarg ta ^tx iJlajcstg tlj£ <Sucen 
 
 1882
 
 Printed by R. & R. Clark, Edhthurgh.
 
 TO 
 
 ^iL* (Icllciltec ^corr, Baroiur 
 
 THESE VOLUMES 
 
 ARK RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED 
 
 BY AN OBLIGED FRIEND 
 
 THOUGH ANONYMOUS 
 
 AUTHOR 
 
 Edinburgh, March lo, lS<il.
 
 DESTINY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 All the world knows that there is nothing on earth 
 to be compared to a Highland Chief. He has his loch 
 and his islands, his mountains and his castle, his piper 
 and his tartan, his forests and his deer, his thousands 
 of acres of untrodden heath, and his tens of thousands 
 of black-faced sheej), and his bands of bonneted clans- 
 men, with claymores and Gaelic, and hot blood and 
 dirks. 
 
 All these, and more, had the Chief of Glenroy ; foi- 
 he had a family tree upon Avhich all the birds of the 
 air might have roosted. Doctor Johnson, to be sure, 
 has said that there are no such things as family trees 
 in the Highlands ; but the Doctor's calumnies against 
 trees of every description, or rather of no description, 
 throughout Scotland, are too well known to requke 
 refutation. 
 
 Glenroy, therefore, had a tree ; and as for his 
 rent-roll, it was like a journey in a fairy tale, " longer, 
 and longer, and longer than I can tell." However, 
 
 VOL. L B D.
 
 DESTINY. 
 
 as the Chief himself was not particular in ascertaining 
 the precise amount of his income, but lived as if the 
 whole Highlands and Islands, with their kelp and 
 black cattle, had been at his disposal, it Avould ill be- 
 come his biographer to pry into the state of his affairs 
 for the gratification of the curious. Suffice it there- 
 fore to say that the Chief of Glenroy lived in a style 
 which was deemed suitable to his rank and fortune 
 by all — and they were neither few nor far between — 
 Avho partook of his hospitality. In person, as in for- 
 tune, Glenroy had been equally gifted. He Avas a 
 tall handsome man, Avith fine regular features, a florid 
 complexion, an open but haughty countenance, and 
 a lofty though somewhat indolent air. The inward 
 man was much what the outward man denoted. He 
 was proud, prejudiced, and profuse; he piqued him- 
 self upon the antiquity of his family, the heroic deeds 
 of his ancestors, the extent of his estates, the number 
 of his followers, their physical strength, their devoted 
 attachment. On the other hand, he was of an open 
 temper, of a social disposition, hberal to his tenantry, 
 generous to his dependants, and hospitable to all. 
 His manners, though somewhat coarse, were by no 
 means vulgar; and, when a little under control, he 
 could be both pleasing and gentlemanly in his deport- 
 ment. 
 
 His supremacy being universally acknowledged 
 throughout the extensive district where his posses- 
 sions lay, he bore his faculties vnth. that sort of in- 
 dolent pomp which betokens undisturbed power. He
 
 DESTINY. 3 
 
 felt himself a great man ; and though he did not say, 
 even to himself, that he was the greatest man in the 
 world, he certainly would have been puzzled to say 
 who was greater. 
 
 Such was Glenroy ; and with all these advantages, 
 it was naturally expected that he would form an 
 alliance worthy of himself and his clan, aU of whom 
 identified themselves with their Chief, and conse- 
 quently looked upon his marriage as an event in 
 which they had an undoubted interest. As it was 
 impossible, however, that any one so great in himself 
 could make a great marriage, his friends and followers, 
 being reasonable people, merely expected that he 
 would make the best marriage possible. 
 
 Greater speculation could scarcely have been ex 
 cited at the court of King Ahasuerus as to a successor 
 to the rebellious Vashti, than that which prevailed 
 amongst the clan on the subject of forming a suitable 
 alliance for their Chief. Each had his favourite and 
 exalted fair, in one or other of the most illustrious 
 Scottish families, on whom he conceived that Glenroy 
 should place his affections. But vain are the schemes 
 of man ! Instead of these glorious results, Glenroy 
 did what many Aviser men have done before him ; he 
 fell in love, and made what was called a " most un- 
 accountable marriage ;" for he married a merely pretty 
 girl, of neither family nor fortune, the orphan daughter 
 of a poor hundredth cousin of his OAvn. The fact was, 
 Glenroy was too proud to consider it a matter of much 
 importance Avhom he married : he could derive no
 
 4 DESTINY. 
 
 consequence from his wife ; his wife must owe all her 
 dignity to him. This was a blow to the clan, which 
 all the youth, beauty, and sweetness of the lady could 
 not reconcile them too ; and it was not till the birth 
 of an heir that they recovered their spirits. But 
 then bonfires blazed, bagpipes played, tartans waved, 
 whisky flowed — all, in short, was done to welcome to 
 this vain world an heir to its vanities. Alas ! how 
 short-sighted are sometimes even second -sighted 
 mortals ! 
 
 At the end of two years a daughter was born, but 
 far otherwise was her birth commemorated. A life- 
 less mother, a widowed father, a funeral procession, 
 tears, regrets, lamentations, and woe — these were the 
 symbols that marked her entrance into life, and cast 
 a gloom upon her infant days. The child was chris- 
 tened Edith after its mother. And so ended Glenroy's 
 first attempt at connubial happiness.
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 Glenroy mourned the loss of his wife as much as it 
 was in his nature to do ; but he was not the man 
 either to Uve with a breaking heart, or to die of a 
 broken one. In due time, therefore, it occurred to 
 him that, great as his loss appeared to be, it was 
 nevertheless one which might be repaired. But, too 
 proud and indolent to take any measures for the ac- 
 complishment of his design, he left it entirely to time, 
 chance, or circumstances, to carry it into effect ; and 
 these did seem to conspire to bring it to pass. During 
 an occasional visit to London, he more than once hap- 
 pened to find himself in parties, where he was so much 
 in the background, that but for the notice of the Lady 
 Elizabeth Waldegrave, he would have passed almost 
 unobserved. Great as Glenroy was, he therefore 
 found he was capable of being still greater : yet 
 greatness by means of a wife — a woman — and that 
 wife an Englishwoman ! this was a startling thought 
 to the proud Chief. But his stay in town was pro- 
 tracted : he continued to meet the Lady Elizabeth, 
 who was so very affable and agreeable — such an en- 
 thusiastic admirer of tartan and Highland bonnets
 
 6 DESTIjSTY. 
 
 and Highland scenery — that Glenroy was captivated ; 
 and he even came to the conchision that he would 
 not be the worse for being connected with some of 
 the highest families in the kingdom. Then, although 
 Lady Elizabeth was somewhat jMssde, she was still a 
 showy-looking woman, quite suitable to him in point 
 of years, and more likely to make a good staid step- 
 mother than a younger wife Avould have been. To be 
 sure, she was not very bright; but Glenroy hated 
 clever women, they were all so managing and man- 
 oeuvring : in short, from an admu'er the Chief became 
 a suitor, and thought himself a lucky man when he 
 was the accepted lover. Had Glenroy been better 
 acquainted with the character and circumstances of 
 the lady, he would not have been quite so much 
 elated with his good fortune. 
 
 Lady Elizabeth Waldegrave was sister to the 
 Marquis of Heywood, and widow of the Honourable 
 Edward Waldegrave, a fashionable spendthrift, who 
 had closed a brief career of folly, leaving his widow 
 and infant daughter to the charity of relations. It 
 may be supposed, then, that Lady Elizabeth's circum- 
 stances were anything but affluent. She was, in fact, 
 struggling to keep her place in society upon a small 
 annuity from her father-in-law, Lord Waldegrave, 
 who, having had to pay largely for the extravagance 
 of his son, was little inchned to be liberal to his 
 Avidow and child. Glenroy's proposals, therefore, 
 came in good time; and the union being of course 
 warmly approved of hy the lady's family and connec-
 
 DESTINY. 7 
 
 tions, no obstacle stood in the way ; so that, as soon 
 as the lawyers and milliners had done their parts, 
 the marriage was celebrated with the utmost dclat 
 On the one side, there was a special license, the 
 presence of a prince of the blood, the benediction of 
 an archbishop, with peers and peeresses, lace and 
 pearls, a magnificent saloon, an elegant dejeuner, a 
 line of splendid equipages, etc. Such was the scene 
 in St. James' Square; while at the Glenroy Arms 
 the event was celebrated by a numerous meeting of 
 the tenantry and vassals of the Chief with "barbaric 
 pomp ;" a roasted ox, and half a score sheep, barrels 
 of ale and bowls of whisky, long speeches, loud shout- 
 ing, toasting, cheering, bonfires, bagpipes, and the 
 Highland fling. 
 
 Much as Glenroy loved pomp and retinue, he was 
 somewhat startled at the magnitude of his lady's 
 bridal train. In addition to his own travelling car- 
 riage and servants, there followed Miss Waldegrave's 
 equipage, containing that young lady, about five years 
 of age, her French governess and English sub-gover- 
 ness, and attended by her own maid and the Lady 
 Elizabeth's footmen. Glenroy thought less might 
 have served her ; but it was too soon, or rather too 
 late, to say so ; and Lady EHzabeth expatiated largely 
 upon the goodness of old Lord Waldegrave in allow- 
 ing her to take his favourite son's only child to Scot- 
 land with her. The Chief tried to feel sufficiently 
 grateful for the favour conferred upon him in this 
 addition to his family; but in spite of himself he
 
 8 DESTINY, 
 
 felt something like shame at this importation to 
 Glenroy. The arrival of the new -married pair was 
 celebrated with great rejoicings. Lady Elizabeth 
 was dressed in the clan -tartan, wore a Highland 
 bonnet, looked well, made a speech, and was at once 
 pronounced to be a most charming woman. 
 
 But scarcely were the rejoicings over before Glen- 
 roy began to suspect that he had not drawn the capital 
 ]irize in the marriage-lottery ; and these his first faint 
 misgivings began to assume a less questionable shape 
 as the features of the lady's post-nuptial character 
 became to be more fully developed. At length they 
 boldly resolved themselves into tastes, habits, and 
 pursuits of the most decided dissimilarity from her 
 husband's. 
 
 How it happened that this discovery had not been 
 made before marriage instead of after was one of 
 those mysteries which, though of common occurrence, 
 have never yet been fully cleared up to the satisfac- 
 tion of single-minded people. Whence it is that two 
 persons who seem to have been born only to hate each 
 other, shovild, under any circumstances, ever fancy 
 that they actually love each other, is a phenomenon 
 which even philosophers may have encountered, but 
 which they certainly have not yet explained. 
 
 No two human beings born and bred in a civilised 
 country could be more different than the Chief and 
 his lady; and as both were independent, and both 
 had arrived at years of discretion, it seemed but 
 natural that they should remain as fate seemed to
 
 DESTINY. 9 
 
 place them — perfect antipodes. The lady had been 
 accustomed to a gay London life, and she had also 
 lived abroad. She had seen much of the world, and 
 the world had seen much of her. She had been 
 admired for her talents, her manners, her music, her 
 taste, her dress ; and although the admiration had 
 long been on the wane, the craving still continued. 
 She was, in fact, when without her adventitious aids, 
 a mere showy, superficial, weak woman, with a fretful 
 temper, irritable nerves, and a constitution tending 
 to rheumatism, which she imputed entirely to the 
 climate of Scotland. 
 
 In direct opposition to all this, Glenroy detested 
 London ; depised every part of the globe save Scot- 
 land ; hated all music except that of the bagpipe ; 
 had little enjoyment in any society but that of his 
 friends and followers; and when he spoke of the 
 world, meant only his own county and clan. He 
 had also become subject to attacks of the gout, Avhich 
 he ascribed to his visits to London, and therefore 
 vowed he never would set foot in it again. 
 
 Although Glenroy saw much good company at his 
 hospitable mansion, yet it was only during a short 
 period of the year ; for the Highlands may be said to 
 open for the season as the King's Theatre shuts ; and, 
 thanks to grouse and deer, the one has become almost 
 as fashionaljle a place of amusement as the other. 
 During this season, therefore, Lady Elizabeth lived 
 pretty much in her own element ; but when that was 
 over, a long and dreary interval ensued : not that the
 
 10 DESTINY 
 
 house ever emptied of visitors, be the season or 
 weather what they might, but the company was not 
 suited to her taste, for it must be o^vned Glenroy was 
 not nice in the choice of his associates. Although his 
 vanity was gratified with occasionally entertaining 
 the best in the land, still the same principle, together 
 with his love of ease, made him prefer in general 
 being what is called the king of his company. 
 
 Amongst sundry of his adherents whose persons 
 and manners were particularly obnoxious to the Lady 
 Elizabeth, the most offensive was the Laird of Ben- 
 bowie, a friend and clansman of the Chief's, who, 
 from having been all his life in the habit of paying- 
 long and frequent visits at the Castle, had gradually 
 become domesticated there, to the infinite annoyance 
 of its mistress. The Laird of Benbowie was an 
 elderly man, of the most ordinary exterior, possessing 
 no very distinguishing traits, except a pair of volu- 
 minous eyebrows, very round shoulders, a wig that 
 looked as if it had been made of spun yarn, an 
 unvarying snufF-coloured coat, and a series of the 
 most frightful waistcoats that ever were seen. Ben- 
 bowie's mental characteristics were much upon a par 
 with his personal peculiarities. He was made up of 
 stupidities. He was sleepy-headed and absent. He 
 chewed tobacco, snored in presence, slobbered when 
 he ate, walked up and down Avith a pair of creaking 
 shoes, and drummed upon the table with a snuffy hand. 
 Nay, more ; with that same obnoxious snuffy hand 
 he actually dared to pat the head or shoulder of the
 
 DESTINY. 1 1 
 
 elegant, refined Miss Waldegrave, as often as she 
 came within his reach. But all these things were 
 mere leather and prunella to his Chief, whose feelings 
 and perceptions were by no means so refined as his 
 lady's. Benbowie was the very ai:)ple of his eye, for 
 he Avas devoted to Mm. He never contradicted him, 
 or rather he invariably coincided with him. He rode 
 with liim, or walked with him, or sailed with him, 
 or sat still with him. He played at backgammon 
 with him, and when there was no one else, did well 
 enough to be beaten at billiards. Yet no one could 
 call Benbowie a hanger-on ; for he had a good estate 
 and a pretty place of his own, both of which ho 
 neglected for the sake of living with his friend ; and 
 although he was not profuse of his own money, yet, 
 to do him justice, he was equally sparing of his 
 Chief's. 
 
 What pleasure or profit Glenroy could find in Ben- 
 bowie's company no one could discover. But so it 
 was, and Glenroy could have better spared a better 
 man ; although, if pressed for a reason of his prefei*- 
 ence, he could only have resolved it into that un- 
 answerable argument, " Je I'aime parceque c'est lui," 
 etc. Lady Elizabeth had at once attempted to expel 
 Benbowie from the house ; but she might as well 
 have attempted to move one of his own brown moun- 
 tains. Benbowie was invulnerable in his stupidity 
 and obtuseness, and nothing less than the united 
 eff"orts of the fairy and the genie who lifted up Prince 
 Camai'alzaman, and carried him a thousand leagues
 
 12 DESTINY. 
 
 without Avaking him, could have made Benbowie 
 dream of leaving a house where habit had completely 
 domesticated him, and where his instinct made him 
 feel comfortable and happy. 
 
 Some one has well said, "Lorsqu'on ne pent 6teindre 
 une lumiere, on s'en laiss^ 6clairer ;" but Lady Eliza- 
 beth did not adopt this wise maxim. She could not 
 extinguish Benbowie's light, faint and dark as it was, 
 neither would she permit it to shine even in its native 
 dim eclipse. The consequence was that poor Benbowie, 
 who seemed to have been born without a single spark 
 of fire in his composition, became a sort of smoulder- 
 ing brand in the family of his friend. As neither the 
 Chief nor his lady were young enough to be moulded 
 anew, or wise enough to make the most of what each 
 mutually thought a bad bargain, it may be supposed 
 their lives did not glide away like that of Parnell's 
 Hermit, in one clear, unruffled stream, but rather 
 resembled the course of their own mountain torrents, 
 Avhich chafe, foam, murmur, and take their own way.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 Time rolled on, but did nothing to smooth the asperi- 
 ties of Glenroy and his lady. Pride was the ruling 
 passion of both ; and unhappily there was no mutual 
 object on which they might concentrate this pre- 
 dominant principle. The Lady Elizabeth added no 
 branches to the family tree ; and thus the unjust and 
 overweening partiality of each parent for their own 
 separate offspring continued to grow with their growth, 
 and strengthen Avith their strength. 
 
 Such was the state of the Chief's family when he 
 received a visit from his brother-in-law, Sir Angus 
 Malcolm, with his only son, a spoiled handsome boy 
 about the same age as his cousin Xorman. Sir Angus 
 was a widower, and had been recently appointed to a 
 high command in India, whither he was to proceed 
 when he should have found a situation for his son, 
 suited to the anxieties of a fond parent. But that 
 was a matter of difficulty, as indeed it must be to 
 any one to part with his choicest treasure, and commit 
 it to untried love and alien tenderness. Why did he 
 leave it? For wealth — that which tempts so many 
 to "leave each thing beloved most dearly." Sir
 
 14 DESTINY, 
 
 Angus had a fine estate, but it was loaded with debt. 
 Time, self-denial, and management might have re- 
 trieved it ; but to wait on the one and submit to the 
 other was not in the nature of an impetuous, open- 
 hearted, open-handed Highlander; and he preferred 
 the easier task of retrieving his fortune by methods 
 more congenial to him in a foreign land. His onl}^ 
 care was to secure a safe and happy asylum for his 
 child ; and as, besides being allied to Glenroy by 
 marriage, he was also his nearest kinsman by blood, 
 he flattered himself the Chief would take charaie of 
 his son, and educate him with his own. His only 
 doubt was with regard to Lady Elizabeth, of whom 
 he had not heard the most favourable reports ; but 
 he was a sanguine, good-natured, undisceruing man, 
 and his little misgivings were quickly dispelled by 
 the affectionate and gracious reception he met with. 
 Glenroy was more than hospitably land ; and his lady, 
 won by the admiration expressed for her darling, and 
 the beautiful presents bestowed upon her, acted a most 
 amiable and delightful part. Glenroy at once antici- 
 pated the subject uppermost in the breast of the 
 parent by inviting him to leave his boy with him 
 during his absence; and in a few minutes all was 
 settled to the mutual satisfaction of both parties. 
 Lady Elizabeth was flattered by seeing that it was 
 to her the father looked for care and protection to 
 his son; and her vanity was gratified at becoming 
 the patroness of the young heir to an ancient title 
 and noble fortune. But above all, her favour was
 
 DESTINY. 15 
 
 secured by the predilection evinced by the yoimg 
 Eeginald towards Florinda. Upon being asked by 
 his father which of his two cousins he Avould choose 
 for his wife, he declared instantly in favour of Flor- 
 inda, as being by far the prettiest ; he then followed 
 up the avowal of his admiration with an offer to 
 marry her, which was no less promptly agreed to on 
 the lady's part, especially when she heard of the gold 
 and diamonds and pearls that were aAvaiting her. 
 
 The little Florinda was indeed an uncommonly 
 pretty child, with a skin of dazzling whiteness, a 
 profusion of golden ringlets, large ])lue eyes, a sylph- 
 like figure, and an air of distinction Avhich, although 
 not always the accompaniment of high l)irth, is rarely 
 to be seen except among the true patrician orders. 
 She Avas also of a gay, sportive disposition, and 
 Avinniug manners ; thus her natural endowments and 
 early acquirements rendered her a perfect epitome of 
 feminine grace and beauty. Edith, on the contrary, 
 possessed no uncommon attractions for the superficial 
 observer. Her features were soft and delicate, her 
 countenance mild and thoughtful, and her manners 
 more grave than is usual at her age ; for no fond 
 mother's heart had ever pillowed her infant head, no 
 tender mother's hand had wiped away her childish 
 tears, and even a father's arms were seldom open to 
 her, for Norman's place was there. Disregarded or 
 checked in the natural expression of her feelings, she 
 gradually learnt to repress them within her o-\\ti 
 breast; and while to careless observers the feelings
 
 16 DESTINY. 
 
 themselves seemed wanting, the roots had only struck 
 the deeper into the heart, while the shoots were thus 
 carelessly trodden down. 
 
 Edith was too much accustomed to see Florinda 
 preferred to her to feel any of the envy and heart- 
 burnings of an offended rival, but meekly yielded up 
 the prize. Lady Elizabeth was silly enough to feel 
 gratified at this childish fancy, and continued so kind 
 and caressing to her little son-in-law (as she styled 
 him) during the week his father remained, that he 
 departed with a mind relieved from all doubts and 
 fears as to the situation in which he had left his son 
 and heir.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 For a little time all went on smoothly in the youth- 
 ful circle of Gleuroy ; but, unhappily, inconstancy is 
 known in childhood as well as in manhood, and 
 Reginald began to discover that even the beautiful 
 Florinda had her faults. She Avas very greedy, and 
 was too much petted, and wanted everything her oAvn 
 way ; and as he had been accustomed to be no less 
 despotic, many a childish squabble ensued. At 
 length, not having the fear of damages for breach of 
 promise of marriage before his eyes, he in a transport 
 of indignation one day declared that he had quite 
 changed his mind ; that she was not to be called his 
 wife any more, for that he was going to take Edith ; 
 she was much better tempered, would part with any 
 of her playthings to him, and never cried when she 
 was contradicted ; and, at any rate, brown hair and 
 pale cheeks were much prettier than yellow hair and 
 pink ones ; in short, " for any other reason why," his 
 affections were transferred. Lady Ehzabeth was weak 
 enough to resent this affront, and to enter into all the 
 childish feuds that followed, aggravated as they often 
 were by nurserymaids, to whom a spoiled unruly boy 
 VOL. I. D.
 
 18 DESTINY. 
 
 is always a subject of torment, and, of course, of 
 blame. 
 
 The consequence was, her fondness for Eeginald, 
 which had always been of a very precarious nature, 
 now turned into downright aversion ; while he, un- 
 used to control at home, and encouraged by Glenroy 
 in all his freaks, set her authority completely at defi- 
 ance. Even Benbowie, his tobacco, his snore, his 
 shoes, and his waistcoats, almost all ceased to be 
 objects of animosity compared with this new annoy- 
 ance. At length matters came to a climax, and 
 threatened to add one more to the many proofs that 
 great events do often spring from trivial causes. 
 
 One day, when the two boys and Edith were 
 engaged in some play in which Florinda was deemed 
 incompetent to join, to get rid of her importunities 
 Eeginald lent her his watch, the parting gift of his 
 father ; receiving many assurances in return that she 
 would take the greatest care of it. These promises, 
 however, were soon forgotten ; the watch was opened, 
 examined, Avound up, and broken. Summary revenge 
 is always the first impulse of the childish heart ; and 
 Eeginald, in his rage, shook Florinda Avith all his 
 might, slapped her on the cheek, and even left the 
 print of his nails on her arm. Her shrieks soon 
 brought Lady Elizabeth to the spot, when she found 
 her darling almost convulsed with terror and indigna- 
 tion at this rude assault. The extreme fairness and 
 delicacy of her skin rendered the slightest touch at 
 all times perceptible, and on the present occasion
 
 DESTINY. 19 
 
 showed the offence in glowing colours, and told a tale 
 of outrage that raised all the mother in Lady Eliza- 
 beth's breast. In vain did Norman and Edith attempt 
 to palliate the offence by detailing the provocation, 
 and declaring that Eeginald had not meant to hurt 
 her. They were sure he had only just given her a 
 slap for breaking his watch. Lady Elizabeth would 
 listen to nothing but the sobs and exclamations of her 
 darling ; till at length she worked herself up to assert, 
 and of course to believe, that her child had been 
 seriously hurt, and would have been killed, had not 
 she come to her rescue ; the whole was wound up 
 with the soothing assurance to her angel that the 
 savage should be sent from the house that very day. 
 
 " But this house is not yours," retorted Reginald 
 with equal warmth ; "it is my uncle's house, and I 
 am to stay here till my papa comes home, and then I 
 shall make him send that wicked monkey to prison 
 for breaking my watch. The little wretch ! I hate 
 and despise her for telling lies, — yes, you shall go to 
 prison and be fed on bread and water, you little 
 lying, yellow-haired wasp !" And he shook his hand 
 at her with renewed vehemence. 
 
 "This is past all endurance," cried Lady Elizabeth, 
 with violence; "begone, all of you!" And in the 
 recklessness of her anger she pushed Edith, who had 
 been upon her knees caressing and soothing Florinda, 
 as she lay in her mamma's lap. Edith fell, and struck 
 her temple against the corner of the chair, but she 
 uttered no cry.
 
 20 DESTINY. 
 
 "There!" cried Eeginald, as he flew to help her 
 up ; " see what you have done to Edith, and how 
 good she is ! But Betty M'lvor says you are very bad 
 to Edith, and don't love her, because she is not your 
 child ; but / love her, and she is to be my wife, and 
 she shall be all covered with gold and diamonds that 
 my papa is to bring me. Yes, that you shall, Edith ! 
 But she shall have nothing but dirty old rags to wear, 
 and good enough, too ; for Betty M'lvor says her skin 
 is just like cream cheese, and her hair like a lint-tap." 
 
 A fresh burst of screams and tears from the fair 
 Florinda made Lady Elizabeth hastily withdraw with 
 her from the scene of action. In the tumult of exas- 
 perated and exaggerated feeling, she hastened to 
 Glenroy ; and, denouncing Eeginald as the destroyer 
 of her child, demanded that both he and Betty M'lvor 
 should be sent from the house. A scornful and per- 
 emptory negative was of course returned. The lady 
 persisted, as she commonly did; and rising in her 
 passion at the contemptuous indiflference her com- 
 plaints met with, she at last declared her determina- 
 tion of leaving the house and taking her child along 
 with her, unless her demand was complied with. 
 This threat being treated with anger and derision, led 
 to a scene of altercation and mutual recrimination. 
 When people are ready primed for quarrelling, a very 
 little matter will serve the purpose, just as a single 
 spark applied to a train of gunpowder will do the 
 business of an earthquake. So it was with Glenroy 
 and his lady. It had been touch-and-go with them
 
 DESTINY. 21 
 
 for many a day ; and now, from less to more, from 
 bad to Avorse, it ended in a threatened separation. 
 The lady declared she worild go, and the Chief would 
 not ask her to stay. Glenroy would have been the 
 last man to have turned his Avife and her child from 
 his house, however obnoxious they might have been, 
 and he felt rather annoyed at the thoughts of such a 
 thing being said ; but he was too proud to betray his 
 feelings or to make any concession ; he merely con- 
 tented himself with remarking to Benbowie that if 
 her Ladyship chose to go she might go; she was 
 welcome to go or stay for him. 
 
 "Very right, Glenroy; on my conscience, that's 
 very right," responded Benbowie ; " but if she goes, 
 I wish you may not have to aliment her." 
 
 The acrimonious feelings of the parents could not 
 fail to keep alive the resentment of the children. A 
 spirit of absolute hatred towards each other seemed 
 to burn in the young hearts of Reginald and Florinda ; 
 and they never met without mutual provocation 
 being given and taken in full measure. In vain the 
 gentle Edith strove to reconcile them ; no sooner was 
 an old offence patched up than a new one broke out ; 
 and the only thing they both agreed in was in liking 
 her. 
 
 It was at this crisis that an afflicting dispensation 
 in the Waldegrave family accelerated the separation 
 between the Chief and his lady. At the time of their 
 marriage Lord Waldegrave had two sons, then in the 
 prime of life ; but nearly about the time that the
 
 22 DESTINY. 
 
 eldest was killed by a fall from his liorse, the youngest 
 died of the yellow fever in the West Indies. Thus 
 the young Florinda became at once presumptive heir 
 to her grandfather, who, broken-hearted and paralytic, 
 was not likely to stand long in the way of the succes- 
 sion ; and as the title and estates descended in the 
 female line, she might now be considered as future 
 Baroness of Waldegrave. With such prospects before 
 her. Lady Elizabeth felt as if there were degradation 
 in her remaining longer under the roof of a coarse- 
 mannered, overbearing Highlander ; and she therefore 
 signified her intention of immediately removing her 
 daughter to England, in order to be near her aged 
 grandfather. She yielded so far, indeed, as to say, 
 that, provided Glenroy would send the boys to school, 
 and engage to spend eight or nine months of the year 
 in or near London, she would have no objections to 
 pass the other three or four in the Highlands. But 
 an indignant refusal being returned, arrangements 
 were immediately made for a final separation. The 
 approaching departure of the mother and daughter 
 caused universal satisfaction throughout the house, 
 which had long been divided into two parties as 
 fierce as the Montagues and Capulets. Glenroy's 
 adherents did not of course hke his lady, and his 
 servants had long looked with fiery indignation on 
 the importance attached to Miss Waldegrave, and the 
 airs of superiority assumed by that young lady's suite; 
 while the governesses and ladies' maids hailed with 
 transport their emancipation from a long dull winter
 
 DESTINY. 23 
 
 at Glenroy, as the contrasted gaieties of liondon rose 
 to their mind's eye. Glenroy's own sensations were 
 of a mixed nature ; he felt that his lady's absence 
 would be an inexpressible relief ; but there was some- 
 thing of wounded pride which alloyed the pleasure of 
 the parting. Edith shed many tears at the thoughts 
 of losing Florinda, to whom she was really attached ; 
 for her warm and affectionate heart was ready to love 
 everything that did not repel her by harshness or 
 indifterence ; and Florinda loved Edith as much as a 
 spoiled child can ever love anything beyond self. 
 
 "Do not cry, Edith," said the little future baroness, 
 with a patronising air ; " for when I have a house of 
 my own in London, I shall make a point of having 
 you to stay with me ; indeed I shall ; but I will not 
 invite you, nor you" to the boys. 
 
 " If you did, we should not go," retorted Reginald ; 
 " we are too glad to get rid of ugly lint-tops to follow 
 them to dirty, smoky London." 
 
 "How happy I am to leave this ugly dull place," 
 exclaimed the indignant Florinda ; " and Jenkins says 
 it is quite inconceivable how we have been able to 
 exist here so long ; only, dear Edith, I am very sorry 
 to leave you ; but I hope I shall never see Glenroy 
 Castle again !" 
 
 "And we hope we shall never see you here again," 
 retorted Reginald, as Florinda skipped past him to 
 the carriage, from which, with an air of insolent 
 triumph, she smiled and waved her little white hands. 
 
 Edith was the only one of the family who grieved
 
 24 DESTINY. 
 
 at the separation which had taken place. Her warm, 
 tender heart had fondly attached itself to Florinda ; 
 and her only consolation at parting had been Florinda's 
 promise of Amting her a letter whenever she got to 
 London. Poor Edith had watched from day to day 
 for this letter — her first letter ; and all may remember 
 the anticipations of then* first letter — anticipations 
 fully realised by the actual receipt of it. What a 
 new world broke upon us with the breaking of the 
 first seal ! What glorious visions unfolded themselves 
 as we for the first time unfolded a letter to ourselves, 
 containing perhaps some few words of full text/ 
 AVho ever received a first letter that did not spell and 
 con it fifty times over ; who did not lay it under their 
 pillow at night, and fall asleep, longing for morning 
 that was to give the treasure again to their eyes? 
 But these were joys only pictured to Edith's imagina- 
 tion, as each day she rose in fresh hopes that that 
 was the day her letter would arrive. Thus " dupe of 
 to-morrow," days passed away, till at length poor 
 Edith's expectations died the natural death of "hope 
 deferred.'"'"
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The lady's dej^arture was the signal for a gathering 
 of the clan, who, as upon all occasions either of con- 
 dolence or congratulation, failed not to rally round 
 their Chief in full force. Even Benbowie, although in 
 general obtuse as a hedgehog, seemed to feel this as 
 an epoch to be commemorated; and he therefore 
 ordered a new waistcoat ten times more hideous than 
 any of its predecessors. His characteristics also began 
 to expand more freely, and as if they owned some 
 genial influence. He slept more and snored louder 
 than ever ; he inhaled his soup with an inspiration that 
 might have sucked in a fleet ; his wng grew more small 
 and wiry ; and when his feet were not creaking up and 
 down the room, they were to be found reposing on the 
 bars of his neighbour's chair. Halcyon days ensued ; 
 Glenroy was himself again ; and a never-ending, still- 
 beginning, course of revelry was kept up, till the Castle 
 more resembled a petty court than a private dwelling. 
 A tutor had been provided for the boys by Sir 
 Angus before leaving Britain, and to his care they 
 had been committed. He was an Englishman, a first- 
 rate scholar, a man of elegant, refined manners, fond 
 of study, yet skilled in lighter accomplishments, some-
 
 26 DESTINY. 
 
 what epicurean in his taste and habits, and altogether 
 such a one as was calculated to . form the perfect 
 gentleman, and nothing more. 
 
 At first Glenroy grumbled a good deal to Beubowie 
 at what he called the insufferable airs of the fine 
 English dominie ; but as they did not interfere much 
 ■svith his o^yn ways, he was too indolent to resent 
 them; and at last he became gradually accustomed 
 to bear with ]\Ir. ElHs as the most consummate puppy 
 he had ever knoAvn. 
 
 A governess was talked of for Edith ; but that was 
 such a secondary consideration that Glenroy could not 
 be troubled to make any exertion to procure one. So, 
 in the meantime, she received lessons from Mr. Elhs 
 in the solid branches of education alonir with the 
 boys ; while the more feminine accomplishments were 
 supposed to be communicated through the medium of 
 a sort of half-and-haK gentlewoman, the Avidow of one 
 of Glenroy 's factors, and herself the fag-end of his 
 clan, being a cousin not many degrees removed from 
 the Chief himself. JVIrs. Macauley was now an elderly 
 Avoman in years, but in nothing else. She Avas plain, 
 but pleasing in her looks : she had a little thick active 
 figure ; a broad, clear, broAvn face ; and tAvo of the 
 happiest, merriest, little black eyes that ever lighted 
 up a head. She had an agreeable voice ; but her 
 accent and pronunciation were provincial, and some 
 of her phrases were altogether peculiar to herself, 
 AA'hich rather gave a zest to her conversation. 
 
 But Mrs. Macauley's great charms Avith old and
 
 DESTINY. 27 
 
 young were her uuconquerable good-humour and her 
 unceasing good spirits. She was one of those happily- 
 constituted beings who look as if they could " extract 
 sunbeams from cucumbers," and who seem to have 
 been born sans nerves, sans spleen, sans bile, sa7ts 
 everything of an irritable or acrimonious nature. But 
 with all these wants, there was no want of a heart — 
 a good, stout, sound, warm heart, which would cheer- 
 fully have given itself and its last drop for the honour 
 and glory of the race of Glenroy. She had also just 
 as much religion as an irreligious man could tolerate ; 
 for her religion was a compound of the simplest 
 articles of belief, and certain superstitious notions of 
 second -sight, visions, dreams, and so forth, which 
 sometimes aftbrded amusement, or, at any rate, always 
 served for ridicule. As for her accompUshments, they 
 were many and various; and being mostly self- ac- 
 quired, they possessed a sort of originality, which in 
 some degree compensated for other deficiencies. She 
 was a perfect adept in the now much-despised art of 
 needlework; and, besides the more vulgar arts of 
 hemming, running, stitching, splaying, basting, etc., 
 she had a hand for 
 
 " Teut-work, raised- work, ]aid--\vork, frost-work, net-work, 
 Most curious pearls, and rare Italian cut-work, 
 Fine fern-stitch, linny-stitch, new-stitch, and chain-stitch, 
 Brave bred-stitch, fisher-stitch, Irish-stitch, and queen-stitch, 
 The Spanish-stitch, rosemary-stitch, herring-bone, and maw- 
 stitch, 
 The smarting whip-stitch, back-stitch, and cross-stitch. " ^ 
 
 1 " The Needle."
 
 28 DESTINY. 
 
 Not satisfied with these her supreme excellences, 
 Mrs. Macauley also aspired to the knowledge of music 
 and painting. She had a good ear, a tolerable voice, 
 and a great collection of old Scottish songs, which she 
 sang to herself in very bhtheness of heart. 
 
 Her performances in drawing were no less limited, 
 as all the efforts of her genius had been concentrated 
 in one single view of Glenroy Castle, which, after 
 much toil and trouble, she had accomplished to her 
 own satisfaction, and to which she had faithfully ad- 
 hered for upwards of forty years. From this parent 
 view had descended an innumerable progeny of various 
 shapes and sizes, but not of aspect ; as all, to a leaf, 
 were impressed with the self-same features. These, 
 mounted in the several forms of letter-cases, pocket- 
 books, watch-papers, etc., were most liberally dispensed 
 by her to the friends of the family, including every 
 one who had ever set foot in the castle. 
 
 Mrs. ]\Iacauley's vanity was so inoffensive, and she 
 contributed so largely to the amusement of every one, 
 that her company was in great request, and by none 
 more than by the Chief himself. In proof of this, 
 besides many other acts of liberality towards her, he 
 had not only fitted up for her a cottage in the vicinity 
 of the Castle, but had likewise assigned her an apart- 
 ment there ; from which, however, in Lady Eliza- 
 beth's time she had been wholly banished, but in 
 Avhich she was now become a fixture. This chamber 
 was the favourite rendezvous of the children, who 
 delighted in beating upon her old spinnet, and in
 
 DESTINY. 29 
 
 being allowed to daub paper, dirty their fingers, and 
 look at cloth-dogs, calico-peacocks, tinsel-grottoes, fili- 
 gree figures, birds made of real dyed feathers, and all 
 the rest of Mrs. Macauley's monstrosities ; while she, 
 her good-humoured face beaming with pleasure, was 
 no less happy in the belief that she was rendering the 
 most essential benefit to her benefactor in thus im- 
 parting her accomplishments to his children. 
 
 Glenroy, to be sure, scouted the idea of her teach- 
 ing them anything but her own brogue, and took 
 great delight in ridiculing her accomplishments even 
 to herself; but then, as he said to Benbome, Mary 
 Macauley, although a great idiot, was a kind-hearted, 
 well-meaning body, and was fond and careful of the 
 children; and if they learned little good from her, 
 they would learn as little evil, for she was a simple, 
 honest creature as ever breathed : to which the usual 
 afiirmative, or rather confirmative, was returned. 
 
 "That's very true, Glenroy; on my conscience 
 there's a great deal of good sense in that. Molly 
 Macauley is a very decent girl, and costs nothing." 
 
 Such was the preceptress of the Chief's daughter,, 
 and in the genial warmth of her social love and sym- 
 pathy Edith's young heart expanded as a flower to 
 the sun. 
 
 It is a trite remark that the most important part 
 of our education is given by ourselves. If Edith was 
 not so regularly and well instructed as she might have 
 been, she escaped the still more dangerous error of 
 having her mind overworked and overloaded with
 
 30 DESTINY. 
 
 premature knowledge : and how many a mind has 
 been worked perhaps to the weakening of those very 
 powers which it was the aim of the teacher to 
 strengthen and expand ! In the moral, as in the 
 physical constitution, Nature is the best guide; and 
 Nature spoke wisely even by the lips of Mrs. Mac- 
 auley when she said, " Childer will be childer, let us 
 do as we will ; we cannot put gray heads upon green 
 shoulders ! "
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ScAECELY had Glenroy begun to enjoy his emancipa- 
 tion from one species of domestic tyranny, when he 
 found himself groaning under another of a very dif- 
 ferent description — that of tlie minister of the parish ; 
 and if the Chief and his lady could have agreed even 
 in their antipathies, Mr. M'Dow might have had the 
 merit of reconciling them. But Glenroy had not even 
 the luxury of openly complaining of this torment; 
 for, like his former one, it was one of his own provid- 
 ing, placed there not merely with his consent, but by 
 his own free will Mr. JVI'Dow was the man of his 
 own choice ; the chosen of many candidates. The 
 clmrch having become vacant by the death of the 
 former minister, much canvassing and competition 
 had of course ensued; and at least twenty "licensed 
 graduates " had presented themselves, each with testi- 
 monials and credentials enough to have entitled them 
 to a bishopric. 
 
 But of the two whose recommendations carried 
 most weight, the one was the present pastor, the 
 Reverend Duncan M'Dow, and the other was of the 
 Evangelical side — a party whom Glenroy, although
 
 32 DESTINY. 
 
 l^rofessing Christianity, held in the utmost abhorrence. 
 Not that he knew very well what it Avas they did pro- 
 fess ; he only guessed it was something he did not 
 practise. He had a vague, confused apprehension 
 that an Evangelical pastor was a sort of compound of 
 a Popish priest, a stiff-necked Presbyterian, a sour- 
 faced Covenanter, a lank-haired Seceder, a meddling 
 Jesuit, a foul-tongued John Knox, a what-not, that 
 had evil in its composition. 
 
 No reasonable person surely can doubt that there 
 have been, and still are, many bright ornaments of 
 the Church amongst both parties of Christians ; and 
 it is much to be lamented when prejudice runs high 
 on either side, and a man is applauded or defamed, 
 not according to his practice, but his profession. As 
 little may it be questioned that in their respective 
 congregations the wheat and the tares grow promiscu- 
 ously even to this day. But this was not the view 
 Glenroy took of the subject ; and he was loud against 
 all high-fliers, new-lights, gospellers, bigots, zealots, 
 enthusiasts, saints, and so forth. 
 
 Being a moderate man, he, like all moderate people, 
 was most A^olently opposed to the admission of any 
 person of that description within the precincts of the 
 parish. As the other heritors were few in number, 
 the patronage in this instance was conceded to him ; 
 and his choice fell upon the present minister, who 
 had been twenty years tutor in the family of the 
 Laird of Kindullie, and who never had been branded 
 with any of these appellations, but bore the character
 
 DESTINY. 33 
 
 of being an easy, good-humoured, sensible, moderate 
 man, wlio troubled nobody, but minded his own 
 afiairs. This last qualification he certainly possessed, 
 as Glenroy soon found to his cost. 
 
 The Reverend Duncan M'Dow was a large, loud- 
 spoken, splay-footed man, whose chief characteristics 
 were his bad preaching, his love of eating, his rapacity 
 for augmentations (or, as he termed it, owgrnentaitions), 
 and a want of tact in all the biensiances of life, which 
 would have driven Lord Chesterfield frantic. His 
 hands and feet were in everybody's way : the former, 
 indeed, like huge grappling-irons, seized upon every- 
 thing they could possibly lay hold of ; while the latter 
 were commonly to l)e seen sprawling at an immeasur- 
 able distance from his body, and projecting into the 
 very middle of the room, like two prodigious moles, 
 or bastions. He dealt much in stale jokes and bad 
 puns; he had an immense horse-laugh, Avhich no- 
 thing ever restrained, and an enormous appetite, which 
 nothing seemed to damp, and which he took care 
 always to supply with the best things at table. He 
 used a great quantity of snufF, and was for ever hand- 
 ing about his mull, an ugly cow's-horn, Avith a foul 
 dingy cairngorm set in silver on the top. To sum up 
 his personal enormities, when he spoke he had a prac- 
 tice of always advancing his face as close as possible 
 to the person he was addressing. Although a strong- 
 bodied, sturdy man, he was extremely careful of his 
 health ; and even in a fine summer's day was to be 
 seen in a huge woolly greatcoat that reached to his 
 
 VOL. I. D D.
 
 34: DESTixr. 
 
 heels, trotting along on a stout dun pony, just high 
 enough to keep its master's feet off the ground. 
 
 Such were the outward man and beast : the inward 
 man was very much of the same stamp. Mr. M'Dow's 
 principal object in this world was self, and his con- 
 stant and habitual thoughts had naturally operated 
 on his outward manners to such a degree as to blunt 
 all the nicer perceptions of human nature, and render 
 him in very truth his own microcosm. He was no 
 dissembler ; for a selfish dissembler is aware that in 
 order to please one must appear to think of others 
 and forget self. This fictitious poHteness he had 
 neither the tact to acquire nor the cunning to feign ; 
 consequently he was devoid of all the means of pleas- 
 ing. Not that we mean to recommend dissimulation, 
 or to insinuate that Mr. M'Dow would in reality have 
 been a better man had he been able and willing to 
 form himself on the model of the Chesterfield school. 
 He would merely have been less ofi"ensive in the 
 ordinary intercourse of life, and would have sinned less 
 against the common observances of society. But had 
 he been earnest in his calling, had he sought to have 
 his mind enlightened by the knowledge of those di\ane 
 truths which he professed to teach, their unction would 
 have softened and refined even the ruggedness of his 
 nature, and have rendered him an object of respect 
 instead of a subject of ridicule. 
 
 From the moment he was "ordained" minister of 
 the gospel, Mr. M'Dow had done nothing but make 
 demands for augmentation of stipend, enlargement of
 
 DESTINY. 35 
 
 glebe, additions to the manse, new offices, and so on. 
 Now there was no way in which his money could go 
 that was so unsatisfactory to Glenroy as when it was 
 claimed as a matter of right, more especially by the 
 clergy, whom he looked upon as the Avorst species of 
 land-tax. Besides, like all idle, indolent people, he 
 had an utter abhorrence of everything that occasioned 
 trouble, or was a bore, and Mr. Duncan M'Dow was a 
 bore that beset him on all sides. He was a stum- 
 bling-block in his path, a thorn in his side, a weed 
 that had taken root in the very heart of his estate, 
 and which it was impossible for him to extirpate. 
 True, he was not molested with spiritual admonitions, 
 plans for building churches, subscriptions for establish- 
 ing schools, or schemes for employing the industrious, 
 or relieving the indigent, or reclaiming the wicked; 
 but then he was haunted with estimates for enlarging 
 the manse, and repairing the barn, or hints for re- 
 building both house and offices ; or he was beset with 
 a copy of the new locality, or an extract of the last 
 decreet, or a notice of a second summons for aug- 
 mentation, or an interlocutor of the Teind Court in 
 favour of some other minister; one or other, if not 
 all, of which missiles Mr. M'Dow bore as constantly 
 about his person as a highwajTuan docs his pistols. 
 But what provoked Glenroy even more than all this, 
 was the utter impossibility of overawing the minister, 
 or keeping him at a proper distance ; for Mr. M'Dow 
 possessed that sort of callous good -nature which 
 rendered him quite invulnerable to all rebuffs : as
 
 36 DESTINY. 
 
 well might a needle have been applied to the skin of 
 a rhinoceros as a gibe or a taunt to the feelings of 
 the minister; they were all received as good jokes, 
 which only called forth roars of laughter in return. 
 Besides, the impression was so completely implanted 
 in his brain of Glenroy's extreme predilection for 
 him, from having appointed him his pastor in spite of 
 all opposition, that anything he now said or did could 
 not possibly remove it. In a word, Henry the Second 
 and Thomas a Becket were a joke to Glenroy and 
 Mr. Duncan M'Dow.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Glenroy's property was too princely in extent to 
 admit of any very near neighbours who could vie 
 with him in state and consequence. Yet two of his 
 nearest Idnsmen had dwellings Avithin a short distance 
 of him ; or rather the distance was reckoned short in 
 a country where stormy firths and pathless mountains 
 oppose no such obstacles to social intercourse as arc 
 enjoined by the flimsy forms of fashion and etiquette. 
 All that Glenroy's eye looked upon of hill and glen, 
 lake and forest, were his own, with the exception of 
 one single feature in the landscape, and that the fairest 
 in all the goodly scene. This was a beautiful richly- 
 wooded promontory, which stretched far into the 
 bosom of the estuary that almost surrounded it, and 
 gave it the appearance of a sylvan isle. It had once 
 formed part of the Glenroy estate, and had even been 
 the original seat of the family, as was indicated by 
 some gray, ivy-grown walls which crowned the sum- 
 mit of one of its green knolls. But by one of the 
 many mutations land is subject to, it had been severed 
 from the greater part of the property, and had passed 
 to a younger branch of the family, by whom it had
 
 38 DESTINY. 
 
 for generations been possessed. This younger branch 
 had now dwindled away to one " sear and yellow leaf," 
 a rich and childless old man, who had lately succeeded 
 by the death of a nephew, whose first act, upon com- 
 ing of age, had been to repair and furnish such part 
 of the old castle as could be rendered habitable for 
 the shooting season. His successor was not personally 
 known in the country, as he had left it at an early age 
 to push his fortune in a remote provincial town in 
 England, and had only visited it once since. Glenroy 
 had long looked with a wistful eye towards this pro- 
 perty, which, indeed, was the very crown jewel of 
 the family, and for which he would gladly have ex- 
 changed many thousand acres of muir and mountain ; 
 but hitherto he had coveted in vain. All his over- 
 tures had been rejected ; for, to tell the truth, Glen- 
 roy had everything but money to offer for it; and 
 money, unfortunately, is the only thing that ever 
 induces people to part with their lands. But now he 
 seemed in a fair way to gain possession of it, not by 
 conquest, as the law terms purchase, but by gift, or 
 inheritance, as he said he was the nearest heir to the 
 childless old man who was now the proprietor. Even 
 if it had been otherwise, it was of little consequence, 
 as the property was not entailed, and it was but 
 natural to suppose he would leave it to him as the 
 rightful owTier and the head of the family ; especially 
 as he could have nobody else to leave it to, having 
 quarrelled Avith all of the clan with whom he had 
 ever come into contact.
 
 DESTINY. 39 
 
 At a more respectful distance from the proud tur- 
 rets of Glenroy stood the humble dwelling of his 
 cousin, Captain Malcolm, a half-pay officer in delicate 
 health, the possessor of a paternal farm, and the father 
 of eight children. In early life he had made a love- 
 marriage with a lady of good family and great beauty, 
 but no fortune. This step had of course displeased 
 the friends (so called) on both sides, and the young 
 pair had been left to struggle through life as they 
 best could — and a hard struggle it had been. But, 
 as has been truly said, "unfitness of minds, more than 
 of circumstances, is Avhat in general mars the marriage 
 union ; where these are suited, means of contentment 
 and happiness are within reach." And in this in- 
 stance so it had proved. IVIrs. Malcolm, though highly 
 born and delicately bred, had followed her husband 
 through all the changes of a soldier's life, had shared 
 his hardships and privations with cheerfulness, and 
 had now retired with him to a bleak Highland farm, 
 with that contentment which was ready to find good 
 in everything. If their claims had been strictly in- 
 vestigated, it would probably have been found that 
 Captain Malcolm was still more nearly related to the 
 Inch OiTan branch of the family than the Chief him- 
 self; but his chance of the succession Avas such a 
 hopeless one that he never had allowed himself to 
 indulge the slightest expectation. In his first outset 
 in life he had disobliged Mungo Malcolm, the present 
 proprietor, by refusing to be received into his office 
 and bred to his profession — that of a scrivener. One
 
 40 DESTINY. 
 
 offence was quite sufficient to make an enemy for life 
 of Mungo Malcolm ; but when this act of disobedience 
 was followed up by a rash and imprudent marriage, 
 assurance was made doubly sure : the door was com- 
 pletely closed and barred against him, and it seemed 
 as if little less than a miracle could ever open it again. 
 
 When this family first came to the ueighboui'hood, 
 Grlenroy had shown them considerable kindness and 
 attention, in an ostentatious, patronising Avay ; and 
 they had received his favours as people willing to be 
 obliged, because they felt that in similar circum- 
 stances they w^ould have been happy in obliging 
 others. But, at the same time, the Chief's pompous 
 civilities Avere met with a simple courtesy, which, 
 while it showed they were not insensible to them, 
 yet denoted minds of too elevated a cast to be over- 
 whelmed by condescension, or oppressed by trivial 
 favours. This, however, was Avhat Glenroy could not 
 understand, and did not like. He was more lavish 
 than generous; he gave freely, but he loved to 
 brandish his favours, and always looked for an im- 
 mediate return in gratitude or adulation. 
 
 The calm manner and moderate expressions of 
 Captain Malcolm were therefore ill calculated to 
 feed the cravings of his vanity. Boast as he might, 
 his boastings never called forth any bursts of admira- 
 tion or applause from his poor kinsman ; nor did all 
 the display of his wealth and state appear to excite 
 the slightest envy, or even astonishment, in his breast. 
 Yet there was nothing sour or cynical in this plain-
 
 DESTINY. 41 
 
 ness ; nothing that betrayed a contempt for what he 
 could not attain. On the contrary, his manners were 
 mild and pleasing to all who could value simplicity 
 and sincerity; and he was ever ready to commend 
 and admire when he could do so consistently with 
 truth. 
 
 There is, perhaps, nothing more baffling to pride 
 than when it meets with contentment in a humlile 
 station ; it is then like the wind wasting its strength 
 where there is nothing to oppose it, or the waves 
 spending their foam upon the smooth, printless sand. 
 In like manner, the lofty bearing and arrogant pre- 
 tensions of the Chieftain met neither with encourage- 
 ment nor opposition in the quiet but independent 
 satisfaction of his poor cousins. 
 
 Pride is easily instilled even into generous natures ; 
 and the Glenroy children were not slow in learning 
 how greatly they were thought superior to the young 
 Donald Begs, as the Chief contemptuously nick- 
 named his kinsman's family. This knowledge, how- 
 ever, availed them little in practice ; for the young 
 Malcolms, though gay, good-humoured, and obliging, 
 were free from that servile spirit which denotes the 
 mercenary dependant, and in their childish inter- 
 course preserved an ease and equality as remote from 
 false shame as from vulgar forwardness. Educated 
 ])y pious and enlightened parents, their young minds 
 were imbued with that most elevating of all prin- 
 ciples, the genuine spirit of Christianity ; and by it 
 they were early taught to distinguish between those
 
 42 DESTINY. 
 
 things which the world despises, and those things 
 which are in themselves despicable. Though poor, 
 they therefore attached no degrading ideas to poverty, 
 nor affixed undue importance to wealth. Their minds 
 were kej)t free from sordid passions and vulgar pre- 
 judices, wliile all the nobler qualities of their nature 
 Avere strengthened and improved by the constant 
 exercise of the mind's best attributes. Love, charity, 
 contentment, fortitude, temperance, and self-denial — 
 these were the treasures the parents sought to lay up 
 in the hearts of their children ; and if they did not 
 always succeed in raising these plants of heavenly 
 growth in that strange and wayward soil, the human 
 heart, the very attempt produced a wholesome in- 
 fluence in displacing pride, prejudice, and selfishness — 
 those bitter roots of envy, hatred, and malice. 
 
 There was something so sweet and attractive in 
 Mrs. Malcolm, and so pleasing in the whole family, 
 that Edith was never so happy as when allowed to 
 spend some days at Lochdhu; but she would have 
 been ashamed to acknowledge how much she loved 
 them all, for she was accustomed to hear them spoken 
 of in a slighting and somewhat contemptuous manner. 
 Thus is many a pure and generous feeling stifled in 
 the young heart by the withering breath of ridicule.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 It was at this time that the new Laird of Inch Orran 
 was expected to take possession of his inheritance, 
 and nothing else was talked of throughout the district, 
 while many and various were the rumours afloat con- 
 cerning him. The only point they all agreed in was, 
 that he was a very particular man — which is the next 
 thing to being called a Hydra. But particular men, 
 and particular women too, well deserve a chapter to 
 themselves, which they shall perhaps have at another 
 time ; but this one must be devoted to the particulari- 
 ties of Inch Orran. Of that "particular man," then, 
 it was generally reported, that he was of a very capri- 
 cious bad temper ; or, according to the nursery phrase, 
 that he was very apt to have the black dog on his 
 back. When that happened, it was said he was in 
 the practice of sitting in profound silence all the time 
 the fit lasted, with a red nightcap on his head ; which 
 red nightcap he would not have lifted for the king 
 himself till the black dog had taken his departure, 
 and then it was hung up on its own particular peg 
 till the return of the said black dog. Another edition 
 was, that he always allowed his beard to grow with
 
 44 DESTINY. 
 
 the growth, and strengthen with the strength, of the 
 fit ; till at length, in a melting mood, he had again 
 recourse to the razor, and came forth with a new- 
 mown chin ready to salute all the world. Others 
 said that Inch Orran hung out no dead-lights on the 
 approach of a storm, nor hoisted any signals by which 
 the enemy could be warned of their danger. His 
 black dog, it was said, was seldom off his back, and 
 went and came just as it happened, without saying 
 by your leave. That he had a black dog, nobody 
 doubted ; and that he was most thoroughly disagree- 
 able was never disputed. Whether he had a wife 
 Avas not so certain : some said they had seen her ; 
 others had never even heard of her ; a third reported 
 her dead ; and a fourth in confinement. There was 
 also much speculation as to how he would come, 
 when he would arrive, Avhere he would reside, whether 
 he would entertain the county, etc, Glenroy had 
 written a pressing invitation to his kinsman to take 
 up his abode for the present with him ; but a very 
 brief dry refusal had been returned, which had fired 
 the Chieftain's blood, till he recollected that he was a 
 particular man : and even a great man must give way 
 to a particular man, inasmuch as the one is sometimes 
 a poor man, and the other is always a rich man. 
 Glenroy's next step was to have scouts stationed to 
 give him the very earliest intelligence of Inch Orran's 
 arrival ; and no sooner was that announced than he 
 ordered his barge to be manned, and, accompanied by 
 Benbowie, he embarked on the smooth surface of a
 
 DESTINY. 45 
 
 summer's sea to welcome the old Laird to the seat of 
 his forefathers. It is sometimes difficult to believe 
 that all things are in their right places in this round 
 world. Certainly Glenroy and Benbowie did nob 
 seem in character with the scenery, as they were 
 borne along on the bosom of the blue waters, which 
 reflected, as in a mirror, the varied beauties that 
 skirted their shores ; the gray rocks, the graceful 
 pendent birch, the grassy knolls, the gushing stream- 
 let, the fern-clad glens, the lofty mountains glowing 
 with heather, save here and there where patches of 
 tender green relieved the rich monotony of colour ; 
 while, above all, 
 
 " the gorgeous sphere 
 
 Lit up the vales, flowers, mountains, leaves, and streams, 
 With a diviner day — the spirit of bright beams." 
 
 To the eye of taste and the feeling heart there 
 woidd have been rapture in every beam of light and 
 breath of heaven on such a day and amid such scenes. 
 But Glenroy and Benbowie cared for none of these 
 things ; though the woods and waters, hills and dales, 
 suggested ideas to them, such as they were, as they 
 sailed along, and they Avcre pleased holding parley in 
 their own way. And "as imagination bodies forth 
 the form of things," so the two friends " turned them 
 to shapes," and gave to "airy nothings a local habita- 
 tion and a name." Glenroy and Benbowie, then, 
 although they could not be said to find " sermons in 
 stones, tongues in the trees, or books in the running 
 brooks," yet found much profitable matter of discourse
 
 46"" DESTINY. 
 
 in the various objects of nature that presented them- 
 selves. The crystal depths of the limpid waters over 
 which the sun Avas shedding his noonday effulgence 
 suggested to their minds images of herrings, fat, fresh, 
 or salted, with their accompaniments of casks, nets, 
 and busses ; the mountains in their stern glory, with 
 their lights and shadows and lonely recesses, to them 
 showed forth heath-burning, sheep-walks, black-faced 
 wedders, and wool. The copsewood, tender and 
 harmonious in its colouring, free and graceful in its 
 growth, was, in their language, " hags and stools " of 
 price and promise ; and as they touched the shore of 
 Inch Orran, they broke into no idle raptures about 
 the water-plants, the fern, the wild flowers, the tall 
 foxglove, the gray rocks and bright mossy stones, half 
 hid beneath the broad-leaved coltsfoot, that formed 
 the rich and variegated foreground; for they were 
 casting searching looks for "black tang" and "yellow 
 tang," and "bell wrack" and "jagged wrack," and 
 such other ingredients as enter into the composition 
 of that valuable commodity called kelp. Such were 
 the speculations which came most home to the busi- 
 ness and bosoms of the friends; so grovelling and 
 sordid are the results of human pride and selfishness. 
 Although the ruins of Inch Orran Castle had an 
 imposing effect when viewed from a distance, the 
 respect they excited was considerably diminished on 
 a nearer survey. They stood on the summit, and 
 close to the edge, of a romantic eminence which rose 
 abruptly from the Avater, and gave them an air of
 
 DESTINY. 47 
 
 grandeur to which they could not have otherwise 
 aspired. The building had been originally in the 
 form of a square, with a court in the centre ; but two 
 sides of it were now mere shapeless, weather-stained 
 masses of stone, which time was every day cruml)ling 
 into more picturesque forms, and mantling Avith ivy 
 and Avail -flowers, thus "making beautiful what else 
 were bleak and bare ;" Avhile such parts of the build- 
 ing as had fallen down were overgrown with creeping 
 plants and briers, that gave it an appearance of intri- 
 cacy, and thus heightened the interest which the 
 mouldering and dilapidated remains of a human 
 dwelling never fail to excite. One side of the square, 
 that next the water, had been repaired, and now 
 formed the dwelling-house ; but it Avas so sombre, 
 and so perfectly in harmony with the rest of the 
 building, that it gave no ofifence, for it conveyed no 
 impression of any modern usurper having invaded 
 the precincts of the departed ; it rather seemed as if 
 some of its former inmates still lingered there amid 
 the wreck of former ages. Glenroy knocked at the 
 door; but it Avas some time ere his summons was 
 ansAvered. At length a very corpulent, red -faced, 
 sour-looking serA'ing-man appeared, and after a little 
 seeming hesitation in his own mind, acknowledged 
 that he believed his master was at home ; then with a 
 slow, toddling, reluctant gait, he led the way to the 
 apartment where sat the Lord of the Castle.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 It was a spacious room, panelled with oak, and hand- 
 somely furnished in the modern-antique style. Three 
 windows looked upon the loch, and one at the end of 
 the apartment confronted an i\y-mantled tower, which 
 admitted few of day's garish beams at any time, much 
 less at present, when there stood stationed there the 
 huge person of Mr. Duncan M'Dow. 
 
 On the entrance of the Chief he instantly hastened 
 towards him with his grappling-irons extended ; and 
 before Glenroy knew where he was, Benbowie and 
 he were actually led forward in a triumphant manner, 
 and presented by the minister to the master of the 
 house. 
 
 "I am amazingly proud," said he, in his loudest 
 and most emphatic manner, "that it has fallen to my 
 lot to introduce my respected friend and pawtron, 
 Glenroy, to you, Inch Orran, and likewise my very 
 worthy friend, Benbowie ; this is really a treat !" 
 
 Glenroy certainly had been struck dumb, else he 
 never could have borne this in silence ; but he began 
 to rally his forces, although he refrained from break- 
 ing out before his kinsman. He therefore merely bit
 
 DESTINY. 49 
 
 his lip and cast a look at Mr. Duncan, which, if looks 
 could have killed, would certainly have laid the pastor 
 senseless at his feet. He then turned to Inch Orran, 
 who had risen to receive him from before a table, on 
 which lay some law books, ledgers, bundles of papers, 
 and parchments. 
 
 Inch Orran was a little, meagre, sickly-looking 
 man, with a shaqi, bitter face, a pair of fiery, vindic- 
 tive eyes, and a mouth all puckered up as if to keep 
 in the many cutting things Avhich otherwise would 
 have got out. And indeed it must be o\vned that 
 but few escaped in comparison of the multitude that 
 lodged within ; for he was one of those gifted indivi- 
 duals who have "un grand talent pour le silence." 
 Neither red cap nor black dog was visible ; but, on 
 the contrary, the marks of the razor Avere still visible 
 on his chin, and he welcomed his visitors Avith some- 
 thing that approached to bare civility. However, 
 people may be thankful when they meet with even 
 bare civility from a particular man, and Glenroy was 
 not one to be daunted even by bare civility ; so he 
 shook his kinsman heartily by the hand, and expressed 
 his pleasure at seeing him in a very cordial manner. ■ 
 
 " You are welcome to the Highlands, Inch Orran," 
 said he warmly ; " and I hope you Avill like us well 
 enough to remain amongst us." 
 
 " Sir, I thank you," was the reply, Avith a full stop. 
 
 "When did you arrive, Inch Orran f 
 
 "On Tuesday evening, at a quarter past six, sir," 
 in a loud, sharp, cracked \'oice. 
 
 VOL. I. E »•
 
 50 DESTINY. 
 
 " I wish I could have prevailed upon you to take 
 up your quarters at Glenroy," said the Chief; "I 
 think I may venture to say you Avould have found 
 yourself comfortable there." 
 
 " There, sir, you must allow me to judge for my- 
 self," Avas the reply. 
 
 Here, Mr. M'Dow thought, was a fit opportunity 
 for him to strike in. 
 
 "I assure you, Inch Orran," said he, "however 
 little Glenroy may think of this house in comparison 
 of his own, yet I can only say I Avould be very well 
 pleased if I had a room half the size of this in the 
 manse." 
 
 ' You are very moderate, sir," returned Inch Orran, 
 with a bitter sneer, which was quite thrown away upon 
 INIr. M'Dow, Avho Avent on — 
 
 "This house has been wonderfully well repaired 
 and improved; it's really a most commodious, com- 
 fortable dwelling, and most handsomely furnished : 
 but in general it's my opinion a man should not think 
 of adding to or repairing an old house. A man will 
 never make his plack a bawbee by repairing : for in- 
 stance, there's the estimate of the addition and repairs 
 for the manse and offices that I was mentioning to 
 you w^hen my worthy and respected pawtrons came 
 in. My house is really a poor affair ; my byre's in a 
 most dreadful state, and my stable's not a great deal 
 better; and by-thc-bye," as if recollecting himself, 
 " I'm not sure but I slipped the estimate into my 
 pocket before I came away." Diving into an enor-
 
 DESTINY. 51 
 
 mous pouch, like a sack, he drew forth a large bundle 
 of papers, which he turned over, as if to ascertain 
 their identity, although every letter was as familiar 
 to him as his own fingers. 
 
 " Ay, here it is — estimate of the necessary repairs 
 for the manse, offices, etc., of Auchterbruckle. You 
 can take a glance at it any time you are at leisure. 
 Inch Orran;" upon which he laid it on the table, and 
 making another dive, fished up his snuff'-mull, Avhich, 
 shaking and patting, he ofiered to Inch Orran, who 
 in the same dry, caustic manner, said — 
 
 "Sir, snuffing is a practice which I despise and 
 abominate." 
 
 " Hoot toot. Inch Orran, you must not say that," 
 cried the undaunted Mr. M'Dow, with a great roar of 
 laughter ; " here's my excellent friend, BenboAvie, has 
 no objections to a snuff" any more than myself." Here 
 BeuboAvie and he exchanged boxes. "And, by-the- 
 bye, that puts me in mind of a honcj mote I read in the 
 Edinljurgh Caledonian Mercury of the 29th ultimo 
 that I was very much taken with — I thought it really 
 very good — I really had a good laugh at it — hach, 
 hach, hach, ho. Two snuifers happened to meet one 
 day, at the Cross I think it Avas. Says the one to the 
 other, as they exchanged their mulls, just as we have 
 been doing, — says the one to the other, 
 
 " 'A friend's a good thing at a pinch.' 
 
 " ' Yes,' says the other, ' but is it not still better 
 for friends to be laying out their money this way, at 
 scent per scent 1 ' "
 
 52 DESTINY. 
 
 Here a tremendous volley of laughter broke forth, 
 peal upon peal, roar upon roar, while he rubbed his 
 hands, rocked upon his chair, and threw his body- 
 about in all directions, in perfect ecstasy. " Cent per 
 cent, Benbowie, would soon build the manse and 
 mend my byre!" And this witticism was followed 
 by another roar, in which no one joined except Ben- 
 bowie, who did not know at any time what he laughed 
 at. But Mr. M'Dow and his mull were not done yet. 
 "Though you are no snuffer. Inch Orran, you may 
 perhaps admire the setting of my mull ; it's a topeuss 
 on the top, a Highland cairngoreum, an uncommon 
 large fine stone. It was given to me in a present by 
 my excellent friend, Kindullie, on the occasion of my 
 leaving his family. It was a very gratifying token of 
 his regard for me, and of the manner in wliich he 
 was satisfied I had performed my duty in educating 
 of his seven sons. Our Highland mulls and cairn- 
 goreums are all the fashion now. Inch Orran." 
 
 "I am no lapidary, sir," said Inch Orran, without 
 deigning even to cast his eyes ujDon it. 
 
 "That's just my own case. Inch Orran!" quoth 
 the undaunted minister. "I know very little about 
 these things myself ; I have always had other things 
 to mind, and I have never given much attention to 
 your fashionable gim cracks." 
 
 "It's a pity, sir!" said Inch Orran, in that signifi- 
 cant tone which would have conveyed the most cut- 
 ting sarcasm to every ear but that of Duncan M'Dow. 
 
 Glenroy all this time was fuming to himself at the
 
 DESTINY. 53 
 
 laconic dryness of his host on the one hand, and the 
 facetious familiarity of his minister on the other; 
 and indeed a more discordant party scarcely ever met 
 together in friendly semblance; and it seemed in vain 
 to expect anything pleasant from such a compoimd. 
 However, Glenroy thought of the family seat and 
 the fifty thousand pounds, and he made another 
 attempt to be agreeable. 
 
 " You have been a great stranger in Scotland, Inch 
 Orran ; it must be a long while since you have visited 
 your own country V 
 
 "Forty years, sir, and upwards." 
 
 " Forty years ! That is a long time ; what wonder- 
 ful changes you must see !" 
 
 "I do see a change, sir; but that is not Avonder- 
 ful." 
 
 "The impertinent old cur!" thought Glenroy; 
 "what does he mean by snarling at my words'?" 
 And he sat in sullen silence, while the old man kept 
 liis scrutinising eyes fastened upon him with that 
 terrific expression which eyes sometimes have, of 
 being not only eyes, but ears. 
 
 "Forty years is a long time," said Benbome; "on 
 my conscience, it is a very long time." 
 
 " If there were any ladies present, Benbowie, you 
 and I, who are bachelors, would not be very keen, 
 maybe, of kenning anything about forty years," said 
 Mr. M'Dow, with a sly wink and a loud laugL Then 
 paused, in hopes of being rallied on the subject of his 
 celibacy, but in vain; so he went on — "Many's the
 
 54 DESTINY. 
 
 gibe I get from my excellent friend Kindullie, about 
 not having provided a dow for my nest yet — ho, hoch, 
 ho ! But I tell him I must first get my dookit before 
 I think of providing a dow for it. Don't you think 
 I'm right there, Inch Orran?" with a thundering 
 peal of laughter. 
 
 "Sir^ " 
 
 " Oh, it's entirely a joke, on both sides — you un- 
 derstand it, Glenroy ? I must get my addition, if not 
 an entire new manse and offices, before I can ask a 
 lady to come and preside there. I can give you no 
 Mrs. M'Dow till you give me my drawing-room and 
 my bjTe, at all events. Don't you think that's but 
 reasonable. Inch Orran?" 
 
 " Really, Mr. M'Dow, this is not a time to intro- 
 duce your private affairs," said the Chief haughtily. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Glenroy ; but I really must 
 differ from you there. Only consider, here's a meet- 
 ing of my three principal heritors ! Who knows when 
 I may have such another opportunity ; though, I am 
 sure, I trust we may have many pleasant meetings for 
 all that. But, however, since I have the pleasure of 
 seeing my princijDal heritors convened, I think there 
 can be no harm in just taking a slight glance at my 
 Summons of Augmentation, which, with the interim 
 locality, I happen to have by mere chance about me." 
 And, plunging his arm into the other bottomless gulf 
 of a pocket, out came a huge bunch of papers, from 
 which even Benbowie instinctively drew away his 
 chair. "You see it is no great bulk; you'll soon
 
 DESTINY. 55 
 
 glance over it. There's first tlie Summons — tliat's it, 
 No. I. Summons, at the instance of the Rev. Duncan 
 M'Dow, minister of Auchterbruckle, for an augmenta- 
 tion of stipend, etc. Then there's the interlocutor of 
 the Court, with the interim locality and decreet ; for 
 you see, although my allocation is upon the teinds 
 of " 
 
 " I hope you have brought IVIrs. Malcolm with you, 
 Inch Orranl" said Glenroy, making a desperate 
 attempt to get the better of the teinds. 
 
 " Certainly, sir," Avas the laconic reply. 
 
 "I trust I shall have the pleasure of paying my 
 respects to her, then, if convenient?" 
 
 "Do you wish to see my wife, sir?" demanded 
 Inch Orran in no very sweet accent. 
 
 "If quite convenient and agreeable, I should be 
 happy to welcome your lady to the Highlands." 
 
 Inch Orran rang the bell, which was answered by 
 the fat serving-man. "Be so good, Simon," said he, 
 in a voice like a lamb, "as desire Mrs. Malcolm to 
 come here," 
 
 " She is dressing, I believe," said Simon. 
 
 "Send her here when she is ready, Simon." And 
 Simon, with a l)ang of the door, withdrew.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 In a few minutes the door opened and the lady 
 entered. She was arrayed in a bright amber silk 
 gown, a full-dress cap, decorated with scarlet ribbons, 
 and even more than the usual number of bows that 
 tied nothing, and ends that evidently had no ends to 
 answer, save that of swelling the milliner's bill. She 
 had a mean, vacant countenance, and a pair of most 
 unhandy-looking hands crossed before her, clothed in 
 bright purple gloves, with long empty finger-ends 
 dangling in all directions. All artists admit that 
 there is as much character displayed in hands as 
 in heads, and Mrs. Malcolm's hands were perfectly 
 characteristic; they proclaimed at once that they 
 could do nothing — that they were utterly helpless, 
 and morally, not physically, imbecile. 
 
 Inch Orran seemed instinctively aware of her 
 approach, for Avithout looking the way she was, he 
 merely said, "Mrs. Malcolm, gentlemen;" and Mrs. 
 Malcolm, advancing in an awkward, trailing manner, 
 made sundry low curtseys to her guests, and extend- 
 ing her empty finger-ends (which were eagerly caught 
 at by Mr. M'Dow), she, in a peaking, monotonous 
 voice, expressed her pleasure at sight of them.
 
 DESTINY. 57 
 
 Why Mr. Malcolm had married Mrs. Malcolm 
 was one of those mysteries Avhich had baffled all 
 conjecture, for she had neither beauty, money, con- 
 nections, talents, accomplishments, nor common sense. 
 Not that she was ugly, for she would have looked 
 very well in a toy -shop ^vindow. She had pink 
 cheeks, blue eyes, and a set of neat yellow curls 
 ranged round her brow. She was much younger than 
 her husband, and looked still more juvenile than she 
 really was, for not all the contempt and obloquy that 
 had been poured upon her for upwards of twenty 
 years had ever made her change either countenance 
 or colour ; in fact, she had neither passions, feelings, 
 nerves — scarcely sensations. She seemed precisely 
 one of those whom Nature had destined to "suckle 
 fools and chronicle small beer;" but fate had denied 
 her the fools, and Inch Orran had debarred her from 
 all interference even with the small beer; for such 
 was his contempt for the sex in general, and for his 
 own portion of it in particular, that he deemed a 
 woman quite incompetent to regulate a household. 
 His domestic concerns were therefore conducted 
 ostensibly by himself, but virtually by his fat serving- 
 man, who was his foster-brother, and had been his 
 factotum long before he married. Even his dress, to 
 the most minute article, was all of Simon's providing. 
 Simon alone knew to a hair the cut and colour of 
 his wig, the pattern of his pocket-handkerchiefs, the 
 texture of his shirts and neckcloths, the precise latitude 
 and longitude of his flannel waistcoats, with various
 
 58 DESTINY. 
 
 other particulars incident to a particular man. Now, 
 the chief occupation of Mrs Malcolm's life was 
 trailing from shop to shop, in search of anything or 
 nothing, and she would have liked to have the 
 dressing of Mr. Malcolm for the pleasure of buying 
 bargains for him. She had therefore attempted to 
 wrest this privilege out of Simon's hands, but in vain; 
 she had picked up a pennyworth of a wig, which she 
 said "looked remarkably neat on the head," but 
 which Simon turned up his nose at, and his master 
 threw into the fire. She had haggled till she was 
 hoarse about a dozen of cotton pocket-handkerchiefs, 
 which after all Simon pronounced to be perfectly 
 useless, as they were of the diamond pattern, and his 
 master would not blow his nose with anything but a 
 spot. Her improvements upon flannel jackets had 
 very nearly caused a formal separation, and from that 
 time her active energies, not being permitted to exer- 
 cise themselves either upon her household affairs or 
 her husband's wardrobe, had centred entirely in her 
 own person. She lived in a perpetual, weak, impotent 
 bustle about nothing, spent her money in buying 
 hoards of useless clothes, and her time in looking 
 at them, folding and unfolding them, airing them, 
 locking them up, protecting them from the moths in 
 summer and mildew in winter, and so on. To crown 
 the whole, she set up for being a sensible woman, 
 and talked maudlin nonsense by the yard; for she 
 was one of those who Avould ask if the sea produced 
 corn, rather than hold her tongue. Here it may be
 
 DESTINY. 59 
 
 remarked that it requires a great deal of mind to 
 be silent at the right time and place. True, there are 
 some few gifted individuals whose conversation flows 
 like a continued stream, fertilising all around, enrich- 
 ing others without impoverishing themselves ; but how 
 different from the idle chatter of empty heads, whose 
 only sounds are caused by their own hollo wness. " Two 
 things there are, indicative of aAveakmind," says Saadi, 
 the Persian sage, "to be silent when it is proper to 
 speak, and to speak when it is proper to be silent." 
 Such was the helpmate of Inch Orran. 
 
 " I am happy to see you, gentlemen," said she, in 
 her little tiresome croaking voice ; " indeed I'm thank- 
 ful to see anybody, for this is such a lonely out-of-the- 
 way place. I was just saying this morning what an 
 improvement a towni would be on the water-side ; it 
 would be a great ornament, and of great use in making 
 a stir and giving employment to poor people, and 
 very convenient too. I'm surprised it has never 
 struck anybody to set such a thing a-going, when 
 there's such a Avant of employment for the poor." 
 
 " Rome was not built in a day, you know, ma'am," 
 said the facetious Mr. M'Dow, with one of his loud 
 laughs ; " but if you Avill use your influence with Inch 
 Orran, and prevail upon him to begin, there's no say- 
 ing Avhere it may end " — another peal — " and I hope 
 the kirk and the manse will not be forgot. Inch Orran." 
 
 " Still less the stipend, sir," said Inch Orran, with 
 one of his vicious sneers, 
 
 " I'll answer for it the stipend will no get leave to
 
 60 DESTIirr. 
 
 be forgot," returned the incorrigible Mr. M'Dow, with 
 one of his loudest roars ; " you may trust the minister 
 for keeping you in mind of that." 
 
 "I believe I may, sir." 
 
 " And let it be a good one at the first. Inch Orran, 
 that he may not have such a battle to fight for his 
 augmentation as I have had, I really think the Teind 
 Coui't has taken an entire wrong view of the subject 
 there, or they would have given me the decreet at 
 once. You'll no go along "with me there, Glenroy?" 
 
 But Glenroy disdained to reply, so the Httle old 
 man said, " It was the saying, sir, of one of the wisest 
 judges who ever sat upon the Scottish bench, that a 
 2Joor clergy made a pure clergy ; a maxim which de- 
 serves to be engraven in letters of gold on every manse 
 in Scotland." 
 
 " 'Deed, then, I can tell you. Inch Orran, the gold 
 would be very soon piket off," returned Mr. M'Dow, 
 with redoubled bursts of laughter. "Na, na, you 
 must keep the gold for your fine English Episcopalian 
 palaces, where it's no so scarce as it's among us ;" and 
 Mr. M'Dow perfectly revelled in the delight of this 
 jm d'esprit. Mrs. Malcolm now struck in. " I'm quite 
 tormented with these midges. I don't think they'll 
 leave the skin upon me. I wish they Avould bite you, 
 Mr. Malcolm." 
 
 " Perhaps, sir, you would wish some refreshment," 
 said Inch Orran, addressing Glenroy, in a voice louder 
 and shriller than that with which Punch denounces 
 Polly. The Chief, who was still under the influence
 
 DESTINY. 61 
 
 of a late and luxurious breakfast, declined ; but upon 
 the same oflfer (if offer it could be called) being put to 
 BenboAvie, he was so little in the habit of refusing 
 anything, except to give money, and besides had such 
 a willing appetite, that he at once greedily assented. 
 Mr. M'Dow rubbed his hands, drew out his pocket- 
 handkerchief, placed his hands upon his knees, and 
 began snujQfing the air, as though he already caught 
 the scent of some savoury mess. 
 
 The bell was faintly rung by Inch Orran, but some 
 minutes elapsed, and no one answered. 
 
 " That's always the way with that Simon," said 
 Mrs. Malcolm; "I'm sure I wish we had a well- 
 behaved, clever, active boy, for " 
 
 But a bitter look, and a sh — sh from her lord, 
 stopped her tongue, Avhile a fierce tingle of the bell 
 brought forth Simon, 
 
 " Eefreshments, if you please, Simon," said his 
 master, in a softer tone and manner than he had yet 
 evinced. 
 
 "Refreshments, sir?" repeated Simon, putting his 
 hand to his forehead, with an air of great perplexity. 
 
 " I think some warm broth would be the best thing 
 in such a warm day," said Mrs, Malcolm; "for when 
 people are warm they should never take anything 
 cold, it's very dangerous ; I had an aunt once " 
 
 " Something cold, Simon," said his master de- 
 cidedly. 
 
 "Cold, sir?" repeated Simon; then, seeming to 
 recollect himself, he withdrew.
 
 62 DESTINY. 
 
 Then ensued a great deal of heavy tramping to 
 and fro, and a mighty clattering of plates, knives and 
 forks, which was music to the ears of Benbowie and 
 Mr, M'Dow. 
 
 At length entered Simon, and, with much seeming 
 exertion, began to rub down a table (although there 
 Avas neither speck nor spot upon it) in the most osten- 
 tatious manner, puffing and blowing all the while, as 
 though he had been in the tread-mill. 
 
 " Take care of the carpet, Simon," said his mistress; 
 but Simon seemed as though he heard her not. He 
 then unfolded and carefully laid a table-cloth with 
 mathematical precision, retiring a few paces to judge 
 of its general effect, and then returning to adjust 
 what his eye pronounced to be amiss. 
 
 "I think the cloth should be rather more this 
 way, Simon," said his mistress, drawing it towards 
 her, with an air of great importance. 
 
 " Tut," muttered Simon, as he jerked it in the 
 contrary direction. 
 
 Once more he withdrew, and another pause ensued, 
 during which Glenroy made another attempt to draw 
 his host into conversation. 
 
 " This is a beautiful situation of yours. Inch Orran," 
 said he, — "I really know nothing finer." 
 
 "It is a very desirable property, sir," returned the 
 old man, with marked emphasis. 
 
 "You have one of the noblest \aews in Scotland 
 from these Avindows," said the Cliief proudly, as he 
 looked on his own princely domain.
 
 DESTINY. G3 
 
 " It may be, sir ; but I have other things to look 
 to than fine views on this neglected property," replied 
 Inch Orran. 
 
 " That's precisely my own case, Inch Orran," said 
 Mr. M'Dow. "One person has been saying, when 
 they came to the manse, ' Oh, what a beautiful situa- 
 tion, Mr. M'Dow !' Another says, 'Oh, such a grand 
 view, Mr M'Dow!' Another cries, 'I really think 
 you l)eat Olenroy himself in your prospects, Mr. 
 M'Dow. ' ' That may all be,' says I ; ' but the best pro- 
 spects I have in view are a comfortable manse, an 
 addition to the glebe, and the decreet for my aug- 
 mentation.' Ho, hoch, hoch, ho." 
 
 Neither Glenroy nor Inch Orran took the smallest 
 notice of this sally; and the former continued to 
 address the latter. 
 
 " I have the advantage of you in one respect, Inch 
 Orran ; for this place of yours forms one of the finest 
 features in the view from my drawing-room windows; 
 though, without vanity, I may say Glenroy is also a 
 very fine object from yours." 
 
 " Probably, sir, you may have more pleasure in the 
 view of my property than I have in contemplating 
 yours." 
 
 Glenroy felt his cheek flush at this palpable hit ; 
 but just then the door was thrown wide open, and 
 Simon appeared with his arms at full stretch, bearing 
 a tray, Avhich he deposited on a side-table, and then 
 proceeded to arrange its contents with the same bust- 
 ling importance.
 
 64 DESTINY. 
 
 At the top of the table was placed the wizened nib 
 of a tongue, and vis-a-^is the almost bare blade-bone 
 of a shoulder of mutton ; on one side a thin slice of 
 bread was confronted with a few potatoes; at the 
 corners were a jug of whey and another of water ; a 
 decanter containing a few glasses of port, and a bottle 
 of currant wine, stale and sour, and tasting, as currant 
 wine sometimes does, of brown sugar, blue paper, 
 yellow soap, cork, candle, twine, and vinegar. 
 
 The two expectants had felt their appetites con- 
 siderably damped at sight of the cheer provided for 
 them ; they, however, seated themselves, though with 
 rueful faces. To do them justice, neither of them 
 was nice, but they both loved a savoury mess, some- 
 thing to make a slop with; something to eat with 
 their knives — what they ought to eat with their forks. 
 But, alas ! here was no room for such a display ; for, 
 though Mr. M'Dow, as the younger and stronger man, 
 contrived both to cut and chew the inflexible remains 
 of the tongue, poor Benbowie was completely baffled 
 in the attempt ; and all he could do was to crumble 
 down a bit of bread, and spill half a glass of wine on 
 the table-cloth, after which he declared he had had 
 enough — quite enough, on his conscience. While the 
 master of the revels drank to the health of his guests 
 very graciously in a glass of green whey. 
 
 "I shall let the old miser see what good living is!" 
 thought Glenroy, as he began a pompous and pressing 
 invitation to his kinsman to spend a few days with 
 him, accompanied by ostentatious offers of barge, pin-
 
 DESTINY. 65 
 
 nace, carriages, horses, servants, etc. "It is nvj in- 
 tention to spend a couple of days with you, sir, before 
 I leave the country," replied Inch Orran; "and, if 
 agreeable to you, when I can make it convenient to 
 myself, I shall not fail to apprise you." 
 
 This was more than Glenroy had expected, or 
 perhaps wished for, now that he had experienced the 
 nature of the man ; but of course he was all pleasure, 
 gratification, and so forth. A hope was then expressed 
 that Mrs. INIalcolm would join the party. 
 
 "Most certainly, sir," replied Inch Orran, "/ 
 keep no separate establishment for my wife." 
 
 "I'm sure I shall be very happy to go," said she ; 
 " for I'U be thankful to go anywhere — this is such a 
 dull place. Only, if the ladies here dress much to go 
 out to dinner, I'm sure I don't know what I shall do, 
 
 Mr. Malcolm, for a cap for " But a "sh — sh," 
 
 and a wave of his hand from her husband, stopped 
 her mouth, and the visitors took leave. 
 
 As they traversed the long passage, they descried 
 Simon at the other extremity, waddling along Avith a 
 foaming tankard in one hand, and a long-necked bottle 
 in the other ; and, at the same time, the nostrils of 
 Benbowie and Mr. M'Dow were assailed with the 
 smell of some very gusty viands, towards which Mr. 
 Simon seemed to have been steering; his course. 
 
 The haK-open door of a housekeeper's room, from 
 whence issued the fragrance, induced them both to 
 thrust in their heads ; and there stood disclosed a 
 table neatly laid for two, with a smoking tureen of 
 
 VOL. I. F D.
 
 66 DESTINY. 
 
 hodge-podge, and a magnificent jowl of salmon. At 
 this sight the two stood as if entranced, with open 
 mouths and outstretched necks ; but it was of short 
 duration ; for directly a quick foot, an invisible hand, 
 and the door was shut with an angry slap. 
 
 " On my conscience ! but I would rather be the 
 man than the master," said Benbowie, with a grunt 
 of dissatisfaction, as he followed his friend to the 
 barge. 
 
 "At least, I would rather take pot-luck with him," 
 said Mr. M'Doav, Avith a faint attempt at a laugh, as, 
 AAdth a discomfited air, he betook himself to his 
 Amailye (as he had christened his pony, in honour 
 of the Lady Kindullie), and trotted away in quest of 
 better cheer.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 Glenroy returned home much dissatisfied with his 
 visit. He had been provoked at the dry imperti- 
 nence of the old man, disgusted A\ath the tiresome 
 weakness of his wife, and incensed beyond measure 
 at the innumerable offences of Mr. M'Dow. Neither 
 was his ill-humour appeased when, at the end of a 
 week, he received the following despatch, written in 
 the plainest and squarest and most inflexible of 
 hands : — 
 
 " Mr. Mungo Malcolm presents his compliments to 
 Mr. Norman Malcolm of Glenroy, and if still con- 
 venient for him to receive a visit, Mr. Mungo Malcolm 
 will, in pursuance of his original intention, wait upon 
 him on Wednesday next, the 20th inst, in the course 
 of the afternoon, and purposes to be his guest till the 
 following Saturday forenoon, when he positively takes 
 leave. Mr. M Malcolm will be accomjDanied by his 
 wife and male servant." 
 
 Glenroy chafed like a boar at being thus addressed 
 as Mr. Norman Malcolm, and scouted the whole style 
 of the billet ; but it is much to be wished that the 
 world in general, and many very worthy people in
 
 68 DESTINY. 
 
 particular, would follow the example of Mr. Muugo 
 Malcolm, in thus precisely marking the limits of their 
 intended stay. 
 
 All householders, whatever they may pretend, 
 must at some period or other have groaned under 
 the indefinable misery of an undefined length of visit, 
 and every family must have felt the want of a chro- 
 nometer for ascertaining the respective ideas of both 
 parties as to the reasonable latitude and longitude of 
 a visit. In good old times Scotland had its regular 
 standard measure for visiting, as it had for its oatmeal 
 and potatoes. A rest day, a dress day, and a press 
 day, were the appointed measure of a visitor's days. 
 The first was consecrated to repose, after the fatigues 
 of the journey, whether there had been a journey or 
 not ; the second was allotted to showing ofi the full- 
 dress suit, prepared perhaps for the occasion ; and 
 the third was delicately appropriated to the pressing 
 sohcitations of the host, and always conferred as an 
 act of bounty over and above. Thus both parties 
 were pleased, the presser and the pressed ; the presser 
 at having conquered, the pressed at having conceded ; 
 and thus they parted, happy to part, happy to meet, 
 and happy to part again. 
 
 But since this barrier has been broken down by 
 modern innovation, visiting has no longer any limits, 
 except such as exist in the minds of the respective 
 parties ; and accordingly " there's the respect " that 
 makes cautious people pause before bringing upon 
 themselves a visit. A visit ! How vague, how unde-
 
 DESTINY. 69 
 
 fined, how dark, how immeasurable, how obscure, 
 how unfathomable, how mysterious, is a visit ! A 
 visit may be meant for a day, or a week, or a month ; 
 and it may be taken for a winter, or a summer, or a 
 year ! A visit may be the cement of friendship, or 
 it may be the bane of domestic happiness ! A visit 
 may be like an angel's coming, brief and rare, or it 
 may be like a wounded crocodile, drawing its slow 
 length along. 
 
 But none of these evils could befall the host of 
 Mr. Mungo Malcolm, for the day and hour and 
 minute of his departure Avere always settled, as upon 
 this occasion, long before his arrival. Glenroy antici- 
 pated anything but pleasure from this visit, but he 
 comforted himself by considering it as a compliment, 
 and the next thing to being declared heir to Inch 
 Orran. He therefore resolved to pay all honour to 
 his guest, and to win his heart by the good cheer and 
 gaiety he would provide for him. 
 
 The appointed day arrived, a raw, Ijleak, chill, un- 
 happy-looking day ; not stormy enough to 1)6 grand, 
 but just rough enough to be disagreeable. The hills 
 were covered with mist, the sky with clouds, the sea 
 mth foam, and doubts were entertained whether the 
 old man would venture forth in such a day, when, in 
 the midst of mist and clouds and rain and foam, a 
 little black dripping boat was descried rowing along, 
 which being run ashore, out stepped Inch Orran, his 
 aspect completely harmonising with that of nature. 
 Next was dragged forth Mrs. Malcolm, a mass of
 
 70 DESTINY. 
 
 cloaks and shawls. Next followed Simon, A^-ith a 
 small bundle under his arm, his person snugly en- 
 sconced beneath a large umbrella, which he affected 
 to hold carefully over his lady, but of which she got 
 only the droppings. 
 
 The Laird and his lady were Avelcomed by Glenroy 
 with every demonstration of courtesy and good-will. 
 They were received by him in his great hall, decorated 
 with banners and broadswords, and dirks and clay- 
 mores, and targets and deers' heads, and warlike 
 trophies of every description, amidst Avhich a conse- 
 quential, full-plumed piper paced to and fro. Alto- 
 gether, the effect was grand and imposing, but it was 
 quite lost upon the guests. Inch Orran, if he noticed 
 at all, noticed only to hate such trumpery, and his 
 lady did not know a dirk from a deer's horn. Glen- 
 roy's attempts at striking them with awe on their first 
 entrance were therefore all in vain ; it was to no 
 purpose that he pointed out the stately banner of one 
 chief, and the singular dirk of another, and related 
 anecdotes pertaining to each. 
 
 Inch Orran's horrid listening eyes were bent straight 
 upon him, but he never opened his lips unless to utter 
 a monosyllable. But still more enraging was his lady's 
 commotion upon discovering that she had lost one of 
 her gloves ; it was a new glove, a pink glove, a French 
 glove, a habit glove ; it was the fellow of the glove she 
 had on ; she must have left it in the boat, or it must 
 have fallen into the sea, or she must have dropped it 
 on the road, or fSimon must have seen it, or it must be in
 
 DESTINY. 71 
 
 Mr. Malcolm's pocket, for it could not be lost, and it 
 was not about her ; and she shook herself round and 
 round in testimony thereof. These her surmises and 
 lamentations were uttered in a low, slow, monotonous 
 tone to Benbowie and Mrs. Macauley, as with a de- 
 mentit air she looked all round about, and not seeing 
 her pink glove, she saw nothing else. Mrs. Macaule}' 
 and Benbowie bestirred themselves ■svith all their might 
 in search of the stray glove, for it was a case that 
 came home to both their bosoms ; they had each lost 
 gloves at different periods of their lives ; they therefore 
 knew what it was to lose a glove. They entered into 
 the nature of the loss ; they did not idly sympathise 
 in it, they exerted themselves to seek for it, they 
 wondered for it, they lamented for it, they poked 
 about for it in all improbable as well as impossible 
 places; in short, all the energies of their heads, 
 hearts, and hands were put in motion for the recovery 
 of the glove, but in vain. 
 
 Simon was next summoned, and he ended the 
 matter at once by boldly declai-ing that he had seen 
 the glove drop into the water as his lady was coming 
 out of the boat, and that just as he was trpng to re- 
 cover it, a monstrous wave had swept it away, and he 
 could see no more of it. 
 
 " I'm sure I never know whether to believe Simon 
 
 or not," said the lady to Mrs. jMacauley ; " for I think 
 
 he'll say anything just to save himself trouble."^ 
 
 ^ It will doubtless be a relief to the compassionate reader to 
 learn that the glove was all this wliile in Jlrs. Malcolm's own 
 pocket.
 
 72 DESTINY. 
 
 A rich repast, under the head of kmcheon, was 
 now served up ; but this Inch Orran refused point- 
 blank even to approach, and upon being pressed by 
 his host to partake in a manner that savom-ed more 
 of hospitality than of free will left to his guest, he 
 said in his most peremptory manner, " Sir, I make it 
 a rule to dine but once a day." This was uttered in 
 a tone not to be disputed ; but he added in a some- 
 what softer key, " But I request, sir, I may be no re- 
 straint on your usual practices ;" and motioning his 
 host towards the table, he betook himself to a far-off 
 corner of the room, the most remote and inaccessible, 
 where he began to read a newspaper ; and Glenroy, 
 already boiling at his dogged impertinence, left him 
 to chew the cud of his own reflections, while he did 
 the honours of the banquet.
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 The party were scarcely seated when young Xomian 
 came bounding into the apartment in all the exu- 
 berance of unchecked animal spirits, just let loose 
 from the restraints of the schoolroom, and evidently 
 master of his own actions everywhere else. He was 
 a handsome sprightly boy, with a haughty, careless 
 air, that showed he was already aAvare of his ovm 
 importance. He eyed Inch Orran for a moment, 
 with a look that seemed to say, "Who are you?" as 
 he brushed past him to the table, followed by a large 
 greyhound. 
 
 " Go and shake hands with that gentleman, Nor- 
 man," said his father; "that is Inch Orran." But 
 Norman heard as though he heard him not. 
 
 "I am so hungry, papa," said he, casting a wander- 
 ina; elance from dish to dish all over the table : " I 
 hope you have got something good for me. Oh, do 
 make haste, pray. No, no, I won't have a mutton- 
 chop," drawing away his plate quickly as Mrs. Mac- 
 auley was preparing to help him ; then, as suddenly 
 retracting, "Yes, you may give me one for Fingal. 
 Here Fin, Fin, my pretty fellow, here is a mutton-
 
 74 DESTINY. 
 
 chop for you ; now eat it like a gentleman, and don't 
 grease the carpet." 
 
 " Norman, did you hear me desire you to go and 
 shake hands with our friend Inch Orranf said 
 Glenroy, in a more authoritative tone. 
 
 " Yes, papa, I will presently, but " 
 
 "Go, then, sir, when I desire you," cried the Chief, 
 in rising displeasure. 
 
 " Yes, papa — ah ! ham-pie, that is so good ! " and 
 he jumped and shook his hands in ecstasy. " Now, do 
 give me some, papa; there is nothing I love so much." 
 
 " Unless you do as I desire you, sir, deuce a bit 
 of anything you shall taste to-day," cried Glenroy 
 angrily ; his authority over his son always requiring 
 to be backed by a threat, or a bribe, or an oath — 
 sometimes by all three. 
 
 "Well, then, remember you promised me some 
 ham-pie, papa;" and slowly approaching Inch Orran, 
 with his head riveted to the table and his eye upon 
 the dish, he extended his hand to him ; but it met 
 with no corresponding movement on the part of Inch 
 Orran, whose hands remained firmly closed before 
 him. Nowise disconcerted, however, his young kins- 
 man made a sort of snatch at his hand ; and then, 
 satisfied he had done his part, skipped away back to 
 enjoy the reward of his obedience. Glenroy took a 
 glance at the old man in the corner, but he did not 
 like his look. His lips were drawn in till they were 
 invisible ; his cheeks were distended like bolus's bags, 
 and his eyes glared like a cat's in the dark. His lady
 
 DESTINY. 75 
 
 was all this while seated between Benhowic and Mrs. 
 Macauley, and enjoying herself to her heart's content 
 in conversing with them. 
 
 " What's become of Eeginald and Edith to-day V 
 inquired Glenroy, and at that moment the sound of 
 young voices in the hall seemed to answer the ques- 
 tion. Fingal pricked up his ears and wagged his 
 tail, while his master sprang up and bounded away, 
 followed by his favoui-ite, who almost jumped over 
 Inch Orran, in his eagerness to gain the door. 
 
 "What are these children about f demanded 
 Glenroy angrily, as the uproar increased. 
 
 " You must come in — you shall come in — don't let 
 him go — hold him fast," resounded through the hall, 
 and presently entered a youthful group, consisting of 
 the three children of the house, all hanging round a 
 fine, manly-looking boy, dripping wet, and evidently 
 of a different stock from his more dainty -looking 
 companions. 
 
 "There is Ronald, papa," whispered Edith, as she 
 ran up to her father. 
 
 "Well, and what of that?" answered he in a dis- 
 satisfied tone. " Do you see no greater strangers than 
 him here, that you should be making all this noise 1" 
 
 Edith blushed, and tiurned to Mrs. Malcolm ; then, 
 but "vWth still more timidity, went to Inch Orran, who, 
 relaxing from his sternness, took the little hand ^lat 
 was held out to him, and even bestowed a pat on the 
 head, as if to make up for the rebuff she had met with 
 from her father. Meanwhile the two boys had com-
 
 76 DESTINY. 
 
 pelled their guest to approach to the table, quite 
 unconscious of the haughty looks with which Glenroy 
 regarded him. 
 
 "Now you are our prisoner," cried jSTorman ; "so 
 sit down, and you shall have something to eat, though 
 you deserve to be fed on bread and water for attempt- 
 ing to escape. Here, Fin, at him, if he offers to stir 
 wdthout my leave." 
 
 "How your dirty shoes have stained my trousers," 
 said Eeginald pettishly, as he rubbed some spots of 
 mud from his white trousers; "I wish I hadn't gone 
 near you; and I am so hot," putting his fingers 
 through his hair ; and throwing himself at full length 
 upon two chairs, he began to fan himself with a 
 napkin. 
 
 "So, Master Ronald, what has brought you here 
 this bad day?" inquired the Chieftain, in no very 
 encouraging accent. 
 
 The boy coloured, as if he felt the rudeness of the 
 inquiry ; then answered, " I came to return Norman's 
 fishing-rod." 
 
 "Phoo ; there could be no hurry in that," said the 
 Chief, still more coldly. 
 
 " I had promised to bring it to-day," said Eonald. 
 
 "Pshaw, what signified thaf?" said Norman care- 
 lessly; "you needn't have got yourself wet for a 
 promise, if that was all." 
 
 " I would rather have to svvini for my life than 
 break my word," said Konald warmly. 
 
 The two boys burst into a fit of laughing.
 
 DESTINY. 77 
 
 " On my conscience, but there's a great difference," 
 said Benbowie, with a look of alarm. 
 
 " Come, come, let us have no more nonsense," said 
 Glenroy impatiently ; "and if you're for anything to 
 eat, boys, make haste, for ever3'body's done." 
 
 Ronald declined the ungracious invitation, and was 
 retiring, when he was again seized by his two friends. 
 
 "Oh, you know, you are our prisoner; so you 
 needn't attempt to get away. You mud stay, and 
 you shall eat. So sit down." 
 
 "3fust and shall?" repeated Eonald, with a smile ; 
 while his open countenance and fine intrepid air 
 showed that he yielded more from good-humour than 
 from false shame or fear ; for he wore 
 
 " upon his forehead clear 
 
 The freedom of a mountaineer ; 
 A face with gladness overspread, 
 And looks by human kindness bred." 
 
 Altogether there was an air of noble, artless sim- 
 plicity about the boy extremely prepossessing, and 
 rendered still more striking when contrasted with the 
 more artificial elegance of his companions, and the 
 saucy capricious airs of superiority which marked the 
 children of consequence. 
 
 "Now, although you are a prisoner," said Norman, 
 I shall allow you to choose for yourself. What will 
 you have 1 Here is a ham-pie which I can recommend. 
 Papa, I told Barclay that I thought he had put rather 
 too many truffles and morels in the last, and not 
 enough of eggs; and, by-the-bye, plover's eggs are
 
 78 DESTINY. 
 
 much the best. If you like venison, Ronald, here is 
 a hash, which is by far the best way of eating venison, 
 at least in my opinion." 
 
 "I'll take a mutton-chop," said Ronald, helping 
 himself to what was next him. 
 
 " A mutton-chop ! horrible ! — that's Fingal's dish ; 
 but he wouldn't eat them now, for they are almost 
 cold." 
 
 "It is very good," said Ronald, eating with a 
 hearty appetite. 
 
 " Perhaps you choose a cold potato too," said 
 Reginald contemptuously, holding one up. 
 
 "Warm ones are better," said Ronald, taking a 
 potato ; "but I don't care — it doesn't signif}^" 
 
 " No ; to be sure, if people have no taste, it does 
 7wt signify," said Norman, piqued at the indifference 
 of his guest, and bent upon showing his power and 
 consequence, especially before such queer-looking 
 people as Inch Orran and his lady. 
 
 " You are quite wet, Ronald," said Edith softly, as 
 she put her hand on his arm. Then whispered to her 
 father, "Pray, papa, give Ronald a glass of wine." 
 
 "Here's a glass of wine for you," said Glenroy, 
 pouring it out ungraciously, and as if he wished to 
 end the scene ; but Ronald declined taking it. 
 
 " Do take it, dear Ronald," said Edith. 
 
 "We shall make him take it," said the young 
 heir, whose hospitality Avas of the most peremptory 
 natiu-e. 
 
 " If I Avere to take it for anybody, it would be for
 
 DESTINY. 79 
 
 Edith," said Eonakl ; "but I don't choose any wine, 
 thank you." 
 
 "Come, drink it off, and go away and amuse your- 
 selves somewhere else," cried Glenroy, in a very bad 
 humour. 
 
 Ronald instantly rose, but was again seized by his 
 two tormentors. 
 
 " Oh you shall not stir till you have drunk it to 
 the last drop." 
 
 And Norman, taking the glass of wine, would have 
 forced it to his lips ; but he shook him off. 
 
 "Nothing will make me drink wine," said he 
 firmly. 
 
 " Oh, you are a Turk, a Mussulman ! — a Turk, a 
 Turk ! " shouted the two boys in derision. 
 
 "He is an obstinate dog," said Glenroy; "let him 
 alone." Ronald's colour rose, but he said nothing. 
 
 "What is the reason you refuse to drink, my boy?" 
 demanded Inch Orran, emerging from his corner, 
 where he had been an attentive spectator of all that 
 had passed. Ronald met his sharp inquisitive glance 
 with the clear ingenuous expression of his full blue 
 eye ; but he was silent for a moment, then said — 
 
 "Because my father wishes me not to drink wine." 
 
 "And why?" 
 
 Ronald cast down his eyes. 
 
 " Oh, I know the reason now," whispered the two 
 boys, nodding to each other with haK- suppressed 
 smiles, then whispering, "it's because they're so poor." 
 
 Ronald instantly shook off his embarrassment, and
 
 80 DESTINY. 
 
 looking up, said, " He can't aflford to give us wine at 
 home," 
 
 " On my conscience, and that's the very reason you 
 should get leave to take it when you can get it else- 
 where," said Benbowie. 
 
 "Well, well, we have had enough of this," cried 
 Glenroy impatiently ; "go away, and divert yourselves 
 elsewhere, children. — Good morning, Mr. Ronald." 
 
 And Ronald, in spite of the forcible attempts of 
 his friends to detain him, shook them off Avith ease, 
 and darted away in the midst of a heavy rain. 
 
 "That's the son of Jack Malcolm of Lochdhu?" 
 said Inch Orran, fixing his inquisitorial eyes full 
 upon Glenroy, who felt that an apology was due for 
 this ill-timed meeting "svith the son of the man he de- 
 tested, and he replied, "Yes. I'm sony this should 
 have happened. Inch Orran ; but the father is a 
 tacksman of mine ; I couldn't be off letting him 
 have a farm that joined to his own bit of proj^erty, 
 and that boy has got a sort of footing here through 
 the children; they're glad of companions near their 
 own age." 
 
 "How many children has Jack Malcolm?" asked 
 the old man abruptly. 
 
 "About a dozen, I believe," said Glenroy con- 
 temptuously. 
 
 " And that is his eldest son V 
 
 " Yes ; and if he had been mine, and I had been 
 in his father's situation, he shouldn't have been idling 
 away his time at home. I gave them my advice.
 
 DESTINY. 81 
 
 which was to send that boy to some cheap public 
 school in England, Avhere he would learn something 
 of the world, which is the thing for a boy that has 
 his way to make in it. But they wouldn't hear of 
 it ; said they would rather live upon bread and water 
 than send any child of theirs to a great school. How- 
 ever, they are not just at that, for they can at least 
 give them kail and porridge;" with a laugh of derision. 
 A spark shot from the corner of Inch Orran's eye 
 as he turned abruptly aAvay, muttering something 
 between his teeth. The rain fell without intermis- 
 sion for the rest of the day, which seemed of endless 
 duration to both parties, and Glenroy was at last 
 obliged to have recourse to Mrs. Macauley's much- 
 ilespised musical powers to wile away the time. 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 The following clay cleared up, and there was a bright 
 sun and a sweet blowing wind, and everything looked 
 gay and everybody pleased except Inch Orran, who 
 minded neither sun nor wind, and was alike insensible 
 to the charms of nature and the influence of weather. 
 Glenroy had invited a large party — that is, he had 
 summoned all who were within call to do honour to 
 his kinsman's visit — and the house (which indeed was 
 seldom empty) had continued to fill during the whole 
 morning with invited guests, as also with chance 
 droppers -in of various descriptions. The Chief felt 
 as if there was safety from his kinsman's ill-humour 
 in the multitude that surrounded him ; his courage 
 rose, his spirits revived, and he was himself again. 
 But it M'as a transitory calm. The dinner-hour was 
 drawing near, the guests were all assembled, when 
 suddenly, borne on the breeze, came the distant 
 neighing of a steed. Glenroy started and turned 
 red ; another and another loud and long and shrill 
 and joyful burst ; it was the well-known happy neigh 
 of Amailye, announcing the approach of Mr. Duncan 
 M'Dow ! Had the Castle possessed a drawbridge it
 
 DESTINY. 83 
 
 certainly would have been raised on the instant, but 
 as there were neither javelin-men nor moat to oppose 
 him, the minister rode boldly on, arrayed as usual 
 in his large woolly greatcoat and red worsted com- 
 forter. 
 
 Mrs. Malcolm caught the sovgh of his name, and 
 thereupon thought proper to address Glenroy. 
 
 " Is that the Mr. M'Dow that Avas so good as to 
 call one day at Inch Orranl What an uncommon 
 pleasant, sensible, well-informed man he is ! I was 
 really very much pleased with him ; he's so polite 
 and well-bred, and has so much to say ; he seems a 
 very superior man ; it must be a great advantage to 
 have such a man for a clergyman, and I'm sure you 
 have great credit in your choice, for there's really 
 something so very — ahem — a — so uncommonly — a — 
 a — so much of the gentleman about him." 
 
 Glenroy disdained to reply. 
 
 Here the announcement of Mr. M'Dow put a stop 
 to the remarks, and presently his heavy foot announced 
 itself. Although there was a large assemblage of ladies 
 and gentlemen present, Mr. M'Dow as usual made a 
 point of grappling with each individually, right and 
 left, here and there, cross hands and down backs, in 
 the most indefatigable manner. Then fastening upon 
 his host, he burst out with one of his avant courier 
 roars of laughter. 
 
 " Well, Glenroy, there's one thing, I'm sure, you'll 
 not say of me, as was said of a poor friend of mine, 
 who was thought rather neglectful of his parish in
 
 84 DESTINY. 
 
 the visiting way, and something too metapheesical in 
 his discoorses from his pulpit; it was really very 
 neatly said — ho, hoch, how — that he was a most 
 wonderful man, for he was invisible six days in the 
 week, and incomprehensible on the seventh ; very 
 clever, rather severe, to be sure, but it was really 
 just the truth — how, how, ho, hoch." 
 
 Glenroy was not like Hamlet. He could have 
 used daggers, but he could not speak them. He did 
 not excel in reparUe at any time, for, when provoked, 
 he was instantly in a passion ; and not daring to give 
 scope to it in the present instance, all he could do 
 was to dart a furious glance at the intruder, and turn 
 on his heel. But heel or toe, it was all one to the 
 minister, who was quite insensible to all rebuffs, 
 especially as he met with a warm reception from such 
 of the party as, being more remote and inaccessible 
 in their dwelhngs, and having nothing to say as to 
 the augmentation, were not favoured with so much of 
 his company in their own houses. 
 
 And as one person of easy manners — no matter 
 how vulgar — is always acceptable to the guests, what- 
 ever he may be to the host, Mr. M'Dow's bad jokes 
 and hearty laugh were very palatable to some of the 
 party, who found them much more relishing than the 
 overbearing pomp of Glenroy, or the morose silence 
 of Inch Orran. Mr. M'Dow, therefore, was very soon 
 riding on the rigging of his own good spirits ; and 
 peal upon peal, roar upon roar, followed in quick 
 succession, and raised many an echo from the lower
 
 DESTINY. 85 
 
 orders of the company. His staying to dinner was a 
 matter of covirse. In tlie first flush of his gratified 
 f eehngs, at having got the man of his choice — a moder- 
 ate man, an honest fellow, and also pleased with the 
 convivial habits and jolly manners, which he saw 
 would be no restraint on his own, Glenroy had in a 
 rash moment given him a general invitation to his 
 house, which the minister had not been slack in avail- 
 ing himself of, particularly if there was anything 
 going on that promised better cheer or more amuse- 
 ment than common. As surely, therefore, as Glem'oy 
 had any new arrivals of consequence, or a larger or 
 more ceremonious party than usual, or an extraordi- 
 nary influx of company, or any strangers of great dis- 
 tinction, he might depend upon Mr. M'Dow's dropping 
 in. It was quite wonderful how and where he acquired 
 such speedy and certain intelligence ; for in a remote 
 and thinly-peopled country, where dwellings were few 
 and far between, it could neither be by seeing nor 
 hearing nor smelling. But so it was ; no wild Indian 
 could have tracked his prey with greater certainty 
 and finesse than Mr. M'Dow did a good dinner; 
 indeed, nothing could surpass the accuracy and suc- 
 cess with which he followed the trail of a jolly party, 
 or what he termed " an innocent recreation." 
 
 Glenroy having surmounted the first shock of his 
 appearance, though still boiling with Avrath against 
 him, resolved to make it plain that his company was 
 not expected at dinner, and therefore said, in his 
 stateliest manner, "You are too late for luncheon,
 
 86 DESTINY. 
 
 Mr. M'Dow ; but if you wish for any refreshment, I 
 shall order some to the eating-room for you." 
 
 " You are really extremely kind and considerate, 
 Glenroy," replied his guest, with much hearty warmth 
 of manner ; " but it is quite unnecessary in you to put 
 yourseK to that trouble, as I had a snack at your 
 friend Captain Malcolm's • and indeed I was pressed 
 to stay still there, which I would have done, if I had 
 not previously intended myself the honour of taking 
 my pot-luck with you, as you were so very polite as to 
 assure me of being always welcome ; a piece of kind- 
 ness and hospitality which I am sure I shall never 
 forget." 
 
 "That's just as it should be," remarked a laird 
 who had three ferries between him and Mr. M'Dow. 
 "There ought always to be an open door to the 
 minister." 
 
 "It's a pleasant thing to see the heritors and 
 ministers on a friendly footing," said another, Avhose 
 teinds were valued and exhausted. 
 
 " In that respect, I have really reason to be proud," 
 said Mr. M'Dow, rapping his mull with an air of 
 modest importance ; "for ever since my induction, I 
 have met with uncommon attention and hospitality, 
 not only from my respected pawtron here, but likewise 
 from the very gentlemen who thought proper to 
 oppose the presentation. There's Captain Malcolm, 
 for instance, he was very keen against me ; more so, 
 indeed, than what many men in my situation would 
 have overlooked. But he's a little of the high-flier :
 
 DESTINY. 87 
 
 the very — hem — the unco gude — hoch, hoch, how ! 
 one o' your gospellers, in short; what one of my 
 worthy brethren calls your saunts — hoch, hoch, ho ! 
 but I believe he is a Avell-meaning man for all that, 
 so I made a point of showing him that I bore no ill- 
 will against him, and that I had no objections what- 
 ever to be on a friendly footing with him," with 
 another long, self-sufficient pinch of snufF. 
 
 " He's a very honest man. Captain Malcolm," said 
 a good-natured bluff laird ; " and has as fine a family 
 as I ever saw, and as well brought up, too. There's 
 not a prettier girl in all the shire than Lucy Mal- 
 colm ; and he'll be a lucky man that gets her for his 
 wife." 
 
 Mr. M'Dow now addressed Inch Orran. " I was 
 just saying, sir, that I had the pleeshure this forenoon 
 of paying my respects to a very worthy gentleman, a 
 clansman, and, I believe, a relation of yours — Captain 
 John Malcolm." A slight, stiff bend from Inch Orran 
 was the only replj^ ; but Mr. M'Dow Avent on. "My 
 principal object in calling on him to-daj"" was, that I 
 wished particularly to see a set of farm offices Avhich 
 I heard he had latel}" built, and also some improve- 
 ments which he had made upon his house ; and I 
 thought I might pick up some useful hints from them, 
 to lay before my excellent pawtron here, especially 
 in respect of a byre. There's nothing in my remem- 
 brance that there's been greater improvements in than 
 in byres. However, I must say I was disappointed ; 
 he has made no addition of any signification to the
 
 88 DESTINY. 
 
 house; and the offices are really upon a very moderate 
 scale — very much so; extremely moderate, indeed." 
 
 " I understood, sir, moderation had been a favour- 
 ite virtue of yours," said Inch Orrau drily. 
 
 " Ay — yes — to be sure, in some things — indeed in 
 most things, I may say ; moderation is the safest 
 coorse. Moderation will never lead a man far wrong. 
 Inch Orran." 
 
 " Yes, sir, it leads a man far wrong, if it keeps him 
 from doing his duty," returned Inch Orran. 
 
 " There I quite agree ^\^th you. Inch Orran — there 
 can be no doubt of that. But, in respect of the offices 
 — it's really my unprejudiced oiDinion, that when a 
 man has his hand in the mortar tub, a little money, 
 more or less, is ill saved, when the question is between 
 a good, handsome, complete building, and a poor, 
 paltry, insignificant thing. I used the freedom to say 
 something of that sort to the Captain himself, but 
 he only laughed and shook his head, and said he had 
 eight strong reasons against extravagance — pointing 
 to his children. ' Ay, to be sure, there's no arguing 
 against such facts as these. Captain,' says I ; ' they're 
 the next thing to the Ten Commandments' — hoch, hoch, 
 hoch ! — how, ho ! " Here, strong in conscious freedom, 
 Mr. M'Dow roared and laughed, rapped upon his mull, 
 drew in about a quarter of a pound of snufF, and dis- 
 played all the extent of a Pulicat handkerchief. 
 
 At dinner things were, if possible, still worse. 
 The manse and the byre, to be sure, were forgot, 
 while he revelled amidst a profusion of fish, flesh,
 
 DESTINY. 89 
 
 fowl, and game of every description, with the ardour 
 of a man -who, with all the inclination, had not the 
 means of faring sumptuously every day. The rest 
 of the party ate, drank, talked, and disputed in the 
 usual manner, all save Inch Orran, who ate little, 
 drank none, and preserved a profound silence, except 
 when now and then provoked to utter some sharp 
 and biting sarcasm.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 There is something very appalling in the silence that 
 precedes a storm. At such a time the imagination 
 and the conscience are left to the full and undisturbed 
 exercise of their powers; and, however vague and 
 undefined may be their operations, they nevertheless 
 continue to oppress us with that deadliest of all fears 
 — "the fear of something yet to come." 
 
 It was probably this instinctive dread which had 
 made Glenroy hitherto shun every approach to a Ute- 
 a-tete with his silent guest ; but as the hour of his 
 departure drew near, he began to muster his courage, 
 and to consider that it was due to himself to come to 
 some sort of understanding with the old man, as to 
 the strange bearing he had held ever since his arrival. 
 It was impossible he could have met with any real 
 ground of offence, for everything had been done to 
 grace his visit and gain his good-Avill ; but something 
 might have occurred which he was not aware of, or 
 there might have been some imaginary failure that 
 had given umbrage, and a few words of explanation 
 might set all to rights. For this purpose, therefore, 
 Glenroy sought a private interview with his guest.
 
 DESTINY. 91 
 
 the morning of his departure, and began in the usual 
 terms, by expressing his regret at the prospect of los- 
 ing him so soon, mingled with gentle upbraidings at 
 the shortness of his stay, hopes of his speedy return, 
 and of being favoured with a longer visit. Then Inch 
 Orran spoke, and he said very deliberately, 
 
 " Sir, this is my first visit, and it will be my last." 
 
 This was coming to the point with a vengeance. 
 Glenroy was startled, l^ut draAving himself up he 
 said, "I flatter myself. Inch Orran, you have found 
 nothing wanting on my part to make your stay here 
 pleasant?" 
 
 "Have I made any complaint, sir?" was the true 
 Scottish answer. 
 
 " I should be sorry if you, or any man, had any- 
 thing to complain of in my house," replied the Chief- 
 tain proudly. 
 
 Inch Orran smiled — that is, he uncurled his little 
 purse-mouth for the first time since his arrival ; but 
 it was a scornful, ill-omened smile. 
 
 " I — I'm at a loss to understand you, Inch Orran — 
 'pon my soul I am. I am used to speak my mind to 
 every man, and I expect every man to do the same 
 to me," said Glenroy, waxing warm. 
 
 " I have no objection to speak my mind to you, 
 sir," said Inch Orran, with a horrid gleam of his little 
 vindictive eye ; " but are you quite sure you have 
 none to hear it?" 
 
 "I don't know why I should," returned the Chief, 
 affecting great coolness, to conceal the abhorrence
 
 92 DESTINY. 
 
 which all men, women, and children, feel at that 
 awful and portentous threat, whether from friend or 
 foe, of speaking their mind. It is then " conscience 
 makes cowards of us all," as it did of Glenroy, who, 
 in spite of the high opinion he had of himself, felt an 
 instinctive dread at the idea of Inch Orran speaking 
 his mind, either to him or of him. And, indeed, 
 speaking the mind is generally understood to mean 
 neither more nor less than that the speaker means 
 to be most thoroughly disagreeable and abusive. 
 
 There was, however, no escaping Inch Orran's 
 mind, or rather matter, as he looked exactly like a 
 tiger cat who had got his claw stuck hard and fast in 
 his prey, and was in no hurry to despatch it. 
 
 " Then, sir, on what particular point is it that you 
 wish me to speak my mindl" demanded he, with 
 the firmness of a rock. This was much too precise 
 for Glenroy, who would rather have kept in vague 
 generals than have been brought to particular points, 
 and who, moreover, had expected the questions to be 
 all on his side, the answers on the other. 
 
 "I — don't think — in — a — I, in short, I — don't 
 think you seem to have been pleased with something 
 or another. Inch Orran f said Glenroy, with some 
 awkward hesitation. 
 
 "I don't say that I have, sir." 
 
 " Then, sir, I wish you would have the goodness 
 to say what it is you complain of ; have you met with 
 anything to offend you in me or any of my family?" 
 demanded the Chief, strong in conscious importance.
 
 DESTINY. 93 
 
 Inch Ori-an was silent for a moment, then answered 
 in the most decided manner, " I have, sir." 
 
 " I'm sorry to hear it. Inch Orran ; very sorry in- 
 deed that you or anybody else should have met with 
 anything unpleasant in my house, or should consider 
 yourself as having been ill-used by me or any of my 
 family." 
 
 " Sir, you mistake me ; I never said I had been ill- 
 used." 
 
 " I beg pardon ; but I certainly understood you to 
 say so, Inch Orran." 
 
 " Then, sir, you misunderstood me." 
 
 " I'm happy to hear it, Inch Orran ; for I assure 
 you I should have been very sorry if any misunder- 
 standing had taken place between us ; for there are 
 few men for whom I entertain a higher respect than 
 I do for you." 
 
 "Excuse me, sir, there is a misunderstanding." 
 
 " Sir," said the Chief, " I am really at a loss to under- 
 stand you. If I have failed in any attentions " 
 
 "No want of attention, sir," in a tone as much as 
 to say, "Eather too much of it." 
 
 " Has there been anything in any of the company 
 to offend you. Inch Orran V 
 
 " Much !" pronounced in a most emphatic manner ; 
 then, after a little pause, " Everything, and in all of 
 them, sir." 
 
 " Indeed ! upon my soul, sir, you are ill to please ! 
 You have met with some of the first gentlemen in the 
 county, I can tell you, whatever you may think."
 
 94 DESTIXY. 
 
 Again his mouth was contemptuously curled, while 
 the Chief took a turn up and do^vn the room to cool 
 himself; he then stopped, and having gulped down 
 his anger, said, " Come, come, Inch Orran, I see how 
 it is; you are a sober man yourself, and you have 
 been a little scandalised at seeing some of my friends 
 take their glass so freely ; but every country has its 
 own customs, you know, and I didn't suppose you ex- 
 pected to find a company of hermits in the Highlands 
 of Scotland." ' 
 
 "Sir, if by hermits you mean anchorites or holy 
 hypocrites, I despise them as much as you do ; but I 
 was not prepared to -witness such excesses in eating 
 and drinking." 
 
 " Excesses ! that's a very strong expression ! I 
 have always been used to keep a full table, and to 
 make my friends welcome to it; people must live 
 according to their station ; my style of living is per- 
 haps different from what you have been accustomed 
 to." 
 
 "Very different, sir," quicldy interrupted the old 
 man; "?»?/ life, sir, has been a life of labour, of 
 frugality, of abstinence. Your life, sir, is one con- 
 tinued idle, extravagant, intemperate soss." 
 
 "Anything else, sir?" demanded Glenroy, boiling 
 with indignation. 
 
 ''There is something else, sir." 
 
 " Then you had better go on, sir ; much better saj'' 
 all you have to say; you have already found fault 
 with the company I keep, and the style I live in."
 
 DESTINY. 95 
 
 " Sir, you mistake ; I find no fault, I only speak 
 my mind." 
 
 " Call it what you please, sir ; you object to my 
 friends and my table." 
 
 "Excuse me again, sir. I object to neither. I 
 have sat at the one, and associated with the other, 
 though they were both highly offensive to me." 
 
 . " And I can tell you, sir, your behaviour has been 
 no less offensive to me and my friends. By heaven, 
 there is not another man on the face of the earth I 
 would have suffered to stay in my house, and sit at my 
 table for three days without opening his lips. Sir, let 
 me tell you such behaviour is more like that of a spy 
 than anything else." And Glenroy's passion was now 
 at its height. 
 
 "Exactly, sir," said his antagonist, pursing up his 
 mouth with an air of sovereign contempt. " I came 
 to your house not as a babbler and Avinebibber ; but 
 as a noter and observer, and I have accomplished my 
 purpose." 
 
 By a violent effort Glenroy regained his temper, 
 and, seeing all was at hazard, he resolved to humour 
 the old man, and let him go his way in peace ; he 
 therefore said with a laugh, "Well, well, Inch Orran, 
 you've hardly dealt fairly by us, considering that Ave 
 were met to celebrate your arrival, and drink to the 
 Laird of Inch Orran. Perhaps we did exceed a little 
 last night; but, since that's all, we shall part good 
 friends, I hope." 
 
 "No, sir; it is not all."
 
 96 DESTINY. 
 
 " What else offended you, sir 1 The boys have been 
 rather noisy, perhaps; but you know boys will be boys." 
 
 " Noisy and disagreeable all boys are," replied Inch 
 Orran ; " but epicures and puppies all boys are 7wt. 
 Sir, your son is an epicure, and I look upon an epicure 
 as little better than a drunkard. I have known 
 drunkards, sir — that is, men who what you call liked 
 their glass (degraded as they Avere to a level with the 
 brutes) — who still retained some manly feelings ; but 
 I never knew an epicure who cared for any one thing 
 on the face of the earth but his own inside." 
 
 Glenroy had stood the attack upon himself, his 
 friends, and his table, with wonderful equanimity; 
 but this invective against his son and heir, the very 
 apple of his eye, was too much for him ; and, uttering 
 an oath, he stalked away to the window. But there 
 lay full disclosed the seat of Inch Orran — the family 
 seat! — its venerable towers, its green ui)lands, its 
 noble woods, all reflected on the bosom of the clear 
 waters. 
 
 " There's the respect " that made him pause ; and 
 after a severe struggle, he recovered himself and said, 
 "I'm sorry. Inch Orran, you should have taken up 
 such a prejudice against Norman; for, although I 
 say it, there is not a finer or more manly boy in the 
 country than he is. And as for his eating, if he is a 
 little nice, it's all owing to that English dominie, who, 
 by Jove, beats all for gormandising that ever I met 
 with. I've a good mind to give him his dismissal 
 this very day."
 
 DESTINY. 97 
 
 " As to that, sir, you may take your own time, for 
 it is now too late. Epicurism is a vice that never cures. 
 Your son, sir, is an epicure, and an epicure he -ttdll re- 
 main, in spite of your teeth." 
 
 Here Glenroy could scaircely refrain from seizing 
 the old man by the nape of the neck, and whirling 
 him out at the window, which stood most invitingly 
 open. While he stood irresolute how to testify his 
 fury and contempt, Inch Orran proceeded : 
 
 "Now, sir, I have spoken my mind to you, and I 
 have done it with deliberation. I have spent nearly 
 three days, sir, under your roof, in the midst, I may 
 say, of a human hog-sty, for the purpose of studying 
 your son, and the result of my observations is, that 
 he is an epicure. Allow me, sir," as Glenroy was 
 aliout to interrupt him ; " I am aware, sir, that you 
 look forward to your son succeeding to my estate — 
 sir, I beg I may not be interrupted — the expectation 
 is perfectly natural, and in your situation I should 
 probably have done the same. The wish to regain the 
 inheritance of your forefathers is also unblamable; 
 I find no fault with it." 
 
 Glenroy brightened up a little, and began to breathe 
 more easily. 
 
 " But, sir, I think it right and proper to undeceive 
 you. Your son will never inherit a foot of my land, 
 or a farthing of my money." 
 
 Glenroy was absolutely dumb with rage and aston- 
 ishment ; the old man therefore proceeded : " But, sir, 
 you have another child, who, although of the wrong 
 
 VOL. I. II D.
 
 98 DESTINY. 
 
 sex, promises fair. She is a quiet, inoffensive, tem- 
 perate creature, which is all that can be expected of 
 a female. My intention, therefore, is to settle the 
 property upon her and her heirs-male." 
 
 " This is a most extraordinary proceeding," cried 
 Glenroy, interrupting him, as he suddenly recovered 
 from the shock he had sustained; "upon my soul, I 
 don't know what I am about. It is a proposal so 
 wholly unexpected, so very unnatural and improper, 
 to pass by the boy for no reason whatever. I, sir — I 
 can't possibly agree to such a thing." 
 
 And he walked hastily up and down in great agita- 
 tion, while the old man sat looking as demure as a 
 cat. "Sir," continued he, "I don't deprive you of 
 your son, or your son of anything he has any right 
 to; so neither you nor he has any business to say 
 buff or sty in the matter. My intention, sir, is to 
 mend the breed, Avhich has degenerated, and is still 
 degenerating." 
 
 Bursting with half-restrained rage, Glenroy uttered 
 some unintelhgible ejaculations, and allowed his kins- 
 man to go on. 
 
 "Sir, the one to mend a degenerate breed is he 
 \\'ho speaks the truth, who keeps his word, who 
 honours his parents, who is no gormandiser, who 
 minds neither wind nor weather, and Avho has been 
 ] )orn and bred in Avholesome poverty. Such a one is 
 the lad I saw scorned and browbeat at your table ; 
 and provided he, Eonald Malcolm, will, at a proper 
 age, consent to take your daughter to wife, and she
 
 DESTINY. 99 
 
 has sense enough to accede to the proposal, the pro- 
 perty shall be settled upon their heirs-male ; on the 
 other hand, should he refuse " 
 
 But here an oath burst from Glenroy's lips hke a 
 thunderbolt, and the flood-gates of his long-repressed 
 fury were opened — loud and fierce was the torrent 
 that broke loose ; but the old man sat and bore it all 
 with the most perfect composure, and even seemed as 
 if he enjoyed the storm he had raised. 
 
 At that moment a servant entered to say that the 
 boat was ready, and the tide answered. Inch Orran 
 rose. 
 
 "Time and tide will no man bide, Glenroy. I 
 have now spoken my mind to you, and I shall leave 
 you to deliberate on my proposal." 
 
 " I would rather see any daughter of mine in her 
 coffin than the wife of any beggarly tacksman's son," 
 cried Glenroy, in a perfect foam. " I have other views 
 for my daughter, and I will dispose of her as I think 
 proper." 
 
 " Quite right, sir, if you can." 
 
 " Sir, I both can and ivill." 
 
 " You are a lucky man, sir, it seems. I have no 
 more to say." 
 
 "Sir, I have something to say to you. This 
 behaviour of yours is not to be borne ! " 
 
 " That is unfortunate, sir, for I am no duellist. I 
 wish you good morning," was the cool reply; so, dis- 
 regarding all remonstrances, Inch Orran walked off, 
 and was joined by his lady and Simon.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Opposition whs a thing Glenroy was little accustomed 
 to at any time ; but to be thus bearded and got the 
 better of in his own house, in the very heart of his 
 friends, guests, and countrymen, was an indignity he 
 could not away with : for a time he gave full play to 
 his passions, and like a very dragon of old, breathed 
 fire and fury all around. But as what is violent is 
 never lasting, he soon cooled down to his usual tem- 
 perature, and being of a sanguine disposition, he even 
 began to look upon what had passed as a sort of bad 
 joke, or ill-natured whim of the old man's, which would 
 go no farther, and would not be followed by any bad 
 consequences. The calm, however, was of short dura- 
 tion. The first intelligence he heard was that Eonald 
 Malcolm had been invited to Inch Orran, and was 
 actually living there in high favour with his kinsman. 
 This went so far beyond Glenroy 's worst anticipa- 
 tions that he disdained to be in a passion about it. 
 He was perfectly cool and composed, as everybody 
 might see, only his colour was considerably higher 
 than usual ; and though he hummed a song, it was 
 much out of tune, and when he laughed very heartily
 
 DESTINY. 101 
 
 nobody knew very well what it was at. In short, he 
 had all the gaiety and indifference which people com- 
 monly have when very much agitated and discom- 
 posed. It was only by fits and starts that anything 
 like ill -temper showed itself; but upon his son, as 
 usual, choosing the richest dishes at table, he "was for 
 the first time in his life checked Avith an angry excla- 
 mation and an oath, followed with, "And I'll be 
 hanged if I'll suffer any epicures in my house. I 
 hate an epicure, and you shall not be an epicure, sir. 
 You shall live upon porridge and mutton as I did, or, 
 by Jove ! you shall starve." 
 
 This threat was, of course, null and void the very 
 next day, when'the young Chief was to be seen, as usual, 
 picking his way amongst the intricacies of the luxurious 
 board ; but that day had brought new matter to light 
 which made it unnecessary for Glenroy either to sing 
 out of tune, or laugh out of time, or contradict his son, 
 or do anything out of the common course of nature. It 
 was reported that Ronald Malcolm, so far from having 
 been invited to Inch Orran, had been sent there by 
 his father to try to bring about a reconciliation ; that 
 instead of that, he had met with a very bad recep- 
 tion, and been even turned from the house late one 
 stormy night, when he had lost himself amongst the 
 hills, and had been glad to take refuge in the shiehng 
 of Duncan Macrae, the hind on Benvalloch, from 
 whom the deponent had his information. 
 
 Glenroy was not a malignant man, but different 
 passions often lead to the same result. He was a
 
 102 DESTINY. 
 
 proud and a selfish man ; but his pride was called 
 family pride, and his selfishness natural affection ; 
 and both these much-admired qualities operated pre- 
 cisely as envy and mahce would have done. 
 
 His pride had been galled and liis self-love wounded 
 at the thoughts of his poor despised kinsman's son 
 being preferred to his ; and now his heart uncon- 
 sciously exulted in the downfall of his hopes, and he 
 felt ready to patronise and befriend him in any way, 
 except that of becoming Laird of Inch Orran. Flushed 
 with his own generous feelings, he resolved to pay a 
 visit to the family at Lochdhu, and offer him his advice 
 and assistance in the disposal of Eonald. Perhaps a 
 little curiosity to hear a true account of Ronald's visit 
 to Inch Orran mingled with the motives, for he had 
 heard so many various statements as to what had 
 passed between the old man and his young kinsman, 
 that he was at a loss what to believe. In one parti- 
 cular, however, they all agreed, and that was the 
 main point, that a violent quarrel had taken place ; 
 but whether Eonald had left the house in dudgeon, 
 or been turned from it in disgrace, had not been 
 clearly ascertained. Whichever it was, it mattered 
 little to Glenroy ; the result would be the same, and 
 the restoration of his son would follow, as a matter 
 of course ; he therefore flattered himself that it was 
 simply the desire to arrive at the truth which lay at 
 the bottom of his curiosity. Accordingly, one fine 
 summer's day he set forth on his ride. 
 
 Lochdhu was as ugly as any Highland place can
 
 DESTINY. 103 
 
 be ; but there was a mid grandeur in its dark moun- 
 tains and roaring streams and trackless heaths, and 
 a varying interest in the lights and shadows of its 
 stormy firth, Avhich atoned for the Avant of more 
 florid beauties. There was perfect neatness, and 
 even some embellishment, around the house ; but the 
 shrubs were yet in their infancy, and the flowers 
 were not so luxmiant as in brighter climes, and be- 
 neath more costly culture. 
 
 As the Chief drew near, he descried Captain and 
 Mrs. Malcolm, with their children, on the little lawn 
 before the house, which was strewn with coils of new- 
 mown hay. Mrs. Malcolm, though no longer young, 
 still bore a fair and youthful aspect, and seemed like 
 the elder sister of the sweet, Madonna-looking girl, 
 the senior of the family, who sat by her side. Cap- 
 tain ]\Ialcolm had been a very handsome man, but 
 the hardships of war and varieties of climate had 
 impaired his looks as well as health. AVhat ho had 
 been was now pictured in young Ronald — 
 
 " By his ingenuous beauty, by tlie gleam 
 Of his fair eyes, by his capacious brow, 
 By all the graces with which nature's hand 
 Had bounteousl}^ an-ay'd him." 
 
 The younger cliildren looked healthful and bright 
 as opening buds and blossoms. 
 
 Mrs. Malcolm and her daughters were seated with 
 a book and their work. Captain Malcolm and the 
 bigger boys were turning over the hay, and the Kttle 
 ones were frolicking about.
 
 104 DESTINY. 
 
 But Glenroy saw no beauty in this family picture 
 on which his eye could long dwell ; for he despised 
 women, and never was amused with any children but 
 his own. The first brief salutations over, he there- 
 fore walked apart with his host, expatiating uj^on 
 hay-mowing, making, stacking, etc., and describing 
 the magnificent manner in Avhicli these oj)erations 
 were performed on his model of a farm. He then 
 entered upon the subject uppermost in his mind, by 
 inquiring of Captain Malcolm if he had seen Inch 
 Orran since his arrival in the country. A simple 
 negative was all the reply. 
 
 " Your son would tell you he had met him at my 
 house," said Glenroy, with some hesitation. 
 
 " Konald was then ignorant who he was ; but I 
 suspect he was indebted to yoiu' good oflfices upon 
 that occasion." 
 
 Glenroy coloured, and stammered out something 
 in the way of denial. 
 
 "I am very sensible of your kind intentions," said 
 Captain Malcolm, "although " 
 
 "Not at all, not at all," interrupted Glenroy 
 hurriedly. " I did not — that is to say, I — I — " 
 
 " You did all you could, I believe, Glenroy," said 
 his kinsman ; " but all would not do." 
 
 " I assure you — you give me more credit — than I 
 am at all — entitled to," said the Chieftain, in increas- 
 ing confusion. 
 
 "No, no," cried Captain Malcolm. "The fact 
 speaks for itself; it could only have been to your
 
 DESTINY. 105 
 
 friendly offices Ronald owed his invitation, for no 
 sooner had Inch Orran returned ivom his visit to you, 
 than he sent for him to his house." 
 
 "And he went, of course?" inquired Glenroy, 
 eager to pass over any more undue compliments. 
 
 "Yes, he did; his mother and I saw no reason 
 against it ; on the contrary, we were both in hopes it 
 might lead the way to a reconciliation, and I trust 
 A\'e were actuated by something better than mere 
 worldly motives in wishing it, though, no doubt, these 
 had their influence too ; but whether as Christians or 
 as mere self-interested parents, we certainly did most 
 earnestly desire it; it has, however, been otherwise 
 appointed, and we are satisfied." 
 
 "It was reported," said Glenroy, "that your son 
 had been taken into high favour ; was there then no 
 foundation for that?" 
 
 " He Avas well received and kindly treated," said 
 Captain Malcolm ; " but " 
 
 "But it didn't last?" cried Glenroy, Avith some- 
 thing of triumph in his tone ; "I could have told him 
 that, for, between ourselves, the man's as mad as a 
 March hare. But how came Eonald to quarrel with 
 him, for at one time he seemed to have got into his 
 good graces?" 
 
 " Thanks to you for that, Glenroy," said Captain 
 Malcolm ; " and he might perhaps have been there 
 still if he had not preferred his parents to a fortune. 
 It was such a strange, unnatural proposal the old man 
 made him, that I can only account for it on the plea
 
 106 DESTINY. 
 
 of insanity : he kept Ronald for three days, showed 
 him all his property, told him of aU his wealth, and 
 then' oflfered to adopt him, to make him his heir, and 
 settle his whole fortune upon him, on condition of 
 his renouncing all intercourse with his own family ! " 
 
 " Ay, that's just of a piece with his threatening to 
 disinherit Norman for asking for the back of a moor- 
 fowl one day at dinner ; the man's certainly mad ! 
 And what did your son say to that ? " 
 
 "Few boys, I believe, would have been base and 
 sordid enough to have yielded to the temptation, but 
 some of them might have listened to it more calmly ; 
 instead of Avhich, Ronald, whose temper and feelings 
 are warm, was so indignant that he instantly left the 
 house, and set out to walk twenty miles in a dark 
 stormy night." 
 
 "He should have come to me," cried Glenroy 
 warmly ; " my house was all in the way, and I would 
 have made him welcome at any hour of the night ; 
 for, I assure you, I approve highly of his behaviour ; 
 he did just Avhat he ought to have done ; it gives me 
 a very good opinion of your son, it does, indeed— t'er?/ 
 good !" 
 
 This was uttered with great emphasis, and as if his 
 encomium would be the making of Ronald's fortune. 
 
 " We have indeed reason to thank God that he is 
 deserving of our affection," said Captain Malcolm, 
 with emotion. 
 
 "Yes, he seems really a promising boy, and he 
 acted in that matter just as he ought to have done ;
 
 DESTINY. 107 
 
 to be sure, it would have been very bad if he had 
 done otherwise. And, by-the-bye, what are you going 
 to make of him 1 Is it not full time you were think- 
 ing of that?" 
 
 "I have had many an anxious thought on that 
 subject," said Captain Malcolm, with a sigh. 
 
 "Ay, to be sui-e, it's no joke setting out a lad in 
 the world, now every profession is so overstocked; 
 but it's time Eonald should learn something." 
 
 " I trust he has learnt something, and is every day 
 learning more," said his father. 
 
 " Oh, I have no doubt you have done all you could 
 for him," said the Chief slightingly; "but we all 
 know there are few gentlemen fit to educate their 
 sons." 
 
 " Yet I believe it is from their parents that children 
 receive by far the most important part of their educa- 
 tion,"^ replied Captain Malcolm. 
 
 " The deuce you do ! then I for one can assure you, 
 I take no sort of charge of my son's education. I pay 
 four hundred a'year, which I think a pretty fair allow- 
 ance for a dominie, and I should think it rather hard 
 after that if I was expected to educate him myself !" 
 
 Captain Malcolm smiled, perhaps at the ostentation 
 with which this was uttered, then replied, "Yet his 
 habits and opinions will be much more influenced by 
 you than by his tutor, and these are what I consider 
 as the most important parts of education." 
 
 " Do you so 1 then education must be a very easy 
 
 ^ See Mrs. Barbauld's admirable Essay on Education.
 
 108 DESTINY. 
 
 matter with you, it seems ; if that were all, I might 
 have saved my four hundred a year. Hahits and 
 opinions ! I really never happened to hear of boys' 
 habits and opinions. I should like to know what 
 sort of things their habits and opinions are !" 
 
 Cai^tain Malcolm was quite accustomed to hear his 
 Chief talk "high nonsense," loud, arrogant, overbear- 
 ing nonsense, the most insufierable of all the varieties 
 of nonsense, and he had the merit of always answer- 
 ing him as calmly as though he had been conversing 
 with Plato himself. 
 
 " The actions of each day and hour are what form 
 the habits," he replied, " and the taste and affections 
 are what influence the opinions ; both combined, are 
 what insensibly form the character. Eonald is defi- 
 cient in many things, but I trust he has imbibed good 
 principles. I am sure he possesses kindly affections ; 
 he is not wanting in solid learning, and his habits are 
 those of a hardy Highland boy, who minds neither 
 wind nor weather, hunger nor thirst, and who can 
 climb the rock, swim the water, and sleep among the 
 heather. " 
 
 " My good sir, any herd's son in the country can 
 do all that," said Glenroy contemptuously. "But 
 that's nothing to the purpose ; we were talking of 
 your son's education, which is quite a different thing. 
 There's my own boy ! although I say it, I don't believe 
 there's a boy in the kingdom farther advanced in his 
 education than he is." 
 
 " Those who can aflbrd to purchase instruction for
 
 DESTINY, 109 
 
 their children are in the right to do it," said Captain 
 Malcolm mildly; "for a liberal education is a great 
 advantage ; but those who cannot, ought to be satis- 
 fied with giving their children a virtuous and a useful 
 one. You and I, Glenroy, are differently circum- 
 stanced ; wealth educates your son, but poverty must 
 train mine, and the best education a poor man can 
 give his son is to make him know and feel betimes 
 that he is the son of a poor man." 
 
 "That's all very true," said Glenroy; "but what 
 are you to make of him ? What would you think of 
 making a preacher of him 1 I could be of some use to 
 you there; I have a good deal of patronage of ray 
 own, as well as something to say in other c^uarters." 
 
 " I thank you, but Ronald's lient does not lie that 
 way, and no motive of worldly interest will ever 
 prompt me to urge any son of mine to enter on so 
 sacred a vocation. lionald has decided for the sea." 
 
 " A very good, sensible choice," cried the Chief, 
 "just the very thing for him, and the sooner he goes 
 the better ; ' learn young learn fair,' is, you know, a 
 good old saying." 
 
 "He will go, I expect, next year," said Captain 
 Malcolm. " A cousin of his mother's. Captain Stanley, 
 a worthy man, and gallant officer, has offered Ronald 
 a berth in his ship." 
 
 " Ah ! that's very well, but you ought to send him 
 in the meantime to a public school ; it's a great ad- 
 vantage for a boy who has his way to push in the 
 world to have had some training before he begins, and
 
 110 DESTINY. 
 
 he'll learn more of the world in one year at a great 
 public school than he will do all his life at home." 
 
 " I am no friend to a premature knowledge of the 
 world ; it comes soon enough to most of us. I greatly 
 prefer the safety which results from good principles 
 and virtuous habits, to that purchased by an early 
 knowledge of vice." 
 
 " Most of our great men, however, have been edu- 
 cated at public schools," continued Glenroy. 
 
 " That is an opinion which has been completely 
 refuted,"^ said Captain Malcolm; "and even were it 
 otherwise, I should prefer having my son a good man, 
 rather than a great one." 
 
 " Oh ay, that's fine romantic talking," said Glenroy 
 contemptuously," but it's a great deal too fine for me ; 
 I have no notion of your romantic schemes." 
 
 "Then we are agreed," said Captain Malcolm, with 
 a smile ; " for I too think the plainer and simpler the 
 system of education, especially for the children of a 
 poor man, so much the better ; however, I thank you 
 from my heart for the interest you take in Eonald ; if 
 you knew him better, I flatter myself you would not 
 find him so deficient as you suppose. He has his 
 faults, but he has many a hard lesson yet to learn 
 before the system of moral discipline will be com- 
 pleted, I trust God will order all for the best, and 
 when the time comes, to His care I will with confi- 
 dence commit his future destiny." 
 
 " Well, I hope it may answer, for Ronald's a good 
 
 ' See Edinburgh Review.
 
 DESTINY. Ill 
 
 boy, and I shall always be ready to assist him ;" and 
 with a shake of the hand to his kinsman, and a 
 hurried adieu to the rest of the family, Glenroy re- 
 turned home, satisfied that he had nothing to fear 
 from Ronald's rivalship.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 The good-natured laird's recommendation of liUcy 
 Malcolm had not been thrown away upon Mr. M'Dow, 
 and from that time he had been very frequent in his 
 visits at Lochdhu, much more so, indeed, than was at 
 all agreeable to any member of the family, for between 
 his mind and theirs there was a gulf which seemed 
 impassable. But, never dreaming that he could pre- 
 sume to cast his eyes upon their fair sweet Lucy, the 
 parents ascribed his frequent visitations to better 
 motives, and flattered themselves that, faintly as their 
 own light shone, it might yet jirove the means of 
 enlightening the still more darkened steps of Mr. 
 M'Dow. He seemed to them to be kind-hearted and 
 well-meaning in his own coarse way; at least so 
 Captain and Mrs. Malcolm construed the many 
 attentions he was now in the habit of paying them, 
 together with the softened tone of his conversation at 
 times, and the anxiety he evinced to make himself 
 useful and agreeable to the young people. At one 
 time he would amble over on the back of Amailye, 
 his huge pockets filled to the brim with nuts from his 
 own premises, "most uncommonly sweet and delee- 
 chuz," which he would take out in large handfuls,
 
 DESTINY. 113 
 
 and deposit on the ladies' work-table ; another time 
 he Avould arrive laden on each side with apples from 
 his garden, " uncommonly high-flavoured and jisey ; " 
 on another occasion he appeared with a basketful of 
 small fresh-water trouts, which he had caught him- 
 self, and which he said wovild be " most uncommon 
 dehcate picking," but he hoped Miss Lucy would 
 take care of the bones. But the consummation of all 
 was, when he entered with his shooting-bag over his 
 shoulder, containing a brace of "most beautiful young 
 termagants," ^ trophies of his prowess on the moors. 
 It often fell to Lucy's lot to receive these testimonies 
 of the minister's good-will, which she did ^vith her 
 usual sweetness of manner; and though few things 
 could be more offensive to her than the company of 
 Ml-. M'Dow, she yet behaved towards him with that 
 polite endurance which, to one of his gross ken, Avas 
 equal to the most flattering encouragement. 
 
 " There are some uncommon fine prospects about 
 the manse, INIiss Lucy," said he, as he found her one 
 day sketching the view from the parlour window; 
 " I think you would make a fine hand of them." 
 
 "The views in your neighbourhood are indeed 
 very beautiful," said Lucy ; " and I have long wished 
 to take a few sketches there, if it were not too pre- 
 sumptuous in me to attempt it." 
 
 " Oh, Miss Lucy ! " exclaimed Mr. M'Doav, " how 
 can you say that? But I'm really happy that you 
 admire the situation of the manse," 
 
 ^ Ptarmigans. 
 VOL. LI D.
 
 114 DESTINY. 
 
 "Everybody must admire it," said Lucy; "it is 
 quite cliarming." 
 
 "I'm delighted to hear you think so," cried Mr. 
 M'Dow ; " for it's rather a remote, sechided situation, 
 though, to he sure, the prospect's much more animated 
 than it was, now that the steamboat comes our way regu- 
 larly twice a week, and touches at the village, which 
 is not above a gunshot from the manse. She's an 
 amazing convenience, besides making a most interest- 
 ing object in the view ; for instance, I get my tea and 
 sugar brought to my very door by her for a mere 
 trifle. I can even get a loaf of bread from Glasgow, 
 within four-and- twenty hours after it's out of the 
 oven, for a penny or so additional, which is no con- 
 consideration to me, in comparison of the comfort of 
 the thing; it's uncommon fine bread, too." 
 
 A pause ensued, for the minister's communications 
 called for no reply ; and Lucy busied herself with her 
 drawing. Mr. M'Dow resumed : 
 
 " Eh, JVIiss Lucy, if I might Ijut hope for the 
 honour of seeing you at the manse some day, you 
 would really make me very proud." 
 
 "I should be sorry if a visit from me were to have 
 that eff"ect," said Lucy, smiling ; " but certainly I 
 shall be very happy, some day when papa and I are 
 taking a ride, to bring my sketch-book to Auchter- 
 bruckle, and carry off", if I can, some of its beauties." 
 
 Before the minister had time to utter his raptures. 
 Captain Malcolm entered the room; and, after the 
 usual preliminaries, Mr. M'Dow began : " I have
 
 DESTINY. 115 
 
 just been admiring Miss Lucy's painting," pointing 
 to her pencil -sketch; "I'm no great connyshure, in- 
 deed ; but it strikes me as being uncommonly well 
 executed ! " 
 
 "And, in return, I have l^een praising Mr. M'Dow's 
 fine views, papa," said she ; " and have even been bold 
 enough to talk of attempting to sketch some of them." 
 
 " I assure you, sir, I am very much flattered with 
 Miss Lucy's approbation of my prospects ; and I was 
 just requesting, as a most particular favour, that she 
 would do me the honour some day to come over with 
 you, and take a look of my premises. There's not 
 much to be seen, to be sure, just now about the 
 manse ; but the prospects all round are much admired ; 
 and Avhen I get my decreet, things wnll be made more 
 decent about the doors than they are at present." 
 
 " You little know Avhat you are about, when you 
 invite such a noted sketcher as Lucy to visit you," 
 said Captain Malcolm, with a smile ; " she is such 
 an enthusiast, and you have so great a variety of fine 
 views in your neighbourhood, that, I warn you, you 
 will find it difficult to get rid of her again." 
 
 " I'll take my chance of that, Captain," with a pro- 
 digious roar of delight; " I'll take my chance of that; 
 and now, Captain, will you not just do me the favour 
 to fix a day when Miss Lucy and you will ride over, 
 and take a look of my premises'?" 
 
 " We had better take our chance of a fine day," said 
 Lucy, who privately thought the minister's absence 
 was not the worst that could befall them.
 
 116 DESTINY. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Miss Lucy; but really the 
 disappointment would be dreadful, if I was to miss 
 the honour of a visit from the Captain and you — - 
 perfectly dreadful ! And it might happen, for I have 
 occasion to be a good deal from home ; in fact, I 
 consider it as a principal part of my duty to visit a 
 good deal, and to be on the best footing with the 
 heritors of my parish. It's a discreditable thing 
 when the minister and the gentry are no just at one ; 
 and wherever I have been, I have always made a 
 point of keeping the very best company." 
 
 " A clergyman who faithfully discharges his duty 
 must see great varieties of company," said Captain 
 Malcolm; "and ought neither to consider himseK as 
 elevated by the notice of the higher orders, nor debased 
 by mingling occasionally with the lowest and poorest 
 of his flock." 
 
 "There I perfectly agree with you, Captain," re- 
 plied Mr. M'Dow, with much hearty warmth ; " these 
 are precisely my OAvn sentiments on the subject. From 
 the honourable nature of my office, I have always- 
 looked upon myself as upon a footing — if not rather 
 shoopayreor to gentlemen of larger fortune, and who 
 may, perhaps, make a greater dash in the world than 
 I do ; and, on the other hand, I never refuse, when 
 properly called upon, to attend to the poorest man or 
 woman in the parish." 
 
 This was uttered Avith a modest air of self-appro- 
 bation, and concluded with a long, self-complacent 
 pinch of snuff".
 
 DESTINY. 1 1 7 
 
 " There is, indeed, a reverence due to the clergy as 
 a body," said Captain Malcolm; "and in a Christian 
 country they are always sure of meeting with it ; but 
 that is a feeling which operates very slightly upon the 
 minds of the community ; and, unless ministers can 
 claim individually the respect duo to superior piety 
 and excellence, I fear collectively it is of little avail." 
 
 "You're perfectly right, Captain. I agree with 
 you entirely. Every clergyman is called upon to kee}) 
 up the dignity of his station, and to cut a respectable 
 figure in the world. It doesn't do for a man to let 
 himself down too much." 
 
 " In my opinion, a clergyman who is in the way of 
 his duty never can let himself down," said Captain 
 Malcolm ; "for he must be endeavouring to raise the 
 minds of those around him to the highest standard of 
 moral excellence." 
 
 " That's really not an easy matter, Captain," said 
 Mr. M'Dow; "for the common people are a bad set. 
 But here comes Mrs. Malcolm ; I hope I'll get her on 
 my side to fix a day for the visit to the manse." 
 
 And herewith Mrs. Malcolm Avas assailed with 
 entreaties to use her influence for that purpose, or, as 
 the minister elegantly expressed it, " just to nail the 
 business at once." Mrs. Malcolm was pleased at the 
 thought of a little excursion for Lucy ; so she seconded 
 the minister's proposal, and, to his great delight, a day 
 was fixed when Captain Malcolm and his daughter were 
 to pay a morning visit at the manse of Auchterbruckle.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Glenroy's anger against Inch Orran had much abated 
 since he had ascertained what he called " the defeat of 
 the Donald Begs." 
 
 "After all, Inch Orran is not a bad body," ho 
 would say to Benbowie ; " he knows what he's about, 
 and will not be easily taken in, or I'm much mistaken. 
 I begin to think I was rather short with him when he 
 was here, though the wretch was most confoundedly 
 provoking too ! But he's an old man, and a particular 
 man, and he has such an idiot of a wife ! I really 
 believe, after all, he meant nothing." 
 
 " On my conscience, I believe so," responded Ben- 
 bowie. "Nothing — nothing — nothing at all." 
 
 Still this nothing had left an awkwardness, which 
 Glenroy did not know very well how to get over. 
 Something ought to be done to prove there was 
 nothing ; but what that something was he could not 
 tell. After what had passed, he could not possibly 
 renew the overtures in person; still less could he 
 send Benbowie as his ambassador. Had Inch Orran 
 been like anybody else, he might have felt his pulse 
 with a haunch of venison ; but that most likely would
 
 DESTINY. 119 
 
 only lead to fresh hostilities ; so difficult is it to 
 manage people who have no weak side, or rather no 
 favourite sense to gratify. 
 
 Inch Orran had a weak side, indeed, l^ut that was 
 rather his strong point ; for the love of money was 
 his prevailing passion ; and, of all besetting sins, that 
 is perhaps the most difficult to gratify. Harpagon, 
 to be sure, had his Frosine ; but in general the diffi- 
 culty of administering to the pure love of gold must 
 be greater than that of pampering any other evil pro- 
 pensity. 
 
 Glenroy was, however, relieved from his embarrass- 
 ment, by receiving the following despatch from his 
 kinsman : — 
 
 *' Mr. Mungo Malcolm of Inch Orran presents com- 
 pliments to Mr. Norman Malcolm of Glenroy, and 
 requests the favour of his company, and that of his 
 friend, Mr. Lachlan Malcolm of Benbowie, at his house, 
 on the afternoon of Wednesday the 24th instant, to 
 remain till the forenoon of Saturday the 27 th instant. 
 Mr. M. Malcolm begs to intimate that he can also 
 accommodate Mr. N. Malcolm's body servant." 
 
 An invitation to Inch Orran was what Glenroy 
 had not looked for ; and though the manner in which 
 it was couched was highly offensive, yet that was 
 passed over with a slight oath or two. The visit 
 itself, indeed, would be an act of the severest penance, 
 both to mind and body. Ill-humour, impertinence, 
 and starvation, to be endured for three days — even 
 Glenroy's stout heart quailed to think of ! But to
 
 120 DESTINY. 
 
 refuse "would be at once to renounce all hopes and 
 expectations. It was a golden opportunity for bring- 
 ing matters to the point. It was evident Inch Orran 
 was making up in his own way. It Avould be mad- 
 ness to refuse to meet him — go he must, even in the 
 face of the blade-bone of mutton ! Beubowie at first 
 made a faint resistance, as even his dull fancy pic- 
 tured to itself the " flesh-pots " of Glenroy, in mourn- 
 ful contrast Avith the bare bones of Inch Orran ; but 
 he was so little in the habit of opposing his Chief, 
 that he soon succumbed. So, after much considera- 
 tion, the following answer was despatched : — 
 
 " Glenroy returns kind comi^liments to Inch Orran, 
 and assures him he will allow no engagements to 
 stand in the way of his accepting his friendly invita- 
 tion for Wednesday the 24th; and Avill, if possible, 
 make such arrangements as may enable him to remain 
 till the 27th with his worthy kinsman. Benbowie 
 begs his best respects, and will do himself the honour 
 of waiting upon Inch Orran at the same time." 
 
 "Well, for my part," said Mrs. Macauley, when 
 she heard the invitation discussed, "I cannot say I 
 like it. Three people invited, and for three days. 
 There's something — I cannot tell what — in such an 
 invitation ! " 
 
 "You are a complete goose, Molly Macauley, and 
 
 if you had just as much sense as would stick on the 
 
 point of one of your own needles, you never would 
 
 open your mouth," was the Chief's courteous reply. 
 
 " Well, Glenroy, you know it is not so much sense
 
 DESTINY. 121 
 
 that I set up for having, as just a sort of a something 
 else — I cannot tell what it is — that makes me see 
 things that people a great deal wiser and sensibler 
 than I am do not see." 
 
 "You pretend to the second-sight, do jowl" 
 
 "Oh no, Meed I am not so favoured as that; but 
 if you would ])e guided by me, Gleni-oy, you would 
 not go to that cankered body's house." 
 
 " I suppose you think there will be a boar's head 
 served up, as a signal to despatch Benbowie and me, 
 with knives, and perhaps forks '?" 
 
 "No, Glenroy, I have more sense than to think 
 that Inch Orran Avould behave in such a way as that ; 
 but I don't like people being so perjink in paying 
 back their entertainments. You see there was him- 
 self and his wife, and Simon his servant, all came 
 here on a Wednesday afternoon, and stayed till the 
 Saturday forenoon ; and then he asks you and Ben- 
 bowie, and your servant, just to do the same thing ; 
 and is not that saying, I'll give you neither less nor 
 more than what you gave me " 1 
 
 "Oh, you're a soothsayer — a diviner, are you? 
 You can tell what's passing in people's minds ? But 
 I would advise you, Mrs. Mary Macauley, to stick to 
 your needles and thread ; for you know no more of 
 mankind than one of your o-\vn worsted monsters." 
 
 "Well, well, Glenroy, I know you're a great deal 
 wiser than me ; but we'll see who's right for all that." 
 
 Wednesday the 24th arrived, and looked most 
 auspicious. The Chief and his friend having made a
 
 122 DESTINV. 
 
 hearty luncheon, and sighed to think it was the last 
 plentiful meal they should behold for three days, 
 embarked with a favourable gale, and were in due 
 time safely landed at Inch Orran. 
 
 If Glenroy had any misgivings in his OAvn mind 
 as to the sincerity of the reconciliation, they were 
 soon dispelled by the courteous reception he met 
 with. No symptom of displeasure appeared either 
 in the looks or manners of his host ; on the contrary, 
 he was studiously polite, and even accosted him with 
 a smile, or something intended for such, though of so 
 suspicious a character that it would have made any 
 one else instinctively bethink him of the canny old 
 Scottish motto — "Touch not the cat but a glove." 
 However, Glenroy was not the man to be daunted 
 by a smile, so he returned it in full measure, and a 
 most cordial greeting took place. Inch Orran even 
 inquired, in a mild and courteous manner, after the 
 health of young Norman, which Glenroy considered 
 as the next thing to declaring him his heir. 
 
 " I have had three gentlemen residing with me for 
 some days," said Inch Orran, addressing the Chief, 
 "whom it was my wish that you should see here. 
 One is my law-agent, or man of business, Mr. Mel- 
 drum ; another is my factor, Mr. M'Farlane ; and the 
 third is Mr. Crowfoot, an eminent land-surveyor. 
 Their business with me has been of an important 
 nature, and has proved highly satisfactory in its re- 
 sults. It was concluded this morning ; l>ut the 
 gentlemen remain with me till to-morrow, in order to
 
 DESTINY. 123 
 
 celebrate the termination of our labours, and also to 
 afford you, sir, an opportunity of acquiring any infor- 
 mation you think proper on the subject," 
 
 This went far beyond Glenroy's most sanguine 
 anticipations. In fact, what did all this amount to, 
 l)ut that, having had his estates valued, his rent-roll 
 proved, and his settlement made, he now took this 
 method of declaring liim his heir ? In common deli- 
 cacy, therefore, he could do no less than waive all 
 appearance of curiosity or interference on the subject, 
 which he did, but in a manner that plainly showed 
 what was passing in his mind. At this Inch Orran's 
 mouth was curled up in a most suspicious manner ; 
 and one better acquainted with the character of the 
 man would have felt rather distrustful of this super- 
 natural sweetness and openness after what had 
 passed ; and to those who knew him, this " faire 
 seemlic pleasaunce " would have been anything but 
 an "augur of good purpose." It was one of Inch 
 Orran's peculiarities that whenever his mind had 
 settled into a fixed hatred or contempt for an indivi- 
 dual, from that time his manner towards him was 
 marked 1)y the most scruj)ulous attention to the 
 ordinary'rules of politeness ; not with any design to 
 deceive, for he despised all duplicity and double-deal- 
 ing, liut from a certain malignant delight, akin to 
 that •svith which a cat gently strokes the victim she is 
 prej)aring to immolate. 
 
 But Glenroy was too superficial himself to be at 
 all aware of the depths profound of othei's. He
 
 124 DESTINY. 
 
 could not see beneath the surface, and when that was 
 smooth, he judged all was sound ; he therefore drew 
 the most flattering conclusions from his kinsman's 
 behaviour, and mthout pretending to the second-sight, 
 he already beheld, by anticipation, the long-coveted 
 property in his possession, the family honours again 
 fixed in the family seat, and a clear five thousand 
 per annum added to his rent-roll. They Avere now 
 joined by the men of business, who were each intro- 
 duced with marked emphasis to Glenroy. Next 
 followed Mrs. Malcolm, " in outward show elaborate," 
 and as sensible and edifying as usual. The dinner 
 hour arrived, and, to the agreeable surprise of Glen- 
 roy and his friends, they sat down to a most plenti- 
 ful and excellent repast, such as would not have 
 disgraced even the Chief's own board, while wines of 
 the best quality were liberally dispensed. The most 
 perfect good-humour prevailed. Glenroy's gascon- 
 ades passed without comment ; and even ]\Ii's. Mal- 
 colm's sottises escaped with impunity. 
 
 The agent and factor were silent, ironbound-look- 
 ing persons ; but Mr. Crowfoot, the surveyor, whose 
 more active habits had probaljly given a greater free- 
 dom to his tongue, discoursed largely upon the survey 
 he had made of Inch Orran, its pertinents and pen- 
 dicles, the prodigious rise in the rent when the leases 
 should fall, which would happen in a year or two ; then, 
 if there should prove to be a seam of coal, of which 
 Mr. Crowfoot was very sanguine, there was no saying 
 what might be tlic value of the property ; and so on.
 
 DESTINY. 125 
 
 " Whatever the value may prove," said Inch Orran 
 mildly, " one thing is certain, sir, that it will prove 
 of more benefit to my heir than ever it can to me." 
 
 Glenroy's face flushed with the consciousness that 
 he was the man; and he expected the next thing 
 would be the proclaiming of him; but though he 
 could have decreed, and even assisted at the apothe- 
 osis of Inch Orran, he was not prepared to make a 
 speech upon the occasion ; for, fond as he was of talk- 
 ing, he Avas not gifted with eloquence. He, however, 
 showed by his manner that he took the hint to liim- 
 self : his spirits rose ; Inch Orran's smiles redoubled ; 
 and, strange to say, the day passed pleasantly, and 
 the evening closed peacefully !
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 According to Mrs. Macauley's theory, things looked 
 still Avorse the following day, when there arrived in 
 rapid succession the self- same party who had been 
 convened by Glenroy, when he did the honours of his 
 house to Inch Orran. There were lairds of every 
 description — good-natured and ill-natured, fat and 
 lean, tall and short, red and blue, rich and poor, 
 some with Avives, and some Avithout. Nor was Mr. 
 M'Dow wanting, though he protested that nothing 
 but respect for his worthy heritors would have brought 
 him there that day, as he had just received the 
 melancholy accounts of the death of his sister Mrs. 
 Dr. MTee's youngest child, a most uncommon stout 
 infant, named after himself, M'Dow M'Fee. It had 
 died of the cutting of a back tooth very suddenly ; a 
 severe stroke upon his poor sister and the worthy 
 doctor. Under these circumstances, Mr. M'Dow 
 thought proper to be rather in a pensive mood, 
 though, as he owned to a touch of the rheumatism 
 " up one side " of his head, and testified an immense 
 swelled jaw, it was at least doubtful whether his 
 spirits were most affected by his oAvn cheek, or the 
 catastrophe of little M'Dow M'Fee.
 
 DESTINY. 127 
 
 tSo it was, he was less obnoxious than usual, and 
 uttered no hong motes worthy of being recorded. If 
 Glenroy had been surprised with the dinner the pre- 
 ceding day, he was confounded at the banquet round 
 which the company were assembled. It had evidently 
 been got up by an artist of the first eminence. The 
 sough went round the table that Inch Orrau had 
 brought a cook all the way from Glasgow — Edinburgh 
 — London — Paris, to dress the dinner. Be that as it 
 may, the dinner was evidently dressed by no mean 
 hand, and all testified the work of man, and not of 
 woman. Certainly not Mrs. Malcolm's, who, between 
 her own finery and that of the dinner, seemed quite 
 bewildered, and, like Mr. M'Dow, Avas more silent 
 than usual. Such of the party as could not be ac- 
 commodated within the walls of Inch Orran, found 
 lodgings, some at the factor's, some at' the Clachan, 
 and some in the hay -loft; but all returned to the 
 charge the following day, like giants refreshed. Even 
 Mr. M'Dow's cheek had fallen, and Mrs. Malcolm's 
 tongue was unloosed. 
 
 Everybody who has made one of a party in a large 
 house in the country must have observed how great 
 a portion of time is consumed in what is pohtely 
 called the pleasures of the table ; and upon this occasion 
 the prevailing practice was duly observed. The host, 
 indeed, continued his own abstemious mode as usual ; 
 but he begged his rules might be no restraint upon the 
 company, and that they would, in all things pertain- 
 ing to good cheer, take their Chief as their example.
 
 128 DESTINY. 
 
 The intervals between the meals were filled up in 
 the usual manner, by sauntering out of doors, walking 
 up and down the rooms, playing at billiards, reading 
 newspapers, discussing politics, canvassing county 
 meetings, etc. 
 
 " Here's a most entertaining game," said Mrs. 
 Malcolm, drawing forth a large sheet of pasteboard, 
 on Avhich was displayed the royal game of the goose ; 
 " it's a thing I brought Avith me in my trunk ; for I 
 thought it would be a fine amusement for Mr. 
 Malcolm and me in the country, when Ave had nothing 
 to do ; but I can't get him to p]ay at it, if I would do 
 ever so." 
 
 " Most men find it enough to have played the fool 
 with a wife, without having to play the goose with 
 her next," said Inch Orran, Avith one of his bitter 
 smiles. 
 
 A burst of laughter from the unmarried part of 
 the company testified their approbation of this senti- 
 ment. 
 
 " That's really very severe, Inch Orran," said Mr. 
 M'DoAA^, coming forward as the champion of the ladies ; 
 " very severe, indeed, upon the fak sex, and I'm sure 
 most extremely misapplied in your oaa^u case, with 
 such a lady as j-ours," bowing to Mrs. Malcolm, Avho 
 sat quite unmoved AAath her goose spread out before 
 her. 
 
 "A. man may learn a useful lesson even from a 
 goose, sir, if he can take a hint in time," said Inch 
 Orran sarcastically.
 
 DESTINY. 129 
 
 'A well and a prison are pretty broad hints, to be 
 SLU-e," said Mr. M'Dow, surveying the detail of the 
 goose ; " but I hope there's nobody here that will ever 
 have occasion to take such hints ; for my own part, I 
 don't think I'm in any danger either of the one or the 
 other, even if my decreet should go against me — hoch, 
 hoch, hoch, ho ! " 
 
 "These, sir, are emblematic, I presume, of Truth 
 and Eefiection," said Inch Orran ; "the one is said to 
 lie in the bottom of a well, and the other, I believe, 
 is often found at last within the bars of a prison. 1 
 know few men who may not profit by such hints;" 
 and a small fiery spark shot from the corner of his 
 eye at Glenroy, on whom it fell harmless, so intrenched 
 was he in the firm belief that all was doing and saying 
 in honour of himself. Not Haman, when he seemed 
 to be at the pinnacle of his wishes, felt more secure 
 than Glenroy. 
 
 The third day arrived, which Avas to wind up the 
 Inch Orran festivities, and nothing remained but that 
 the guests should now take their departui'e. The 
 usual stir had begun amongst them, as their several 
 conveyances were successively announced. 
 
 " I assure you, Inch Orran," wheezed a fat laird, 
 who was the first to move, " I am sorry to l)c the first 
 to break up this party ; for I can with truth declare I 
 never, in the Avhole course of my life, spent two plea- 
 santer days ; and I am sure I speak the sentiments of 
 the whole party when I say so." 
 
 " I beheve you, sir," replied Inch Orran, -with one 
 VOL. I. K D.
 
 130 DESTINY. 
 
 of his little horrible smiles ; " but the credit of these 
 revellings is due to our Chief. Had it not been for 
 him I should have entertained you in a different style ; 
 but he has given me a lesson which I hope I shall not 
 soon forget ; and I have only been discharging the debt 
 I had incurred to him by his splendid hospitalities 
 towards me." 
 
 Glenroy was not prepared for this eulogium, and 
 his face glowed and his whole person distended Avith 
 the proud triumph of having the meed of praise thus 
 publicly awarded to him ; but Avhile he was preparing 
 a suitable reply, Mr. M'Dow, as usual, broke forth 
 with a tremendous hach, hach, ho ! 
 
 "Well, Inch Orran, for my part, I can only say 
 that I hope from my heart this innocent rivalship 
 between my two worthy pawtrons may long continue 
 to subsist; and I daresay I may answer for all present, 
 as I do for myself, that, like the Swiss troops, we shall 
 always be readj^ to lend our assistance to either side, 
 and serve both to the best of our power for the time 
 being — hoch, hoch, hoch, hoch, ho ! " 
 
 A clamour of mirth succeeded, Avhich drowned 
 Inch Orran's reply, as, yviih. one of his bitterest looks, 
 he said, "Sir, your services are not likely to be re- 
 quired by me in a hurry." Then, as the roar still 
 continued, he muttered, " I would at any time rather 
 sit down to talkie with two devils than \n.i\i twenty 
 angels.'' 
 
 The guests had severally departed, all save Glenroy, 
 who still lingered in hopes that Inch Orran would now
 
 DESTINY. 131 
 
 come to the point, and disclose the deeds that had 
 been done ; but Inch Orran's lips seemed now as if 
 hermetically sealed, and he heard all Glenroy's hints 
 and innuendoes in profound silence. At length the 
 Chief saw it was time to take leave ; and as he did 
 so he expressed a hope of soon seeing his kind host 
 at his house. 
 
 "Never, sir!" was the rei)ly, with a look and an 
 emphasis that made even Benbowie start. 
 
 The Chief was confounded ; but he was now out- 
 side the door, which was already closed upon him. 
 
 "He is a very particular man," said Glenroy. 
 
 " On my conscience, it would not do for everybody 
 to be so particular," said BenboAvie. 
 
 " It's just his manner," said Glenroy ; " I'm con- 
 vinced he means nothing." 
 
 And his echo answered, " Nothinifr."
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 The day arrived for the long-promised visit to the 
 Manse, and a most propitious one it was, worthy of 
 the lovely scenes on which it smiled. The father and 
 daughter set out early on their excursion, and after a 
 ride of about five miles found themselves in the en- 
 virons of the Manse. These were of the grandest and 
 most romantic description ; there were lofty heath- 
 covered mountains, softened by gently-swelling green 
 hills, diversified and enriched by patches of natural 
 copsewood, which completely supplied the place of 
 trees ; here and there were openings to the bold 
 rocky shore, Avith its gray cliffs and broken fragments 
 mingling in peaceful amity with the dark-blue waters 
 that curled around thenu Far as the eye could reach, 
 the sea was studded with isles and islets, some gleam- 
 ing through misty showers, some glancing in the fidl 
 blaze of sunshine. In short, nothing could be more 
 varied, animated, and picturesque, yet beautifully 
 tranquil and secluded, than the scenes which presented 
 themselves, at every step seen under different aspects. 
 Lucy was enchanted, but the enchantment fled on ap- 
 proaching the Manse. It was a thin tenement, built
 
 DESTINY. 133 
 
 of rough gray stone of the usual pattern, a window 
 on each side of the door and three above. At one 
 side was the garden, with cabbages and marigolds 
 growing pell-mell, and in the rear was the set of con- 
 demned offices, partly thatched and partly slated. 
 There were no attempts at neatness in the approach 
 to the house, which was merely a rough jog-trot road, 
 flanked on each side by a dyke. Presently Mr. M'Dow 
 was seen hurrying to the door to meet his guests, and 
 there, as they alighted, he was ready to receive them 
 with open hands. 
 
 Great was the joy exjiressed at this honour, as Mr. 
 M'Dow led the way to the interior of his mansion, 
 which was just such as might have been expected from 
 its outward aspect. There was a narrow stone passage, 
 with a door on each side, and there was a perpendi- 
 cular wooden stair, and that was all that was to be 
 seen at the first coup-cVml. But if little was revealed 
 to the eye, the secrets of the house were yielded with 
 less coy reserve to the other senses ; for there was to 
 be heard the sound of a jack, now beginning Avith 
 that low, slow, mournful Avhine, which jacks of sensi- 
 bility are sure to have; then gradually rising to a 
 louder and more grating pitch, till at length one 
 mighty crash, succeeded, as all mighty crashes are, 
 by a momentary silence. Then comes the winding- 
 up, which, contrary to all the rules of the drama, is, 
 in fact, only a new beginning, and so on, ad infinitum, 
 till the deed is done. With all these progressive 
 sounds were mingled the sharp, shrill, loud voice and
 
 134 DESTINY. 
 
 Gaelic accents of the chef de cuisine, with an occasional 
 clash or clang, at least equal to the fall of the armour 
 in the Castle of Otranto. 
 
 Then there issued forth with resistless might a 
 smell which defied all human control, and to which 
 doors and windows were but feeble barriers or outlets ; 
 till, like the smoke in the Arabian Nights, which re- 
 solved itself into a genie, it seemed as if about to quit 
 its aerial form, and assume a living and tangible sub- 
 stance. 
 
 Lucy would fain have drawn back as she crossed 
 the threshold, and, quitting the pure precincts of sun- 
 shine and fresh air, found herself in the power of this 
 unseen monster — this compound of fish, fat, peats, 
 burnt grease, kail, leeks, and onions, revelling, too, 
 amid such scenes, and beneath such a sky ! 
 
 "You see I have brought my sketch-book, Mr. 
 M'Dow," said she; "so I must make the most of my 
 time, and be busy out of doors." 
 
 "You'll have plenty of time for that. Miss Lucy; 
 it's early in the day yet ; you've had a long ride, and 
 you'll be the better of a little refreshment ; pray sit 
 down, and do me the favour to take a mouthful of 
 something;" and he handed a plateful of shortbread, 
 which, with a bottle of Avine, stood ready stationed 
 on a side-table. "You'll find it uncommonly good. 
 Miss Lucy ; it comes all the way from Glasgow ; it's 
 made by my mother, now in the seventy-eighth year of 
 lier age ; she sends me always a bun and half-a-peck of 
 shortbread for my hogmanay, and it's surprising how
 
 DESTINY. 135 
 
 it keeps. This is the last farl of it, but it's just as 
 good as the first was ! " helping himself to a piece 
 which would have qualified anybody else for six 
 weeks of Cheltenham. "And, by-the-bye, that's a 
 picture of my mother, taken when she was a younger 
 woman than she is now," pointing to an abominable 
 daub of a large, vulgar, flushed-looking, elderly woman, 
 sitting on a garden-chair, with a willow at her back, 
 her hands crossed before her, and a large hair ring- 
 on her forefinger. " That's reckoned a strong like- 
 ness of my mother ; she Avas an uncommon fine woman 
 when in her prime ; she measured five feet ten and 
 three-quarters on her stocking soles, which is a remark- 
 able height for a woman, and she carried the breadth 
 along with it; yet she was the smallest of six daughters. 
 It's told of her fawther, JVIr. M'Tavish (who was a man 
 of great humour), that he used to say he had six-and- 
 thirty foot of daughters — hoch, hoch, ho ! — it was 
 very good ! very good !" Here Mr. M'Dow indulged 
 in another fit of laughter, while his guests turned 
 their eyes to another picture, but it was no less 
 obnoxious to the sight. " That, again, is my fawther, 
 and a most capital picture ! there's a great deal of 
 dignity there ! for though extremely affal^le, he could 
 assume a great deal of dignity when it was necessary." 
 
 This dignitary was a mean, consequential-looking 
 body, with lowering brows and a bob-wig, seated in 
 an arm-chair, with a fiaming Virgil, portrayed in red 
 morocco and gold, in his hand. 
 
 " I am no connyshure myself, but they strike me as
 
 136 DESTINY. 
 
 being very good pictures ; and I can vouch for theii 
 being most capital likenesses." Neither Captain Mal- 
 colm nor Lucy could violate sincerity so far as to 
 bestow a single commendation on the pictures; so 
 Mr. M'Dow went on — " That book which you see in 
 my fawther's hand was a present made to him by his 
 scholars when he was master of the Myreside School. 
 I confess I look at it with great pride, as a most 
 
 flattering testimony of the honourable and " 
 
 Here a prodigious crash from the kitchen, followed 
 by very loud and angry vociferations, arrested Mr. 
 M'Dow's harangue ; and opening the door he called 
 in a very high, authoritative tone, "What's the mean- 
 ing of this noise?" upon which the tumult ceased. 
 "Make less noise there, and keep the kitchen door 
 shut ! " A violent slam of the door was the only 
 answer returned. " I understand it's all the fashion 
 now in great houses to have the kitchen as near the 
 dining-room as possible," said Mr. M'Dow, wishing 
 to throw an air of gentihty over his manage. " But 
 for my o'wn part I must confess I would prefer it at 
 a little distance, for it's impossible, do what you will, 
 to get servants to be quiet ; and it's really not plea- 
 sant, when I have a friend or two Avith me, and we 
 are just wishing to enjoy ourselves, to be disturbed 
 as we were just now. AVliat I want in my addition 
 is this : I would turn my present kitchen into my 
 drawing-room or study, just as it shuted, for there's 
 an exceeding good light scullery off it, which I could 
 make ray own closet, and keep mj- books and papers
 
 DESTINY. 
 
 137 
 
 in. The kitchen I would throw to the back, with a 
 washing-house and small place for the lasses. Then 
 upstairs I would have a pretty good family bed- 
 chamber, and a good light closet for keeping my 
 groceries \\dthin it, besides a press fitted up for my 
 napery (of which I have a pretty good stock), and " 
 
 " You would have a very comfortable house, I 
 have no doubt," said Captain Malcolm, who, although 
 rarely guilty of the ill-breeding of interrupting any 
 one, yet could not refrain from cutting short these 
 ministerial arrangements. " Even as it is," added he, 
 " you don't seem to ])e ill off— this is a very good room, 
 and such a view from your window ! Will you dare 
 to attempt it, Lucy V 
 
 "Not before %\ntnesses," replied Lucy. "So I 
 shall look about me elsewhere, and perhaps I may find 
 something better adapted to my pencil." And she 
 was leading the room, when Mr. M'Dow stepped for- 
 ward, and interposed his huge person between her 
 and the door. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Lucy, you're not going to run away from 
 us, I hope 1 You'll find it imcommonly warm out by, 
 just now ; the sun's extremely powerful on the rocks." 
 
 " A noted sketcher, as papa calls me, minds neither 
 heat nor cold," answered Lncy ; " and I shall easily 
 find either a shady spot or a cool breeze." 
 
 " Well, then, since you ^vill go out, trust yourself 
 to me, and I'll take you where you'll find both, and 
 the most beautiful prospect into the bargain." 
 
 At that moment the door opened, and a thick yellow
 
 138 DESTINY. 
 
 man, with no particular features, dressed in a short 
 coat, tartan trews, and a very large ill-coloured neck- 
 cloth, entered the room, and was introduced by the 
 minister as his cousin and brother-in-law, Mr, Dugald 
 M'Dow, from Glasgow, then on a visit at the Manse. 
 
 " We're just going to take a turn in the garden, 
 Mr. Dugald," said his host ; " will you get your hat 
 and join US'?" 
 
 " With the greatest pleasure," replied Mr. Dugald, 
 with a strong accent and a stiff, conceited bow ; then 
 popping down a seal-skin cap from a peg in the pass- 
 age, he was instantly accoutred, and the party set 
 forth. 
 
 "I wish it had been earlier in the season. Miss 
 Lucy," said Mr. M'Dow, as he ushered her into his 
 kailyard by a narrow, slimy path, overrun with long 
 sprawling bushes ; " a month ago I could have treated 
 you to as fine berries as perhaps you ever tasted. 
 They were uncommonly large and jisey, and at the 
 same time extremely high-flavoured. I have a little 
 red hairy berry that's very deleeslius ; and there's the 
 honey-blol3s, an uncommon fine berry — a great deal 
 of jise in it. I was rather unlucky in my rasps this 
 season ; they were small and wormy, and a very poor 
 crop ; but my currins were amazingly prolific and 
 uncommonly jisey. In fact, I couldn't use the half 
 of them, and it was really vexatious to see them abso- 
 lutely rotting on the bushes. The want of a lady at 
 the berry season is a great want, and one that's sorely 
 felt; for though my lass is an exceeding good plain cook,
 
 DESTINY. 139 
 
 yet she's not mistress of the higher branches of cook- 
 ery, such as the making of jams and jeelHes, and these 
 things ; but I would fain flatter myself, by the time 
 the berry season comes round again, I may have a 
 fair lady to manage them for me. Do you think I 
 may venture to hope so, JMiss Lucy f 
 
 Lucy was not aware of the nature of the minister's 
 hopes, nor even conscious of his faltering accent and 
 tender look ; for she was considering Avhether she 
 might not make a sketch from the spot where she was 
 standing ; and at the same moment Captain Malcolm 
 turned round and directed his daughter's attention to 
 some particular beauty in the landscape, that had 
 attracted his own. And again Lucy's book was 
 opened, and her pencil in her hand, ready to begin, 
 when again Mr. M'Dow struck in, 
 
 " Now, before you begin, jVIiss Lucy, I would beg 
 as a most particular favour, that you would just take 
 a look of my offices ; they are in a shameful state, to 
 be sure, for a lady to visit, but the instant I get my 
 decreet, they. shall be all clean demolished; and what 
 I'm very desirous of, is to have your opinion as to the 
 most proper situation for the new ones." 
 
 "I don't think Lucy's opinion will be at all a 
 sound one," said Captain Malcolm ; " she is too fond 
 of the picturesque ever to consider the useful, so you 
 had better leave her to her sketch." 
 
 " I'll not take your word for that, Captain ; I have 
 a great respect for a lady's opmion, and there's no 
 lady whose opinion I set a higher value on than Miss
 
 UO DESTINY. 
 
 Lucy's. Ah ! Miss Lucy, you'll really oblige me if 
 you'll give me the benefit of your fine taste ;" then, in 
 a lower tone, and with great (intended) softness, " I'm 
 really extremely anxious to please you ! " 
 
 And Lucy, good-humouredly laughing at the idea 
 of Mr. M'Dow's desiring to please her in a matter so 
 perfectly indiff"erent to her, again put up her sketch- 
 book, and suffered herself to be conducted over the 
 localities of the glebe.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Having given her assent to all the projected improve- 
 ments, Lucy flattered herself she should now he free 
 from further molestation. Again she attempted to 
 rid herself of the assiduities of Mr. M'Dow, and was 
 gliding away, as she hoped unperceived, when, strid- 
 ing after her like a seven-league ogre, he called, 
 "Miss Lucy — Miss Lucy! you're not running away 
 from us, I hope 1 this is just about the time I ordered 
 a slight refreshment to be ready," pulling out his 
 watch; "you'll do me the honour to partake of it, I 
 hopef 
 
 Lucy declined, on the plea of having already had 
 ample refreshment, and being much more inclined to 
 sketch than to eat ; but Lucy must have been made of 
 stone and hme to have been able to withstand the 
 importunities of Mr, M'Dow : he was as urgent as 
 though his very existence had depended upon her 
 partaking of liis " slight refreshment," and she was at 
 length compelled, much against her inclination, to 
 return to the salle a manger. During their absence a 
 table had been covered, but the arrangements were 
 not finally concluded, for a stout, ruddy, yellow-haired 
 damsel was rattling away amongst knives and forks
 
 142 DESTINY. 
 
 as though she had been turmng over so mauy down 
 feathers. 
 
 "I expected to have found everything ready by 
 this time," said Mr. M'Dow; "what have you been 
 about, Jess?" But Jess continued to stamp and 
 chxtter away without making any reply, 
 
 " I'll just show you the way to my study, till the 
 refreshment's put upon the table," said Mr. M'Dow; 
 and finding all remonstrance in vain, his guests sub- 
 mitted with a good grace, and were conducted to a 
 very tolerable room upstairs, where were a few shelves 
 of books, a backgammon board, a fowling-piece, and 
 a fishing-rod, with shot, lines, and flies scattered 
 about. There was also a sofa, with a dirty crumpled 
 cover, where Mr. Dugald seemed to have been loung- 
 ing with a flute and a music book. In one corner 
 stood a table with a pile of books, some of them in 
 bindings very unlike the rest of the furniture. 
 
 "That's a parcel of books," said Mr. M'Dow, "that 
 I bought at the Auchnagoil rouping. I just bought 
 the lot as you see them. I believe there's a good 
 deal of trash amongst them, but I've had no time to 
 examine them yet." 
 
 Lucy began to examine the books, and opening a 
 little volume of Gambold, she exclaimed to her father, 
 " What a charming picture of a clergyman, is it not, 
 Ijapa?" And Captain Malcolm, taking the book, 
 read the passage aloud — 
 
 " He was a man so pure in private life, 
 So all devoted to the tilings above ;
 
 DESTINY. 143 
 
 So mere a servant botli of Christ and men, 
 
 You'd say lie acted without spark of nature, 
 
 Save that each motion flow'd with ease and beauty. " 
 
 "Oh, as to that," said Mr. M'Dow, throwing one 
 of his huge arms over the back of his chair, and 
 swinging himself to and fro, " I can truly say, for my 
 own part, I should think it due to myself to feel at 
 my ease in all companies 3" and a long, seK-complacent 
 pinch of snuff followed. 
 
 "Don't you think, papa, that is exactly the de- 
 scription of our good Mr. Stuart ? " said Lucy, as she 
 again looked over the volume. 
 
 "Mr. Stuart certainly does bear a strong resem- 
 blance to this pictui'e," said Captain Malcolm ; " and it 
 is always pleasing when we can recognise in a living 
 character the lineaments of such a portrait — we are 
 so apt to look upon it as the heau ideal. You are, of 
 course, acquainted with Mr. Stuart," added he, address- 
 ing Mr. M'Dow, " and can also bear testimony to the 
 likeness % " 
 
 "I am acquainted with Mr. Stuart," replied Mx. 
 M'Dow coldly; "but I don't know how it is, Ave 
 don't often meet ; he's not a very social man. But I 
 wonder if that woman's going to give us our refresh- 
 ments to-day 1 " Then going to the door, he bawled 
 down, "Jess, woman, for any sake, what are you 
 about ^ I've no bell in this room, which is a great 
 inconvenience ; and I don't think it worth my while 
 to be at any expense till I get my decreet." 
 
 " Ah, here is my f avouiite Goldsmith ! " exclaimed
 
 144 DESTINY. 
 
 Lucy, trembling for a dissertation upon teinds, locali- 
 ties, and decreets; "familiar as his Deserted Village 
 is, I never can refrain from reading it whenever I 
 meet with it." 
 
 '■'■ Aproims of clerical pictures," said Captain Mal- 
 colm, no less sick of his host's vulgar egotism, "I 
 don't know a more delightful one than that of his 
 parish priest." 
 
 "I'm really amazed what that woman can be doing 
 with our refreshments," said JMr, M'Dow, pulling out 
 his watch, with visible marks of impatience. 
 
 " In the meantime, we may refresh our memories 
 with an old acquaintance, the Village Clergyman," 
 said Captain Malcolm, reading the follo'ndng lines : — 
 
 " His house was kuo^^^l to all the vagrant train, 
 He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain ; 
 The long-remember'd beggar was his guest, 
 "Whose beard descending swept his aged breast ; 
 The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, 
 Claim'd kindred there, and had his claim allow'd ; 
 The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, 
 Sat by his fire " 
 
 * 
 Here Mr. M'Dow burst forth with, " Well, Captain, 
 
 I'm really amazed how, with your excellent abilities 
 
 and good principles, you can tliink that man a pattern 
 
 for a dignified clergyman ! His house must have been 
 
 a perfect receptacle for blackguards. I would think 
 
 it highly improper in me to allow one of those vagrants 
 
 to set their foot Avithin my door ; if they want to hear 
 
 me, let them come to my church."
 
 DESTINY. 145 
 
 "But they would rather wish you to hear them," 
 said Mr. Dugald. 
 
 "I've no doubt of that," said Mr. M'Dow em- 
 phatically ; " but I would have little to do if I was 
 to sit up listening to all the worthless vagabonds that 
 come in my way." 
 
 "Perhaps," said Lucy timidly, "their vices are 
 often the effect of their ignorance, and a word spoken 
 in season might go far to enlighten and reclaim 
 them." 
 
 " Oh, Miss Lucy," said Mr. M'Dow, with an air of 
 gallantry, "there's nothing I admire more in your sex 
 than your gentleness and softness ; but I'm sorry to 
 say, it exposes you very much to be imposed upon, 
 and most shamefully taken in ; and I'll just appeal to 
 you yourseK, now, how it would answer in a house, 
 I'll suppose you're the mistress of, to have your 
 kitchen filled with all the clamjamphray of the 
 country— drunken soldiers, randy beggars, ill-tongued 
 tinklers, and so on — how it would do, I say, for a 
 young lady of your delicacy and refinement going 
 down to order your dinner, to find the very scum of 
 the earth sitting, perhaps, on your kitchen-dresser 1 " 
 
 "That is, indeed, a climax to be avoided," said 
 Captain Malcolm, laughing ; " and I'm afraid, Lucy, 
 you must admit that, charming as your favourite 
 picture is, it is one which in these days it would not 
 do to copy toe closely. We may please ourselves by 
 such representations of primitive manners ; bub I fear 
 they no longer exist, except in the poet's page, or 
 VOL. I. L n.
 
 146 DESTINY. 
 
 your imagination. Steamboats and stage-coaches 
 have now brought each village and hamlet in close 
 contact with some great town, even with London it- 
 self ; and the evils the poet so beautifully predicted 
 are, I fear, coming on apace. I doubt we should 
 now in vain seek from the Land's End to John-o'- 
 Groat's House for a 'sweet Auburn,' whose 'best riches' 
 are 'ignorance of wealth.' But I see Lucy won't give 
 up her love for beggars, for all Ave can say." 
 
 Lucy smiled as she replied, " Mr. M'Dow's repre- 
 sentation of Christian charity is certainly very dif- 
 ferent from the poet's ; but I am still inclined to side 
 with him, and to think that much may be made of 
 human nature, even in its worst state, by kindness, as 
 Mrs. Fry has testified ; and so I believe good Mr. 
 Stuart has often found it. The lines that follow are 
 still more descriptive of him. Pray, papa, read them ;" 
 and Captain Malcolm went on — 
 
 " Tims to relieve the wretched was his pride, 
 And even his failings Ican'd to virtue's side ; 
 But in his duty prompt at every call, 
 He watch'd, and wept, and felt, and pray'd for all ; 
 And as a bird each fond endearment tries. 
 To tempt its new-fledged oflspring to the skies, 
 He tried each art, re])roved each dull delay, 
 Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way." 
 
 " Allow me, in the meantime, to lead the way to 
 something more substantial. Miss Lucy," cried Mr. 
 M'Dow, seizing her hand, as Jess put her head in at 
 the door; and having given a glare Avith her eyes, 
 and wide opened her niouth, emitting a sort of gut-
 
 DESTINY. 147 
 
 tural sound, importing that "aw's ready," galloped 
 downstairs again as hard and fast as she could. 
 
 " Give me leave, Miss Lucy ; but the stair's rather 
 narrow for two ; you know the way ; turn to the left 
 hand of my trance.^ It's very easy for these poets to 
 preach ; but it's not so easy always for us preachers 
 to practise — hoch, ho !" 
 
 This sentiment uttered, a grace was hurried over ; 
 and the company seated themselves at table, which 
 was literally covered with dishes, all close huddled 
 together. In the middle was a tureen of leek soup, 
 alias cocky-leeky, with prunes ; at one end, a large 
 dish of innumerable small, clammy, fresh-water trouts ; 
 at the other, two enormous fat ducks, stuffed to the 
 throat with onions, and decorated with onion rings 
 round their legs and pinions. At the corners were 
 minced collojis and tripe, confronted with a dish of 
 large old pease, dro^vned (for they could not swim) in 
 butter ; next, a mess of mashed potatoes, scored and 
 rescored with the marks of the kitchen knife — a weapon 
 which is to be found in all kitchens, varying in length, 
 from one to three feet ; and in uncivilised hands used 
 indiscriminately to cut meat, fish, fowl, onions, bread, 
 and butter. Saucers full of ill-coloured pickles filled 
 up the interstices. 
 
 "I ordered merely a slight refreshment," said Mr. 
 M'Dow, surveying his banquet with great compla- 
 cency ; "I think it preferable to a more solid mail 
 
 * Trance — iu England, a deep swoon ; in Scotland, a narrow 
 
 passage.
 
 148 DESTINY. 
 
 in this weather. Of all good Scotch dishes, in my 
 opinion, there's none equal to cocky-leeky ; as a friend 
 of mine said, it's both nectar and ambrosia. You'll 
 find that uncommonly good, Miss Lucy, if you'll just 
 try it ; for it's made by a receipt of my mother's, and 
 she was always famous for cocky-leeky; the primes 
 are a great improvement ; they give a great delicacy 
 to the flavour ; my leeks are not come to their full 
 strength yet, but they are extremely sweet ; you 
 may help me to a few more of the broth, Captain, 
 and don't spare the leeks. I never see cocky-leeky 
 without thinking of the honest man who found a 
 snail in his : ' Tak ye that snack, my man,' says he, 
 'for looking sae like a plum-damy ;' hach, hach, ho ! 
 There's a roasted hare coming to remove the fish, and 
 I believe you see your refreshment ; there's merely a 
 few trifles coming." 
 
 Lucy had accepted one of Mr. Dugald's little 
 muddy trouts, as the least objectionable article of the 
 repast; and while Mr. M'Dow's mouth was stuff'ed 
 with prunes and leeks, silence ensued. But having 
 despatched a second plateful, and taken a bumper of 
 wine, he began again : " I can answer for the ducks. 
 Miss Lucy, if you'll do me the favour to try them. 
 A clean knife and fork, Jess, to Mr. Dugald to cut 
 them ; I prefer ducks to a goose ; a goose is an incon- 
 venient sort of bird, for it's rather large for one person, 
 and it's not big enough for two. But my stars, Jess 1 
 what is the meaning of this 1 The ducks are perfectly 
 raw ! " in an accent of utter despair. " What is the
 
 DESTINY. 149 
 
 meaning of it ? You must take it to the brander, and 
 get it done as fust as you can. How came Eppy to 
 go so far wrong, I wonder ! " 
 
 Jess here emitted some of her g-uttural sounds, 
 which, being translated, amounted to this, that the 
 jack had run down and Eppy couldn't get it set 
 agoing again. 
 
 "That's most ridiculous !" exclaimed Mr. M'Dow 
 indignantly ; " when I was at the pains to show her 
 myself how to manage her. She's the Auchnagoil 
 jack, which I bought, and a most famous goer. But 
 you see how it is, Miss Lucy ; you must make allow- 
 ance for a bachelor's house; there's a roasted hare 
 coming. Jess, take away the fish, and bring the hare 
 to me." The hare was herewith introduced, and 
 flung, rather than placed, before her master. "Oh, 
 this is quite intolerable ! There's really no bearing 
 this! The hare's burnt to a perfect stick! The 
 whole jise is out of its body !" 
 
 "Your cook's not a good hare-dresser, that's all 
 that can be said," quoth Mr. Dugald. 
 
 "Very well said— extremely good," said IVIr. 
 M'Dow, trying to laugh off his indignation; "and, 
 after all, I believe, it's only a little scowthered.i Do 
 me the favoiu- to try a morsel of it, Miss Lucy, with a 
 little jeelly. Jess, put do^vn the jeelly. Oh, have 
 you nothing but a pig- to put it in 1" demanded he, 
 
 ^ Scorclied. 
 " Pig— iu England, an animal ; in Scotland a piece of 
 crockeiy.
 
 150 DESTINY. 
 
 in a most wrathful accent, as Jess clapped down a 
 large native jelly-pot upon the table. "Where's the 
 handsome cut crystal jeelly-dish I bought at the 
 Auchnagoil roup V 
 
 Jess's face turned very red, and a downcast look of 
 conscious guilt told that the "handsome cut crystal 
 jelly-dish" was no more. 
 
 " This is really most provoking ! But if you'U not 
 taste the hare. Miss Lucy, will you do me the kind- 
 ness to try the minced collops ? or a morsel of tripe 1 
 It's a sweet, simple dish — a great favourite of my 
 mother's ; both you and the Captain are really poor 
 eaters, so you and I, Mr. Dugald, must just keep each 
 other in countenance." 
 
 And another pause ensued, till at last an order Avas 
 given to take everything away, " And bring the few 
 trifles — but will you make less noise ? there's no hear- 
 ing ourselves speak for you ; " but Jess rattled away, 
 nevertheless, till she vanished, leaving the door wide 
 open. A few minutes elapsed before she reappeared, 
 with the greasy apparition of Eppy at her back, stand- 
 ing on the threshold with her hands fulL 
 
 "Now, take the pigeon-pie to Mr. Dugald; bring 
 the puddin' to me ; put the puffs and cheesecakes at 
 the sides, and the cream in the middle. I'm sorry 
 I've no jeellies and blaiv mangiys for Miss Lucy. If 
 you won't taste the pie, do me the favour to take a 
 bit of this puddin' ; it's qmte a simple puddin', made 
 from a recipe of my mother's." 
 
 Lucy accepted a bit of the "simple puddin'," which,
 
 DESTINY. 151 
 
 as its name implied, was a sort of mawkish squash, 
 flavoured with peat-reek whisky. 
 
 "I'm afraid the puddin's not to your taste. Miss 
 Luc}'' ; you're making no hand of it ; will you try a 
 jam puff? I'm sure you'll find them good, they come 
 from Glasgow, sent by my good mother ; I must really 
 taste them, if it were only out of respect to her. Oh ! 
 Miss Lucy, will you not halve a pufi" with me 1" 
 
 The minister and his friend having now ate and 
 drank copiously of all that Avas upon the table, Captain 
 Malcolm said, "My daughter has not yet accomplished 
 the object of her visit here, and we nuist soon be re- 
 turning home, so you have no time to lose, my dear," 
 to Lucy, Avho started up from table like a bird from 
 its cage, " if indeed it is not lost already," he added, 
 as Lucy and he walked to the window. The bright 
 blue sky had now changed to one of misty whiteness, 
 showers were seen drifting along over the scattered 
 isles, and even while they spoke, a sudden gust of 
 wind and rain came sweeping along, and all the 
 beauteous scenery was in an instant blotted from the 
 sight. 
 
 Captain Malcolm Avas not a person to be discon- 
 certed by trifles; but on the present occasion he 
 could not refrain from expressing his regret, as he 
 every moment felt an increasing repugnance to the 
 company of Mr. M'Dow and his friend, and still more 
 on Lucy's account than his OAvn ; it seemed like con- 
 tamination for so fair and pure a creature to be 
 seated between two such coarse barbarians. Mr.
 
 152 DESTINY. 
 
 M'Dow affected to sympathise in the disappointment ; 
 but it was evident he was exulting in the delay. 
 
 Shower after shower followed in such quick suc- 
 cession that Lucy found the object of her visit com- 
 pletely defeated. At length the clouds rolled away, 
 but the day was too far advanced to admit of further 
 tarriance ; and besides, both the father and daughter 
 were impatient to extricate themselves from the over- 
 powering hospitalities of Mr. M'Dow. 
 
 " I hope you Avill have many opportunities of tak- 
 ing drawings here," said he, with a significant tender- 
 ness of look and manner, as he assisted Lucy to mount 
 her pony ; " and when the manse is harled, and I get 
 my new offices, the view will be much improved." 
 
 Lucy bowed as she hastily took the bridle into her 
 own hands, and gladly turned her back on the manse 
 and the minister.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 The showers had passed away ; the rainbow was 
 "smiling on the faded storm;" the fragrant air was 
 mild ; the herds and flocks Avere cropping the dewy 
 grass ; the declining sun shot " a slant and mellow 
 radiance;" and all things seemed imbued with new 
 life and beauty. Captain Malcolm and his daughter 
 proceeded for some time in silence ; each felt the 
 Ijeauty and the harmony of nature, and as they slowly 
 paced, side by side, amongst the windings of the green 
 hills, they needed not words to utter the feelings of 
 their hearts. Captain ]\Ialcolm was the first to speak. 
 
 "You are unusually meditative, Lucy," said her 
 father. " What is engaging your thoughts so much ^" 
 
 " I have been thinking, papa," said Lucy, rousing 
 herself from her reverie, " what a sweet thing silence 
 is." 
 
 "That is to say, you admire silence as La Bruy^re 
 did solitude?" 
 
 "Oh, certainly, silence is sweeter when shared 
 with another who can understand its beauty. But 
 after such a day, such a coarse unpleasant day as we 
 have spent, even soHtary silence would be sweet and
 
 154 DESTINY. 
 
 grateful. Had Mr. M'Dow given us some nice clean 
 well-boiled potatoes and milk, and have allowed us 
 to walk about and enjoy the beautiful scenery, how 
 much more pleasantly and profitably the day would 
 have been spent ! " 
 
 "Mr. M'Dow is, indeed, a coarse specimen of a 
 coarse propensity," said Captain Malcolm, "and has 
 fallen into a common error, that of seeking to raise 
 himself by appearances ; as if these could exalt the 
 character, especially of a minister of the gospel — of 
 one who is ' as poor, yet making many rich; as having 
 nothing, and yet possessing all things. ' " 
 
 " One is always pleased with the humble fare of a 
 cottage," said Lucy; "and I am sure most people 
 would feel additional respect for the simplicity of a 
 clergyman's, or indeed any one's style of living, when 
 proportioned to their means." 
 
 "Certainly," said Captain Malcolm; "poverty in 
 itself is never despicable or ridiculous except to vulgar 
 or thoughtless minds. It is only when it carries pre- 
 tension along with it that we feel privileged to laugh 
 at so preposterous a union. We are also apt to be 
 more disgusted with a coarse gourmand than with a 
 refined epicure, though there certainly is not more 
 moral or intellectual superiority evinced in the love 
 of turtle and venison, or even fricandeau and hlanquette, 
 than in cocky-leeky and ducks." 
 
 " Oh, how much I lament having lost this day ! " 
 sighed Lucy, as she stopped her pony to admire a 
 lovely peep between the hills.
 
 DESTINY. 155 
 
 " I fear your lost day is not to be understood in 
 the same sense as the Emperor's Avas," said her father. 
 "I suspect it is only your lost sketches you lament." 
 
 Lucy smiled as she acknowledged the fact. " But 
 surely, papa," she added, "you must allow it was 
 rather hard, instead of roaming amongst rocks and 
 glens, and filling my portefeuille with sketches, to be 
 shut up all day with Mr. M'Dow ! Indeed, papa, his 
 company is anything but agreeable." 
 
 "I am aware of that, my dear, but as a clergyman, 
 I wish to show him all the respect in my power. His 
 sacred office I consider the most important in which a 
 human being can be engaged, and the most difficult, 
 when one considers what various states of mind a 
 faithful pastor must be called upon to minister to." 
 
 "But you surely cannot call him a faithful pastor, 
 papa ? I cannot possiljly conceive any one consulting 
 him about spiritual matters, or even asking him for a 
 prayer; I am sure I could not." 
 
 " I never heard you so severe upon any one, Lucy. 
 When you have lived longer in the world, you will 
 find there are worse characters in the church than Mr. 
 M'Dow, though, happily, there are also others whose 
 genius, learning, and piety shed a lustre over the age 
 in which they live. Mr. M'Dow is not an immoral 
 man, otherwise I would not have gone to visit him." 
 
 "The most offensive part of his character, I think," 
 said Lucy, " next to his love of eating, is his constant 
 jocularity ; not that I should like a morose, austere 
 pastor, who would look upon all gaiety as sin, but I
 
 156 DESTINY, 
 
 should like to see one, as Cowpev says, ' serious in a 
 
 serious cause.' " 
 
 " I agree with you," said her father, " that when a 
 clergyman views in its true hght the importance and 
 the responsibility of the office he has undertaken ; an 
 office which, as an okl writer says, is ' a weight under 
 which angels' shoulders might shrink,' his great object 
 will be to get men to think seriously, not to laugh 
 lightly ; though Avit being a natural talent, Hke every 
 other, it may be turned to good account." 
 
 "Ah! there is old Sandy!" exclaimed Lucy, as a 
 sudden turn of the road gave to view an old gray- 
 haired shepherd on the hillside, basking in the rays 
 of the evening sun, with his book and his dog. 
 "How finely he is in keeping with the landscape ! I 
 wish Ave were nearer, to have a httle conversation 
 with him, for I find both pleasure and improvement 
 in conversing with him ; he is simple and artless, but 
 not vulgar, for he knows his Bible, and that truly 
 'maketh wise the simple.'" 
 
 "He is indeed a very favourable specimen of 
 humble life," said Captain Malcolm; "for I have 
 always found that where common education is built 
 on soKd religious principles it never fails to elevate 
 the mind, and give that contented and independ- 
 ent spirit which is a nation's truest strength and 
 safety." 
 
 " How perfectly he reahses Grahame's picture of a 
 Sabbath evening shepherd," said Lucy, still gazing on 
 the picturesque figure of her old favourite : —
 
 DESTINY. 157 
 
 -" Behold tlio inau ! 
 
 The grandsire and the saint ; his silvety loc]<s 
 Beam in the parting ray ; before him lies, 
 Upon the smooth-cropt sward, the open book, 
 His comfort, stay, and ever new delight." 
 
 " And there is a setting sun," said Captain Malcolm, 
 as they emerged from the glen, and the blazing lumi- 
 nary burst upon their sight, "that would defy all 
 painting, for, as Wordsworth sajs, 
 
 " Such beauty varying in the light 
 
 Of living nature, cannot be portray'd 
 By words, nor by the pencil's silent skill ; 
 But is the property of him alone 
 Who hath beheld it, noted it with care, 
 And in his mind recorded it with love ! " 
 
 " Oh, papa, do let us alight here for a few minutes 
 to feast our eyes with this lovely sunset," cried Lucy, 
 when they had gained the summit of a hill which 
 gave to view all the glories of the scene — the sun, 
 with all his retinue of flaming clouds, sinkmg to rest 
 in the bosom of the waters. 
 
 Captain Malcolm loved to encourage in his children 
 a taste for the beauties of nature ; a pleasure so cheap, 
 so pure, and so elevating, and he readily assented to 
 his daughter's request. Seating themselves on a 
 grassy spot by the side of a wild mountain brook, 
 they gazed "with eyes intent on the refulgent spec- 
 tacle." At length Lucy said, "How perfectly Barton 
 has realised such an evening as this, -odth all its accom- 
 panying feelings, in that sweet poem of his, ' Morning 
 and Evening ;' every verse seems to me a perfect pic-
 
 158 DESTINY. 
 
 ture in itself, and a jiicture, too, that excites such pure 
 and holy thoughts ! " Aftd her soft blue eyes shone 
 with an exjiression of love and adoration as she con- 
 templated the glories of the heavens, and recalled the 
 beautiful imagery of the poet. 
 
 " It is a comparison he draws between the rising 
 and the setting sun, is it not?" said Captain Malcolm ; 
 "my memory for these things is not so good as it 
 was, Lucy; but I daresay you can repeat it to me 
 word for word, and this is just the time and place for 
 hearing it." Lucj^, in a sweetly-modulated voice and 
 simple manner, then recited the last stanzas of Bernard 
 Barton's "Morning and Evening" : — 
 
 " 'Tis when day's parting light, 
 
 Dazzling no more the sight, 
 Its chastening glory to the eye is granting, 
 
 That 'thoughts too deep for tears,' 
 
 Unearthly hopes and fears, 
 And voiceless feelings, in the heart are panting. 
 
 " "While thus the western sky 
 
 Delights the gazing eye. 
 With thrilling beauty, touching and endearing ! 
 
 What still of earth is fair, 
 
 Borrows its beauty there, 
 Though every borrow' d charm is disappearing. 
 
 " Ere yet those charms grow dim, 
 
 Creation's vesper hymn. 
 Grateful and lovely, is from earth ascending ; 
 
 Till, with that song of praise. 
 
 The hearts of those who gaze 
 "With solemn feelings of delight are blending. 
 
 " Then from those portals bright 
 A farewell gleam of light
 
 DESTINY. 1 59 
 
 Breaks witli unearthly glory on the vision : 
 
 And through the folding doors 
 
 The eye of thought explores 
 Seraphic forms and fantasies elysian. 
 
 " These pass like thought away ! 
 Yet may their hallow'd sway 
 
 Rest on the heart — as dewdrops round adorning 
 The drooping silent flowers, 
 Feed them through night's' dark hours, 
 
 And keep them fresh and living till the morning. 
 
 " Thus should the sunset hour, 
 
 With soul-ahsorhing power, 
 Nurse by its glories the immortal spirit ; 
 
 And plume its wings of flight 
 
 To realms of cloudless liglit, 
 Regions its God hath form'd it to inherit. 
 
 " Fair, bright, and sweet is Morn ! 
 
 When daylight, newly born, 
 In all its beauty is to sense appealing ; 
 
 Yet Eve to me is fraught 
 
 With more unearthly thought, 
 And purer touches oi immortal feeling !" 
 
 The shades of evening began to gather around, 
 but the gloom was still enlivened by streaks of sun- 
 .shine on the mountain tops ; the silence and solitude 
 that reigned, and the stupendous objects that sur- 
 rounded them, filled the hearts of the father and 
 daughter with solemn thoughts, and as they journeyed 
 slowly home they felt this was indeed the time for 
 "unearthly thought" and "immortal feeling."
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 Little more was heard of Inch Orran for some 
 weeks. He had gone upon a voyage of discovery to 
 two of the Isles where the principal part of his 
 property was situated, and was actively employed in 
 detecting abuses, redressing grievances, making sur- 
 veys, getting estimates, quarrelling with his neigh- 
 bours, discarding his factor, threatening his vassals, 
 and so forth, and all in the face of the worst and 
 stormiest weather that ever was seen, even on a 
 western island. At the end of some weeks, he re- 
 turned to Inch Orran, and Glenroy and he soon after 
 met at a county meeting. The Chief, as well as every 
 one present, was immediately struck with the change 
 that had taken place in the old man's appearance 
 since his first arrival in the country ; in fact, he more 
 resembled a livid skeleton than a living man. 
 
 "I am glad to see you safely returned to us. Inch 
 Orran," said Glenroy, accosting him with much cor- 
 diality. "I'm afraid you have had but a fatiguing 
 expedition ? " 
 
 " Sir," returned his kinsman, " I desire to be ex- 
 cused from being either congratulated or interrogated."
 
 DESTINY. 161 
 
 And \vith a slight wave of his hand he turned 
 away. 
 
 Glenroy could scarcely keep from strangling him 
 for his insolence ; but he saw death in the old man's 
 face already, and he refrained. So, swallowing the 
 indignity, even although put in open court, he con- 
 soled his wounded pride by anticipating the rich 
 reward that soon awaited his forbearance. Indeed, 
 to all human appearance, the time was not far distant 
 when the possessor of the long-coveted lands would 
 be called on to rchnquish them. It was evident he 
 was then labouring under severe indisposition, though, 
 when some one remarked to him that he appeared to 
 have caught cold, he denied the fact with much 
 asperity. Then, as if to give the he to the offensive 
 insinuation, he mounted his horse, and rode home ten 
 miles in a pour of rain, without greatcoat or umbrella. 
 The following day he was still Avorse ; but, neverthe- 
 less, being in one of his invincible fits of ill-humour 
 and obstinacy, he chose to stand out for six hours in 
 wind and rain, seeing his potatoes lifted, carted, and 
 measured, that he might take his measures accord- 
 ingly. 
 
 The cold, bad as it was, might perhaps have ended 
 like other colds, had it been treated in a gentlemanly 
 way ; but it was not Inch Orran's mode to treat any- 
 thing gently, or give place to any of the beggarly 
 elements of human nature. He had likewise an utter 
 contempt for doctors, without having a well-grounded 
 faith in anything else, unless it were in that phantom 
 
 VOL. I. M D.
 
 162 DESTINY. 
 
 called Nature, which was the only thing (Simon 
 excepted) that had any control over him. To Nature 
 then he, in the first place, committed himseK; but 
 the cold grew worse and worse, in the most natural 
 way possible. He then submitted himself to Simon, 
 who boldly undertook the cure ; but Simon had only 
 two recipes in the world, the one was ale saps,^ the 
 other was AtJioU hrose.- 
 
 In spite of nature and Simon, and saps and brose. 
 Inch Orran's case became desperate, and then a doctor 
 was called, but came in vain. Another was summoned, 
 but with no better success. Glenroy was most atten- 
 tive, but to no purpose. The patient grew gradually 
 worse and worse, till at the end of a few weeks, all 
 solicitude was vain, for Inch Orran ceased to breathe. 
 
 Mrs. Malcolm behaved "as well as could be ex- 
 pected " on this trying occasion. She said it was just 
 to be expected, for Mr. Malcolm was an old man, and 
 a very particular man, and it was no wonder he died, 
 for he never minded a word she said ; and with Mrs. 
 Macauley to sit by and assent to all her propositions, 
 and listen to her complaints of Simon, and concert 
 with her about her mourning, and talk over the cere- 
 monials of the funeral, Mrs. Malcolm was soon " won- 
 derfully well." 
 
 It is a tormenting law which exists in Scotland of 
 keeping the will of the deceased a dead secret until 
 after the interment, especially as wills are things so 
 
 ^ Porridge made with ale. 
 ^ A composition of lioney and whisk}'.
 
 DESTINY. 163 
 
 capricious in their nature as to defy the speculation 
 of the living, and baffle all their attempts at anticipa- 
 tioiL During that dread interval, how are the hearts 
 of the nearest of kin of a childless miser, or a wealthy 
 old bachelor, or a saving elderly spinster, agitated 
 with the emotions of hope and fear ! Doubts resolv- 
 ing themselves into certainties, and certainty fading 
 away into doubt, as their omissions of duty and com- 
 missions of ofience rise successively to view. In the 
 present instance, the only parties who seemed privi- 
 leged to entertain either hopes or fears, doubts or 
 certainties, were Glenroy and Captain Malcolm, as 
 the nearest relatives of the deceased, and both stand- 
 ing much in the same degree of propinquity. But 
 the latter waived his pretensions in favour of the 
 Chief, who therefore took upon himself the arrange- 
 ment of the funeral, and also bore the whole Ijurden 
 of the fortnight's suspense which intervened between 
 the death and burial. Having seen the last remains 
 of Inch Orran safely deposited in the family vault, 
 Glenroy retiu-ned to the mansion of the departed to 
 unseal the repositories, and cause them to render up 
 their secrets. The search was soon ended. The first 
 thing that presented itself was Inch Orran's settlement, 
 or general disposition, new and neat, formally drawn 
 up, and regularly signed and attested in the most 
 business-like manner possible. But as the reading of 
 a settlement is a tax too heavy to impose upon any 
 save those who are to profit by it, it will be sufficient 
 to extract the kernel from the voluminous husk in
 
 164 DESTINY. 
 
 which, for wise pui^poses, the law has thought proper 
 to encase it, but Avhich it is not every one's jaws that 
 can penetrate. Suffice it therefore to say that the 
 settlement set forth, in the usual strain, for good 
 causes and considerations, giving, granting, assigning, 
 and disponing all houses, lands, heritages, debts, move- 
 ables, goods and chattels, wi'its and evidents, etc. etc. 
 etc., to Christopher Blancow, Isaac Knipes, and Mark 
 Lipptrot, attorneys and scriveners, in trust, for behoof 
 of Ronald Malcolm, eldest son of Captain John Mal- 
 colm of Lochdhu, and his heirs and assignees, the 
 proceeds during the life of the said Eonald Malcolm, 
 until he shall have attained the age of twenty- six 
 years, to be invested in the three per cent consols, 
 there to accumulate. Not a farthing of the money 
 was to be touched under any pretence ; and the said 
 Eonald Malcolm was not to be alimented or subsisted 
 therefrom, but to be considered as having no right 
 whatever in the premises, until he should have attained 
 the aforesaid age. Failing the said Ronald Malcolm, 
 his heirs, etc., the whole was to go to his father, 
 without restriction of any kind. A small jointure 
 to Mrs, Malcolm, five hundred pounds to each of 
 the trustees, a legacy of a thousand pounds, and an 
 annuity of thirty, to Simon Small, for his faithful ser- 
 vices, were the sole bequests contained in this incon- 
 sistent and capricious "disposition." 
 
 Glenroy was too much confounded at first to be 
 able to be in a passion ; it was only when he had col- 
 lected his senses that his energies were roused, and
 
 DESTINY. 165 
 
 he was able to articulate, with his face in a flame, 
 and his eyes flashing fire and fury, " Ronald Malcolm ! 
 Oh, certainly, a very proper person — very — I — hem — 
 I wish you joy, sir," to Captain Malcolm, stamping 
 his foot as he spoke. " Your son is very welcome !" 
 in a voice of thunder — "perfectly welcome for me !" 
 and with a muttered oath the Chief took an abrupt 
 leave of the party of mourners ; and, tearing off his 
 crape and weepers, threw them into the loch, and 
 returned home.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 Although everyljody declared they had expected a 
 most extraordinary settlement from Inch Orran, still 
 this far surpassed the anticipations even of the most 
 experienced, and afforded an ample field for animad- 
 version to all. Yet perverse, unjust, and capricious 
 ■wills are things of such common occurrence, the only 
 surprise is that people should still continue to be sur- 
 prised at theuL Surprised, however, every one was, 
 and none more so than the family at Lochdhu, who 
 were perhaps the only people of the name who had 
 not dreamt of either lairdship or legacy. Neither 
 Captain nor Mrs. Malcolm were people to be much 
 elated with any portion of mere worldly prosperity, 
 and this succession of their son's was not such as to 
 call forth any very exuJDerant demonstrations of joy. 
 It could be of no immediate advantage to themselves 
 or their children ; for, situated as they were, with a 
 narrow income and a large family, necessarily endur- 
 ing many privations, a single year's rent of the estate 
 would have been more beneficial to them now than 
 the accumulated treasures of a long minority might 
 prove hereafter. But, above all, they dreaded the
 
 DESTINY. 167 
 
 efFect this seducing prospect might have upon the 
 mind of their son, with wealth and consequence thus 
 placed before him, as the goal at which he must 
 ultimately arrive, without any exertions of his own. 
 Convinced as they were that the moral part of our 
 nature is best developed amidst struggles and diffi- 
 culties in the outset of life, they dreaded the various 
 temptations to ease and pleasure which would beset 
 his path. Yet, in spite of these sobering reflections, 
 they hailed with gratitude the prospect that was still 
 afar off", even though it neither gilded the present 
 nor cast any delusive glare on the future. 
 
 As for the young heir, he felt much as any other 
 generous, warm-hearted boy would have done upon 
 such an occasion, and many were the romantic schemes 
 which passed through his mind and burst from his 
 lips in the first ardour of youthful emotion. Great 
 was his disappointment at finding he could not, till 
 the appointed time, dispossess himself of a farthing 
 of his nominal wealth, and his heart revolted at the 
 injustice that had been committed against his parents. 
 He loved his mother with that deep and earnest love 
 which a mother's virtues only can excite in the hearts 
 of her children; and, contrasting the poverty and 
 privations she endured with the comforts and luxuries 
 he witnessed elsewhere, he was indignant at the 
 barriers that were opposed to the gratification of his 
 wishes. 
 
 Bent upon discovering some means by which his 
 future wealth might be turned to the immediate
 
 168 DESTINY. 
 
 benefit of his family, Ronald's mind became restless 
 and dissatisfied ; and his thoughts, occupied with vain 
 Avishes and impracticable projects, wandered far from 
 the daily occupations he was wont to pursue with 
 ardour and alacrity. Yet his was the restlessness of 
 a noble mind, aiming at good which he could not 
 realise. 
 
 He was beginning, as usual, one day with, "Oh, 
 how I wish ! " when his father gently stopped him. 
 
 "My dear Eonald," said he, "I was in hopes your 
 good sense would, before now, have suggested to you 
 what a dangerous habit you are acquiring of constantly 
 wishing. " 
 
 "Dangerous, papa!" repeated Ronald; "how can 
 that possibly heV 
 
 " I consider it very dangerous," replied his father 
 mildly ; " and so will you, I am very sure, when you 
 come to reflect upon it. It is positive waste of time 
 and thought and contentment. Wishing has been 
 called the hectic of a fool. If it is not the proof of a 
 dissatisfied mind (which, in your case, I trust it is 
 not), it inevitably leads to it ; for wishing is not very 
 far from murmuring. It is not to inculcate an im- 
 provident habit, but a contented mind, that we are 
 charged to take no thought of to-morrow." 
 
 "But in my situation it is scarcely jjossible to 
 avoid wishing," said Ronald. 
 
 "You surely do not mean to say it is scarcely 
 possible for you to avoid indulging in an idle and 
 foolish habit f said his father mildly. "We have
 
 DESTINY. 169 
 
 indeed little control over circumstances — these are 
 regulated by a higher power ; but as rational and re- 
 flecting beings, we are accountable for the exercise of 
 our faculties." 
 
 "But my "wishes are not so much for myself as for 
 others," said Eonald, reddening a little at the reproof. 
 
 " I am aware of that, my boy, for yours is not the 
 sordid spirit that would merely seek its own gratifica- 
 tion; but, nevertheless, you can do us no good by 
 indulging those vain Avishes of yours ; perhaps, event- 
 ually, you could do us none had you the power of 
 gratifying them, as it is very certain we know not the 
 things that are best for us, and were our wishes 
 granted, it might often be to our ruin. One thing 
 you may be assured of, your mother and I would 
 rather see you poor, if possessed of a grateful heart 
 and contented mind, than master of millions with a 
 restless and dissatisfied spirit. I forget Avhat philo- 
 sopher it is who says, ' It is better to be born with a 
 cheerful temper than heir to ten thousand a year.' 
 For my part, I think its value is incalculable, when it 
 springs from the right source — faith and love. Such, 
 I am sure, I have found it in your mother. You 
 know but little of the privations she suffered in marry- 
 ing me ; but never have I even heard her iitter a wish 
 for any mere temporal benefit. Her ^vishes, Ronald, 
 have been prayers; and we flattered ourselves we 
 should, by the blessing of God, be enabled to make 
 our children rich in contentment, if in nothinsr else. 
 You will not, then, disappoint us, Ronald V
 
 170 DESTINY. 
 
 Eonakl could not answer, but his feelings were 
 depicted on his open countenance, as he wrung his 
 father's hand in silent emotion. From henceforth he 
 sought to stifle his murmurs amid the sober realities of 
 practical duties, kept in wholesome exercise through- 
 out the daily walks of life. 
 
 But Ronald seemed destined only to feel the dis- 
 quiet of riches without partaking of their enjoyments. 
 The news of his succession had spread far and wide 
 throughout the district ; but the particulars were (as 
 all particulars are) very variously and imperfectly 
 stated, and of course much error and exaggeration 
 prevailed, particularly amongst the lower orders of 
 the more remote vassals and tenants. The conse- 
 cjuence was, the young heir was assailed from all 
 quarters with petitions for, and remonstrances against, 
 this, that, and the other evil, while a hoard of griev- 
 ances, that had lain slumbering for many a year, were 
 now brought to light, and laid before him, in the sure 
 and certain expectation of being all speedily redressed. 
 Wives came from afar to speak for the i-enewing of 
 their husbands' leases ; and mothers Avalked many a 
 weary mile to get a word of the young laird about 
 the enlarging of their sons' crofts ; and widows crossed 
 many a rough ferry, and climbed many a long hill, to 
 petition for a cow's grass, or to claim favour, in right 
 of their husbands or their fathers having lost an arm 
 or a leg, serving under a Captain Angus Malcolm 
 (some tenth cousin of the last laird) in the Ainerican 
 war. In vain did Eonald protest to these poor people
 
 DESTINY. 171 
 
 that he possessed no more power than they did them- 
 selves. He was heard with sorrowful incredulity, or 
 renewed entreaties that, if he could not help them 
 himself, he would speak a word for them to those who 
 could. But Ronald had already found of what stuff 
 Messrs. Blancow, Knipes, and Lipptrot were made, 
 and that it was in vain to attempt to seek favour at 
 their hands. Faithful to the trust confided in them, 
 that of turning everything to money, they had already 
 commenced their operations in the most systematic 
 manner, and were deaf as adders to all appeals that 
 came merely recommended by mercy or liberality. 
 But it was in vain Eonald sought to convince the 
 malcontents. It is at all times difficult to convince 
 the poor that those they deem rich and powerful can- 
 not relieve them, if they choose ; but with the lower 
 class of the Highlanders, it is next to an impossibility 
 to make them comprehend how their superiors should 
 not have the power to redress every grievance and 
 supply every want, as promptly as it is made known. 
 Many was the slow reluctant step Ronald saw at 
 length turn away from him, as if still lingering in the 
 expectation of being recalled ; and many was the 
 groan, and the sigh, and the shake of the head, and 
 the shrug of the shoulder, and the discontented 
 "weel-a-weel !" lie received in answer to his protesta- 
 tions. Such was the young heir's initiation to his 
 inheritance.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 But Eonald's cares, had they been weighed in a balance, 
 would have been found hglit as feathei's compared to 
 Glenroy's A\Tath. Not even the pains of the gout, which 
 ensued, could drive the disappointment from his mind. 
 There are people — alas for those who know them ! — 
 who have never done with a subject, especially if it is 
 of a disagreeable nature. " They feed upon disquiet " 
 themselves, and force others to partake of the same 
 sorry fare. 
 
 Such was Glenroy's practice ; and upon this occa- 
 sion his colloquial powers had received an impetus 
 which seemed likely to keep them going to the last. 
 It was a still-beginning, never-ending theme ; — morn- 
 ing, noon, and night, he spoke of the injury he had 
 sustained, as though he had been robbed, and his son 
 murdered ; till, by dint of hearing the same thing so 
 constantly repeated, he at length talked himself and 
 all around him into the firm belief that he had been 
 cheated and circumvented in the most shameful 
 manner by the Lochdlui family ; and as his head was 
 none of the clearest, or his reasoning powers of the
 
 DESTIiNY. 173 
 
 strongest, the proofs, for or against, were all mixed 
 up in one solid mass of invective. 
 
 " It is not the value of the property that I care 
 about," he would repeat, at least ten times a day, to 
 his all-enduring friends, Benbowie and Mrs. Macauley, 
 as they sat by his gouty chair, the one with his 
 tobacco-box, the other with her work-basket, shaping- 
 scissors, and spectacles. " But I hate the dirty, under- 
 hand way these people have gone about the business ; 
 I was completely thrown off my guard by them ; but I 
 never knew one of these canting dogs that wasn't a 
 complete hypocrite." 
 
 " On my conscience, that's very true, Glenroy," said 
 Benbowie. 
 
 " I'm as sure as I am of my own existence," con- 
 tinued the Chief, " that there was a regular laid down 
 plan, from the moment of the old man's arrival in the 
 country. You may remember he had hardly entered 
 this house when that Eonald — that young saint — was 
 at his heels ; sent to play the spy, and show off before 
 him. The father knew better than to face the old 
 dragon himself, and so he set his son to dodge him 
 and fawn upon him ; he had his lesson, and knew 
 what he was about the day he came here. I saw 
 through them even then." 
 
 " On my conscience, I really believe so," said Ben- 
 bowie. 
 
 " I have no doubt it was these incendiaries that 
 were at the bottom of that insane proposal the old 
 scrivener made me about Edith ; but I would rather
 
 174 DESTINY. 
 
 a thousand times have seen her in her grave than the 
 wife of any beggarly tacksman's son — and to cut out 
 her brother, too!" 
 
 "Well, now, is not that very curious!" said Mrs. 
 Macauley ; " are not these just the very words that 1 
 heard Mr. Eeginald using the t'other day 1 ' Edith,' 
 says he, ' I would rather see you killed a thousand 
 times than that you should have disgraced yourself by 
 marrying the tacksman's son.' — 'Oh, Eeginald,' said 
 she, ' you know that could not be, for I am engaged 
 to be married to you, and so I would not marry 
 Ronald even if he were a king.' '' 
 
 " You'll really make these children as great fools as 
 you are yourself," cried Glenroy impatiently. " How 
 can you \)\it such nonsense into their heads !" 
 
 " Me, Glenroy ! 'deed I never put anything into 
 their heads. I would be very sorry; so far from 
 that, when the boys said that you hated Eonald, for 
 he was a bad boy, I said to them, ' Well, childer, your 
 papa may say what he pleases, and you ought to mind 
 everything he says, when it is good and fit to be 
 remembered; and when he happens to say what is 
 maybe not just so right, then you must be sure to 
 forget it.'" 
 
 " I really don't believe there is such another fool 
 as yourself in existence," cried Glenroy ; " and I only 
 Avish you had this gout of mine in your tongue, to 
 silence it." 
 
 " Well, I'm sure I wish I had, if it would take it 
 out of yoiu* toe, Glenroy ; but wait tiU you hear.
 
 DESTINY. 175 
 
 ' Oh,' says Norman, ' I shall take care never to forget 
 that he cheated me out of an estate.' — 'Nor I,' says 
 Eeginald, 'that he had the impudence to want to 
 marry Edith; a pretty husband indeed for Edith, a 
 poor tacksman's son ! ' — ' Childer,' says I, 'I fear you read 
 your Bible to little purpose, or you would not speak 
 evil of your neighbour, or be so scornful of anybody 
 for being more humbly born than yourselves ; for we 
 are such curious creatures, we cannot tell what may 
 happen to us. You ought to remember how Joseph, 
 that was sold for a slave, came to be a ruler over his 
 proud brethren ; and was not there King David, the 
 greatest of all the kings of the earth, — "what was he but 
 a poor shepherd boy 1 But it pleased God to make him 
 a great king, and if it please Providence to ajjpoint 
 that Ronald should live to become a great man, who 
 knows but he may be married to Miss Edith ' " 
 
 " Providence ! — appoint ! What is it you mean, 
 Mrs. Macauley ? do you know what it is you are say- 
 ing 1" cried Glenroy furiously. 
 
 " 'Deed I do, Glenroy, and I'm sure so do you, that 
 it is Providence that appoints our lot " 
 
 " Providence ! — appoint ! — lot ! Do you mean to 
 make my children predestinarians?" cried Glenroy 
 passionately. "I thought you had been merely a 
 simpleton, but I see you're a most mischievous crea- 
 ture, and I cannot suffer you in my family, if you 
 sport such doctrines as these." 
 
 "Well, Glenroy, if you think so, I cannot help it ;" 
 and poor Mrs. Macauley's heart rose at the thoughts
 
 176 DESTINY. 
 
 of having to choose between her Chief and her con- 
 science. 
 
 " But I don't believe you know yourself what it is 
 you mean," cried he, somewhat mollified at sight of 
 her distress. 
 
 "'Deed, then, but I know very well, Glenroy." 
 
 " Then I say you are a very dangerous and mis- 
 chievous woman," cried Glenroy, enraged that she 
 would not take advantage of the loophole he had 
 opened for her escape. 
 
 " Well, maybe I am, Glenroy," was the humble 
 reply ; " but I'm very sure I do not mean it." 
 
 " You are really not fit to associate with either men 
 or children," cried the Chief, striking his crutch on 
 the floor as he spoke. 
 
 "Well; maybe not," was said in a very dejected 
 tone; "but you may say what you please of me, 
 Glenroy, for there's no harm in that; but I do not 
 like to hear you casting out with Providence." 
 
 " Who's casting out, as you call it, Avith Providence, 
 you old goose?" 
 
 " Well, I really thought you was affronted at my 
 saying that we did not get everything our own way in 
 this world, but that Providence appoints our lot for us." 
 
 " Then I tell you again, Mrs. Macauley, that I will 
 not suff'er such doctrines in my family ; I'm for none 
 of your predestinarian notions here. I suppose you'll 
 have my servants cutting my throat, and saying it 
 was appointed. I — I — it's really a most infamous 
 doctrine."
 
 DESTINY. 177 
 
 " Oh ! Glenroy, that is not the Christian notion of 
 the thing at all ; it's only poor ignorant heathen craa- 
 ters, or them who do not take pains to read their 
 Bible, who can misuse it that way ; for how can we 
 think we are appointed to do mischief to one another, 
 when does not He tell us that we are to love our 
 neighbour as ourselves? 'Deed, if an angel were to 
 tell me the contrary, I would not believe it," 
 
 " You really — you know nothing about the matter, 
 and I desire I may hear no more such doctrines; 
 there's no knowing where it would end." 
 
 " 'Deed, then, I think it would just end in our 
 being of contented minds, and learning to walk 
 humbly with God, casting all our care upon Him who 
 careth for us." 
 
 " Oh, you are setting up for a saint too ! but I'm 
 for no saints in this house, remember." 
 
 " Well, you know, if you wish me to go my way I 
 cannot help it ; it is my duty to go." Here tears 
 streamed down Mrs. Macauley's cheeks. 
 
 "Yes, yes, you're ready to go, and leave me at 
 the very time when you might be of some use ; you 
 might at least have the discretion to stay till I have 
 got somebody to take your place; but do as you 
 please." 
 
 *' Oh, Glenroy, how can you think it would please 
 me to leave you and your children ! " cried poor Mrs. 
 Macauley, quite overcome. 
 
 "Well, stay where you are," cried Glenroy, some- 
 what softened ; " only don't go and fill the children's 
 
 VOL. I. N D.
 
 178 DESTINY. 
 
 heads with these pernicious doctrines of yonrs." Mrs. 
 Macanley's face fell at the conclusion of this sentence. 
 
 " I must speak the truth to them, Glenroy," said 
 she, with a sigh, " Avhatever may come of it ; and I 
 think we are such curious craaters, and know so little, 
 that we cannot tell what may happen to us. It may 
 be God's will to raise us up, or to cast us down." 
 
 " Areyouat it again," interrupted Glenroy furiously; 
 "when I tell you, Mrs. Macauley, I will not suffer 
 these doctrines in my family?" 
 
 " Well, Glenroy, I am sorry it should be my lot to 
 displease you, for I owe you a great deal of kindness, 
 and I would lay down the hair of my head for you 
 and your childer, but I cannot give up my principles." 
 
 " Who's meddling with your principles V demanded 
 Glenroy, again softened at sight of her distress. 
 
 " Well, I thought it was not like you to do it ; you 
 who have such good principles of your own." 
 
 "It's my opinion," said Glenroy, "you know nothing 
 about principles, I don't believe you know what they 
 are ; are they flesh and blood, or are they skin and 
 bone V 
 
 " Oh ! Glenroy, I wonder to hear you, who have 
 so much good sense, speak that way, when you know 
 what respectable things principles are, and what poor 
 craaters we would be without them. No, Glenroy, 
 when I die, I will leave those things behind me ; but 
 I expect to carry my principles along with me, for no 
 doubt they will be of use to me in the next world." 
 
 " That's very true," said Benbowie, waking out of
 
 DESTINY. 1 79 
 
 a doze ; " on my conscience, we should keep all we 
 
 can." 
 
 " I don't believe there's a man on earth but myself 
 that could put up with two such idiots," muttered 
 Glenroy. 
 
 " Oh ! 'deed, we have all our appointed trials, 
 Glenroy," said Mrs. Macauley, looking in his face with 
 the most perfect good-nature and sympathy; "but 
 we have all a great deal to be thankful for, too, and 
 myself most of all, for ' man proposes but God disposes,' 
 and so He has disposed you to be a good and kind 
 friend to me, Glenroy." 
 
 "You speak a great deal of nonsense," said the Chief, 
 whose wrath, having had its full saving, now evapo- 
 rated ; " but I don't believe j-ou know what you say, 
 and I daresay you mean well; and there's the children 
 calling you." And he graciously extended his hand, 
 which received a kindly pressure from the placable 
 Mrs. Macauley. 
 
 " Oh, Glenroy ! " cried she, while tears of joy twinkled 
 in her eyes ; "is it not a great blessing that you have 
 not cast out witli me, and that from no power in me 
 to hinder you? — Well, my dears, I'm coming," as 
 another call from the children made her hasten to join 
 them in a little excursion.
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 If it is difficult to impress truth upon the minds of 
 chiklren, it must be owned there is nothing so easy 
 as to instil i^rejudice. The effect produced by these 
 and similar invectives, which the young Glenroys 
 were in the daily habit of hearing, may therefore be 
 easily imagined. The Lochdhu family became gradu- 
 ally associated in their minds with everything that 
 was base and treacherous ; while Eonald in particular 
 was the object of a sort of undefined ill-\nll to the 
 two boys, who had already learnt to ape the Chieftain's 
 tone and adopt his sentiments. Even the gentle, 
 timid, loving Edith was insensibly borne along in the 
 stream. She was still too young to comprehend the 
 nature of the case, or to conceive how pride, prejudice, 
 and envy, may distort the fairest and simplest state- 
 ment. Neither could so monstrous a supposition ever 
 enter into her young imagination as that her papa 
 could be in the wrong. She could therefore only 
 grieve in silence that her once dear friends should 
 have been so wicked as to have told lies and cheated, 
 and that Ronald, dear Ronald ! — who had given her 
 a white owl, and was training a starling for her —
 
 DESTINY. 181 
 
 should have been such a bad boy as to rob Norman, 
 and to want to have her for his wife, when he Avas 
 only a poor tacksman's son and she was the daughter 
 of the Chief. 
 
 Such was the taint already communicated by pride 
 and prejudice to the young and simple heart, by 
 nature "rich in love and sweet humanity." 
 
 With all Glenroy's violence and gasconading, he 
 nevertheless did not proceed to open hostilities with 
 the Lochdhu family. When they met, which was but 
 seldom, he even felt his spirit so rebuked beneath the 
 mild and unassuming, yet open and fearless aspect of 
 Captain Malcolm, that his blustering subsided into a 
 dead calm, or merely showed itself in a still haughtier 
 deportment. His kinsman was at no loss to guess 
 that this accession of dignity in his manner was occa- 
 sioned by anger and disappointment, and he was aware 
 how unavailing argument or ex^iostulation would be 
 against prejudice so unreasonable and inveterate. He 
 also knew that offended pride is only to be propi- 
 tiated by the humiliation of the object of offence. 
 To attempt, therefore, to conciliate the Chief, on the 
 footing of equality, he perceived would only exasper- 
 ate him the more ; and as there was nothing on his 
 part which called for concession, he deemed it the 
 wisest plan to allow matters to take their course, 
 without either seeking or avoiding an explanation. 
 
 Although Captain and Mrs. Malcolm were not so 
 Utopian as to attempt to bring up their children 
 in utter ignorance of the A^ckcdness of the world in
 
 182 DESTINY. 
 
 general, still less were they given to point out par- 
 ticular living instances of it, as they found quite 
 enough on record to serve their purpose, without 
 applying the scalpel to the characters of all their 
 acquaintances. Glenroy's behaviour", therefore, called 
 forth no animadversions from them in presence of 
 their family. They knew that reason, and the im- 
 provement of the understanding, nay, religion itself, 
 are often insufficient to destroy prejudices imbibed in 
 early life, and that childi'en cannot possibly discrimi- 
 nate or comprehend the vast variety of shades which 
 are to be found in the same character. With them 
 everything and everybody is either good or bad, and 
 of course either loved or hated with all the ardour 
 of unregulated minds. They were therefore unwill- 
 ing to impress their young hearts with feelings of 
 enmity and aversion against one, who, with all his 
 pride, vanity, and littleness of mind, nevertheless 
 possessed claims upon their forbearance and good-will. 
 
 Some childish disorder A\iiich showed itself in the 
 family soon afforded a plausible excuse for the con- 
 tinued estrangement, and Captain Malcolm trusted 
 that by the time that was over, the Chieftain's dis- 
 appointment would be somewhat mollified. And so 
 it gradually was in some degree, although, for want 
 of something better or worse to say, he had got into 
 the habit of regularly abusing the whole family at 
 least five times a day, unless otherwise engaged. 
 
 Such was the state of affairs when Captain Malcolm 
 received a letter from Captain Stanley, offering to
 
 DESTINY. 183 
 
 take Ronald on board his own vessel, the Brilliant, 
 then under orders for North America. The com- 
 mander and the voyage were Loth unexceptionable ; 
 but Captain and Mrs. Malcolm, who had never been 
 very desirous of their son's entering on a seafaring- 
 life — a life of such hardship and danger — were now 
 decidedly averse to it, when, by the change of circum- 
 stances, a profession had become a very secondary 
 consideration. But in vain they endeavoured to 
 combat this inclination. Ronald had conceived that 
 strange and unaccountable predilection for the sea 
 which, like all extraordinary propensities, when once 
 it has taken possession of the mind, is not to be ex- 
 pelled by anything short of dear-bought experience. 
 He said, indeed, that he would give it up rather than 
 distress his father and mother ; but he said it with 
 sorrow, and the disappointment hung so heavily on 
 his spirits that his parents thought it wrong to 
 oppose so decided a predilection, and the point was 
 yielded. They gave their consent, not without hope 
 that a single voyage would do more to cure him of 
 his naval ardour than all that could be urged agi inst 
 it. Preparations were therefore immediately made 
 for his departure ; but he said, before he went away, 
 he must go to Glenroy to give Edith her starling, and 
 to take leave of them all. They had been very shy 
 of late. He did not know what was the matter, but 
 he would go and see them, and make it up whatever 
 it was. And full of kind feehngs, Ronald set forth. 
 At a little distance from the house he met the
 
 184 DESTINY. 
 
 two boys and Editli at play upon the lawn, and his 
 heart bounded at sight of them. He accosted them 
 Avitli all his wonted gladness and frankness of manner, 
 but the boys reddened and looked at each other, 
 while Edith cast down her eyes and looked sorry. If 
 children are sometimes slow to speak the truth, they 
 are commonly quick to show it in their behaviour. 
 The tongue seems in childhood the only member 
 which can yield a ready assent to falsehood. The 
 kindling or downcast eye, the blushing cheek, the 
 constrained air — all speak the feelings of the heart, 
 and 'tis long ere the ingenuous mind is tutored to 
 regulate and control them. 
 
 The young party met Eonald's salutation Avith cold 
 averted looks, unlike the familiarity of their usual 
 manners. 
 
 " You look as if you did not know me," said Eonald, 
 with some surprise, as his friendly greeting met Avith 
 no return; "although it is a long Avhile since Ave 
 have met, surely you cannot have forgotten me?" 
 
 " Oh, no ! — Ave have not forgot you," said Master 
 Norman scornfully. 
 
 "Then Avhy don't you speak to me, and shake 
 hands with meV 
 
 No ansAver was returned. 
 
 "And Avhy do none of you come to Lochdhu? 
 You need have no fears of the measles now, for the 
 little ones have been quite Avell for more than a 
 month ; and " 
 
 "It isn't for that," said Reginald haughtily ; "but
 
 DESTINY. 185 
 
 it's of no use to ask any questions ; we don't choose 
 to answer them, and that's enough. So, good morn- 
 ing to you." 
 
 "No !" cried Eonald in some agitation. "I won't 
 go till you have told me why you are not friends with 
 me. I'm sure I never did any of you any ill ! " 
 
 " You have, though ! " reiterated Norman passion- 
 ately ; " and papa says we are never to speak " 
 
 "Hush, Norman!" said Edith, putting her hand 
 on his lips, and whispering softly. " You know papa 
 told us we were not to repeat anything he said ; and 
 I'm sure he would not be angry if we were to bid 
 Ronald good-bye." 
 
 " I wish you would tell me what it is I have done 
 that has made you quarrel with me ; for I'm sure I 
 don't know," said lionald, in vain trying to recall any 
 offence he had committed. 
 
 " We shall perhaps mahc you know some day," 
 said Norman. 
 
 "The sooner the better," said Eonald boldly; 
 "for I am going away." 
 
 " Where are you going ?" 
 
 "To sea." 
 
 "And what have you got in your hand ?" 
 
 "It is Edith's starling," said Ronald, displaying 
 his captive. 
 
 Curiosity got the better of pride. Edith uttered 
 an exclamation of pleasure, and the boys drew near, 
 with looks of eager expectation. 
 
 "Can it speak, Ronald?" cried she, in a flutter of
 
 186 DESTINY. 
 
 delight, and quite forgetting her reserve. Eonald 
 answered by opening the little cage he held in his 
 hand, when tlie bird flew out and perched upon his 
 wrist, jabbering something, which he said was, " For- 
 get me not ! " but which rather puzzled the uninitiated, 
 and certainly was not so plain as the " Can't get out " 
 of Sterne's sentimental starling. 
 
 Such as it was, it was a novelty, and consequently 
 hailed with eagerness by the young group, who, one 
 and all, for the moment forgot their animosity. 
 
 " Give it to me — make it come to me — let me have 
 it," cried all three at once, eagerly extending their 
 hands to it. 
 
 " You are frightening it," cried Ronald, raising his 
 arm to save the starling from its assailants. 
 
 "Well, l)ut I won't frighten it," cried the two 
 boys, again attempting to get hold of it. " Give it to 
 me — give it to me !" 
 
 "No, no, I won't give it to either of you. It 
 is Edith's bird, and I will give it to nobody but 
 her." 
 
 "If it is Edith's bird, why don't you give it to 
 her?" cried Eeginald, 
 
 "Well, stand away both of you," said Ronald, 
 "for it is frightened. It is rather wild yet to 
 strangers ; but see how it stays with Edith ! " 
 
 "Now, Edith, give it to me!" cried Reginald, 
 darting forward to seize it; l)ut Ronald hastily 
 stretching out his arm to ward him off", the shock 
 threw him back, and his head striking against the
 
 DESTINY. 1S7 
 
 branch of a tree, he fell, and the blood sprang from 
 his nostrils. 
 
 Edith screamed, while Norman sought to stanch 
 the blood with his handkerchief, and Eonald flew 
 away for some water, which he brought in his cap. 
 
 "I am very sorry for this, Eeginald," said he, as 
 he returned breathless with haste. "Here is some 
 water — drink a little of it; it will do you good." 
 
 But Eeginald pushed away his hand with indigna- 
 tion. 
 
 "I'm sure I didn't intend to hurt you, Eeginald," 
 said he earnestly; "I was only trying to save the 
 starling from you." 
 
 " You had no business to keep it from me," said 
 Eeginald passionately. " You had given it to Edith, 
 and she had promised it to me, and you ought to 
 have been very proud of our touching your bird, or 
 anything belonging to you." 
 
 "Proud!" repeated Eonald. 
 
 "Yes, very proud," added Norman; "but we shall 
 not demean ourselves any more, so you may take away 
 your ugly stupid starling; Edith is not to take it." 
 
 "Edith is not to be dictated to," said Eonald 
 warmly ; " she is to do as she likes, and I know very 
 well that she would like to have the starling. Would 
 you not, Edith f 
 
 " Edith, I shall never speak to you if you take his 
 bird," cried Eeginald; " so take your choice." 
 
 Edith, with tears in her eyes, looked imploringly 
 at her tyrants, and then at the starling.
 
 188 DESTINY. 
 
 " You are not to take his bird, I tell you, Edith," 
 cried Norman, in a passion. "It will tell lies and 
 cheat." 
 
 "What do }'ou meani" cried Eonald, kindling. 
 " Do you mean to say I tell lies' and cheat 1 Who- 
 ever says so is a liar, and if either of you were as 
 strong as I am, you durst not say so ; but you know 
 I Avon't fight Avith a less Ijoy than myself." 
 
 " If you hadn't given me this cowardly blow," said 
 Reginald, " I should have fought you on the spot, and 
 so I will yet some day." 
 
 "I did not intend to strike you," said Eonald. 
 " I told you I was sorry for it. I didn't come here 
 to fight you : I came to be friends with you all, and 
 to shake hands with you before I go away ; but if you 
 are determined not to do it, I can't help it." 
 
 The boys looked a little ashamed, and walked 
 sullenly on, while Edith lingered, and cast many a 
 loving look to her starling. 
 
 " I shall carry home the bird for you, Editli," said 
 Ronald, " and give it to you there, and Mrs. Macauley 
 Avill take care of it for you ; at least, you will part 
 friends with me, won't you?" and Edith, with down- 
 cast eyes, uttered a faint affirmative. The party 
 walked on in silence till they reached the Castle, when 
 Ronald said, " Here is your starling, Edith ; take it, 
 and let us be friends before I go." 
 
 Edith looked with soft earnest eyes, as if she longed 
 to be reconciled, and her hand was extended, when 
 Reginald interposed.
 
 DESTINY, 189 
 
 " You must choose, then, between him and me," 
 said he passionately. "I shall never speak to you if 
 you are friends with him." 
 
 If Edith had followed the dictates of her heart, 
 she would most probably have chosen the unvarying, 
 kind, generous, protecting friendship of Eonald to 
 the somewhat capricious and often tyrannical prefer- 
 ence of Eeginald ; but, too timid and gentle to dare to 
 have a Avill of her own, she trembled at the thoughts 
 of even betraying her good-will towards him, for fear 
 of the displeasure it would draw down upon her. 
 Thus early is " the fear of man a snare " for the young 
 heart. 
 
 "I cannot take it, Eonald," said she, bursting into 
 tears ; and all three walked into the house, and shut 
 the door in Eonald's face. Eonald felt both anger and 
 sorrow at such unldnd behaviour, and, deeply morti- 
 fied at Edith's joining against him, in a paroxysm of 
 disappointment he tossed up the starling in the air. 
 "There," cried he, "you may go ; since Edith won't 
 have you, no one else shall;" and in bitterness of 
 heart he retraced his way to his own kindly home. 
 
 It may be supposed what a sight and a story this 
 was for Glenroy ; his children all dabbled over with 
 blood — the noble blood of his nephew shed by the 
 plebeian hand of the tacksman's son — his own blood 
 boiled to think of it ! Dire were the anathemas 
 uttered against the perpetrator of this outrage ; and 
 though not naturally a sanguinary man, yet, had the 
 power of former days l)een in his own hands, there is
 
 190 DESTINY. 
 
 no saying in Avhat manner he might have thought 
 proper to avenge this indignity. Most hkely in the 
 Rob Roy strain — 
 
 " And to Ms sword he would have said, 
 Do thou my sovereign will enact ; 
 
 Judge thou of law and fact." 
 
 But after Reginald's face had been washed ^vith 
 vinegar, and his dress changed, there appeared no 
 injury to redress. The traces of it did not, however, 
 pass so easily from Glenroy's mind; he was never 
 weary of detailing and denouncing the exaggerated 
 statement of Ronald's enormities, till his name became 
 a byword and reproach throughout the family.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 But Eonalrl was soon to be beyond the reach of Glen- 
 roy's contumely, for the day and hour of his departure 
 liad arrived. The parting hour ! that hour which, 
 even in all its bitterness, we would yet fondly pro- 
 long, and when past, would many times gladly — oh ! 
 how gladly — recall ! There is something peculiarly 
 affecting in the first separation that takes place in a 
 family, which, amidst many difficidties and privations, 
 has ever preserved in its own bosom the elements of 
 happiness — of sweetdomestic happiness; those precious 
 elements which, once scattered, are so seldom, if ever, 
 united again ! 
 
 " My home of youtli ! oh, if indeed to part 
 
 With the soul's loved one be a mournful thing, 
 When we go forth in buoyancy of heart. 
 
 And bearing all the glories of the spring 
 For life to breathe on — is it less to meet 
 When these are faded ? who shall call it sweet ? 
 
 Even though love's mingling tears may haply bring 
 Balm as they fall, too well their heavy showers 
 Teach us how much is lost of all that once was ours."^ 
 
 Yes ; search as we will, let us ransack east and 
 west, earth and sea, for their peculiar treasures ; it is 
 ' Felicia Hemans.
 
 192 DESTINY. 
 
 not these, even in their fullest attainment, that bring 
 joy to the heart, which can only find its happiness in 
 the exercise of its best affections ; and which, when it 
 survives these, lives but to sigh over its withered 
 hopes, its buried love. Alas ! if in the long and 
 dreary interval of separation, it were foreseen what 
 griefs were to be borne, what ties were to be severed, 
 what hearts were to be seared or broken; who of 
 woman born could bear the sight and live 1 But 'tis 
 in mercy these things are hidden from our eyes ! 
 
 No foreboding of evil greater than the present 
 filled the hearts of the sorrowing family who were 
 now assembled to part with him who was the loved 
 one of all ; for his parents' hearts were strong in faith 
 in that Almighty Power, in the shadow of whose 
 wings there is safety for all who put their trust in 
 Him. They knew that it was not in an arm of flesh 
 to save when the decree had gone forth to smite ; for 
 they had seen — as who has not 1 — the child of a thou- 
 sand cares, the hope of some noble house, the heir of 
 some mighty name — the only, the all, the idolised one 
 — whose pillow had been a mother's heart, whose 
 safeguard a father's arms, smitten even when pressed 
 to their hearts, and torn from their unavailing grasp 
 by the stern hand of Death ; while the wet sea-boy, 
 whose cradle had been the waves, who had been 
 buff'eted by the stormy winds, and tossed on the 
 raging billows, with none to watch over him, none to 
 care for him, had been upheld and preserved by Him 
 whose " way is in the sea," and whose " path is in the
 
 DESTINY, 193 
 
 great waters," and in whose "hands are the issues of 
 life and of death." 
 
 It was this lieavenly confidence which gave forti- 
 tude to the father and resignation to the mother as 
 they blessed again and again the object of their love 
 and their prayers, and gazed upon the treasured 
 features, dimmed as they were by their parting tears. 
 Years might pass away l)efore they should behold 
 them again, but the remembrance of them, they felt, 
 would never pass away till the last hours of life. 
 
 But different from the calm and holy sorrow of 
 the parents are the feelings of the young and imagina- 
 tive upon these solemn occasions. Amidst their grief 
 there is still a spirit of joy within them, and their 
 hearts beat high with fond anticipations of a world 
 their fancy has pictured so fair, and which is fraught 
 to them with all, -svith more than all, the world ever 
 gave, or has to give. 
 
 And what though there be error and exaggeration 
 in their romantic dreams •? And what though dancers 
 and disappointments are sure to quell their towerin"- 
 hopes of youthful enthusiasm 1 The delusion sprino-s 
 from a lofty source, from Avhich all that is great in 
 thought and noble in action has its rise ; from those 
 aspirations after a higher destiny than that of mere 
 everyday existence, which seem inherent in minds of 
 noble stamp, and 
 
 "Speak their higli descent and glorious end." 
 
 Such WQVQ the feelings of young Ronald as the pic- 
 VOL. I. O n.
 
 194 DESTINY. 
 
 tured joys of a sailor's life dwelt upon liis imagination, 
 and braced his heart to leave all those beloved most 
 dearly. The stately ship, the swelling sails, the dash- 
 ing waves, the freshening breeze, the unknown lands, 
 the excitement, the perils, the renoAvn, over all these 
 his ardent spirit had cast a charm wliich he longed to 
 realise. Yet when the time came, still he lingered 
 amidst the encircling arms and the linked hands, and 
 the fond tones, and the tears, and the kisses, and 
 mutual promises not to forget. But last and longest 
 did he remain locked in his mother's arms — that 
 mother so loved, so adored ; must he then leave her 1 
 It was a mighty effort to break away from all he 
 had ever known and loved ; the tender parents, the 
 happy playmates, the dear familiar faces, and scenes 
 which had stamped the first impressions on his heart. 
 His very dog, his faithful Bran, how his long, mournful 
 howl rang in his ear as the boat put off from land, 
 and he was left ! For the moment Eonald's bright 
 prospects all melted av/ay beneath the warm gush of 
 tender affection, as he thought, "Why have I left 
 them 1 I might have stayed ; and now, perhaps, I may 
 never see them more ! " But the day was one to chase 
 all sadness from the heart ; the blue waters glittered 
 in sunshine ; a summer breeze filled the sails of the 
 little boat, Avhich skimmed along like a thing of life ; 
 and other and fairer scenes soon met Ronald's eye 
 than those of his mountain home and native shores. 
 
 I
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 By the succession of his son, and his o"\vn eventual 
 inheritance, Captain Malcohn ivas now in a diflerent 
 situation from what he had hitherto been, as the pro- 
 prietor of a small farm, and the tenant of liis proud 
 Chief. But although he met with all that deference and 
 attention which ever waits upon Avorldly prosperity, 
 there Avas no alteration in his simple habits and 
 demeanour, to the surprise of those selfish, sordid 
 spirits, who look upon wealth as the summum honum 
 of human felicity. Whether Mr. IVI'Dow was of the 
 number we do not pretend to say ; but at this time 
 the following letter arrived from him : — 
 
 " My dear Sir — The preparations for the depart- 
 ure of yoiu" son, and the consequent bustle and con- 
 fusion which such an event unavoidably creates in a 
 family, prevented my having the honour of communi- 
 cating with you sooner upon a subject of an extremely 
 delicate and most interesting nature. From the vari- 
 ous small attentions I have for some time past been 
 in the practice of paying to your eldest daughter, 
 Miss Lucy, I have no doubt you will be pretty fully 
 prepared for the communication I am about to make
 
 196 DESTINY. 
 
 to you, looking upon this mode of proceeding as by 
 far the most honourable and manly on such an occa- 
 sion. From the first period of my entering on the 
 ministry it was my firm determination to embrace 
 the earliest opportunity of entering into the married 
 state, not only as being most conducive to my own 
 comfort and respectability, but as what the world 
 would naturally expect from me when placed in inde- 
 pendent circumstances and in an elevated station in 
 society. I was very soon captivated with the modesty, 
 good temper, beauty, and accomplishments of your 
 daughter; but the difficulties which I found myself 
 involved in, in consequence of having to raise a 
 summons for augmentation, together Avith the uncer- 
 tainty as to the final result of my reclaiming petition, 
 made me at once resolve to act as became a man of 
 honour and integrity, by refraining from paying my 
 addresses until such time as I should have obtained a 
 final decreet. I have now the pleasure of informing 
 you that by last night's post I received the agreeable 
 intelligence that the Court has found me entitled to 
 my augmentation, and also decern for a small addi- 
 tion to the manse and thorough repairs to my offices, 
 which, although not what I by any means think my- 
 self entitled to, yet, upon the whole, will make things 
 pretty decent. That being the case, there no longer 
 remains any necessity for my concealing the attach- 
 ment I have for a considerable time entertained fof 
 your daughter, and for soliciting her hand in marriage. 
 From what I have observed, I think I have every
 
 DESTINY. 197 
 
 reason to flatter myself with a favourable response 
 from her, although, in justice to myself, I must again 
 assure you that I have made no direct appeal to her 
 affections but such as you have been privy to. With 
 regard to my family connections and private fortune, 
 I beg leave to subjoin the following statement for the 
 satisfaction of yourself and Mrs. Malcolm. 
 
 "My father, as is well kno\vn, was for upwards 
 of forty years schoolmaster on the mortification of 
 Myreside, and although the emoluments Avere not at 
 that time w^hat they are now, still they were such as 
 enabled him to live like a gentleman, and to cut a 
 good figure in the world. I need scarcely add that 
 he was a man of a most highly respectable character, 
 and of uncommon learning and abilities — in fact, quite 
 a superior man ; he was nearly related to the great 
 M'Dow of M'Dow. At the same time he set no great 
 value upon these things himself, and for my own part, 
 I am no genealogist either, and have never given 
 myself any trouble to prove the antiquity of my 
 family. With respect to my fortune, I have not 
 been much in the way of amassing wealth, but what 
 I have is vested in the three per cent consols, and 
 amounts to something upwards of £200. I have 
 likewise two substantial top flats in the Gallowgate, 
 Glasgow, one of "vvhich my mother Uferents; the 
 other I let off for £16 per annum. I am far from 
 expecting, my dear sir, that, with your numerous 
 family, you should be able to afford splendid fortunes 
 to your children ; at the same time, as your prospects,
 
 198 DESTINY. 
 
 my dear sir, are very materially improved, I have no 
 doubt you will at once see the propriety of doing all 
 that lies in your power to enable your daughter to 
 cut a good figure in the world as my wife. But as it 
 is well known that money has never been the prin- 
 cipal object with me, I think I may safely trust to 
 your own good sense and liberality, and gentlemanly 
 conduct, for a suitable and genteel portion with your 
 daughter. On my part, I am willing to make such 
 settlements as may be deemed just and reasonable on 
 my wife, who in addition will, in the event of surviv- 
 ing me, be entitled to .£30 per an^ium from the 
 Widows' Scheme.^ I beg the favour of an acknow- 
 ledgment of this per bearer, and I hope I may be 
 permitted the honour of waiting on the ladies in the 
 course of to-morrow forenoon; in the meantime I 
 request you will do me the favour to deliver my 
 respectful compliments to them, with my most special 
 devoirs to Miss Lucy, and with the utmost regard, 
 " I am, my dear Sir, 
 " Your most faithful humble Servant, 
 
 " Dun. M'Dow. 
 
 " P.S. — For your further satisfaction, I think it 
 proper to hand you over a sight of the testimonials of 
 my character, Avhich, in justice to myself, I thought 
 it necessary to procure at the time when I was apply- 
 ing for the presentation. D. M'D." 
 
 ^ In English, a matrimonial design ; in Scotch, a pecuniary 
 compensation.
 
 DESTINY. 199 
 
 The " Testimonials " were, as usual, such as might 
 have entitled the testified to the honours of an apothe- 
 osis, and the eulogy uttered by Mark Antony over the 
 dead body of Julius Cassar would have sounded tame 
 and cold in comparison of the panegyrics lavished 
 on Mr. M'Dow to his own face. From a voluminous 
 mass of evidence, the following may serve as a slight 
 specimen : — 
 
 "My dear Sir— It is with the most unfeigned 
 satisfaction I take up my pen to bear my iniblic testi- 
 mony to worth such as yours, enriched and adorned 
 as it is with abilities of the first order— polished and 
 refined l)y all that learning can bestow. From the 
 early period at which our friendship commenced, few, 
 I flatter myself, can boast of a more intimate acquaint- 
 ance with you than myself ; but such is the retiring 
 modesty of your nature, that I fear, were I to express 
 the high sense I entertain of your merit, I might 
 wound that delicacy which is so prominent a feature 
 in your character. I shall therefore merely affirm, 
 that your talents I consider as of, the very highest 
 order ; your learning and erudition "are deep, various, 
 and profound ; while your scholastic researches have 
 ever been conducted on the broad basis of Christian 
 moderation and gentlemanly liberality. Your doc- 
 trines I look upon as of the most sound, practical 
 description, calculated to superinduce the clearest and 
 most comprehensive system of Christian morals, to 
 which your own character and conduct afford an apt
 
 200 DESTINY. 
 
 illustration. As a preacher, your language is nervous, 
 copious, and highly rhetorical; your action in the 
 puljiit free, easy, and graceful. As a companion, 
 your colloquial powers are of no ordinary description, 
 while the dignity of your manners, combined with 
 the suavity of your address, render your company 
 universally sought after in the very first society. In 
 short, to sum up the whole, I know no man more 
 likely than yourself to adorn the gospel, both by your 
 precept and example. With the utmost esteem and 
 respect, 
 
 " I am, dear Sir, 
 
 " Most faithfully and sincerely j'ours, 
 
 " KODERICK M'CrAW, 
 
 Professor of Belles Lciires." 
 
 But Lucy Avas not dazzled either by the Testi- 
 monials, or the Decreet, or the Augmentation, or the 
 flats in the Gallowgate, or the Widows' Scheme ; and, 
 to Mr. M'Dow's astonishment and indignation, a 
 polite though peremptory refusal was returned to his 
 modest proposals.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 Life seemed to be now holding its most even tenor 
 both at the Castle and the farm, for both showed so 
 little variety beyond the most common casualties that 
 for some time not a single occurrence in either family 
 would have served to adorn a tale, scarcely even to 
 point a moral. The Chief, although his rancour was 
 gradually abating, still preserved a stately distance 
 towards his kinsman ; and as their habits and pursuits 
 were quite opposite, they seldom came in contact with 
 each other. Glenroy, in spite of the downfall of his 
 hopes, still pursued his course of revelry and reckless 
 profusion, while Captain Malcolm, undazzled by the 
 glare of future wealth and consequence, continued his 
 former simple, frugal mode of life; his chief aim 
 being to render his chikben happy, virtuous, and in- 
 dependent. 
 
 But the blank Ronald had left in the domestic 
 circle remained a dreary chasm for many a dull day 
 and long night ; for Ronald had been the beloved of 
 all, and all missed him, from the eldest to the 
 youngest. The accounts that had hitherto been re- 
 ceived, both of and from him, had been highly satis-
 
 202 DESTINY. 
 
 factory. His captain and he were mutually pleased 
 Avith each other, and the young sailor's naval ardour 
 had suffered no diminution during the time the ship 
 had remained at the Nore, after he had joined. But 
 soon after that its destination had been changed, and 
 instead of being despatched, as was originally intended, 
 on a six weeks' voyage to a healthy climate, it had 
 been ordered to cruise in distant seas, and in another 
 hemisphere. This was a disappointment to Captain 
 and Mrs. Malcolm, and an aggravation to the anxiety 
 they naturally experienced on their boy's account — an 
 anxiety which, even under the influence of pious trust, 
 could not fail to be felt by fond parents for a son of 
 such promise. Their hearts were indeed occasionally 
 cheered by letters from both Eonald and his captain, 
 when they happened to hail a ship in their progress, 
 and the contents were always of a gratifying nature. 
 Captain Stanley was delighted with Eonald, and 
 Eonald was delighted with the sea, and said he would 
 not exchange his hammock for all Inch Orran. All 
 he wanted was to witness a battle and a storm, and 
 Avhen he had seen these, he should be satisfied. 
 " Heaven forbid his wishes should be soon gratified !" 
 said his mother, as she read the young enthusiast's 
 letter ; but it seemed as if Heaven, in its mysterious 
 decrees, had otherwise ordained. 
 
 Many months passed after this, without either 
 letters or tidings, and the anxiety of the parents 
 became gradually more intense. Winter days and 
 stormy nights and summer suns rolled on, and still
 
 DESTINY, 203 
 
 all was silence. To the watchfulness of expectation 
 now succeeded the feverishness of apprehension, and 
 then came that awful stillness, the oppressive Aveight 
 of time which we have loaded with our o^vn dread 
 presentiments — when all nature seems to be wrapped 
 in silence and in gloom, when every object appears to 
 proclaim the downfall of our hopes, when the gayest 
 scenes only move us to tears, when the gladdest tones 
 only sound as the death-knell of our happiness. Oh ! 
 many were the midnight prayers breathed from a 
 sleepless pillow wet with a mother's tears, and duly 
 were the streaming eyes and supplicating hands raised 
 to Heaven, while "Thy will be done !" yet trembled 
 on the lip. In vain the anguished parents strove 
 to hide from each other the dismal forebodings which 
 filled their souls. The averted look, the stifled sigh, 
 the listless step, the sudden start, the vacant yet 
 searching eye, all betrayed the secret of those hearts 
 which for the first time were closed against each other. 
 At length the bolt fell, and by one stroke these hearts 
 were laid bare. The ship had foundered, and every 
 soul on board had perished ! A plank, on which were 
 a few letters of her name, and a shattered boat, had 
 been picked up, and all was told. In the ocean depths 
 all had gone doAvn, and many a wave since then had 
 dashed over the trackless spot where lay the young, 
 the brave, the loved — their tale a secret till that day 
 when the seas shall give up their dead. 
 
 ' ' Oil, were her tale of sorrow known 
 
 'Twere something to the breaking heart,
 
 204 DESTINY. 
 
 The i)aiig of doubt -would then be gone, 
 And Fancy's endless dreams depart. 
 
 It may not be ! — there is no ray 
 By which her doom we may explore ; 
 
 We only know she sail'd away, 
 
 And ne'er was seen, nor heard of more !" 
 
 Ah ! who can tell the anguish of a parent's heart 
 sorrowing for the loss of their child? He only to 
 whom all hearts are open, and who, remembering we 
 are clay, forbids not those fond and mournful recollec- 
 tions with which we invest the perished form of the 
 object of our love. Alas ! how does our startled fancy 
 recoil from the first dread thought, and seek to cheat 
 itself, by conjuring up, and enthroning anew, that 
 image in our hearts which our reason sternly tells us 
 is no more. No more ! the being all life and motion, 
 and strength and beauty, whom we have so lately 
 held to our breasts — whose voice even now sounds as 
 sweetest music in our ear — in whose eyes we were wont 
 to read as in a book — whose vacant seat still stands 
 before us — whose thousand mementoes lie scattered 
 around us — is that being indeed gone from the face 
 of this bright earth for ever? Still, still would we 
 seek the living among the dead ! In vain does 
 human sympathy seek to pour its oil on the dark and 
 troubled waters of affliction. 'Tis a hand divine can 
 alone stem the torrent which overflows our soul ; 'tis 
 a voice from heaven alone that can speak peace to our 
 stricken hearts, when it tells us the dust we so loved 
 on earth, whether it be scattered o'er the trackless 
 desert, or be buried in the dark and fathomless abysses
 
 DESTINY, 205 
 
 of the ocean, He will again build up in immortal 
 beauty, and restore to that divine inheritance, where 
 there is no more sorrow or death. Oh, blessed are 
 they who, even in the anguish of their spirits, can 
 bring their fainting hearts to His footstool, and there, 
 with meek submission, say, " Not my will, but Thine 
 be done." With such, "weeping may endure for a 
 night, but joy cometh in the morning."
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 In the affliction of the bereaved family it would have 
 been no small comfort to them to have been visited 
 occasionally by a faithful and spiritual-minded pastor, 
 one who could have soothed their downcast spirits, 
 and have strengthened their religious faith, and have 
 recalled to their startled minds those cheering pro- 
 mises which in the first moments of anguish are so 
 apt, even by the best, to be forgotten or but faintly 
 remembered. But it was not in the house of mourn- 
 ing that Mr. M'Dow's presence was wont to shine. 
 He called, indeed, but he saw only Captain Malcolm. 
 " Sorrow is a sacred thing," not to be subjected to the 
 common eye, and Mrs. Malcolm and Lucy felt as 
 though the presence of Mr. M'Dow would only have 
 profaned the memory of the departed, and harrowed 
 up the feelings of the living. Sorrow had indeed 
 sunk deep into the soul of the bereft mother. Ronald 
 had been unconsciously the idol of her affections, and 
 in the anguish of losing him she felt that he had 
 been the dearest to her of all her children. She 
 bowed, indeed, Avith meek submission to the will of 
 Heaven, but the elasticity of her mind seemed gone.
 
 DESTINY. 207 
 
 All was calm and resigned, but it was the calm of 
 deep suffering, the resignation of a silenced heart. 
 Often in the dead of night there seemed to break 
 upon her startled ear the sound of the raging sea, and 
 the tempestuous winds, and the cry — the piercing cry, 
 of her drowning boy; and then to wake to silence 
 and sad conviction that all was not a dream ! But 
 prayer would again bring down its holy calm to the 
 troubled mind, and the pious mourner would meekly 
 confess that it was good for her to be thus brought, 
 even by the hand of sorrow, to the throne of grace. 
 It was at this time that a visit from the good IMr. 
 Stuart came to cheer and invigorate her drooping 
 spirit. 
 
 He was a man Avhose whole appearance and deport- 
 ment were so emblematic of the sanctity of his char- 
 acter, that even a child would have felt that there 
 was a holy man. He was of a pale, thoughtful cast of 
 countenance, but his thoughts were evidently such as 
 savoured more of heavenly things than low-born 
 cares, for its expression was at once elevated and 
 benign. He 
 
 " Bore his great commission in his look," 
 
 and the sense of tliat sacred trust gave a certain 
 dignified humility to the apostolic simplicity of his 
 demeanour. 
 
 It is difficult to describe a piety so consistent in 
 all its parts, and so unvarying in its practice, whicli 
 sheds a hving unction over the Avhole character,
 
 208 DESTINY. 
 
 whose influence is deeply felt in the daily intercourse 
 of life, but whose results do not dazzle by any sud- 
 den or powerful impression. Human life, indeed, is 
 composed of such an unceasing succession of minute 
 occurrences and humble duties and undignified occu- 
 pations, that it would seem tedious and trivial to 
 narrate the course of even a good man's one well- 
 spent day ; but, as some one has well observed, it is 
 fidelity in the aggregate of these little things that 
 forms the true solidity and greatness of the Christian 
 character. Even so it was with the venerable pastor 
 of Auchnagoil. Grandeur, worldly grandeur, would 
 have heard with a disdainful smile the simple annals 
 of his obscure life ; but how much of moral grandeur 
 was there in the self-immolation of his Christian 
 course — a course at once humble and sublime ! He 
 was indeed a " living sermon " of the truths he taught, 
 and to inculcate these truths by precept and example 
 was the sole aim of his consecrated office. To succour 
 the distressed, to minister to the sick, to help the 
 poor, to comfort the mourner, to cheer the penitent, 
 to reclaim the wanderer — for this he labom^ed in the 
 far-extended district which his parish contained ; for 
 this he visited the distant village and the lonely hut, 
 seeking out each individual of his widely -scattered 
 flock ; for this he braved the winter's flood and sum- 
 mer's heat ; for this he crossed many a rough and 
 tempestuous ferry, and climbed many a rugged and 
 dreary mountain, and traversed many an unfrequented 
 glen.
 
 DESTINY. 209 
 
 " Yet would not grace cue spark of pride allow, 
 Or cry, * Stand off, I'm holier far than thou !'" 
 
 For he was no wild enthusiast, nor narrow-minded 
 sectarian, nor hot-headed zealot ; but he was a man, 
 plain, artless, and simple in deed and word : his high- 
 est gifts meekness, temperance, patience, faith, and 
 love, and the highest words wherein he taught them 
 were words from the Book of God. 
 
 But though Mr. Stuart's character Avas thus fair 
 and consistent in the eyes of others, in his own esti- 
 mation how differently did he view it ! "Unworthy 
 and unprofitable servant that I am," he would exclaim 
 to himself, " how mixed are all my motives ! How 
 selfish are my best intentions ! How polluted my 
 purest affections ! Plow deficient are my best works ! 
 But Thou hast told the weary troubled soul to come 
 unto Thee, and Thou wilt give it peace : " peace, how 
 different and how superior to the outward satisfaction 
 of the vain, self-satisfied, worldly mind ! 
 
 Such are the feelings of the true Christian. His 
 warfare is Avithin, and in proportion as lie is enabled 
 by the eye of faith to discern the holiness and purity 
 of God, so shall he also perceive the guilt and frailty 
 of his own imperfect nature. 
 
 He spoke, and his words came like balm to the 
 wounded hearts of the sorrowing parents, for they 
 came fraught with cheering promises, and glorious 
 hopes, of eternal life. He bade them turn their 
 thoughts from the contemplation of that on which, 
 at such a time, our thoughts, alas ! are too prone to 
 
 VOL. I. p D.
 
 210 DESTINY. 
 
 dwell, even the material part of that immortal being 
 once so precious in our sight. 
 
 He had known Ronald, and he knew the good seed 
 that had been sown in his vouns; heart, and felt con- 
 vinced that in the hour of peril that would not have 
 failed him. 
 
 " I am far from sajdng that you ought not to weep 
 for him you have lost," said the good pastor, while his 
 own eyes Avere moistened with sorrow. " Such a 
 state, even if attainable, would be far from desirable ; 
 it would defeat the purpose for which God hath been 
 pleased to bestow upon us warm and kindly affections. 
 We know that afflictions are sent not as punishments, 
 but as messengers of love to lead us unto Him." 
 
 "I feel it is so," said Mrs. Malcolm meekly; "but 
 
 still, my rebellious heart " She stopped, but 
 
 struggling to overcome her emotion, added, " Alas ! 
 I often think, had my boy but died in my arms, I 
 could have yielded him up with less reluctance to the 
 will of God. I feel as if I could then have said with 
 greater sincerity than I fear I do now, 'The Lord 
 gave, and the Lord hath taken away ; blessed be the 
 name of the Lord. ' " 
 
 " That is a natural feeling," said Mr. Stuart ; " the 
 horrors of death always come aggravated to our minds 
 when accompanied, as in this case, with anything of 
 suddenness or mystery ; we are then apt to imagine 
 it more dreadful than any reality, forgetting that 
 ' the Lord is mightier than the noise of many Avaters, 
 yea, than the waves of the sea.' True, 'the silver
 
 DESTINY. 211 
 
 cord is loosened, and the golden bowl is broken,' and 
 the dust has returned to the dust, but the spirit has 
 also returned to God who gave it. What matters it, 
 then, hoio we enter on the valley of the shadow of 
 death, when we know we are to pass through it by 
 the light of those Divine footsteps which have trod 
 it before us 1 They still remain, and will remain till 
 time shall be no more, to guide us to our heavenly 
 home, where this 'corruptible shall put on incorrup- 
 tion, and this mortal shall be clothed with immor- 
 tality;' where we shall enter ou 'glory such as eye 
 hath not seen, nor ear heard, and Avhich it hath not 
 entered into the heart of man to conceive.' " 
 
 " With such glorious prospects of perfect and end- 
 less felicity at the end of the Christian course," said 
 Captain Malcolm, "it indeed matters little whether 
 we enter upon them by lingering decay, or by a stroke 
 of the sword, or the shock of a wave ; whichever it is, 
 we must believe that it is the means our Heavenly 
 Father deemed the best; and in that belief let us 
 humbly acquiesce." 
 
 " And in that simple act of acquiescence we shall 
 feel a sure and certain rest for our souls," said Mr. 
 Stuart. " Time, it has been truly said, indeed obli- 
 terates sorrow from the worldly heart, and leaves it 
 no better than it found it ; but religion beautifies and 
 sanctifies affliction in the heart of the Christian, and 
 causes it even to bring forth new and more abundant 
 graces ; the fountain of bitter water may yet become the 
 well of living water springing up to everlasting life."
 
 212 DESTINY. 
 
 " Feeling and acknowledging as I do the truth of 
 these things," said Mrs. Malcolm, "how weak, how 
 sinfid, it seems to allow my soul to be thus cast down ! 
 I Imow the conditions on which every blessing is 
 bestowed — that we must one day part with it ; and 
 I believe that God knows best when that parting 
 should be ; and yet," she added, while the tears 
 flowed silently down her cheek, " my son ! my 
 son!" 
 
 " Do not judge yourself thus strictly," said the 
 good pastor; "you do not mourn as those who have 
 no hope; the spirit is Avilling to believe all things, 
 though the flesh is weak to endure them. You 
 believe that God gives in love, believe that He also 
 takes in love, and your heart will not be troubled 
 beyond measure ; for ' light is sown for the righteous, 
 and gladness for the upright in heart;' be of good 
 courage, then, for God's promise is not made in vain : 
 * They who sow in tears shall reap in joy.' " 
 
 Such, though imperfectly detailed, Avas the tenor 
 of the faithful minister's conversation with the afflicted 
 parents ; and he left them soothed by his visit, and 
 cheered by the promise of repeating it as often as his 
 wanderings brought him near their dwelling. 
 
 Perhaps the first pleasurable emotions of an out- 
 ward kind to which the bereaved heart is awakened 
 are to be found in the deep and simple enjoyment 
 of the l)eauties of nature. And where to the reflective 
 mind and cultivated taste are not these beauties to be 
 found 1 Even on the barren mountain and the dreary
 
 DESTINY, 213 
 
 moor, on the ever-flowing waters and the ever-changing 
 
 clouds, 
 
 ' ' No plot so naiTow, be but Nature there, 
 No waste so vacant, but may well employ 
 Each faculty of sense, and keep the heart 
 Awake to love and beauty ! " 
 
 To those whose eyes and hearts have long been closed, 
 whether by sickness or sorrow, but are again opened to 
 the sootliing influence and gentle harmony of nature, 
 
 ' ' The meanest floweret of the vale. 
 The simplest note that swells the gale. 
 The common earth, the air, the skies," 
 
 are indeed to them "as opening paradise," and in- 
 sensibly they " feel that they are happier than they 
 know."
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 While the mansion of Lochclhu was thus darkened 
 by the shadow of death, we may turn to the habitation 
 of Glenroy, which was basking in the full blaze of 
 prosperity. Eonald's mournful fate, however, had not 
 failed to excite its due share of sorrow and of sjonpathy. 
 Even the Chief's animosity had been greatly softened, 
 and the two boys remembered with shame and com- 
 punction their unkind treatment of him at their last 
 meeting ; while Edith shed many a tear of remorse 
 and regret over the memory of the loved companion 
 of her childhood. She was again permitted to renew 
 her intimacy with the family at Inch Orran, and her 
 affectionate heart felt as though its only reparation 
 could be in devoting herself to the consolation of the 
 mourners. 
 
 Years rolled on, and the young people either gradu- 
 ally outgrew their childish faults, or exchanged them 
 — as is often the case — for others less obvious to 
 common perception; but so it was, the spoiled, for- 
 ward, petulant boys were now transformed into 
 handsome, spirited, pleasing youths, the pride and 
 delight of the Chieftain — the admired and applauded
 
 DESTINY. 215 
 
 of all his friends and followers. Not that Norman 
 possessed any distinguishing traits of excellence in 
 himself, for he inherited much of his father's character, 
 along with his features. He was proud, overbearing, 
 and selfish, but he was handsome, light-hearted, active, 
 and brave, which, with his figure and fortune, were 
 requisites sufficient to ensure his popularity as a future 
 Chief. Had it been possible for him to have been 
 eclipsed in his father's eyes or house, he certainly 
 would have been so by his cousin Eeginald, who was 
 a perfect model of manly beauty, and seemed in his 
 person to have realised all that Grecian sculpture had 
 imagined of faultless form and feature. The materials 
 of his mind and character seemed also of a richer and 
 nobler stamp than Norman's. He had good feehngs, 
 great sensibility, an ardent, romantic imagination, and 
 a high-spirited scorn of everything mean and base ; 
 and although he was at the same time headstrong, 
 self-willed, and impetuous, the slave of impulse and 
 the sport of passion, yet, as his impulse often led him 
 to what was good, and his passion was a mere gust, 
 these in early life showed scarcely as defects, but 
 seemed merely the natural exuberance of youthful 
 blood and unchecked spirits. The seeds of many 
 good qualities had been sown in him by nature, but 
 not much had been done by education to bring them 
 to maturity ; the tares had been sufi"ered to grow up 
 with the wheat, and both were now so completely 
 blended together that it would have required no 
 common skill and pains to have distinguished and
 
 216 DESTINY. 
 
 separated them. The attempt, however, had not 
 been made, and which should predominate, would 
 depend upon the circumstances in which he might be 
 placed, and the temptations to which he might be 
 exposed. Hitherto, nothing had occurred to call forth 
 any of the latent feelings of the heart, or proclaim the 
 master-passion of the soul, for his life had merely 
 been that of an indulged and pampered boy, who had 
 never knoAvn a trial, or had a wish ungratified. So 
 bright and sunny an existence, then, could scarcely fail 
 to produce a pleasing influence on the naturally good 
 temper and high spirits, as the soil will be richest in gay 
 flowers where the harrow has never entered. But, 
 
 " not only by the -warmtli 
 
 And soothing sunshine of delightful things 
 Do minds gi'ow up and flourish." 
 
 Alas ! who has ever beheld the endowments of 
 nature and the advantages of fortune realise in the 
 happiness of their possessor the splendid visions they 
 seemed destined to fulfil 1 
 
 Mr, Ellis had frequently urged on Glenroy the pro- 
 priety of sending the young men to finish their studies 
 at an English university : but his remonstrances were 
 always answered by a quotation from Dr. Johnson, 
 the only one the Chief had ever burdened liis memory 
 with, that " an English education could only tame a 
 Highland Chieftain into insignificance." — "And, sir, 
 my son shall not be tamed into insignificance at any 
 of your English universities." 
 
 Mr. Ellis was therefore obliged to give up the
 
 DESTINY, 217 
 
 point ; and having written on the subject to Sir 
 Angus, he only waited to receive his instructions as 
 to the future plans to be adopted for the completing 
 of Eeginald's education before he took leave of his 
 pupils, and relinquished what was now a mere nomi- 
 nal office — that of their preceptor. 
 
 Glenroy liked his daughter as well as he could like 
 anything incapable of holding or transmitting the 
 chieftainship, yet still she was rather an insignificant 
 person in his estimation. He was, however, pleased 
 to hear on all hands that Edith was reckoned the 
 prettiest girl in the county, and that Eeginald and 
 she had already formed an attachment to each other ; 
 as that was at once securing a good establishment for 
 her, and saving himself all trouble as to her future 
 disposal. Although it has been said, the love Avhich 
 grows by degrees is more nearly allied to friendship 
 than to passion, nevertheless the attachment of the 
 cousins seemed to form an exception to this general 
 rule, for their love had continued to grow with their 
 growth, and strengthen with their strength. 
 
 As the attachment was sanctioned by both sides of 
 the house, the course of their love, contrary to that of 
 all other loves, seemed destined to run in a very 
 smooth channel, and it was already settled that the 
 marriage should take place upon Reginald's attaining 
 the age of twenty-one. No envious cloud, therefore, 
 marred the brightness of their horizon ; they stood 
 on " the threshold of life," and all life's fairest pro- 
 spects lay spread out before them.
 
 218 DESTINY. 
 
 A too strict similarity of character is perhaps not 
 favourable either to love or friendship, and the differ- 
 ence of disjDOsitions in the young lovers seemed only 
 such as would give greater charm to their attachment. 
 Reginald was all fire and impetuosity, while Edith 
 was all gentleness and timidity. With her father 
 and brother she found little congeniality of mind, or 
 interchange of sentiment, for their characters were 
 cast in a different mould from hers; but there was 
 much of a kindred nature in the more romantic and 
 imaginative mind of her cousin, and she loved him 
 with her whole heart, as the only being with whom 
 she could hold unreserved communion. Possessed of 
 deep sensibility, and dwelling Avith the object of her 
 earliest affection amid scenes of grandeur and beauty, 
 calculated to call forth and nourish all that was 
 romantic and tender in her nature, it was not sur- 
 prising that Edith should yield to the dominion of an 
 artless affection, unsullied by the tarnish of the world, 
 and live in a creation of her own. Outwardly calm 
 and serene, all the poAvers of her mind were concen- 
 trated in those feelings, which, hidden from the 
 common eye, had entwined themselves with every 
 fibre of her heart, and choked each plant of humble, 
 Avholesome influence. 
 
 Her mind, though sensitive and feminine, was 
 naturally strong, but it was relaxed and enfeebled 
 from the constant habit of looking to Reginald as the 
 ruler and arbiter of her very thoughts. The materials 
 of excellence and happiness had been largely bestowed
 
 DESTINY. 219 
 
 upon her, but she was ignorant of their vahie, and 
 confided them wholly to the keeping of another. It 
 was to Eeginald she looked for her daily portion of 
 happiness ; it was in his heart she anchored her trust, 
 and there sought her abiding place of rest and refuge.
 
 CHAPTER XXXL 
 
 One of the many gifts Mrs. Macaiiley had received 
 from nature was her faculty of dreaming, which she 
 piqued herself upon in no small degree ; and although 
 it never had been productive of any good either to 
 herself or others, yet she nevertheless entertained the 
 utmost respect and veneration for this endowment, 
 and placed the most perfect reliance on her own 
 oracles. 
 
 Glenroy, of course, affected to treat her dreams 
 and visions as he did herself, with great contempt, 
 but secretly he had rather a relish for them, especially 
 as Mrs. Macauley was not a public dreamer; her 
 dreams always related to his house and family, and 
 there was therefore a sort of importance annexed to 
 the idea of having his own peculiar dreamer in his 
 household. It was a piece of state almost equal to 
 that of keeping a dwarf, or a fool, or a henchman, or a 
 piper, or any other of those prerogatives of grandeur. 
 
 The natm-al contempt, however, which is felt in 
 this enlightened age for old wives' dreams, and even 
 for young women's fables, together with the profound 
 respect we entertain for tlie understanding of our
 
 DESTINY. 221 
 
 readers, withholds us from relating upon this occasion 
 the cabalistic narrative with which Mrs. Macauley 
 one morning regaled the breakfast table ; suffice it to 
 say, it was all a dream should or could be. It was 
 grand, confused, dark, incoherent, contradictory, sense- 
 less, and sublime ; and in spite of the ludicrous tones 
 and gestures of the narrator, it produced more or less 
 an impression upon the minds of her audience. From 
 the cloud of her misty imagination various distinct 
 images emerged. There was a large raven Avith a 
 wedding-ring in its mouth; there was a troubled 
 sea, and a dove Avith a bleeding breast ; there Avas a 
 shroud, two coffins, and a grave ; and there was the 
 minister, Mr, M'Doav, all dressed in white, standing 
 in the kirk with Miss Edith, Avho was all dressed in 
 lAack, and somebody else, with such a mist upon 
 them she could not make out who it was, etc. etc. etc. 
 A few days after this memorable dream there 
 arrived accounts of the death of Sir Angus Malcolm. 
 He had died of the fever of the country, just as he 
 Avas on the point of embarking for Britain. He had 
 had sufficient warning of his danger, hoAvever, to 
 admit of his making arrangements as to the manage- 
 ment of his affairs, and the disposal of his son. Sir 
 Angus seemed to have felt that Reginald had been 
 left too long to Glenroy's superintendence, for he 
 directed that he should as soon as possible be entered 
 at one of the English universities, under the suj)erin- 
 tendence of Mr. Ellis. After spending tAvo years at 
 college, he was to set out on a tour to the Continent,
 
 222 DESTINY. 
 
 accompanied by Mr. Ellis, to remain abroad until he 
 came of age. He was then to return home and cele- 
 brate the event among his own people, in a manner 
 befitting the heir of an ancient house and noble 
 property. A sanction was given to his marriage -with 
 Edith, and a hope expressed that he would then settle 
 for life in his own country. 
 
 " Oh, what a mercy it is I had the good sense to 
 tell my dream before tliis came to pass ! " whispered 
 Mrs. Macauley to Benbowie ; "for if I had not told 
 it, nobody would have believed me now. Oh ! what 
 wonderful creatures we are ! the great black raven ! 
 I cannot forget it ! Little did I think that was Sir 
 Angus, poor man ! and the wedding ring that he had 
 in his mouth too ! was just to show like, that he was 
 coming over to maiTy his son to Miss Edith." 
 
 "On my conscience, he was a very lucky man, to 
 have cleared his estate before he died!" responded 
 Benbowie. 
 
 Reginald showed much warmth of feeling on the 
 occasion of his loss ; but from the length of the separa- 
 tion that had taken place between the father and son, 
 it was not to be expected that his sorrow should be 
 lasting ; and in due time he was comforted. 
 
 Glenroy had now arrived at the period of life when 
 any change in the domestic arrangement is dreaded 
 as the severest of evils, and the more so, as the gout 
 had now become so frequent in its attacks as to 
 render him more than ever dependent on domestic 
 society. It may therefore be supposed Sir Angus's
 
 DESTINY. 223 
 
 injunction did not accord with his inclinations, and 
 he as usual vented his displeasure in apostrophising 
 Benbowie. 
 
 " Finish his studies ! finish his fiddlesticks ! /never 
 finished my studies — / never was at any of their 
 English universities. I should be glad to know what 
 my son could learn at an English university ! Eegi- 
 nald may go if he chooses, but I'll be hanged if I'll 
 allow Norman to accompany him. He shall not be 
 tamed into insignificance if I can help it. It is a fine 
 preparation for a Highland Chief to be cooped up in 
 one of their musty colleges with a pack of priests and 
 dominies, and sailing about their plainstones in a 
 black gown and a trencher skull-cap ! " 
 
 "Very true," responded Benbowie, "on my con- 
 science, it's all very true — a philabeg would set him 
 better." 
 
 "A fine thing, to be sure, for a Highland Chief to 
 have B.A. tacked to his name !" 
 
 " On my conscience, a man need not go so far to 
 learn to cry BA ! " said Benbowie. 
 
 " And then the scheme of sending him to the Con- 
 tinent is, if possible, still worse," continued Glenroy. 
 "What can he learn there but to dance and speak 
 gibberish, or to be running after old bridges and 
 broken statues, when he ought to be building new 
 bridges and entertaining the gentlemen of the county? 
 Statues ! a pack of rubbish. I would not let one of 
 them Avithin my door." 
 
 "On my conscience, I think you're quite right,
 
 224 DESTINY. 
 
 Glenroy. I would not give a three-year-old stot for 
 any stuccy babbies that ever were made." 
 
 Such was the stj'le of colloquy held by these two 
 worthy gentlemen ; and had Eeginald been inclined 
 to disregard his father's dying injunctions, plausible 
 pretexts would not have been wanting for him to 
 have at least postponed the fulfilhng of them. But 
 Eeginald was eager to enter upon the course pointed 
 out to him, and Mr. Ellis lost no time in taking the 
 necessary steps for getting him entered at Oxford, 
 whither he was to accompany him. Nothing could 
 induce Glenroy to part with Norman ; and as Norman 
 attached no great ideas of pleasure to a student's life, 
 he was easily prevailed upon to relinquish it, and to 
 remain at home his own master, so called, though 
 still more the master of all around him. 
 
 Edith beheld with meek and silent sorrow the 
 time approach for the departure of Eeginald : to be 
 separated from him for more than a few days was an 
 evil she had never contemplated; and now weeks 
 and months were to drag their slow course along, 
 while Eeginald and she were to dwell apart. Oh ! 
 what a solitude would hers be ! the dreariest, the 
 saddest of all solitudes — the solitude of the heart. 
 
 Eeginald's sorrow at parting "\vith Edith, it might 
 be supposed, was pretty much swallowed up in the 
 anticipated novelty and variety that awaited him; 
 and he strove to comfort and reassure her, as he 
 talked cheerfully of the shortness of the time of his 
 probation. Three years were nothing ; besides, he
 
 DESTINY. 225 
 
 should certainly make a point of seeing her often 
 again before he left England ; and, at any rate, he 
 should write to her constantly, every day, that she 
 might never for a single day forget him. He would 
 then reiterate his own vows of eternal love and con- 
 stancy, and call upon Edith to repeat the same, Avhile 
 each favourite haunt was A'isited and hallowed in 
 their imaginations by the pensive thought that it 
 would be long ere they should again revisit them 
 together. Thus the intervening days glided away 
 with the rapidity of a stream, and thus feeling 
 stamped the value of ages upon the duration of 
 moments. Then swiftly came the parting hour — 
 
 " that hour, 
 
 "When love first feels its own o'erwhelniiiig power." 
 
 " This, Edith, is a ring of betrothment," said 
 Reginald, as he placed one upon her finger. "Re- 
 member, there it must remain till I exchange it for a 
 bridal one. Edith, do yoti promise V and he held 
 her hand locked in his, while Edith tried to smile an 
 afiirmative through her parting tears. 
 
 Again and again the farewell was spoken : again 
 and again Edith was pressed to his heart, and now 
 he was gone, and she was left alone. 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 CHAPTER XXXIT. 
 
 By degrees the loss of Reginald's society was almost 
 atoned for to Edith by the new enjoyment of corre- 
 sponding with him. It was a different, a more 
 abstracted and concentrated feeling, but scarcely a 
 less delightful one than that which she used to enjoy 
 in his presence. True, he was no longer with her; 
 but then, Avhat though the image itself was gone? 
 The impression remained almost as vivid as the reality, 
 and she had his ring, his picture, his letters — those 
 mute but eloquent pledges of his faith ; the almost 
 daily assurances of his love, the oft-repeated vows, 
 the fond anticipations of their future happiness. 
 Deep and earnest in her love, but timid and reserved 
 in her manners, her heart expatiated more freely ujion 
 paper than ever it had done in the daily intercourse 
 of her whole life, so that she was ready to exclaim — 
 
 " Fortune, 
 
 thou canst not divide 
 
 Our bodies so, but that our hearts are tied, 
 And we can love by letters still, and gifts, 
 And thoughts, and dreams." 
 
 Thus was her mind kept in a state of constant 
 excitement, more inimical to its repose than the
 
 DESTINY. 227 
 
 presence even of the object of her affection. Imagi- 
 nation left to itself had awakened in her that extreme 
 sensibility so destructive to happiness, which, in seem- 
 ing to give us " a sweet existence in another's being," 
 is only fixing more firmly its barbed arrow in the 
 heart. 
 
 So passed days, weeks, and months ; and when 
 the college vacations permitted, Reginald revisited 
 with delight his early home. Absence, so far from 
 abating the attachment of the youthful lovers, seemed 
 if possible to have augmented it, and the lapse of time 
 had only added new attractions to each, in the eyes 
 of the other. 
 
 But now a longer period of absence was to inter- 
 vene, and seas were to divide them. The time for 
 Reginald's visit to the Continent had arrived, and 
 painful was the parting of the lovers. Yet the san- 
 guine spirit of Reginald imparted comfort to Edith, 
 as he fondly reminded her that two out of the three 
 years of their probation were over, and that this 
 parting should be the last. 
 
 Many was the fond and impassioned letter she 
 received from Reginald, and many were the tender 
 and confiding ones she wrote in reply. At length his 
 letters became less frequent, but that was not surpris- 
 ing, considering that he was constantly moving from 
 one place to another ; and then when they did come, 
 they were as affectionate as ever. He still reminded 
 Edith of their engagement ; he still assured her that 
 time and absence only rendered her dearer to him.
 
 228 DESTINY. 
 
 and that he longed impatiently for the time when he 
 was to return to her to part no more. But after 
 receiving one of those letters, breathing all that a 
 fond lover could say to the idol of his heart, a long 
 pause ensued ; and then, when the next came, Edith 
 thought, but it must be fancy, that the style was 
 changed. It was short, too ; but he pleaded a head- 
 ache—perhaps he was ill and concealed it from her ; 
 o-nd many an anxious day and sleepless night she 
 passed, till another arrived ; it was still shorter, but 
 he was just setting out upon an excursion, and had 
 not time to write more than a mere line, to assure 
 dear Edith he was well. Other long and dreary 
 chasms ensued, and were but faintly attempted to be 
 filled up by meagre letters, full of little else than 
 apologies for their rarity, and promises of writing 
 oftener and longer ones. But the same excuses con- 
 tinued ; one time the heat was so excessive he could 
 scarcely hold the pen, then he was interrupted by a 
 friend, or he was just returned from a fatiguing excur- 
 sion, or he was setting out upon a pleasure tour, or 
 the time was now drawing near when he should be 
 returning to Scotland, and therefore it was unneces- 
 sary to say much more at present. 
 
 So absorbed was Edith in anxiety about Eeginald, 
 that she was quite unconscious of the attentions, or 
 rather intentions, of another lover, in the person of 
 the young Lord Allouby, who, from partaking occa- 
 sionally of Glenroy's hospitalities, had now become a 
 more frequent visitor, and, having no small opinion of 
 
 I
 
 DESTINY. 229 
 
 himself, he concluded he had only to pay his addresses 
 to have them instantly accepted. Edith's ideas of 
 love were much too romantic to enable her to construe 
 the flimsy gallantry of a modern fine gentleman into 
 anything like a serious passion, and her surprise at 
 his lordship's hasty and self-assured proposals could 
 only be surpassed by his amazement at the rejection 
 of his suit. It was one that, in other circumstances, 
 Glenroy would have been gratified with, but as Edith 
 was engaged to Reginald, he coidd only have the 
 satisfaction of chuckling over it in private, or throw- 
 ing out innuendoes in public. 
 
 Thus Avore away time ; but still Reginald came not, 
 and his birthday, the day of his coming of age, Avhich 
 his father had recommended him to celebrate at home 
 among his own people — that day which he himself had 
 so fondly anticipated, and which Edith had looked for- 
 ward to wdth no common interest — that day passed 
 unnoticed, unheeded on his part, and on hers only 
 recorded as a day of disaj^pointment and gloom. 
 
 Glenroy chafed and fumed at this disrespectful 
 delay. Norman, still more sanguine and impatient 
 in the self-assumed anticipations of his cousin's return, 
 had scarcely been restrained more than once from set- 
 ting out to meet liim. Mrs. Macauley dreamed and 
 wondered in vain. Xeither dreams nor wondering 
 could solve the mystery. Edith sighed and feared, 
 she knew not what, for her heart was too simple and 
 guileless to harbour suspicion. She had heard and 
 read of such a thing as inconstancy, but to associate
 
 230 • DESTINY. 
 
 it with the idea of Reginald never entered her ima- 
 gination, or if it did, it was instantly dismissed. She 
 had only to recall the remembrance of past days, to 
 look at his picture, to meet the gaze of those fond 
 eyes, to read his letters fraught with vows of ever- 
 lasting love, and all her doubts fled as by the touch 
 of a talisman. Thus imagination still held sway over 
 her, while time, as it moved slowly along, 
 
 " Deposited upon the silent shore 
 Of memory, images and precious thouglits," 
 
 which it was the delight of her solitary hours to 
 treasure up in the inmost recesses of her heart. She 
 knew not — Avho in early life does know 1 — that such 
 treasurings up of the frail records of human love 
 prove but as landmarks to note where the tide of 
 passion and of sorrow hath been.
 
 CHAPTEK XXXm. 
 
 Years had passed away since Ronald Malcolm had 
 left his native home, when, one bright summer's day, 
 a tall and sunburnt youth, coarsely and scantily clad, 
 but with something wild and noble in his air and 
 aspect, stood on the shores of Lochdhn, and for a 
 moment surveyed its dark mountains and roaring 
 waters, with the look of one to whom they bore no 
 common interest. 
 
 That youth was Eonald, and many a sad sight his 
 young eyes had looked upon since last he left the 
 spot where he now stood, and many " a strange and 
 moving accident " burned within him, to relate to the 
 dear ones he had left. He had to tell of the wonders 
 of the raging sea and the angry heavens, which had 
 shivered the stately ship, and sunk so many "high 
 hearts and brave" beneath the devourinsr billows. 
 He had to tell of his own escape, with others of the 
 gallant crew, and of the hunger, the thirst, the cold, 
 the heat, the hardships, and privations they had 
 endured, and under which many of those brave spirits 
 had sunk. He had to tell of the survivors reaching 
 the coast of Africa, only to become captives to the
 
 232 DESTINY. 
 
 wild and lawless natives, by whom they were driven 
 as slaves to the interior of those wild, desert, and 
 unexplored regions, where his companions, one by 
 one, fell victims to the severity of their lot. But his 
 youth and dauntless spirit, his habits of endirrance 
 and activitj', the flexibility and sweetness of his 
 temper, had, under the blessing of a superintending 
 Providence, enabled him to bear the heavy load 
 assigned him, and had even gained him favour in the 
 eyes of his barbarous captors. How many a summer's 
 day and winter's night would it take to tell of all 
 that he had seen and thought, and felt and suffered 
 and done, during his dreary captivity ! and how, even 
 in the depths of his desolation, he had ever cherished 
 that trust divine which a mother's lips had early 
 breathed into his infant soul ! Then came his escape, 
 with all its dangers and privations, his wanderings by 
 land, his perils by sea ; all these, and much more, had 
 Ronald to tell ; but all was forgotten in the tumult 
 of his feelings as he stood once more on his native 
 shore, and looked on his father's house, and recalled 
 the dear familiar scenes of his childhood. 
 
 Memory flew over the intervening years, and all 
 faded from his mind save the loved ones, whose looks 
 and tones had sometimes haunted his very heart to 
 agony, as fancy pictured the joys of home to the far- 
 distant captive. And now in a few minutes he should 
 behold them again ; already he seemed to feel their 
 kisses on his lip, their tears of gladness on his cheek, 
 their arms enfolding him ; once more he Avas pressed
 
 DESTINY. 233 
 
 to a mother's beating heart ! All these thoughts 
 rushed through the young adventurer's mind, as he 
 gazed for a moment on the Avell-remembered features 
 of his mountain home. These were unchanged, for 
 their stern and massive outline was unchangeable ; 
 but something of a still wilder, a more desolate and 
 mournful cast, seemed to dwell upon them, for all was 
 silent and voiceless. Konald stayed not to conjecture 
 or to fear, but in an instant he was at the house — his 
 father's house ! He had crossed the threshold of his 
 once-happy home, but still there was none to meet 
 him, none to welcome him. Everything was dis- 
 placed and in disorder, and he sought in several of the 
 rooms before he discovered an old purblind woman, 
 who seemed the sole inhabitant of the house he had 
 left so full of life and joy, and youth and beauty. 
 
 In this ancient crone he recognised an old pensioner 
 of his mother's, more famed for her fidelity and attach- 
 ment to the family than for the sweetness of her 
 temper or the urbanity of her manners. In a voice 
 choking with agitation, he inquired for Captain Mal- 
 colm, for the family ; but he had to repeat the ques- 
 tion three times before he could obtain an answer; for, 
 though not positively deaf, her ear was slow to catch 
 a strange accent, and Ronald's voice and accent were 
 both so totally changed that his own mother could 
 scarcely have recognised them. At length, in a sharp 
 Highland tone, he received the satisfactory reply of — 
 
 " Captain Malcolm ? — ay ! whar should he be but 
 in his ain hoose 1"
 
 234 DESTINY. 
 
 " But this was his house," said Eouald, reviving at 
 this information, scanty as it was. 
 
 "Ay, and wha says it's no his hoose, nool but it's 
 no his dwelling-hoose, if you mean that; he's ower 
 great a man to dwell here noo — ay, that lie is !" 
 
 The truth now flashed upon Eonald, and, with a 
 pang he said, " What ! — he now lives at Inch Orran, 1 
 suppose V 
 
 " To be sure — whar else should he live 1 But sit 
 down, sit down. You maun be a stranger here, it 
 seems, frae the Low Country? Maybe, a friend o' 
 the faamily ?" 
 
 " Thank you ; but first tell me, is Captain Malcolm 
 
 well, and my , and all of them, are they all wellf 
 
 And Ronald's lips quivered as he put the question. 
 
 " Oo, surely, surely — they're all well. What should 
 ail them ?" 
 
 " Nothing, nothing. And my " Eonald's heart 
 
 fluttered as he thought of his mother ; and he could 
 not find voice to name the name dearest to his heart. 
 
 The old woman went on. " No, no, there's nothing 
 ails them noo ; they've gotten a'thing they can want. 
 Och ay, God be praised ! they are very prosperous 
 noo, an' very happy." 
 
 " They have met with some good fortune, then, it 
 seems ?" said Ronald, trying to speak with composure. 
 
 " Och ay ! 'deed an' they have done that, and 
 well they deserve it. Not but Avhat they paid for it, 
 too, poor craaters ! ay, that they did. God knows, 
 their fine fortune cost them sore hearts at the time ;
 
 DESTINY. 235 
 
 but that's past — an' noo, what should they be but 
 pleased an' happy?" 
 
 Ronald's heart heaved, and he was silent a few 
 moments, then said, " But they have been afflicted — 
 they have suffered?" 
 
 " Och ! 'deed they were that ; they were sore dis- 
 trest, poor people ! at the droonin' o' their boy — a fine 
 boy — a pretty boy he was — och ay!" Here old 
 Nanny groaned, and wiped her eyes with the corner 
 of her apron. 
 
 "But you say they are happy now — they have for- 
 gotten him'?" said Ronald, with emotion. 
 
 " Oh ! surely, surely — God be thank't, he's for- 
 gotten noo, an' it's time — 'deed is it — och ay ! And 
 we little know what's for our good in this Avorld ; for 
 it was God's merciful providence, after all, that the 
 boy was ta'en, or they tell me they would ha'e been but 
 a puir needfu' faamily the day — 'deed would they !" 
 
 A strange pang shot through Ronald's heart. 
 "What a vile unfeeling creature," thought he, "to 
 talk in such a manner!" and he was about to leave 
 the house, when old Nanny resumed — 
 
 " Och ay ! Providence was really kind in that 
 particular, for the droonin' o' the boy, poor thing, 
 (that ever I should say't !) has been the savin' o' that 
 whole faamily, 'deed has it ! And weel they deserve 
 it, for they're a worthy well-doin' faamily ; and Inch 
 Orran himself is a good man, and does a deal o' good, 
 that he does ; and he is a reall blessin' to the country 
 —that he is!"
 
 236 DESTINY. 
 
 "But he might have been a blessing to the country 
 although his son had not been drowned," said Ronald. 
 
 " No, no — they tell me not. That if the boy had 
 lived, he would have keepit his father a poor man a' 
 his days ; and wou'dna that have been a sin and a 
 shame ! No that it wad hae been the poor boy's fault, 
 poor thing, but the fault o' them that would have 
 made him keep his father's head below the water. 
 Och ! it was God's providence to tak' the boy out of 
 his worthy father's way; and noo a'thing's as it 
 should be, and he has gotten his ain, honest man ; 
 and long, long may he enjoy it !" 
 
 " And you say they are all quite well, — and 
 
 happy?" said Eonald, his heart swelling, in spite of 
 the contempt he tried to feel for the unfeeling nar- 
 rator. 
 
 " Ay, ay ! they are that. Happy they are, and 
 happy may they be; and shouldna they be happy 
 when there's gawn to be a grand marriage amang 
 them 1 Miss Lucy, that's her that's the eldest o' the 
 faamily, isna she gawn to get a husband, and a braw 
 one, too — no less than the young Laird of Dunross 1 
 No but what Miss Lucy is well worthy of him and the 
 best in the land — ay, by my troth she is; but she 
 wadna ha'e gotten him wantin' the tocher; for the 
 auld Laird's ower fond o' the siller to let his son tak' 
 a tocherless lass. Och ay, shame till him ! Wasna 
 poor Miss Lucy maist broken-hearted because he 
 wouldna let his son get her when she was the poor 
 man's daughter 1 And the Captain wouldna let him
 
 DESTINY. 237 
 
 tak' her wantin' his father's will ; and the poor young 
 craaters were just beside themselves like ; and so the 
 young man went into the army, and has been in the 
 Indies, but noo he's come back ; and they're so happy. 
 And the Captain — that's Inch Orran — is to give her 
 five thousand gold guineas on her weddin'-day, they 
 tell me, forbye this hoose that they're comin' to dwell 
 in ; and him paintin' it all from top to bottom, and 
 makin' everything so genteel for them ; and all comes 
 o' the droonin' o' the bonny laddie ! Och ay !" 
 
 Many little circumstances that had taken place 
 before he left home here darted into Ronald's mind, 
 in confirmation of old Nanny's words. Young Dun- 
 ross and Lucy had been lovers even then, and want 
 of fortune on her part had been the only obstacle to 
 their union ; and now that was removed, and he had 
 returned only to blast their happiness ! 
 
 " But what if he has not been drowned — what if 
 he should yet return?" said he, with agitation. 
 
 " Och, sorrow bit he'll ever return noo, poor bairn ; 
 and it would na do for him to come back in the body 
 noo — 'deed, an' he wad be but a black sight ; no, no, 
 that it would not — he's been owre lang dead to come 
 back noo — 'deed has he, och ay ! he's dead and gone, 
 an' it would na do to bring him l^ack again — no, no ; 
 wae I was when I heard o' the poor thing's droonin', 
 but I was ignorant then. I did not know that it was 
 God's providence to set up the faamily like by that 
 same means, and make them all so comfortable and 
 genteel and happy, och ay ! "
 
 238 DESTINY. 
 
 "And my mother?" said Eonald faintly, as he 
 covered his eyes with his hand, while his whole frame 
 thrilled with emotion. 
 
 "The mother?" said Nanny, catching the sound 
 imperfectly. "Ay, his mother — that's the leddy her- 
 sell, you'll mean ? och, God only knows the mother's 
 sorrow, och ay ! But she's a quiet craater, and she 
 knew whose hand it was that was upon her — ay, 
 that she did — and so she demeaned hersell like a good 
 Christian as she is ; but they tell me she has never 
 had her ain colour since." 
 
 Tears forced their way through Konald's fingers ; 
 he started up, and was hurrying away, when Nanny 
 interposed, rather unwilling to part so soon with a 
 visitor from whom she had as yet extracted no infor- 
 mation in return, and visitors to Nanny were few and 
 far between. 
 
 " And what's taldng you away, my lad, in such a 
 hurry 1 canna you sit doon a wee and rest you, and 
 tak' a drap this warm day?" 
 
 " The day is far spent, and I have a long walk 
 before me," said Ronald. 
 
 " Ay ? maybe ye'll be going to Inch Orran ? I'm 
 thinking you'll be a friend o' our young laird's ? 
 — that's Mr. Angus — for I guess by your tongue you're 
 a gentle." 
 
 " Is he at home ?" asked Eonald, waiving the ques- 
 tion and the compliment. 
 
 " I'm thinkin' so that he's at home the noo ; but 
 he goes away for months and months at a time to one
 
 DESTINY. 239 
 
 o' their places in the Low Countiy, where young gentle- 
 men go to learn everything — they're no schools — 
 they're universals, or something like that ; you'll 
 ken what I meanj for he's very bookish, and they 
 tell me he will be a great man yet, since his father 
 can give him such a grand education ; but he's no such 
 a fine, roving, spirity craater as the 'tother poor boy 
 was — what a craater that was ! Nothing feared him, 
 and he was so good-natured and so kind to everybody, 
 och ay ! he vrould ' have run a mile to flit a sow,' as 
 they say. But, no doubt, he has got his reward noo, 
 though we cannot see it ; for if he can but see what 
 a great blessin' his death has been to his faamily, I'm 
 sure he'll no begrudge it, wherever he be." 
 
 " Surely his family would be happier to have him 
 back again?" said Eonald, after a pause. 
 
 " Troth then, and to tell the truth, I'm no sure o' 
 that— no but what they were very fond of him, and 
 thought much of him when they had him ; but now 
 you know, like good Christians, their minds are made 
 up to want him, and maybe they could na want other 
 things so well — och no. No, it would never do for 
 him to come back in the body, for they tell me if he 
 was to come alive again, the money would be all ta'en 
 from Inch Orran ; and would not that be very hard 
 noo, when he's doing so much good -with it ? forbye 
 keepin' such a genteel hoose, is na he ga'en to build a 
 grand new one, and does na the leddy ride in her 
 own coach noo, and is na he setting out his childer so 
 well in the world, and himself upon a footin' wi' the
 
 240 DESTINY. 
 
 best in the land 1 ay, and the good that he's doin' is 
 no to be told. No but what he's ower keen o' what 
 they ca' improvements. — Och, sorrow tak' some o' 
 thae improvements ! They'll no leave a bunch o' 
 heather in the country ; but nae doot, he's doin' good, 
 for a' that. Och ! hunders and liunders are blessin' 
 the day that made Inch Orran a rich man — 'deed are 
 they ; but for that, mony's the poor craater that would 
 ha'e been trailin' owre the saut sea wi' their wives and 
 their childer, awa' frae a' their kith and kin, and 
 toilin' their hearts out in a far-off land, if it had not 
 pleased God to give Inch Orran the hand and the 
 heart to help them — och ay, he's the one that will 
 never drive the poor man off his land, as long as the 
 water rins, and the heather grows — och, he's a blessed 
 man, and blessed he will be, and the poor lad's death 
 was a great blessing — och ay, 'deed was't." 
 
 Ronald's heart was brimming high ; he abruptly 
 wished old Nanny good day, and quitted the house.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 The young wanderer proceeded on his way, bat his 
 niind was a chaos of contending emotions, for there are 
 hearts of so generous a natui'e as to be more keenly 
 alive to the sufferings of others than to their own. 
 
 "This, then, is ray welcome !" said he to himself, 
 in bitterness of spirit; "already forgotten, or rather 
 remembered only as a riddance ; and my return, it 
 seems, instead of bringing joy, will only be felt as a 
 misfortune ; my very death to be the cause of rejoic- 
 ing to hundreds ! and theij — they to be all so happy, 
 
 Avhile I " Tears burst from his eyes as he thought 
 
 how his heart had pined for the dear ones he had left. 
 " And my mother ! my mother ! can she too have for- 
 gotten me 1" 
 
 And on the bare supposition, he threw himself 
 on the ground in an agony of grief, mortification, 
 and disappointment, while a thousand wild thoughts 
 rushed through his mind. 
 
 "And am I so selfish, then, as to wish to cause 
 sorrow to those I love? and can I not bear to see 
 them happy at my expense ? But I will see them, I 
 will satisfy myself that they are happy, and then — 
 
 VOL. T. R i».
 
 242 DESTINY. 
 
 they shall remain so, were it at the price of my heart's 
 blood ! " 
 
 Starting up, he pursued his course towards Inch 
 Orran. As he came within the extensive bounds 
 which he knew pertained to it, he everjnvhere read a 
 confirmation of old Nanny's words, in the improve- 
 ments he beheld. The glens were more thickly 
 peopled, and with more comfortable -looking dwell- 
 ings ; mountains, which had once frowned in heather, 
 were now smiling in verdure ; dreary moors were now 
 covered with young plantations; a neat church and 
 schoolhouse stood where a wilderness had formerly 
 spread ; all denoted that the stream of wealth was 
 indeed flowing in the channel of beneficence, and every- 
 where spreading its riches over the land. He entered 
 several of the cottages, and all told the same tale — 
 a happy and thriving peasantry had been redeemed 
 from poverty and exile, and even while his own home 
 was fondly remembered, and his sad fate lamented, 
 still his death was regarded as a blessing. 
 
 "And all this I am come only to blast," thought 
 Eonald, as he surveyed the goodly scene that stretched 
 around him. " I come only to bring poverty and 
 sorrow and exile to all these poor people, and to my 
 OAvn home ! Oh ! that is worst of all, even there I 
 can bring no joy ! But happen what Avill, they shall 
 not have cause to mourn that I still live — if they are 
 happy, if they are indeed happy, to them I Avill still 
 
 be dead " And, dashing the tears from his eyes, 
 
 he hastened on his waj'.
 
 DESTINY. 243 
 
 Years liad passed away, and with them the bitter- 
 ness, though not the remembrance, of sorrow; for 
 Eonakl's name was still jironounced Avith emotion in 
 his family circle, and the blank he had left still re- 
 mained a dreary chasm to the eye and the ear, accus- 
 tomed to the animation of his presence, to his generous 
 affections, to his kindly accents, to his bright smiles, 
 to his " sweet laughter, and wild song, and footstep 
 free," and to all the charms and the treasures of his 
 opening mind. But there is no anguish, however 
 severe, that time and rehgion and reflection will not 
 gradually soften into a resignation so entire, as to the 
 casual observer to appear almost like forgetfulness. 
 And times there are — else who could bear the constant 
 woe and live? — when even the mother forgets the child 
 over whose grave she has shed so many a bitter tear, 
 and whose image, though shrouded from the common 
 eye, still lies buried in the depths of her own heart. 
 
 It was evening when Ronald reached Inch Orran, 
 and the setting sun was shedding its last glories on 
 the scene. His heart was keenly alive to outward 
 impressions, and dull must the soul have been that 
 could have gazed unmoved on such a spectacle. But 
 how doubly sweet to him, who had been the ship- 
 wrecked sea-boy, the captive in a far-distant land, the 
 slave beneath a burning sky, the wayworn houseless 
 wanderer, to stand upon his native land, and look on 
 such an earth, and such a heaven ! The sun seemed 
 as if melting away beneath its own bright effulgence. 
 'The mountains gleamed with ever-changing hues of
 
 244 DESTINY. 
 
 gold and crimson and purple; eacli tufted isle and 
 rock and tree shone in the " rich sadness " of eve's 
 last splendoui". Not a breath ruffled the surface of 
 the water ; not a sound broke the stillness of the air, 
 save the distant bleating of the sheep, and the soft 
 rippling of the waves as they crept gently along the 
 shore, or broke with faint effort upon the bare fantastic 
 roots of some stately beech, whose stem rose Uke a 
 mast of gold from the bosom of the waters. But not 
 all the i^omp and glory of the scene could arrest the 
 gaze of him whose eyes were fixed on the walls that 
 contained the treasures of his heart, the first, the only 
 objects of his young aftections ! He hastily drew 
 near, then stopped, as if to restrain liimself from rush- 
 ing at once into their sight, and casting himself into 
 their arms. And then the one cruel thought came 
 like ice upon his heart to chill the warm gush of 
 nature. 
 
 " I come to bring them all to poverty ! Oh, if 
 they have ceased to think of me — if I am forgotten — 
 if my place is filled — would that I had died rather 
 than that I should live to see them rue the day of my 
 return ! But they shall not. I will dig, toil, starve, 
 but they shall be happy ! " 
 
 He now stood amidst the ruins of Inch Orran, but 
 the hand of taste had been there since he had visited 
 them. A still greater portion of the old walls had 
 fallen; but the rubbish had been removed, and the 
 large openings gave light and air and cheerfulness 
 to the dwelling-house, which A\"as half hid by the
 
 DESTINY. 245 
 
 jessamines and honeysuckles and roses that clustered 
 around its windows. Eonald, with throbbing heart, 
 leant against a part of the ancient tower, where once 
 had been a window, but which Avas now merely an 
 opening curtained with ivy. His heart beat as though 
 it would have burst from his bosom. At one moment 
 he had yielded to the passionate impulse to make 
 himself known; but, long inured to habits of self- 
 command, by a mighty effort he subdued the yearn- 
 ings of nature, and repressed the feelings which strove 
 for mastery. "I will wait — I will wait," he said to 
 himself, while every fibre quivered to agony, and he 
 gnawed his lip as if to enforce its silence. Opposite 
 to where he stood was the family sitting-room, and 
 from the spot he could plainly discern all that was 
 passing within. But it was some time ere he could 
 dispel the gathering mists from his eyes, so as to 
 enable him to single out each dear one numbered in 
 his heart. Ah ! 
 
 " There are no looks like those which dwell 
 On long remember'd things !" 
 
 His eye was first attracted to his father, who sat 
 nearest to him reading, but his back was towards 
 him, and he could only perceive that his figure was 
 thinner, and his hair grayer, than when he had parted 
 from him. At one end of the room Lucy was seated 
 at a piano, but it seemed as if merely an excuse for 
 the lovers to be a little apart, for young Dunross 
 leant on the back of her chair, and her sweet face 
 Avas turned to him in conversation, while now and
 
 246 DESTINY. 
 
 then she carelessly touched a few notes of the instru- 
 ment. A tea-table was in the middle of the room, 
 at which a lovely girl, whom Ronald recognised as 
 his sister Flora, was presiding with the younger part 
 of the family, who were gaily chatting and laughing 
 together. 
 
 Over all these Ronald's eyes wandered in search 
 of his mother, till they riveted themselves upon that 
 cherished image. She sat apart at a window which 
 looked out upon the lake and the setting sun ; her 
 pale brow and still lovely profile pencilled against the 
 deep flush of the evening sky. Her air betokened 
 "the careless stillness of a thinking mind." One 
 hand hung listlessly on the shoulder of a little boy, 
 her youngest born, the image of her long-lost Ronald, 
 who, with head of curhng gold, stood by her side, 
 feeding with bits of bread Ronald's fondly-cherished 
 dog. 
 
 Oh, how pensive was the look with which she gazed 
 on the still water, and the silent beauty of the skies ! 
 It might be that her thoughts were then of sad but 
 holy import ; that they were of him who had found a 
 grave in the deep sea, a home in the mansions of 
 those glorious heavens ; of him whose place at hearth 
 and board still to the mother's eye stood vacant. 
 Scarcely could Ronald restrain himself as his heart 
 heaved almost to agony, and the large tear-drops 
 gushed from his eyes, and he thought what rapture it 
 would be to fall on his mother's neck and weep ! 
 " No — oh no ! she has not forgotten me ; I am
 
 DESTINY. 247 
 
 sure she has not. Even now perhaps she is thinking 
 of me ! " and in a second he would have been in her 
 arms. But at that moment his mother turned towards 
 lier httlo boy : a bright sweet smile lighted up her 
 face at something he had said, and she looked and 
 spoke fondly to him, as she parted the fair curls from 
 his sunny brow. 
 
 Presently the young party of tea-drinkers started 
 up and flew towards her as if with some petition. 
 They spoke with eager childish gesticulation. They 
 hung upon her with looks of loving entreaty, and one 
 little fair girl, climbing upon the back of her chair, 
 laughingly threw her arms round her neck, and kissed 
 her. Lucy, recalled from her aberrations, struck up 
 a lively air ; the tea-table was pushed aside, and all 
 were in motion for a dance. 
 
 " Yes, yes, they are happy, and I am forgotten ! " 
 exclaimed Eonald in a Inu-st of passionate emotion, 
 as he rushed from his hiding-place, and fled far from 
 Inch Orran, and all he loved.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 Thus Ronald came, saw, arid was gone — unseen, 
 unknown. ^Vho can tell what a day may bring forth 
 — what a moment may anniliilate ! Ere the sun com- 
 plete its diurnal course, what clouds of events pass 
 and repass o'er the surface of Time's dial ! Surely 
 man differs little from the atoms which sport in the 
 sunbeam, and well may his life be compared to the 
 vapour that passeth away — to the shadow which 
 mocketh the eye — to the dream that scareth by 
 night. He is born, and grows up like the grass, 
 and like the grass he withers before it is noon, or 
 falls before the scythe in all its pride and freshness. 
 How vain are all our schemes for futurity ! Human 
 wisdom exhausts itself in devising what a higher 
 power shows to be vanity. We decide for to-day, 
 and a passing moment scatters our decisions as chaff 
 before the wind. We resolve for to-morrow; to- 
 morrow comes but to root up our resolutions. We 
 scheme for our works to remain monuments of our 
 power and wisdom, and the most minute, the most 
 trivial event is sufficient to overturn all our purposes, 
 and cast down to the dust the thoughts and the
 
 DESTINY. 249 
 
 labours of a life. Truly, " it is not in man that 
 walketh to direct his steps." 
 
 Though none may have been so foolish or so 
 daring as to hope they might escape the final doom 
 of mortality, yet there are many to whom the King 
 of Terrors appears as an obscure, indistinct vision, 
 seen at the termination of a long vista of years, whose 
 dart is indeed uplifted, but out of the power of which 
 their youth, their health, their strength, and other 
 adventitious aids, have far removed them. 
 
 Such and so remotely Avas the pale monarch viewed 
 by Glenroy, when Norman, the pride of his heart, 
 the prop of his house, the desire of his eyes, was sud- 
 denly seized with a violent and dangerous malady. 
 Expresses were sent in all directions, and doctors 
 came full speed from all quarters — but in vain ; the 
 fever continued to increase, and poor Glenroy was 
 at his wits' end. Yet, that his son, the heir of his 
 house, the chief of a mighty clan, should actually die, 
 was an apprehension too horril^le to be admitted ; it 
 was a mere vague, nameless fear that took possession 
 of him, and made him walk about the house, and 
 talk to everybody as loud as he could, and bustle 
 unceasingly, as though he were striving by his rest- 
 less activity to get the better of some unseen evil. 
 But, alas ! Death was the evil, and vain the attempt to 
 repulse hiia from whom all hearts recoil ! After three 
 weeks of racking suspense, the son of many hopes, the 
 heir of many honours, was a lifeless lump of clay ! 
 "The eye that hath seen him .shall see him no more."
 
 250 DESTINY. 
 
 It was some time ere Glenroy could fully compre- 
 hend the fact that Norman — the gay, the blooming, 
 the healthful, the active, the brave, should have been 
 cut off in such a manner ; the thing was inconceivable, 
 impossible ! Had he fallen in battle, or been killed 
 in a duel, he could have better understood it. But 
 death thus to have invaded his mansion, even as he 
 visits the cottar's hut, the peasant's clay-built shed ; 
 to have been thus bereft by the hand of disease, under 
 his own roof, beneath his own bright skies, amid his 
 own mountain solitudes, where sickness seldom came 
 — with all that wealth and skill could do to save — 
 poor Glenroy was confounded ! 
 
 In vain his benighted soul strove to picture to itself 
 another state of existence for the perished idol of 
 his affections ; his eye had never sought to pierce the 
 dim opaque of mortal hfe, for that had hitherto been 
 the boundary of his hopes, his wishes, his joys ; and 
 now all was gone — but where? He gazed upon 
 nature as though he sought his son amidst its bright 
 manifestations; but he was not on the hills raising 
 the wild Ijird, for the heather stood untrodden in its 
 lonely brightness, and his dogs roamed around as if 
 seeking their master ; he was not on the plain chasing 
 the deer, for they lay in their silent wildness beneath 
 the shade of the green boughs; he was not on the 
 waters guiding his boat, for it was rocking idly on 
 the blue waves that curled gaily to the suminer breeze ; 
 and the sun poured forth his meridian splendour, and 
 all creatures seemed exulting in the joyfulness of
 
 DESTINY. 251 
 
 existence. Could all these things be, if he, who in 
 his father's eyes had given life to all, was dead ? he, 
 the heir of all this goodly scene, laid in his cold grave, 
 his eyes closed for ever — his the narrow house and 
 the deep sleep of death 1 " There is hope of a tree, 
 if it be cut down, that it shall sprout again, and the 
 tender branch thereof shall not cease ; through the 
 scent of water it will bud and bring forth boughs like 
 a plant. But man dieth and wasteth away ! yea, man 
 giveth up the ghost, and where is he f 
 
 Glenroy's mind reeled beneath the stroke — all was 
 dark within ; his head became confused, his memory 
 imperfect ; his was the grief of warm affections and 
 proud hopes blasted and overthrown. His gourd had 
 withered, and he knew not where to look for shelter 
 for his gray head ; his cistern was broken, and he 
 sought not the fountain from whence he might draw 
 living -waters to revive his soul. He was laden with. 
 grief, and " the darkness of age came like the mist of 
 the desert." In vain did Edith struggle against her 
 OAvn sorrow, in attempts to mitigate the grief of her 
 wretched father. In vain his two faithful adherents 
 sought in their own way to turn his mind from the 
 gloomy object on which it dwelt in a sort of panic- 
 struck stupor — "One is not, and all seem to have 
 departed."
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 And where was Reginald, that he was not with the 
 mourners to mingle his tears with theirs, and by his 
 presence to cheer and support them in the hour of 
 sorrow 1 Alas ! Edith could not answer ; for although 
 he had been written to, on the first alarm of Norman's 
 illness, no answer had been received, and many weeks 
 had passed since she had heard from liim. Thus the 
 fever of anxiety was now added to the endurance of 
 anguish, and the tears that fell for her brother Avere 
 rendered doubly bitter by the neglect of her lover. 
 Yet still, not even to herself would she acknowledge 
 that she distrusted him; it was impossible that Re- 
 ginald could be false, and that single word was the 
 sheet-anchor of her soul : to that she clung with fear- 
 ful tenacity, and worlds could not have wrested it 
 from her. True, it was equally impossible to account 
 for Reginald's conduct; but that, she felt assured, 
 would one day be fully explained. She would not, 
 she said, she could not, an instant doubt it ; but un- 
 consciously the poison of distrust was creeping slowly 
 and silently into her heart, and corroding her very 
 life-spring. To add to her suffering, Glenroy, having
 
 DESTINY. 253 
 
 surmounted the first shock of his son's death, now 
 became impatient for Reginald's return ; and, as if 
 eager to turn his thoughts to another channel, he 
 talked unceasingly of him, and all that was to be 
 done for and by him ; for Reginald was now the heir, 
 not only of his honours, but of his whole estates, as 
 all were entailed. The natural impatience of his 
 temper was also aggravated by his personal infirm- 
 ities ; gout and indolence and high living, and mental 
 affliction, combined, had all done the work, and more 
 than the work, of time; for time alone would not 
 have made him the old and broken-down man he 
 now was. To add to his disquiet, he had no proper 
 object for his irritation to work upon at that particu- 
 lar time, for Benbowie was at all times too passive to 
 serve his purpose, and Mrs. Macauley had gone for a 
 few days to pay a marriage visit to a niece of Mr. 
 Macauley's, who had lately married, and settled in 
 the neighbourhood. At least a dozen times a day he 
 would ask Edith if there was no news of Reginald 
 yet, and then he would ring the bell, and order the 
 servants to go to the ferry, or to the clachan, and see 
 if there were any signs of him; and he would call 
 the housekeeper to know if Sir Reginald's rooms were 
 ready yet, for that he expected him home that day ; 
 then, as he dozed and nodded in his arm-chair, he 
 would suddenly start up with, " Was not Reginald to 
 have been home before now, and what's keeping him 
 then % And where's Molly Macauley, that she's not 
 in the way 1" (From the first hour of her departure.
 
 254 DESTINY. 
 
 that had been the constant demand.) Or, worst of 
 all, he would turn to Edith with a dreamy bewildered 
 look, and say, " Ay, ay, it's well you're to be married 
 to Reginald— very well; it will be all his own. But 
 where is he ? When are you to make out the mar- 
 riage 1 You'll surely be married soon now, my dear, 
 will you not?" 
 
 At length— agitation unspeakable !— Edith re- 
 ceived a letter in the well-known handwriting of her 
 lover. It bore a foreign post-mark, and the black 
 seal denoted that the intelligence of Xorman's death 
 had reached him. Edith's hand trembled, and the 
 tear-drops swelled in her eyes. " He knows all," she 
 thought, " and yet he comes not to us ! He can calmly 
 vncite. Perhaps it is to tell us that he is not coming. 
 Ah, how cold seems written condolence at such a 
 time ! " and she remained for some moments passive, 
 under the mute agony of apprehension. 
 
 At length she opened the letter, and her doubts 
 were dispelled. It was brief and agitated, and evi- 
 dently written under the greatest anguish of spirit. 
 He had only just learnt the sad tidings of Norman's 
 death, and the expressions of his grief were frantic 
 and full of self-upbraiding that he had not set off on 
 the first accounts of his cousin's illness. He said he 
 never could forgive himself for having been absent at 
 such a time ; but he Avas just setting off for Britain, 
 and would be at Glenroy almost as soon as his letter. 
 A sentence had been begun, "And if you still love me 
 as I " But his pen had been drawn through it, and
 
 DESTINY. 255 
 
 he abruptly added,. " ^^'ould to Heaven I had never 
 left you ! " Altogether, it was evidently written 
 under all the incoherence of the most passionate and 
 unsubdued emotion. 
 
 Such as it was, it was welcome — oh, how welcome ! — 
 to Edith ; and its tone of excitation seemed to her the 
 surest pledge that the Avarmth of his affection con- 
 tinued unabated. "And if I still love him," she re- 
 peated, as she deciphered the half-obliterated letters 
 — "Ah, how could he then doubt mol And what 
 can he mean by what follows, 'Would that he had 
 never left me'?" 
 
 In vain Edith read over and over again this strange 
 expression. She could make no more of it at the 
 last than at the first ; so she concluded that Reginald 
 himself knew not what he Avas writina; in the ancfuish 
 of his heart, for the loss of one who had been to him 
 as his very brother, heightened too, it seemed, by the 
 bitterest self-reproach at his own absence. 
 
 The intelligence of Sir Reginald's expected arrival 
 gave a fresh stimulus to Glenroy's impatience, and he 
 strove, poor man, in the bustle Avhich he himself 
 created, to drown the still small voice of secret woe, 
 which yet spoke daggers to his soul. 
 
 So passed several succeeding days in the feverish 
 excitement of hope deferred. It was the evening of 
 the fourth day of Avatching and disappointment, when 
 Edith, having left Glenroy and Benbowie dozing over 
 their bottle in the dining-room, sat alone in the draAV- 
 iug-room, Avith her eyes fixed on the Avaters Avhich
 
 256 DESTINY. 
 
 she expected to bear the truant to her heart. As- 
 suredly he would cross at the ferry. It Avould shorten 
 the time and distance so much, instead of travelling 
 the tedious and hilly road with tired horses, at the 
 end of a long and dreary stage. It was the Avay he 
 used to take even in boisterous weathei', when absent 
 only for a day, and many a time she had softly chid 
 the impatience which urged him to trust the slender 
 boat and stormy sea. Now the evening was fair and 
 sweet, and her father's pinnace had been stationed at 
 the ferry to receive him ; but Edith sighed as she 
 saw its white sails, gilded by the setting sun, stUl 
 happing idly in the evening breeze. All at once she 
 heard the sound of a carriage advancing. Her heart 
 beat as it drew nearer and nearer ; and as it swept 
 round the entrance, her eye caught a glimpse of an 
 open travelling carriage, containing one gentleman, 
 something — yet so unlike to Eeginald ! A single 
 glance had sufficed to show that he was pale, that he 
 leant back in the carriage Avith an air of languor, and 
 eyes half closed. Could this be the gay, blooming, 
 impetuous Eeginald ? But in a few seconds all doubts 
 were removed, as the door was throAvn open, and Sir 
 Reginald Malcolm was announced. What a tide of 
 mingled emotions rushed o'er Edith's heart as she rose 
 to receive him to whom she had plighted her faith 
 and love, but who now came thus late to claim them ; 
 — him from whom, on that very spot where she now 
 stood, she had parted ! — and oh, how differently did 
 they now meet !
 
 DESTINY. 257 
 
 And one was gone, the playfellow of their child- 
 hood, the companion of their youth, the brother — the 
 friend ! Pale and motionless, Edith stood in silent 
 emotion ; in the tumult of her own feehngs uncon- 
 scious of the still more apparent agitation of Eeginald, 
 as he advanced, then took her hand, and pressed it to 
 his lips. It Avas the hand on which he himself had 
 placed the ring of betrothment. He started, and 
 suddenly dropping it, walked with hurried steps to 
 the end of the room ; then as quickly returning, he 
 clasped Edith in his arms, and tenderly kissed her 
 cheek, but while he did so tears burst from his eyes. 
 The hearts of both were too full for utterance ; a spell 
 seemed upon their lips, and they remained in deep 
 and silent emotion. Yet an unconcerned spectator 
 would have remarked that Sir Eeginald's embarrass- 
 ment was equal to his emotion, and that something 
 more than sorrow struggled in his bosom and choked 
 his utterance. But Edith was too much under the 
 influence of powerful feeling herself to be a nice ob- 
 server of what was passing in the mind of another. 
 Her tears continued to flow, from the mingled tide of 
 grief and joy which swelled her heart. 
 
 A long pause ensued. At length Sir Eeginald, as 
 if by a violent effort, spoke. 
 
 "I have been delayed by illness," said he. The 
 tone and accent, though beautifully modulated, were 
 languid and mournful, and they sounded so strange, 
 that Edith could scarcely have recognised in them the 
 gay familiar tones which still dwelt in fond memory's 
 VOL. I. S
 
 258 DESTINY. 
 
 ear. Still it was Eeginald that spoke, and these few 
 simple words at once dispelled all the vague doubts 
 which had arisen from his unaccountable delay. 
 
 "You have been ill !" she exclaimed; "and I did 
 not know it — and you have hastened to us even before 
 you are recovered ! " 
 
 " But it is too late," said he bitterly. 
 
 "No — no, dear Reginald, do not say so — we still 
 need your sympathy." Her voice faltered, and again 
 her tears fell. A sigh, almost a groan, broke from Sir 
 Reginald's heart. He rose and traversed the apart- 
 ment, then resumed his seat, and leaning his head on 
 a table, tears forced their way through the fingers 
 which shaded his brow. But again he roused himself, 
 and strove to speak calmly and firmly, while he in- 
 quired — "How is Glenroyf 
 
 "You will find him changed, much changed," 
 replied Edith, striving to subdue her emotion also ; 
 " but the sight of you will, I am sure, do him good. 
 Ah, Reginald, you are now his only hope." She 
 stopped, for her firmness was forsaking her. 
 
 "And you, Edith — and you," gasped he, as he 
 again buried his face in his hands, and his whole 
 frame shook with emotion — "what am I to youf 
 
 Edith was silent. Reginald heavily raised his 
 head, but his inquiring gaze met only the deep blush 
 and the downcast eye of love revealed, though not 
 avowed. Then, in a tone of forced composure, he 
 said — 
 
 "Edith, should you have known me again? Am
 
 DESTINY. 259 
 
 not I changed 1" he added, attempting to smile, while 
 he grew very pale. 
 
 "We are all changed," said she sadly, "for we 
 have all known affliction since we parted; but you 
 have been ill in health, and you concealed it from 
 me! while I — ah, Eeginald, had you but guessed 
 what " 
 
 "I have been ill," interrupted he hurriedly; "but 
 that is past, — at least the worst. But you say Glen- 
 roy is much altered 1 Had I not better go to him 1 
 The sooner the meeting is over the better." 
 
 " Perhaps so," said Edith, " if you feel able for it. 
 But you are fatigued; had you not better rest 
 and " 
 
 "No — nothing — I wish it over," said he im- 
 patiently. "I will do anything — everything for you 
 both," he added, with emotion 
 
 " I am sure you ^vill," said Edith, with simple 
 earnestness, " and if you wish to comfort us, you will 
 yourself be comforted. Now go, dear Eeginald !" She 
 extended her hand ; he took it, pressed it in his with 
 a sigh, then slowly quitted the apartment.
 
 CHAPTER XXX VII. 
 
 Edith remained motionless and bewildered — her 
 heart sank, she knew not why — her tears flowed, she 
 could not tell for what. Reginald was returned, 
 ought she not to be happy 1 But was it her own — 
 her long-loved, her loving Reginald she had beheld 1 
 Oh, surely he was changed. Others might think him 
 improved, but no change could improve that image so 
 deeply impressed upon her heart. Edith loved too 
 profoundly to admire. 
 
 A long time elasped ere she heard her father's slow 
 and shuffling step crossing the hall to the drawing- 
 room, which he entered leaning on, or rather clinging 
 to, Reginald, as if afraid he would again desert him. 
 The traces of agitation were still visible in his face, 
 for his grief for the loss of his son had been all 
 awakened at sight of his nephew, that son's once in- 
 separable playfellow and companion, now come to fill 
 his place, and succeed to all that should have been his. 
 But the first burst of sorrow was over, and he again 
 talked in his usual rambling, desultory Avay, of the 
 worldly objects to wdiich his soul still cleaved — his 
 estates, his rents, his woods, his cattle, his improve-
 
 DESTINY. 261 
 
 ments — everything, in short, which could still minister 
 to his pride. 
 
 " Glenroy has lost none of his hospitality since I 
 left him,'' said Reginald, addressing Edith, as he 
 passed, supporting her father to his seat ; " and I 
 daresay you can guess how unavailing remonstrance is 
 at those times.'' 
 
 "He has only been making up for my omission, 
 then," replied she, " as I forgot to ask whether you had 
 dined — perhaps," she added, with a slight blush, " that 
 is because I had never before had occasion to treat you 
 as a stranger." 
 
 " Treat him as a stranger ! " exclaimed Glenroy 
 angrily ; "I'll have no strangers here. I never desire 
 to see the face of a stranger within my door — remem- 
 ber that, Edith ; and to treat Reginald as a stranger ! 
 my ovm nephew — the man that you're to " 
 
 " Oh, papa," interrupted Edith hastily, " I beg your 
 pardon, but you have quite misunderstood me. I did 
 not mean — I " 
 
 "No matter whether I've misunderstood you or 
 not," cried Glenroy; "I say, once for all, that Regi- 
 nald's not to be treated as a stranger in this house — 
 he's to do as he pleases. Remember that, Reginald — 
 you're to do exactly as you please. I'm getting old 
 now, Reginald, and I've lost him that " 
 
 Here grief for a moment got the better of his anger, 
 and he groaned in the bitterness of his heart. 
 
 " My cousin does herself injustice," said Reginald, 
 trying to soothe the weak and irritated feelings of the
 
 262 DESTINY. 
 
 old man — " she received me with more kindness than 
 I deserved," and he sighed as he said it. 
 
 "How could that be?" cried Glenroy impatiently; 
 " and to treat you as a stranger, too ! And what 
 would become of me, if it was not for you, Eeginald, 
 and of her tool Eemember, Eeginald, you're just as 
 much master here as if — as ever my oAvn poor boy 
 was." Here another momentary gush of sorrow 
 checked him, but quickly mastering it, he called- — 
 " Eing the bell, Benbowie — he's grown as deaf's a 
 post. Eing it again — give it another tug! What the 
 plague are these lazy dogs about?" 
 
 Then when the summons was answered by the 
 butler and deputy, bearing tea and coffee, "It wasn't 
 that I rang for, but you all make one errand answer 
 for two, if there should be a dozen of you. There, 
 Boyd, remember I desire you, and all of you, to treat 
 Sir Eeginald with the greatest respect, and to obey 
 him the same as myself. You hear me 1 And desire 
 Mrs. Pattison to give us a supper like a dinner, and 
 that quickly. Now don't you interfere, Eeginald," as 
 his nephew was about to remonstrate ; " I'm master 
 here, and I'll do as I please ; and it is my pleasure 
 that you should be well treated, and do as you please 
 — remember that, Edith. And, Boyd, let all the 
 servants have as much drink as they choose to-night, 
 to drink Sir Eeginald's health and welcome home. 
 Where's that idiot Molly Macauley, that she's not in 
 the way?" 
 
 "I have missed my kind-hearted, good-natured
 
 DESTINY. 263 
 
 old. friend," said Sir Reginald. "I hope she is not far 
 off?" 
 
 But before Edith had time to answer, Glenroy, 
 with the rambling garrulity of an infirm mind, had 
 started another subject. " You would see, Reginald, 
 that my tenants had got the principal premiums from 
 the Highland Society this year. M'Laren, that's he 
 that has the farm of Kildrunnach, you know, up 
 Crlendochart, the same land M'Taggart had a lease 
 of before your time ; he got no fewer than three 
 premiums ; one was for the draining of the Dhu Moss 
 — you remember the Dhu Moss, Reginald, up beyond 
 the Roebuck Park 1 Many a time you've shot a roe- 
 buck there, and the very last time Norman was out, 
 he shot three with his own hand. He had become 
 the very best shot in the country — yes he had ; but 
 there was not his match for anything — nothing — 
 nothino;." Here another tide of fond recollection for 
 a moment stopped the current of poor Glenroy's words ; 
 but he quickly rallied, and resumed — "You would 
 observe the plantation on the Skirridale Hill, as you 
 came along, Reginald? That's all new, and I'll venture 
 to say, you never saw a finer plantation ; and, by-the- 
 bye, Reginald, there's been some thinning of the wood 
 since you were here, and I must cut some more; 
 they're too thick — too thick a great deal. I'll give 
 you a good portion with Edith, out of the thinnings 
 of the Glenhaussen Wood, and you shall mark the 
 trees yourself, Reginald ; we'll ride up to-morrow and 
 look at them, if you'll put me in mind. Benbowie,
 
 264 DESTINY. 
 
 ring the Lell. Do you hear, Boyd 1 you'll send one of 
 the men directly to the stables, to desire M'Nab to 
 have my horse ready for me to ride to-morrow. I'll 
 let him know at Avhat hour — and he's to go directly. 
 And stay, do you hear, Boyd 1 he's to bring the black 
 mare for Sir Eeginald — the black mare," repeated he, 
 as the servant left the room ; " that was Norman's, 
 and the handsomest creature I ever saw. M'Nab tells 
 me Lord Allonby would give any money for her, but 
 I'll not part with her ; for what's money to me, now 
 that he's gone? But it's yours now, Reginald; you 
 shall have anything that belonged to him — you shall 
 — you shall, Reginald. Ay, Lord Allonby wanted 
 to have her, so M'Nab told me ; that's he, you know, 
 that courted Edith, when " 
 
 "Oh, papa!" exclaimed Edith in a deprecating 
 tone, and blushing deeply, as Reginald turned upon 
 her a look of surprise, which fixed into a piercing gaze 
 of most earnest scrutiny. 
 
 "It's no secret, I'm sure," cried Glenroy angrily; 
 " and if it was, I'll have no secrets here, for the con- 
 ceited puppy thought he might have her for the 
 asking, I believe. But, upon my honour, Reginald, 
 I would rather you had her, than any man living. I 
 would, upon my soul ! What's Lord Allonby, or any 
 lord amongst them, to me? The king can make a 
 lord any day, but I defy him to make the Chief of 
 Glenroy ; and that's what you'll be, Reginald, when 
 I'm gone ; and you're more to me than all the lords 
 in the creation, now that I've no son of my own,"
 
 DESTINY. 265 
 
 grasi^ing his nephew's hand in strong emotion. " And 
 Edith shall be yours as soon as we can get everything 
 settled ; and, in the meantime, we'll take a ride 
 to-morrow and see the trees marked ; and, Edith, is 
 there no word of that Molly Macauley yetf 
 
 In this sort of bald, disjointed chat the evening 
 wore heavily away, without the lovers having an 
 opportunity of conversing for an instant apart; for 
 Glenroy would not suffer Reginald to stir from his 
 side, and seemed even loath to lose sight of him when 
 they separated for the night.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 Hitherto Edith had felt chilled and disappointed. 
 Reginald, it was true, had been so engrossed by her 
 father, that it had not been in his power to devote 
 himself to her, but he had not even looked as if he 
 wished it. His air had been sad and abstracted, and 
 only once had she seen his eye kindle with its wonted 
 fire, and that was at the mention of Lord Allonby as 
 her lover. The report had gone abroad (though 
 without foundation) that he was an accepted one, and 
 it might have reached Reginald, and hence all the 
 mystery : he had been piqued, angry, jealous ; and 
 her father's words had merely conveyed the impres- 
 sion that she had rejected him as a suitor. But could 
 Reginald then have believed her capable, even in 
 thought, of breaking her plighted faith, and renounc- 
 ing her first, her only love? And would he have 
 yielded her up to a rival without a word 1 Yes, gen- 
 erous and high-minded as he was, he would have dis- 
 dained to remonstrate, but, oh, how he must have 
 despised her ! And Edith's cheek burned even at the 
 thought. Then the strange expressions in his letter, 
 his unaccountable delay in returning, his agitation at
 
 DESTINY, 267 
 
 meeting, his abstracted and gloomy air — were all 
 these to be referred to the same source? Yes, partly to 
 that, and partly to the mournful circumstances under 
 which they had met ; the loss of Norman, the infirm- 
 ities of her father, both in mind and body, must have 
 shocked one who had so much cause to love him as 
 Eeginald had. And thus Edith strove to soothe her 
 wounded feelings, and bar her breast against the 
 admission of doubts worse than death. But all these 
 reflections did not enable her to meet her lover with 
 that easy, artless confidence of manner which had 
 formerly rendered their intercourse so delightful. 
 When they met at the breakfast -table, there was 
 mutual embarrassment. Reginald seemed less sad, 
 indeed, than on the preceding evening ; but still there 
 was none of that gaiety and jolayfulness of manner 
 which had been so often wont to call up the smiles 
 on her cheek. His manners were all elegance and 
 suavity, but they lacked the affectionate Avarmth of 
 former days, and though his countenance was more 
 than ever expressive of the fire and sensibility of his 
 mind, still no bright or tender glance repeated the 
 oft-told tale of fond, happy, youthful aff"ection — " the 
 kind sweet smile of old." 
 
 The conversation, or rather talk, was carried on 
 by Glenroy in the same strain of mingled pride, 
 vanity, lamentation, and tautology. There was all 
 the detail of the premiums and the Dhu Moss, and 
 the account of the new plantations greatly enlarged, 
 and the anticipation of the thinnings, with the purpose
 
 268 DESTINY. 
 
 for which they Avere to be appheJ ; and then came 
 the black mare, and Lord Allonby ; and, at the men- 
 tion of his name, Eeginald, who had been sunk in a 
 reverie, suddenly started, and again cast on Edith a 
 look which seemed as if it would have pierced into 
 her soul, and again the blood mounted to her temples 
 at the suspicion it implied. 
 
 " I hope, Edith, you will be of our party to Glen- 
 haussenf said he gaily. "What a charming morn- 
 ing this is ! " 
 
 "I have been little in the practice of riding for 
 some time," replied she; "and am become such a 
 timid horsewoman that I fear I should only be an 
 encumbrance." 
 
 "Where is it we're going, Eeginald?" cried Glen- 
 roy. " Oh, ay ! to look at the Glenhaussen woods. 
 But what would take her there? Eidins;'s not the 
 thing for a lady. Lord Allonby, that's he that wants 
 the black mare that I was talking about (he courted 
 Edith, too !), that belonged to my Norman — as if I 
 would part with it to any man breathing, but your- 
 self, Eeginald; and that's not parting with it neither, 
 for I hope you and I will never part, Eeginald. You 
 shall be as much master here as I am; and when 
 
 you're married to Edith What have you dropped, 
 
 Eeginald? Edith, will you mind what you're about, 
 and not set the table in a swim? And — and — why 
 is that idiot, Molly Macauley, not here to make the 
 tea wiselike ? And we were speaking about riding, 
 or what was it ? For I don't know what I am about;
 
 DESTINY. 269 
 
 not tliat it's yoiir fault, Reginald; but, Edith, you 
 really have not been yourself since that puppy, Lord 
 Allonby, put nonsense in your head." 
 
 Poor Edith was aghast at this accusation, accus- 
 tomed as she was to the capricious garrulity of her 
 father's temper. But the fact was, Glenroy, by one 
 of the inexplicable contradictions of nature, even 
 while indulging his spleen in chiding and censuring 
 his daughter, sought at the same time to give her 
 consequence in the eyes of his nephew, by perpetually 
 adverting to the noble and wealthy suitor who had 
 courted her alliance. Reginald seemed to feel for 
 her confusion, for, taking her hand, he said, with a 
 look of almost fond entreaty, "Come now, Edith, 
 don't refuse my first request ; do go with us ?" 
 
 "I will," said Edith softly; "if you really wish 
 it." 
 
 "Can you doubt iti" replied Reginald in the 
 same tone. 
 
 But Glenroy seemed so bent on monopolising his 
 nephew's company and conversation, as to grudge 
 even a portion of it to his daughter, for he said peev- 
 ishly, "It's not a woman's business we're going about; 
 we're going to look at the Glenhaussen woods — are 
 we not, Reginald 1 Then what can she know about 
 the thinning of woods ? she knows enough when she 
 knows she's to have them for her tochei', and not a 
 bad one either, Reginald; M'Intosh tells me seven 
 thousand pounds worth will never be missed — and as 
 many more as you like. But I'll be hanged if I
 
 270 DESTINY. 
 
 would have given a single stick to that lord of yours, 
 Edith. What cared I for him, and what was he to 
 me 1 a bit lowland lord, that has hardly a hill in all 
 the Highlands now. But, Edith, dear, do as you like, 
 and you shall have the first thousand of the cuttings 
 to buy your wedding trumpery, and you'll get that 
 fool, Molly Macauley, to help you. What the plague's 
 come over the creature?" 
 
 Eeginald said nothing, but his countenance was 
 overcast, and when Edith rose from the breakfast- 
 table, he neither repeated his request, nor reminded 
 her of her promise ; but as she was leaving the room, 
 she heard him say with quickness, " There can be no 
 
 hurry as to marking the trees, Glenroy ; and if " 
 
 But here Glenroy, with his usual impatience of con- 
 tradiction, broke in — " No hurry ! but I tell you there 
 is a hurry, Eeginald ; and if it had not been for Nor- 
 man's death, which I shall never get the better of 
 
 " Here a passionate burst of grief concluded 
 
 the sentence, and Edith only learnt how the discus- 
 sion had ended when an hour afterwards she saw her 
 father and lover ride off without her. 
 
 That Reginald was piqued and jealous she thought 
 was now certain, for how could she otherwise 
 account for such capricious inequalities? From the 
 moment of his arrival, her mind had been in too 
 great a tremor to admit of her marking accurately the 
 sudden changes of his manner ; if she had, she would 
 have drawn a very different inference. Edith's feel- 
 ings were all too pure and devoted to allow her
 
 DESTINY. 271 
 
 enjoying any womanish triumph at this supposed dis- 
 covery ; on the contrary, her gentle, guileless heart was 
 pained at the thought that she was the cause of un- 
 easiness to Keginald. A few words from her lips, she 
 was sure, would instantly remove it, and she therefore 
 resolved to take the first opportunity of coming to an 
 explanation with him, and of undeceiving him as to 
 her fancied predilection for another.
 
 CHAPTEE XXXIX. 
 
 But it seemed as if Eeginald avoided all opportuni- 
 ties of being alone with her. When he returned from 
 his ride, he withdrew to his own apartment on the 
 plea of having letters to ^vlite ; and when he appeared 
 at dinner, his air was still more melancholy and 
 abstracted than it had yet been. Two or three chance 
 visitors who had arrived rendered the conversation 
 rather more general, and by their county news diverted 
 Glenroy's attention from being quite so exclusively 
 directed to his nephew, though every subject that 
 was started still bore some reference to him — to the 
 Dhu Moss, the planting of Skirridale Hill, the thin- 
 ning of the Glenhaussen woods, the Highland Society, 
 the black mare, Xorman, and Lord Allonby. 
 
 Edith flattered herself when she left the dining:- 
 room that Eeginald would soon follow her ; she knew 
 he disliked sitting long at table, and the party was 
 not one to be upon any ceremony with : her father 
 had a habit of remaining long after dinner, and as he 
 became drowsy and confused, it would be an easy 
 matter for Eeginald to make his escape from him. 
 But she waited in A^ain — Eeginald came not; but
 
 DESTINY. 273 
 
 soon she caught a glimi:)se of him from the window, 
 as he slowly crossed the lawn, and disappeared in the 
 Avoods that skirted it on one side, Edith could not 
 restrain her tears at this new proof of Eeginald's 
 estrangement from her. "Oh, cruel that he is!" 
 thought she, " thus to torture himself and me — could 
 he act thus if he loved me as I love him 1 No, no ; 
 surely he Avould seek an explanation, and end this 
 mystery ; and yet it is I who may be unjust. This 
 fancied mystery may be nothing more than grief and 
 self-reproach, and he is unwilling to give me pain by 
 communicating his feelings. Ah, did he but know 
 how sweet it would be to me to share in his ever}- 
 sorrow, he would not thus withhold them from me ! " 
 Thus did Edith mournfully commune with herself 
 till the evening was far advanced, when she was 
 roused by the sound of an arrival, and in a few 
 minutes Mrs. Macauley's jocund tones saluted her ear, 
 and presently she entered, all bustle, calling, " So he's 
 come — where is he 1 — let me see him ; " then suddenly 
 stopping — "But bless my heart, my dear!" she ex- 
 claimed, as she surveyed Edith with a look of sur- 
 prise, "what is the matter with you? Is not your 
 papa well, and your true love come home ; and what 
 makes you look as if you had been crying, then ? " 
 "Oh, Macky, how can you ask?" said Edith 
 
 mournfully, " considering " 
 
 " Well, my dear, I know what you mean, and it's 
 very true, and I consider everything, and you know 
 very well yourself what a sore heart it gave me when 
 
 VOL. I. T D.
 
 274 DESTINY. 
 
 it happened. But you have sense to know, my dear, 
 there's a time for everything, and this is not the time 
 for you to be crying for them that's gone, when you 
 ought rather to be rejoicing at them that's come back. 
 'Deed I think so ! " 
 
 "I am sure your return will rejoice us all, Macky," 
 said Edith affectionately ; " papa has missed you very 
 much." 
 
 " 'Deed, and I thought he would do that, for he 
 has always been so kind to me — and I thought some- 
 times when I Avas away, 'Oh,' thinks I to myself, 'I 
 wonder what Glenroy will do for somebody to be 
 angry with ; for Benbowie's grown so deaf, poor 
 creature, it's not worth his while to be angry at him ; 
 and you're so gentle, that it would not do for him to 
 be angry -with you ; but I'm sure he has a good right 
 to be angry at me, considering how kind he has 
 always been to me.'" Then uttering an exclamation 
 of joy as Sir Eeginald entered the room, she flew 
 towards him, and precipitated herself round his neck, 
 uttering expressions of joy and delight, which were 
 returned on his part with all the hearty warmth and 
 ardour of his more refined welcome. 
 
 "And now," said she, releasing him from her 
 embrace, and holding him at arm's length, "let me 
 look at you — well, I declare you are ten times hand- 
 somer than ever you were, and you hold yourself up 
 so well, you might pass for a prince; and I would 
 know that smile of yours among a thousand. Oh, I 
 hope my eyes will serve me to take your picture some
 
 DESTINY. 275 
 
 day — 'deed I cannot helj) looking at you, for you are 
 like, and yet you are not like, what you was ; you 
 have not just the bonny bloom on your cheek that 
 you had when you went away. What do you think, 
 Miss Edith, dearf 
 
 " I think Reginald is changed," said Edith, with a 
 low sigh. 
 
 "All things change, you know," said Reginald, 
 assuming an air of gaiety ; " it was not to be expected 
 that I alone, of all created things, should remain un- 
 changeable, and return precisely the same individual 
 I Avas a year ago ; even you yourself, dear Macky, are 
 somewhat changed ; you are become still more embon- 
 point — still more youthful and merry and kind-hearted." 
 
 "Now, are you not flattering me. Sir Reginald? 
 for though I like to be praised, I do not want to be 
 flattered." 
 
 " You did not use to think me a flatterer, Macky ?" 
 said Sir Reginald, with a smile. 
 
 " 'Deed, then, I don't think you are one now, my 
 dear, for you always spoke the truth when you was a 
 boy, and it is not likely you would change now, when 
 you have got more sense and good principles. Now 
 you need not colour up. Sir Reginald, for I'm not 
 flattering you — I'm only just saying what I think; 
 but oh, my dears, what a happy meeting you would 
 have ! except, to be sure, that there was a reason for 
 its not being so happy as it should have been ; and 
 indeed it would be a shame to us if we were to be as 
 happy and meriy all at once," — and tears t\vinkled in
 
 276 DESTINY. 
 
 her sunny eyes as she spoke. " But then, as 1 was 
 telling Miss Edith, when I found her with the tears 
 on her cheek, the time is gone by now, and we should 
 not accustom ourselves to be melancholy, for it is a 
 very bad hal)it; but once the distress is over, we 
 should just wipe our eyes, and thank God for His 
 mercies ; and I'm sure I do it with all my heart," 
 wiping her own eyes as she said it. 
 
 " I wish I had your philosophy, Macky," said Sir 
 Keginald, with a sigh. 
 
 "Now, what for should you wish for anything 
 belonging to meV said Mrs. Macauley, with a strong 
 mark of interrogation, from which there was no escape. 
 
 "Don't be afraid," said Eeginald, evading the 
 question ; "I would not rob you of it, even if I could ; 
 it sits so well upon you — you make such a good use 
 of it." 
 
 " Now, as sure as anything, you are flattering me. 
 Sir Eeginald ! But I want to know what use you 
 could have for what you please to call my philosophy 
 — though, 'deed, to tell the truth, I do not know very 
 well what philosophy is ; but if you mean my con- 
 tentment, I'm sm^e you cannot want that, when you 
 have everything to make you so contented and happy : 
 you yourself so handsome, and with such a grand for- 
 tune, and a beautiful place, and an old family, and a 
 title, and your own true love there, that " 
 
 "True," exclaimed Eeginald abruptly — "what a 
 charming evening this is ! Have you not been out, 
 Edith f
 
 DESTINY. 277 
 
 " No," replied she in a tone of forced composure ; 
 " but I should like to take a stroll now." 
 
 " Then I hope you will allow me to attend you," said 
 Eeginald, colouring, and evidently embarrassed. 
 
 "Certainly," said Edith, in the same tone, and 
 rising to prepare for her walk. 
 
 "But, my dears, have you had tea and coffee?" 
 cried Mrs. Macauley. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," said Edith, "I had forgot;" 
 and she rang the belL 
 
 " I own myself too much of a Frenchman to dis- 
 pense with my coffee," said Sir Reginald, seemingly 
 relieved by the delay, while Edith left the room for 
 her shawl. 
 
 " I really think that sweet creature's looking very 
 ill," said Mrs. Macauley in a low voice to Sir Reginald, 
 after dismissing Boyd and his satelHte. "I thought 
 the sight of you would have brought back the roses 
 to her cheeks, and the smiles to her pretty mouth ; 
 but I think she looks almost as pale and mournful 
 as she did before you came, and that's very extra- 
 ordinary, is it not ! " 
 
 " She certainly is much changed," said Sir Reginald, 
 with a sigh. 
 
 "Ay, well, but for all that, I'll wager you have 
 not seen the like of her among all the fine French 
 and foreign ladies you have seen — tell me truly, have 
 you?" 
 
 "Edith certainly was very pretty," replied Sir 
 Reginald, in a tone that betrayed emotion.
 
 278 DESTINY, 
 
 "Well, my dear, but don't you be frightened for 
 all that, and she'll soon be as pretty as ever she was ; 
 for she has a very good constitution, although maybe 
 she does not look so stout as some of your great big 
 fat people ; and you know it is natural for her to be 
 looking not so well, considering what distress she has 
 suffered ; and then, you know, she was so anxious 
 about you, and so wearying for you to come home " 
 
 "In spite of Lord Allonbyf said Sir Eeginald, 
 with a forced laugh, 
 
 " Oh, so you have heard about that already ! But 
 it would not be from Miss Edith herself, for she does 
 not like the way Glenroy speaks about that at all," 
 
 Sir Eeginald remained silent for a few moments, 
 as if struggling with his emotion ; then, sipping his 
 coffee, he said, with affected carelessness — "Ladies 
 seldom dislike having their conquests known, and 
 my cousin has no cause to be ashamed of hers," 
 
 " 'Deed, I think not, for Lord Allonby is a very 
 fine, handsome man, though he has no clan ; he has 
 a very good fortune too, they tell me, though it is 
 but in the Low Country, which makes Glenroy look 
 down upon him so much ; many a one would not be 
 so particular in these things as he is. Not that it 
 was for that he refused him for Miss Malcolm, but 
 you know she was as good as married to you." 
 
 "Edith liked him, did she not?" said Eeginald 
 hurriedly, 
 
 " 'Deed, I don't know whether she did or not," 
 replied the innocent, unsuspecting Mrs. Macauley;
 
 DESTINY. 279 
 
 "but you may ask her yourself," as the door opened 
 and Edith entered. 
 
 "Pshaw — nonsense," cried Keginald, crimsoning, 
 while he tried to prevent Mrs. Macauley from pro- 
 ceeding. 
 
 But if it is dangerous playing with edged tools, 
 it is no less so to tamper with simplicity, so Mrs. 
 Macauley went on, "Well, if it is nonsense, where's 
 the harm of it, for I declare I can't see itf Then 
 addressing Edith — "We were just speaking about 
 you, my dear, and Sir Reginald was asking me if I 
 knew how you liked Lord Allonby; 'deed, I said I 
 did not know, but he might ask yourself." 
 
 Sir Reginald and Edith were standing almost 
 opposite to each other ; a slight blush and an expres- 
 sion of wounded feeling were upon her countenance, 
 while strong agitation was depicted upon his, and if 
 any one so graceful could possibly have looked awk- 
 ward, he must have done so at that moment. 
 
 "If Sir Reginald wishes to know, he has only to 
 ask myself," said Edith calmly; and turning away, she 
 seated herself at one of the farthest off windows, while 
 he remained standing, as if still dawdling over his 
 coffee, but with a flushed cheek and downcast eye. 
 
 " Well," cried Mrs. Macauley, " I know very well 
 you are both wishing me, as Glenroy, honest man, 
 sometimes says, sticking on the point of one of my 
 own needles, just now when you have so much to say 
 to one another ; so now that I've had my dish of tea, 
 I'll just go and make myself a little wiselike before
 
 280 DESTINY. 
 
 Glenroy comes in, or he'll be noticing my cap, as 
 sure as death, for you see how it is crushed with my 
 bonnet. " 
 
 " I — I — thought — were you not proposing a walk ?" 
 said Sir Reginald, trpng to detain her, 
 
 " 'Deed, then, Sir Reginald, I have a great deal too 
 much sense to think of troubling two tender young- 
 lovers with my company, but I'm sure it is very dis- 
 creet in you to ask me. Now, go your ways, my dears 
 — and let me see you walking arm-in-arm, so lovingly 
 as you used to do — well, I daresay I'm almost as happy 
 as you are yourselves !" 
 
 And away trotted Mrs. Macauley singing, with the 
 tears still upon her cheek. 
 
 A pause of some minutes ensued ; at length Regi- 
 nald approached Edith, and in a voice which vainly 
 strove to appear calm, said, "I thought you had been 
 going to walk, Edith f 
 
 Edith made no answer, her heart seemed too full ; 
 but she turned upon him a look so soft and tearful, 
 that Reginald involuntarily caught her hand, but as 
 suddenly dropped it as he again encountered the ring 
 his own had placed there, while the flush on his cheek 
 turned to an almost ashy paleness. 
 
 At sight of his agitation, Edith mastered hers, and 
 though her voice was almost inarticulate from her 
 emotion, she said, " Reginald, what is it you seek to 
 know?" 
 
 Reginald made no answer, and his agitation in- 
 creased. Then again taking her hand, he almost
 
 DESTINY. 281 
 
 crushed it in his, while, in a low sufFocated voice, he 
 murmured — " How I can best make you happy !" A 
 thrill of joy ran through Edith's heart at the words ; 
 for, blinded by her tears, she did not perceive the 
 mute anguish of her lover's features, and for a few 
 minutes both remained silent. But she was already 
 happy, for her hand was locked in Reginald's, and she 
 felt assured that the time was now come when all would 
 be cleared up. But at that moment Glenroy and his 
 party came thronging into the room, and as he shuffled 
 along, supported by a friend on one hand, and a stick 
 in the other, he called — "Sir Reginald, you're here, 
 and I did not know it ! What made you leave me 1 
 But that's always the way, now ! Have not you plenty 
 of time to be courting, without leaving me alone this 
 way ? But, now that he's gone, nobody comes near 
 me," as his friends placed him carefully in a sofa. 
 "And Avhere's Molly Macauleyl" 
 
 " She will be here presently, papa," said Edith, try- 
 ing to soothe him. " She is returned, and is merely 
 making herself a little smart for you." 
 
 "What do I care for her?" cried Glenroy peev- 
 ishly; "or what do I care for any woman 1 Re- 
 ginald, come here and sit down beside me. Reginald, 
 you're more to me than all the rest of the world put 
 together ; and you must never leave me. She shall 
 be married to you as soon as you " 
 
 "Your coffee waits, papa," said Edith, laying her 
 hand softly on his, as if to stop the current of his 
 discourse.
 
 282 DESTINY. 
 
 "Well, let it wait. Set it down, Boyd; aud — 
 and — Reginald, I'll tell you what I'll do. You know 
 the Skirridale Avoods, the — the Glenhaussen woods? 
 M'Nab tells me I may cut ten thousand pounds worth 
 to-morrow, if I choose ; and — and " 
 
 " Well, my dear uncle, we shall talk about that to- 
 morrow," said Reginald impatiently; "but some of 
 us were projecting a walk — the evening is so fine." 
 And he looked to some of the company as though he 
 expected to be seconded. 
 
 " A walk ! " cried Glenroy contemptuously. " Who 
 but silly women would think of walking at this time 
 of night? Edith may go, if she hkes, but I cannot 
 part with you, Reginald, and, Auchnagruel, you may 
 go with her" — to a bashful, shining, red-faced laird, 
 with large white ears, and a smooth powdered head, 
 who awkwardly mumbled out his acquiescence, which 
 Edith waived, while Reginald made another effort, but 
 in vain, to disengage himself from his uncle's grasp. 
 
 "Stay you still, Reginald," cried he, holding himfast; 
 " and — and you shall have the black mare to-morrow. 
 She's the greatest beauty — there's not her match in 
 the country. I could lay a thousand guineas her 
 match is not to be found in Scotland. That Lord — 
 what do you call him, Edith? he that had the im- 
 pudence to propose to me for her, and he would have 
 taken you, too !" 
 
 "There comes Mrs. Macauley, papa," said Edith, 
 as that worthy entered, and with all her speed made 
 up to her beloved Chief.
 
 DESTINY. 283 
 
 "Oh, Glenroy, how happy I am to see you!" ex- 
 claimed she, seizing both his hands. "And I hope 
 you are happy to see me, tool" regarding him with 
 an expression of unmingled delight. 
 
 "What should make me happy to see youf de- 
 manded Glenroy, with a stare of astonishment — " the 
 woman that I see every day of my life — that I've 
 seen every day these forty years f 
 
 "Well, but, Glenroy, for all that, you have not 
 seen me for well on to a week." 
 
 " A week ! Where have you been 1 I never 
 missed you !" 
 
 "Oh, Glenroy, I was told, then, you had missed 
 me very much," said poor Molly in a tone of dis- 
 appointment. 
 
 "Miss you/" repeated Glenroy. "I — I've some- 
 body else that I miss. Reginald, you know who it is 
 I miss ; and you are to me now what he was when 
 I had Jiim. Old Molly Macauley, where have you 
 been 1 Can you not settle yourself at home, but you 
 must be going about sorning on people that you've 
 no business with 1 You should stay away altogether, 
 since you're so fond of it." Then, pushing away his 
 cup — "That coffee's not drinkable; ring the bell for 
 the tea-things ; and, Mrs. Macauley, you'll make tea 
 for me, for that woman Pattison can no more make 
 tea than she can shoe a horse. And sit down here at 
 my hand, for I know you like to scuttle with the tea- 
 things, Molly; and, Reginald, you'll stay where you 
 are on the other side — there's room for us all."
 
 284 DESTINY. 
 
 And thus, with a debilitated mind and despotic 
 temper, Glenroy maintained an ascendency over all 
 around him, and rendered them subservient to his 
 will. Thus another insupportable evening was com- 
 sumed ; but Eeginald's words had taken a load from 
 Edith's heart, and she felt assured that another sun 
 would not set without seeing them restored to their 
 former happy state of mutual confidence.
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 With this hope she repaired to the breakfast-table 
 the following morning ; but Reginald was the last to 
 join the party, and when he did, he had the appear- 
 ance of one who had passed a sleepless night. He 
 looked pale and thoughtful, and did no justice to the 
 good cheer Glenroy and Mrs. Macauley heaped upon 
 him with unsparing hand. 
 
 "What's the reason there's nothing at the table 
 Reginald can eat, Edith V demanded Glenroy sternly. 
 
 " There is only too great a variety of good things," 
 said Reginald, trying to deprecate the Chief's unjust 
 displeasure. "I have been little accustomed to see 
 such substantial breakfasts for some time." 
 
 " Substantial !" repeated Glenroy, still more indig- 
 nantly; "it's no breakfast at all. Why is there no 
 herring, Edith? Ring the bell, Benbowie— that 
 woman Pattison's good for nothing. We never have 
 a proper meal, now that your brother's gone. He 
 looked better after these things. He would not have 
 set you down to such a breakfast. Boyd, what's the 
 reason there's no herring at table? I never saw a 
 breakfast without herring. Not in season yet?
 
 286 DESTINY. 
 
 Don't tell me any such nonsense ; I desire they may 
 be in season to-morrow, and that there may be plenty 
 of herring on the table after this. And no game — is 
 that not in season too '? A prettj^-like breakfast for 
 hungry men ! Not in season ! not in fiddlesticks ; 
 everything must have its season now ! in my day 
 there were no seasons." 
 
 Reginald said nothing, but looked as if annoyed 
 and oppressed by his uncle's overbearing hospitality. 
 
 "Well, Glenroy," said Mrs. Macauley, "for my 
 part, I think this might satisfy a dozen of hungry 
 men, and a score that are not hungry. But maybe 
 Sir Reginald does not think so much of our Heiland 
 breakfasts, noAv that he has seen so much of the 
 world. I have heard that in some strange countries 
 they eat pine-apples and grapes and peaches to their 
 breakfasts." 
 
 "And why have "we not pine-apples and peaches 
 and grapes here, Edith f cried Glenroy. "What is 
 the use of my having all these things, if they are not 
 produced at proper occasions 1 But you give yourseK 
 no sort of trouble to please your cousin now. But 
 ring the bell, and I'll send to the hothouses for some 
 of those things. Now, Reginald, you need not say a 
 word. Boyd, you'll desire M'Nicol to have every 
 Idnd of fruit for breakfast after this. And bring 
 some grapes directly ; and I desire there may be fresh 
 herring every morning. Is it because that puppy — 
 that Lord Allonby — turned up his nose at herring that 
 we never see them now ? And he had the impudence
 
 DESTINY. 287 
 
 to want Norman's black mare ! as if I would have 
 parted "vvith that to any man breathing but yourself, 
 Reginald. She is yours now, and we shall take a ride 
 to-day. What time will you be ready to goV 
 
 . Reginald looked embarrassed, and as if wishing to 
 decline, without having an apology ready. 
 
 "Perhaps you would prefer a walk," said Edith 
 softly ; then blushed, as if she thought she said too 
 much. 
 
 "A walk!" repeated Glenroy scornfully; "women 
 are never happy but when they are walking. / can 
 hardly walk a step now for that confounded gout; 
 but I'll take a ride with you, Reginald, and we'll go 
 to see the Dhu Moss — that's what M'Kinnon has 
 drained forty acres of, and got a premium from the 
 Highland Society. You — you remember the Dhu 
 Moss, Reginald 1" 
 
 Reginald coloured as he said, "I am afraid I shall 
 be a dull companion for either a walk or ride— I 
 have got so much of a headache this morning." 
 
 " A headache !" repeated Glenroy, in alarm ; " how 
 is that ? But I very often have a headache myself, 
 Reginald. But I'll tell you what, we'll not go out to- 
 day — we'll just sit quietly here, and talk over some 
 things that I want to speak to you about, and " 
 
 "Excuse me, Glem-oy," interrupted Sir Reginald 
 impatiently; "but I am still more indisposed for 
 business this morning. I suppose," he added, trying 
 to force a smile, "I had taken too much of your 
 champagne yesterday. "
 
 288 ' DESTINY. 
 
 As he spoke, Edith passed into the drawing-room, 
 and Mrs. Macauley rose to follow ; but first going 
 round to Sir Reginald, she laid her hand upon his 
 arm, and whispered, " My dear Sir Reginald, take 
 my word for it, the best cure for both your head and 
 your heart will be to take a little walk with your own 
 true love. I doubt there's something not risht be- 
 tween you, for she's away with the tear in her ee — 
 'deed is she, and it makes me wae to see her." 
 
 " What is it you are whispering about, Molly Mac- 
 auley f cried Glenroy angrily ; "can you not speak 
 out?" 
 
 " 'Deed, Glenroy, I was just saying that you ought 
 not to hinder two tender young sweethearts from tak- 
 ing a walk together. Think how much they must have 
 to say to one another after such a long separation." 
 
 " You are really a most officious goose, Mrs. Mac- 
 auley," cried the Chief. " What can they have to say 
 to one another, that they may not say before my face 
 as well as behind my back, all the times of the day, 
 if they like 1 Who hinders them from saying what 
 they please 1 — I'm sure, Reginald, I've told you, you 
 are as much master here as I am myself. You may 
 say and do exactly what you please, for you're now 
 
 the man that's to come after me " Here his voice 
 
 sank at the thought of his lost son. 
 
 "I am very sensible of your kindness, Glenroy," 
 said Sir Reginald, shaking his uncle's hand, as he rose 
 from table ; " and I wish I could make a better return 
 for it," he added with emotion. "In the meantime.
 
 DESTINY. 289 
 
 I shall try to get rid of my headache, and be ready 
 to attend you on a short ride before dinner." And 
 he hastily left the room, as if to avoid all further dis- 
 cussion. 
 
 He entered the drawing-room, where Edith and 
 Mrs. Macauley were, but the latter immediately van- 
 ished, singing — 
 
 " The luve that I ha'e chosen 
 Therewith I'll be content, 
 The saut seas shall be frozen 
 Before that I repent. 
 
 " Repent it sail I never 
 Until the day I dee, 
 Though the lawlands o' Holland 
 Ha'e tmned my luve and me." 
 
 Edith was arranging her drawing -materials, pre- 
 paratory to copying a drawing which lay before her, 
 and wliich she had already begun. 
 
 " I ought perhaps to feel ashamed of youi* seeing 
 my poor attempts," said she, as Eeginald looked at 
 the outhne she had begun ; "but," she added, looldng 
 on him with the clear and innocent expression of her 
 soft eyes, " I do not wish to hide anything from you, 
 Reginald, however painful it might be." 
 
 " You have no cause," replied he, bending over the 
 draAving, and seeming to examine it very attentively. 
 
 "To you, who have lately been seeing so many 
 fine pictures in Italy, it must be a penance to be 
 obliged to look at my poor scratches; but I don't 
 even wish you to praise them. I should think you 
 
 VOL. I. u D
 
 290 DESTINY. 
 
 were either laughing at me, or deceiving me, if you 
 did so." 
 
 Sir Reginald stood with his eyes still fixed on the 
 drawing, but his thoughts were evidently more pro- 
 found ; at last he said, in a voice of deep emotion— 
 "It would be difficult to laugh at you, Edith; and. 
 Heaven knows ! I have no msh to deceive you !" 
 
 "I am sure you have not!" said Edith, with 
 tenderness of tone and manner. " But, dear Reginald, 
 are you not deceiving yourself?" And she blushed 
 to crimson, as though she thought she had said too 
 much. 
 
 Reginald made no reply, but shaded his face with 
 the drawing he still held in his hand. After a pause, 
 raising his head, he said in a voice that vainly 
 struggled at composure — "I will not attempt to mis- 
 understand you, Edith. You would tell me— that you 
 " He stopped, as if suffocating with emotion. 
 
 " Yes, Reginald," said Edith tenderly ; " I would 
 tell you how much you have "VATonged yourself and 
 me, if you ever supposed I, for an instant, could for- 
 get — Ah, Reginald, do you think I should have con- 
 tinued to wear this ring, if I had ceased to " love 
 
 you, she would have added, but the words died on her 
 lips, and she bent her head to hide the blush which 
 gloAved even to her brow. 
 
 Resiinald took the hand she had half extended to 
 him, and pressed it in silence to his lips, but some 
 minutes elapsed ere he spoke ; then, in a deep and 
 faltering voice, he said — "I beheve you, Edith; my
 
 DESTINY. 291 
 
 doubts are now ended. Say, when vnll you become 
 mine V 
 
 Edith started ; for the accents in which this fond 
 interrogatory was put were anything but those of 
 hope and joy. She looked on her lover, and his face, 
 even his lips were pale, and his features were con- 
 tracted as if in agony. 
 
 " What is this V exclaimed she Avildly. " You are 
 ill, Reginald ! Oh, tell me why do I see you thus ?" 
 
 "I am ill, Edith," said he, faintly attempting to 
 smile ; " but do not be alarmed — it is a mere spasm, 
 to which I am occasionally liable ; but it is past for the 
 present, let us think no more of it." And, assuming 
 an au" of gaiety, he sought to quiet Edith's fears, and 
 remove her suspicions, if she had any, as to the nature 
 of his emotion. Edith was, of course, strenuous for 
 medical advice : but Eeginald assured her it was 
 merely the effects of the malaria he had had when at 
 Eome, and consequently a disorder not imderstood by 
 the physicians of this country. "But time, and your 
 good management, will perhaps enable me to get the 
 better of it," he added, with difficulty suppressing a 
 sigh, " if you are not afraid to undertake the cure." 
 
 " You had the malaria, then, and concealed it from 
 mef said Edith reproachfully. "All, Eeginald, if 
 you had known what your silence cost me ! but it was 
 your tenderness for me made you conceal it from me ; 
 and you were ill while I was unjustly blaming you, 
 perhaps " 
 
 " No, no," cried Eeginald, in agitation ; " I ought
 
 292 DESTINY. 
 
 —But — oh, Edith, had I flown to you at the first, it 
 might not then have been too late ; I should not have 
 been the wretch I am !" 
 
 " Dear Reginald, do not reproach yourself so 
 bitterly ; you could not foresee how fatally our dear 
 Norman's illness was to terminate." 
 
 "Fatally indeed !" re-echoed Reginald, as he leant 
 his head on the table, and buried his face in his 
 hands. 
 
 " Had you been here, you could have done nothing 
 for my poor brother," said Edith; "he would not 
 even have known you ; and you see you are not too 
 late to be a comfort to us." 
 
 Reginald looked up, and spoke more calmly, as he 
 said, " You Avere always gentle and forgiving, Edith ; 
 but you know not the depth of my self-reproach," he 
 added, with renewed agitation. " Edith, you see me 
 broken in spirits, oppressed with remorse — the victim 
 of a hopeless — malady," gasped he, striking his bosom ; 
 " yet, if I can but make you happy — I can bear it all 
 — Edith, a brighter, happier destiny might be yours — 
 but if you will unite yourself with me — let it be 
 quickly — let there be no idle delay — there has been 
 too much already." 
 
 A painful surmise now darted into Edith's mind ; 
 she had heard of the baleful eff"ects of the pestilential 
 fever at Rome, in even affecting the mind of the 
 sufferer long after the cause had apparently ceased ; 
 and trembling at the dread suspicion, she knew not 
 how to reply.
 
 DESTINY. 293 
 
 '•Speak, Edith," he cried impatiently, "do you 
 repent?" 
 
 Edith cast her streaming eyes upon him with a 
 look of tenderness and affection, while she slowly and 
 distinctly uttered, " Never ! " 
 
 "Enough!" cried Reginald, as he pressed his quiver- 
 ing lip to her hand ; then, after a short pause, he said 
 with calmness, "And now, Edith, I again entreat that 
 there may be no trifling delays on your part ; on mine 
 everything shall be done to accelerate matters; for 
 that purpose I must now leave you for a time. I 
 must go to Dunshiera ; there must be much for me to 
 do there, and the more that I have now to prepare 
 it for its future mistress." His voice now faltered a 
 little, and he stopped, 1)ut soon Avent on. "I have 
 too long neglected it, but I must now live there for a 
 part of the year if I can. I am aware of the opposi- 
 tion this will meet with from Glenroy ; but, much as 
 I owe him, and desirous as I am by every means in 
 my power to discharge my debt of gratitude, still I 
 cannot devote myself Avholly to him." 
 
 "It would be too much to expect," said Edith, with 
 a sigh ; " and yet, my poor father ! how shall I leave 
 him in his present state of mindl and still worse, 
 how will he bear your absence — you who are now 
 everything to him?" 
 
 "Yes," cried Reginald, again relapsing into agita- 
 tion ; " my father's mistaken tenderness for me has 
 placed me in a cruel situation. I have incurred a 
 load of gratitude to Glenroy, which crushes me to the
 
 294 DESTINY. 
 
 earth; his house hitherto has been my home — but, 
 Edith — I cannot — I -ttnll not continue to drag out a 
 useless existence here." 
 
 Glenroy's voice was at that moment heard loudly 
 calling "Eeginald," and presently he came slowly 
 shufBing into the room, talking to himself, as he was 
 wont to do. At sight of Eeginald and Edith, he 
 exclaimed, " What's the meaning of this, Edith — you 
 taking up your cousin's time this way 1 I have been 
 wanting you, Eeginald, about something of more 
 importance than anything she can have to say to 
 you. Here's a letter from M'Gillivray, that's he that 
 has the farm of Invercardnish — the sheep-farm, you 
 know, that M 'In tosh had, and made such a hand of, 
 and " 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Glenroy," interrupted Eegi- 
 nald hurriedly ; " but I can scarcely attend to that 
 business at present — I — I — find I must go to Dun- 
 shiera." 
 
 " Go to Dunshiera ! " repeated Glenroy, in astonish- 
 ment ; " Avhat would take you to Dunshiera in such a 
 hurry?" 
 
 " I ought to have been there long ere now, Glen- 
 roy," said Eeginald ; "I know I am much wanted, 
 and more especially now," he added, with a forced 
 gaiety, " that Edith has just consented to be mine as 
 soon as the arrangements can be made for her recep- 
 tion there." 
 
 " Consented to be a fiddlestick ! " cried Glenroy 
 angrily. "Is that you, Edith, that's putting such
 
 DESTINY. 295 
 
 nonsense in your cousin's head'?" But Edith had 
 made her escape as her father entered, to be spared 
 the scene she feared Avould ensue. " ArranR-ements 
 for her reception ! What reception, and what arrange- 
 ments can she want 1 Haven't you this house to live 
 in, and as much room as would hold a dozen of you ? 
 and are not you just as much master here as I am, 
 Reginald'? and vdiat would take you to a house of 
 your own, then? Consent! — reception! — arrange- 
 ment ! — What the plague ! there's no hurry in your 
 marrying, Reginald; you must wait till we get the 
 woods thinned at all events ; and — and whatever you 
 Avant from your own house you can send for it here ; 
 and bring your servants, and your horses, and all here ; 
 and — and — but you must not leave me, Reginald," 
 grasping his nephew's hand in his. 
 
 " Only for a few days," said Reginald. 
 
 "Only for a few days!" repeated Glenroy; "and 
 what am I to do without you for a single day ? I'll 
 tell you what, Reginald, if you'll wait till this con- 
 founded gout's out of my toe, I'll go with you myself 
 (if you must go), and we can take Edith and Molly 
 Macauley with us, if you like, and I'll stay with you 
 as long as you please ; I will, upon my honour." 
 
 Reginald certainly showed no symptoms of delight 
 at this proposal, though he strove to utter some 
 general expressions about happiness, gratitude, plea- 
 sure, and so forth. 
 
 "But my house and establishment cannot be in 
 order to receive guests ; only consider, my dear uncle,
 
 296 
 
 DESTINY. 
 
 that I have scarcely been there for more than a day 
 at a time, since I left it a mere child." 
 
 "And what's to have put it out of order, then, when 
 there's been nobody living in it ? Come now, Regi- 
 nald, don't be obstinate, stay where you are, and do 
 exactly as you like — you are completely your own 
 master here, Reginald, as much as if you were in your 
 own house ; but I can't part with you, now that my 
 own poor lad's gone. So stay where you are, and you 
 shall have everything you can desire — you shall have 
 his black mare, Reginald, that— that— Lord— what do 
 you call him, had the impudence to think I would sell 
 to him." 
 
 Reginald saw it was in vain to attempt to use 
 argument with Glenroy ; he therefore conceded so far 
 as to give up his intention of setting off the follow- 
 ing morning, and even allowed him to remain in the 
 belief that he never should leave him for a single day. 
 Of course, the poor Chief became ten times more tire- 
 some and exacting than ever, under this accession of 
 gratified affection; and though Reginald submitted 
 with the best grace he could, it was obvious he was 
 writhing under the weariness and torment of being 
 the engrossing object of a blind, despotic, doting 
 attachment. Although politely attentive to Edith in 
 as far as he was permitted to attend to anything but 
 Glenroy and his never-failing themes, nothing particu- 
 lar occurred to call forth any marked demonstrations 
 of the nature of his feelings towards her. Edith some- 
 times thought he looked sadder than anything she
 
 DESTINY. 297 
 
 had ever seen ; but that she imiiuted to the poignancy 
 of his feehngs regarding Norman. Though she loved 
 him the more for this proof of his sensibihty, she 
 trusted that time, and her tenderness together, would 
 gradually diminish his sorrow and self-rej)roach.
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 "Do you remember your courting days, Beubowie^" 
 said Mrs. Macauley one day to the worthy Laii-d, as 
 he sat, with a face of solemn stupidity, chewing his 
 quid. 
 
 "Surely, surely," cried Benbowie, starting at the 
 question, as some faint reminiscences of a rejected 
 suit wandered through his brain. 
 
 " Because I don't know how it is, Benbowie — may- 
 be the fashion's changed in that too, like ever}i;hing 
 else, and that it's not genteel for people to look as 
 happy as they used to do ; but, as sure as death, if I 
 was Miss Edith, I would not be pleased to see my 
 sweetheart look so dull as he does sometimes ; he has 
 not the canty face my good Mr. Macauley had when 
 Ave were going to be married — the laugh and the joke 
 were never out of his mouth; and, I daresay, you 
 yourself, Benbowie, was merrier when you were think- 
 ing of matrimony than you are now?" 
 
 " True, true ; it's a serious matter — it is, upon my 
 conscience." 
 
 " Oh, now, Benbowie, that's not what I mean at 
 all."
 
 DESTINY. 299 
 
 Benbowie's eyes grew rounder, but he made no 
 attempt to come to an understanding. 
 
 "What is there serious," continued Mrs. Macauley, 
 "in two handsome, rich, accomphshed, sensible, well- 
 born, well -principled young creatures going to be 
 married"? I declare I think they ought both to be 
 ready to jump out of their skins for joy." 
 
 " On my conscience it's very true, so they ought," 
 responded Benbowie ; " and it will cost nothing — her 
 money will not go out of the family." 
 
 "Oh, who cares for the money, Benbowie? that's 
 not the thing at all — it's true love I was thinking of, 
 and that's a far better thing. I'm sure my Mr. Mac- 
 auley and I were as poor as two church mice when 
 we were married, and for all that, we were as merry 
 as two fireside crickets. Oh ! how I wish I saw Sir 
 Eeginald look upon his own true love ^vith that heart- 
 some smile that he had before he left her ! " 
 
 " He's a fine young man," said Benbowie ; " he is — 
 he is — he is a very fine young man, Mrs. Macauley, 
 and he has a very fine property — on my conscience 
 he has." 
 
 "^Yell, well, BenboAvie; but I don't think you 
 understand me, — I would rather see his smiles than 
 his gold just now," raising her voice, as though the 
 obtuseness lay in the physical, not the intellectual 
 part of her auditor. But Benbowie only looked still 
 more bewildered. 
 
 " Oh, BenboAvie, I wish I could make you under- 
 stand what it is I mean ! and then I could know
 
 300 DESTINY. 
 
 whether it is my own fancy, or whether it is the real 
 truth, that — (for you know it would not do for me to 
 give a Avhish of that, either to Glenroy or Miss Edith, 
 for fear of distressing them, and there is nobody else 
 I would like to say it to); but I would give all I 
 have to be quite sure that Sir Eeginald is as hapj^y 
 as he ought to be !" 
 
 " His own estate is now quite free," said Benbowie, 
 trying to look wise, " and he is next heir of entail to 
 Glenroy." 
 
 "Oh, the stupid body!" thought Mrs. Macauley, 
 " how shall I ever get him to understand the difference 
 Ijetween love and land 1 But maybe, after all, I am 
 just putting nonsense in his head, and that it is just 
 as Miss Edith thinks — sorrow for him that's gone, 
 that makes her own true love look so mournful some- 
 times. How do I know what is in his heart? and 
 then, when he catches Miss Edith looking at him, 
 how he brightens up, and smiles and jokes in his 
 own way, as he used to do. But then, again, I do 
 not like to hear young people sigh — it is not naatural, 
 whatever they may say of lovers' sighing, for I know 
 my good Mr. Macauley sighed none, for as happy as 
 Ave were ! " 
 
 Such were the 2^^'os and co7is with Avhich Mrs. 
 Macauley strove to solve the mystery of Sir Eegi- 
 nald's dejection ; but the result of all her speculations 
 only amounted to this, that Sir Reginald and Mr. 
 Macauley had been quite different lovers. But it 
 was not Mrs. Macauley 's nature to stop there.
 
 DESTINY. 301 
 
 Having made nothing of Benbowie, she next began 
 to wonder whether Glenroy had observed anything. 
 One day that she found herself alone with him she 
 began to sound her way. Seating herself beside her 
 Chief, as he sat in his easy- chair, she wij^ed her 
 spectacles, put them carefully on her nose, and began 
 to ply her needle, while she said, "Well, Glenroy, are 
 not we all very hapj)y at having got Sir Reginald 
 back again 1" 
 
 " What earthly difference can his coming or going 
 make to you, Molly Macauley? — You're not going to 
 be married to himf was the peevish reply. 
 
 " 'Deed I am not ; but surely, Glenroy, I may be 
 very happy, though I am not going to be married?" 
 
 " I know no business you have to think anything 
 about happiness. If you had my gout in you, you 
 would not be so happy, I can tell you." 
 
 "'Deed, and I believe that's true, Glenroy; but 
 though I am very sorry that you have it, yet ought 
 I not to be thankful too that I have it not ?" 
 
 "Well, don't torment me with your thanks, and 
 your this, and your that. "WTiere's Eeginald?" 
 
 "I'm sure I cannot tell, Glenroy. I hope he may 
 be taking a little walk with his own true love, and 
 that it will do him good ; for as I was now saying, I do 
 not think him quite — just — that's to say, I think — but 
 maybe I'm wrong — that he's a little dowfF just now." 
 
 "Dowft'! what do you mean by dowflf? I wish, if 
 you will chatter, you would learn to speak intelligibly. 
 What do you mean by dowff"?"
 
 302 DESTINY. 
 
 "Just dull, Glenroy ; as if lie was not " 
 
 "Was not what '2" demanded the Chief, still more 
 angrily. 
 
 "Was not — 'deed, I don't know how to express 
 myself to please you, Grlenroy ; but I think he is not 
 just so — just in such good spirits as I have seen him." 
 
 " Good spirits ! " repeated Glenroy, bursting forth 
 in all his majesty — "Good spirits! 'pon ray soul, 
 you're the most unfeeling — hegh — good spirits, too ! 
 
 and you, IMrs. Macauley, that pretend to but I never 
 
 knew one of you women that were better than another. 
 There's not one of you knows what feeling is ; you 
 think of nothing but your own idle amusements. 
 Where's that girl gadding to now, and keeping Re- 
 ginald from me 1 — Good spirits ! good spirits in this 
 house, after what I've lost ! if you must have good 
 spirits, Mrs. Macauley, you must go somewhere else 
 for them, for there's to be no good spirits here. — Good 
 spirits ! I really believe you, Molly Macauley, have 
 just as much feeling as one of your own needles," 
 stamping his stick upon the floor. 
 
 " Well, well, Glenroy, do not be so angry, for you 
 know very well how bad my own spirits were at the 
 proper time; — and — but you know there is a time 
 for everything, Glenroy. Now that it is past, I want 
 everybody to be happy, looking to Miss Edith's 
 marriage. " 
 
 " And what's Miss Edith's marriage to me, in com- 
 parison of the loss of my boy ? And if she's to take 
 away Eeginald from me in this manner, wliat good
 
 DESTINY. 303 
 
 will her marriage do to me 1 Can't you go and see 
 where he is? I want to speak to him about that 
 tack of M'Kinnon's. — JFill you go?" he exclaimed, 
 with redoubled impatience, as Mrs. Macauley care- 
 fully folded up her work, and then trotted off, not 
 daring to dispute the commands of her despotic 
 Chief. 
 
 "Well, there's no making anything of Glenroy," 
 thought she. "I wish I could find out from Sir Ee- 
 ginald himself what ails him, that I might try to do 
 him some good." 
 
 Entering the library, she found the object of her 
 anxiety seated with a book in his hand, on which his 
 eyes were fixed, but with the air of one whose thoughts 
 are afar oflF. He either did not observe, or took no 
 notice of her entrance ; but stepping up to him, she 
 accosted him, " So, Sir Eeginald, you are here all by 
 yourself, when I figured you gallanting your own true 
 love." 
 
 "If you are in search of Edith, you will find her, 
 I believe, in the drawing-room, with some visitors," 
 said Sir Eeginald coldly, and Avithout looking up. 
 
 Mrs. Macauley stood irresolute for a few seconds, 
 then looking him full in the face, she said, in a strong 
 tone of interrogation, " Oh, my dear, I hope you are 
 not angry?" 
 
 " Not angry," replied Sir Eeginald, forcing a smile, 
 "only a little bored." 
 
 " Oh, well, if that be all, that's nothing to signify ; 
 maybe you'll be so good as tell me Avhat it is that
 
 304 DESTINY. 
 
 bores you, for I hope it is not me ?" with the same 
 interrogatory accent. 
 
 Sir Eeginald made no reply but by a slight gesture 
 of impatience. " Well, I cannot think what I could 
 say that did not please you, my dear ; I only said I 
 thought you would have been taken up with your 
 own true love, and I'm sure that could not anger you." 
 
 "Surely, Mrs Macauley," said Eeginald, speaking 
 very quickly and impatiently, "you have lived long- 
 enough to know, what every child knows, that the 
 best things become stale and tiresome by constant 
 repetition." 
 
 " My dear ! " exclaimed Mrs. Macauley, in an 
 accent which testified she did not in the least compre- 
 hend the drift of this observation. 
 
 "You and everybody else, I believe," said Sir 
 Reginald in the same impatient manner, " are aware 
 of the engagement between Edith and me ; the delay 
 in fulfilling it is now on her part," added he, with in- 
 creased agitation. " In the meantime, it is unpleasant 
 to me, and must be painful to her, to have it made 
 the perpetual theme of conversation, and for ever 
 alluded to in the broadest manner, not only before 
 strangers, but before the very grooms and footmen." 
 
 " And so that's the story, is it ! " exclaimed Mrs. 
 Macauley, in astonishment. " Well, how could I ever 
 have guessed that, when my good Mr. Macauley liked 
 so weU to be joked about his marriage, and to have 
 everybody coming and rubbing shoulders with him ! 
 But I'm glad to think that, when you was looking so
 
 DESTINY. 305 
 
 •hill, it was only because you was not pleased ; and 
 now that I know what it is that angers you, I will 
 never let on anything about Miss Edith and you, and 
 
 maybe it's genteeler not " Here a furious peal 
 
 from Glenroy's bell recalled Mrs. Macauley to a sense 
 of her dut3^ " Oh, and I forgot ! there's Glenroy sit- 
 ting in his dressing-room waiting for you all this time, 
 and here's that Avorthy man Mr. M'Dow coming," as 
 the door opened, and the head of Mr. M'Dow pro- 
 truded itself, quickly followed by his whole person. 
 Sir Keginald, scarcely able to conceal how much he 
 was annoyed, was hastily passing him with a slight 
 bow, and a sort of murmured apology, but he might 
 as easily have attempted to escape from the arms of a 
 man-trap after having touched the fatal spring. 
 
 "How do you do, Sir Keginald?" with a violent 
 shake of the hand. " I rejoice to see you back again 
 — better late than never, hoch, ho ; — but I can't say 
 you've brought any Italian beef upon you. I doubt 
 you've been rather ailing ; but I've no doubt the air 
 of the Highlands, and the sight of a certain fair lady, 
 will set you all to rights again." Sir Keginald bit 
 his lip, and made no reply. Mr. M'Dow went on — 
 " I'm afraid you must think I've been rather deficient 
 in my duty, in not having waited upon you before 
 now ; but the fact is, I've suffered a great deal from 
 the toothache this summer, and at last I was obliged 
 to get my tooth taken out. A most dreadful thing it 
 is the pulling of a tooth, and mine was an uncommon 
 strong one ! 'Pon my word, I thought at first my 
 VOL. 1. X D
 
 306 DESTINY. 
 
 head was off. However, I Avas much amused with an 
 anecdote the dentist told me — for I went all the way 
 to Glasgow to get it taken out in the best manner — 
 though bad's the best, hoch, hoch, ho ! But, as I 
 was going to tell you, the dentist, Mr. Bain, really 
 made me almost laugh ; though, to tell the truth, I 
 was very much down in the mouth at the time — hoch, 
 hoch, ho ! — A gentleman (he would not tell me his 
 name, but he's a justice of the peace) had come to 
 him to get a tooth taken out, but after Mr. Bain had 
 him fairly in the chair, there he sat Avith his lips 
 screwed together like a vice. 'Be so good, sir, as 
 open your mouth a little,' says Mr. Bain, 'and allow 
 me just to put in my finger to feel your tooth.' 
 
 "' Na, na,' says the Justice, 'I'll no do that ; you'll 
 bite me!' — hach, hach, hach, ho!" Even Sir Ee- 
 ginald's features relaxed for a moment into a smile, 
 at the overwhelming, vulgar jocularity of Mr. M'Dow, 
 while he made another attempt to extricate himself 
 from his grasp, but in vain. 
 
 "Excuse my detaining you for one moment, Sir 
 Reginald," said he, grasping him still more firmly; 
 " but I think it proper to let you know that I shall 
 have occasion to be absent again very shortly for a 
 few days — it's upon a most agreeable occasion, to be 
 sure — no less than a marriage that's to take place in 
 our family — my niece. Miss Alexa M'Fee — that's the 
 eldest daughter of my sister, Mrs. Dr. M'Fee — is on 
 the point of marriage with a very fine young man 
 just set up in business in London, Mr. Andrew
 
 DESTINY. 307 
 
 Pollock ; it's been a long attachment, like some others 
 that I know, Sir Eeginald — hach, hach, ho ! — but the 
 means were wanting ; however now they think they'll 
 be able to do ; and so the marriage is fixed to take 
 place this day se'ennight, and nothing will satisfy 
 them but that I must perform the ceremony; but 
 then, on the other hand, I consider my old engage- 
 ment to you as paramount to everything else of the 
 same nature, so I wish to ascertain that the one may 
 not interfere with the other, for that Avould really 
 place me in a most awkward dilemma." 
 
 Eeginald's face had gradually been crimsoning dur- 
 ing Mr. M'Dow's speech, and, with a haughty bend of 
 the head, he merely said, " I beg, sir, I may not stand 
 in the way of any of your engagements ;" then quickly 
 extricating himself from him, he left the room. 
 
 "Ay," exclaimed Mr. M'Dow, in a tone of amaze- 
 ment, " I don't know very well what to make of that ; 
 I suspect the Baronet's not over and above well 
 pleased at my not having Avaited upon him sooner. 
 I'm sure I'm at a loss how to act, for it Avill be a 
 dreadful disappointment to 'Lexy, poor thing, if I 
 should fail her ; and yet I Avould be very loath to dis- 
 oblige Sir Eeginald and my excellent pawtron, Glen- 
 roy, to say nothing of the disappointment to myself." 
 "Oh, Mr. M'Dow," said Mrs. Macauley, "that's 
 not the thing at all, things are not just come to that 
 yet ; but what's made Sir Eeginald not just so well 
 
 I pleased is, that he does not like to be joked about his 
 
 j marriage ; he says it's not genteel." 
 
 I
 
 308 DESTINY. 
 
 "Oil, that's it, is iti" cried Mr. M'Dow, in a tone 
 of surprise. " Ay, ay ! I had no notion of that 
 giving any oifence ! and yet I don't think I said any- 
 thing that could be taken amiss ; for I'm sure the 
 allusions that I made were of the most delicate nature. 
 But there's a fashion in these things ; it's one that I 
 don't think I'll ever be tempted to follow — though 
 there's no saying; for, as mj^ worthy mother says, 
 there's nothing so catching as fashion ; and as I live 
 much in fashionable society now, perhaps I may just 
 grow neebor-like, and become a fashionable myself— 
 hach, hach, ho ! " 
 
 "Well, for my part," said Mrs. Macauley, "I hope 
 I may never turn into a fashionable ; for I think one 
 had better be merry and happy, even though it should 
 not be the fashion, than be mournful and genteel, as 
 Sir Reginald is grown. Do jon know, Mr. M'Dow," 
 in a confidential whisper, " I did not just like his look 
 sometimes ; I was beginning to think— I don't know 
 what!" 
 
 "Oh, you're quite wrong there, my good lady," 
 said Mr. M'Dow, with a seK-sufficient air, taldng a 
 pinch of snuff as he spoke — " quite Avrong ; it's mere 
 fashionable a"\Aq)athy, nothing else ; I've always kept 
 free from it myself, for I can't say I admire it, but it's 
 creeping in. There are some young ladies in this 
 country that I could mention, that I've known give 
 themselves great airs of awpathy." 
 
 "By-the-bye, Mr. M'Dow, have you seen the young 
 Lady Dum'oss, pretty Miss Lucy Malcolm, since her 
 
 I
 
 DESTINY. 309 
 
 marriage?" said Mrs. Macauley, quite unaware of Mr. 
 M'Dow's susceptibility on that score. 
 
 "Oh yes," returned he, with an air of contempt- 
 uous indifference ; " she has got well married, which 
 Avas more than I thought she would, for she was very 
 high set, and rather gave herself airs above herself at 
 one time ; but as I've come to spend the day with my 
 worthy friend Glenroy, and it's getting near diimer- 
 time, I suspect I must be going to clean myself a little 
 before dinner." And away he stalked to the chamber, 
 which, from frequent occupation, had now become in 
 a manner his own property. 
 
 Glenroy's gout confined him to his own apartment 
 for the rest of the clay, but Sir Eeginald took his place 
 and did the honours with so much grace and spirit, 
 and exerted himself so eff"ectually, that it must have 
 been a more accurate observer that any that were 
 present Avho could have discerned the force he was 
 putting upon himself.
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 One of the many acts of penance the Chief thought 
 fit to impose upon his family was that of reading the 
 newspapers to them every morning during a long pro- 
 tracted brealdast. 
 
 " And labour dire it was, and weary woe," 
 
 for quick ears to keep pace with his tedious utterance 
 and intermingled comments, although he rarely conde- 
 scended to read the fashionable intelligence, so called. 
 One morning he chanced to stumble on the following 
 paragraph. "We have to congratulate the noble 
 youth of Britain on the arrival of the beautiful and 
 fascinating Baroness Waldegrave at her mansion, St. 
 James's Square, after an absence of several years on 
 the Continent. Her Ladyship is accompanied by her 
 mother, the Lady Elizabeth Malcolm." Here Glenroy 
 made a full stop, as if he had come suddenly upon 
 some unlooked-for and unwelcome object ; then 
 muttered — " Ay, that's my pretty lady, and that other 
 — that's the what-do-you-call her — the bit white-faced 
 lassie that she had here with her — the creature you 
 never could bear, Reginald 1" Reginald's head was at 
 that moment resting on his hand, which shaded his
 
 DESTIXY. 311 
 
 face, but he had the air of being too deeply engaged 
 by a letter which lay open before him to hear himself 
 thus called upon ; at least he made no answer. 
 
 "You mean Florinda, papa," said Edith. "Oh, 
 how I should like to see her again !" 
 
 " I never desire to see the face of her," cried Glen- 
 roy — "an upsetting, spoilt brat. What was it you 
 used to call her, Keginald 1 The skim-milk cheese, 
 wasn't it 1" 
 
 But Eeginald still looked upon his letter, and was 
 silent. 
 
 " Is that a cess letter that you've got, Eeginald 1 
 I've got one too, and so has Benbowie. It's from 
 M'Intosh, is it not? " 
 
 " I — I — beg your pardon," said Eeginald, looking 
 up, and speaking very fast — " yes, I suppose — I believe 
 — I think — yes — I mean M'Intosh is the name." 
 
 "Ay, I thought so ; it will just be the same as my 
 own, and I'm not at all satisfied as to the collecting 
 of the cess. I think there's great mismanagement- 
 and " 
 
 o 
 
 "Oh, you have not read the Avhole paragraph, 
 papa," cried Edith, glancing at the paper which Glen- 
 roy had laid down. " It adds, ' The young Baroness 
 is said to be the Venus of Apelles realised, and com- 
 bines with the beauty and dehcacy of the English fair, 
 the softness and grace of the Italian, v.ith the gaiety 
 and brilliancy of the French. AVe may therefore 
 anticipate the dclat which will attend so rare and per- 
 fect a combination, when it bursts on an astonished
 
 312 DESTINY. 
 
 world!' Did you never happen to meet with Flor 
 inda, when you were abroad, Eeginald?" inquired 
 Edith, as she still scanned the paper. 
 
 " Yes," answered Eeginald hesitatingly ; then 
 turned to Glenroy, and resumed the subject of the 
 cess. 
 
 "And I hope you made up your old quarrel, and 
 were friends'?" said Mrs. Macauley. 
 
 But Eeginald was too much engrossed with his 
 subject to hear the question. Edith took advantage 
 of the first pause to say, "How came you never to 
 mention her to us, Eeginald?" 
 
 "Mention an old tobacco pipe!" cried Glenroy 
 angrily. "What was there to mention? I daresay 
 Eednald had more sense than to trouble his head 
 about such an insignificant creature as that — a spoilt, 
 troublesome monkey, that there was no living in a 
 house with." 
 
 "Oh, but, Glenroy, you must not speak that way 
 of her now, that you hear she has turned out so well," 
 said Mrs. Macauley, always charitable in her judg- 
 ments, and credulous in her belief ; " and I daresay 
 Sir Eeginald will give her a very good character now ; 
 I'll wager anything they would make it all up — am 
 I not right. Sir Eeginald?" 
 
 "Lady AValdegrave was much admired," said 
 Eeginald, in a cold, constrained manner. 
 
 "What a cautious answer, and how unlike you, 
 Eeginald," said Edith, with a smile; "but don't 
 expect to get off so easily ; I must have a full and
 
 DESTINY. 313 
 
 particular description of her — for, in spite of you, I 
 always loved Florinda. I scarcely think she met 
 with justice from you." 
 
 " Perhaps not," replied Sir Eeginald, in the same 
 abrupt, laconic manner. 
 
 " Well, then, you Avill make it up now by giving 
 us a faithful representation of her, or, as dear Macky 
 says, by giving a good character of her." 
 
 "What the plague does it signify whether her 
 character's good or bad?" cried Glenroy, in one of 
 his transports ; "the character of the man that's to 
 be collector of om- cess is of more consequence, I think, 
 than the character of an idle dancing dorrity like that 
 
 — a creature that your brother Here, Sir Reginald, 
 
 come back ; 'pon my soul, this is insufferable ! you 
 women, with your chatter, you've driven him away 
 from the table ! I really wish you would learn to 
 hold your tongues when you see we're engaged in 
 business. Eeginald ! — ay, there he's off, and he's 
 away out without his hat ! You Avomen really are — 
 hem'- " 
 
 And Glenroy was obliged to break off, for want of 
 words to express his indignation. 
 
 "Well, then, as sure as death, Glenroy," responded 
 Mrs. Macauley, "I think we behave ourselves very 
 well, and speak very little, considering. I'm sure I 
 could speak a great deal more than I do, if it was not 
 for fear of angering you; and I'm sure Miss Edith 
 speaks less than anybody. But wasn't it naatural for 
 her to be rather inquisitive about the little creature
 
 314 DESTINY. 
 
 she used to be so fond of 1 'Deed, I think it was ; for 
 how was she to think that Sir Reginald and she had 
 not made it up, the spiteful thing that she must be 1 
 for I know it would not be his fault — he is so good- 
 natured and generous, and forgiving to his enemies." 
 
 But Benbowie, having found some knotty point in 
 his cess letter, was now applying to his Chief to solve 
 it for him; and thus Glenroy's wrath was for the 
 moment appeased, and his attention excited, and the 
 abuses of the cess seemed to afford them what is called 
 subject-matter for some hours to come. When Regi- 
 nald joined Edith in the drawing-room, he looked ill 
 and dejected ; and, in answer to her timid and gentle 
 inquiries, he admitted that he had had a slight spas- 
 modic attack during breakfast, but that it was nearly 
 over for the present. 
 
 "I flattered myself," said he, "they had left me, 
 as I have been less subject to them of late ; but one 
 is commonly the prelude to others. Now don't be 
 alarmed," he added, with a faint smile, " although you 
 see me what you ladies would call somewhat nervous, 
 occasionally — in time, I trust, I shall get the better 
 of it," and he sighed as he said it. 
 
 " I fear your feelings are too acute for your peace, 
 Reginald," said Edith mournfully, as she gently laid 
 her hand on his arm. Reginald looked on that hand 
 for a moment, with a strange contraction of brow, 
 and something like a recoil ; then, suddenly changing, 
 he took it in his, and said, in a voice that faltered 
 Avith emotion —
 
 DESTINY, 315 
 
 " When once this hand is fairly mine, I shall be 
 better, much calmer — I am sure I shall." 
 
 " You know it will ere long be yours," said Edith, 
 and her colour deepened while she added, with simple 
 earnestness, "and in the meantime, you cannot doubt 
 that my best affections — that my heart itself, is whollj' 
 — solely yours." 
 
 " Oh that I were worthy of it, Edith," said he, in a 
 melancholy accent; "and yet," he added, with emo- 
 tion, "if you could but read mine, you would there 
 see that its first desire is for your happiness." 
 
 " Yes, I am sure — I feel — it is !" said Edith ; " but 
 the way to make me happy is to be happy yourself." 
 
 " Well, then, let us now settle something, Edith," 
 said he rapidly; "I shall go to Dunshiera soon; but 
 since it is your desire, I shall make no alteration upon 
 it. The credit of the improvements shall be yours. 
 Glenroy expects his lawyers in a few days, who will 
 arrange all matters of business, and then — and then, 
 Edith," added he, with a strong gasp, " you will 
 surely put it out of the power of fate to divide us ?" 
 
 Edith sighed, even as she smiled an assent ; for the 
 time she had fixed for her marriage was the expiry of 
 her mourning for her brother.
 
 CHAPTER XLIIL 
 
 Although Glenroy's gout was much on the decline, it 
 still confined him to his couch for the greater part of 
 the da}^, during which either his bell or his voice was 
 to be heard resounding, indicative of the restlessness 
 and impatience of its master. The following morning, 
 as the family sat at breakfast, a peal was heard from 
 the bell, which surpassed all the peals that had yet 
 been rung, followed by another, and another, in such 
 quick succession, that only a flash of lightning could 
 possibly have had time to answer the summons. 
 
 "I think I hear Glenroy's bell," said Benbowie, 
 holding up his ear, and looking wise. 
 
 '"Deed, Benbowie, we may all hear that at the 
 deafest side of our heads," said Mrs. Macauley ;• " as 
 sure as death, he'll ring down the house." 
 
 "Something more than common has surely dis- 
 turbed him," said Edith, rising, when, at that moment, 
 the Chief's valet entered to say that Glenroy wished 
 to see Sir Reginald immediately. 
 
 " Something about a new lease, or an old bridge, 
 or some such parish matter," said Reginald carelesslj^, 
 and he rose, and Avas sauntering out of the room,
 
 DESTINY. 317 
 
 humming an air to himself; then looking back, as 
 he saw Benbowie groping in the direction of his plate, 
 he called, " May I beg, Edith, that you will not allow 
 Benbowie to mistake my cup for his own V 
 
 Edith sat patiently waiting Reginald's return for a 
 considerable time ; but still he came not, and all was 
 silent. 
 
 " Oh, this is really not fair in Glenroy to keep Sir 
 Reginald from his Ijreakfast," said jNIrs. JVIacauley. 
 
 "Is Sir Reginald not coming back to his tea?" 
 inquired Benbo'^vie, with a face of solicitude, for it 
 was one of his peculiarities to cast a sheep's eye at 
 other people's \'iands, even when surrounded by a 
 profusion of untouched dainties. So, balked in his 
 design, he betook himself and his newspapers to his 
 own corner. 
 
 Mrs. Macauley was too busy and active to indulge 
 long over the pleasures of the table, and she likewise 
 trotted away, weary of wondering what was keeping 
 Sir Reginald. 
 
 At length Reginald returned, but his features still 
 bore the marks of recent agitation ; and although he 
 had a perfect composure of manner, either real or 
 aflfected, yet his hand trembled as he raised the cup 
 to his lips. 
 
 "I have had another of those foolish spasms," said 
 he, "occasioned, I think, by the heat of Glenroy's 
 room, though he Avould fain persuade me it is flying 
 gout, and we have consequently had a long and in- 
 teresting discussion on gout and malaria. He tells
 
 318 DESTINY, 
 
 me my father had it in his constitution, which I never 
 knew. But I beg pardon, Edith, you are waiting for 
 me. Oh, by-the-bye, Glenroy has had a letter from — 
 from Lady EHzabeth ; a letter offering to pay him a visit 
 here, which has of course agitated and annoyed him." 
 "An offer of a visit from Lady Elizabeth!" ex- 
 claimed Edith ; " that is indeed very strange, after so 
 long a separation. Don't you think so ?" 
 " Rather," rej^lied Reginald. 
 "How does papa take it?" 
 
 "I can scarcely tell. He seems both for and 
 against it. He is, you may believe, very unwilling to 
 receive the visit, and yet still more unwilling to decline 
 it. He begged me to mention it to you, and talk it 
 over." 
 
 "What can have prompted such an offer at this 
 time?" said Edith, still rapt in amazement. Reginald 
 was silent 
 
 " Does she assign no reason for so strange a pro- 
 ceeding?" inquired Edith. Reginald hesitated for a 
 moment ; then, with a deepening colour, replied — 
 "Sympathy is the motive assigned. She wishes to 
 condole personally Avith your father and you in your 
 affliction ;" and he sighed deeply. 
 
 "Ah, how very kind!" said Edith; "much more 
 so than I should have expected from Lady Elizabeth, 
 either from my own recollection of her, or from any- 
 thing I have ever heard of her. Perhaps she is 
 much changed, and, if it is so, papa and she may yet 
 live happily together— and then, you know," she added,
 
 DESTINY. 319 
 
 with a rising colour, "he could better spare you 
 when " 
 
 " Oh, impossible ; they are so totally difterent, and 
 Lady Elizabeth is such an invalid, so constantly com- 
 plaining ; their habits are so dissimilar — so — in short, 
 their ever living together is out of the question ; she 
 only proposes remaining for a week or two." 
 
 " At least there can be no harm in trying the ex- 
 periment for a week or two ; that will soon jDass away, 
 whether pleasantly or not. But does she say nothing 
 of Florinda ? Won't she come too ^ " 
 
 " I suppose — I believe — of course — here, Fido," to 
 his dog, as he placed a saucer on the floor, Avith some 
 milk and Avater, and bent down, as if deeply inter- 
 ested in the common action of Fido's lapping his 
 breakfast. 
 
 " Oh, how delighted I am ! " exclaimed Edith, her 
 eyes sparkling with animation. " I cannot tell you, 
 Eeginald, how much I have longed to see her again, 
 my recollection of her is so vivid ! I am sure I shall 
 love her, she was such an engaging creature ; and you 
 remember how often I used to make up your little 
 quarrels together ? I am resolved to make you both 
 good friends for evermore." 
 
 Eeginald made no immediate reply, for he was still 
 occupied Avith his dog. At length he said in a cold, 
 constrained manner, but Avithout raising his head — 
 " Excuse me, Edith ; but we vieAv this matter quite 
 differently. I have already ad\'ised Glenroy to de- 
 cline the A'isit."
 
 320 DESTINY. 
 
 "Ah, Eeginald ! how could you be so unkind 1" 
 exclaimed Edith, in a tone of reproach. 
 
 "Because I thought it my duty," ho replied, almost 
 sternly. 
 
 "But you may have mistaken it, dear Reginald," 
 said Edith gently. Reginald was silent. " And will 
 papa, then, not receive themf inquired she, with a 
 sigh. 
 
 " I cannot tell. He was much perplexed, and asked 
 my advice, which I gave him, although it was not 
 pleasant for me to be the umpire in such a matter." 
 
 " Tell me, Reginald, is it your dislike to Florinda 
 that makes you so averse to receiving the visit?" 
 
 Sir Reginald did not immediately reply ; when he 
 did, he said very coldly — " I never said I disliked her." 
 
 "No; but I suspect you do," said Edith, looking 
 at him with a soft smile; "and I long to reconcile 
 you." 
 
 " You had better not try," said Reginald sternly ; 
 then added, in a voice of repressed emotion — "This 
 visit can be productive of no pleasure ; they are so 
 different — they are both so unsuited to this place." 
 
 " But, for a short time, it matters little," said Edith. 
 
 "Even for a short time I am sure the visit will 
 annoy your father, they mil bring such a sidte 
 along with them. Lady Elizabeth has her travelling 
 physician — and — and — there is a French lady — a 
 friend " 
 
 " But there is plenty of room, and we are accus- 
 tomed to receive everybody. How unkind, then, it
 
 DESTINY. 321 
 
 would be to refuse such near connections ! Now, 
 come, clear Keginalcl, do persuade papa to accept the 
 visit." 
 
 " That might be the test of my obedience, but not 
 of my love," said he bitterly. While he spoke, Glen- 
 roy's bell had been sounding a larum, and now a 
 servant entered in all haste, to say Glenroy wished to 
 know what was detaining Miss Malcolm, and to desire 
 she would bring the letter immediately. 
 
 " Oh, by-the-bye !" exclaimed Sir Eeginald, in some 
 confusion, " I had almost forgot Glenroy charged me 
 to show you the letter, and to request of you to answer 
 it." And he drew forth a letter, and laid it before 
 Edith. She took it from its envelope, and at the first 
 glance exclaimed — "Florinda Waldegrave ! I thought 
 the letter had been from Lady Elizabeth." 
 
 " 'Tis much the same thing, is it not," said Regi- 
 nald, " whether I -svrite a letter, or you do it for me 1 
 The letter is virtually Lady Elizabeth's." 
 
 "What a pretty, elegant little hand she writes!" 
 exclaimed Edith, as, without further comment, she 
 began to read as follows : — 
 
 " My dear Sir — At mamma's request, and in ac- 
 cordance with my own feelings, I beg leave to express 
 to you the deep sympathy we feel on the mournful 
 event which has taken place in your family. The 
 early recollections of your kindness to me, and the 
 tender affection I always cherished for you, and my 
 dear brother and sister (for such I ever considered 
 
 VOL. I. Y D.
 
 322 DESTINY. 
 
 them), remain indelibly impressed upon my heart ; 
 and I Avisli nothing more earnestly than to be allowed 
 an opportunity of proving to you how sincerely I par- 
 ticipate in your affliction. Mamma is ecpially desirous 
 of convincing you that, however circumstances may 
 have unfortunately separated her for so long a period 
 from you, she has ever retained a lively interest in 
 yoiu" Avelfare, and that of all dearest to you. Should 
 it not, therefore, be deemed an intrusion on your grief, 
 we shall have much pleasure in being allowed to join 
 your domestic circle, and pass a week or two with 
 you quietly at Glenroy ; when it will be our most 
 earnest study to endeavour to mitigate your sorroAv, 
 by every means in our power. Mamma unites with 
 me in every heartfelt wish for your health and re- 
 turning happiness. And, with kindest love to my 
 dear sister Edith, I have the honour to be, my dear 
 Sir, 
 
 " Your very sincere and obliged servant 
 and daughter, 
 
 "Florinda Waldegrave. 
 
 " P.S. — Mamma entreats you will not put yourself 
 to the slightest inconvenience on her account; for, 
 although somewhat delicate, she is not at all particular 
 as to her accommodation ; and as for me, you may 
 put me in the turret, with which you used to threaten 
 me when I was a naughty, troublesome little girl." 
 
 " It is a very kind letter," said Edith, with a sigh, 
 as she finished it. "And yet " She stopped.
 
 DESTINY. 323 
 
 Here another message from Glenroy admitted of 
 no further delay, and Edith was hastening to satisfy 
 his impatience, when Eeginald stopped her. 
 
 " Do not allow anything I have said to prejudice 
 you against Lady Waldegrave," said he, in agitation. 
 " I ought not to have given an opinion — I — do not let 
 me think I have injured her in your estimation, Edith." 
 
 "No, no," cried Edith hastily, as a perfect volley 
 of bell-ringing caused her to fly. 
 
 " Ai'e you to be all day writing that letter, Edith 1 
 is it not done yet?" were the queries that greeted her 
 on her entrance. 
 
 " I beg youi- pardon, papa ; but I have not had 
 time." 
 
 " Not had time ! you've had time to write at least 
 a dozen of letters — it's really intolerable ; what's the 
 use of you women learrung to Avrite at all ? you should 
 all keep to your needles and thread, like that idiot, 
 Molly Macauley, and not torment people Avith your 
 trash of letters this Avay. Have you not written the 
 one I desired you yet?" 
 
 "It is not five minutes, papa, since Reginald 
 showed me the one you had received from Lady 
 Waldegrave." 
 
 " That's not the letter I am speaking about ; it's 
 the one I desired you to write in answer to that." 
 
 "I understand you, papa; but I really have not 
 had time since." 
 
 " I tell you, the letter might have been half-way 
 to London by this time."
 
 324 DESTINY. 
 
 "My dear papa, you know the post does not leave 
 this till the evening." 
 
 " That's nothing to the purpose ; your business 
 was to write the letter when I desired you." 
 
 "I will write it directly, papa, if you will be so 
 good as tell me what I am to say." 
 
 " How often am I to tell you what to say 1 I told 
 you already, or at least I told lieginald, which is the 
 same thing." 
 
 "Eeginald said you did not seem inclined to re- 
 ceive the visit." 
 
 " How can I be inclined to receive a visit, lying in 
 my bed here? It's a most senseless and unfeeling 
 proposal." 
 
 "It must be kindly meant," said Edith gently; 
 " and, dear papa, sympathy ought always to be kindly 
 taken." 
 
 " Sympathy ! what good wiU all the sympathy in 
 the world do to me ? it will not bring back him that 
 I've lost." 
 
 A pause of some minutes ensued. 
 
 " Youmaybe quite well before Lady Elizabeth comes, 
 papa," said Edith ; " and if not, you will at least have 
 shown your hospitality and good-wiU ; but yet, if the 
 thought of it is so unpleasant to you, to be sure the visit 
 had better be refused than that you should suffer." 
 
 "You don't know what you're speaking about! If 
 I'm well, and if I'm not well ! How can I tell whether 
 I'm to be well or ill? I wish both these ladies of 
 quality had my gout in their fingers and toes, to
 
 DESTINY. 325 
 
 settle them, and keep them from disturl)Ing me in this 
 manner. And there's Reginald, he has got the gout too, 
 or I'm mistaken ; his father had it when he was not 
 much older than he is now ; but if he could get it to fix 
 in his foot, there Avould be no fear of him. But what's 
 the reason you have not \ratten that letter, Edith?" 
 
 "I will write it now, papa, if you will only tell me 
 what you wish." 
 
 " How can I tell you what I wish 1 Can't you ask 
 Reginald, and he'll tell you what I wish." 
 
 "Reginald and I don't quite agree about it, papa." 
 
 " Reginald and you don't agree ! And do you 
 really pretend to disagree with the man you're to be 
 married to 1 and before you're married to him ! I 
 never heard of such a thing in my life as people not 
 agreeing before they were married — not agree with 
 the man that's to come after me ! " 
 
 " Reginald and I are very good friends, papa, and 
 we shall be quite agreed when we know your wishes 
 on this subject ; but he is of opinion that it would be 
 better to decline the visit ; and I " 
 
 " He's quite right — much better — what the plague 
 l)i'ings them here now ? After staj^ing away so long, 
 they'd better have stayed altogether. The mother not 
 particular ! — there's not a more troublesome, particular 
 woman in the kingdom than she is ! " 
 
 "Then I shall -write and say the state of your 
 health prevents you receiving their kindly meant visit 
 at this time, or something to that purpose, papa?" 
 said Edith, and she was leaving the room.
 
 326 DESTINY. 
 
 "The state of the fiddlestick!" cried Glenroy 
 peevishly ; " I wish you would not be in such a hurry 
 —what's the matter with my health? You women 
 are always so impatient and so ready with your pens ! 
 What is there in the state of my health to keep people 
 from coming to the house ? — you speak as if I had the 
 plague ! I've had a touch of the gout in my toe, which 
 is now almost gone, and I'm better than I've been for 
 months, and how can I tell people they're not to come 
 to my house 1 It's a thing I never did in my life, 
 and I'm not going to begin now ; I wonder how you 
 could propose such a thing, Edith, to refuse to admit 
 a Avoman of rank, and my own wife too, within my 
 door, and for two or three days ; and her taking such 
 a journey, poor thing, on purpose, and all for my 
 poor boy ! It's a piece of respect to him, and it says a 
 o-reat deal for her, and she shall be Avelcome to the 
 best in my house for his sake." 
 
 Here poor Glenroy began to weep, and Edith, dis- 
 tressed and perplexed, after soothing him as Avell as 
 she could by tiirning his thoughts to another channel, 
 left him to have again recourse to Eeginald for advice 
 and assistance. But Eeginald had set off to join a 
 shooting party, and had left word he should not re- 
 turn till late in the evening. Edith had therefore to 
 write the letter without further communing. Upon 
 showing it to her father, he of course scolded and 
 protested against it, and swore he would not receive 
 any such visitors ; but, at the same time, desired the 
 letter might be scut off, accepting the visit.
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 Mrs, Macauley's astonishment on being made ac- 
 (^uaintetl with this revolution (or rather restoration) 
 was excessive. 
 
 " Well, Glenroy," cried she, as she repaired to his 
 sitting-room, brimful of the subject, "I'm sure we 
 may well say, wonders will never cease ! As sure as 
 death, I could hardly believe Miss Edith when she 
 told me ! To think of your lady coming back to you 
 of her owai accord, after staying so long away from 
 you. Of all the Avonderful things I've met with, and 
 I have met with a good many in my day, this is the 
 most extraordinary," 
 
 " I see nothing in the least extraordinary in the 
 matter," said Glenroy, with dignified composure. 
 
 " Oh, that must be because you are so wise, Glen- 
 roy ; for I have heard that very wise people are never 
 surprised at anything, which I think very extra- 
 ordinary, considering what curious creatures we are, 
 and what wonderful things we meet with both by 
 day and by night. It was but just the night before 
 last I had such a curious dream ; — but I'm not going 
 to tell it to you, Glenroy," — as she saw a volley ready
 
 328 DESTINY. 
 
 to burst forth — " though I must always think it very 
 uncommon that I should have dreamed such a dream 
 at the very time your lady was coming back to you. 
 I'm sure I hope she will behave herself now." 
 
 " Behave herself ! " repeated Glenroy wrathfully ; 
 " I wish, Mrs. Macauley, you would learn to behave 
 yourself, and not give your tongue such a license." 
 
 " Well, Avhat did I saj' was wrong there, Glenroy ? 
 for 'deed I do not think she behaved so discreetly as 
 she might have done to you ; but now that she has 
 seen her fault, to be sure we should not speak about 
 what's past; and I daresay she will make you a 
 good and an obedient and a well-behaved wife in all 
 times to come ; for once she comes here, I doubt if 
 she'll he, for going away again. 'Deed, I wondered at 
 her leaving you when she dicL" 
 
 "And what right had you to wonder anything 
 about it, Mrs. Macauley 1 And where was the wonder 
 of her going to look after her daughter's fortune at 
 the time she did ? She acted like a sensible, prudent 
 woman : and now that she has secured that, and got 
 the girl properly educated, the first thing she does is 
 to show her respect for me by bringing her back to 
 me : but, I daresay, one reason of her leaving this was, 
 that the child might not be corrupted by you. You 
 would have been a fit person to have educated a 
 peeress, to be sure ! You've made a fine hand of 
 Edith, to be sure." 
 
 " Oh fie, Glenroy," cried Mrs. Macauley, kindling 
 a little at these aspersions, " I wonder to hear you !
 
 DESTINY. 329 
 
 'Deed, I don't think it sets you to speak in that dis- 
 paraging way of your own daughter, and her so sweet 
 and pretty and genteel, and so much admired ; and 
 I wonder you shoukl set up the other one, considering 
 what a little spoilt, impudent monkey she was, and, 
 'deed, I don't l)elieve she's much better yet ; for you 
 see Sir Keginald has never said a good word of her, 
 and I really think he cannot bear the name of her." 
 
 " You're an old goose, Molly Macauley, and don't 
 Imow what you are speaking about, I asked Ecgi- 
 nald if he had any fault to find with her, and he said 
 none in the world ; and he said as much as that they 
 had been upon a good enough footing when they met ; 
 and I know it was only his fear of their disturbing me 
 that made him unwilling to admit them here, for he 
 thinks more of me than any of you, I know that ; and 
 he's everything to me nowj so take you care, Mrs. 
 Macauley, that you behave yourself properly." 
 
 "Oh, Glenroy, as if ever I could behave myself 
 improperly to anybody, especially to your lady and 
 your stepdaughter. I'm sure I shall put my best 
 foot foremost to please them. And I'm just thinking 
 Avhat little marks of my respect I can contrive for 
 them, that wiU be something out of the common." 
 After much deliberation, she at last decided upon what 
 she deemed a meet and appropriate offering for Glen- 
 roy's lady, in the form of a visiting card -case with a 
 view of " The Castle " on one side, and on the other, 
 a full-length representation of the Chief in the High- 
 land dress ; while Lady Waldegrave was to be made
 
 330 DESTIXY. 
 
 happy with a go-\ATi, tamboured in coloured silks, with 
 what the artist called a running pattern, of heather 
 and thistles, of her own contriving. Benbowie, who 
 had only one mode of testifying emotions either of 
 grief or joy, ordered a new waistcoat for half mourn- 
 ing, which even Mrs. Macauley declared was ugly 
 enough "to spean a bairn." 
 
 Edith waited impatiently for Reginald's return, 
 but instead of himself, she received a note by the 
 gamekeeper who had attended him, to say that he 
 had been prevailed upon to take a night's quarters, 
 and spend a day or two with his old friend Dunross, 
 at Lochdhu, and that as he was now so far on his way 
 to Dunshiera, he would probably visit it before his 
 return ; he therefore desired his servant and horses 
 might join him the following morning, and begged 
 Edith would write him a line to say how Glenroy was, 
 etc. All this was quite natural, and jet Edith felt a 
 little mortified that Reginald should voluntarily absent 
 himself from her even for a few days ; it might be 
 chiefly on her accoimt, indeed, as it was probably a 
 mere excuse to get to Dunshiera with a view to pre- 
 pare it for her reception, and she was angry with her- 
 self for the momentary chagrin she had given way to. 
 She wi'ote him a few lines in reply, and told him what 
 answer had been retiu-ned to Lady Waldegrave's letter, 
 by her father's desire; then added a hope that he 
 would not be long absent, and a request that he would 
 do nothing to Dunshiera on her account. 
 
 There was of course a violent storm from Glenroy,
 
 DESTINY. 331 
 
 when he heard of his nephew's departure ; but upon 
 the whole he bore it better than could have been ex- 
 pected. The fact was, there was always some one 
 subject that reigned paramount in his mind, and for 
 the present that was the approaching visit of his ladj^ 
 It was something to excite him, to confuse him, to 
 keep him in talk, and make him fancy himself in a 
 Ijustle, as the letter was scarcely gone before he began 
 to watch for the arrival of his expected guests. But 
 he soon began to weary of expectation and preparation 
 —not even steam itself could have kept pace with his 
 impatience — how much less the tardy movements of 
 even the fleetest of post-horses, and the best paid of 
 post-boys, when they depend upon the movements of 
 fine ladies ! He did not indeed pretend to say that he 
 anticipated any pleasure from the arrival of his guests 
 — on the contrary, he loudly declared that there 
 ought to be an Act of Parliament to prevent women 
 from travelling, and that he only wished his visitors 
 would come that they might go away again. 
 
 "I really wish this visit was over," he would 
 exclaim twenty times a day. " Why can't they come 
 and have done Avith it 1 Do they think I'm going to 
 sit up this way, day after day, waiting for them? 
 Haven't had time f '— to Edith. " What do you call 
 time ? I know I have had time to repent that ever I 
 listened to such a madlike proposal. What is it they 
 mean to do after they come here ? Are they to take 
 up with Benbowie and Molly Macauley ? for I can tell 
 them, they're much mistaken if they think I'm to
 
 332 DESTINY. 
 
 gallant them about. They're coming to your mar- 
 riage, are they 1 But they'll surely have the discre- 
 tion to write before they come." 
 
 Edith assured him they would, as she had required 
 of Lady Waldegrave to let her know when they 
 might expect them. 
 
 " And what's the reason Reginald's not come back ? 
 What am I to do if he does not come in time to re- 
 ceive them 1 I really wish, Edith, you would write, 
 and ask what's keeping him, and tell him that he must 
 come directly. It's a pretty situation I'm landed in, 
 with two strange women coming that I know nothing 
 about. What do I know al)out your Lady Walde- 
 grave 1 she's nothing to me ; and — and my own boy 
 gone ! " 
 
 At length a sudden and alarming attack of gout 
 in the stomach put a stop to Glenroy's garrulous de- 
 batings. All was confusion and dismay — expresses 
 were sent off for medical assistance ; and Edith wrote 
 a hurried line to Sir Reginald, informing him of her 
 father's situation. She had heard from him from 
 Dunshiera, where he said he had found so much to 
 do, that the time of his retui^n was uncertain ; but the 
 intelligence of his uncle's danger, she was sure, would 
 bring him instantly to Glenroy ; and so it proved, for 
 he lost not a moment in answering the summons ; but 
 before either he or the doctor arrived, the disorder 
 had taken a favourable turn — the gout had resumed 
 its station in the feet. Thus the danger was past for 
 the time, and Glenroy was himself again, and every-
 
 DESTINY, 333 
 
 tiling and everybody resumed their former station and 
 occupation. Eeginald alone seemed restless and un- 
 uneasy — abrupt in his answers, and unequal in his 
 spirits ; but whenever he caught Edith's eye, he in- 
 stantly rallied, recovered his self-possession, and began 
 to talk to her of Dunshiora, of all he was doing and 
 had to do for her comfort and accommodation, and 
 would then urge the necessity there was for return- 
 ing there, having numerous work-people waiting his 
 orders. But as the mention of such a purpose always 
 threw Glenroy into an absolute paroxysm, and made 
 him gout all over, he at length agreed to remain where 
 he was, until his uncle's health should be more firmly 
 re-established. 
 
 "You surely do not think of receiving Lady Eliza- 
 Ijeth nowl" said he to Edith, one day when she was 
 ex^Dressing her expectation of a letter from Lady 
 Waldegrave. 
 
 " No, I scarcely expect them now," said she, " as I 
 wrote to Florinda when papa was taken ill ; but if 
 they had set out, of course she could not have received 
 my letter. However, I must hear from her soon, as 
 she will at all events write to apprise me of the day 
 of their arrival, if they are really coming." 
 
 " If they should come," said Eeginald, in a tone of 
 affected composure, " I shall take advantage of your 
 having such good company to return to Dunshiera 
 for a few days. Glenroy will probably be quite well 
 by that time, and I am anxious to forward the opera- 
 tions."
 
 334 DESTINY. 
 
 " Surely, Eeginald, you will not think of leaving 
 us at such a time?" said Edith; "how very unkind 
 — I may almost say rude— it would seem to Lady 
 Ehzabeth and Florinda." 
 
 "That is a very secondary consideration," replied 
 he; ''seems signifies little to me in comjoarison of 
 should. I ought to retui-n to Dunshiera at that time," 
 he added, endeavouring to retain the same artificial 
 tone. " Nay, more, Edith, why might not you accom- 
 pany me? Why," he continued, with more visible 
 agitation, "may we not make out our marriage 
 quietly at least, if not privately, now, before these 
 people come?" 
 
 " Surely you are not serious, Eeginald," cried Edith, 
 in amazement. 
 
 " Perfectly so," returned he quickly. 
 
 "I can scarcely believe you," said she ; "what can 
 your motive be for so strange a proposal ?" 
 
 " In the first place," said he, " I feel that I have 
 been long enough exhibited as your lover. In the 
 next, we should avoid the intolerable 4dat Avhich 
 always attends on these things. And, lastly," he 
 added, with a sort of mocking air, " since your father 
 is going to be reunited to his lady love, 'tis to be sup- 
 posed he will be too happy to be dependent upon 
 other society, and consequently he could more easily 
 spare us. What have I said to offend you, Edith ?" 
 he continued quickly, as she remained silent, and the 
 tears swelled in her eyes. 
 
 " Much," said she, with emotion ; " and yet I am
 
 DESTINY. 335 
 
 sure you did not mean to hurt me, Keginald," she 
 added tenderly. 
 
 " If you are hurt, the fault must be your own, not 
 mine," said Reginald coldly. 
 
 Edith's tears fell, but she made no reply. 
 
 Reginald proceeded, in the manner of one who had 
 worked himself up to be angry — " Since my return, 
 two months ago, I have never ceased importuning 
 you to fulfil your engagement. I have repeatedly 
 besought you to become mine — publicly or privately, I 
 cared not which ; but there has ahvays been some 
 frivolous pretext or another for delay ; yes, even the 
 colour of your gown has been made the excuse," he 
 cried, Avith rising vehemence, " as if such weak, super- 
 stitious fancies could have swayed you, had you really, 
 truly loved." 
 
 " Unkind, unjust that you are !" said Edith, choked 
 with her tears. 
 
 " No, the nnkindness, the injustice is yours," cried 
 he, still more passionately. "Heaven is witness, that 
 I would have fulfilled our contract long before now. 
 You must do me the justice to own that the moment 
 I was assured your aftection for me Avas unchanged, I 
 would have made you mine ; you need not blame me, 
 then, if your behaviour leads me at least to doubt the 
 reality of that affection." 
 
 Edith was too much overcome to reply. She was 
 accustomed to the querulous fault-finding of her 
 father; and from that and other evils she had been 
 Avont to find a refuge in the tenderness of Reginald ;
 
 336 DESTINY. 
 
 but this burst of displeasure was too much for her, and 
 she wept in meek and silent anguish, while he paced 
 the room with the air of one who would rather be still 
 more exasperated than mollified. 
 
 At that moment Benbowie entered the room, and 
 was making up to Sir Eeginald with an open letter, 
 and beginning something about commissioners of 
 supply, when, hastily brushing past him with an air 
 of reckless hauteur, he quitted the apartment. At 
 the same time, the dressing-bell sounded, and Edith 
 retired to her chamber, to compose herself as she best 
 could for meeting her angry and unreasonable lover 
 at dinner.
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 Sir Eeginald did not make his appearance in the 
 drawing-room, and it was not till the party were all 
 seated that he entered the dining-room, and then his 
 looks and manner still betokened a mind ill at ease. 
 He was silent and absent, inattentive to the company, 
 and almost rude to poor Mrs. Macauley, when she 
 attempted to coax him into a better humour by her 
 simple and somewhat ill-timed allusions. 
 
 Edith felt unequal to bear a part in the conversa- 
 tion. It was all she could do to retain the tears that 
 rose in her eyes, as she now and then encountered Sir 
 Reginald's glance, which, if it did not speak positive 
 displeasure, at least evinced a sort of impatient dis- 
 satisfaction. The dessert had been just placed on the 
 table when Boyd entered with a face of importance, 
 and announced that two travelling carriages had just 
 entered the avenue ; and while he yet spoke, the 
 sound of approaching horses and wheels confirmed the 
 fact ; in another second, they swept round and drew 
 up. 
 
 "Can this be Lady Elizabeth?" exclaimed Edith, 
 rising from the table in some agitation, while Sir 
 VOL. I. z D.
 
 338 DESTINY. 
 
 Eeginalcl, shading his face with one hand, poured out 
 several successive bumpers of champagne, and drank 
 them off unnoticed in the general confusion that pre- 
 vailed. 
 
 '"Deed and it can be nobody else," cried IMrs. 
 Macauley, who had hastened to the window ; " there's 
 the two ladies in a barouche, and a well loaded one too, 
 and a gentleman — no, he's only a servant— behind; 
 and there's two very smart-looking ladies' maids, I'm 
 thinking, in the other carriage ; and oh what a sight 
 of imperials and trunks and boxes ! it's a mercy 
 Glenroy does not see them. But I declare I don't 
 think it's Lady Elizabeth, after all, or else she's gro^vn 
 younger and handsomer than ever she was." 
 
 " Sir Keginald, will you go and receive Lady Ehza- 
 bethl" cried Edith; then, struck with the change in 
 his countenance, she exclaimed, "But you are ill !" 
 
 " -^0 — no— nothing," he cried, starting up, his pale 
 cheek and downcast eye suddenly flashing and spark- 
 lino- with false fire, while the sweetest and most melo- 
 dious of voices was now heard in the hall, as if speak- 
 ing to her dog, and presently Lady Waldegrave was 
 announced. Edith flew to the door to receive her, 
 but she started in surprise at the beauty, the surpass- 
 ing beauty and brilliancy of the figure that met her 
 view, and gracefully opened her arms to receive her 
 embrace. 
 
 For some moments, Edith's emotion rendered her 
 unconscious of everything but that her once fondly- 
 loved Florinda was restored to her. But, at the same
 
 DESTINY. 339 
 
 time, the remembrance of her lost brother mingled 
 with the tide of feeling, and rendered her unable to 
 articulate the common expressions of welcome, 
 
 " You are very kind, dear Edith," said Lady Walde- 
 grave, as she raised her head and shook back the 
 beautiful ringlets which shaded her face. " I scarcely 
 deserve to be so well received, considering how I have 
 broken in upon your family party. I am afraid I have 
 disturbed you." 
 
 " Oh ! do not think of apologies at such a time," 
 said Edith, again tenderly embracing her, and gazing 
 with looks of fond admiration through her tears. 
 "Dearest Florinda! how welcome you are to Glen- 
 roy!" 
 
 " I assure you I cannot be more welcome than I am 
 delighted to return," replied Lady Waldegrave, with 
 an earnestness of manner which left no doubt of her 
 sincerity. 
 
 Edith did not immediately answer, for her atten- 
 tion was attracted to Sir Reginald, who was standing 
 with his back to them, talking and laughing strangely 
 loud with the other lady, when Lady Waldegrave 
 called to her — 
 
 " Madame Latour, allow me to present you to Miss 
 Malcolm." Then observing Edith's look of surprise, 
 she exclaimed — "Ah ! did I forget to mention Madame 
 Latour to you 1 She was my governess, and is now 
 my friend — she is a very charming, accomplished per- 
 son, and excels in speaking broken English." 
 
 Madame Latour, thus called upon, saluted Edith
 
 340 DESTINY. 
 
 with all the ease and grace of her country, Avhile Sir 
 Eeginald, for the first time recognising Lady Walde- 
 grave, made a slight constrained how, and then turned 
 abruptly away. Edith was shocked at the rudeness 
 of such a reception. Lady Waldegrave blushed, and 
 said in a low voice, but sufficiently loud for him to 
 overhear — 
 
 " I scarcely expected to find Sir Eeginald Malcolm 
 at Glenroy." 
 
 Such avowed marks of hostility at the very outset, 
 and from persons of such high breeding and refine- 
 ment, struck Edith with surprise and consternation. 
 She knew not what to reply, and in some confusion 
 said — "I — we — exjiected to see Lady Elizabeth; and 
 I hope nothing has occurred " 
 
 " Oh ! mamma will be here," said Lady Walde- 
 grave ; " but her carriage is heavier than mine, and 
 I flatter myself," added she, with sweetness, "my 
 impatience was also greater than even hers, to reach 
 Glenroy and its loved ones," gently pressing Edith's 
 hand as she spoke. " But I am really shocked at having 
 deranged your little party," as Mrs. Macauley and 
 Benbowie remained in all the awkwardness of sus- 
 pense, not knowing whether to sit or stand. 
 
 " I daresay your Ladyship will not remember me," 
 said Mrs. Macauley, on coming forward. 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Macauley," said Lady Waldegrave, 
 affectionately embracing her — "how can you suppose 
 I ever could forget you 1 Indeed, I never do forget 
 those I love," she said with much earnestness. "And
 
 DESTINY. 341 
 
 you used to be so kind to me when I was a little, 
 naughty, mischievous creature ! " 
 
 '"Deed, then, my lady, and you was that," replied 
 the simple Macky ; " but I'm sure one need only look 
 at you to see that you are not that now." 
 
 Lady Waldegrave laughed, and there was melody 
 even in her laugh. "And, Benbowie, I hope I see 
 you well?" extending the tip of her finger to him. 
 " But where is Glenroy ?" looking round, as she missed 
 him for the first time. Edith explained that he was 
 confined to liis own apartment with a fit of the gout. 
 
 "How sorry I am!" said Lady Waldegrave, in a 
 tone beautifully modulated to pity ; then in a moment 
 changing it to one of delight, she exclaimed, " Come, 
 dear Fido ! " as Sir Reginald's dog entered the room, 
 and flew to her with demonstrations of joy. 
 
 "How kindly Fido welcomes me," said she, as 
 she fondled it. "He has not forgot me — dear 
 Fido !" she repeated, as she continued to load it with 
 caresses, unmindful of the jealousy testified by her 
 own favourite. 
 
 Sir Reginald made no reply, but with a heightened 
 colour, called the dog to himself, and, striking it, 
 sternly bade it be quiet. Edith was still more con- 
 founded by Reginald's behaviour ; that he, who was 
 so uniformly polite and well-bred, should behave with 
 rudeness to any woman, but more especially to one so 
 lovely and fascinating, was quite incomprehensible. 
 His dog, too, of which he had hitherto evinced a care 
 and tenderness that seemed almost ridiculous, to lift
 
 342 DESTINY. 
 
 his hand against it, for no other reason, as it seemed, 
 than because it had caressed Lady Waldegrave ! 
 Surely this was carrying antipathy to its utmost 
 bounds ! Rousing herself from these reflections, how- 
 ever, she said, "I need scarcely ask if you have 
 dined; I can only apologise for the uncomfortable 
 meal I fear you will now have." 
 
 " Were I to answer you myself, I should say I had 
 dined," replied Lady Waldegrave. "As I really don't 
 mind dinner so much as many people do, and we had 
 some not very bad mutton chops at the last stage — 
 only they did taste a httle of peats and whisky," she 
 added, laughing. " But if you ask Madame Latour, 
 she will tell you she has not dined since she left 
 London." 
 
 "Get dinner immediately for Lady — for Madame 
 Latour," cried Sir Reginald hastily, to a servant who 
 happened to be in the room; then colouring at his 
 own impetuosity, he turned to Edith and said, "I 
 beg pardon. Miss Malcolm, for presuming to anticipate 
 youi- orders, — it is time Glenroy should resume his 
 place, since I am already usurping his authority." 
 
 " Oh no," said Edith gently ; " papa would be 
 pleased to see you performing the duties of his proxy, 
 by showing hospitality (which, you know, is all we 
 poor Highlanders have to show) to those kind friends 
 who have come so far to see us." 
 
 " I think I might be prevailed upon to eat some of 
 these Alpine strawberries," said Lady Waldegrave, as 
 she seated herself at table. A slight bend of the
 
 DESTINY. 343 
 
 head was the only reply Sir Eegiuald vouchsafed as 
 he helped the strawberries, without ouce looking to- 
 Avards his beautiful guest. 
 
 Glenroy's bell had been sounding vehemently at 
 intervals for some time, and a message now came, de- 
 siring to see Sir Reginald or Miss Malcolm directly. 
 
 Sir Eeginald instantly started up, as if glad of the 
 summons, and merely saying to Edith, " I will save 
 you the trouble," hastily quitted the room. 
 
 " How extremement Saar Eagenall est change," 
 exclaimed Madame Latour, addressing her friend; 
 " 06 ne que I'ombre de lui-meme ! how he is pale et 
 morne, what you call painseeve. Miss Maulcomb, 
 you most be sensible of an extraordinaire changement 
 of Saar Eagenall?" 
 
 Edith's attention had been so engrossed by Flor- 
 inda, that she had little to bestow upon Madame 
 Latour; but, thus called upon, she considered her 
 more attentively, and the impression made was not 
 of a pleasing kind. Madame Latour, though rather 
 past her prime, Avas still a showy, handsome brunette, 
 with quick black eyes, good Avhite teeth, a well-got- 
 up complexion, and an air of the most thorough self- 
 possession. " Sir Eeginald has not been very well of 
 late," said Edith, casting down her eyes to avoid the 
 piercing stare which accompanied the interrogation. 
 
 "Ah! I am much inquiet for him," resumed 
 Madame, with a shake of the head, " he was si joli, 
 si charmant, vat you call pleesante — Ladi Waldegrave, 
 n'etes vous pas frappt^ — strock with de change?"
 
 344 DESTINY. 
 
 " I have scarcely yet had time to observe Sir Ee- 
 ginald's looks," replied Lady Waldegrave carelessly; 
 "but I thought you and he seemed very merry to- 
 gether." 
 
 " Oh, we talk — nous rions — laafFe for one moment, 
 mais done il est si maigre — vat you call sin." 
 
 Meanwhile a repast from the (Ubris of the dinner 
 had been quickly got up at the other end of the room, 
 and no sooner was it arranged than Madame Latour 
 started up with great alacrity, and repaired to it. 
 Lady Waldegrave declined partaking of it, saying 
 she preferred dining on the dessert. Benbowie, whose 
 appetite was of a most hospitable nature, instinctively 
 stalked away, and took his place by her, as if intend- 
 ing to do the honours of the banquet, which indeed 
 he did, if devouring everything within his reach was 
 deemed an exemplary mark of hospitality. 
 
 "Cette grosse est excellente, excellente," said 
 Madame Latour, after she had helped herself to the 
 back and breast of a moorfowl, leaving the legs and 
 pinions for Benbowie, who, like panting Time, toiled 
 after her in vain. She flew like a butterfly or bee, 
 from dish to dish, extracting the very heart and soul 
 from each as she skimmed along, while at the same 
 time she kept calling for every species of sauce and 
 condiment that ever had been heard of, which she 
 contrived to mix with the most admirable dexterity. 
 
 "Madame Latour est une pen gourmande," said 
 Lady Waldegrave, addressing Edith, "but otherwise 
 she is the best creature in the world ; so perfectly
 
 DESTINY. 345 
 
 good-hearted, and so devoted to me. I am sure you 
 will like her." 
 
 Edith could not violate sincerity so far as to say 
 she thought she should, for she already felt what she 
 rarely did, a strong prepossession against this " best 
 creature in the world;" so she changed the subject 
 by making a sort of apology for Eeginald's protracted 
 absence — "But papa is so fond of him," she said, 
 "that he finds it very difficult to get away from liim." 
 Then, Avith an air of hesitation, she added, " Sir Re- 
 ginald and you met abroad, I believe?" 
 
 " Yes, we met occasionally," replied her Ladyship, 
 slightly colouring. — "What very pretty china this is 
 — Dresden, I am sure," examining her plate with 
 great attention ; " after all, there is nothing so pretty 
 as flowers upon china." 
 
 Edith assented, and then timidly added, " Madame 
 Latour seems much struck with the change in Eegi- 
 nald's appearance?" 
 
 " He does look rather triste" said Lady Waldegrave, 
 as she drew another plate towards her; "Avhat a 
 charming group — these carnations are perfect ! " 
 
 " The loss of my dear brother," said Edith, with 
 emotion, "has aff'ected Reginald very deeply." 
 
 "All, true," replied Lady AValdegrave, putting on 
 a very soft, melancholy look. 
 
 " That, and the remains of malaria Avhich he had 
 at Rome, will account to you for the present de- 
 pressed state of his spirits." 
 
 " Oh, perfectly," said Lady Waldegrave, biting her
 
 346 DESTINY. 
 
 lip as if to repress a smile which lurked round her 
 beautiful mouth, and shone in her large blue eyes. 
 
 Madame Latour's devotion meanwhile had been 
 dedicated exclusively to her dinner, and having done 
 due honour to it, she was now on her way to the 
 dessert, when Lady Waldegrave rose, saying, " Pray, 
 dear Edith, let us go to the drawing-room ; the smell 
 of two dinners is rather too much for those who have 
 not partaken of either." Putting her arm within 
 Edith's, she then gracefully sauntered out of the 
 room, stopping occasionally to remark upon some of 
 the pictures, which she did in the style of one who 
 Avas perfect mistress of the theory of painting. They 
 were soon followed by the rest of the party, Avith the 
 excej)tion of Sir Reginald. 
 
 An air of languid discontent was now insensibly 
 stealing over Lady Waldegrave, in spite of Madame 
 Latour's efforts to amuse by her broken English, when 
 again the sound of wheels was heard. Presently a 
 heavy-laden travelling coach drew up, from the 
 Avindows of which dogs' heads were seen protruding 
 in all directions. 
 
 " There comes mamma and her tiresome dogs ! " 
 exclaimed Lady Waldegrave in a tone of chagrin. 
 
 At that moment the hall resounded with the sharp 
 shrill treble of three lap-dogs, which was quickly 
 accompanied by a deep running bass from the various 
 dogs of the household, and then caught up by the 
 imprisoned yells of the more remote inmates of the 
 kennel, "in notes bv distance made more sAveet."
 
 DESTINY. ■ 347 
 
 "Ah, I am happy to see Eeginald has gone to 
 receive Lady Elizabeth," said Edith, as his voice was 
 heard in the hall giving orders to the servants ; and 
 then flying down the steps, he presented his arm to 
 Lady Ehzabeth, as she alighted, and appeared to 
 welcome her with the semblance of the greatest 
 cordiality, 
 
 " How difi"erently he met Lady Waldegrave ! " 
 thought Edith, then hastened forward to receive her 
 stepmother.
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 Lady Elizabeth was now a thin, weak, cross, old- 
 looking woman, dressed in the extreme of youthful- 
 ness, with an unnatural profusion of flaxen ringlets 
 dangling round withered, hollow, rouged cheeks. 
 She but just touched Edith's hand, and laid her face 
 to hers, then passed on to her daughter, and putting 
 her arms round her, kissed her with a sort of hys- 
 terical emphasis ; then, in a peevish, querulous tone, 
 exclaimed — 
 
 "You may thank heaven, child, you see me safe 
 and tolerably well ! What a frightful road for me to 
 travel ! How could you leave me, my love ? I have 
 been excessively alarmed — those dreadful precipices, 
 and that shocking water ! " 
 
 " Quite charming, mamma," said Lady Waldegrave. 
 " It seemed as if Scott's beautiful description of the 
 Trossachs had started into life;" and in a low tone, 
 but with perfect modulation of voice and manner, 
 she repeated some of those glowing lines. 
 
 " Nonsense, my dear," exclaimed Lady Elizabeth ; 
 "it is a frightful, a dangerous road, and it was very 
 improper of you, my love, to leave my carriage so far 
 behind."
 
 DESTINY. 349 
 
 " I beg pardon, mamma ; but it did not appear to 
 me there was the shghtest danger," said her daughter, 
 
 " My dear love, don't say so," cried her Ladyship 
 impatiently ; "I never in my life travelled so danger- 
 ous a road. If I had had the slightest recollection of 
 it, I never should have attempted it, even to gratify 
 you, my sweetest — those tremendous rocks on one 
 liand, and the lake on the other — shocking ! I had 
 forgot it entirely, else I certainly never should have 
 dreamt of such a thing as coming here." 
 
 " Don't you feel fatigued, mamma ? " inquired 
 Lady Waldegrave. 
 
 "Certainly, my love, excessively fatigi;ed, and my 
 nerves shaken beyond expression; and those dear 
 dogs ! Bijou was really quite ilL I'm surprised Glen- 
 roy can suffer such a road — it ought not to be per- 
 mitted. If I had been travelling in the dark, or if 
 my horses had taken fright — or a thousand things 
 might have happened." 
 
 " Don't you think mamma must be much fatigued, 
 Dr. Price?" said Lady Waldegrave, turning to a 
 sickly- looking, elderly man, in a black wig, green 
 surtout, white trousers, pale hands, and a ring. 
 
 " Unquestionably," replied the doctor, in a slow, 
 hesitating manner; "her Ladyship has been much 
 agitated, and consequently must be considerably ex- 
 hausted. If her Ladyship is to dine now, I would 
 recommend half-an-hour's repose after dinner, either 
 upon a couch or easy-chair, whichever she gives the 
 preference to ; or if there is to be any delay in the
 
 350 DESTINY. 
 
 preparing of her Ladyship's repast, then I would advise 
 the rest to be taken previous to partaking of it." 
 
 Edith took the hint, and ringing the bell, ordered 
 a third dinner to be prepared as soon as possible for 
 her very considerate guests. Then, having procured 
 some refreshments in the meantime, she offered to 
 conduct Lady Ehzabeth to her apartment. With a 
 languid air she accepted Edith's arm, but as she was 
 leaving the room, turned round and called — 
 
 " Florinda, my darling, you must come too. And, 
 Dr. Price, you will give Rosalie her directions about the 
 drops, and do see that the dogs get their dinners, for 
 they are almost famished, poor loves. Do, Florinda, love, 
 come with me. I assure you I have been excessively 
 alarmed ; it is all your doing, my dear — that road was 
 really quite frightful — I shall never forget my alarm." 
 
 Here Lady Waldegrave swept her fingers over a 
 harp which stood near, and thus contrived to evade 
 the proposal. 
 
 Lady Elizabeth, after another ineffectual attempt 
 to attract her daughter's attention, suffered Edith to 
 lead her from the room; but it was with difficulty 
 she managed to shuffle along, in shoes evidently much 
 too small for her feet. 
 
 " Lady Waldegrave is a charming creature, is she 
 nof?" said she, stopping in the middle of the hall, 
 and leaning her whole weight on Edith. 
 
 "Oh, beautiful!" exclaimed Edith; "I could not 
 have imagined anything so faultless, and at the same 
 time so captivating."
 
 DESTINY. 351 
 
 " Ah ! very true — her manners are very good. I 
 have bestowed great pains upon her ; she is, perhaps, 
 if anything — but it is scarcely perceptil)le — a single 
 degree too much embonpoint; at least she may be, 
 unless she is upon her guard. I was a perfect whip- 
 ping-post at her age ; and even now I don't think I 
 am larger than she is. It is a great matter to pre- 
 serve the figure ; nothing makes people look so soon 
 old as allowing themselves to grow fat, and get out 
 of shape. Florinda's figure, to be sure, is perfection, 
 — rather, if anything, too tall perhaps; she is taller 
 than I am ; otherwise, as Monsieur Perpignan said, we 
 might very well pass for twins — a pretty thought, was 
 it not?" 
 
 Edith could scarcely restrain a smile as she looked 
 at the old wrinkled scarecrow, who sought to assimi- 
 late herself with her young and blooming daughter. 
 
 Her Ladyship went on — "She has been prodi- 
 giously admired and rechercM wherever we went ; but 
 I don't intend that she should marry yet, for, in fact, 
 Lady Waldegrave has nothing to gain by marriage ; 
 like myself, she may lose, but she can scarcely better 
 herself ; it is very well for des filles sans dots to be 
 eager about a settlement; but with my daughter's 
 rank, beauty, fashion, and fortune, what is she to look 
 for ? And if she were to marry now, she would have 
 a daughter at her heels, while she herself was quite 
 a young woman. I married a great deal too soon, and 
 you see the consequence ! I may be a grandmother in 
 the very prime of life ! Shocldng and foolish ! "
 
 352 DESTINY. 
 
 They had now reached the door of her Ladyship's 
 apartment, and upon entering the dressing-room, the 
 floor was covered with imperials, wells, trunks, boxes, 
 sacs cle nuit, and packages of every description, which 
 her maid and footman were busily employed in put- 
 ting to rights. 
 
 " Do, Rosalie, contrive to get my things unpacked 
 and arranged as quickly as possible," cried Lady 
 Elizabeth impatiently, and looking round the room. 
 " Pray ask the housekeeper to let me have a chaise 
 longue, I rather prefer it to a sofa ; and bring up my 
 dog-baskets and cushions ; let me have a larger table, 
 and have that commode carried away. I shall not 
 have room to turn about here." Then addressing her 
 footman, "And, Rousseau, look to my guitar, and have 
 it brought here with my music books and portefeuille : 
 I brought my guitar and Rossini's last opera, as I 
 thought it would amuse Glenroy to have a little good 
 music; but I am sorry to hear from Sir Reginald 
 that he is so unwell. I shall make a point of Dr. 
 Price seeing him; he is the best creature in the 
 world; dresses so well; he is so skilful and gentle- 
 manly, and is never out of the way. I have the most 
 perfect confidence in him. It is very unfortunate for 
 him, poor man, that he has such wretched health him- 
 self. Had it been otherwise, indeed, he must have 
 been devoted to the public, and I should not have 
 had the good fortune to attach him to my establish- 
 ment ; and I am in hoj^es change of scene and travel- 
 ling may do him good. — How very tedious you are.
 
 DESTINY. 353 
 
 Eosalie — do get my things ready, that I may begin to 
 dress. " 
 
 "I beg pardon," said Edith; "but I think Dr. 
 Price recommended your taking a little rest before 
 dinner ; and as we are quite a family party, I hope 
 you won't add to your fatigue by dressing." 
 
 "Oh, Dr. Price does not at all understand that 
 sort of thing," replied her Ladyship ; "he is excellent 
 in his way, but — I shall put on a black gown to-day, 
 Rosalie — Florinda and I agreed to wear black at first, 
 as a sort of proper compliment, you know " — glancing 
 at Edith's deep mourning — "otherwise I never do 
 wear black, it is so unpleasant, and puts such shock- 
 ing thoughts in one's head ; but we won't talk of it — 
 it makes me quite ill to think of such things !" Then, 
 as Rosahe announced that her Ladyship's toilet was 
 ready, she gently pressed the tip of Edith's fingers, 
 and said, " Now, my dear, I shall join you in half an 
 hour." And Edith gladly availed herself of the hint 
 to ■svithdraw. Wearied and sickened at the frivolity, 
 heartlessness, and egotism already so fully developed 
 in her stepmother's conversation, Edith bitterly re- 
 pented having been accessory to bringing her to the 
 house. 
 
 "Reginald was right," thought she; "papa will 
 never be able to bear this." And she trembled to 
 think of the shock that would ensue when two such 
 antipodes came in contact. 
 
 It was therefore Avith fear she returned into her 
 father's presence, whom she found alreadv apprised 
 
 VOL. I. 2 a d.
 
 354 DESTINY. 
 
 of the extent of the party, Benbowie having twice 
 counted them over to him on his fingers, and thus 
 demonstrated to him that there was an individual to 
 each, thumbs inchided. Edith had, of course, to bear 
 a storm of reproach and invective for having brought 
 such a crew to the house, interspersed with threats of 
 turning the Doctor and Frenchwoman, with their 
 attendants, out of it ; and of not seeing the face of 
 one of them as long as thej' stayed.
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 In the drawing-room Edith found only Lady Walde- 
 grave and her friend. The former was reclining lan- 
 guidly on a sofa, and IMadame Latour w^as seated on 
 a low stool by her, discoursing with much energy in 
 her native language. 
 
 " Soyez sure qu'il est passionnement amoureux," 
 exclaimed she vehemently, as Edith entered ; then, 
 on perceiving her, she called, " Venez ici. Mile. Mal- 
 comb — dites moi, croyez vous qu'il soit possible 
 d'aimer cette dame 1 n'est elle pas affreuse — wat you 
 call oglief And making a grimace, she put her 
 hands before her eyes. 
 
 Lady Waldegrave shghtly blushed, and smiled as, 
 half rising from her reclining attitude, she extended 
 lier hand to Edith, and said, " You have been sadly 
 Iwred, I fear, dear Edith ; but Ave must not allow 
 mamma to monopolise you thus." 
 
 There was something so sweet and fascinating in 
 Lady Waldegrave's every tone and look and move- 
 ment, that Edith, won by the charm, seated herself 
 by her, and soon forgot her momentary dissatisfaction 
 with Lady Elizabeth and Madame Latour.
 
 356 DESTINY. 
 
 " How vivid my remembrance is of you," said she 
 coaxingly to Edith ; *' and how hke a dream it seems 
 to find myself again here, where everything awakens 
 some childish recollection ; most of them to my own 
 shame, indeed, when I think what a Httle saucy chit 
 I Avas. And, by-the-bye, how very unkind and un- 
 gratefid you must have thought me, in never having 
 written to you. But, indeed, you cannot conceive 
 how much I have been imder the control of guardians 
 and governesses for the last twelve years. Thank 
 Heaven, I am now pretty much emancipated from 
 bondage ; but, I do assure you, it is a very tiresome 
 thing to be trained up to be a person of consequence ; 
 and I often thought with envy of the delightful liberty 
 you enjoyed of rambling amongst your Highland hills 
 and forests with the boys, while I was condemned to 
 lessons from morning till night. My only relaxation 
 was a walk in the Park with my governesses, or a 
 still more tiresome drive with mamma. But you 
 have forgiven me, dearest Edith, have you not?" and 
 she put her arm round Edith's neck, and laid her head 
 on her shoulder, and looked in her face with the most 
 winning expression. 
 
 "I have nothing to forgive — I am sure I never 
 shall have anything to forgive you," said Edith, with 
 fond affection. 
 
 " Non, non, c'est un ange, un parfait ange ! " 
 exclaimed Madame Latour, putting her handkerchief 
 to her eyes. " Mais, Ladi Waldegrave, ne faites vous 
 pas toilette ce soir f incj^uired she, as she rose from 
 
 I
 
 DESTINY. 357 
 
 the lowly seat, and glanced at herself in an opposite 
 mirror. 
 
 " No, I am too lazy ; will you excuse me, Edith, if 
 I remain en ddshabilU?" 
 
 "Ah, c'est le privilege de la jeunesse et de la 
 beaut6, de se passer d'ornemens; mais lorsqu'on est 
 un peu pass6e, ma belle," — Madame sighed atiectedly. 
 " Ainsi je vais sonner pour ma femme de chambre." 
 And to Edith's great rehef, Madame Latour retired to 
 her toilet. 
 
 " Apropos of dress" said Lady Waldegrave, " I 
 hope you admire cameos, Edith, because I have 
 brought you some, and I shall be sorry if you don't 
 happen to like them ; I am very impatient to show 
 them to you, so I shall send for them now;" and, in 
 spite of Edith's remonstrances, she rang the bell for 
 her maid, and in a few minutes the box was brought, 
 and an exquisite set of cameos, of the most perfect 
 design and execution, was presented to Edith, whose 
 native good taste enabled her at once to appreciate 
 the beauty and value of the gift. 
 
 " How my heart overflows with affection and kind 
 wishes !" said Lady Waldegrave, " I now feel so for- 
 cibly the truth of that beautiful sentiment of Madame 
 de Stael's, * II y a en nous un superflu d'ame, qu'il est 
 doux de consacrer a ee qui est beau, quand ce qui est 
 bien, est accompli.' Not that I can flatter myself with 
 having accomplished the good," added she, with a 
 smile, " h beau is so much more to my taste than le 
 bien.'"
 
 358 DESTINY. 
 
 " If to give pleasure is to do good, you have suc- 
 ceeded in one instance," said Edith, as she continued 
 admiring the various beauties of the classic gems; 
 "but I am afraid there is too much of le beau here, to 
 admit of much of le bien." 
 
 Lady Waldegrave was silent for a few minutes, then, 
 with a sigh, said, " Whether I shall ever do good is 
 doubtful, but it is certain that I have already been 
 the cause of much mischief. I cannot tell you how 
 much I lament the unfortunate misunderstanding that 
 took place between Lady Elizabeth and Glenroy. It 
 grieves me more than I can express, to think that I 
 should have been the cause, the unintentional one 
 indeed, of their separation ! " 
 
 "Do not distress yourself on that account, dear 
 Florinda," said Edith tenderly, "for indeed Lady 
 Elizabeth and papa seem so different, I do not think 
 they ever could have lived happily together." 
 
 " You are very kind and considerate to say so," 
 replied Lady Waldegrave, pressing her hand; "but 
 we cannot tell what habit might have done. I must 
 therefore always look upon myself as the cause of this, 
 I fear, irreparable mischief." 
 
 " You blame yourself unjustly," said Edith ear- 
 nestly. " Young as I was at the time, from what I 
 remember, I should suppose you had only been one 
 of many causes of disagreement." 
 
 " Perhaps so ; but still I feel as a guilty thing. 
 Oh, how glad I should be if I could see them fairly 
 reconciled ! "
 
 DESTINY. 359 
 
 " To tell you the truth, I have often, especially of 
 late, felt the same Avish," said Edith, Avith a slight 
 degree of confusion ; " but now I see — I fear — I do 
 not think it will be practicable — they are so different." 
 
 " Of that you must be a better judge than I," re- 
 phed Lady Waldegrave, " as my impression of Glen- 
 roy is probably very imperfect. I only remember him 
 a very tall, fine -looking man, with a loud voice, 
 and an authoritative manner, of which I was a little 
 afraid ; but perhaps circumstances may have softened 
 these." 
 
 Edith shook her head. *' Papa is very kind-hearted 
 and affectionate," said she, "but he likes to have his 
 own way, and Lady Elizabeth has, of course, been so 
 long independent of control " 
 
 " Ah, true," interrupted Lady Waldegrave ; " mam- 
 ma is not easily managed, and she is excessively fond 
 of what is called a gay life, and therefore, I fear, we 
 must be satisfied with a mere temporary reconciliation, 
 without attempting a more solid union. It is unfor- 
 tunate, for when I marry, mamma would be more 
 respectable living with her husband than she will be 
 by herself; and when you marry, which, of course, 
 you will also do — now don't blush, Edith, love — I am 
 not going to talk of lovers ; I shall find out in good 
 time whether you have any affaires du cceur, so pray 
 don't make me your confidante — 'tis the office in the 
 world I have the greatest dread of." 
 
 Edith laughed and promised, and the conversation 
 was ended by the entrance of Sir Eeginald and Dr.
 
 360 DESTINY. 
 
 Price, looking like two people whom chance, not 
 choice, had thrown together. 
 
 Sir Eeginald drew near, as if about to address 
 Lady Waldegrave, then stopped, and turned to the 
 table where the cameos were, and taking uj) one of 
 the bracelets, commended the beauty of it. 
 
 "They are indeed perfect," said Edith; "each 
 cameo is a picture in itseK, and I should have thought 
 myself rich with any one of them ; but Lady Walde- 
 grave insists upon my accepting the whole set." 
 
 Sir Eeginald said nothing, but hastily put down 
 the bracelet, and, joining Dr. Price at one of the win- 
 dows, immediately began to talk politics with him. 
 Edith coloured with shame at this proof of her lover's 
 rudeness and dislike to Lady Waldegrave. "And 
 yet," she thought, " how is it possible to hate anything 
 so beautiful and captivating 1 What can be the cause 
 of this coldness which he seems to feel for everything 
 connected with a creature so lovely and engaging?" 
 
 "How did you like my picture, Edith?" inquired 
 Lady Waldegrave. " Should you have known me by 
 it?" 
 
 Edith looked at her Avith the air of one who is at a 
 loss to comprehend the meaning of a question. 
 
 "Your picture?" replied she; "I never saw any 
 picture of you, except the little daub done by Mrs. 
 Macauley, which, bad as it is, has always hung in my 
 dressing-room. You don't mean that?" 
 
 "No — the picture I sent you from Florence. Whom 
 did I send it by?" as if trying to recollect. "I cer-
 
 DESTINY. 361 
 
 tainly did send it — how provoking that I should not 
 be able to tell by whom ! There were a number of 
 English there ; but perhaps Sir Reginald Malcolm 
 might, if he chose, assist my memory." 
 
 Sir Reginald took no notice, but continued talking 
 mth much energy with Dr. Price on the affairs of 
 Europe. Edith called to him — " Sir Reginald ! — Sir 
 Reginald ! I wish j^ou would come and assist Lady 
 Waldegrave and me in our attempts to recover a 
 picture she gave in chai'ge to some one at Florence 
 for me, but which I have never received." 
 
 "Even if I guessed at the offender," said Sir Regi- 
 nald, in a low voice, "Lady Waldegrave surely would 
 not have the cruelty to have his name exposed to the 
 indignation which his conduct merits." 
 
 Reginald was behind Edith, Avho did not see his 
 face as he spoke ; but he was opposite to Lady Walde- 
 grave, who blushed deeply, while something hke a 
 smile was upon her lip. 
 
 " Is it Florinda or I whose indignation you think 
 would be so excessive 1" asked Edith. 
 
 " Both," he replied, as he turned quickly and re- 
 joined Dr. Price. 
 
 *'It must be from mere carelessness that it has 
 not been delivered," said Lady Waldegrave ; " but if 
 it does not appear soon, you or I must draw up an 
 advertisement for it, Edith. Seriously, it must be 
 recovered, as a lock of my hair accompanied it, and it 
 is not every one I should choose to be in possession of 
 such things, valueless as they may be to the retainer. "
 
 362 DESTINY. 
 
 Sir Keginald and Dr. Price were busily engaged 
 looking at an atlas ; and the two friends continued 
 to converse together, till Lady Elizabeth made her 
 appearance, dressed like fifteen for a first ball. 
 
 "My dear Florinda!" she exclaimed, "what do I 
 see'? not yet dressed'? How very uncomfortable it 
 makes me to see anybody in a morning gown in the 
 evening — it is so very trying, an angel could not stand 
 such a test. I do assure you, my dear, you look very 
 
 ill." 
 
 "Thank you, mamma," said Lady Waldegrave 
 coolly; and taking up a footstool cover, with Mrs. 
 Macauley's needle still sticking in it, she began to 
 work with an air of unconcern. 
 
 "Too ridiculous!" cried Lady Elizabeth, with a 
 shruo- of her httle bare shoulders; "you only want 
 a brass thimble to make you quite complete. Lady 
 Waldegrave. Why should you wish to look like a 
 dowdy, my love?" Then, in a whisper to Edith, 
 " She is a beautiful creature, to be sure ! what a pro- 
 file ! what a throat! what hands! Madame d'Aumont 
 used to say she should have known her to be my 
 daughter anywhere from the hands alone — hands 
 and feet, you know, are the great criterions of birth. 
 Heavens, how she was admired at Paris ! She is a 
 little spoilt, perhaps, by the sensation she caused." 
 
 Here her Ladyship's dinner was announced, and, as 
 Edith rose to attend her. Lady Waldegrave exclaimed, 
 " Poor dear Edith ! this is really too much, to do the 
 honours of three dinners in one day. How you must
 
 DESTINY. 363 
 
 hate us all ! Cannot good Mrs. Macaulcy relieve you 
 from this duty? I am sure mamma will excuse you." 
 "Mrs. Macauley and Benbowie are always with 
 papa in the evening," said Edith ; " but, at any rate, 
 Sir Keginald and I would Avish to welcome Lady 
 Elizabeth to Glenroy ourselves, and as you did not 
 partake of the first dinner, perhaps you will join our 
 party." 
 
 " No dinner ! My dear child," cried Lady Eliza- 
 beth, " Avhat do I hear 1 How very foolish. How 
 could Madame Latour suffer such a thing? No wonder 
 you look pale — quite abattue. Come, my love, you 
 shall dine with me : my dinner, you know, is a mere 
 make-believe. Sir Reginald, you will take charge of 
 Lady Waldegrave" — putting her own arm within 
 Edith's. Sir Reginald hastily recoiled at the pro- 
 posal ; then quickly recovering himself, was advancing, 
 when Lady Waldegrave said, with an air of coldness, 
 "Excuse me, mamma; I have already dined, and I 
 prefer remaining here." 
 
 " But, my dear love, you will be alone — some one 
 must stay with you. Not you," pressing Edith's 
 arm; "I have much to say to you. Perhaps Dr. 
 Price." But the doctor looked very glum at the pro- 
 posal ; and luckily at that moment Madame Latour 
 appeared, which settled the point, and the party pro- 
 ceeded to the dining-room, leaving the two friends 
 together. "I wish particularly to talk to you, my 
 dear," said her Ladyship in a low voice to Edith, as 
 she walked mincingly along. "There are many
 
 364 DESTINY. 
 
 things very interesting to Ijotli of us I have on my 
 mind at jjresent. By-the-bye, my dear, your hair is 
 not dressed quite a -la- mode. It becomes you very 
 well, but still it is too simple for the present style— 
 the simple is now quite exploded ; and, indeed, I'm 
 not sure that I like simi^licity, though it does well 
 enough now and then, hy way of a little variety. 
 Florinda, for instance, may simple now and then for 
 a whim, but she may do anything she chooses. You 
 have heard these pretty lines somebody made upon 
 her ? 
 
 ' Tender or free, in smiles or sadness drest, 
 The reigning humour ever suits her best.'" 
 
 Then, as she seated herself at table, she repeated, 
 " Tender and free," etc. " Sir Eeginald, do you re- 
 member who it was made these lines upon my 
 daughter?" 
 
 " I beg pardon," said Sir Reginald ; " but I believe 
 the lines are to be found in Partenopex de Blois." 
 
 " Excuse me. Sir Eeginald," replied the lady, with 
 an air of displeasure ; " but the lines were made upon 
 Lady Waldegrave, as any one may perceive at once ; 
 and, as Mr. Ellenton very well remarked to me, they 
 were a perfect picture of her. Mr. Ellenton repeats 
 verses better than anybody I know. — This soup is 
 very good— it is very good,"— sending away her plate 
 after taking two spoonfuls. "I know you don't re- 
 commend salmon to me. Dr. Price, but that looks so 
 particularly well, I will just taste it." Then, having 
 taken a little of it, it was also sent ofF. " Pray, send
 
 DESTINY, 365 
 
 me a pate, Dr. Price — ah, chicken ^>«/c*', very well 
 seasoned, though?" — putting down the knife and 
 fork, after the first mouthful. " Yes, I will try the 
 fricandeau," and so on with game, tarts, jellies, and 
 dessert, in a manner enough to have raised the ghost 
 of Lycurgus, or Dr. Gregory. No sooner had she 
 finished, than, quickly rising, she again linked herself 
 to Edith. "Now, let us go to the library, or the saloon, 
 or anywhere to be quiet, as I wish to have a little 
 Ute-a-tete with you, my dear. I have so much to say 
 to you ; and, hpropos, do you know, I think Sir Eegi- 
 nald Malcolm excessively disagreeable? How very 
 rude to contradict me about these lines ! I know he 
 is your cousin — but nobody minds cousins. To tell 
 you the truth, I never did like him — as a boy, you 
 know, he was shocking; he had very nearly killed 
 my daughter, as you may remember; he had beat 
 her in the most frightful manner ; in fact, had almost 
 actually strangled her. I certainly never would have 
 forgiven it ; and I did not approve of Florinda's hav- 
 ing admitted him to her acquaintance. It began 
 when she was absent from me, with her aunt. Lady 
 Escott, at Naples, else I never would have permitted 
 it." 
 
 " Lady Waldegrave and Sir Eeginald do not appear 
 to be very good friends yet," said Edith, in some 
 embarrassment. 
 
 " Why, no — I am not sure ; he certainly was 
 admired; and he is rather handsome; don't you 
 think so ? But Florinda, though the sweetest creature
 
 366 DESTINY. 
 
 in the world, is a little capricious — that between our- 
 selves, though — and I blame Madame Latour entirely 
 for whatever faults my daughter may have. I don't 
 quite like Madame Latour ; she affects a style of dress 
 which is absurd, and wears her petticoats so very 
 short, to show her foot — Avhich, by-the-bye — is not 
 well shaped. Such display is very bad taste, and 
 quite defeats the object," glancing at herself in a 
 mirror with great complacency. "To tell you a 
 secret, my dear — but this is quite in confidence — I 
 half suspect her of a design upon Sir Eeginald. It is 
 rather ridiculous, to be sure, for Madame Latoiu" is 
 by no means a yom-ig-looking woman — in fact, that 
 is one great advantage we blondes have over brunettes 
 in general, we retain a youthful appearance much 
 longer. However, it is certain he paid her great 
 attention at Florence, and was much more in my 
 house than I thought either proper or agreeable." 
 
 Eeginald an admirer of Madame Latour ! Edith 
 could not believe her ears ; and yet with what viva- 
 city he had met her ! How she sickened at the thought 
 — how degrading to Sir Eeginald, to herself, to har- 
 bour it for a single moment ! While these thoughts 
 passed through her mind. Lady Elizabeth went on. 
 
 " Madame Latour is of a good family, and so was 
 her husband — to be sure she is older than Sir Eegi- 
 nald ; but that is nothing — a few years one way or 
 other makes little difference, and he certainly did ad- 
 mire her, and paid her great attention ; but, however, 
 it may have been mevely pour passer le temps."
 
 DESTINY. 367 
 
 Could Keginald, her own betrothed, have conde- 
 scended to flirt, pour passer le temps, with a Madame 
 Latour? Oh, how Edith's pure and devoted heart 
 rose at the suggestion ! 
 
 " 1 should not be sorry to see Madame Latour well 
 disposed of," continued her Ladyship ; " she is rather 
 de trop now ; indeed I had no intention of keeping her 
 so long, for in fact I merely engaged her for a year, 
 as a sort of something between a governess and a com- 
 panion for Florinda ; you understand the sort of per- 
 son. My own health was wretched at that time ; but 
 upon the whole she is objectionable — she talks so much, 
 and is so extremely gross in her eating, quite shocking, 
 and dresses with so much pretension — and, in short, 
 she is become so unpleasant, that I do assure you I 
 shall not be sorry to lose her ; but of course this is 
 all a secret, and I don't wish to take any notice of 
 it either to Florinda or Sir Eeginald just at present ; 
 but w^e shall see how they go on. Did you ever see 
 anything so excessively rechercM as her style of dress?" 
 
 In this manner she continued to babble on for about 
 an hour, resisting all Edith's attempts to return to the 
 drawing-room, from whence issued the most delightful 
 sounds of music. 
 
 " Yes, Florinda does play and sing very Avell," said 
 she, in answer to Edith's remark ; "in fact, she would 
 not have been my daughter had she not been possessed 
 of all the requisites for a good musician ; but I think 
 she has done enough now ; I don't approve of her 
 singing too long at a time. Come, my dear, we shall
 
 368 DESTINY. 
 
 return to the drawing-room. I have much to say to 
 you, but we shall take another time, when we can 
 have a little quiet talk together." 
 
 On entering the drawing-room, they found Lady 
 Waldegrave seated at the harp, pouring forth the full 
 tide of song in strains of perfect melody. Her voice was 
 rich, clear, and flexible, and she both played and sang 
 with much taste and execution. 
 
 "Florinda possesses every personal requisite for 
 the harp," whispered Edith's tormentor, as she still 
 leant upon her, "quite a classic bust, the most perfect 
 hands and arms, and the prettiest foot in the world. 
 How shocking to see women pawing the harp with 
 great ill-shaped hands, or awkwardly showing their 
 long waists and clumsy feet ! Such things ought not 
 to be permitted; I have been obliged to leave off 
 playing the harp since my health became delicate, it 
 requires more muscular exertion than Dr. Price thinks 
 good for me ; but you shall hear me on the guitar." 
 
 Edith's attention was directed to Reginald, who 
 sat apart at a table, with an open book spread before 
 him, his head resting on his hand, which shaded his 
 eyes. Madame Latour sat by him working a purse, 
 which was every now and then suspended, while she 
 held up her hands, threw up her eyes, and sighed in 
 ecstasy at particular passages in the song. Dr. Price 
 was reading the newspapers. Mrs. Macauley was sit- 
 ting with her hands on her lap, listening to what she 
 did not understand. 
 
 Scarcely was the song ended, when Lady Elizabeth
 
 DESTINY. 369 
 
 exclaimed impatiently, "Now, my dearest, you have 
 done quite enough for to-night — I must not suffer j'ou 
 to over-exert yourself ; I vnM relieve you now. Dr. 
 Price, pray ring the bell for my guitar." 
 
 " You forget how late it is, mamma," said her 
 daughter, with an air of chagrin, " and that we are all 
 beginning to get tired, even of music." 
 
 " Nonsense, my love, 'tis not at all late — my fatigue 
 is quite gone off. I feel as if I could even take a turn 
 in a waltz," looking towards Sir Reginald, who now 
 fixed his eyes attentively on his book. " Of course 
 you waltz, JMiss jMalcolm ? come, let us take a round 
 together." 
 
 " Your Ladyship must excuse me ; my spirits are 
 not equal to dancing," said Edith ; and her eyes filled 
 with tears as she thought, " This is the boasted sjTn- 
 pathy I was led to expect in our sorrow ! " 
 
 "'Deed, and I think it would not be decent to be 
 dancing," said Mrs. Macauley in a low voice to Madame 
 Latour, "considering the misfortunes of the family, 
 and Glenroy himself laid up in his bed, honest man ! " 
 
 Sir Reginald saw that Edith was hurt. Quitting 
 Madame Latour, he hastily advanced towards her, and 
 taking her hand, drew it within his arm, while he led 
 her to an open window. "You are ill — fatigued, I 
 fear, dear Edith," said he in a tone of compassion. At 
 that moment Lady Waldegrave rose, and called to her, 
 " Excuse me. Miss Malcolm, but I must wish you good- 
 night ; " she was then retiring, attended by her friend, 
 when Lady Elizabeth, folding her in her arms, kissed 
 
 VOL. I. 2 b d.
 
 370 DESTINY. 
 
 her forehead, "Good-night, my sweetest, yon do look 
 abattue; but a morning-gown in the evening is too 
 trying for an angel— good-night, my charmer; and 
 here comes my guitar. Miss Malcolm, you will return 
 when you have seen Florinda to her apartment, and 
 we shall have a little soft music before supper." 
 
 Sir Reginald opened the door for the ladies to with- 
 draw, and as Lady Waldegrave passed, he made her 
 a profound bow, which she noticed with a slight and 
 constrained bend of the head. Madame Latour Avhis- 
 pered a few words to him in Italian, then laughed 
 gaily, and the door was closed. " Quelle grace dans 
 son salut! vat you call bow," said she, addressing 
 Lady Waldegrave ; then turning to Edith, " All, 
 Meess Malcomb, votre frere est charmant! il a fait 
 tourner la tete a toutes les femmes d'ltalie." 
 
 " Sir Reginald is not my brother," said Edith, with 
 a blush. 
 
 " Saar Eeginaal n'est pas votre frfere, your broder ?" 
 exclaimed Madame, in well -feigned astonishment; 
 "Vraiment je n'en ai pas doute, ven I do see ses 
 aimables petites attentions pour vous ;— mais que je 
 suis ^tourdie ! I do remember dat he talk of some- 
 time his bonne petite cousine Ecossaise." 
 
 Edith's cheeks glowed, and her heart rose at this 
 
 insolence. 
 
 " Que je suis bete to meestak," continued Madame, 
 as if in despair; "vous me pardonnerez, ma chere 
 Meess Malcomb?" 
 
 " Editli, I am sure, looks too good to resent any-
 
 DESTINY. 371 
 
 thing," said Lady Waldegrave, suddenly restored to 
 good spirits, "much less so harmless a meestak," 
 laughing, as she mimicked Madame's pronunciation ; 
 "but your patience is heavily taxed, dear Edith — 
 mamma has such an inveterate habit of sitting up half 
 the night, that it is quite distressing to think of your 
 having to keep her company." 
 
 "How extraamement Ladi Elizabeth injure her 
 estomac by so frequent eating," said Madame Latour 
 in a tone of virtuous indignation ; " et il est si malsain 
 de souper ! vat you call disealthy ; den she will ex- 
 pose ses pauvres soldiers, ses 6paules, and they die of 
 de rheumatisme." 
 
 Edith embraced Lady Waldegrave, and, coldly 
 saluting Madame Latour, returned to the drawing- 
 room, where she had to sit for an hour hstening to 
 insipid madrigals and rondos, after which her Lady- 
 ship, having pecked like a sparrow at everything that 
 was at table, at length retired, and the house of Glen- 
 roy was once more at rest.
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 When Lady Waldegrave appeared at breakfast the 
 following morning, she looked still more beautiful than 
 she had done the preceding evening. Madame Latour 
 was as usual by her side, but Lady Elizabeth never was 
 visible in the morning. Dr. Price was also there, as 
 silent and sickly-looking as usual Edith had planned 
 a little excursion by land and water, to show some of 
 the beauties of Glenroy to her guests, and she intended 
 that Reginald should take the management ; but her 
 surprise and disappointment Avere great when she 
 learnt that he had set off early in the morning to 
 shoot. Here was a fresh act of incivility and unkind- 
 ness, and Edith vainly tried to falter out some excuse 
 for him to Lady Waldegrave, who heard her in silence, 
 while an air of languid dissatisfaction gradually stole 
 over her lovely features, 
 
 " Ah, le pauvre Saar Reginaal ! " exclaimed Madame 
 Latour, in a tone of deep commiseration, and heaving 
 a sigh. 
 
 "If you please, Madame, what do you mean by 
 that 1 " inquired Mrs. Macauley, A\ith her usual blunt 
 simplicity.
 
 DESTINY. 373 
 
 "Ah, que je le plains!" continued Madame 
 Latour, as if not hearing Mrs. Macauley. 
 
 The cough and the trot of Amailye were now- 
 heard resounding in the stillness of the warm sunny- 
 morning, and presently she was descried passing the 
 window with her load on her back. In another 
 second, the loud broad tones of Mr. M'Dow were heard 
 interrogating the servant, and next entered the gentle- 
 man himself, his face " round as my father's shield," 
 every line and lineament big with triumph and exulta- 
 tion, standing out in bold alto relievo. The customary 
 salutations were scarcely over, before it was obvious 
 that Mr. M'Dow's exclamation would not be that of 
 Hamlet — "Let me not burst in ignorance," but rather 
 that of his father's ghost, "I could a tale unfold." It 
 was also evident that the secret with which he was 
 burdened was of an agreeable nature, as not all the 
 respect with Avhich he strove to address Lady Walde- 
 grave could master the inveterate hoch, hoch, ho, 
 which burst forth even on his introduction. Seating 
 himself at table, he fixed his eyes on her with a stare 
 of astonishment ; and while he stuffed one side of his 
 mouth to its utmost extent, he discoursed at large 
 with the other, and accordingly began, "It's most 
 amazing to see how young people shoot up ! It seems 
 no time since your Ladyship was a little fair-haired 
 missy in a frock, -with a doll in your arms, and now 
 you are quite a full-grown lady ! It's really wonder- 
 ful to see the changes a few years bring to pass ! " 
 
 "I cannot apply that observation to you, Mr.
 
 374 DESTINY. 
 
 M'Dow," said Lady Waldegrave, with a smile; "for, 
 as far as my imperfect recollection serves me, you 
 have undergone very little change during those 
 years. " 
 
 Mr. M'Dow bowed after his manner, then, with a 
 hoch, hoch, ho, replied, "That's precisely what some 
 of my good friends find fault with me for, my lady ; 
 they say that I ought to have changed (my state) 
 before now — hoch, hoch, ho ! " 
 
 "'Deed, then, and I think so too," said Mrs. 
 Macauley, with her usual simplicity ; if you had a 
 wife you would maybe like to stay more at home. 
 But better late than never. I don't think but what 
 you'll get a wife yet, Mr. M'Dow." 
 
 "Had you ever any doubts of that, Mrs. Mac- 
 auley f cried Mr. M'Dow, in a tone of pique. "I 
 was not aware that ever I had professed celibacy." 
 
 "Well, then, I declare from your face I think 
 you're going to get a wife now, Mr. M'Dow; you 
 look so croose and canty," said Mrs. Macauley. 
 
 " Oh, you're a witch, Mrs. Macauley ! just a 
 witch," repeated Mr. M'Dow, with one of his exuber- 
 ant roars. " If you had lived a hundred years ago, 
 you would have stood a fair chance of being burnt ! " 
 
 "Oh, as sure as death, then, that's just owning 
 that you are going to be married, Mr, M'Dow," ex- 
 claimed Mrs. Macauley, in that accent of joyful sur- 
 prise which always attends the discovery of a marriage. 
 "And was it not clever in me to find it out? 'deed, I 
 think it was. I declare I'm glad of it, for I think it
 
 DESTINY. 376 
 
 will be a great improvemeut to you, if she is a 
 sensible, well-principled woman, which I hope she is." 
 
 " Well, there's no keeping anything from you ladies 
 — you really are most amazingly acute ! at the same 
 time I'm not sensible of having committed myself in 
 any shape — hoch, hoch, ho !" 
 
 "Ah, comme il fait chaud!" exclaimed Madame 
 Latour ; "le pauvre Saar Reginaal !" 
 
 " By-the-bye, I was missing a certain gentleman," 
 said JVIr. M'Dow, with a significant glance directed 
 towards Edith; "but I hope he's not to be long 
 absent, as I'm anxious to come to an understanding 
 with him regarding certain arrangements that shall 
 be nameless, — as we're both bound for the same port, 
 we must take care not to run foul of each other. He's 
 had the advantage of me at the starting ; but I sus- 
 pect I'll make the harbour before hina — hoch, hoch, 
 ho!" 
 
 This metaphorical flourish was, of course, Greek 
 and Hebrew to the whole party except Edith and Mrs. 
 Macauley. The former coloured and was silent ; but 
 the latter exclaimed, " Well, that's right of you, ]\Ir. 
 M'Dow, just to tell the truth, and not to think shame 
 about it. What for should not people tell when they 
 are going to be married? — and marriage such an 
 honourable state ! As sure as anything, I'm very glad 
 you're going to be settled at last. Benbowie, are not 
 you happy that Mr. M'Dow's going to be married?" 
 
 " Surely, surely," said Benbowie ; " has she any 
 money?"
 
 376 DESTINY. 
 
 " Why, as to that," said Mr, M'Dow, with an air 
 of great dignity, and conscious elevation of soul, " I 
 have never made fortune my principal object ; I con- 
 sider it beneath a man of honour and integrity to lay 
 himself out for money ; at the same time, I would 
 not quarrel with it if it came in my way — and upon 
 this occasion, the lady's fortune is sliootable ; indeed, I 
 may say, pretty handsome." 
 
 Edith tried to utter some complimentary words on 
 the occasion, but found it very difficult to combine 
 compliments with sincerity. Luckily Mrs. Macauley 
 covered all deficiencies : " And what may be the 
 name of the lady, Mr. M'Dow, if it is not a secret?" 
 
 "Why, if it is, it will not be long one," returned 
 Mr. M'Dow, still very consequential ; " indeed I 
 strongly suspect the report had reached the country 
 before myself, or I doubt if even my good friend Mrs. 
 Macauley, with all her wit and shrewdness, would 
 have taken me up so cleverly. It's amazing how a 
 report of that kind spreads ! It was for that reason I 
 wished to lose no time in communicating the event 
 myself to my excellent friend and pawtron, for I only 
 returned home last night ; but before this time to- 
 morrow, I have no doubt it will be over the whole 
 country. The lady's name is Miss Collina Muckle of 
 Glasgow." 
 
 "Well, I think it's a very honest-like name," said 
 Mrs. Macauley. " I had once a sister they called Colin, 
 but she died, poor thing, of St. Anthony's fire ; and 
 Mr. Macauley had a cousin that was married a second
 
 DESTINY. 377 
 
 marriage to a Mr. INIucklehose, a very decent man. 
 I wonder if she can be any relation of liis 1 He was 
 Bailie Mucklehose, of Portneuk ; he was a " 
 
 " The very same ! " interrupted Mr. M'Dow. 
 "Bailie Mucklehose, of Portneuk, Avas the fawther 
 (by his first wife) of the lady in question ; but, at the 
 time of their fawther's death, they dropped the Jiose, 
 thinking the other a more fashionable name, which 
 perhaps it is. The Bailie was a most highly re- 
 spectable man, and left liis daughters in good circum- 
 stances." 
 
 " Well, is it not curious to think that you and I, 
 Mr. M'Dow, who have been so long acquaint, are now 
 going to be connected together by marriage 1 I declare, 
 I think it is very extraordinary to see how things are 
 brought about ! And I saw Bailie Mucklehose once, 
 Avhen I Avas in Glasgow, about five -and -thirty years 
 ago. He was an honest-like, weel-fa'ured man, vnth. 
 a fine rosy colour. He was a " 
 
 " Perhaps you may be able to trace a family-like- 
 ness here," interrupted Mr. M'Dow, plunging his hand 
 into one of his huge pockets, and drawing forth — not 
 a decreet, or reclaiming petition, as in days of yore — 
 but a small, oval, red morocco case, which upon being 
 opened, disclosed the full-bloAvn charms of Miss 
 Collina Muckle. 
 
 "I am no great judge of painting, myself," said 
 the exulting lover, as he handed it round; "but it 
 strikes me as being most beautifully painted — ex- 
 tremely high finished. I can't say I think the likeness
 
 378 DESTINY. 
 
 altogether so favourable as it might have been. It 
 is painted by a very young man, who has just set up." 
 
 It is unnecessary to be so minute as the artist was, 
 in depicting the charms of the original. Suffice it 
 therefore to say there was the usual bad drawing and 
 distortion ; there was a large ivory and vermilion 
 cheek, and a smaller burnt umber one, a nose all on 
 one side, round pale eyes of different sizes, a simper- 
 ing mouth, a range of hair -dresser curls sitting on 
 end, a wooden arm, a white gown, a yellow scarf, a 
 blue cloud, and a coral necklace. 
 
 Few and faint were the remarks passed upon Miss 
 Muckle, as she made the round of the table; but 
 luckily Mr. M'Dow's perceptions were too obtuse to 
 enable him to feel any omissions. " I had, of course, 
 to return the comj^liment in kind ; but I doubt the 
 painter did not succeed quite as well with me. In 
 fact, the clerical dress is not the most becoming, in 
 my opinion, for a man to sit in ; the gown and bands 
 are rather stiff and heavy, and not so fashion able- 
 looldng as one could wish. However, the lady was 
 pleased, and that was enough." 
 
 '^Apropos of pictures," said Edith to Lady Walde- 
 grave, wishing to turn the conversation from the loves 
 of Mr. M'Dow, "have you not yet been able to recol- 
 lect by whom you sent your picture to me ?" 
 
 Lady Waldegrave coloured, and in slight confusion 
 answered, "Yes — no — not to a certainty. But I 
 think I shall recover it yet ; and if not," she added, 
 Avith mock gravity, "the loss Avill not be irreparable.
 
 DESTINY. 379 
 
 It is one which I daresay Mrs. Macauley will be kind 
 enough to replace. Won't you paint my picture 
 again, dear Mrs. Macauley 1" 
 
 '"Deed and I will that," cried Mrs. Macauley, in a 
 transport of delight. " I have painted Miss Edith's 
 already, which I will show to you after breakfast; 
 and I've been wanting Sir Reginald to sit too for his 
 picture ; and then when I've done your Ladyship, I'm 
 sure I may be well proud, for I'll have painted the 
 three greatest beauties that ever were seen !" 
 
 " Sir Reginald should make a well-looked picture," 
 said ]\Ir. M'Dow ; " that's still a good likeness of him," 
 pointing to a picture of him as a boy, that hung oppo- 
 site, " though there's not just so much of the pickle 
 in him now as there was then ; he was really a wild 
 little dog in these days, as your Ladyship may remem- 
 ber. You know what a work he had with you at the 
 first, there was nothing like you ; poor Miss Edith 
 was thought nothing of ; you Avere his sweetheart and 
 his wife, and I don't know all what, and I was to 
 promise to marry him to you in my kirk, whenever 
 his papa came home ; then you and he cast out about 
 something or another, and I remember him coming to 
 me one day that I chanced to be dining here, in a 
 perfect passion. 
 
 " ' Mr. M'Dow,' says he, ' you're never to marry 
 me to Florinda ; I shall never speak to her as long as 
 I Hve.' 
 
 " ' Oh, but,' says I, ' Mr. Reginald, how can that 
 be, when you have promised to marry Miss Florinda V
 
 380 DESTINY. 
 
 "'No matter for that,' says he, ' I'm determmcd I'll 
 never marry her as long as I live, but I'm to marry 
 Edith, and nobody else.' 
 
 " ' But if you're to change your mind this way,' 
 s&ys I, ' I don't think I can venture to marry you to 
 anybodj^' 
 
 "'Oh, you may depend upon it, Mr. M'Dom', I'll 
 never change any more, for Edith's very pretty, and 
 she does whatever I bid her.' 
 
 " ' Most capital and unanswerable reasons for 
 choosing a wife,' says I, 'and I've nothing more to 
 say, only you must take care that you're aff wi' the 
 auld love before ye tak' on wi' the new.' However, 
 there's been no more changing, and it's aU well that 
 end's well — hoch, hoch, ho ! " 
 
 With an exclamation at the heat of the room, 
 Lady Waldegrave abruptly rose, and taking Madame 
 Latour's arm, passed into the adjoining apartment. 
 
 "I hope I have not said anything that her Lady- 
 ship or you could take amiss," whispered Mr. M'Dow, 
 fixing his great goggling eyes on Edith, as she was 
 also rising. " It was all a joke together, and amongst 
 friends, of course, there's no secrets in these things. 
 But, Miss Malcolm," in a still lower and more mysteri- 
 ous key, " I'm really disappointed at not finding Sir 
 Reginald, especially as it seems my worthy friend Glen- 
 roy is not able to see me at present ; for this change 
 that's going to take place in my own situation, I'm 
 afraid may inconvenience Sir Reginald and you. I 
 beg your pardon. Miss INIalcolm, but I'll not detain
 
 DESTINY. 381 
 
 you a moment," following her, and laying a great 
 paw upon her arm ; " but I find I must be at the 
 manse the greater part of this week, and I also wish, 
 if possible, to preach on Sunday, though there's a 
 certain awkwardness in appearing in the pulpit too, 
 at such a time. And on Monday I had fixed to return 
 to Glasgow, to be at the disposal of my lady fair, who 
 has not positively fixed the day; but I'm in great 
 hopes it will be between and the 27th, after which we 
 must of course take a marriage jaunt, and when I 
 return I shall be ready to do to others as has been 
 done to myself — hoch, hoch, hoch, ho ! At the same 
 time, rather than disappoint Sir Eeginald, I Avould, if 
 possible, endeavour to arrange my own aftairs so as 
 to be at his service when required. I'm really disap- 
 pointed at not seeing him, for I've so much to do pre- 
 paring matters at the manse that it's not in my power 
 to spend the day here, and I doubt if it will be pos- 
 sible for me to ride over again before I go. I've a 
 mason, a wright, two painters, a sklater, and a semp- 
 stress all hard at work at present, besides having all 
 my own papers and books to shift out of the way of 
 my wife's caps and bonnets ; however, I take you 
 bound, Miss Malcolm, that you're not to steal a march 
 upon me in my absence — hoch, hoch, ho ! " 
 
 Edith Avould have promised much more to get 
 rid of Mr. M'Dow, and giving a hurried affirmative, 
 she disengaged herself from him. And after going a 
 little further into the depths of the Muckle family 
 with Mrs. Macauley, he once more betook himself to
 
 382 DESTINY. 
 
 Amailye, and trotted away to superintend the adorn- 
 ing of the manse. 
 
 Edith found Lady Waldegrave seated at an open 
 window, while the zealous Madame Latour was gently 
 bedewing her with eau-de-Cologne. 
 
 " Ah, ce vilain Monsieur Makedu ! " exclaimed she, 
 turning to Edith on her entrance, " he talk so mosch, 
 et sa voix est assommante ! Cette chere Miladi a 
 les nerfs si d(§licats, he has made her vat you call 
 seek!" 
 
 Florinda gave a languid smile, while she said, " The 
 truth is, I have a headache this morning — the break- 
 fast-room felt oppressively hot, and Mr. M'Dow is 
 certainly very shocking. All these causes combined 
 have made me very useless, so not to bore you with 
 my megrims, I shall confine myself to my dressing- 
 room for the rest of the morning," rising as she spoke. 
 
 Edith in vain assured her the sight of her never 
 could be otherwise than pleasing, and begged at least 
 that she might be allowed to attend upon her. It 
 was evident that when Lady Waldegrave spoke of 
 studying others, she meant only to please herself, and 
 her pleasure was to shut herself up in her own apart- 
 ment, where Edith left her reclining on a couch, with 
 a table before her, covered with flowers, poetry, and 
 French novels, her lap-dog in her arms, and Madame 
 Latour ever and anon touching her temples with eau- 
 de-Cologne, while a soft breeze from the lake stirred 
 now and then the beautiful ringlets which she had 
 allowed to fall in graceful disorder about her face.
 
 DESTINY. 383 
 
 It was impossible that Edith should not deeply feel 
 the strange, capricious conduct of her guests, and be 
 also aware that a scene was carrying on around her, 
 the meaning of which she could not fathom. There 
 Avas, on the one hand, Reginald's coldness and even dis- 
 like to Lady Waldegrave ; his unwillingness to receive 
 them at Glenroy ; his anxiety to hurry on his mar- 
 riage before their arrival ; his rudely absenting himself 
 from them. On the other, there was a visit offered 
 under circumstances certainly very peculiar, and a 
 long journey undertaken for a purpose which seemed 
 to hold no place in the minds of either mother or 
 daughter. The latter had indeed declared her aim 
 to be that of effecting a reconciliation between Lady 
 Elizabeth and Glenroy ; but why, Avhile she thus laid 
 open her own mind to Edith, had she avoided all con- 
 fidence in return ? Was it — could it be possible, that 
 Reginald had formed an attachment to Madame Latour, 
 or she to him, and that Florinda's real object was to 
 accomplish a marriage between Sir Reginald and her 
 favourite 1 Edith's pride and delicacy alike revolted 
 at such a supposition — no, she could not think so 
 meanly of either herself or him. The alienation be- 
 tween Sir Reginald and Florinda seemed mutual, and 
 how, then, could she be desirous of bringing about a 
 union between two people — the one the object of her 
 dislike, the other the friend, it appeared, of her 
 warmest affections 1 In vain Edith strove to unravel 
 the strange heap of contradictions in which she felt 
 her thoughts entangled. Never was one less fitted
 
 384 DESTINY. 
 
 by nature and by education to thread the dark intri- 
 cacies of the human heart. The path of love and duty 
 had ever been plain before her ; she had trod it her- 
 self in singleness of heart, and she dreamt not (even 
 when she marked her lover's dubious steps) of the 
 treacherous quicksands that lay beneath.
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 But it was not in the present state of the family that 
 Edith could long indulge in vague reflections. She 
 was soon summoned to attend her father in his study 
 (so called), a room adjoining his dressing-room, into 
 which he had caused himself to be wheeled in his 
 gouty chair. To her surprise, she found he had dis- 
 carded his dressing-gown and night -cap, and all the 
 insignia of the gout, excepting the fleecy stockings 
 and cloth shoes. His countenance and manner were 
 more than usually calm and benign, and altogether 
 the change was no less agreeable than unexpected. 
 
 " I am in hopes I've got the better of the enemy 
 at last," said he, pointing to his feet; "the pain's 
 almost entirely gone to-day ; and I've been thinking, 
 that since that poor thing has taken the trouble to 
 come so far to see me, it would be just as well to let 
 her come here at once, and have it over, and then she 
 can go when she likes, you know ; but if I'm laid up 
 again, she may think herself obliged to wait, and 
 there's no knowing when Ave may get rid of them ; 
 and so, I think, Edith, the best thing will be for you 
 just to bring them in here — you can tell them that 
 
 VOL. I. 2 C D.
 
 386 DESTINY. 
 
 I've still a touch of tlie gout. And, Edith, give me 
 that cloak to lay on my legs, these confounded stock- 
 ings make them look like posts. Stay a little, don't 
 be in such a hurry. I Avish from my soul it was over, 
 — what the plague brought them here, and a doctor 
 too 1 Remember, I'm for none of their doctors — I'm 
 neither for doctors nor ministers. And so M'Dow's 
 going to get a wife ? she must have a fine taste ! They 
 ought both to be sent to the treadmill. And hoAv's that 
 old goose Molly Macauley behaving herself 1 " — and so 
 on, till he had landed in the Dhu Moss, and the Skir- 
 ridale woods, Eeginald, Norman, and the black pony. 
 
 Aware that Lady Elizabeth could not understand, 
 much less "minister to a mind diseased," her own 
 being nearly in the same state, Edith was desirous, if 
 possible, to prevent a meeting which she was sure 
 could produce nothing but irritation on both sides. 
 She therefore sought to turn his mind from the sub- 
 ject altogether, or, at least, to prevail upon him to 
 postpone the interview till near the time of their 
 departure ; but, Avith all the obstinacy and perverse- 
 ness of imbecility, Glenroy's Avishes strengthened, and 
 his impatience increased, under oj)j)osition even in the 
 mildest form, and Edith was obliged to yield the 
 point, and depart on her embassy. 
 
 On craving an audience, she Avas admitted to Lady 
 Elizabeth's dressing-room, AA^here she found her Lady- 
 ship in her robe de chamhre, holding a lev^e of Dr. 
 Price, Rousseau, and Rosalie, and, like another Julius 
 Csesar, dictating to all at once.
 
 DESTINY. 387 
 
 "Dr. Price finds me pretty well this morning," 
 said she, squeezing the tip of Edith's fingers on her 
 entrance; "and I have just been giving him direc- 
 tions as to the sort of draught I should like to have 
 to-day ; 'tis of great consequence to have these sort 
 of things suited to one's taste and constitution. By- 
 the-bye, perhaps Glenroy would like to have one of Dr. 
 Price's draughts, they are really very pleasant, some- 
 thing hke lemonade, but not quite that neither. — Dr. 
 Price, you Avill be so good as mix up a draught exactly 
 the same as mine, and take it to Glenroy with my 
 love. I am sure he will be pleased Tvath this little 
 mark of attention from nic." 
 
 Edith trembled at the very thoughts of such an 
 embassy, and almost fancied she beheld the Chief's 
 crutch uplifted to smite Dr. Price and his potion to 
 the ground ; in great trepidation, she therefore en- 
 treated that the kind intention might be at least post- 
 poned, and then delivered the message with which she 
 had been charged, though in rather softer terms than 
 she had received it. 
 
 Ha^dng come expressly, as was supposed, for the 
 purpose of seeing her husband, it was naturally to be 
 concluded that her Ladyship's mind would be quite 
 prepared for the interview ; instead of which she fell 
 into a childish flutter at the first mention of it. 
 
 " You have taken me quite by surprise, my dear ; 
 I really feel quite overcome ; any sort of agitation is 
 so dangerous for me in the present state of my nerves. 
 Eosalie, fetch Dr. Price back immediately ; you shall
 
 388 DESTINY. 
 
 hear what he says ; I am entirely guided by him. 
 Kousseau, leave the guitar for the present, take my 
 music, and look out — how my heart beats! I do 
 assure you, my dear, it will be a prodigious exertion 
 for me to meet Glenroy, poor man, at present !" 
 
 Edith was so utterly void of affectation herself 
 that she could not comprehend its effects upon others, 
 and she therefore gave her Ladyship credit for the 
 reality of her tremors ; she begged she would take 
 her own time, was sure her papa would wish to do 
 what was most agreeable to her, and so on, till the 
 return of Dr. Price. 
 
 The Doctor was a stupid, inoffensive man, who, for 
 two hundred a year, a luxurious home, and his travel- 
 ling expenses, was contented to trot between his own 
 room and Lady Elizabeth's about twenty times a day, 
 to compound little harmless draughts and powders for 
 her, and to have his advice constantly asked, and 
 never taken. 
 
 The result of the consultation however was, that 
 her Ladyship heroically resolved to go through (as she 
 termed it) with the part she had to perform. Dr. 
 Price was again dismissed, and Edith desired to wait 
 until she should be dressed. RosaUe was then sum- 
 moned, and Lady Elizabeth, in spite of her tremors, 
 betaking herself to the labours of the toilet, was soon 
 so completely engrossed by them, that the dreaded 
 interview seemed almost forgotten. 
 
 "I always disHked black," said she, addressing 
 Edith; "there's something so sombre about it, one
 
 DESTINY. 389 
 
 never looks dressed ; otherwise I'm not sure that it is 
 actually unbecoming to me. It sets ofi' a fair skin, but 
 then it obliges one to use a soupgon more rouge than 
 I like. Apropos, my dear, one comfort is, that black 
 satin shoes are the most becoming things possible for 
 the feet — all men think so. These are made by Mell- 
 notte, and I think are perfect," added she, while her 
 maid, with great exertion, was forcing them on, " and 
 fit me admirably. Florinda has got my foot. A 
 model of it was taken for the Gallery at Florence — in 
 fact, Princess Pauline was quite jealous of it. My 
 large gold ear-rings and bracelets, Rosalie — and — 
 what shall I put on my head 1 a cap looks so particu- 
 larly dowdy in black. My purple hat and feathers — 
 purple, my dear, you know, is a sort of mourning. 
 There, I think, that looks very well — the feathers the 
 least in the world more to the left side, and a ringlet 
 or two pulled a little more down. Now," contemplat- 
 ing herself from head to foot in the mirror, and jerk- 
 ing her head and shoulders, "my gloves and shawl, 
 Rosalie. Now comes the true test of taste," turning 
 to Edith — " in fact, nobody that has not been abroad 
 can put on a shawl." And at length, equipped like 
 one of the dUgantes in " Les Modes de Paris," her Lady- 
 ship set forth, leaning on Edith ; then suddenly stop- 
 ping, she exclaimed, " But I must have my dogs, and 
 I am sure Glenroy will be delighted with them — 
 Bijou is such a love ! " 
 
 Here Edith was obliged to inter[)ose, and, aware 
 of her father's abhorrence of lap-dogs, with much
 
 390 DESTINY. 
 
 difficulty succeeded in prevailing on her Ladyship to 
 dispense with their attendance for the present. 
 
 On arriving at the door of the study there was 
 another demur. 
 
 " I hope it is not necessary that I should say much 
 to Glenroy of the death of your poor brother, my 
 dear. Such a subject would quite overcome me at 
 present. I must try to rouse and amuse him a little, 
 poor man — don't you think so 1 Another time I shall 
 take my guitar, but perhaps it would be rather too 
 much at first — indeed I don't feel equal to the exer- 
 tion." 
 
 Edith, with tears in her eyes, entreated she would 
 make no allusion to the death of her brother, but 
 merely converse on general subjects ; and after a little 
 more delay they entered into the presence of the Chief. 
 He made an attempt, with the help of his stick, to 
 rise to receive his lady, who advanced, and with a 
 very good grace, saluted him after her fashion ; then 
 seating herself by him, laid her hand on his arm. 
 
 " It's a long while since you and I met, Glenroy, 
 and I'm sorry to find you so great an invalid, though, 
 'pon my word, I think you look wonderfully well, 
 considering. You find the gout very painful, I'm 
 afraid. My poor brother, Heywood, is quite a martyr 
 to it. He really looks almost as old as you do. In 
 fact, he is completely broken down ; and, do you 
 know, I am much afraid his son. Lord Lanville, shows 
 symptoms of it already, which is very alarming. He 
 is a charming young man, not actually handsome, but
 
 DESTINY. 391 
 
 extremely disfingud in his ai^pearance and manners. 
 He is a great favourite of mine, and quite le cheri des 
 dames. He is so very sensible and attentive — quite 
 amiable ; but he certainly is delicate, and I know my 
 poor brother is at times wi'etched about him. An 
 only son ! Conceive how dreadful if he were to lose 
 him!" 
 
 Here Glenroy burst out, " And why should he not 
 lose an only son as well as his neighbours 1 I knoAv 
 what it is to have lost an only son. My Norman 
 was taken from me whether I would or not ; and — 
 and " He could not go on. 
 
 "Ah, true !" said his lady^ in a tone of commisera- 
 tion; "that Avas very sad. But we won't talk of 
 these things, Glenroy ; they are too much for us. You 
 must not allow yourself to get hipped — you ought to 
 come to town for a little in the season. We are to 
 have Pasta next winter, and I have already secured 
 an excellent box. Her Medea is quite perfect. I am 
 sure you Avould be enchanted with it. Her despair 
 at the loss of her children was absolutely too much. 
 I assure you I was quite overcome." 
 
 Edith saw a storm ready to burst forth, and 
 hastily interposed. 
 
 "You have got a more pleasing sight to show 
 papa in Lady Waldegrave. I am sure London con- 
 tains nothing more beautiful." 
 
 " Very true, very true," said her Ladyship, v^ith a 
 nod of approbation. "Floriuda is])etn& de graces, and 
 she will cause a prodigious sensation in the world.
 
 392 DESTINY. 
 
 In fact, wherever she has appeared, you can form no 
 idea of the admiration she has excited. She has, of 
 course, already had many splendid offers — at least 
 what would have been splendid for any one else — 
 but Florinda is too young to marry yet. Early mar- 
 riages are foolish things, you know, Glenroy." 
 
 A sort of growl was here ejaculated by Glenroy. 
 " And late ones worse," he muttered to himself. 
 
 " The weather is so fine, I hope you will soon be 
 able to get out, papa," said Edith. Then turning to 
 Lady Elizabeth, " Perhaps you will take a drive to- 
 day in papa's low phaeton'?" 
 
 " No, thank you, my dear ; I seldom go out when 
 I am in the country ; and besides, while I am here, I 
 wish to devote as much of my time as possible to 
 Glenroy; that, together with my letters and music, 
 will fill up my mornings entirely. Apropos, I must 
 bring my guitar next time. I have been practising 
 that charming little romance to sing to you, Glenroy, 
 ' Vous me quittez pour oiler a la gloire/ I think you 
 will like it." 
 
 "I'm for no guitars, nor anything of the kind," in- 
 terrupted Glenroy impatiently. "I take very little 
 pleasure now even in my own piper, though he's the 
 best in the country, and has carried off the Highland 
 Society's prize three times at the competition. And 
 he Avas his foster-brother too." Here Glenroy's voice 
 faltered, and allowed his lady to strike in. 
 
 " Ah, well, we won't say any more about that — we 
 shall talk a little about my daughter."
 
 DESTINY. 393 
 
 "Your daughter! what's your daughter to inef 
 cried Glenroy peevishly. 
 
 "There's no relationship, certainly," said her Lady- 
 ship condescendingly, " but circumstances, you know, 
 have formed a sort of connection, and I should have 
 brought her with me just now to show her to you, 
 but she has got a little of a imgrame this morning ; 
 she has become rather subject to them of late, and I 
 should be very uneasy if I hadn't the most perfect re- 
 liance on Dr. Price. You must allow me to present 
 Dr. Price to you, Glenroy ; I am sure you will like 
 him ; he is quite a superior person. I assure you I 
 consider my life perfectly safe in his hands." 
 
 " I'll have none of your doctors," cried Glenroy ; 
 " I desire never to see the face of a doctor — a set of 
 
 ignorant, upsetting What did the doctors do for 
 
 — for — for my Norman f 
 
 "Ah, we won't say anything about that, Glenroy ! 
 Let us talk of something else. You have never been 
 abroad, I believe. Do you know, I really think you 
 would find great pleasure in making a little excursion 
 through France and Italy. You needn't stay long in 
 one place, you know; and I think moving about 
 might be of service to you ; and, by-the-bye, I can re- 
 commend the best creature in the Avorld as a courier 
 for you, quite a treasure, — a Greek, and speaks six 
 different languages. My nephew. Lord Lanville, 
 certainly benefited very much by change of climate. 
 I assure you I was quite uneasy about him when he 
 first joined us at Paris ; for you kno^^■ an only son
 
 394 DESTINY. 
 
 one is always anxious about; and his poor father 
 quite dotes upon him ; indeed he is deserving of it, 
 for he is a most superior young man, and I have a 
 real regard for him. Besides, to let you into a little 
 family secret, he is distractedly in love with my 
 daughter, and I think she is attached to him. But I 
 don't wish her to marry yet. She can at any time 
 form a brilliant alliance. In fact, with Florinda's 
 rank, beauty, fortune, talents, she may uncjuestionably 
 be considered the first match in the kingdom." 
 
 " The first match in the kingdom ! " exclaimed 
 Glenroy, in a transport of rage; "what makes her 
 the first match in the kingdom 1 A woman — a poor 
 insignificant woman, to be the first match in the 
 kingdom ! The first match in the kingdom is the 
 man who "will come after me, and that man's Regi- 
 nald Malcolm ! And if my son had been alive, he 
 would have been the first match in the kingdom ! A 
 woman to be the first match in the kingdom ! " and 
 Glenroy actually swelled out with passion. 
 
 To this burst his lady gave a little weak, angry, 
 aftected laugh, then said, "You certainly forget, 
 Glenroy, who my daughter is ! Lady Waldegrave is 
 a peeress in her own right, and " 
 
 "A snuff of tobacco in her own right! Pretty 
 rights, to be sure ; I wonder what right she has to be 
 the first match in the kingdom ! What are your peers 
 and peeresses to me ! creatures made by a word of a 
 mouth or a scratch of a pen ! The king could make 
 a peeress of a turnip -shaw, if he chose — he could
 
 DESTINY, 395 
 
 make Molly Macauley a peeress, if he pleased, to- 
 morrow ; but I defy all the kings on the face of the 
 earth to make the Chief of Glenroy ! " 
 
 "Certainly the king cannot make a savage," re- 
 torted the lady, quivering Avith indignation, and rising 
 as she spoke ; but Glenroy despised her too much even 
 to hear what she said, but kept muttering and mur- 
 muring to himself, " The first match in the kingdom ! 
 A woman — any woman, to be the first match in the 
 kingdom ! Who ever heard of a woman being a chief? 
 A woman's just as capable of being a chief as — as this 
 stick," stamping his own with an air of defiance on 
 the carpet. "Reginald Malcolm, my heir and suc- 
 cessor, is the first match in the kingdom, either of 
 man or woman ! " 
 
 Edith had made many ineff"ectual attempts to 
 interpose her still small voice between the incensed 
 parties, but in vain ; neither of them would listen to 
 a word she had to say ; and all she could do was to 
 follow Lady Elizabeth, as she tottered out of the 
 room, her flounces and feathers vibrating, and her 
 whole dress seeming as though it were a party in her 
 exasperated feelings. She declared her determination 
 of instantly leaving the house. She had been treated 
 with the greatest disrespect ; her daughter most im- 
 properly spoken of. It was impossible to remain 
 another night under the same roof ; go she would ; 
 she must see Dr. Price and Eousseau immediately. 
 
 Edith strove to soothe her as she best could, but in 
 vain ; till at length, with tears in her eyes, she alluded
 
 396 DESTINY. 
 
 to the shock her father's mind had received by the 
 loss of her brother, and feelingly deplored the little 
 aberrations of memory he had been subject to ever 
 since that sad event. 
 
 " Oh ! now I understand," said her Ladyship, 
 Ijrightening up all at once. — "I understand," tapping 
 lier forehead significantly with her forefinger. " Poor 
 man ! but I ought to have been made aware of that 
 circumstance before. It was quite wrong to conceal 
 it from me. Poor man ! I am quite sorry for him ; 
 at the same time, nothing can excuse the very im- 
 proper manner in which he spoke of my daughter. 
 Sir Reginald Malcolm to be compared to her ! too 
 ridiculous ! A person of no consequence Avhatever, 
 and an imcommonly disagreeable man. He the first 
 match in the kingdom ! Ha, ha, ha ! — poor man. I 
 — but I must see Dr. Price directly. I have been 
 excessively agitated and alarmed." And Dr. Price 
 being summoned, Edith withdrew, and returned to 
 her father. She found him still boiling over, hke a 
 huge caldron ; and she was immediately assailed 
 Avith a torrent of invective against his lady. Upon 
 attempting to explain away the offence, it was im- 
 mediately turned against herself. 
 
 " I always knew you were a weak creature," said 
 he, addressing her with an inflamed visage. " How 
 could you be anything else, brought up by that idiot 
 Molly Macauley ; though, to give her her due, she's 
 a King Solomon compared to that other woman. 
 What could you mean by bringing a woman that's
 
 DESTINY. 397 
 
 not in her senses to molest me? — A woman that's 
 mad ! And you're very Httle better, to bring her to 
 me in the state of health that I'm in. She's enough 
 to make any man mad ! I shall quit my house if I'm 
 to be tormented in this manner. Her daughter the 
 first man in the kingdom ! " 
 
 " Match, papa. She only meant as " 
 
 " Now, hold your tongue, and don't contradict me. 
 Man and match is all one. I know what she said, 
 and what she meant. Her daughter, forsooth ! 
 What's her daughter? Eeginald ne-ver could bear 
 her. He shoAved his sense, and I should never have 
 let them enter my door, considering how they behaved 
 to him. And where's Eeginald? — And — and send 
 Molly Macauley and Benbowie. Are theij away to 
 the shooting too, that I'm left alone all day?" 
 
 Edith gladly consigned the Chief to the hands of 
 his two faithful adherents, to whom he had the luxury 
 of relating his injuries at full length ; more fortunate 
 in that respect than his lady, who found less willing 
 and sympathising auditors in her daughter and 
 Madame Latour.
 
 j 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 Sir Eeginald returned from shooting, and on enter- 
 ing tlie dining-room before dinner, he found only 
 Madame Latom-, Mrs. Macauley, Dr. Price, and two or 
 three chance guests of no note, who kept apart with 
 Benbowie. Lady Elizabeth was commonly the last to 
 appear, and Edith was sitting with Lady Waldegrave, 
 who chose to remain in her own apartment, on the 
 plea of continued indisposition, 
 
 " I wonder what all you young people are made of 
 now-a-days," said Mrs. Macauley, looking with eyes 
 of affectionate compassion on Sir Reginald, who cer- 
 tainly had nothing of the free and joyous air of the 
 sportsman, but looked languid and dispirited. " You 
 are all so tender now, so different from what young 
 people were in my day, when we were so stout and 
 hearty! There's Lady Waldegrave been shut up in 
 her room the whole of this fine sunny day, not well ; 
 there's you " 
 
 "I hope — there is nothing " stammered Sir 
 
 Reginald to Madame Latour. 
 
 " Ah, oui," said Madame Latour, with a deep sigh, 
 and a shake of her head. " Ladi Waldegrave est un
 
 DESTINY. 399 
 
 peu malade depuis ce matin ; c'est sa sensibility ex- 
 treme ! ah ! si elle avoit la tranquillite de Mademoi- 
 selle Malconib, votrc soeur ! " and Madame Latour 
 heaved another sigh. 
 
 Eeginald was silent for a few moments, as if 
 mastering his agitation, then said in a calm tone, "I 
 trust Lady Waldegrave's indisposition is not of a serious 
 nature. Probably it is occasioned by the uncommon 
 heat, which has been almost too much for me. Miss 
 Malcolm is not my sister," he added, in a less firm 
 voice. 
 
 " All, que je suis bete ! how I do meestak ! Assure- 
 ment elle ne vous ressemble nuUement, elle est si 
 calme ! si tranquille ! What you call enseepede — 
 n'est ce pas?" 
 
 Eeginald coloured, and was silent ; but Mrs. Mac- 
 auley had caught at the Avord insipid as somehow 
 coupled with Edith, and she exclaimed, " Insipid ! 
 You're not surely meaning to call ]\Iiss Edith insipid 1 
 or I'm thinking you don't know the meaning of the 
 word, Madame. Insipid, you know, means wersh, and 
 luersh means insipid ; and I can teU you she's anything 
 but icersh, though she's so sweet and gentle." 
 
 "Ah, pardon, Madame Macalie, si — if I do speak 
 of Mademoiselle Malcomb vat is not propaar — c'est 
 una personne tres aimable, Miss Malcomb ; et quoique 
 sa beauts ne soit pas si 6blouissante, si parfaite que 
 celle de Ladi Waldegrave, elle est tvhs bien — vat you 
 call prettie well." 
 
 "Pretty well !" repeated Mrs. Macauley, kindling
 
 400 DESTINY, 
 
 u}) at this fresh insult. " Pretty well ! did I ever 
 hear the like of that?" Then softening dowTi as 
 quickly as she blazed up, " But though I'm thinking 
 you're no just so ignorant of our language as you would 
 make us trow, yet I see you caimot express yourself 
 properly, or you never would speak in such a way of 
 Miss Edith, and so I should not be angry with you. 
 Pretty well ! I cannot think enough of it ! Pretty 
 well means just well enough ; and to call Glenroy's 
 daughter just well enough ! " 
 
 Madame Latour either did not or affected not to 
 understand Mrs. Macauley better than Mrs. Macauley 
 understood her ; but seeing her displeased, pretended 
 to conciliate her. 
 
 " Pardonnez moi, chere Madame Macalie, assur^ment 
 vous not onderstand — if you tink me capable to say 
 de tings of Meess Malcomb pour vous offenser ; c'est 
 une personne de beaucoup de merite dans son genre ; 
 elle n'a pas les graces ni I'eclat de Ladi Waldegrave, 
 ni son air distingu^, ni sa sensibilite extreme." 
 
 "I don't very well know what you're saying, 
 Madame," said Mrs. Macauley, rather impatiently, 
 "for I'm no great French scholar; but I can tell you, 
 though Miss Edith does not give herself any grand 
 airs, she's as ladylike in her quiet genteel way as any 
 lady in the land ; and though she may not be so show}- 
 and catching-like, for all that, hers is the face nobody 
 could ever weary of, it's so good, and so sweet, and so 
 sensible, and so loving too. I've often thought how 
 she answered to a verse of one of our Scotch songs.
 
 DESTINY. 401 
 
 I'll let you hear it, and see if it's not like Miss Edith." 
 
 And she repeated, slowly and distinctly, the most 
 
 beautiful, perhaps, of all Burns's beautiful verses : 
 
 " As in the bosom o' the stream 
 
 The moonbeam dwells at dewy e'en, 
 So trembling, pure, was tender love 
 Within the breast o' bonny Jean." 
 
 "Ah! quel amour transi ! " said Madame Latour, 
 with a shudder, as she turned to Sir Eeginald. At 
 that moment Lady Elizabeth and Edith entered, and 
 the conversation of course dropped. 
 
 All traces of the matrimonial fracas had entirely 
 disappeared from Lady Elizabeth's aspect, for the 
 variety of her frivolous pursuits seldom allowed her 
 mind to dwell long on one subject. Satisfied that 
 she had amply fulfilled her duty by the visit of con- 
 dolence to her husband, she was now decked out in 
 pink and silver, and smiles, and short petticoats, and 
 white shoes. 
 
 " Florinda has not been quite well this morning. 
 Dr. Price, and I think she is rather out of spirits; 
 'tis dull for her, you know, to be in the country; 
 however, she has promised to join us in the evening, 
 otherwise I must make a point of her seeing you. Dr. 
 Price. I wish I could have had her picture as I found 
 her just now — in my hfe I never beheld anything so 
 perfect ! She was sitting at a table, her cheek resting 
 on her hand — you know her attitude — her hair falling 
 over her shoulders — 
 
 ' Tender or free, in smiles or sadness drest. 
 The reigning humour ever suits her best. ' " 
 
 VOL. I. 2d d.
 
 402 DESTINY. 
 
 <"1 
 
 'Deed, then, I think, begging your Ladyship's par- 
 don, the fewer humours people have, so much the 
 better," observed Mrs. ^lacualey. 
 
 " II n'y a rien de plus ennuyeux que les personnes 
 qui n'ont qu'un seul ton — N'est il pas vrai?" said 
 Madame Latour. 
 
 Su- Eeginald looked as if he understood the innu- 
 endo, and he answered in French: "The human 
 mind has often been compared to a musical instru- 
 ment ; perhaps most minds may be capable of giving 
 a variety of tones, but it is not every one who has the 
 power of calling them forth." 
 
 "Ah, oui, mais le jeu ne vaut pas la chandelle, to 
 what you call draw out cette espece de personne ; les 
 gens reserves ressemblent, a mon avis, a cet instrument 
 de votre pays le bag-peep, which it take such a force 
 to sound ;" and her glance was directed to Edith, who 
 sat near, reading. 
 
 " The analogy is not just," replied Sir Eeginald 
 gravely; "there are minds like the organ, of great 
 power and melody when skilfully called forth; but 
 it is not every hand that can touch the right chords, 
 or every ear that can appreciate their excellence." 
 And he sighed as he said it. 
 
 "Ah, oui, c'est vat I do say, — il faat de la sym- 
 pathie dans le gout; sans sympathie I'^me ne pent etre 
 d'accord, et sans harmonie le cceur ne vaut rien." 
 
 Sir Eeginald turned abruptly from IMadame Latour 
 to Edith, and, as if he felt that he owed her some re- 
 paration for the innuendoes that had so evidently been
 
 DESTINY. 403 
 
 levelled against her, he devoted himself to her until 
 they were summoned to dinner. 
 
 On leaving the dining-room, Edith was fastened 
 upon by Lady Elizabeth, who again appropriated her 
 to her own particular use, as an auditor. 
 
 "You will go to Florinda, Madame Latour, and, 
 with my love, tell her I desire to see her in the 
 drawing-room by-and-by. — You, my dear," to Edith, 
 " will accompany me to my dressing-room, where we 
 shall be quiet, as I must have a little talk with you. 
 I have much to say, and I shall not have much time, 
 as, of course, we cannot remain long here. And, by- 
 the-bye, I have never properly introduced you to my 
 darlings. I am obliged to keep them in my dressing- 
 room for fear of your large dogs ; and that was one 
 of the things I wanted to say to you ; you really must 
 have those creatures shut up. You must know, I got 
 Amor and Amoretta from Cardinal Caccia-Piatti, an 
 uncommonly fascinating, fine-looking person. He paid 
 me great attention when I was at Rome. I daresay 
 you find this room rather warm, but I am obliged 
 to have a large fire on account of my dogs ; they feel 
 the cold of this climate dreadfully. Dr. Price was 
 of opinion that Amoretta's last attack was decidedly 
 rheumatic. Unluckily her dog-basket has a Avindow, 
 and I think the cold air had streamed in upon her, so 
 I was obliged to have it closed up, which makes it 
 dull, and I don't think she has ever liked it since. 
 If it were not for my eider-down quilt, I don't know 
 how I should have kept them alive. That Cardinal
 
 404 DESTINY. 
 
 really was a delightful person ; he thought my pro- 
 nunciation of the language quite perfect. When you 
 go, you must make a point of getting introduced to 
 him. I think Glenroy would like him." So flowed 
 on the babbling stream of her Ladyship's eloquence ; 
 and even Edith's patience, great as it was, was nearly 
 exhausted before it could be brought to a cessation, 
 or she could prevail on her to return to the drawing- 
 room. On entering the apartment, Edith beheld 
 Lady Waldegrave and Madame Latour seated on a 
 sofa, and Sir Reginald leaning over the back of it. 
 A blush was on Florinda's cheek ; but traces of deep 
 emotion were visible on Eeginald's features, as he 
 bent his head towards her, and spoke in a low voice. 
 Madame Latour was, or affected to be, engrossed by 
 Fido, whom she was fondling with true French 
 vivacity. A strange undefinable something, she could 
 not tell what, struck 'Edith at the sight. "This 
 odious Madame Latour," thought she. It was, how- 
 ever, a mere sudden sensation, unattended by any 
 train of reflections, for as Lady Elizabeth advanced, 
 Reginald hastily broke off from Lady Waldegrave, 
 and, turning abruptly round, joined the rest of the 
 gentlemen, who were standing at some distance. 
 
 " How charmingly you look, my love ! " exclaimed 
 Lady Elizabeth, quitting her hold of Edith for a 
 moment, to embrace her daughter. "And what a 
 very pretty dress! that is Madame Belcour, I am 
 sure ; how I wish I had seen it, and I should have 
 ordered one the same — how extremely becoming!"
 
 DESTINY. 405 
 
 with an air of chagrin. Then in a i^eevish tone, 
 " But you ought to have more flowers in your hair, 
 my dear child; only look at the size of my head, 
 which you know is far from being ouM." 
 
 " You forget I have had a headache this morning, 
 mamma," said Lady Waldegrave, evidently annoyed ; 
 "consequently my head is not able to bear much." 
 
 "Absurd, my dear!" in a peevish voice; "who 
 ever heard of a headache, or anything else, being an 
 excuse for being ill dressed ? If you choose to say it 
 is your fancy to dress so and so, I can understand 
 that, and it may pass ; but I do assure you it is very 
 bad taste to make anything of that sort a matter of 
 necessity. You must expect to be pitied if you do ; 
 and when once a person comes to be pitied, there is 
 an end of her consequence for ever." 
 
 "Then pray, mamma, suffer me to hide my 
 diminished head quietly in this corner," said Lady 
 Waldegrave, trying to laugh away her mother's 
 absurdity. 
 
 "Ah, vous et moi, miladi," said Madame Latour, 
 with an air of mock humility, " devons nous contenter 
 de porter des fleurs sm- la tete ; mais quant k Ladi 
 Waldegrave, les fleurs naissent sous ses pas. Et, 
 apropos, Saar Reginaal, est ce que votre fleur favorite 
 croit dans cette triste contree ? vat you call Forget-me- 
 not?" But Sir Reginald was by this time deeply 
 absorbed in a book, and made no answer. " Voyons 
 done ce qui vous occupe," cried Madame Latour, play- 
 fully drawing the book from before him; "de la
 
 406 DESTINY. 
 
 poesie ! " and she ran over the lines, as if going to 
 read them aloud; then handing the book to Lady 
 Waldegrave, "Lizez done, chere miladi, votre voix 
 charmante embellira memo ces vers." 
 
 Lady Waldegrave took the book without answer- 
 ing, glanced her eye over the page, and as she closed 
 it, exclaimed, "Ah, there was love !" 
 
 The play was Count Basil; the lines v^hich had 
 drawn forth the remark were those touching and 
 beautiful ones, uttered as he gazes on Victoria for the 
 last time — 
 
 " To be so near thee, and for ever parted ! 
 For ever lost ! what art thou now to me ? 
 Shall the departed gaze on thee again ? 
 Shall I glide past thee in the midnight hour, 
 Whilst thou perceiv'st it not, and think'st, perhaps, 
 'Tis but the mournful breeze that passes by ?" 
 
 Sir Eeginald's eyes had been fixed on Florinda 
 intently as she read ; then suddenly starting, he said 
 in a hurried manner, "Edith, won't you give us some 
 music?" 
 
 "Do you remember, Edith, you promised to sing 
 me one of your Scotch songs'?" said Lady Walde- 
 grave gaily. "Pray let me have one of your oldest 
 of old ballads ; and don't lose time," she added in a 
 whisper, "while mamma is busy talking to that very 
 civil, attentive gentleman, who looks as if he would 
 listen for half a century." 
 
 Edith arose, and, as she turned towards the piano, 
 she saw and was struck with the expression of Regi- 
 nald's countenance ; his eyes were fixed on the spot
 
 DESTINY. 407 
 
 where Lady AValdegrave and Madame Latour were 
 seated, while she passed him unnoticed, unheeded. A 
 strange pang shot through her heart ; her eyes filled 
 with tears; she could not define the nature of her 
 feelings ; she would have slirunk from the attempt, 
 even had it been in her power, as she would have 
 done from the point of a dagger. She began to busy 
 herself in turning over the music, as if seeking for 
 something, though she knew not what, till her agita- 
 tion subsided; and having selected that most beau- 
 tiful of all Scottish airs, Gilderoy, she began to sing a 
 verse of the old ballad. She possessed from nature a 
 melodious voice, a fine ear, and an intuitive refinement 
 of taste — gifts which, if they did not constitute her a 
 first-rate musician, rendered her at least a very touch- 
 ing and delightful one. But on the present occasion, 
 Edith's powers seemed all to have failed her — her 
 voice was weak and tremulous, her ear Avas uncon- 
 scious of sound, and all her perceptions were of a 
 mixed and painful nature. Aware of her failure, she 
 rose from the instrument, and faltering out an excuse, 
 begged some one else would take her place. Lady 
 Waldegrave attempted some faint commendations, 
 then rose, and was led by Sir Eeginald to the harp. 
 
 Poor Edith's failure was only rendered more con- 
 spicuous by Florinda's display. She was in brilliant 
 voice, and, with perfect self-possession, played and 
 sang several beautiful Italian and French airs, in the 
 manner of a perfectly well-taught and highly-finished 
 musician. Lady Waldegrave Avas much too well bred
 
 408 DESTINY. 
 
 to practise any of the little, commonplace, paltry airs 
 of coquetry ; at the same time, it might be discovered 
 by a discerning eye that admiration was the aim and 
 scope of all her actions, the stimulus to all her powers. 
 Nothing could appear more natural and graceful than 
 her movements and attitudes, nothing more simple 
 and unstudied than her varied modes of charming. 
 But as La Bruyere says — " Combien d'art pour rentier 
 dans la nature ! " 
 
 Symptoms of impatience were now visible in the 
 countenance of Lady Elizabeth, and Rousseau and the 
 guitar were summoned, which seemed the signal for 
 her daughter to retire from the field. With an excla- 
 mation at the heat of the room and the beauty of the 
 night, she rose and passed into the small drawing-room. 
 A few minutes elapsed A\dthout any one follo^ving. 
 
 "Ladi Waldegrave a laiss6 ses gants," said Madame 
 Latour, looking to Sir Reginald, as she held them up. 
 Reginald extended his hand to take them, then turned 
 hastily Siwaj, and addressed some remark to the per- 
 son next him, 
 
 " I will take Florinda her gloves," said Edith, -with 
 an elasticity of spirit she did not stop to analyse, and 
 could not easily have accounted for ; and, without 
 noticing Madame Latour's look of displeasure, she 
 seized the gloves, and followed Lady "Waldegrave. 
 The glow of excitement which had so lately lighted 
 up her beautiful face had fled, and the same expres- 
 sion of languid dissatisfaction was visible which Edith 
 had formerly observed.
 
 DESTINY. 409 
 
 " I fear you have fatigued yourself by singing too 
 much," said Edith. And she proceeded to praise her 
 musical powers with all the ardour of a generous 
 and sincere admiration. Lady Waldegrave appeared 
 liut little gratified with the commendations, for she 
 received them slightly, and her thoughts seemed 
 wandering while Edith spoke. 
 
 " I fear you are unwell, dear Florinda," said Edith, 
 at a loss to account for the coldness and abstraction 
 of one who, but a few minutes before, had been all 
 animation and brillianc}'. 
 
 " Oh no, not ill," replied Lady Waldegrave, in the 
 accent of one who felt rather annoyed than soothed 
 by the inquiry. 
 
 " Then surely you can have nothing to vex or dis- 
 quiet you," said Edith softly. "Ah, Florinda, if you 
 have, would that you thought me Avorthy to share 
 your confidence ! " 
 
 "You would be shocked were I to tell you the 
 cause of my mpeurs" said Lady Waldegrave, with 
 afi'ected solemnity ; " how shall I ovm to you that I 
 am a little whimsical; and a little — the very least 
 grain in the world — capricious f Edith felt hurt at 
 the taunting manner in which she was treated, and 
 remained silent. 
 
 "I see you are shocked, Edith, love, at such an 
 acknowledgment ; most people would as soon confess 
 that they lie and steal as that they are in the least 
 degree capricious; but for my part, I have none of 
 that virtuous abhorrence to a little caprice ; it certainly
 
 410 DESTINY. 
 
 renders the character, or at least the manners, more 
 inqiiant; for example, I am tired of singing sentimental 
 songs all the evening, and that you will call being 
 capricious, and I now wish to amuse myself by talking 
 nonsense ; but I fear you are too "wise to talk nonsense, 
 Edith?" 
 
 "Not on proper subjects," answered Edith gravely, 
 "but " 
 
 " My dear Edith ! for heaven's sake, don't use 
 such an old governess phrase as ' proper subjects ! ' 
 But, indeed, I am not aware we wei^e upon any 
 important subject in particular — were we, Edith f 
 
 " You had not thought it so, else you would not 
 have asked the question," replied Edith, coldly but 
 gently. 
 
 "Ah, I am the most forgetful creature in the 
 world, especially Avhen there is such a moon — such a 
 lovely moon, to gaze upon ! Come, let us enjoy its 
 beams, and escape the tinkle of mamma's guitar out 
 of doors." There was an old-fashioned glass door 
 which opened upon a sort of terrace Avalk, and she 
 stepped out. Edith and she took two or three tm-ns 
 backwards and forwards, admiring the beauty of the 
 night, while Florinda occasionally warbled a few notes 
 or repeated a line or two of Petrarch, then half pet- 
 tishly exclaimed, " Have you nothing to say on the 
 charms of moonlight, Edith 1" 
 
 Edith, roused from the reverie into which she had 
 fallen, replied, " Nothing of my own, but I could be 
 eloquent in the words of Ossian, only I suspect you
 
 DESTINY. 411 
 
 could not enter into my enthusiasm for our mountain 
 
 bard. Do you remember the exquisite opening of 
 
 Thalaba?— 
 
 ' How beautiful is niglit ! 
 A dewy freshness fills the silent air ; 
 No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain, 
 Breaks the serene of heaven ; 
 In fuU-orb'd glory yonder moon divine 
 Rolls through the dark-blue depths ! ' " 
 
 "Such a description is quite ilhistrative of the 
 night," said Florinda carelessly; "but it is too cold 
 and abstracted for me — and so is the night itself, to 
 speak the truth. It wants the charm of an Italian 
 moonlight — the rich, warm, glowing, indescribable 
 charm which there pervades the atmosphere and fills 
 the heart ; as some one, Madame de Stael, I believe, 
 has Avell said, the very perfume of the flowers in 
 Italy produces something of melody on the senses, 
 and, to use her own words, ' Vous eprouvez un bien- 
 etre si parfait, un si grand amiti6 de la nature pour 
 vous, que rien n'altere les sensations agr^ables qu'elle 
 vous cause.' This is what she says of Naples — dear, 
 dear, loved Naples!" exclaimed she fervently, as at 
 that moment they were joined by Madame Latour 
 and Sir Reginald. 
 
 "I cannot join in your eulogium on Italy," said 
 Edith, " as it is still a sealed book to me. But here 
 are those who will, I have no doubt. Were you, 
 Reginald, as much enamoured of Naples as Florinda 
 seems to be?" 
 
 " Quite," he replied, in an emphatic tone.
 
 412 DESTINY. 
 
 "And, like her, do you too look with something 
 of disdain on the loveliest of our Highland nights'?" 
 
 " Not with disdain ; but with more of admiration 
 than love." 
 
 "I thought you had loved your own country, 
 Eeginald," said Edith pensively. 
 
 "I have a great respect for it," replied he ; "love, 
 perhaps, is peculiar to Italy," he added, with a 
 sigh. 
 
 "All, oui," cried Madame Latour, "admirer, re- 
 specter, c'est une chose, — aimer, adorer, e'en est une 
 autre ! par exemple, j'ai uu profond respect pour vos 
 hautes montagnes, et pour vos sombres lacs — vat you 
 call locks ; pour vos forets de pins — vat you call feers ; 
 et que quelques personnes appellent 'le deuil de I'et^,' 
 — et en verity il y a trop de deuil dans vos tableaux — 
 ils sont tristes ; j'aime comme Saar Eeginaal le climat 
 a la fois passionn6 et riant, tel que celui de la belle 
 Italic." 
 
 "And I," said Edith, "however much I might 
 admire, and even enjoy, the fair skies and the flowers 
 and the melody and the odours of Italy, am sure I 
 should ever love the clouds and the mountains, the firs 
 and the heather, of my own native land ; to me the 
 very hooting of these owls has a charm, as associated 
 in my mind with all that I love, or ever loved." 
 
 She stopped, and blushed at her own warmth. 
 
 " Ah, ma chere ! " exclaimed Madame Latour, 
 gently pressing her arm, and looking in her face with 
 a smile, " croyez moi, c'est de I'amitii^, non de I'amour,
 
 DESTINY. 413 
 
 que vous avez ejirouve ; le hibou est remblenie cle la 
 sagesse, jamais on ne I'associa avec Famour." 
 
 Edith coloured deeply — she tried to laugh, but she 
 could not succeed, for a sigh from Sir Eeginald smote 
 her heart. He walked slowly away, then returned 
 with the air of one who is irresolute whether to go or 
 stay. Madame Latour now complained of " a frisson," 
 and, shivering, hurried into the house. Florinda, 
 Reginald, and Edith remained some time longer, but 
 the two former showed no inclination to converse ; 
 and after some fruitless attempts on Edith's j)art, 
 they all followed Madame Latour's example, and soon 
 after separated for the night. 
 
 END OF VOL. L 
 
 Printed by v.. & R. Clark, Edinburgh.
 
 BENTLEY'S EDITION, 
 
 THE WORKS OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 THE ONLY COMPLETE EDITION. 
 
 Library Edition in Six Volumes, crown Svo, well printed and hound in cloth, 
 with a Memoir and Portrait of the Authoress, and Five Illustrations on Steel 
 by Pickering, 36s. Each Volume can he had also separately, price 6s. 
 
 I. 
 
 SENSE AND SENSIBILITY. 
 
 "I have now read over again all 
 Miss Austen's novels. Chariniug they 
 are. Tliere are in the ■world no com- 
 positions which approach nearer to per- 
 fection." — Macaulay's Journal. 
 
 II. 
 
 PRIDE AND PREJUDICE. 
 
 " The perfect type of a novel of com- 
 mon life ; the story is so concisely 
 and dramatically told, the language so 
 simple, the shades of human character 
 so clearly presented, and the operation 
 of various motives so delicately traced, 
 attest this gifted woman to have been 
 the perfect mistress of her art." — 
 Arnold's English Litcratnre. 
 
 " One of the best of Miss Austen's 
 unequalled works. How perfectly it is 
 wTitten ! " — Spectator. 
 
 III. 
 
 EMMA. 
 
 " Shakespeare has neither equal nor 
 second ; but among the writers who 
 have approached nearest to the manner 
 of the great master we have no hesita- 
 tion in placing Jane Austen, a woman 
 of whom England is justly proud." — 
 Macaulay's Essays. 
 
 IV. 
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. 
 
 " Miss Austen has a talent for de- 
 scribing the involvements and feelings 
 and characters of ordinary life which is 
 to me the most wonderful 1 ever met 
 with. Her exquisite touch, which 
 
 renders commonplace things and char- 
 acter interesting from the truth of the 
 description and sentiment, is denied to 
 me."— Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 NORTH ANGER ABBEY. 
 
 " Read Dickens's ' Hard Times,' and 
 another book of Pliny's 'Letters.' Read 
 ' Northanger Abbey,' 'worth all Dickens 
 and Pliny together. Yet it was the 
 work of a girl. She was certainly not 
 more than 20. Wonderful creature!" 
 — Macaulay's Journal. 
 
 PERSUASION. 
 
 "Miss Austen's fame will outlive 
 the generations that did not appreciate 
 her, and her works will be ranked with 
 the English classics as long as the 
 language lasts." — Atluf. 
 
 VI. 
 
 LADY SUSAN. 
 
 " We do not know a more agrei^able 
 WTiter than Miss Austen. The great 
 charm of her characters is their reality. 
 They are the truest pictures of English 
 middle and country life of her own 
 time." — Lit-erary Gazette. 
 
 "Miss Austen's merits have long 
 been established beyond question ; she 
 is emphatically the novelist of home." 
 — S2JCctator. 
 
 THE WATSONS. 
 
 With a Memoir and Portrait of the 
 Authoress. 
 
 " Miss Austen's Life, as well as 
 her talent, seems to us unique among 
 the lives of authoresses of fiction."— 
 Quarterly Bevicvj. 
 
 RICHARD BENTLEY & SON, 
 NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
 
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