THE LIBRARY 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 LADY MARION'S HOME. Page 9.
 
 Lady JVEaiion's 
 
 BY 
 
 LYDIA L. ROUSE, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "SANDY'S FAITH," "HONEST WULLIE," "DUNCAN 
 KENNEDY'S NEW HOME," ETC. 
 
 AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY, 
 
 150 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK CITY.
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1887, 
 BY AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY.
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Sir William's Disappointment 7 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Breaking Up the Estate 19 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Dalziel's Second Visit 30 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The Ainslie Bairns 40 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The Black Linn 52 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Roger Ainslie 62 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The Headless Ghost . 73 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Ainslie's Return.-. _ 82 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Gentle Annie 92
 
 4 CONTENTS. ' 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Lady Marion's Marriage-- - 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 Old Stephen's Sorrow --. -.109 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Wee Jessie's Cove -- "6 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Roger Leaves Home -- 121 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Motherhood 131 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Marjorie 141 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Sorrow at the Castle. 149 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Changes 156 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Roger's Secret 165 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Elspeth at the Farmhouse 174 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 The Motherless Bairns ,84 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Death of Jean Hughs. ..
 
 \ 
 CONTENTS. 5 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 Retribution 198 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 A Talk in the Gloaming 205 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 Among the Tenantry . 212 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 Elspeth's Surprise 219 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 The Death of Sir William 224
 
 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 SIR WILLIAM'S DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 CRAGSBY CASTLE was situated on the bank 
 of the river Tay, not far from the Grampian Hills. 
 It derived its name from its close proximity to a 
 high, craggy mountain. When the building was 
 first contemplated several sites were proposed, 
 but the site by the crags was chosen. After a 
 while the name The Castle by the Crags became 
 contracted into Cragsby Castle. 
 
 In this castle dwelt Marion Campbell. She 
 lived in the distant past, but that matters not to 
 us; for the joys and sorrows of the human family 
 a're ever repea-ted. "The thing that hath been 
 is that which shall be." When we read the his- 
 tory of those whose lives belonged to another age 
 we feel that we are acting over again the parts of 
 others; that human nature is the same under 
 various manifestations as generation succeeds
 
 8 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 generation. So, though Lady Marion has long 
 since slept the dull sleep of death, the story of her 
 life may wake an echo in many a heart. Her 
 story opens at the time when life has most of 
 interest, in the flush of early womanhood. 
 
 Many a fair lady had graced with her presence 
 these ancestral halls, and many a Marion too; for 
 the name had been handed down in the Campbell 
 family time out of mind. Sir William Campbell, 
 the present occupant of the castle, thought that 
 the name had never been worn by any one so 
 beautiful as his own daughter. Although he 
 had no son to bear his name, and although the 
 fortunes of the family were sadly changed, he 
 had high hopes for Marion. In her charms he 
 saw great possibilities. He thought that an an- 
 cient name united with so much beauty and 
 grace would more than compensate for the empti- 
 ness of her father's coffers. To this end he. made 
 it his business to entertain many sons of fortune. 
 And this was no difficult thing to do. Cragsby 
 Castle was the only considerable castle within 
 many miles, and it was a very attractive place, 
 standing as it did in the midst of such beautiful 
 and diversified scenery as can be presented by 
 picturesque mountains and quiet, glassy lakes. 
 The mountain-sides were dotted with clumps of 
 alder and hazel, the summits were crowned with
 
 SIR WILLIAM'S DISAPPOINTMENT. 9 
 
 ash and oak, while here and there a little stream 
 flowed down, looking like a silver thread, wind- 
 ing serpent-like past the roots of trees, then pass- 
 ing hurriedly through the crevices of gray cleft 
 rocks, and again lost in the tangled vines and 
 coppice that skirted the lake. Here, then, under 
 the shadow of the mountains, where nature had 
 scattered her wealth in profusion, where a young 
 life would naturally claim as much freedom as 
 the air that sustained it, where in all the sur- 
 rounding country each gray head was well stored 
 with legendary lore, lived the maiden who was 
 to wed him only whom her proud and calculating 
 father should judge most suitable. 
 
 If this story were merely a love-story, or if 
 it were written only to present life in its brightest 
 and most pleasing aspect, we would linger around 
 the rose-tinted morn of Marion's life; for that was 
 sunny and joyous. But this part of her life, sweet 
 as it was, was all too short, and sorrow and stern 
 realities soon followed. The light and the bright- 
 ness dropped suddenly out of her life and all at 
 once it seemed as sombre and hard-featured as 
 the old stone castle itself. The quiet little grot- 
 tos no longer offered her the peace she was wont 
 to find in them. The fields no longer smiled for 
 her, and when her own calm lake mirrored her 
 face she saw that it was wan and sad. What
 
 io LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 had wrought the change ? Something must have 
 happened to give this leaden hue to existence. 
 
 Among her father's guests were two young 
 men who often occupied her thoughts. One she 
 regarded with as much affection as she dared; 
 the other with an equal amount of aversion. As 
 may be supposed, her own heart had singled out 
 one as a kindred spirit; the other her father had 
 chosen for her husband. In the eyes of Sir 
 William Campbell the only requisite in a son-in- 
 law was silver. His mind dwelt on this till all 
 his finer conceptions were blunted; he even waived 
 all ideas of right and wrong and justice. He 
 thought of his daughter's marriage as a mere 
 business transaction and therefore Roger Ainslie, 
 the man whom Marion had chosen, was not to be 
 compared to Malcolm Dalziel, who "handled 
 mair siller in a year than Ainslie would in a life- 
 time." 
 
 Indeed, Ainslie was not invited to the castle 
 in the way that Malcolm Dalziel was. He had 
 accompanied Dalziel to the North on a hunting 
 expedition, and Sir William, meeting them, ex- 
 tended an invitation to both because Roger was 
 the friend of Dalziel. 
 
 Poverty as yet had not banished the good 
 cheer from the castle, and the wine kept for sorest 
 need sparkled on the board. But while Dalziel
 
 SIR WILLIAM'S DISAPPOINTMENT. II 
 
 drained his glass often, the other guest did not 
 even sip the 'beverage. Sir William one day re- 
 marked, ' ' You pay but an ill compliment to the 
 wine I furnish, Ainslie." 
 
 Roger begged the pardon of his host and 
 added, "I cannot forget the words o' the wise 
 man, ' Wine is a mocker. ' ' ' 
 
 The answer displeased Sir William, and he 
 said, ' ' King David speaks o' it as ' wine that 
 maketh glad the heart o' mon.' " 
 
 "There is no need of going back to King 
 David," said Dalziel, lifting his glass; "here am 
 I, a living witness to the happiness that flows 
 from the social glass." 
 
 It had afforded Lady Marion no little satisfac- 
 tion that approaching poverty prevented her fa- 
 ther from replenishing the wine-cellar. She re- 
 membered her mother's sad face when her hus- 
 band lingered too long over the cup, and on her 
 death-bed she had begged him to banish it alto- 
 gether. 
 
 Lady Marion had liked Ainslie from their 
 first meeting, and the two young people soon 
 grew very fond of each other. Roger often rode 
 to the chase casting wistful glances behind, and 
 Marion counted the hours before his return. 
 
 Dalziel also paid the young lady much atten- 
 tion, but it was not pleasing to her, and it soon
 
 i2 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 became evident that she avoided his society. Sir 
 William supposed that a word from him would 
 put a different face on affairs, and he lost no time 
 in giving the advice he thought so necessary. 
 But he had not counted on the strength of his 
 daughter's will. The interview was a very un- 
 pleasant one. Words ran high, for Sir William 
 was determined to carry his point, and Marion 
 had much of the Campbell spirit that he had loved 
 to see till it ran counter to his wishes. After quite 
 a while, since Marion remained firm, her father 
 said, " I wull give you twa days, my lass, to con- 
 sider whether you wull be guided by your father's 
 wishes or your ain notions. If your decision does 
 not please me you may live to repent it." 
 
 The time given her for consideration was 
 wholly unnecessary, for Marion knew that she 
 could as well answer at once as two days later.' 
 However, she made no answer, but went to her 
 room with a look of determination that spoke as 
 plainly as words. 
 
 Marion's mother was dead and she sought no 
 adviser. But her old nurse and warm friend, 
 Blspeth Lundie, had overheard all that Sir Wil- 
 liam had said, and she was deeply interested. 
 Lady Marion had never borne herself haughtily 
 towards Elspeth, and the old servant was accus- 
 tomed to speak freely about many things, though
 
 SIR WILLIAM'S DISAPPOINTMENT. 13 
 
 her mistress reserved the right to make use of the 
 advice or not as suited her. Upon this occasion 
 Elspeth began, ' ' Dear heart, but you are in a 
 sair strait noo. ' ' 
 
 Marion looked up with surprise, and Elspeth 
 continued, ' ' Indeed, I hae heard ilka ward atween 
 yoursel' an' your faither. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Then you have more knowledge o' my affairs 
 than I wish you to have. Where were you, El- 
 speth?" 
 
 U I was in the next room sortin' an' pittin' 
 awa' the claes that wunna be needed till the cauld 
 winds o' winter blaw." 
 
 " You are late wi' that wark, my gude El- 
 speth." 
 
 ' ' Ay, I am ; but wha can see till her ain wark 
 an' the wark o' another too? Ye ken that the 
 hoose has been that fu' o' company o' late that 
 Katy has called upon me mair than is gude for 
 my ain part o' the wark. But I wadna mak' 
 complaint, an' that isna what I wush to speak o'. 
 Noo, I wad be slow to set ony bairn against the 
 wushes o' a parent except I saw it was my duty, 
 an' I see nae ither way to leuk at this matter. 
 Yon Dal^iel is a bad mon, a vera bad mon. I 
 can see that muckle i' his countenance. Noo, I 
 wadna speak o' what is nane o' my business; but 
 I feel that I wad ill requite the kindness o' your
 
 i 4 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 mither that's awa' an' I didna cry oot ag'in' sic 
 as he when he wad seek to win her daughter. 
 Ye see I ken mair than I ance did; I haena lived 
 forty an' five years for naught." 
 
 " Nae, Elspeth, you haena lived for naught. 
 Ye hae your head well stored wi' sound sense, 
 an' your heart hasna been neglected either; for o' 
 all this I hae daily proof. But dinna fret about 
 me. I wull win my way through the twa days 
 an' give my answer as suits myselV 
 
 "It wull be best sae," said Elspeth wisely, 
 "for I hae kenned merriges mony, an' I hae 
 heard o' mony mair, that hae turned oot badly. 
 I could tell you, an' I would; but some things 
 wull die wi' me for a' I wull let them slip frae 
 my tongue. There is oft a haill warld o' trouble 
 shut up in ane woman's heart, an' mony an ane 
 is killed by it. Still I alloo that there be happy 
 merried folk; I micht hae tried sic a life mysel' 
 an' Robin hadna died." 
 
 Lady Marion had no mind just then to hear 
 the oft-repeated story of Elspeth' s courtship, so 
 she changed the subject. 
 
 Although Marion showed no anxiety in the 
 presence of others, at night, in the solitude of her 
 own chamber, her pent-up feelings found vent in 
 tears and sobs; for she well knew that if she re- 
 fused Dalziel it would hasten his departure and
 
 SIR WILLIAM'S DISAPPOINTMENT. 15 
 
 Ainslie's also, and that neither would be likely to 
 return. Old Elspeth had been sleeping lightly 
 in an adjoining room. She heard the first sob 
 and listened but a short time ere she stole softly 
 into Marion's chamber, and laying her hand 
 gently on her shoulder, said, 4 ' Puir lamb, puir 
 lamb!" 
 
 " Elspeth, gude Elspeth, gang to your rest. I 
 am sorry that I disturbed you, ' ' said Lady Marion. 
 
 "Gang to my rest, hinny, and leave you 
 your lane? I trow not. I wad be ashamed to 
 leuk you in the face an' I didna show that I sor- 
 row for the sorrows o' my ain bonnie leddy. I 
 hae come to speak to you o' Him wha is ahint a' 
 that concerns the children o' men. Gang to God, 
 dearie, gang to him. It is easy for him to bring 
 licht oot o' seeming darkness. Ane wee wave o' 
 his hand can scatter a' the clouds aboon us. I 
 ken that it doesna always seem his wull to scatter 
 them a' at ance. I hae waited lang mysel' to see 
 a bit rift i' the cloudy nicht o' trouble; but it 
 grew murkier an' murkier ; the clouds didna 
 break awa', but aboon them for ane wee minute 
 glinted the wards, 'My grace shall be sufficient 
 for thee.' Noo, hinny, ye canna tell what way 
 he wull tak' to help you; but leave it i' his han' 
 an' it wull be weel. ' ' 
 
 "I ken that, an' it comforts me. Now leave
 
 16 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 me, gude Blspeth. I havena a doubt o' your 
 sympathy, but I would rather be alone." 
 
 " Ye wull greet owre inuckle." 
 
 "Well, I wull greet an' hae done wi' it 
 Tears maun fall, Elspeth. I can well believe 
 that this warld o' ours was but young ere they 
 began to fall. It isna the raindrops alane that 
 water the earth. It drinks in the sweat o' the 
 oppressed, the tears o' the sorrowing, an' the 
 bluido' the slain." 
 
 "Oh, my dear leddy, you are findin' oot sic 
 things too early. Ye maunna forget that God 
 has made a bonnie, bonnie warld; mon inaistly 
 makes the sorrow an' the trouble intil it. I wush 
 that you could be kept frae the troubles that are 
 abroad in it. I could find it i' my heart to wush 
 that tears might never dim the licht in youre'e." 
 
 "Weel, gang noo an' I wunna greet; least- 
 ways, na sae sairly. " 
 
 Lady Marion was true to her promise. She 
 soon committed her care to God, as her faithful 
 old friend had directed, and gave herself to sleep. 
 
 The next day wore away and the second was 
 nearing its close when Sir William called his 
 daughter to him. "Weel," he began, "hae ye 
 come to your senses, lass ? Hoo about givin' up 
 Ainslie an' closin' in wi' an offer warthy o' ac- 
 ceptance?"
 
 SIR WILLIAM'S DISAPPOINTMENT. 17 
 
 " I catma wed Dalziel." 
 
 "That isna your answer?" 
 
 " Ay, that is my answer. I may repent of it, 
 as you say, but I would be mair likely to repent 
 an' I accepted him. That is simply impossible; I 
 canna wed him. I hae but one life to live i' this 
 warld, an' I amaist wish that I hadna that, or 
 that I could exchange places wi' Katy or some 
 other serving lass, if I could be free frae the wea- 
 risome plotting and planning about matrimony." 
 
 "Gang to your ain room, Marion, and dinna 
 leave it the nicht. Ainslie wull be awa' i' the 
 morn; an' that isna a': the dure o' my hame 
 wull be for ever closed against him. ' ' 
 
 Marion went to her own room and locked the 
 door. Before long Elspeth was at the keyhole 
 asking, ' ' May I na come in ?' ' 
 
 " Not now; an hour later you may come." 
 
 That evening Roger Ainslie missed Lady 
 Marion and could not divine the cause of her 
 absence until Sir William gave him to under- 
 stand that his presence was no longer desired by 
 the master of the castle. 
 
 Blspeth did not fail to be at Marion's door at 
 the time appointed. Her mistress handed her a 
 letter and said, "I hae something to commit to 
 your care. Give this note to Mr. Ainslie if you 
 can do sae without attracting attention." 
 
 Lady Marlon's Answer. 2
 
 i8 LADY MARION'S ANSWKR. 
 
 The letter was delivered, and Roger Ainslie 
 entrusted Elspeth with this message: "Tell Lady 
 Marion that I shall never forget her, and I hope 
 to meet her again. ' ' 
 
 When Lady Marion awoke next morning she 
 heard voices without, and she lifted the curtain 
 so that she could see without being seen. Dalziel 
 and Ainslie were mounted and ready to set spurs 
 to their horses. Ainslie's eyes were scanning the 
 upper windows of the castle with a look of ex- 
 pectancy on his face that soon gave place to dis^ 
 appointment, and they rode away. 
 
 Marion Campbell threw herself back on hei 
 couch, saying, " I will keep my room long enough 
 to please faither. He sent me frae him; now he 
 will send for me ere he sees me again."
 
 BREAKING UP THE ESTATE. 19 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 BREAKING UP THE ESTATE. 
 
 SIR WILLIAM was very sullen after the de- 
 parture of his guests. He scolded the men and 
 kicked the dogs aud seemed determined to vent 
 his displeasure on something. The old servants 
 remarked to each other, ' ' The maister is that 
 dour that he canna speak a pleasant ward to 
 mon or beast. ' ' He was a terror to others and a 
 trouble to himself. He missed his daughter, al- 
 though he was still angry with her. As even- 
 ing approached he asked Elspeth, "Is your leddy 
 na weel ?' ' 
 
 "Ay, she is weel; leastways, she mak's nae 
 complaint aboot her health." 
 
 He said no more and soon retired. Elspeth 
 was glad that he did so, and she persuaded Marion 
 to go down and enjoy the pleasant evening breeze. 
 The two women walked around the grounds a 
 while. The old castle looked lovely in the moon- 
 light, and a pang shot through Marion's heart 
 and for a moment she was almost in sympathy 
 with her father's plans. The walls had sheltered 
 the Campbell family for seven generations ; they
 
 20 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 had shut out cold and heat and the prying gaze 
 of the curious; they had shut in all that makes 
 home a delight. Now its owner was vexed day 
 after day by adverse circumstances, so that the 
 dear old walls might go to strangers unless some- 
 thing interposed. Marion began to see how her 
 father could fall in with any lawful plan to render 
 him more secure in his ancient heritage. Then 
 came the thought of the long years that she would 
 be obliged to endure the bonds of unhappy, un- 
 blessed wedlock unhappy because of unconge- 
 niality, unblessed because underlaid with wrong 
 motives. Then another thought came to her, 
 that if she commenced life with such mercenary 
 motives, her heart would in all probability grow 
 more and more hardened through the deceitful- 
 ness of riches; she might even gain all she could 
 desire in this life and in the end lose her own 
 soul. Then castle walls, castle grounds, and all 
 the ancient landmarks sank into insignificance 
 and she grew strong strong to meet and to strug- 
 gle with poverty if need be, strong to brook her 
 father's displeasure, perhaps vented in taunts 
 and jeers. She looked up to the pale clouds 
 above her and her heart went out to Him who 
 sits above them. She breathed an earnest prayer 
 that God would enable her to lead a pure, sweet, 
 and noble life, to walk in his fear, and to count
 
 BREAKING UP THE ESTATE. 21 
 
 his approval her chief good. 'Then speaking 
 aloud, she said, " L,et us gang in, Elspeth." 
 
 When her father sent for her the next morn- 
 ing she went to him pale .and trembling. She 
 was neither angry nor fearful; but she sorrowed 
 for his disturbed mind and because he had found 
 no place to lay down his cares and burdens. He 
 attributed her agitation to dread of himself, and he 
 held out his hand, saying, "Marion, child, I am 
 not angry wi' you, leastways, not noo; but I am 
 sae disappointed. It is maistly for your ain sake 
 that I wish to hae our fortunes mended. Alas! 
 the spoiler wull soon be upon us. Cragsby Castle 
 wull soon be shorn of its ancient honors. On me 
 an' on mine must fall the calamity." 
 
 His head bent forward as he ceased speaking. 
 He gave his daughter's hand a gentle pressure. 
 She returned it and then said, ' ' Faither, we need 
 not be wretched." 
 
 " Nae? What hae we to keep us frae it?" 
 
 "Each other and the providence of God over 
 us." 
 
 "It is gude for you to take comfort oot o' sic 
 thoughts. There may be somat in them." 
 
 It never occurred to Sir William that he had 
 been the cause of sorrow to his child in sending 
 Ainslie away so abruptly. But Marion felt no 
 resentment. She looked down with an expression
 
 22 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 of pitying love on the bowed head too early sil- 
 vered. Her father roused himself and asked, 
 "Do you feel equal to a long walk the mom?" 
 
 Marion consented and went to put on her bon- 
 net. Elspeth met her in the hall and asked, 
 " Where noo, hinny ?" 
 
 " I am going to walk wi' faither." 
 
 "Hae ye made it up atween you?" 
 
 " Ay, gude Elspeth, thanks to Ane aboon." 
 
 " Thanks to him indeed." Then she added 
 softly, "He bauds the hearts o' men." 
 
 "The morning air wull do us baith gude," 
 remarked Sir William as he and Marion walked 
 along. ' ' May it gie me strength to say what maun 
 soon be made known. I could hae held oot a 
 while longer wi' a different prospect, but noo the 
 worst maun come." 
 
 They walked on in silence till they came to a 
 stile. Sir William sat down and motioned for 
 Marion to sit beside him. Then, pointing with 
 his cane, he said, "See ye the bonnie meadow- 
 Ian' an' all that woody height ahint it?" 
 
 "Ay, faither." 
 
 " Weel, it maun gang to pay back the siller I 
 hae borrowed frae time to time. ' ' 
 
 " We wull still hae the castle an' a' the rest 
 o' the land with the cots upon it, wull we na?" 
 
 "Ay, for a while onyway; but I am vera
 
 BREAKING UP THE ESTATE. 23 
 
 loath to sell an acre o' ground frae the estate. It 
 wull seem sae strange, nearly a quarter o' the 
 Ian' to gang ! The half o' the men maun gang 
 tae." 
 
 "Weel, that wull cut doon our expenses." 
 
 ' ' Ay, but that isna all. It wull cut doon oor 
 respectability tae." 
 
 ' ' I am but a lass, an' if I canna build up the 
 name an' the house, you shall see that I can bear 
 reverses without complaint." 
 
 ' ' Can you, though ? That wull be a comfort 
 to me." 
 
 Soon after this conversation Sir William sold 
 enough land to meet all the claims that were 
 pressing hard upon him, but it hurt him to break 
 up his patrimony. He became moody and sullen. 
 Sometimes he found fault with Marion because 
 she had disappointed his hopes, and oftener he 
 mourned in silence. This was hard for his daugh- 
 ter to bear, and she tried to amuse him. She 
 planned many a pleasant walk and ride, but she 
 was not able to rouse him from his dejection. 
 
 During these changes no one watched Sir Wil- 
 liam more closely than did Elspeth. She thought 
 that her master had reached a critical period in 
 his life; that he would either go downward much 
 faster than ever or would rise above his trou- 
 bles and attain to a noble Christian manhood.
 
 24 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 Blspeth was a woman of strong sense and still 
 stronger devotion, and the family at Cragsby cas- 
 tle held a place in her heart second only to that 
 of her God. 
 
 One morning a few weeks later, when Lady 
 Marion and her father returned from a drive, 
 Blspeth remarked to her mistress, 
 
 " I think that your faither's spirits are coming 
 up a bit; he doesna seem sae muckle cast doon. 
 It gives me great pleasure, I can tell you, for al- 
 though I hae held my peace an' na meddled wi' 
 matters too high for the likes o ? me, I hae been 
 afeared that the maister was near-han' givin' up 
 a'thegither." 
 
 "You are richt, Elspeth ; his spirits seem 
 mending, for which none wha are interested in 
 his welfare should fail to be thankfu', least o' any 
 his ain daughter." 
 
 "There is nae fear that you wunna be thank- 
 fu' sin' you hae grown sae muckle like her wha 
 is awa'. It was a thankfu' heart that she carried 
 within her. I believe that she wad hae been weel 
 content wi' ony poseetion in life an' she kenned 
 that the same was God's gude wull. Your mither 
 aye seemed to be leukin' awa' to heaven to be led 
 by Him wha gives wisdom to a', wha gives lib- 
 erally an' upbraideth not. But I am standin' 
 here owre lang ; the new kitchen maid is but a
 
 BREAKING UP THE ESTATE. 25 
 
 sorry han' at makin' a dinner. I trow that the 
 maister's meals wadna gie him muckle satisfac- 
 tion an' I didna tak' matters i' my ain han's. 
 Noo I maun gang straight to the garden. I see 
 that the ingons are fu' size, an' I ken weel that 
 the maister is richt fond o' them." 
 
 When Blspeth left her, Marion let her em- 
 broidery fall into her lap and sat thinking, think- 
 ing. Her father entered the adjoining room and 
 sat watching her. Presently he said, "Of what 
 are you thinkin' sae intently, my lassie?" 
 
 " I canna just tell, but I think it was maistly 
 aboot our twa selves, an' whether we mayna as 
 well be happy as na to be. ' ' 
 
 u I daur say we wad live the langer for it, an' 
 I alloo that we owe it to oorsel's. But to ken 
 the richt isna to do it. ' ' 
 
 "That is true ; but to ken the right an' then 
 to set aboot trying after it wull nae doot produce 
 gude results." 
 
 " Weel, what shall we do first?" 
 
 " If I should presume to counsel you, I would 
 say, let us be thankful for the blessings that we 
 hae left to us." 
 
 " That is weel said, I hae nae doot ; but, Mar- 
 ion, you canna expect me to forget the big mead- 
 ows. ' ' 
 
 " Nae, but you hae meadows left. The horses
 
 26 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 an' the kine an' the sheep will hae plenty to 
 eat, an' there is enough for ourselves and for the 
 servants. Isna that muckle cause for grati- 
 tude?" 
 
 "Ay, ay, there is mony an ane mair deserv- 
 in' than I am wha hasna as muckle as I hae. 
 But, lass, I wunna want to hear the music o' the 
 scythes yonder an' think that my men dinna han- 
 dle them, nor I dinna want to hear the axes on 
 the woodlands an' remember that auld Felix Cam- 
 eron has given the ward to strike doon the trees. 
 I tell you, lass, it is hard. ' ' 
 
 There was a perceptible tremor in his voice, 
 and Marion felt that it had been no light thing 
 for her father to part with a portion of his inher- 
 itance. She lifted up her heart to God, asking 
 him to give her fitting words to answer. After a 
 moment she spoke. 
 
 "There is another inheritance, and to mak' 
 sure o' that we maun hold warldly riches wi' a 
 loose grasp. You mind the question o' our Lord : 
 ' What shall it profit a mon if he gain the whole 
 warld an* lose his ain soul, or what wull a inon 
 give in exchange for his soul ?' " 
 
 "That is sae, that is sae. Whiles it is borne 
 in upon my mind that there is muckle i' that. I 
 ken weel that I canna clutch my deeds an' titles 
 when grim daith comes for me, an' I wad like
 
 BREAKING UP THE ESTATE. 27 
 
 weel to keep him at a distance. But ilka day 
 brings him nearer; that canna be denied." 
 
 "Well, sin' it is sae, we should mak' ready to 
 welcome him." 
 
 4 'Mak' ready to welcome daith, Marion?" 
 
 "Ay, we can and should welcome him, since 
 it is he wha opens the passage-way between the 
 twa worlds. How can we win into heaven if we 
 dinna meet wi' daith? Do you think that he 
 wull wear the same dark look when he comes for 
 the saint as when he comes for the sinner? I 
 canna think that he wull." 
 
 ' ' It may be that he wunna ; I hae ni ver thought 
 o' that" 
 
 " I suppose that I hae gotten that thought frae 
 a story that Blspeth told me. She said that ance 
 her grandmither was up o' nights wi' twa sick 
 folk. Ane was a very gude, the ither a very bad 
 woman, an' the twa were sisters. Well, one night 
 the clock had just struck twelve when she heard 
 a rustling. She looked up an' a dark, powerful, 
 ill-shapen figure stood by the bedside o' the sinful 
 woman, an' in his hand he held a black wand. 
 He beckoned wi' the wand three times, an' some- 
 thing as black as himself came out o' the prostrate 
 form o' the woman an' she breathed never after. 
 Well, twa nights after, Blspeth said it was, her 
 grandmither was watchin' by the ither sister, but
 
 28 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 not alane, for she was fu' o' fear, you see. She 
 heard the same rustling, but at first she didna 
 dare look up. When she did, a figure i' white 
 stood there, an' it smiled on the poor, sufferin' 
 saint. She stretched out her hands wi' a beseech- 
 in' look. The figure beckoned, an' something 
 softly white followed, an' this woman too was nae 
 mair in the land o' the livin'. Elspeth says that 
 her grandmither aye believed that she had seen 
 daith with her natural eyes, but ilka ither person 
 wha heard her tell aboot it thought it was a dream. 
 Elspeth thinks she was dreaming baith times, an' 
 the lass wha was with her said that the auld dame 
 slept till the sick woman was beyond her care 
 she was dead. ' ' 
 
 "I like not sic dreams; they disturb me. 
 Daith is sic a mysterious thing, Marion. Oor 
 friends are wi' us an' then they are awa', an' we 
 can nae mair get a ward frae their lips than if they 
 were stane. Did I na feel that when your mither 
 died ? I am loath to confess it, but my feelings 
 are soft the day. How often she wad follow me 
 to hae speech o' things that would hae been o' 
 profit to me had I listened, but I was a puir lis- 
 tener. After she was dead I would hae given all 
 that I possessed to hear that gentle voice sayin', 
 ' William dear, hae you time to talk a bit?' But 
 nae, there was nevermore to escape frae those lips
 
 BREAKING UP THE ESTATE. 29 
 
 word nor sigh, an' o' the last I uiaun confess there 
 were full mony. I was sorry it was sae, and I 
 sat down i' the darkness beside my lifeless Isabel 
 an' took her slender han' in my ain. It gave me a 
 chill, but I still held it an' prayed but for ane wee 
 sign o' forgiveness an' love. No sound was heard 
 but the ticking o' the clock, seemin' to speak 
 loudly, and to speak these words: 'It's a' past, 
 it's a' past.' I couldna bear it, an' I muttered 
 atween my teeth, 'I wull stop your lying tongue; 
 for if she canna tell me sae, she still forgives me 
 an' loves me. ' Weel, the next morning Elspeth 
 marvelled that the auld clock had stopped, an' I 
 didna tell her that I had stopped it because I 
 couldna bear to hear it. ' ' 
 
 Both Sir William and his daughter were in 
 tears, but they did not long indulge them. ' ' I 
 said awhile ago," said Sir William, wiping his 
 eyes, u that daith is a mysterious thing; sae is life 
 mysterious. We gang the same round eat, drink, 
 sleep, wark, an' live, maistly for creature com- 
 forts till daith comes to change all. Weel, so it 
 wull be till the end o' the warld." 
 
 ' ' Yes, ' ' answered Marion, and she repeated 
 the words of our Lord, " ' As it was in the days 
 of Noah, so shall it be in the days of the Son of 
 Man."'
 
 20 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 DALZIEL'S SECOND VISIT. 
 
 SIR WILLIAM was not always in the repentant 
 mood in which we found him in the last chapter. 
 He was groping after truth and he had some as- 
 pirations after a better life, but his mind was not 
 fixed. He was wavering between a love of that 
 which is seen and temporal and that which is un- 
 seen and eternal. Three years passed, leaving 
 him in a state of unrest. Especially did he chafe 
 each year when the time of haymaking came 
 around. He would say, " Auld Felix is at those 
 meadows again," and he would be miserable un- 
 til the last load of hay disappeared from his sight. 
 
 About this time Malcolm Dalziel again came 
 to the castle. He said to Sir William, "I hae 
 come to try my luck again. Perhaps Lady Mar- 
 ion wull change her mind when she kens what I 
 hae to tell her." 
 
 "What can you tell her that wull wark sic a 
 change?" 
 
 " You ken that she liked Ainslie well." 
 
 "It may be that she did, puir lass; but what 
 o' him?"
 
 SECOND VISIT. 31 
 
 "Weel, he is dead an' gone; leastways he set 
 oot to cross over to Belfast in an auld craft that 
 was mair like a cockleshell than a vessel; but he 
 couldna hae made the port, for he hasna been 
 heard frae. " 
 
 " You dinna tell me sae?" 
 
 "Ay, but I do. He has gone doon, that is 
 sure, or the bairns wad hae had news frae him. ' ' 
 
 "What bairns, Dalziel?" 
 
 "His brither's bairns. You ken that the 
 brither was a merchant in Belfast. Weel, he 
 died six months since an' left a lad an' a lass; 
 their mither has been dead mony a year. Folk 
 said that his business was in a bad state, an' the 
 bairns were sent to Roger. There was naething 
 left but some household gear that had belonged to 
 Roger's mither. He was loath to give it up, an' 
 set out to bring it hame in the cheapest way, but 
 I am thinking it was a dear way to him, puir 
 lad. I maun say that I liked Roger Ainslie. If 
 it had been another man who stood in my way as 
 he did here, I dinna ken what I wad hae dune wi' 
 him." 
 
 "I marvelled hoo you could feel sae friendly 
 towards him." 
 
 "Weel, he saved my life, you ken." 
 
 " Nae, I didna ken that. Hoo was it?" 
 
 " It was when we were lads at school. Ains-
 
 32 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 lie was aye a douce laddie; he didna care for the 
 
 cup, you ken." 
 
 " Ay," assented Sir William. 
 
 "Weel," continued Dalziel, "I was pretty 
 weel fuddled one night, that is, for a lad, an' as I 
 was about to cross a bridge on the way hame 
 Ainslie came up on the other side. I lost my 
 balance and I pitched doon in the deep waters. I 
 thought I heard him cry oot, 'God help me!' 
 an' God maun hae helped him, for he found me 
 an' helped me ashore. Do you wonder noo that 
 we were friends?" 
 
 "Nae," said Sir William; "you did weel to 
 remember him. An' noo he lies aneath the wa- 
 ters himsel', puir wight !" 
 
 "Sae it seems. Weel, I couldna save him, 
 but I think I maun do something for those bairns. 
 They were dependent on Roger for their support. ' ' 
 
 The reader will not be surprised that Dalziel' s 
 second attempt to win Marion was no more suc- 
 cessful than the first. Sir William was more 
 than half persuaded that it was his right to insist 
 upon Marion's acceptance of his hand. But his 
 daughter answered quietly, "I gave my answer 
 years ago, an' I hae nae mind to change it." 
 
 If Dalziel felt any resentment he restrained it, 
 and almost made Marion his friend by his seem- 
 ing interest in the Ainslie children. Before he
 
 DALZIEL'S SECOND VISIT. 33 
 
 left he obtained Sir William's consent to receive 
 the children for a while at the castle, urging that 
 the country air would do them much good. He 
 left a few pounds in advance as a proof that he 
 intended to meet the expense of the experiment 
 
 He was scarcely out of sight ere Sir William 
 entered into a conversation with his daughter that 
 ended in a stormy discussion, for he was angry at 
 her refusal of Dalziel. "It is too bad, Marion, 
 that you are sae self-willed. You canna care 
 muckle for your auld faither. I am sair pressed 
 even noo for a hundred pounds, an' where is it to 
 come frae ? Yes, ' ' he repeated, raising his voice, 
 ' ( I say, where are the hundred pounds to come 
 frae?" 
 
 Nurse Klspeth was sewing by the window 
 during this conversation. Suddenly dropping her 
 work she left the room, and returned soon with a 
 heavy purse in her hand, which she held out to 
 her master, saying, ' ' Here are a hundred pounds 
 in gude Scots' money. Ye are welcome to its 
 use free o' charge." 
 
 "But, Elspeth, I maunna take your hard- 
 earned siller. ' ' 
 
 "Troth an' you maun, maister. What is sil- 
 ler to me in comparison wi' the peace o' my dear 
 leddy?" 
 
 Sir William stood thinking and Elspeth turned 
 
 Lady Marlon's Answer. 7
 
 34 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 to go away, but her master held out the purse and 
 repeated, "Nae, nae, Elspeth, I canna take your 
 siller." 
 
 "Take it for the present onyway, sin' you 
 are in need. I hope you may never take a favor 
 from onybody less wullin' to accommodate than 
 Elspeth Lundie, your ain humble servant. ' ' 
 
 Marion went to her own apartment, her heart 
 filled with conflicting emotions. Here was an- 
 other strong proof of Elspeth' s devotion, for Mari- 
 on knew how carefully her old servant had hoard- 
 ed her earnings. Her heart was sad for the dis- 
 appointment of her father; but more than all she 
 sorrowed for the untimely fate of Ainslie. She 
 never realized till that moment how deep and 
 strong had been her feelings for him. 
 
 " Puir tossed heart !" said Elspeth as Marion 
 left the room. 
 
 Sir William felt ashamed that his servant had 
 heard him speak so severely to his daughter, but 
 he also experienced a feeling of relief that he was 
 now enabled to meet his obligations. 
 
 "Elspeth is a gude soul; it wad be weel for 
 me an' I were as gude," was his mental com- 
 ment. 
 
 That evening Lady Marion sought Elspeth 
 and said, " I am come to you, gude Elspeth; I 
 am lonely by mysel'."
 
 SECOND VISIT. 35 
 
 ' ' Puir lamb, I ken weel the heart o' you is 
 sair. Eh, do I na ken it ? Only those wha hae 
 experienced sic trouble can understand it. Robin 
 has been dead mair than a score o' years, an' 
 though I hae long since learned submission, I 
 haena learned to forget. ' ' 
 
 "Tell me about your sorrow, Elspeth," said 
 Marion, rightly judging that her faithful servant 
 hoped that some comfort might be brought to her 
 young mistress from hearing how another was 
 helped in a similar distress. 
 
 So Elspeth began her story, being very ex- 
 plicit at the outset. "Weel," she said, " ye ken 
 somat o' it already, hoo we twa, Robin an' my- 
 sel', were brought up togither at my uncle's. We 
 were baith related to them, but frae different 
 sides. Robin was nae relation to the L/undies; 
 he was nephew to uncle's wife. Weel, when we 
 were sma' where ane went the ither went, an' as 
 we grew aulder we still felt that we maun be to- 
 gither. But there came a time when we didna 
 rightly understand each ither. You see we were 
 nae langer bairns. I wad rin oot o' his way an' 
 then weary for his company. Ance he said to 
 me, ' Elspeth, ye are owre quiet o' late; ye dinna 
 speak wi' me as you were wont. Hae ye ony rea- 
 sons for it? What hae I dune? tell me.' An' I 
 answered, ' I hae nae reasons, but we arena langer
 
 36 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 bairns, an' folk change wi' the years that come to 
 them.' He made reply, 'That is sae; but, Els- 
 peth, dear lass, you maunna change an' turn 
 awa' frae me. You hae been a true friend to me, 
 an' noo I am countin' on you mair than iver be- 
 fore. You are grawin' womanly, an' I am glad 
 to see it, but you maunna draw back within your- 
 sel' sae muckle, or I may graw to think that you 
 dinna care for me.' Then after a bit he said, 
 ' Nae, I wunna believe that. ' Then he kissed 
 my cheek an' laughed because I blushed. ' It is 
 a' right, Elspeth, is it na?' I answered him 
 never a ward, an' he took my hand, say in', ' This 
 wee hand is mine, and I wunna mak' you blush 
 ony langer. Honestly, Elspeth, it wull pit us 
 baith mair at oor ease to hae this matter settled. ' 
 I leuked up an' smiled. ' That is richt, sweet- 
 heart,' he said. ' I kenned you wad be mine.' 
 
 " It was as he had said. I was mair at my ease 
 after that, an' the days an' the months an' the 
 years flew by sae quickly that I couldna believe 
 that they were gane. Weel, I like not to tell the 
 rest o' the story," and a visible shudder passed 
 over Elspeth as she paused for a moment. "I 
 never saw him in better spirits than on that last 
 morn. He went to fell trees to build a little cot 
 for himsel' and for me. He leuked back at me 
 eh, my leddy, I can see that smile still an' he
 
 SECOND VISIT. 37 
 
 said, 'I shall wark weel the day, Elspeth; love 
 shall give strength to my arms.' Ah, me, this 
 warld has its scenes that grief embalms in oor 
 memories! You ken it was the limb o' a tree 
 that struck Robin an' killed him. Dinna ask me 
 mair. I canna stand it even noo. That awfu' 
 cut, that bleeding heid !" 
 
 " Elspeth, I dinna wonder that you canna for- 
 get it. The Lord maun hae helped you to live 
 through sic an' affliction." 
 
 "He did, he did, an' he gi'ed me a gude 
 freend i' my dear, sweet Cousin Agnes. Noo 
 that mak's me think it wad be gude for yoursel' 
 an' you had a young lady o' quality to stop a bit 
 wi' you. I wush your faither wad fetch ane o' 
 your cousins or ane o' your freends; there is nae 
 tellin' hoo it might cheer you up to hae com- 
 pany. There is Lady Annie, your mither's kins- 
 woman; I dinna doot but she wad come to stay 
 wi' you." 
 
 "Dinna, gude Elspeth; you think better o' 
 that plan than I do. Lady Annie wad see too 
 much change at Cragsby Castle, an' it wad fret 
 me mair tfran it would soothe me to hae her come. 
 Nae, Elspeth, I wull leuk awa' to the hills frae 
 whence cometh my help. When I am helped 
 frae thence I shall be helped indeed." 
 
 "You are richt there, hinny, as you maistly
 
 38 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 are. I micht hae kenned that you needed nae 
 advice frae me." 
 
 " But I do need advice frae you. I hae profit- 
 ed by it mony times. But for some things that 
 I dinna like to mention your plan wad be a gude 
 ane. I wull content mysel' wi' the company o' 
 my faither an' my ain thoughts till the bairns 
 come; they may afford me some diversion. Hoo 
 auld are they, think you, Elspeth?" 
 
 "Ididnaheartell." 
 
 " Weel, I hope that they wull be gude, pleas- 
 ant children." 
 
 The candle had burned low, and Elspeth, in 
 spite of herself, had yawned several times and 
 showed other signs of fatigue. 
 
 " You are weary, gude Elspeth," said Marion. 
 " I wull gang noo an' leave you to your rest." 
 
 As Lady Marion went to her room she settled 
 herself in a large chair and looked about her with 
 a feeling of solitude, the apartment seemed so 
 large and empty. "Oh," thought she, " if I had 
 a sister to be my companion through the weary 
 years to come!" She shuddered as she thought 
 of Ainslie under the waters, and she resolved to 
 cherish his memory as .long as her own life should 
 last. She recalled his last words to her, "Tell 
 her I shall never forget her, and I hope to meet 
 her again."
 
 DALZIEL'S SECOND VISIT. 39 
 
 "Not in this world, Roger dear," she mur- 
 mured, ' ' and the other world seems sae distant, 
 sae shrouded in mystery. Oh, to clasp your 
 warm, friendly, loving hand again! But I may 
 not; my life maun e'en wear on wi' but ane hope, 
 the hope of doing weel my duties. God gie me 
 grace na to repine at his ain providence."
 
 40 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE AINSLIE BAIRNS. 
 
 IN due time the "Ainslie bairns" arrived. 
 Elspeth had been wondering how it would seem 
 to have children in the house once more, and 
 Lady Marion hoped that they would help to dis- 
 pell the awful stillness that she felt in every part 
 of the castle. Neither did Sir William feel whol- 
 ly indifferent towards them; and when he saw 
 the tall, manly-looking lad of sixteen and his 
 shy, sweet-faced sister, but two years younger, 
 he was agreeably disappointed. Ke had thought 
 from Dalziel's description that they were small, 
 sickly children needing nursing and care; but he 
 saw at once that they need not have been sent 
 in search of health. He noticed, too, that they 
 came prepared to stay a long time. The thought 
 just crossed his mind that there might be some 
 trick about the matter, but he banished the 
 thought at once; he would not think so meanly 
 of Dahiel. He concluded that all was right, and 
 he had no objection to the children's making a 
 lengthened stay since he was likely to be well 
 paid for it. His mental comment was not unlike 
 this:
 
 THE AINSUE BAIRNS. 41 
 
 "Folk wull most likely gie me credit for 
 keeping the bairns for naething, an' at the same 
 time I wull be putting a gude bit in my pocket. 
 Weel, the old sayin' is true, ' It is an ill wun that 
 blaws naebody gude.' If puir Ainslie has gane 
 doon aneath the waters, it is like to be the means 
 o' helpin' me." 
 
 While Sir William had been occupied with 
 his thoughts, Elspeth had greeted the children 
 with warm, honest words of welcome. Lady 
 Marion caught a glimpse of them across the hall, 
 and she heard Elspeth ask, "Weel, my laddie, 
 what may your name be?" 
 
 ' ' Roger Ainslie, ' ' he answered. 
 
 Again Lady Marion looked on the boy, and the 
 resemblance between him and his uncle was so 
 striking that she sat down on her chair unable to 
 move. Here Elspeth found her some moments 
 later. 
 
 "Come awa', my leddy, an' see doesna the 
 lad leuk like Why, what is the matter, hinny? 
 Are you na weel?" 
 
 "Ay, I am weel, but I feel a bit faint." 
 
 "I ken. I wish Elspeth Lundie could help 
 you bear your troubles, puir lamb. Then that 
 leuk wadna come sae often in your face." 
 
 "Elspeth, hae you na had your ain share o' 
 troubles?"
 
 42 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 "Please God, I hae; but it amaist rives my 
 heart i' twain to see you sae cast doon." Chan- 
 ging the subject, she said, "Yon is a sweet, bon- 
 nie lass ; Marjorie, her name is. That was the 
 name o' an early friend o' mine. Weel, I maun 
 awa' noo." 
 
 Lady Marion, thinking that the children might 
 miss a welcome from her, now came forward in 
 her sweet, winning way and spoke a few words 
 of greeting. She loved both Roger and his sis- 
 ter from that moment and thanked Providence 
 that they had been sent to Cragsby Castle. She 
 thought not of the money to be paid for their 
 stay; she thought only that they were kindred of 
 him she had loved, him she must still love. 
 She spoke soft, gentle words to Marjorie till she 
 lost her shy look and turned a pair of deep gray 
 eyes full on her new friend. Lady Marion held 
 out her hand and said, " Come, wi' me." 
 
 Marjorie obeyed, and clasping Marion's hand, 
 said in her sweet simplicity, u I love you weel." 
 
 " Do you, indeed ? Weel, that is a right pleas- 
 ant thing to hear." 
 
 As they walked over the grounds the child 
 manifested her delight at every new turn. " Sic 
 a rare burnie yon is, loupin' doon the brae, an' 
 sic a bonnie linn. Wha ever saw sae mony trees? 
 My, but you maun be happy here, sweet leddy!"
 
 THE AINSLIE BAIRNS. 43 
 
 ' ' Wull you be happy here, think you ?' ' 
 
 ' ' I dinna ken. I hae aye been happy till o' 
 late, when we hae had trouble; an' Roger says 
 that more maun follow. Roger is a wise lad. I 
 amna wise; I canna leuk ahead. But then," she 
 went on, lowering her voice, " I ken that God 
 does that for me, sae why need I ?' ' 
 
 "Why, indeed, dear bairn? You have al- 
 ready learned a lesson o' trust that mony an ane 
 wi' gray hairs has failed to learn. Sae I maun 
 think that you are wise after all." 
 
 All day the words of the child lingered in the 
 mind of Lady Marion. " Here is a lesson of trust 
 for me," she thought. "After all, the wisest 
 folk are those wha take God at his ward an' rest 
 in it." 
 
 When they returned, Lady Marion scanned 
 the face of the lad, and with the clew that Mar- 
 jorie had given her she read him thoroughly. 
 He was sad and thoughtful beyond his years. He 
 appreciated kindness and smiled his gratitude; 
 but immediately the smile would die away and 
 the grave, serious look would come back to his 
 countenance. He seemed ill at ease and from 
 some few words that he dropped Marion guessed 
 the cause: he was afraid that it had not been 
 right to come to Cragsby Castle. And this fear 
 became stronger as time wore on and no tidings
 
 44 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 came from Dalziel. Sir William became sullen 
 and began to fear that he had been duped. Mat- 
 ters were in this state when a letter came from 
 Dalziel stating that he was about to leave Scot- 
 land for ever. Sir William was welcome to the 
 Ainslie children, and he wished him joy with 
 them. 
 
 It is hard to say what might have happened 
 had not Roger offered to take the place of a 
 servant on the farm and so pay his indebtedness. 
 Marjorie was proud of his courage, and she of- 
 fered her services to Elspeth. 
 
 Sir William had been running in debt again, 
 but, depending on Dalziel's liberality, he had 
 hoped to meet some of his obligations. Now 
 that hope being cut off, nothing remained for 
 him to do but to dispose of more real estate. At 
 this juncture Lady Marion came to the front and 
 stood shoulder to shoulder with her father. She 
 proposed the sale of the carriage horses, her own 
 pony and saddle, together with many other valu- 
 able things within the castle. She dismissed all 
 the servants within the house except Elspeth, 
 and she was hardly considered a servant. 
 
 U I shall wark wi' my ain hands; what else 
 were they made for?" she asked her father when 
 he remonstrated. But he answered, "Is it na 
 eneuch that auld Felix wull hae the best horses
 
 THE AINSLIE BAIRNS. 45 
 
 an' mony a pleasant thing that we hae loved to 
 leuk on, withoot him knowing that we hae 
 scarcely a mon or a maid servant left ? Nae, I 
 wull sell the land, I tell you, lass." 
 
 "Weel, sell the land forbye an' let us be free 
 o' debt. I can bide onything but giving up the 
 castle an' the land that is .nearest it." 
 
 ' ' Ye hae weel said, daughter. It shall be 
 dune; then we wull live within oor income, an' 
 the Ainslie bairns shall bide wi' us an' serve us." 
 
 It took but a short time to conclude the busi- 
 ness. Felix Cameron obtained another coveted 
 field and whatever goods were disposed of. Sir 
 William nerved himself to pass through the or- 
 deal, and when it was over he said, "There, Mar- 
 ion, I am glad it is dune. Another thing I am 
 thankfu' for: auld Felix wunna drive past here 
 vera often, sae I shanna see my beasties doin' 
 his bidding. Noo, Elspeth, you shall hae the 
 interest on your money an' part o' the principal. 
 I wush that I could pay it a' ; but I canna do sae 
 noo withoot inconvenience." 
 
 ' ' That you ken well I wunna pit you to an' I 
 wad never get the siller again. But, gin I may 
 mak' sae bold, is ivery ither obligation blotted 
 oot? because if it isna, ye maunna pay me ony- 
 thing." 
 
 "Ay, Elspeth, a' is paid, thank God!"
 
 46 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 " Thank God, indeed, maister, that ye hae sae 
 muckle left. Of course it mak's but little aboot 
 the like o' me compared wi' gran' folks; but God, 
 wha is nae respecter o' persons, has heard my pray- 
 ers, in that Cragsby Castle is oot o' the clutches o' 
 auld Felix or ony ither body." 
 
 Sir William could not repress a smile at the 
 change that Blspeth's feelings seemed to have 
 undergone during her last remark, and he added, 
 " Ay, the castle an' mony a gude acre still belong 
 to us, an' luck wull hae to go vera hard wi' me 
 afore I mak' ony mair debt. ' ' 
 
 Marion drew a long breath, and said, "I am 
 sae glad that what is left is clear. I dinna like to 
 feel under obligation to ony ane. ' ' 
 
 Roger Ainslie proved to be good help, and but 
 three men-servants remained besides him. Old 
 Stephen Watson was the foreman, and he lived 
 in a cottage near the castle. Stephen did not 
 hear the above conversation; however, he had his 
 own thoughts in regard to his master's affairs. 
 
 On the evening that the horses were led away 
 old Stephen sat in his accustomed place in his 
 cottage, but he was wholly unlike himself. His 
 bonnet was settled over his eyes and not a word 
 escaped him for the space of two hours. Han- 
 nah, his wife, broke the silence by saying, "Gude- 
 mon, ye needna be that dour that ye canna speak
 
 THE AINSLIE BAIRNS. 
 
 47 
 
 to me. I had naething to do wi' the sale o' the 
 beasties. ' ' 
 
 ' ' I ken that weel enough, neither do I feel 
 angry wi' you aboot ony thing; but ye maun alloo 
 that it is but natural that I should grieve for the 
 beasties. It wasna enough that the span o' blacks 
 had to gang, but Rory, oor leddy's pony, is sold 
 tae, the bonniest beast i' a' the parts aboot. Puir 
 thing! the last thing that he did was to nibble at 
 my han' for the sweet morsel he was wont to find 
 there. Eh ! but the clatter of their hoofs rings 
 intil my ears still." 
 
 " It is tae bad, tae bad. Hoo came the mais- 
 ter's property to rin doon sae? I am sure that 
 you hae always kept an eydent han' to the wark. 
 Folk counted Sir William lucky that he had sic a 
 foreman, for it is weel kenned that you are gude 
 at planning." 
 
 ' ' It may be as you say, Hannah, but it isna 
 muckle that a faithfu' servant can do when ance 
 his maister's affairs get sae badly entangled, you 
 ken. The mischief was maistly dune afore my 
 time, an' afore Sir William's tae, for that maitter. 
 His faither handled property badly, sae I am 
 tauld, an' he died vera suddent. He was aye 
 given to muckle wine, an' ance when his wife, 
 Lady Grissel, interfered, the butler didna bring 
 his bottle. Weel, he gaed into the wine-cellar
 
 48 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 *. 
 
 for it himsel', an' there he saw a wraith, an' o' 
 course he died soon after. ' ' 
 
 " Noo, Stephen, you dinna believe that a mon 
 sees his ain ghaist?" 
 
 " Weel, maybe na. His heid was amaist likely 
 bad wi' the wine that he had taken already, for it 
 was weel on i' the evening and he had taken fu' 
 plenty. But whether he saw his wraith or nae, 
 his time had come. He had bad debts, as was 
 then found oot, an' mony shifts an' turns were 
 made to haud the property thegither. If Sir Wil- 
 liam were never sae gude a manager, he wad hae 
 his han's fu', see ye?" 
 
 "Well, neither has he managed ony o'-the 
 best." 
 
 " Ye are richt there. He isna sae vera gude 
 nor sae vera bad at managing; aboot middling is 
 he. But noo he is even in the warld; leastways, 
 I think sae. Ye ken I hae been driving aboot wi' 
 him o' late, an' I hear a ward here an' anither 
 there; sae, as near as I can mak' oot, a' that he 
 hauds noo is free frae debt." 
 
 "Weel, that is gude. I amaist feared for the 
 castle itsel' an' oor ain wee cot tae. Thae Ains- 
 lie bairns, wull they wark the maister gude or ill, 
 think you?" 
 
 "Gude, wifie, gude, I am sure. You should 
 see hoo yon Roger handles his wark. Ane wad
 
 THE AINSLIE BAIRNS. 49 
 
 think that he was broughten up to it. He is a 
 handy lad, I can tell you, an' I am tauld that the 
 lass stands side by side wi' Elspeth." 
 
 u Ay, she does; that I hae seen wi' my ain 
 e'en. Weel, let us hoop that the maister wull 
 prosper noo, though his estate has been cut awa' 
 on baith sides. ' ' 
 
 "I think he wull. A' we hae to do is to pit 
 the crops in weel an' to gather them weel, an' 
 there wull be enough for necessary expenses. I 
 think that we an' a' the maister 's folk micht 
 heave a gude lang breath an' say, 'The gude 
 Lord be praised that a' is as weel as it is. ' " 
 
 "I think sae tae, Stephen. But puir L,eddy 
 Marion, accordin' to what I hae seen, she maun 
 hae lo'ed him wha was drowned. I see that she 
 is fond o' Marjorie an' doesna like her to wark 
 hard." 
 
 "The lad Roger looks amazin' like his uncle. 
 I wad ken, an' 1 hadna been tauld, that they 
 were near o' kin. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Thae bairns wull fare weel, gin Leddy Mar- 
 ion has the handlin' o' the property. I think, 
 after a', that that bad mon what do you ca' 
 him?" 
 
 "Dalziel?" 
 
 u Ay, Dalziel; well, I think, after a', that 
 there was a providence i' his bringin' the bairns 
 
 Lady Marlon's Answer. A
 
 50 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 to the castle. What for a rearin' wad he gi'e 
 them, an' ane o' them a lassie, tae ! Weel, oor 
 Heavenly Faither oft brings gude oot o' seemin' 
 evil." 
 
 "Ay, that is sae, an' it is hard to calculate 
 hoo muckle dependence they may be to the mais- 
 ter. Roger may be as a son an' the staff o' his 
 declinin' years. He sallna want for instruction 
 i' farmin' an' I can gi'e it to him; for before 
 mony years my wark wull be dune. Besides, I 
 like the lad for his ain sake, an' he is as tender- 
 hearted as a lass. Ye should hae seen the leuk 
 upon his face when Rory was dragged awa'. I 
 maun say dragged, for it was naething less. I 
 didna ken yestere'en, when oor leddy came back 
 frae a ride upon Rory's back, that it wad be her 
 last ride upon the gentle beast; but she maun hae 
 kenned it, for as I led him awa' to the stable she 
 said, 'Gi'e Rory gude care the nicht, Stephen.' 
 Weel, to gang back to Roger, he stood there this 
 mornin' an' he said, 'Alas, gude Watson, I feel 
 as if I were bringin' ill-luck to the castle; but gin 
 God wull gi'e me his favor, I wull help mend oor 
 fortunes for this sweet leddy 's sake.' Weel, Han- 
 nah, I couldna leave the lad to think that, sae I 
 tauld him that he hadna brought the ill-luck, 
 that the property had been rinnin' back for a lang 
 
 time.
 
 THE AINSLIE BAIRNS. 51 
 
 " That was but richt. I think that the lad is 
 tae serious-like, ony way. ' ' 
 
 "He could scarcely be otherwise; he has passed 
 through troubles sic as few lads o' his age hae ony 
 knowledge o'." 
 
 ' ' Weel, troubles wull come upon a' the human 
 family, it seems ; but it leuks sae hard when the 
 heids o' youth an' childhood maun be bowed doon 
 by it. But, Stephen, we maun stan' back an' na 
 meddle wi' maitters tae high for us. Ye mind 
 that Ane wha had muckle mair right to question 
 said, * Even, sae, Faither, for sae it seems gude i' 
 thy sight.' "
 
 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE BLACK LINN. 
 
 ONE evening late in autumn the rain was fall- 
 ing almost in torrents. Within the castle the in- 
 mates drew closer to the fire and shuddered as the 
 cold storm beat against the windows. 
 
 " This is a richt gude uicht for a ghaist-story, 
 Elspeth," said Marjorie. 
 
 " I wad say that it was a nicht to try to think 
 Q' something pleasant," Elspeth quickly replied. 
 "I dinna ken, Elspeth," spoke up Sir Wil- 
 liam; " we might as well be in sympathy wi' the 
 elements. Use as muckle imagination as you 
 can, you canna think to smell the hawthorne the 
 nicht. Sae ye may as weel gi'e in to Marjorie." 
 "Marjorie maunna think that I hae a ghaist- 
 story at the end o' my tongue the haill time. 
 An', moreover, she kens as weel as I do that I 
 dinna believe ane ward o' them. I wad muckle 
 rather she wad gang to the Ward o' God an' read 
 the mony true stories that it has between the lids 
 o' it." 
 
 "Noo, Elspeth, hae nae mair words aboot it. 
 You ken you may as well gi'e the lass a story as
 
 THE BLACK LINN. 53 
 
 nae. Mind, she has no lassies o' her age for com- 
 pany an' na muckle to help her pass awa' the 
 time." 
 
 "Weel, let me think a bit. Hae you iver 
 heard the story o' the. Black Linn ?' ' 
 
 All present answered in the negative, and 
 Blspeth began: " Lang, lang ago, when life was 
 held a bit cheaper than it is noo, there lived 
 twa cousins wha loved the same lass. Ane nicht 
 they met by agreement and fought upon a high 
 precipice aboon the Black Linn. Weel, their 
 jealousy was that bitter that the ane wadna gi'e 
 up an' the ither wadna gi'e up, till ane o' them 
 got his daith-blow. Then first their anger began 
 to abate. The puir lad wha was sae badly hurted 
 bethought him to put up a prayer to God for 
 his soul, an' the ane wha had dealt the deadly 
 blow calmed doon his rage an' hate an' cried, 
 * Geordie, Geordie, dinna dee !' 
 
 "The dyin' mon turned his e'e upon him 
 an' replied, ' I canna help but dee, Jock; but you 
 maunna be hung, lad, for it was I wha. gave the 
 challenge. ' 
 
 "Jock sat doon by Geordie an' took his bluid- 
 stained han' i' his ain, an' said, 'Geordie, we 
 hae been freends iver since we were bit laddies; 
 hoo could we turn foes an' be guilty o' sic wick- 
 edness ?'
 
 54 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 "'Hoo, indeed?' answered Geordie, an' he 
 never spake mair. 
 
 "Jock fell upon his face, that he michtna see 
 his cousin dee, an' he wept sairly for a lang time, 
 an' when he leuked up Geordie was dead. What 
 was now to be dune? Beneath was the Black 
 Linn, an' it took Jock but a minute to push 
 Geordie' s puir limp, lifeless body in it. Jock 
 looked doon, but when he saw the white face 
 upon the black water he turned an' fled wi' 
 speed. He said to himsel', 'I hope he wull be 
 found, an' then folk wull think that he fell into 
 the linn; for naebody kenned that we gaed awa' 
 thegither. But God kens it, an' he may bring it 
 to licht,' he added, an' slackened his steps, sae 
 he wadna be seen rinnin' frae the Black Linn. 
 
 "Weel, dear knows the hardest o' it maun 
 yet be tauld. Auld Betty Bruce, the widowed 
 mither o' the dead lad, waited lang an' late that 
 nicht for Geordie' s return. The white deal table 
 stood upon the floor wi' Geordie's supper spread, 
 an' she wondered muckle that he stayed sae late. 
 At last she said, ' He maun hae gone to see his 
 sweetheart. Weel, that is the way it gaes; lads 
 an' lasses hae aye wedded, an' they aye wull, 
 sae lang as the warld stands. I wull hae to 
 alloo that anither has a better claim upon him 
 than I hae myselV Soon she laid hersel' doou
 
 THE BLACK LINN. 55 
 
 to sleep, an' when she awoke at daybreak she 
 rose up quickly an' called her son, thinkin' that 
 he had come in an' gone to his bed. But what 
 was her surprise when she found that he hadna 
 come hame at a'. Weel, the hours passed awa', 
 an' of coorse nae Geordie came. Then auld 
 Betty sought oot his cousin Jock an' asked him 
 if he kenned onything o' Geordie. An' Jock 
 axed his aunt Betty many questions, but he didna 
 answer hers. 
 
 " ' I thocht for sure that you wad ken some- 
 thing o' him, Jock !' she said, an' she fell a-greet- 
 in' an' a-lamentin' an' besought Jock to gang an' 
 leuk for his cousin; for she wist not, puir auld 
 dame, that there had been ony rivalry atween the 
 twa. Jock consented to gang, and his mither 
 bade her sister hope for the best an' dootless a' 
 wad be weel. ' Mayhap he wull be hame when 
 you gang there,' she said. 
 
 "Weel, thrice ilka day did the troubled wo- 
 man seek Jock an' ask if he hadna found her Geor- 
 die. Nearly a week later a shepherd caught 
 sight o' the figure o' a mon lyin' on the border o' 
 the Black Linn. He gaed to it, an' there he 
 found Geordie Bruce, his claes caught upon a 
 limb o' a tree that lay prone on the linn-side. 
 Then what sorrow filled the heart o' Betty Bruce 
 nane can tell except those wha hae had a like tribu-
 
 56 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 lation. ' Hoo could he gang sae near the dreadfu' 
 linn, an' he the only son o' his mither !' she 
 cried. ' Oh, that He wha had compassion on the 
 widow o' Nain were here!' Weel, she gaed on 
 sae that Jock couldna stan' it, an' Katy, that 
 was the lass they both loved, grat heavily at the 
 funeral o' Geordie. Jock's heart was as heavy 
 as stane, and he arnaist wished himsel' i' Geor- 
 die' s place. 
 
 "After that sad day was over Jock tauld his 
 faither an' his mither that he was goin' to bide 
 wi' his aunt Betty an' be a son to her, an' nae- 
 thing could dissuade him. He took Geordie' s 
 place an' he slept in his bed, an' the story gaes 
 that ane nicht Geordie came to him an' tauld 
 him that he maun come to the Black Linn each 
 year on the anniversary o' the day that they 
 fought there. If he didna come, he wadna leave 
 him i' peace. Sae Jock gaed to that awful tryst 
 at the appointed time, nae matter hoo foul the 
 weather was an' hoo weary he felt. He gaed oot 
 by stealth i' the dead o' the night, an' folk said 
 he aye met wi' Geordie. 
 
 "Weel, he was aye a sorrowfu' mon. He 
 never spake wi' Katy mair than to gie her the 
 time o' day, at which she marvelled, for she loved 
 Jock as weel as Geordie. Had the puir lass 
 kenned which lad she loved best, there wad hae
 
 THE BLACK LINN. 57 
 
 been nae question between them. But Jock did- 
 na seein to care for her or ony ither lass. He 
 lived wi' his aunt Betty Bruce till she died, an' 
 then he lived alane, an' the neebors wad shake 
 their heids an' say hoo he missed his cousin an' 
 hoo he had niver been the same since Geordie 
 was drowned. 
 
 ' ' Weel, twenty years after Jock was vera sick, 
 sick on the nicht that he maun gang to the Black 
 Linn. There was a friend sitting by him, an' Jock 
 axed what day o' the month it was, an' when he 
 was tauld he leuked terribly worrited. He oft 
 strived to rise to his feet, but he couldna, an' when 
 at last he fell asleep it was frae sheer weariness. 
 He hadna slept lang when he started up, saying, 
 ' Gang awa', Geordie, for peety sake, gang ! Did 
 you na ken I couldna win to the Black Linn ? It 
 isna fair o' you, Geordie ; hae I na met wi' you 
 ilka time till noo when I canna ? Hae peety on 
 a puir bedridden mon. Did you na say that I 
 maunna be hanged ? Did you na say that it was 
 mair your faut than mine? Gang oot wi' that 
 pale face; it is paler noo than when I pushed you 
 i' the linn. If you wunna gang, I maun close my 
 e'en. Eh! but I canna shut you oot What mair 
 can I do ? Did I na live wi' your mither ? Did I 
 na gi'e up Katy an' live a lanely mon? Oh, my 
 God ! my sin wunna let me rest, an' it seems that
 
 5 8 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 I canna atone for it. Is there nae forgi'eness wi' 
 
 thee?' 
 
 "That vera nicht he died, an' the friend that 
 was wi' him, when he saw that it was daith, 
 called in anither mon, an' the twa talked it over 
 while puir Jock lay a-dyin'. ' Murder wull oot,' 
 said the ane wha had heard Jock rave, an' he 
 tauld the ithei a' that he had heard. . They didna 
 dream that the sick mon paid ony attention to 
 ony thing i' this warld ; but he opened his e'en 
 an' wi' fast failin' breath confessed his sin, an' 
 said, ( I am glad that it is tauld; I wull die easier 
 noo.' 
 
 "Naebody felt to be hard upon Jock's mem- 
 ory, for they said, ' The poor wight has suffered 
 enough even in this warld. ' 
 
 " Noo I hae tauld my story, wha is the better 
 for it?" concluded Elspeth. 
 
 "Naebody wull be the waur for it; for wha 
 minds the story wull also mind that punishment 
 aye follows sin. An' if some ignorant folk be- 
 lieve in ghaists, it may keep them frae doin' a 
 foul deed some time," said Sir William. 
 
 "That maybe sae," assented Elspeth, "but I 
 like not to hae ony ane believe that after the soul 
 has gaen into the ither warld an' received its sen- 
 tence frae Him wha has a' power, it can win its 
 way back to trouble ony ane. It wasna Geor-
 
 THE BLACK LINN. 
 
 59 
 
 die's ghaist at a', but puir Jock's tormentin' con- 
 science. ' ' 
 
 "Well, onyway it was a richt good story, an' 
 thank you, Elspeth," said Marjorie. 
 
 ' ' Noo, then, lass, if you like you may listen 
 to a bit story that I wull relate o' my aiu free 
 wull ; for I love it, as it shows the transforming 
 power o' the grace o' God. 
 
 "Ane o' my earliest recollections is o' auld 
 blin' Alan Dunmore. He lived but a mile an' a 
 half frae my hame, an' puir as we were, mither oft 
 sent him a wee gift, for he was supported by char- 
 ity alane. It was when I was sent on sic errands 
 that I heard the wards that even noo come to me 
 wi' sic power when I feel cast doon. 
 
 "But blin' Alan wasna always a gude mon; 
 far frae it. Ance he was a bad, thievin', drinkin', 
 swearin', leein' mon. He wad mak' oath to a lee 
 as lief as na. Weel, aiie day he had tauld a muckle 
 lee, an' it had been cast i' his teeth that it was a 
 lee. He answered wi' these dreadfu' wards : ' It 
 is as true as the gospel; and if it isna, I hope that 
 the Lord wull strike me blin'.' His blin' ness 
 came upon him sae soon after that folk thought his 
 wicked prayer had been answered. Aweel, if the 
 Hcht was shut oot o' his natural e'en, anither licht 
 filled his spiritual e'en. Nae sooner did he ken 
 that God's han' was upon him than he gi'ed up,
 
 6o LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 % 
 
 an', like Saul o' Tarsus, cried oot axin' what he 
 maun do. An auld faithfu' servant o' God point- 
 ed oot the way for him to become reconciled to 
 Him against whom he had sinned sae grievously. 
 The puir auld mon, shut in by darkness, groped 
 after the ' straight an' narrow way that leadeth to 
 iverlasting life.' 
 
 "When I think o' that auld mon and his fee- 
 ble wife, an' when I think o' their faith an' cheer- 
 fu'ness an' submission, I feel to hide my heid wi' 
 shame. Naething seemed to worry them. They 
 just cast their care upon Him wha had promised 
 to care for them. Ane time they were twa haill 
 days withoot food except a handfu' o' meal that 
 the auld dame made into thin parritch. When 
 the last drop o' that was gane they betook them- 
 sel's to prayer, an' though faint in body they were 
 strong in spirit. It was simmer-time and the dure 
 stood open a bit. A neebor was passin', an' he 
 thought to step in a minute an' see auld Alan, but 
 when he came to the dure, there was auld Alan 
 doon on his knees, his bald pow bowed in prayer. 
 The neebor pu'ed off his ain bonnet an' stood an' 
 listened, an' this was what he heard : 
 
 "'Dear Lord, forbid that we should set oor 
 heart too muckle upon creature comfort or mur- 
 mur that we haena the "meat that perisheth," 
 sin' we hae the heavenly manna an' the water
 
 THE BLACK LINN. 61 
 
 which is a u well o' water springin' up into iver- 
 lastin' life." Nathless, let it please thee to 
 send a morsel to strengthen oor frail bodies. 
 "Gi'e us this day oor daily bread." This maun 
 be in accordance wi' thy wull, sin' thy dear Son 
 our Saviour bid us pray after this manner. Grant 
 this oor request, that we maunna distrust thee for. 
 ane wee minute. Hear oor prayer alane for Jesus' 
 sake. Amen. ' 
 
 "The neebor-mon stepped softly awa', gaed 
 hame, an' came back wi' a pock on his back an' 
 a basket on his airm. He set them doon before 
 the dure an' gaed awa' ahint the house to watch 
 their surprise. 
 
 "The day was amaist spent when the dame 
 started to gang to the bit spring. ' Thank God, 
 we hae the water,' she said, and Alan chimed in, 
 * Ay, an' oor bread sail be sure. ' Weel, as he said 
 this the auld dame stood at the dure an' she cried 
 oot wi' joy, ' Ay, Alan, here is a muckle pock 
 amaist fu' an' a basket forbye. Isna oor God a 
 prayer-hearin' an' a prayer-answerin' God!' 
 
 "'Ay, ay; praised be his name!' answered 
 auld Alan."
 
 62 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ROGER AINSLIE. 
 
 ROGER AINSLIE had been at the castle two 
 years, but he was still considered a "strange lad." 
 He was silent without being sullen, unobtrusive 
 without being diffident, faithful without expect- 
 ing praise, and friendly without asking for friend- 
 ship. He expected nothing, unless it were a tacit 
 acknowledgment that his labor was well per- 
 formed. He possessed more than the usual amount 
 of self-reliance, and although known to be sad, he 
 never troubled any one with complaints. He 
 loved his sister fondly, and on her he bestowed 
 many marks of affection, but he seldom talked 
 much with her. She would often watch for him 
 and run to meet him and tell him something fresh 
 and warm from her sunny heart, for which she 
 would receive one of his swift half smiles and a 
 presure of the hand. 
 
 Old Stephen Watson thought that Roger must 
 be a strange lad since he had made a friend of an 
 old dog named Snap. The dog had justly re- 
 ceived this name, for he was accustomed to snarl 
 and bite after every one, and he was only suffered
 
 ROGER AINSUE. 63 
 
 to remain upon the premises because he was a 
 good watch-dog. That Snap should become at- 
 tached to any one was such a marvel to Stephen 
 Watson that he often remarked, "Weel, it does 
 beat a' that I iver did see. I never kenned that 
 brute, frae a puppy, to mak' friends wi' ony liviu' 
 mortal. He isna only quiet when Roger is by 
 him, but he is as gentle an' as couthie as ane 
 could wish." 
 
 Sir William also noticed the strange attach- 
 ment, nor was he slower than his dog to recog- 
 nize real worth ; the manly reserve and the fidel- 
 ity of the youth soon won for him the admiration 
 of his master. 
 
 One evening Sir William lingered outside the 
 door watching Roger as he sat reading in the les- 
 sening twilight until he strained even his young 
 eyes, while Snap lay quietly beside him, often 
 receiving a pat on his grizzled head. Sir Wil- 
 liam approached nearer, and said, "Come, laddie, 
 put up your buik; it 's owre late for ony eyes save 
 a wizard's to mak' oot ane ward frae anither i' 
 this light." Then, smiling, he added, " I dinna 
 ken but you hae some magic aboot you, sin' Snap 
 follows you around sae." 
 
 Roger smiled, rose, and closed his book and 
 offered his master the seat. 
 
 " Keep your seat, laddie ; I wull find anither.
 
 64 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 I dinna ken muckle aboot wark, but I think ane 
 maun be limb-weary if na foot-sair after he has 
 followed the plough a' day. What buik hae 
 you?" 
 
 "Shakespeare." 
 
 "Shakespeare, lad? Weel, a lad that wull 
 moil faithfully an' wullingly frae sunrise till sun- 
 set, an' then read Shakespeare i' the gloaming, 
 wull likely ane day do greater things than the 
 taming o' snarling curs." 
 
 There was silence for a little time, and then 
 Sir William spoke again: "You are a strange 
 lad, an' I like you the better because you arena 
 like maist ither young men. There is mair diver- 
 sity in folk than I used to think for, an' I am 
 thinking whether it isna mair caused by the pres- 
 sure o' circumstance than frae ony bent o' their 
 ain. Hae you a thought upon the subject?" 
 
 " I hae thought muckle aboot that vera thing, 
 an' I canna settle it i' my mind whether men 
 mak' circumstances or circumstances mak' men. 
 But I am inclined to think that circumstances 
 mak' men what they are, sin' I seem to be hedged 
 in by them. ' ' 
 
 "Then if you could mak' arrangements to 
 suit yourseP you wad, I suppose, mark oot a dif- 
 ferent course?" 
 
 ' ' I think I should ; and yet, if a' is arranged
 
 ROGER AINSUE. 65 
 
 by a wise Providence, I wadna like to choose my 
 ain course. ' ' 
 
 " Weel, if a' is ordered, you cauna choose for 
 yoursel'. I begin to think that it was a wise or- 
 dering that sent you here, though a liar maun 
 seem to be the agent o' it ' ' 
 
 Roger quickly replied, "Are you then glad 
 that we came here?" 
 
 ' ' Ay, I feel glad noo, an' I dinna believe that 
 I shall soon change my mind. I ainaist wish that 
 you were my ain son. ' ' 
 
 Roger, the undemonstrative Roger, came near, 
 seated himself at the old man's feet, looked up in 
 his face, and said, "I give you muckle thanks for 
 what you hae tauld me. I shall carry a lighter 
 heart to my daily toil." 
 
 Sir William laid an unsteady hand on Roger's 
 uncovered head, saying huskily, ' ' We are nae mair 
 maister an' servant; we are friends. Roger, lad, 
 it has aye been my great grief that I haena a son. 
 Bide wi' me, laddie; gang in an' oot afore me, an' 
 you shall be to me as a son. Toil ye maun, for 
 siller is at low ebb wi' us, but dinna overdo your 
 strength. Wark isna a curse, but idleness is. I 
 wish, as I leuk over my fields, that I had left on 
 them the sweat o' toil." 
 
 Roger took Sir William's hand and pressed it 
 gently; it was a silent promise, and Sir William 
 
 Lady Marion's Answer. C
 
 66 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 x 
 
 accepted it as such. Both were much moved, and 
 little more was said till Roger spoke : " It is grow- 
 in' late and the air is damp; hadna you better 
 gang within, sir?" 
 
 Sir William arose and moved towards the cas- 
 tle, but Roger did not follow. He remained un- 
 der the star-bestudded heavens, thanking Him 
 who rules them for his new-found joys and un- 
 looked-for blessings. For a while he sat absorbed 
 in his thoughts, till a gentle hand was laid on his 
 shoulder and Marjorie stood at his side. 
 
 "Weel, Roger, I didna ken but you had rin 
 awa' an' left me my lane," she began. 
 
 "Noo, Marjorie, you ken weel enough that I 
 wadna do sic a thing." 
 
 u Ay, I ken it. I was but fooling. But why 
 are you sae lang by yoursel' ?" 
 
 "Maister was wi' me till a bit sin'." 
 
 "Maister has been in his bed this hour past. 
 Noo, tell me what troubles you sae that you are 
 oot alane like an evil spirit. You maunna seem 
 sae uncanny." 
 
 " Weel, stop a bit for breath, and I wull tell 
 you something that wull please you weel. The 
 maister sat wi' me an' tauld me some vera pleasant 
 things. He told me he is vera glad that we are 
 here, an' that I maun bide wi' him an' be as a 
 son to him."
 
 ROGER AINSLIE. 67 
 
 " You dinna tell me sae! Weel, if I amna a 
 proud an' happy lass you canna find ane." 
 
 "An' I am happy tae, but I dinna ken that I 
 am proud ; I am thankfu', though, an' I ken my 
 ain heart." 
 
 "Ay, thankfu'; that is the richt feeling to 
 hae." 
 
 Roger took up his book, and the two walked 
 into the castle feeling that they had a right 
 there. 
 
 Within the castle the mode of living had un- 
 dergone a change. Sir William was striving to 
 live within his income, and he no longer at- 
 tempted to keep up the old magnificence. Most 
 of the larger apartments were shut up, that the 
 family might not miss the familiar furniture, and 
 a pleasant room with windows facing the south 
 was chosen as the general sitting-room. Roger 
 and Marjorie were never excluded, and even Bls- 
 peth found her way here during the long winter 
 evenings, nor was the circle complete without 
 her. Her stones were always in good demand, 
 and when the younger members of the family 
 were weary of their books they would frequently 
 lay them aside and ask for a story. 
 
 One evening in midwinter all was desolate 
 without the castle and the snow and sleet beat 
 heavily against the windows; the wind howled
 
 68 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 in the bare old trees and whistled around many 
 an angle in the ancient building, moaned in the 
 chimney, and shook the very doors. No one 
 seemed disposed to talk, till Sir William spoke, 
 saying, U I like not the nicht. True, we hae 
 licht an' warmth within, but withoot it is fear- 
 some. The wind has an uncanny sound. Els- 
 peth, hae you nae a story to help while awa' a 
 dreary evening?" 
 
 The old servant, pleased at such a request from 
 the "maister himsel'," smiled and replied, " You 
 maun let me think a bit, maister." 
 
 She had been knitting, but she dropped her 
 work in her lap and leaning forward placed her 
 hand over her eyes, lest anything she should see 
 should distract her thoughts. After a few mo- 
 ments she sat erect, took up her knitting again, 
 and began: 
 
 " Ane nicht like this, when I was but a young 
 lass living mony a mile awa', I sat wi' my mither 
 by her puir auld hearth. Thank God, there was 
 a gude fire on it, yet we shivered a bit, for the 
 wind raved that hard that it sent the shivers owre 
 us. Beside, we had taken but a light supper, for 
 the meal pock was far frae fu'. I felt like sleep- 
 in', I mind; but I think that mither liked to keep 
 me awake. She was lanely an' sad as weel, for 
 faither had been but a month dead. Weel, as
 
 ROGER AINSLIE. 69 
 
 she was sayin', ' Keep awake for mither, hinny, 
 that is a dear glide lass,' there came a gentle tap 
 at the dure. Mither turned pale and didna at 
 ance rise to see wha rapped. An' I said, ' Mith- 
 er, some ane is at the dure. Why dinna you rise 
 an' gang to it?' 
 
 " 'Whist, bairn,' she said. 'Wha kens but it 
 is some ane wha wad wark us ill?' 
 
 ' ' Then fear came to me tae, an' we sat still 
 for a bit, till the gentlest, maist winsome voice 
 that I iver heard sounded just aboon the storm, 
 ' Hae you nae a bit warmth to gie a puir, weary 
 woman?' 
 
 "Mither wailed oot, 'Eh, it is ane o' my 
 ain sex oot i' sic a storm! God forbid that I 
 should deny her the best the cot affords.' 
 
 " She rose quickly and unbarred the dure, an' 
 sic a sight as stood upon the threshold i' the deep 
 snaw ! Ane glance was a' ane needed to ken 
 that oor visitor was a beautiful leddy, an' close to 
 her breast she held a wee bairn. The woman 
 had lang, dark ringlets, but the snaw had sifted 
 into them till they were amaist white, an' mither 
 aye said that the tears were frozen fast to her eye- 
 lids. Her mantle was rich an' heavy an' her 
 gown was beautiful. This I saw before she had 
 taken her seat on the settle by the fireside. Weel, 
 mither stood amaist speechless wi' amazement,
 
 70 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 an' the tears glistened i' her e'en. But she soon 
 stirred the fire an' made hot brose; it didna mat- 
 ter then that the meal was low. The puir leddy 
 couldna eat ony thing; she was clean beat oot. 
 As soon as she was warm enough, mither put her 
 i' her ain bed an' then put the wee bairn by 
 her. I mind that mither leuked sae sad as she 
 held the bairn; it wasna a look o' reproach, but 
 it was a look a bit distrustfu'. 
 
 "Then spake the leddy an' said, 'The bairn 
 isna a child o' shame, gude woman. When I 
 feel stronger I wull tell you mair. I canna noo.' 
 An' the lids closed sae wearily on the bonnie blue 
 e'en, never mair to open till the trump o' God 
 shall wake the dead. The bairn, tae, had taken 
 its daith cauld, an' the wee thing died i' twa 
 days. Weel, it a' was a mystery. The neebors 
 were called in an' naething could be dune but to 
 gi'e the dead burial. This they were preparing 
 to do, an' the matter was noised abroad, for it 
 was sae strange, you ken. Folk came frae the 
 toon to see the dead bodies, an' ane man came 
 wha cried oot, ' It is Leddy Isabella Walker, as 
 sure as I am a sinner !' An' this last was true, 
 for he spake mony a wicked ward richt there i' 
 the presence o' the dead. Weel, frae that the 
 haill story came oot. The puir leddy had a 
 warthless, brutish husband, an' he was that bad
 
 ROGER AINSLIE. 71 
 
 to his wife that she stood i' mortal fear o' him. 
 Sae she left hame withoot his kenning it, an' 
 bargained wi' the carrier to bring her on her way 
 to the toon, sae to gang hame by the stage-coach 
 to her faither. But it came to pass that the car- 
 rier's faithfu' beast gave oot aboot three miles 
 frae oor cot, an' the leddy could do naething but 
 struggle on through the snaw till she came to 
 some dwelling, an' they are fu' far apart upon 
 that road till this day. Weel, grief, fear, weari- 
 ness, an' cauld had dune their wark by the time 
 she reached oor cot, an' the sweet leddy had to 
 yield to them. 
 
 "Weel, ward was brought to her auld faither 
 an' he came to oor hoose, an' sic grief as he made 
 may it niver again be my lot to behold. I mind 
 that he said, ' I feared that the lass wadna be 
 happy. Curse the siller that led me to fa' in wi' 
 the plan o' the merrige. ' " 
 
 Lady Marion said, ' ' You hae given us a sad 
 story the nicht, Elspeth, ane that I hae never 
 heard afore. ' ' 
 
 " Nae, I haena tauld it to you afore, but I had 
 a mind to tell it ance." 
 
 Marjorie was disappointed, and she said, "I 
 wanted a ghaist story, Elspeth." 
 
 "Weel, I wull try to think of ane, but you 
 ken that I dinna believe i' them."
 
 72 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 Sir William was silent, but when Marion came 
 to bid him good night, he said, u My dear daugh- 
 ter, I never was sae glad i' a' my life as I am 
 the nicht that you gave the answer that you did 
 concerning your proposed merrige. Wha kens 
 but you micht even noo hae been like Lady Isa- 
 bel, and I like her grief-stricken faither!"
 
 THE HEADLESS GHOST. 73 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE HEADLESS GHOST. 
 
 THE ghost story was not long in coming, for 
 the morning found the inmates of the castle 
 hemmed in by snowdrifts, and they had to devise 
 many pastimes to divert their attention from the 
 gloom without. As far as the eye could reach was 
 a broad expanse of purest white, but the snow 
 was far from being of the same depth. In some 
 places the stubble was barely covered; in others it 
 was piled high like miniature mountains. The 
 weather was intensely cold, and nothing remained 
 to be done but to pile high the fuel on the fire 
 and appreciate the genial warmth and glow. Sir 
 William grew weary of the outer view long be- 
 fore nightfall, and he was glad when the lights 
 were brought in, the curtains lowered, and the fam- 
 ily again gathered in the pleasant sitting-room. 
 The evening was nearly half spent before Elspeth 
 came in. With the carefulness of a good house- 
 wife she had attended to everything that could 
 be damaged by the frost. Just as she entered 
 Marjorie was saying, "I'm thinkin' that we 
 wull get nae ghaist story the nicht."
 
 74 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 "I am thinkin' sae tae, if I am to tell it," 
 said Elspeth. 
 
 "Noo, Elspeth, gude Elspeth!" pleaded Mar- 
 jorie as she took a stool and sat down by her. 
 
 "What for are you sae set for ghaist stories? 
 I 'se warrant that you hae seen as mony ghaists 
 as ony ither body." 
 
 " I hae never seen ane i' my life." 
 
 "I believe you; nae mair has ony livin' mor- 
 tal." 
 
 " Weel, I am disappointed, for I was sure that 
 you wad gi'e us sic a story to-nicht." 
 
 "Weel, hinny, an' I do, likely you wull pu' 
 the coverlids o'er your heid the nicht." 
 
 "Nae, I wunna, unless my heid gets cauld," 
 laughed Marjorie. 
 
 "Gi'e her ane, Elspeth. Gi'e her ane o' your 
 granny's stories, an' I trow she wull hae her fill," 
 said Sir William. 
 
 " She wad hae her fill an' I could tell them as 
 granny tauld them. I mind that she wad mak' 
 me sae feared that I wad hardly dare go to sleep. 
 Weel, let me see; I think I wull tell the story o' 
 the Heidless Ghaist." 
 
 "Gude, Elspeth; I kenned you wadna disap- 
 point me," said Marjorie approvingly. 
 
 "Awa' on the ither side o' the Grampian 
 Hills, an' weel on to Inverness, lived a wicked
 
 THE HEADLESS GHOST. 75 
 
 an' rich auld laird wha had niver a daughter but 
 ane, an' she was as bonnie as a lass could weel be, 
 folk said. This lass loved a farmer laddie. He, 
 tae, was gude leukin', an' he had the manners o' 
 a gentleman. His faither was weel enough to do 
 i' the warld, but he wasna sprung frae an ancient 
 family an' he wasna rich, you ken. Sae the laird 
 wadna hear onything o' the youth, an' he forbade 
 him to come near his hoose or to speak wi' his 
 daughter. But the young folk wadna gi'e each 
 ither up, an' they had a trysting-place i' a wood. 
 Weel, somehow this came to the laird's ears. 
 Ane nicht young Jamie went to the tryst, an' 
 soon after he heard footsteps, an' he thought that 
 it was his sweetheart. Sae he said, ' Hae you 
 come sae soon, my dear love ? You haena kept 
 me waiting the nicht.' He hadna mair than spo- 
 ken when the old laird sprang forward an' plunged 
 a dirk up to the hilt i' the breast o' the youth. Ja- 
 mie fell utterin' these words: 'God hae mercy on 
 my soul, an' grant that this my slayer may niver 
 hae an hour's peace as lang as he bides in this 
 warld.' 
 
 "Granny aye said, when she came to those 
 wards o' Jamie, that she was sae glad that he 
 didna add, ' nor i' the ither warld either. ' Weel, 
 the bluid flowed sae fast frae the wound that life 
 wad hae soon gone oot ; but the laird didna ken
 
 76 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 that. He pit his feet upon Jamie's body to haud 
 him doon, an' he struck off his heid wi' his sword. 
 When this was done he went hame to get a spade, 
 for he kenned weel that it wadna do to leave the 
 body unburied. When he went back wi' the 
 spade an auld servant saw him an' marvelled 
 muckle, and he took it in his heid to follow at a 
 little distance. Weel, afore the auld laird got 
 back to the dead body his daughter had found it. 
 The moonlicht shawed her wha it was, an' her 
 fears told her wha had done the foul deed. She 
 took the bluidy dirk an' plunged it in her ain 
 body, an' then laid hersel' doon by Jamie. She 
 took ane o' his han's i' hers, an' as her faither 
 came up he heard her say, ' He shallna part us, 
 Jamie; if I canna live wi' you, I wull die wi' you. 
 God forgive faither for this great sin, an' forgive 
 me also if I hae sinned in what I hae done. I 
 trow that grief has pit me beside mysel'.' 
 
 "She said nae mair, but the laird fainted an' 
 fell flat upon his face in the saft mire. Weel was 
 it for him that his servant had followed him, or 
 he wad niver hae risen to his feet again. When 
 the laird came to himsel' he said, ' Donald, mon, 
 you maunna tell it. Griselda maun hae done a' 
 this, but the puir lass is dead noo. We wull gi'e 
 oot that some ruffian has murdered my daughter, 
 an' the mon you maun bury here. '
 
 THE HEADLESS GHOST. 77 
 
 u ' Oh, wae is me,' said Donald, 'that I maun 
 gi'e Jamie Geddes sic a burial, puir lad!' 
 
 " ' Do as I hae bidden you and dinna mention 
 aught o' what you hae seen to-nicht. An' gin 
 farmer Geddes speirs at you aboot Jamie, you 
 maun lee. I hae nae doot but you hae leed mony 
 a time an' na choked upon it either. Stan' by me 
 noo an' you wullna be the loser, I pledge you. ' 
 
 " ' I wullna be the gainer in the lang rin an' 
 I tell a lee. Curse the curiosity that led me to 
 follow you!' groaned puir auld Donald. 
 
 " ' Weel, you hae followed, an' you maun hear 
 till me.' 
 
 "The auld mon took up his spade an' wi' 
 trembling han's began his wark, saying, 'It is 
 hard that ane maun do as he is bidden when he 
 canna tell that he is bidden to do richt. ' 
 
 "'Wark on, an' none o' your jabberin', or 
 yoursel' an' the auld dame wull be turned oot o' 
 dures. ' 
 
 "Donald made an end o' his dreadfu' wark, 
 an' then the twa carried the puir dead damsel 
 hame to her mither, an' the mither straightway 
 went clean daft. After that nicht she niver 
 kenned mair than the simplest fule that iver was 
 born. Farmer Geddes mistrusted that the laird 
 had murdered his son, but he couldna get haud 
 o' the laird wi' a' his money; sae he was saved
 
 78 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 frae the ban's o' the law, but na frae unhappi- 
 ness. The story goes that niver a bit o' peace the 
 laird had afterwards. Wheniver he shut his e'en 
 i' the daytime he could see the dead bodies, an' 
 i' the dark he aye saw them han' i' han'. Some- 
 times when he slept they would ca' him awake 
 an' stan' before him; niver were they separated, 
 an' the lad was aye wantin' his held, an' the las- 
 sie's goon was aye stained wi' her ain heart's bluid. 
 She wad aye point at her faither with her fore- 
 finger, an' she niver took her mournfu' e'en frae 
 him. The auld mon just writhed under it a' ; he 
 couldna eat, he couldna sleep ; the vera winds 
 seemed to sigh into his ears, 'Thou art a mur- 
 derer.' The sunshine mocked him, an' it was 
 said that he wad oft fa' a-tearin' o' his ain flesh. 
 As may be expected, he soon wore oot an' the 
 grave claimed him. Some said that the twa 
 ghaists wad sit upon his grave the haill nicht an' 
 gang awa' when day was breakin'. 
 
 "After the laird was dead his puir auld wife 
 was taken awa' frae hame and naebody wad live 
 i' that ill-fated hoose. Auld Rab the fiddler wad 
 tell lang stories aboot the sights he saw there, 
 an' granny wad believe them; but she might 
 hae kenned that Rab was never sober enough 
 when he went hame nichts to tell a ghaist frae a 
 white coo. ' '
 
 THE HEADLESS GHOST. 79 
 
 u Hoo mtickle o' that is true?" asked Marjo- 
 rie, as Elspeth concluded. 
 
 "A' is true except the part aboot the ghaists. 
 That was owin' to the disturbed state o' the auld 
 laird's mind. Then, you ken, there are plenty o' 
 simple-minded folk wha wull let their fears wark 
 upon them till they baith see an' hear the vera 
 things they fear." 
 
 "That is sae," assented Sir William; "an' 
 though I dinna believe i' sic things, I maun say 
 that sic-like torment is nane tae bad for a mur- 
 derer." 
 
 ' ' Nane tae bad, ' ' repeated Elspeth. ' ' Think 
 o' a mon puttin' a lad oot o' the way because, for- 
 sooth, he loved his daughter. Folk said, tae, that 
 the lassie's mither had encouraged her, and said 
 that wealth an' position didna always bring hap- 
 piness." 
 
 Had Elspeth chosen her stories to harrow up 
 her master's feelings, she could scarcely have 
 taken a different course. Sir William gave her 
 the credit of not intentionally disturbing him, and 
 only said within himself, "Elspeth's stories set 
 me thinkin' o' unpleasant things." 
 
 Marion, too, found much in the story to re- 
 mind her that her father had come between her 
 and him whom she loved, and she sat quietly 
 while the others talked.
 
 80 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 Roger "remarked, "I wad like naething better 
 than to gang through sic an auld empty hoose. I 
 wad like to see the deserted letik that it wad wear; 
 I wad like to tread up an' doon the empty halls 
 an' hear them sound; I wad like to gang through 
 ilka room an' imagine what happened there. I 
 think I could ca' up as mony merry lads an' lasses, 
 stern dames an' dignified granddames, an' as 
 mony men, baith gude an' bad, as iver lived in 
 an ancient hoose. I wish that I could call them 
 up right story-like and put them in a book." 
 
 u Wad you then be a writer o' buiks, Roger?" 
 queried Sir William. 
 
 " Ay, sir, I wad an' I could." 
 
 "An' is that what you are aye thinkin' o' by 
 yoursel', that you dinna talk mair?" asked Mar- 
 jorie. 
 
 "Hoot, lassie! I dinna think muckle o' con- 
 sequence," he replied. 
 
 "I dinna ken aboot that," persisted Marjorie. 
 
 Lady Marion gave a quick glance towards 
 Roger. She wondered if she had the clew to his 
 thoughtfulness. She smiled, but said nothing, 
 while Marjorie asked, "Wad you put ony thing 
 aboot ghaists i' your buik ?' ' 
 
 "Nae, Marjorie, this life is full enough o' in- 
 cidents, an' they are strange enough, forbye. 
 What for should we seek to gang into the mys-
 
 THE HEADLESS GHOST. 8l 
 
 teries o' the ither life ? I wish that you wad hae 
 done wi' that likin' for ghaist-stories ; nae gude 
 wull come frae it; an' hasna Elspeth hersel' tauld 
 you that there is nae truth i' sic things?" 
 
 "Ay, I ken it But hoo near to the truth 
 wad you come wi' your iinaginin' hoo people hae 
 lived?" 
 
 ' ' I wad get nearer the truth than if I set oot 
 to tell what I knew to be a lie. I haena lived 
 amaist a score o' years for naething. I ken some- 
 thing o' the ways o' folk an' o' the warkings o' 
 the human heart." 
 
 " Maist lads wadna care muckle aboot sic 
 things at your age, Roger ; but I can weel be- 
 lieve that you do," said Lady Marion. 
 
 Roger was pleased with this remark, coming 
 from Lady Marion, but he made no answer. 
 
 " Hoo is it, Roger?" said Sir William ; "has 
 the bit o' praise we hae given silenced you ? Gang 
 on an' let us hear mair aboot your plans." 
 
 "I hae nae plans; I hae some fancies, idle fan- 
 cies, nae doot; but that is a', sir." 
 
 He seemed to have no mind to talk more about 
 himself. He arose and stirred the fire and put on 
 the heavy logs of wood that were to burn till morn- 
 ing. This being done, the inmates of the castle 
 retired to rest. 
 
 Lady Marlon's At
 
 82 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 %i 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 AINSLIE'S RETURN. 
 
 THE winter had gone and the early spring 
 was awakening new life in all the woods and 
 fields. The laborers employed on the many acres 
 of Felix Cameron were bestirring themselves, but 
 their old master was even harder to please than 
 usual. Evidently he was brooding over some 
 disappointment, and his servants were at a loss to 
 know how to please him. 
 
 At the close of a pleasant day when Felix had 
 been unusually sullen a stranger came to his door. 
 Now Felix was very fond of company, and upon 
 this occasion he exerted himself to be agreeable. 
 The stranger asked many questions, mostly about 
 Cragsby Castle and its inmates. This was unfor- 
 tunate, for the old man's ill-humor was caused by 
 Sir William's refusal to part with some of his 
 property. So Felix said, " The truth is, stranger, 
 I am in nae frame o' mind to talk o' Cragsby 
 Castle or the maister o' it either; I am vexed- 
 like. You dinna ken it, but I hae bought mony 
 a thing o 1 him just to be accommodatin', and noo 
 he has some fine cattle that I hae set my heart
 
 AINSLIE' S RETURN. 83 
 
 on; but he wunna sell them, sae that Ainslie lad 
 says." 
 
 " Ainslie lad, did you say?" 
 
 "Ay, Roger Ainslie they ca' him. He an' 
 his sister hae been at the castle for three years 
 past. But what ails you, mon ? You leuk exci- 
 ted-like." 
 
 "I am excited. I think I wull awa' to the 
 castle at ance. I hae friends by the name o' Ains- 
 lie, an' I wad ken if the lad an' lass are ony kin 
 tome." 
 
 "Oh, stop the nicht, stop the nicht. The 
 morrow wull be time enough to gang." 
 
 ' ' Nae, thank you. I think I maun gang noo. ' ' 
 
 " Weel, tak' your ain way, o' course. Good 
 nicht to you." 
 
 A half-hour later the stranger stood at the gate 
 before the castle. Roger was near by in his 
 favorite seat, and he rose to admit him. Day- 
 light was over, but the young moon was kindling 
 a light by which the uncle and the nephew recog- 
 nized each other. 
 
 ' ' You ken me, my laddie, do you na ?' ' 
 
 " You are either Uncle Roger or his ghaist." 
 
 ' ' I am nae ghaist, ' ' replied the uncle as the 
 two men embraced each other. 
 
 " Come up to the castle," said Roger. 
 
 "Nae," replied Ainslie, "sit doon wi' me here
 
 .84 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 a bit. I dinna ken as I wull be welcome at the 
 castle." 
 
 " Nae welcome at the castle !" repeated Roger 
 with some surprise. " I am sure that you wull be 
 welcome; but gin you hae sic a fear I wull rin up 
 an' fetch the maister himsel'." 
 
 "If a' body thinks that I am dead, hae a care 
 an' nae Stop a bit; is Lady Marion married?" 
 
 " Nae, she isna. Did you ken Lady Marion ?" 
 
 "Ay, I kenned her weel, an' I was just going 
 to say, dinna tell her the news too suddenly." 
 
 "I wunna." 
 
 When Roger reached Sir William his face was 
 all aglow with excitement. 
 
 "What is it, lad ?" asked the old man. 
 
 " There is a mon at the gate wha says that he 
 isna sure o' a welcome; an' he wunna come in 
 till you come doon an' bid him welcome." 
 
 "Do you ken wha it is?" 
 
 " I do that, an' richt weel too." 
 
 " Weel, tell me wha I am to see." 
 
 " I wad liefer tell you ootside." 
 
 When they were out of Lady Marion's hear- 
 ing Roger said, " Maybe you wunna believe me, 
 but you will see -Uncle Roger at the gate." 
 
 Sir William grasped the boy's arm and said, 
 " You tell a lee for ance, lad." 
 
 "Weel, come an' see for yourseP."
 
 AINSUE'S RETURN. 85 
 
 The old man did not slacken his hold on Rog- 
 er's arm, for he needed the support. "Weel, I 
 am glad that he isna dead," he said. Trembling 
 with excitement he bade Mr. Ainslie welcome, 
 adding, "L,et the past be forgotten, and let this 
 fine lad wham we baith love mak' us freends. 
 But hoo came it that you werena drowned ?" 
 
 "We were shipwrecked an' lost a' on board, 
 an' I was glad to escape wi' my life. Lafe has 
 been weary ever since; an' when I came back to 
 Scotland I could get nae news o' Dalziel or the 
 bairns. It is only by a seeming accident that I 
 hae noo found them, though nae doot the Lord 
 has guided me when I knew it not." 
 
 "Maist likely, maist likely," said Sir Wil- 
 liam in a husky voice. 
 
 They were now within the castle. Mr. Ains- 
 lie was not taken to the family sitting-room, but 
 thither the father repaired to inform Marion as 
 best he could. 
 
 " My daughter, can you bear some vera strange 
 news?" 
 
 " I think sae, faither. What can it be?" 
 
 "Weel, he that we thought deed is alive an' 
 under oor ain roof." 
 
 ' ' Wha, faither ? Not Ainslie !" 
 
 "Ay, it is Ainslie, safe an' sound." 
 
 Marion fainted and Elspeth was called to
 
 86 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 attend her. Sir William looked on, thinking that 
 his daughter must have loved deeply, and he re- 
 solved that if Mr. Ainslie should renew his atten- 
 tions he would withdraw his objections. 
 
 Marjorie was overjoyed to see her uncle. She 
 could not talk fast enough to him, and among 
 other things she told "Leddy Marion fainted clean 
 awa' when she kenned that you were here. ' ' But 
 not till long after did Marion know that Marjorie' s 
 nim'ble tongue had told what she hoped to keep a 
 secret. 
 
 The meeting between Marion and Ainslie was 
 a private one, but Marjorie was convinced that 
 they must have had a pleasant time. She said 
 to her uncle, "I didna ken that you were ac- 
 quainted wi' Leddy Marion, but I am sure o' ane 
 thing." 
 
 " What is that, Marjorie?" asked her uncle. 
 
 " That you maun love her. A' body that kens 
 her loves her, young an' auld, rich an' puir. She 
 is a friend to ilka ane, an' ilka ane is a friend to 
 her." 
 
 " Weel, Marjorie, you hae made a broad asser- 
 tion, but I think you are richt," her uncle re- 
 plied. 
 
 Ainslie was urged to remain for some time at 
 the castle, for all saw that he needed rest and 
 recreation. The worriment caused by the disap-
 
 ' AINSLIE' S RETURN. 87 
 
 pearance of his brother's children and the other 
 troubles that he had seen had added full ten years 
 to his life. But after he found the children in such 
 excellent health and spirits he concluded that the 
 reckless experiment of Dalziel had worked no 
 harm to them; and, judging from the many words 
 spoken in their praise, he naturally thought that 
 Sir William had suffered no loss through them. 
 If he had any doubts that they were welcome they 
 vanished when he talked of removing them. Sir 
 William and his daughter were not long in ma- 
 king themselves understood. Old Elspeth was 
 loud in her protestations against the plan, while 
 Stephen made little less ado. 
 
 Both of the old servants, fearing that they 
 would lose the young Ainslies, tried to convince 
 the uncle that Roger and Marjorie ought not to 
 leave the castle. It was not known to them that 
 arrangements had been made to leave them for 
 the present, at least. 
 
 Mr. Ainslie was crossing a field on his way 
 back from a walk. Old Stephen was in the field 
 ploughing. He sat down on the beam of the 
 plough to rest and commenced to talk to Mr. 
 Ainslie. 
 
 " You see yoursel' hoo I gi'e oot. My strength 
 is but sma' ; time has been when nae wark wad 
 fash or fright me. Though I say it mysel', there
 
 88 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 wasna a mon i' a' the country roun' that could 
 gi'e better satisfaction at the plough. But auld 
 age is upon me, an' there is need for a young an' 
 a strang mon to step i' my place. Roger is gude 
 at wark noo, an' sic a manager as he wull be ! I 
 maun say that I am surprised at him; he is far 
 frae ordinar. The maister has taken a wonderful 
 fancy to him forbye. I maun confess that I was 
 a bit jealous o' him ance; but I thought better o' 
 it, an' I said to mysel', ' Stephen Watson, you are 
 an auld fule wi' your hot haste to wax wroth. 
 Cauna you see that the auld maun be set aside an' 
 the young maun take their places ?' Weel, that 
 was near twelve months sin'; noo no ane can 
 think mair o' the lad than I do mysel'. An' he 
 is weel pleased here tae; speir at him an' see if he 
 isna. Be persuaded noo by ane it may be has nae 
 richt to speak, but ane wha has the gude o' his 
 freends at heart an' an awfu' care for the weel fare 
 an' honor o' Cragsby Castle, ane wha wull soon 
 be gathered to his faithers an' be beyond all 
 earthly moil an' care." 
 
 Stephen paused to wipe the perspiration from 
 his brow, and then added, " Let me hae a prom- 
 ise that you wunna strip us o' oor strength an' 
 take awa' oor main dependence." 
 
 "I think I maun promise, Stephen; but what 
 am I to do, a lonely mon?"
 
 AINSLIE' s RETURN. 89 
 
 ' ' Ye maun marry like ither folk, ' ' he replied, 
 his face breaking into a smile. 
 
 ' ' Some things are easier said than done, Ste- 
 phen." 
 
 "Ay, some things are; but I hae a notion, an' 
 I amna alane in it, that you could wed withoot 
 goin' a thousand miles frae here. ' ' 
 
 Old Stephen went on with his ploughing, and 
 Ainslie walked back to the castle only to fall in 
 with Elspeth, who at once said, "Mr. Ainslie, I 
 maun speak oot. I feel amaist like her we read o' 
 i' the Holy Scripture, her wha said to the mon o' 
 God, * Did I desire a son ?' Sae I say noo, did ony 
 o' us desire that these pleasant young people should 
 be sent here till oor affections should be entwined 
 around them an' then hae them taken awa' ? 
 Marjorie is sic a cheerfu', winsome lass that I love 
 her next to my ain leddy hersel'. The castle has 
 seemed like a different place sin' the bairns came 
 here. Roger, wi' his calm, self-reliant air, an' 
 Marjorie wi' her sweet ways an' her wee pleasant- 
 ries, hae been the life o' us a'. Surely you wun- 
 na consign us to gloom a'thegither." Then with 
 some embarrassment she went on, "I thought for 
 sure that you yoursel' wad find some attraction 
 here, Mr. Ainslie. I amna sae auld that I hae 
 lost my memory. I haena forgotten what you 
 ance bade me tell Leddy Marion."
 
 QO LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 "Then it was different, Elspeth. I had no 
 ane but mysel' to look after. Noo I hae these 
 bairns o' my brither, wha i' the providence o' 
 God maun be considered as my ain." 
 
 "Hoot, mon! hasna the providence o' God 
 found a name for them? I tell you, the haill 
 three o' you belong to Cragsby Castle as sure as 
 my name is Elspeth Lundie." Then, shaking 
 her head in a knowing manner, she continued, 
 "The maister wunna hae aught against it noo. 
 He has mair than ance said that he is glad o' the 
 answer my leddy gave yon Dalziel. You think I 
 dinna ken, but I do. We hae been i' straits an' 
 *we hae passed through lanely years, an' auld Els- 
 peth has mair than ance been taken into confi- 
 dence." 
 
 "Beware, Elspeth, that you dinna bid me 
 hope for too much; you ken that I hae been a 
 sad, weary mon a' these years." 
 
 "Ay, I ken that, an' I dinna bid you hope 
 for tae muckle." Then catching a mischievous 
 look in his eye, she said, "Awa' wi' you! You 
 are but makin' game o' me. I trow that you hae 
 the bargain fast made afore noo." 
 
 Ainslie laughed, and Elspeth joined him in 
 spite of herself, for she had half a mind to be 
 offended that anything so important should have 
 escaped her notice.
 
 AINSLIE'S RETURN. 91 
 
 But so it was. Quietly, very quietly, had all 
 been arranged, and the old longing in Marion's 
 heart was met. She had indeed clasped that 
 "warm, friendly, loving hand again." And 
 Ainslie, the tempest -tossed yet trusting Chris- 
 tian, found himself surrounded by friends and 
 relatives, and he praised the goodness of God 
 who "setteth the solitary in families."
 
 92 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 GENTLE ANNIE. 
 
 WHILE our friends at the castle had been 
 struggling with the troubles growing out of a 
 narrow income Dalziel was away in Condon rev- 
 elling in wealth and luxury. He felt that no one 
 depended upon him or would call him to account, 
 nor did he remember his allegiance to God. He 
 found an ill-judged pleasure in this unbridled lib- 
 erty. No qualms of conscience troubled his obdu- 
 rate heart, no thought of the hereafter crossed his 
 mind, and the happiness of others was nothing to 
 him. To follow him we must paint many a scene 
 of crime and shame from which the mind of the 
 pure would revolt. But one story, perhaps the 
 saddest of all, we will relate. 
 
 Far on the outskirts of the busy, throbbing 
 metropolis of England lived Elizabeth Morris and 
 her granddaughter Annie. She was a sweet, 
 pleasant girl, and she was called among the neigh- 
 bors ' ' Gentle Annie. ' ' Both were women of good 
 repute and all around them were pleased to show 
 them many little acts of kindness. Annie, al- 
 though young, had won the heart of a worthy
 
 GENTLE ANNIE. 93 
 
 mechanic, Thomas Barton by name. The grand- 
 mother looked upon the youth as her future grand- 
 son, and a great load was taken from her mind 
 when she thought that Annie would not be left 
 alone and unprotected when she died. She had 
 always been a woman of thrift, and the little cot- 
 tage was the scene of comfort and contentment. 
 
 But into this peaceful, secluded home came 
 one whose presence was a blight upon its happi- 
 ness. Malcolm Dalziel, led by some spirit of 
 evil, found his way there. In vain did the gray- 
 haired woman warn her unsuspecting grandchild. 
 Gentle Annie thought of nothing but the soft, 
 smooth words and the dark, flashing eyes of the 
 stranger. Poor Tom Barton also felt Annie's 
 danger. Dalziel knew this and enjoyed the wor- 
 riment that his visits at the cottage caused him. 
 
 A private marriage soon took place, and the 
 girl felt secure and happy. She explained to her 
 anxious grandmother that all her fears were 
 groundless. She could not, she argued, lose such 
 a superior chance. She felt sorry for Tom Bar- 
 ton; but kind as he was, she considered her con- 
 duct perfectly justifiable. She had read many 
 stories of lowly maidens who married above their 
 stations, and these stories had taken possession of 
 her mind. She was intoxicated with the glittering 
 gold she saw and with the fair promises of all she
 
 94 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 was to become. ' ' I shall make something of you, 
 my sweet Annie; you will be astonished at your- 
 self," he would say. 
 
 But the dullest of minds can anticipate in 
 what way his words became true. It is easy to 
 believe that he made her a heart-broken woman, 
 and she was astonished at her own blindness and 
 wilfulness. Dalziel never took her from the cot- 
 tage, and before many mouths were passed he left 
 her, never to return. In another half-year she 
 gave birth to a son. 
 
 Long she looked for Dalziel, hoping against 
 hope. At last she gave him up and asked for 
 no sympathy, for she felt that she did not deserve 
 it. She labored early and late that her grand- 
 mother's property might be exempt from drafts 
 to support the child. She would not give him a 
 name, but called him " Baby" when she spoke of 
 him. Three more years of grief and toil ended 
 her life. In her last days her grandmother asked, 
 "Annie dear, will you not name your child?" 
 
 "Call him Thomas," she answered; then she 
 burst into tears. Recovering her voice she said, 
 "Alas, grandmother, that one can do in so short a 
 time what a whole lifetime cannot undo ! But 
 then for me it will not matter long. It seems 
 hard that the one mistake of my life should kill 
 me; but it is just, or a just God would not suffer
 
 GENTLE ANNIE. 95 
 
 it to be. When I am gone tell Thomas that I 
 knew at last that all was wrong. He will forgive 
 me then, for no earthly tie shall bind me. After 
 death we shall neither marry nor be given in mar- 
 riage, but we shall be as the angels of heaven, our 
 dear Lord hath said. To him shall I belong who 
 bought me with his blood. I will not deny that 
 I find some pleasure in the thought that I shall 
 be loosed from the unhappy bond that holds me, 
 even though death must be the liberator. Ask 
 Thomas if he will have a little care over his name- 
 sake for the sake of what we were to each other in 
 our early years. I am sure that he will. He was 
 aye truer to me than I was to him. Well, I can- 
 not recall the past, but I wish that my mistake 
 might be written in a book as a warning to all 
 giddy maids that they weigh well their thoughts 
 before they change into deeds. If he whom I 
 will not name returns, tell him I left but one mes- 
 sage for him. Tell him to make his peace with 
 God. I hope that he will not know about the 
 child, and I would rather that the child should 
 not know about him. But I cannot arrange these 
 things. I am weary of thinking, and all my think- 
 ing has come too late. Forgive me, dear, good 
 grandmother, that I did not heed your advice." 
 "Ay, sweetheart, a thousand times I forgive
 
 96 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 Both ceased speaking, and Annie soon fell 
 asleep. 
 
 In a few days the grandmother saw by the un- 
 easiness in Annie's movements that death was 
 approaching. She picked at the coverlid and 
 rolled her head, tossing her heavy ringlets about 
 the pillow. Thomas Barton and his mother were 
 called in, but Annie did not know them; she 
 stared at them with a vacant look in her blue 
 eyes. 
 
 " I cannot abide it," said Thomas, and he left 
 the house. 
 
 "Yet I must abide it, even if I am left all 
 alone," said the afflicted grandmother. 
 
 " I will not leave you, and, believe me, Thom- 
 as is not far away," answered Mrs. Barton. 
 
 The odor of sweet-scented herbs came in 
 through the window that summer morning. An- 
 nie caught their perfume, and in her confused 
 state of mind she fancied that it was borne in 
 upon her senses from the other world. 
 
 "It surely must be a land of delight," she 
 murmured, "for already I catch odors sweeter 
 than thyme or southernwood or any flower that 
 grew in our garden. The way is so plain and the 
 ascent so easy! Annie, poor Annie, you will have 
 peace again, and all through the infinite compas- 
 sion of the Lord Jesus !"
 
 GENTLE ANNIE. 97 
 
 She said no more. The graceful head lay 
 quietly upon the pillow, there was a slight quiver 
 about the lips, and Annie had ceased to breathe. 
 
 "Her life has gone out," said Mrs. Barton. 
 Then finding Thomas she said, ' ' The struggle is 
 over. ' ' 
 
 Tom Barton went a little way from the house, 
 and sitting down by the brookside he wept bit- 
 terly for the early dead. Surely he forgave her 
 now, if never before. Soon he took his way 
 homeward with his mind somewhat calmer, but 
 he was still sad over the blighted life of the only 
 one he had ever loved. In the way before him 
 stood a "coach and four." Evidently something 
 was wrong; but he had no mind to meet any one, 
 and was about turning away into the field when 
 the familiar voice of one of his neighbors accosted 
 him. "I say, Tom, come here and lend us a 
 hand. These gentlemen have broken down and 
 they need help." 
 
 Tom pulled his hat down over his eyes and 
 walked up to the group. Jim detected his sad- 
 ness and he asked, " How is she, Gentle Annie?" 
 
 " Cold in death !" 
 
 ' ' Poor lass ! I wonder where that cursed 
 knave is ?" 
 
 ' ' He is somewhere in the service of the devil, 
 I '11 be bound. But I do n't want to think of him. 
 
 Lady Marion's Answer. 7
 
 98 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 It is well for him that he does not cross my 
 path the morn. Give me a strong cord if you 
 have it." 
 
 The other produced a string that would an- 
 swer. Tom tied it through the incisions that he 
 had made in the broken harness. The driver 
 then pronounced it safe till they could reach the 
 nearest village. 
 
 The coach moved away, but Jim and Tom 
 stood talking when a pair of black eyes looked 
 back at them through the window. Dalziel, for 
 it was he, had started with some friends upon a 
 tour of pleasure. He had been the life of the 
 party till the accident took place, when he be- 
 came very quiet. 
 
 "What is amiss with you, Dalziel; you are 
 not like yourself?" asked one of the friends. 
 
 "Well, one hates to break down. Of course 
 this amounted to nothing, but it might happen at 
 some swift turn in the road and send us to our 
 account in a hurry." 
 
 " Have you then such a bad account?" 
 
 " Aboot like your ain," answered Dalziel, us- 
 ing his native tongue, as he always did in his un- 
 guarded moments. 
 
 The whole party laughed, for they were ready 
 to concede that there was very little difference 
 between them. Still the spirit of revelry seemed
 
 
 GENTLE ANNIE. 99 
 
 to be damped. As for Dalziel, he knew from the 
 few words that he overheard that curses were 
 being heaped upon him by the simple-minded 
 folk that gathered in Elizabeth Morris' little cot- 
 tage. 
 
 Quietly and sadly the neighbors gathered on 
 the day of Annie's funeral. The morning was 
 still and cool and everything whispered of peace, 
 but it was a solemn peace. The reading was 
 solemn, the prayer was solemn, but more solemn 
 than either was the pale face of Gentle Annie 
 lying in the sleep of death. The wrinkled face of 
 Elizabeth Morris wore the calm that came from 
 thinking of the greater sufferings of Gethsem- 
 ane. The whole atmosphere seemed filled with 
 the presence of the blessed Lord. It was as if he 
 stood in their midst saying once more, "Peace 
 I leave with you, my peace I give unto you. ' ' 
 
 And surely it was his peace that subdued 
 Tom Barton as he looked on the coffined clay of 
 his early friend who should have been more than 
 a friend to him. He turned away with a sigh 
 that seemed to say, "It is all past now. I will 
 leave it with Him who has suffered it to be so." 
 
 In the morning Thomas Barton called at the 
 cottage, for he knew that Mrs. Morris had some- 
 thing to communicate. When he heard Annie's 
 message his tears flowed freely. He took the
 
 ioo LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 little Thomas on his knee and said, "I can love 
 him, since he looks like his mother." He kissed 
 the little red mouth that the child held up to him. 
 Then he turned to the grandmother and said, 
 "The child shall never want for a friend while 
 I live."
 
 LADY MARION'S MARRIAGE. 101 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 LADY MARION'S MARRIAGE. 
 
 MR. AINSLIE went away, settled his business 
 affairs, and brought back no paltry sum with him. 
 Then there began to be a great stir in the castle, 
 for a wedding was approaching. Sir William 
 was in excellent spirits and Marjorie's joy was 
 unbounded. Roger smiled oftener and his smile 
 lingered longer than usual. I/ady Marion was 
 very quiet, but it was easy to see that she was 
 happy. Elspeth's time was divided between in- 
 structing the new servants and attending to her 
 own duties. Occasionally she would find time 
 for a short chat with some one, and when talking 
 of the coming marriage always concluded by say- 
 ing, "I hae thought many times that Mr. Ains- 
 lie would be back again." 
 
 One evening Elspeth went to Stephen's cot- 
 tage to spend an hour. As may be supposed, the 
 time was well improved. Not that Elspeth di- 
 vulged anything that had been committed to her 
 keeping, but general matters were talked over. 
 
 ' ' I hear that Leddy Annie is to be here. Weel 
 I remember the last time that she was at the
 
 102 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 castle; it was not lang after oor leddy died," said 
 Stephen. 
 
 "Ay, I ken," said Elspeth; "but there be 
 things that arena for us to speak o' too familiar- 
 ly." She was afraid that something might be 
 said that would displease their employers, for all 
 knew that Lady Annie left the castle because she 
 and Sir William had some misunderstanding. So 
 she added, ' ' It wunna do for us to say a' that 
 we know aboot." 
 
 "Ay, I ken that is sae, but do you think 
 that I hae forgotten the leuk o' her as she softly 
 smoothed wi' her lily-white hand Hannah's hair? 
 She had the fever, you mind. When ane is good 
 to Hannah, I mind that, you see." 
 
 "I 'se warrant you mind that," said Hannah, 
 the slightest shade of pink coming into her sal- 
 low cheeks. Then she added, "I mind her kind- 
 ness mysel', an' I wull be right glad to see her 
 again." 
 
 "We all wull be glad to see her; but Leddy 
 Marion is the ane wha wull rejoice the most. I 
 trow that she is wearying for a sight o' her mo- 
 ther's kin. Leddy Annie wull bring Edith Grant, 
 her niece, with her. I declare, it wull seem fine 
 to hae sic grand company again at the castle." 
 
 "Wha else are to be guests at the castle? I 
 haena heard muckle aboot it," said Hannah.
 
 LADY MARION'S MARRIAGE. 103 
 
 "Oh, a haill chance o' folk frae the toon, 
 squires an' lawyers an' doctors an' grand folk. 
 But oor leddy wullna hae ony foolishness wi' sae 
 mony gowns as some brides hae. She says the 
 Campbell hoose isna what it ance was; an' wull 
 you believe it, she doesna care muckle for the 
 family jewels! I think she wad like to drop a' 
 titles an' be called Marion Campbell." 
 
 "I think she wad rather be called Marion 
 Ainslie," said old Stephen, smiling. 
 
 "Of course she wunna wear the name o' 
 Campbell muckle langer." 
 
 "Noo," said Stephen, "I hae heard pleas- 
 ant news the day. I heard that Ainslie has 
 bought the horses back again, but neither Sir 
 William nor Leddy Marion are to ken aboot it 
 till the horses are brought to the vera dure. Sae 
 you maunna say onything aboot it. I thought it 
 wad gi'e you pleasure, sae I didna keep it frae 
 you. It was Roger's thought, an' his uncle fell 
 in with the plan at ance. Auld Felix had nae 
 mind to part wi' the beasts; but his grandson, 
 Graham Walker, persuaded the old mon to gi'e 
 consent." 
 
 "Nae wonder that Graham spoke a gude ward 
 for the Ainslies, for he has his eye on Marjorie. 
 I hae to laugh to see the lass. She kens weel 
 enough that he is fond o' her, but she never lets
 
 MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 him see that she kens it, an' he, puir lad, tak's 
 muckle trouble to give her the understanin' o' it 
 I wad be right weel pleased gin they did mak' 
 a match; for some ane will coax her frae us, an' 
 this wadna be goin' far. ' ' 
 
 " I dinna ken, Elspeth. Felix is sic a crabbed 
 auld soul that I dinna see hoo ony ane stands it 
 under the same roof wi' him. It wad be a thou- 
 sand pities to sour oor Marjorie's sunny temper. 
 Hannah, here, thinks she is the maist winsome, 
 light-hearted lass that she ever kenned." 
 
 U I hae thought aboot that mysel', but Mar- 
 jorie and Graham are baith young. Bootless 
 auld Felix wull be weel oot o' the way before the 
 merriage wull tak' place. Let me see, Felix 
 maun be fu' ten years upon borrowed time noo." 
 
 "Is that sae? I didna ken that he is sae 
 auld, but I did ken that he is muckle aulder than 
 he is gude," said Hannah. 
 
 "Weel, Hannah Watson, I am surprised to 
 hear you say that muckle against ony ane," said 
 Elspeth, rather enjoying Hannah's remark. 
 
 "Weel, there is nae gude in saying aught 
 against ony ane. If folk are sae vera bad, we 
 maunna foul oor tongues wi' talkin' o' them ; ail' 
 if they arena bad, why should they be leed aboot? 
 Besides, ither folks' business isna my business, 
 an' why should I mak' it sae?"
 
 LADY MARION'S MARRIAGE. 105 
 
 "You are right there; it isna right for us to 
 trouble oorsel's," assented Elspeth. "But my 
 dear leddy's merriage seems to be my business. 
 An' I am sae glad that a' is coming oot right, as 
 far as human eye can see." 
 
 "Of course, Elspeth, we maun rejoice wi' 
 those wha do rejoice, as well as weep wi' those 
 wha weep." 
 
 Stephen cast an approving glance upon Han- 
 nah. He thought that all her words could not be 
 said better. He often said within himself, "Ste- 
 phen Watson, you are a lucky mon to hae sic a 
 wise, quiet, wee wife." 
 
 "Weel, I maun be going. To-morrow we 
 wull begin oor preparations for the merriage- 
 feast, an' I maunna be late the morn. Hannah, 
 we wull need you the day after to-morrow. That 
 is what I came to tell you, an' I amaist forgot it. 
 Weel, my heid is that fu' that it is nae wonder 
 that I forget some things. Gude nicht to you 
 baith." 
 
 On the following morning Marion was looking 
 from her window. She was reviewing the past, 
 and she was so lost in her thoughts she did not 
 notice that anything unusual was taking place 
 until she heard the neighing of a horse. She im- 
 mediately thought of Rory, and looking down she 
 saw the gentle creature all saddled as if waiting
 
 io6 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 for some one. Graham Walker held his head, and 
 one of Felix Cameron's farm-hands was leading 
 the carriage-horses up the road. 
 
 It did not take Marion long to understand the 
 situation. She donned her riding-habit and was 
 soon in her accustomed seat on Rory's back. An- 
 other horse was saddled for Mr. Ainslie, and be- 
 fore long the pair rode away. Elspeth hung out 
 of the window to watch them, and when she 
 turned away, Marjorie cried, "Weel, Elspeth, I 
 do declare, you hae tears i' your e'en." 
 
 " An' you wad hae tears i' your ain, gin you 
 were as glad as I am." 
 
 Elspeth and the rest of the servants were very 
 busy during the days that followed. Within this 
 time the choicest of the flocks and herds were ap- 
 propriated for the wedding festivities. Meantime 
 Lady Annie arrived with her niece, Edith Grant. 
 The large rooms, so long closed, were opened, 
 renovated, and some were refurnished. It had 
 been understood, when Sir William gave his con- 
 sent to the marriage, that his daughter was never 
 to leave him. So as the castle was to be Ainslie' s 
 home, he claimed the right to spend some money 
 in supplying its needs. 
 
 Elspeth was very joyful at this time, for she 
 was sure that prosperity was returning to the 
 castle.
 
 LADY MARION'S MARRIAGE. 107 
 
 But how did the gentle Lady Marion bear all 
 these changes ? Already she seemed to be placed 
 across those long weary years that had passed be- 
 tween the time of her answer to Dalziel and Ains- 
 lie's return. The old light had come back to her 
 eyes, the pallor was gone. God had not forsaken 
 her in her trouble; he had not left her without 
 some degree of comfort in her years of darkness; 
 and now with his approbation she had the pleas- 
 ure of realizing the fulfilment of her earthly hopes. 
 She still loved to work with Elspeth, but the old 
 servant would not allow her to do so. She would 
 answer, "Gang oot o' the kitchen, my leddy. 
 Gang an' tak' a ride upon Rory ; it wull do you 
 gude." 
 
 Once she said to Lady Marion as she came in 
 from a walk, "My dear leddy, you are getting 
 your bloom a' back again, an' I am overjoyed to 
 see it. I wunna speak o' the bitter past, but leuk 
 what changes oor gude Faither can bring aboot. 
 It seems to me that even the wee burnie maun 
 ken the gladness that hangs aboot the auld place. 
 Nature seems to wear a mair cheerfu' face, but I 
 expect that it is oor ain joy that mak's us think 
 sae. At ony rate, it is a new proof o' the gude- 
 ness o' the Lord." 
 
 "Ay, Elspeth, surely we maun see the gude- 
 ness o' the Lord in a' that is granted to us. We
 
 io8 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 maun continue to be faithfu' an' na forget to 
 whom our thanks are due. ' ' 
 
 Lady Marion was delighted to see her cousin, 
 Lady Annie. She talked a great deal to Marion 
 about her mother, and she felt that she had lost 
 much all the years that Lady Annie had absented 
 herself from the castle. 
 
 When the wedding-day dawned it seemed that 
 nature had been determined to grant a perfect 
 day. "It is a gude omen, my leddy," said El- 
 speth. "I dinna believe muckle i' signs, but 
 you ken they say, ' Happy is the bride that the 
 sun shines on.' " 
 
 There was no lack of good-will among the 
 guests and no lack of good cheer at the wedding- 
 feast. It was a happy time, and perhaps no one 
 was happier and better satisfied than Sir William, 
 and his mental comment was, " Hoo we do mis- 
 calculate! We think that we see straight, while 
 we are far frae seein' richt. Noo I ken weel that 
 if I had had the management o' affairs, I wad hae 
 spoiled a' the happiness o' this day."
 
 OLD STEPHEN'S SORROW. 109 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 OLD STEPHEN'S SORROW. 
 
 STEPHEN WATSON had scarcely ceased to re- 
 joice over the happiness at the castle ere trouble 
 came to his own little cottage. Hannah, on whom 
 his hopes had centred for nearly fifty years, was 
 smitten with an incurable malady. It was vain 
 for Stephen to attempt to work, and he went to 
 Sir William with this plea : 
 
 ' ' Kind maister, you ken, I suppose, that the 
 doctor has said that my Hannah maun dee. Wull 
 you gi'e me leave to stay by her an' nurse her wi' 
 my ain han's?" 
 
 "Ay, Stephen, surely you may stay by her, 
 an' if you hae ony other request, you maunna be 
 slow to speak. ' ' 
 
 " You are vera gude. The doctor says that if 
 she could hae a wee drappy o' wine noo an' then, 
 it might set her up a bit." 
 
 "I wull see that you hae the wine, Stephen; 
 an' richt sorry I am that sae little can be done for 
 the gudewife." 
 
 "An' she isna sae auld, either, maister; but 
 saxty-sax come October. I loved her when she
 
 no ,. LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 was but a slip o' a girl, an' I merried her the 
 morn that she was saxteen. You ken, as weel 
 as I do, that she has always been ane o' the best 
 o' women, always sae kind an' gentle, an sic a 
 gude Christian tae. But you dinna ken what she 
 has dune for me. When we were first merried she 
 worried because we had nae prayer. Mony a time 
 she said, 'Stephen, I dinna like to gi'e mysel' to 
 sleep unless the voice o' prayer first goes up to the 
 ears o' Him wha doesna slumber. ' Weel, when 
 I saw hoo the puir lass fretted because I didna ca' 
 upon the name o' the Lord, I tried after the lan- 
 guage o' prayer, but I found that I couldna mak' 
 it sound richt. Then Hannah said to me, ' You 
 maunna try sae hard. You maun love God your 
 Faither as he has bidden you, then you wull speak 
 to him as your heart prompts you, an' the heid 
 wull hae little to do wi' it.' An' sae I found 
 it to be; it is the heart that cries oot after God. 
 The heid isna to be depended upon in matters o' 
 religion. Weel, I maun awa' to Hannah noo, an' 
 thank you for your kindness. I maun be wi' her 
 while I may, you see." 
 
 Stephen walked hurriedly towards his cottage. 
 If we could follow him we would see him go right 
 to his wife and kiss her pale cheek ; we would 
 have heard him ask, "Is the pain nae better, 
 Hannah?"
 
 OLD STEPHEN'S SORROW. m 
 
 "Nae better, Stephen; but I hae grace an' 
 strength gi'en me to bear it." 
 
 "Oh, my puir wife, my ain kind dearie, hoo 
 gladly wad I tak' the pain upon mysel' an' gi'e 
 you rest. ' ' 
 
 "I ken that, Stephen, but you canna. Each 
 must bear his or her ain allotment o' sufferin' an 1 
 sorrow. The dear Lord wull see to it that nane 
 o' us hae tae muckle to bear. Remember that, 
 lyife is fu' o' trouble, but for each trouble there is 
 a solace. The Healer's han' is outstretched to- 
 wards every wound, an' surely we canna complain 
 o' chastisement, Stephen. We hae had mony, 
 vera mony years o' quiet joy together. They 
 haena seemed mony, because we hae been sae 
 happy. We hae grown auld, an' we haena 
 thought aboot it; time has fled an' we wist it not. 
 We hae needed but little, an' that little we hae 
 aye had. Sir William has never been severe wi' 
 us, an' o' late he has been mair than gude. A' 
 the folk at the castle wull be gude to you, Ste- 
 phen, when I'm awa'. Elspeth an' Marjorie, an' 
 even Leddy Marion hersel' wi' a' her happiness, 
 wullna forget to speak comfortin' wards to a lone- 
 ly mon." 
 
 "That may be sae; but none o' them can speak 
 wards that wull be like yours, Hannah." 
 
 "Maybe, Stephen, maybe; but think o' the
 
 ii2 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 meetin' ayont a' earthly partings; wullna that be 
 blessed?" 
 
 " Ay, that it wull; but hoo lang the time wull 
 seem till then! You said a few minutes sin' that 
 the years had seemed sae short to us together, but 
 they wullna be short to me when I am alane. Ay, 
 ay, they do seem short! Eh! it seems but a few 
 years sin' I brought you to my hame, an' yet it is 
 twascore an' ten years." 
 
 Stephen sat musing on the past, and Hannah 
 fell asleep. Often he cast on her a glance of love 
 and pity. Her face was very sweet with its look 
 of repose, and Stephen said, "She aye had that 
 dainty leuk around her mouth. A bonnie face 
 she had, an' sic canty ways tae. Weel, a' is pass- 
 ing frae me. God gi'e me grace to stan' my 
 grief." 
 
 Hannah still slept, and Stephen quietly made 
 some preparations for his lonely meal. In those 
 last days Hannah scarcely tasted food. In vain 
 did Stephen say, "Try to tak' a bit o' food sae 
 that you may gain strength, just a wee bit, 
 dearie. ' ' But her appetite was gone, and the old 
 man often pushed his own food back untasted. 
 
 When Hannah awoke Elspeth was sitting by 
 her bedside. 
 
 u Hoo are you the day, Hannah?" she in- 
 quired.
 
 OLD STEPHEN'S SORROW. 113 
 
 " I amna sae weel, Elspeth. I trow that I am 
 vveel on wi' the seckness, an' the last maun soon 
 come. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Think you sae ? Hoo do you feel in view 
 o' approaching daith ? A' is weel, I mak' nae 
 doot." 
 
 "A' is weel an' a' is richt that oor Maker or- 
 ders." 
 
 "That sounds like yoursel', Hannah. I 
 thought that you wadna hae a murmuring spirit, 
 though the pain o' the body an' the pain o' 
 parting wi' the gudemon maun baith be hard to 
 bear." 
 
 "It wad ill become me, Elspeth, to find fault 
 wi' the arrangements o' Providence. Sic things 
 might be overlooked in an unbeliever, but in a 
 believer never. .Sic a course wad gi'e the lee to 
 oor profession, you ken." 
 
 " Sae it wad. There is mony a professing be- 
 liever that doesna leuk at it i' that light, I 'm 
 thinking. Weel, it is gude to trust in the Lord 
 at a' times, an' that withoot wavering; for as St. 
 James says, ' He that wavereth is like a wave o' 
 the sea, driven by the wind an' tossed.' I din- 
 na want to be tossed aboot. I like to feel that 
 beneath me an' aroun' me are the iverlasting 
 arms. ' ' 
 
 "Ay, Elspeth, I ken the blessedness o' sic a 
 
 Lady Marlon's Answer.
 
 ii4 ^ LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 trust. I dinna fear daith ony inair than I fear to 
 fa' asleep wi' Stephen keepin' watch over me. 
 Of course it seems strange to think o' daith sae 
 near, but fear I hae none. ' ' 
 
 Other words were spoken and other thoughts 
 pertaining to life and death were exchanged, and 
 when Blspeth went her way each woman felt that 
 she was stronger through the interview. 
 
 It was sad to see Stephen's weary, dispirited 
 look. It said as plainly as words, ' ' I canna bear 
 it." At last the end came, so quietly that Ste- 
 phen did not notice the approach of Death until 
 his work was done. He spoke of it thus: " She 
 was sleepin', an' she just slept on, sae far as I 
 could see. There was neither movement nor 
 sound. The first I kenned she had the death pal- 
 lor an' her breast had ceased to heave." 
 
 After his wife's death Stephen became very 
 disconsolate. He still lived in the little cottage, 
 the dog being the only sharer of his home. Han- 
 nah's clothing was not removed from the pegs 
 where she had hung it. Everything remained as 
 she had left it. Stephen would touch nothing 
 lest he should displace it. 
 
 As Hannah had predicted, all the inmates of 
 the castle were very kind to Stephen, but he 
 pined for the one who would return no more. 
 Gradually he lost his health and his spirits. He
 
 OLD STEPHEN'S SORROW. 115 
 
 moved about so slowly that Sir William saw how 
 unable he was to work, and he managed to have 
 him furnished with some light employment. But 
 even such slight labor soon became too much for 
 his failing strength, and he told Sir William, by 
 way of explanation, " I think that I can do a bit, 
 an' when I try after it I find my strength gane. ' ' 
 
 Sir William replied, " Weel, my mon, you 
 needna wark ony mair; you hae done enough for 
 a lifetime, an' I judge that the estate isua sae 
 badly crippled that it canna gi'e you your living 
 frae this oot. Neither need you lodge there i' 
 your cot alane. You haena been an ordinary ser- 
 vant to me, Stephen. You hae had muckle care 
 for my weelfare frae the first; noo I maun show 
 that maisters can requite the faithfu'ness o' ser- 
 vants ance in a while at least. ' ' 
 
 "I canna find wards to express my gratitude 
 to you, sir; but unless you need the cot for a new 
 comer I wad like to end my days in it. As for 
 support, I hae a glide bit laid by, mair than I 
 shall need, unless I am seek for a lang time." 
 
 "I wunna take the cot frae you, Stephen, 
 even if I hae to build a new ane. Keep it, mon, 
 an' God comfort you for the loss that you hae 
 had."
 
 n6 -I,ADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 WEE JESSIE'S COVE. 
 
 MOST of Elspeth's stories were rehearsed dur- 
 ing the long winter evenings, but she told one on 
 a warm summer afternoon while she and Marjorie 
 were sorting blueberries. Roger was somewhat 
 indisposed, and he sat in the same room with 
 them. His book lay in the deep window-seat, 
 but for once he was not studying. He looked out 
 upon the unruffled lake and the cool, green banks 
 that shut it in. He might have been thinking of 
 the story of the Black Linn, for he said, u I won- 
 der if no story could be tauld aboot this bonnie 
 lake? It leuks sae calm and still that ane wad- 
 na suppose there could be anything sad connect- 
 ed wi' it. Hae you ever heard one, Elspeth?" 
 
 Elspeth replied, "Ay, I hae heard mair than 
 ane. There is ane that is warth the telling, an' 
 it may be that the ithers arena true." 
 
 "Tell us the ane, for I dinna feel like keepin'" 
 at my books this afternoon. ' ' 
 
 "You keep tae steady at your buiks, an' it 
 wullna hurt you to leave them alane for ance. 
 Weel, let me see aboot the story. It was lang
 
 WEE JESSIE'S COVE. 117 
 
 ago, while this castle was in building, that the 
 heid o' this house, the house o' Campbell, brought 
 a family to this spot an' put them in an auld cot- 
 tage that stood upon the north side o' the lake. 
 The husband and faither was the heid mason, an' 
 the mither an' her grown lass, Jeannie, made 
 ready the meals for the warkmen. They had 
 mair bairns, but I mind weel that there was a lass 
 o' ten years an' a bit bairn, a lad. As may be 
 supposed, the mither and the oldest lass were vera 
 busy frae morn till night, and the wee lad was 
 left i' the charge o' Jessie, the ten-year-old lass. 
 The twa wad be oot alane for hours at a time. It 
 was pleasant simmer weather, and the mither did- 
 na mind sae lang as they came in in time for their 
 meals. 
 
 "Weel, ane morn they went oot as was their 
 wont, but they didna come in at noon for their 
 dinner, and the mither went oot and called, 'Jes- 
 sie, Jessie !' Alack ! nae Jessie answered, an' the 
 mither's heart took fright at ance; but the faither 
 said, 'Jessie is but plucking flowers or is busy 
 wi' some pleasant employ, an' she has forgotten 
 her dinner.' But when he had eaten his ain din- 
 ner an' the lass didna come, he grew a bit uneasy 
 and shouted her name lang an' loud. 
 
 "At length Jeannie put her hand to her heart 
 an' turned pale.
 
 u8 - LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 "'What ails you, lass?' asked her faither, 
 frighted; an' she answered through her white 
 lips, 'The lake, the lake! they may be in the 
 lake !' 
 
 " 'Whist, lass, it is nae ways likely, an' you 
 maunna speak sic wards to your mither; she wad 
 fear the warst at ance. ' 
 
 " As he spoke he leuked towards the lake, an' 
 there stood the mither peerin' doon into the wa- 
 ter, an' he called, 'Come awa', wife; the bairns 
 arena likely to be where you are leukin'.' 
 
 ut Wha can tell that?' she answered, wring- 
 in' her hands. But they could see naething in 
 the water then. The haill afternoon wore awa' 
 an' nicht set in. Then the puir mither wailed 
 oot, ' Maun the nicht come an' my bairns arena 
 found?' 
 
 " Weel, after a bit the moonlicht glinted forth 
 an' the search continued the nicht through. But 
 not till ten o'clock the next morn did they find 
 the bairns. They lay in the bit cove under twa 
 or three feet o' water. You ken the water is but 
 shallow in that place. The puir lass had her wee 
 brither tightly clasped in her arms, as if she had 
 thought o' him till the last. Her sweet blue e'en 
 were open an' the bonnie golden hair was tangled 
 an' fu' o' the grass an' weeds. They maun hae 
 been standin' too near the edge an' slipped in."
 
 WEE JESSIE'S COVE. 119 
 
 Elspeth paused to take breath, and Roger said, 
 "I ance heard Stephen speak o' Wee Jessie's 
 Cove; now I ken the reason." 
 
 " Ay, that was the way the cove was named," 
 assented Elspeth. 
 
 ' ' I thought that it was named for some pleas- 
 ant wee maid wha loved to sit by the lake, ' ' said 
 Roger. 
 
 " I would that it had been sae; then ane puir 
 mither wadna hae died amaist heart-broken an' 
 early been laid to sleep by her dead bairns. Nae- 
 body could comfort her; she wad often say, ' Wae 
 warth the day that we came to bide by yon cruel, 
 deceitfu' water !' When folk tried to talk to her 
 she wad answer, ' Gang your ways an' leave me 
 to my sorrow.' 
 
 " 'T is said that when the minister tried to tell 
 her it was her duty to cheer up she wad reply, ' I 
 try to be submissive, but I trow that I can never 
 be cheerfu' mair. It is easy to say cheer up, but 
 you hae a' your bairns left. You dinna ken hoo 
 empty my arms are.' 
 
 ' ' But when her last days came she amended 
 an' leuked at the dispensation o' Providence wi' 
 clearer e'en. ' It is weel wi' the bairns,' she wad 
 say, 'an', mairover, I shall soon gang to them. 
 The Lord's hand was i' the matter, an' it maun 
 hae been for gude. He aye kens better than we
 
 I2O ^LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 do; an' the sooner we come to believe it the bet- 
 ter for oor peace.' 
 
 "Noo it isna muckle of a story you may 
 think, but I never leuk at the cove withoot think- 
 in' o' the twa hapless anes wha perished there. 
 Often too I think o' the puir mither's wards, 
 'God aye kens better than we do; an' the sooner 
 we come to believe it the better for oor peace.' " 
 
 " Ay, Elspeth, I think I ken what it is to feel 
 sae, for I too hae passed through bereavements 
 and sorrow. Like her, I hope that I hae come to 
 believe that God kens best." 
 
 "It is weel that you can say that inuckle," 
 answered Elspeth, " for I count nae ane's happi- 
 ness safe till he can say that." 
 
 Marjorie had not spoken, but now she said, 
 "I think that I hae been a deal happier sin' I 
 learned that a wiser Ane than I controls a' things 
 that concern me, an' that I needna tak' muckle 
 anxious thought sin' God takes thought for me." 
 
 Marjorie said this with a simple and childlike 
 faith, and neither Elspeth nor Roger doubted that 
 she knew whereof she spoke. The old woman 
 said, " Dear heart, I was aulder than you by far 
 when I rightly learned sae blessed a lesson ; but, 
 thanks be to God, I learned it at last."
 
 ROGER LEAVES HOME. 121 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 ROGER LEAVES HOME. 
 
 MR. AINSLIE'S coming had changed Roger's 
 prospects. The uncle felt that he could not put 
 a portion of his money to a better use than to edu- 
 cate his nephew. He felt almost sorry that Roger 
 had spent so many of his best years for study on 
 the castle farm. He knew that Roger was no or- 
 dinary youth, though he could not divine what 
 possibilities might be in him. He was aware that 
 the lad had a highly imaginative disposition, and 
 he was not particularly pleased that it was so. 
 Each year Roger became more and more fond of 
 his books, and as he had received very good ad- 
 vantages while his father was living, he was well 
 prepared to enter a high-school at Edinburgh. 
 Although delighted at the prospect of educational 
 privileges, he could not turn away without a sigh 
 for all that had grown so dear to him at the castle. 
 
 Marjorie, too, was very sad, for she had never 
 before been separated from her brother ; but the 
 hope of seeing him as wise as he hoped to be rec- 
 onciled her to the separation. She never forgot 
 the few words that Roger had dropped about the
 
 122 ^LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 book he hoped to write, and she comforted herself 
 by thinking of what he might become, and she 
 bravely beat back her tears. She reasoned to her- 
 self, ' ' If Roger is to become a great mon, he maun 
 bestir himsel'. God doesna wark miracles for folk 
 wha by patient continuance in a richt course can 
 come to the desired end. We maun aye use a' 
 that we hae within oursel's, whether it be little or 
 muckle. I thought o' this the other day when I 
 read aboot the widow's cruse o' oil. The prophet 
 o' the Lord wad do naething for her until he 
 kenned what she had i' her house ; then he in- 
 creased that she had. Sae I mak' nae doot we 
 maun leuk within oursel's an' see how we can 
 help oursel's. I dinna ken what there is in me 
 nae muckle o' onything, perhaps. Folk say, 
 ' Marjorie is a light-hearted lass, an' gude com- 
 pany an' cheerfu'-like.' Weel, that isna vera 
 bad; I dinna ken but I wad as lief cheer people 
 as instruct them ; there is mony a sad heart that 
 needs comfortin'. I think I wad liefer comfort 
 folk than do onything else. I haena seen sae 
 muckle sorrow mysel', yet I hae been orphaned 
 at an early age, an' if I had been o' a sad turn o' 
 mind I might hae grieved aboot it till this day. 
 But I trow that it wadna please the dear Lord, 
 for he has tauld us that a' things wark together 
 for gude to them wha love God. I am sure that
 
 ROGER LEAVES HOME. 123 
 
 I dinna want to be amang those wha love him not. 
 Though I say to mysel' amaist ilka day, ' Marjo- 
 rie Ainslie, you are naught but a simple-minded 
 lass,' I trow that I am a happy ane. One thing 
 I canna mak' oot; that is, hoo some vera wise an' 
 vera gude people hae sic a dread o' God. I hae 
 had nae dread o' him sin' my faither died. When 
 that great loss came to me I cried unto God, say- 
 ing, 'Dear Heavenly Faither, I hae nae earthly 
 faither noo. Wilt thou fill his place to me ? Let 
 me feel thee near me, guardin' an' guidin' me, 
 an' dinna let me hae ony fear o' thee. ' 
 
 " Weel, here I sit, as though I had naething to 
 do, niver thinkin' that the fowls are hungry an' 
 the wee birds are wantin' their crumbs." 
 
 She took her basket and went about her self- 
 imposed task of feeding all of the feathered tribe 
 about the castle. After she had fed the fowls she 
 stopped to pat old Snap as he lay warming him- 
 self in the morning sun, for she thought that the 
 poor old dog must miss Roger too. 
 
 She saw Stephen Watson wandering about in 
 an aimless manner, for he was more lonely than 
 usual since Roger had gone. While he felt glad 
 that Roger had the chance to become a scholar, 
 he also thought that it was a pity that "sic a 
 smart, handy lad" should be taken from the farm. 
 He smiled sadly as he saw Marjorie, and he said,
 
 124 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 " Alack, alack, it is lanelier than iver withoot 
 your brither." 
 
 " Ay, it is lanely, Stephen; but we maun mak' 
 the best o' it. I had a mind to greet, mysel', but 
 I didna. It is for his ain gude that he went, you 
 ken." 
 
 " Ay, ay, Marjorie, you are i' the morn o' your 
 life, an' a' leuks bright an' sunny to you. You 
 can comfort yoursel' wi' the thought o' future use- 
 fulness an' happiness, but auld Stephen's day is 
 past. He has had the morn, the midday, ay, an' 
 the gloamin', an' a' that he has left is to sit i' 
 the fast-fallin' shades o' night's darkness." 
 
 "There is mair than that for you, Stephen; 
 there is the everlasting morn." 
 
 "Ay, ay, I dinna forget that. I wad be maist 
 miserable an' I didna mind that. But sic things 
 are spiritually discerned; an' you ken that we a' 
 hae times when we think sae muckle o' vanished 
 earthly joys that oor e'en are blinded aboot the 
 joys to come. But, lassie, the gude Saviour kens 
 that tae. He has felt lanely here, an' he wunna 
 lay it to my charge that for whiles I forget to leuk 
 awa' to heavenly things. He has compassion on 
 us in oor blin'ness an' unbelief; for I mind that 
 Paul writes to Timothy, ' For if we believe not, 
 yet He abideth faithfu' : He canna deny himselV 
 But you should see hoo gloomy the auld cot leuks
 
 ROGER LEAVES HOME. 125 
 
 o' evenings an' Hannah awa'. By the wee round 
 table there she aye sat busy wi' her wark, an' she 
 aye had a sweet, sunny leuk upon her face. Nae- 
 body sits there noo. Your brither kenned hoo I 
 miss her, an' he often came an' sat i' her place 
 wi' his buik ; noo he is gane, an' naebody wull 
 drap in. I ken hoo it wull be : the lang winter 
 nights wull come an' I wull sit alane. The fire 
 wull burn low an' the candle wull burn oot; even 
 the auld doggie wull stretch himsel' on the rug 
 that Hannah made for him an' gi'e himsel' to 
 sleep. But auld Stephen wunna sleep muckle; he 
 wull think the haill nicht awa'." 
 
 "Weel, it is sad, Stephen, but you maunna 
 dwell upon it.- You maunna draw sae dark a pic- 
 ture. You arena i' sic a bad strait as the three 
 Hebrew children were when in the fiery furnace, 
 an' yet they werena left withoot a comforter. Sae 
 God wullna leave you alane in your sorrow an' 
 laneliness." 
 
 Marjorie passed on into the castle and old Ste- 
 phen sauntered on in the mild autumn morning. 
 He was musing on Marjorie's last reply, and he 
 gathered strength from the thought that the more 
 we need Christ the nearer he is to comfort us. 
 
 Although Marjorie's time was her own, it was 
 not spent in idleness. She did not dislike the 
 household duties that she had learned to perform
 
 i26 ^LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 so well, and she often insisted on helping Elspeth 
 with a portion of her accustomed work. "Just to 
 keep my hand in, Elspeth," she argued once when 
 the old servant objected to her helping in the 
 kitchen. 
 
 " Ay, keep your hand in. Ane o' these days 
 you wull need a' your skill doon in a big hoose I 
 wot o'." 
 
 ' ' Noo stop, Elspeth. It wull come gude for 
 you that I keep handy. I help you a gude bit 
 wi' your wark, an' a' I ask in return is a story 
 ance in a while. An' I haena had ane in a dog's 
 age." 
 
 "It maun be a very short-lived dog, ane that 
 hasna had his e'en open. Hooever, I wull gi'e 
 you ane, sin' you ask it. Mind me o' my promise 
 this evening when I hae my knitting. I can tell 
 a story best when I hear the click o' the needles." 
 
 That evening, when Elspeth was seated with 
 her knitting, Marjorie reminded her of her prom- 
 ise. So Elspeth settled herself in her high-backed 
 chair and began the following story : 
 
 "It was in the evil time, called the 'killing 
 time ' (you ken that I mean the persecution o' 
 the Covenanters), that a young an' warthy couple 
 were betrothed. The lad was called Wattie Fer- 
 gurson, an' the name o' the lass was Maggie 
 Burnes. Wattie was a farmer's son, an' Maggie
 
 ROGER LEAVES HOME. 127 
 
 was the daughter o' a neeboring farmer. Baith 
 had been brought up i' the faith o' Scotland, an' 
 wad, if need be, suffer for it. But they neither 
 courted nor coveted the sufferin' ; their young 
 lives were sweet to them for the sake o' each 
 ither. The story goes that Maggie was vera bon- 
 nie, and I mak' nae doot she was; Scotland has an' 
 aye has had mony bonnie daughters. 
 
 "Weel, lang before the dawn ane Sabbath 
 morning a goodly, an' I may say a godly com- 
 pany came frae mony ways to meet in a remote 
 an' mountainous place for the worship o' the tri- 
 une God. In those days the people realized mair 
 than they do noo the office o' each person o' the 
 Trinity; they kenned an' claimed the feelin' o' 
 sonship ; they kenned that they were brought 
 nigh the Faither by the bluid o' Christ, an' they 
 kenned, mairover, that the Holy Spirit was their 
 Comforter an' the abidin' witness that they were 
 born again an' had passed frae daith unto life. 
 
 ' ' But I suppose, Marjorie, you want me to 
 come to the story. Weel, the stars blinked 
 brightly on Maggie an' Wattie that mornin' as 
 they locked airms an' started to meet the ithers 
 at the place appointed for worship. They were 
 happy in spite o' the trouble o' the times, for a 
 young pair canna constantly feel the weight o' 
 trouble when their hearts are bein' made light wi'
 
 128 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 the company o' each ither. Sae Magge leuked up 
 into Wattle's face wi' a glow o' pleasure that the 
 early morn couldna hide, an' the youth gazed into 
 Maggie's face weel pleased wi' the maid's confi- 
 dence an' love. 
 
 " 'I think we shall hae a pleasant day; an' 
 sin' I hae the company o' my wee sweetheart, I 
 think I shall derive baith pleasure an' profit,' 
 said Wattie. 
 
 " ' Ay, dootless we baith wull, but we maunna 
 let the pleasure o' the lang walk together break 
 in upon the meditations we should hae in goin' 
 to a place o' worship, an' especially a meetin' o' 
 this kind, which, you ken, isna withoot peril.' 
 
 "'You are richt there, Maggie; bluid has 
 been spilled at sic meetin's, an' there is nae tellin' 
 when it may happen again.' 
 
 " ' Let us houp that it wunna be the day,' said 
 Maggie. 
 
 "Ay, let us houp that no wizen -faced spy 
 wull get on oor tracks an' sae bring us face to face 
 wi' danger an' daith. But dinna think o' sic 
 grave things the morn. I trow that either o' us 
 wad stan' at oor post, whatever that may be. Noo 
 let us gi'e oorsel's up to pleasant thoughts, for 
 we maun soon join the ithers an' gang i' com- 
 pany.' 
 
 "Weel, nae doot mony pleasant an' loving
 
 ROGER LEAVES HOME. 129 
 
 wards were spoken. At ony rate, they were un- 
 forgotten wards; not ane o' them passed frae the 
 memory o' Maggie Burnes while she remembered 
 aught 
 
 ' ' They were nearin' the place o' worship when 
 Wattie was requested to stan' as watchman in the 
 passage to the glen, where were already gathered 
 mony worshippers. Maggie felt a great fear come 
 over her as Wattie answered, ' I wull gang. ' Wat- 
 tie maun hae kenned it, for he paused to say, 
 ' Courage, my dear Maggie ; it is but richt that I 
 should tak' my turn as watchman. I houp that 
 it wunna be my duty to sound the note o' alarm, 
 but if I maun, I wunna gi'e an uncertain sound, 
 neither wull I flee frae duty. God be wi' you, 
 love.' 
 
 ' ' Puir Maggie got but little gude frae the 
 meetin' ; she didna feel to think aboot the wor- 
 ship, puir lass, an' her voice shook sairly as she 
 joined wi' the great congregation and sang: 
 
 "'O Lord, my God, in thee do I my confidence repose ; 
 Save and deliver me from all my persecuting foes, 
 Lest that the enemy my soul should like a lion tear, 
 In pieces rending it while there is no deliverer.' 
 
 "The psalm was scarcely ended when the 
 warnin' note came frae the direction that Wattie 
 had taken. Maggie's face turned deadly pale, 
 an' a moment later the report of a gun was heard.
 
 130 ^ LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 The worshippers took up airms, formed into line, 
 an' stood upon the defensive. A few horsemen rode 
 in through the pass, discharged some shots, saw 
 the strength o' the Covenanters, then they wheeled 
 round and went the way they came. A' was 
 confusion for a while, an' naebody kenned that 
 puir Maggie was missing until a body o' men 
 went to find Wattie. He was dead, an' Maggie 
 lay near him, swooned clearawa'. They brought 
 the puir lass back to hersel', but she fainted again 
 an' again. After a while a friend o' Wattie's got 
 a horse an' took the puir forfairn lass before him, 
 an' some ither lads bound Wattie's body to a 
 board an' carried him sae. They went back over 
 the same road that the twa had travelled i' the 
 morn, baith sae fu' o' life an' houp. 
 
 "They said that Wattie wasna quite dead 
 when Maggie found him, an' he tauld her na to 
 greet for him; that they should meet again where 
 trouble couldna come. Maggie wadna say muckle 
 aboot it, for she felt that her grief maunna be 
 meddled wi' ; but she didna fail to do her duty 
 in the warld as lang as she lived in it. 
 
 " Noo, Marjorie, you may think that my story 
 is owre sober, but it is weel to ken somat o' the 
 trials endured by oor countrymen to buy the 
 privileges that we enjoy."
 
 MOTHERHOOD. 131 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 MOTHERHOOD. 
 
 A YEAR slipped by, and when Roger returned 
 to school Marjorie was not only accustomed to 
 his absence, but there was something to divert 
 her mind. A new life had awakened at the castle; 
 Mrs. Ainslie was a mother. In the quaint old 
 family cradle in which Marion herself had been 
 rocked slept her little son. Lovely and lovable 
 as Marion had ever been, new graces came with 
 the new responsibilities. Her gentleness carried 
 her father back to the time when she herself was 
 an infant and her sweet young mother, his own 
 Isabel, hung over her with tender solicitude. 
 And yet she was not altogether like her mother, 
 for though gentle, she had become so through 
 discipline. The mother had possessed more natu- 
 ral sweetness than Marion; Marion the stronger 
 will. Both were just to others, though the daugh- 
 ter was far quicker than the mother to claim jus- 
 tice for herself. The one would yield any point 
 not including a moral wrong, and forgive, though 
 her heart was breaking. The other could forgive 
 too, but would not cheerfully submit to any
 
 132 ^LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 measures that interfered with her own plans. Els- 
 peth read their characters correctly when she said, 
 "There is this difference atween Leddy Marion an' 
 Leddy Isabel. Leddy Isabel thought last an' least 
 o' hersel', an' wad give a kiss for a blow; but 
 Leddy Marion claims her own right, an' though 
 she wull bear a blow without complaint, she has- 
 na a kiss to give iii return." And not till her 
 lady became 'a mother did Elspeth say, "My 
 leddy is mair like her mither than her faither 
 after a'." 
 
 The birth of a male child was a cause of great 
 joy to all the family. Sir William was delighted 
 and at once asked to name him Kenneth Camp- 
 bell, giving this as a reason for the request: " Ken- 
 neth was the name o' my grand faither and the last 
 one o' the family wha was prospered. It may be 
 that the prosperity o' the hoose o' Campbell wull 
 come back wi' the revival o' the name." 
 
 Elspeth was a proud woman as she cared for 
 the strong, healthy infant. She often communed 
 with herself on the probabilities of the future, 
 and always came around to this one t 1 ought, 
 "This hoose isna to hae Ichabod written upon it 
 yet" 
 
 The father and mother were not altogether in 
 sympathy with these older people. To them the 
 child was a blessing from the Lord, given not to
 
 MOTHERHOOD. 133 
 
 build up an earthly and a decaying inheritance, 
 but to become an heir to an inheritance ' ' incor- 
 ruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth not away." 
 However, in compliance with Sir William's wish- 
 es the child was named Kenneth Campbell. 
 
 Marjorie Ainslie loved the little Kenneth with 
 all the warmth of her affectionate nature. Lady 
 Marion often said to herself, ' ' Was ever a bairn 
 mair welcome?" Then thinking of Him who 
 was cradled in a manger, she went on, "Ay, 
 there has been one at least, the Christ-child, born 
 sae mony hundred years ago. For though re- 
 jected by mony, some believed on him an' re- 
 joiced wi' exceeding joy." 
 
 There were two others who rejoiced over the 
 birth of Lady Marion's son. One was of high 
 and the other of low degree. Lady Annie sent 
 her congratulations, and a promise of coming soon 
 to see her "dear wee kinsman." Old Stephen 
 Watson also manifested his interest. He tottered 
 in, laid his hand on the head of the infant, and 
 looked up as if invoking a blessing upon him. 
 Turning slowly away, he said, ' ' It wunna hurt 
 the bairn to hae the blessing o' an auld mon, 
 ane wha has measured oot the fu' span o' life an' 
 leukin' back kens that the greatest gude to crave 
 is peace wi' God through oor Lord Jesus Christ." 
 
 The little Kenneth was soon in a fair way to
 
 134 ^ LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 be spoiled between Elspeth and Marjorie, not to 
 say anything of the attentions of those nearer to 
 him. The minute he began to cry he was Els- 
 peth's "puir wee mon" or Marjorie's "dear wee 
 cousin," and one or the other of his admirers 
 wanted him in her arms all the time. 
 
 These were happy days for all. Mr. Ainslie 
 and his wife felt that the long, dark period of their 
 lives was completely bridged over by their present 
 felicity, and they only remembered the affliction 
 in order to notice how they had profited by it. 
 
 Marjorie felt that there would be no more dark 
 days in Cragsby Castle. She had a homelike 
 feeling and she was beloved by all the family. 
 To Lady Marion she was as a younger sister. 
 Besides, she had made a warm friend in Edith 
 Grant. When Edith was at the castle the two 
 girls were constantly together, and when Edith 
 was gone Marjorie looked forward to her let- 
 ters. 
 
 One day a letter came which contained an in- 
 vitation to Marjorie to come to Perth and pay 
 Edith a visit. Marjorie was delighted, and as no 
 one had any serious objections, it was settled that 
 she should go. 
 
 But there was one person outside of the family 
 who did object. Graham Walker dreaded to have 
 Marjorie go from home to form new acquaintan-
 
 MOTHERHOOD. 135 
 
 ces and to mingle in gay society before he had 
 any conversation with her relative to his own 
 hopes. So, as the time for her departure drew 
 near, he went to the castle to see her. She was 
 walking by herself through the castle grounds, 
 and Graham rejoiced at the favorable opportunity 
 that presented itself. After the usual greetings 
 they seated themselves upon a bench under the 
 shadow of the trees. 
 
 "I hear that you are goin' from hame for a 
 lang visit, an' I had a wish to talk to you aboot a 
 subject that lies near my heart. It maun be, Mar- 
 jorie, that I hae given you to understand by ward 
 or leuk, or baith, that I hae mair than a common 
 interest i' you. Noo tell me if I haena." 
 
 "I hae thought sae sometimes, Graham, but 
 I haena thought muckle aboot it, for this reason: 
 I love God best, an' I wadua dare settle my affec- 
 tions upon ane wha doesna love him. Noo, I ken 
 that you arena an unbeliever i' the broad sense 
 o' the ward, but there is anither an' a closer mean- 
 ing into which it wull be weel to leuk. If ane 
 doesna believe in Christ as his ain personal Sa- 
 viour he hasna savin' faith an' isna a true believer. 
 If ane hasna taken Christ as his portion it canna 
 be tauld if he ever wull. Ane may gang on to 
 the end o' his life, his heart an' mind set on the 
 pleasures o' this warld as if they wad niver end,
 
 136 ^ LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 an' niver hae portion or spiritual communion wi' 
 God's children." 
 
 " I see, you wad ken where I stand." 
 
 ' ' Ay, if you seek to be a freend to me I wad 
 ken if we are to agree touching the great question 
 o' life, which I hold to be, Are we servants o' 
 Christ or nae? an' not hoo large a fortune we can 
 make. ' - 
 
 " I haena been taught to leuk on life in sic a 
 serious way, but I hae a regard for God's house 
 an' I am seldom absent frae it. An' yet, Mar- 
 jorie, to speak the truth, I wad be amaist afeared 
 to sift my motives lest I should find that I hae a 
 stronger desire to see your face than to meet Him 
 who is in his temple." 
 
 "That is a wrang reason for bein' in God's 
 house, Graham, an' I canna tell you hoo muckle 
 you miss if you dinna hae a hamelike feelin' as 
 soon as you cross the threshold o' the kirk. It is 
 there, you ken, that the great and gude Faither 
 has promised to meet his children." 
 
 "I didna ken that you could be sae grave. 
 Ane wad think that you were a merry lass, you 
 hae sic a cheerfu' face." 
 
 U I hope that I wull aye hae a cheerfu' face. 
 If ony ane has a right to be cheerfu' it is ane wha 
 kens that he has a freend in Jesus. I am young, 
 but na sae young that mony haena died younger;
 
 MOTHERHOOD. 137 
 
 sae it is weel for me to mak' my callin' an' elec- 
 tion sure." 
 
 " Hoo can ane mak' his election sure?" 
 
 "By warkin' together wi' God." 
 
 ' ' Are we na elect accordin' to the foreknowl- 
 edge o' God?" 
 
 "Ay, but it is through sanctification o' the 
 Spirit an' belief in the truth." 
 
 " Weel, Marjorie, I see that you hae mair true 
 wisdom than I hae; but I didna think to hae sic 
 a conversation wi' you, neither did I tak' you to 
 be sic a serious lass. Still I hae nae objection to 
 ony degree o' Christian devotion sae lang as ane 
 is as pleasant an' cheerfu' as you are. Sae why 
 need there be ony question between us? Give 
 me a bit ground for hope before you gang awa'." 
 
 ' ' You didna quite tak' my meaning, it seems, 
 Graham. The apostle says, ' Hoo can twa walk 
 together except they be agreed ?' Not that I think 
 I am better than you are, but it is necessary that 
 we should baith enter upon the same path." 
 
 "Weel, Marjorie, I amna sic as you wad like 
 me to be; I wunna deceive you; but I long to walk 
 life's path wi' you, an' you can lead me where 
 you will." 
 
 "I maunna lead you; the Holy Spirit maun 
 lead you. His is the only safe leading." 
 
 1 ' A' that you say is vera gude. I canna find
 
 138 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 ony fault wi' it, yet I amna satisfied. I want a 
 promise, Marjorie. If you should love another it 
 wad ainaist be the death o' me. Hoo can I tell 
 but you wull leave your heart where you are 
 going ?' ' 
 
 ' ' Hoo can you tell that my heart wull gang 
 to Perth at a' ? Hoo can you tell that it wullna 
 remain in the neeborhood o' Cragsby Castle ?' ' 
 
 " Dinna trifle wi' me, Marjorie." 
 
 "I amna trifling, Graham. I could love you 
 weel an' I knew that you were seekin' to follow 
 in the footsteps o' oor divine Maister, not to 
 please me, but because you belong to him, being 
 purchased by his bluid." 
 
 Marjorie had grown very serious again, and 
 the teardrops glistened in her eyes. Graham 
 thought that she was very beautiful, but he knew 
 not which he most admired, the lovely face or the 
 firm principle that led her to obey God rather than 
 the promptings of her own heart. He took her 
 hand and carried it to his lips, and said, " I think 
 more of you than ever before. May the Master 
 you serve so conscientiously call me also into his 
 service, that oor work an' worship be the same." 
 
 "Give mair earnest heed to his claims upon 
 you an' you wull soon hear the call. Then close 
 in wi' the offers o' mercy an' you wull be far hap- 
 pier. Folk think me light-hearted. I wad be
 
 MOTHERHOOD. 139 
 
 heavy-hearted if I couldna feel my Heavenly Fai- 
 ther's smile resting upon me. I hope I haena 
 caused you muckle sorrow because I hae spoken 
 sae plainly, but I couldna say less. ' ' 
 
 "I see the reason in what you say, an' I am 
 content sin' you wad like to think weel o' me. 
 Pray for me, Marjorie, that I mayua stand langer 
 ootside o' the kingdom o' grace. ' ' 
 
 Graham walked slowly homeward, disposed to 
 think well of what he had heard. He said aloud, 
 u It maun be true;, if religion is ony thing it is the 
 needfu' thing, and I maunna put it off." 
 
 " I am glad that you hae come to that conclu- 
 sion," said a voice close behind him, and looking 
 round he saw the young parish minister. The 
 two young men shook hands and walked together 
 as long as their ways lay in the same direction. 
 And from that hour they were friends. 
 
 Marjorie went at once to Mrs. Ainslie and told 
 her the whole story. 
 
 " Dear lass," said Mrs. Ainslie, " I didna think 
 that you had sae muckle consideration. I kenned 
 weel that you were a Christian, but not all Chris- 
 tians consider whether God is pleased wi' their 
 choice. God bless you in your faithfulness to 
 him." 
 
 "Why, Aunt Marion, do folk, pious folk, wed 
 without mindin' the apostle's injunction? I think
 
 140 . LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 that a' wha hae taken the vows o' the kirk upon 
 them should see that they dinna choose a life 
 companion wha wadna help them on in the Chris- 
 tian life." . 
 
 ' ' I wish that it were sae, dear, ' ' answered 
 Mrs. Ainslie, kissing the sweet, open face. Then 
 she thought long on the years of her own trouble, 
 and she breathed a prayer that if it should please 
 God no such trouble should come to Marjorie.
 
 MARJORIE. 141 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 MARJORIE. 
 
 MARJORIE travelled to Perth in company with 
 a fellow-townsman. When she reached her jour- 
 ney's end she was met by Edith Grant and her 
 father. Mr. Grant's greeting was very cordial 
 and Edith was delighted to see her. When they 
 arrived at the house Mrs. Grant met Marjorie in 
 the door and made her feel at home at once. Mar- 
 jorie enjoyed herself very much until Edith's tall, 
 dark-eyed brother came home. 
 
 He was unlike the fair Edith in disposition as 
 well as in his looks. The young man seemed to 
 have formed the idea that he was born to rule. 
 Marjorie had been under the same roof but a few 
 days before she understood that the deference 
 shown him by the family was not given because 
 he deserved it, but because he demanded it. She 
 saw also that the happiness of the family was in 
 a measure subject to his caprice. 
 
 Marjorie tried to shun his society as much as 
 possible without seeming rude. Archie saw that 
 she did not desire his company, and this was rea- 
 son enough for him to try to make it necessary to
 
 142 " LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 her. He was not accustomed to be overlooked, 
 and Marjorie's straightforward, independent man- 
 ner and her lack of appreciation of him angered 
 him. But he tried to conceal this and became 
 attentive even to obtrusiveness. 
 
 He explained to Edith, " I do not care so much 
 for the bright little country lass, but I will not 
 allow her to show such disregard of me." 
 
 " I do not think that her manner towards you 
 comes from disregard. It may be chargeable to 
 the very modest estimate that she has of herself. 
 She probably thinks that her society is not inter- 
 esting and she takes care not to force it upon 
 you." 
 
 " Nonsense. I know she dislikes me." 
 
 "Well, if she dislikes you you cannot change 
 her ideas as easily as you think. She has a mind 
 of her own, and a very good one too. You just 
 now admitted that you do 'not care for her; she 
 has much discernment and will understand your 
 motives. You want only to gratify your vanity, 
 Archie, and the whole plan is not right. She is 
 a dear, good lass, and I have not invited her here 
 to give her any unhappiness. I wish you to be 
 civil to her and no more. ' ' 
 
 "I want no advice from you, Edith," an- 
 swered her brother as he left the room. 
 
 As Archie Graham saw Marjorie day after day
 
 MARJORIE. 143 
 
 he really began to admire her. But she did not 
 change her opinion of the young man, and her 
 visit bade fair to be an unpleasant one. She 
 wrote to Mrs. Ainslie asking her to send for her 
 sooner than had been arranged when she left home. 
 
 Meantime Graham Walker was undergoing a 
 new experience. His grandfather was taken very 
 ill, and it soon became evident that his days were 
 numbered. The sick man was uneasy and anx- 
 ious and could not endure to have Graham leave 
 him. This confinement was quite a task for the 
 young man, for never before had he been shut in 
 a sickroom from light and sunshine. 
 
 " I tell you, lad, it is a fearfu' thing to dee," 
 said Felix one day. "Hae you naething to say 
 to your auld deein' grandfaither ? Hae you na 
 a ward o' comfort, you wha are sae fu' o' life an' 
 hope, an' mine clean gone ? I tell you I am amaist 
 dead wi' fear alane, withoot the pain that amaist 
 rives my bones an' flesh asunder. Eh ! it is wae- 
 some, it is waesome." 
 
 " I wull gang for the minister, grandfaither. 
 He is a pleasant, friendly gentleman, an' wull 
 doubtless tell you something that wull comfort 
 you." 
 
 "He wull tell me that I haena been to the 
 kirk sin' five years this spring, an' it is the truth 
 an' no lee. Better for me if it were a lee."
 
 144 - LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 " He wullna tell you that; he wull tell you to 
 leuk awa' to the Saviour o' sinners, sin' you feel 
 that you are ane. ' ' 
 
 "What gude wull that do? That time that 
 He himsel' spake o' has come. I amna a fule i' 
 the Scriptures; better for me if I were; an' I 
 mind what He said, ward for ward. Listen to 
 them : 
 
 " 'But ye hae set at naught a' my counsel, 
 an' would none o' my reproof; I also wull laugh 
 at your calamity; I wull mock when your fear 
 cometh, when your fear cometh as desolation, an' 
 your destruction cometh as a whirlwind, when 
 distress an' anguish cometh upon you. ' 
 
 ' ' Hae I na come to that time noo ?' ' 
 
 U O grandfaither, it is dreadfu', as you say; 
 but let me gang for the minister ; he wull pray 
 wi' you." 
 
 " Nae, I wunna stay alane when you are gone. 
 Send ane o' the servants. I suppose the wark is 
 bein' badly dune, an' auld Felix an' his posses- 
 sions wull gang to the deil thegither. Weel, it 
 is a' over noo. Nae, it isna ; there is somat to 
 come after, an' I wush there wasna. That place, 
 that dreadfu' place, ' where their worm dieth not. ' 
 Graham, lad, hoo is it ? I am that feared that I 
 canna think. Ah, me, that I had been wise, that 
 I had considered my latter end ! Graham, you
 
 MARJORIE. 145 
 
 maunna put off repentance. I haena preached to 
 you before, but I preach to you noo upon the con- 
 fines o' hell, I fear ; an' I say wi' a' the earnest- 
 ness o' a doomed soul, mak' your peace wi' God. ' ' 
 
 The minister's words and prayers brought but 
 little relief to Felix, and the last words that he 
 said to him were, ' ' There isna muckle hope for 
 me, but hae a care over the lad. Dinna let him 
 do as I hae dune." 
 
 The old man died after a few days' illness, 
 and Graham was left alone. He felt sad and dis- 
 pirited ; he never could be the same. He often 
 thought of Marjorie, of her trust and her happi- 
 ness. His pastor was faithful to him, for he was 
 not only bound by the usual obligation to watch 
 for souls, but he could not forget the dying in- 
 junction of the unhappy grandfather. 
 
 As soon as Mrs. Ainslie received Marjorie' s 
 letter she sent for her to return home. She had 
 missed the girl every day and was glad that she 
 was to be among them again. The Grant family 
 wondered why Mrs. Ainslie had changed her plans 
 and shortened Marjorie' s stay, but none except 
 Edith knew the cause, and she kept her own 
 counsel. 
 
 Archie Grant was disappointed and he tried 
 more than ever to make a good impression. He 
 even avowed his attachment to Marjorie, but she 
 
 Lady Marlon's Answer. IO
 
 146 ^ LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 treated the matter very lightly, as she thought 
 that Archie's affections were not very deeply in- 
 volved. 
 
 Marjorie received a joyful welcome from the 
 friends at home. All told her how they had 
 missed her, and Sir William added, " Weel, las- 
 sie, I didiia ken hoo muckle store we set by you." 
 
 Marjorie was very sorry for Graham when she 
 knew what he had suffered, and when she saw 
 him she was surprised to see how changed he 
 seemed, for he looked as if he had been sick him- 
 self. He was nearly ill between grief for his 
 grandfather's unhappy end and concern about his 
 own soul. Yet she liked the truthful, earnest 
 look that he wore, and she felt that he was no 
 deceiver. They had a long talk about religion, 
 but nothing was said at that time in regard to 
 their earthly friendship. His anxiety about spir- 
 itual things was greater than his care for his earth- 
 ly happiness. When, a few months later, he par- 
 took of the Lord's Supper, Marjorie felt satisfied 
 that his conversion was genuine. 
 
 The year slipped by and Roger was soon ex- 
 pected home. Edith Grant had promised to visit 
 Marjorie, and she hinted that Archie wished to 
 accompany her. This last news was anything 
 but agreeable to Marjorie, so she was not sorry 
 that about that time Graham renewed his atten-
 
 MOONLIGHT ON THE LAKE. Page 147.
 
 MARJORIE. 147 
 
 tions. There was now no fear in her mind that 
 they would not agree in matters of religion, and 
 the promise was soon given that made Graham 
 a happy man. 
 
 Marjorie wrote to Edith, inclosing an invita- 
 tion to her brother, but in another part of the let- 
 ter she announced her engagement to Graham, 
 and the consequence was that Archie did not go 
 to the castle at all. Although no one said so, all 
 felt relieved that he did not come, nor was Edith 
 less pleased than the others. The four young peo- 
 ple passed a very pleasant summer. Marjorie and 
 Graham were as happy as they could well be, and 
 the moonlight sails upon the lake were very con- 
 ducive to the growth of friendship between Edith 
 and Roger. 
 
 Graham insisted upon a speedy marriage, and 
 Marjorie was nothing loath, as she knew how to 
 stand at the head of household affairs. So one of 
 the last days of Roger's vacation was fixed for his 
 sister's wedding-day. Sir William wished her to 
 have a wedding not unlike his daughter's, but this 
 was not in accordance with Marjorie' s ideas; still 
 she did not wish to oppose the wishes of one to 
 whom she owed so much. 
 
 Before the preparations were begun something 
 occurred to cast a shadow over the family at the 
 castle : old Stephen Watson yielded up his spirit
 
 148 * LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 after a few days' sickness. Roger was his faith- 
 ful attendant, and he felt more than repaid for all 
 the time and labor he bestowed upon the lonely 
 man. After Stephen was laid in the kirkyard by 
 Hannah, nothing remained to be done but to de- 
 liver up his effects to his kindred and to coax the 
 poor howling dog to the castle. Then silence fell 
 in and around old Stephen's cottage. 
 
 It was nothing nearer than the death of a ser- 
 vant, but the event led Sir William to remember 
 that the longest life must end. He was very grave 
 in those days, and he bade Marjorie do as she liked 
 about the wedding. She preferred to have a quiet 
 wedding with a few friends present. 
 
 So she had her way. They were married as 
 soon as the candles were lighted. After a pleas- 
 ant evening one of Graham's servants came with 
 the carriage to convey the master and his wife 
 home. 
 
 As the bridal pair rode away there were the 
 usual comments that attend an event of the kind. 
 
 " I hope she wull be happy in her new hame," 
 said Sir William; "an' I think she wull, for hap- 
 piness is something that she aye carries wi' her."
 
 SORROW AT THE CASTLE. 149 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 SORROW AT THE CASTLE. 
 
 LITTLE Kenneth Ainslie was about two years 
 old when Mrs. Ainslie gave birth to a daughter. 
 Elspeth at once pronounced it a "winsome wee 
 thing," and all who saw the child agreed with 
 her. 
 
 Sir William said, ' ' I named the laddie, and I 
 wad like weel to name this wee lass also. ' ' 
 
 Mrs. Ainslie smiled and asked her father to 
 speak the name, for she was quite sure that it was 
 the name she herself had chosen. 
 
 Sir William hesitated but a moment, then 
 said, ' ' Ca' her Isabel ; it wull please me to hear 
 the name again." 
 
 "It wull please me too, faither, an' I think 
 no one wull object." 
 
 So the infant was named Isabel, and the name 
 pleased Lady Annie not less than Sir William. 
 She came to the castle and spent several months. 
 She had few near friends, and she had reached 
 that age when she clung closer than ever to her 
 kindred. Mrs. Ainslie was sorry when she left 
 the castle, and she would have kept her still
 
 150 - LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 longer had she known how soon sorrow was to 
 come to her again. L,ady Annie had scarcely 
 reached her home before the lovely little Isabel 
 passed away from those who cherished her so 
 fondly. 
 
 The hearts of the father and mother were 
 sorely smitten, and the grandfather refused to be 
 comforted. 
 
 Elspeth missed the "dear bairn," but she 
 more than once hinted that one could "grieve 
 owre muckle." One day she said to Mrs. Ainslie, 
 "My leddy, you mind me o' a woman that I 
 ance heard tell o'. She had three bonnie bairns 
 and ane o' them died. Then the puir mither 
 grieved the haill time; she wadna be comforted. 
 Every night she dreamed o' the dead bairn, 
 dreamed that she had him in her arms; but she 
 wad wake greetin' an' find her arms empty. 
 Weel. ane night she had a dream and it was 
 this: A vera wise an' gude person came to her 
 an' said, 'What meaneth the greetin' that sounds 
 in my ears ? What aileth thee ?' 
 
 "An' she made answer, 'I mourn for my 
 bairn, noo mine nae mair.' 
 
 "'Where is the bairn? Wha took him?' 
 asked the stranger. 
 
 "' He is in heaven; God took him.' 
 
 " ' Had God nae a right to take him ?'
 
 SORROW AT THE; CASTLE. 151 
 
 " 'Ay, I canna deny that he gave him to me; 
 but I wush that he had never been gi'en sin' I 
 couldna keep him.' 
 
 " ' Brought he nae joy to you that you canna 
 lose ? Canna you remember his bit smiles as you 
 remember the flowers o' simmer ? Some things 
 be tae pure to stay upon earth ; they but flit before 
 us an' are awa'. You maunna wush to keep a' 
 that you grasp. When onything is taken frae 
 you, it is for your gude. It isna gude for you 
 to haud it or it isna gude for that which is taken 
 to stay with you. ' 
 
 ' ' ' Weel, I wad hae kept my bairn an' I 
 could. ' 
 
 " 'Hae you none left?' 
 
 " 'Ay, I hae twa.' 
 
 "'An' to whom do they belong mair than to 
 yoursel' ?' 
 
 " ' To God wha gave them to me. But why 
 do you frighten me by speirin' aboot them ?' 
 
 ' ' ' Because you hae clean forgotten your mer- 
 cies. You should be thank fu' that God left you 
 twa bairns. Noo let there be nae mair murmur- 
 ings; for though God doesna reap where he hasna 
 sown, wha shall say that he maunna reap where 
 he has sown? Do you weel to grudge him ane o' 
 the bairns to sit before him in his kingdom ? You 
 ken that He wha spake as never mon spake said,
 
 152 -LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 "In heaven their angels do always behold the 
 face o' my Faither which is in heaven." An 
 sin' the wee bairn sees God's face, I trow he 
 maun hae a pleasanter sight than the twa you 
 hae wi' you, sin' they canna win a smile frae 
 you. You gi'e them sad looks, an' if they stay 
 wi' you they wull come to fear that God does- 
 na ken best. It may be that they too wull be 
 taken frae you. Mind, noo, nae mair bitter, re- 
 bellious tears. ' 
 
 ' ' An' the next morning the mither smiled 
 doon upon the wee bairns as soon as their e'en 
 were open, an' they put their arms aboot her 
 neck an' cried, ' O mither, do you love us tae?' 
 
 "Then the mither made answer, 'My dear 
 bairns, God kens that I love you. Hoo could 
 you doot it ?' 
 
 u ' Because you didna show it, mither.' 
 
 "Then was the mither convinced that the 
 truth had been told her in her dream, an' the wee 
 lads never again saw her greet for their dead 
 brither." 
 
 Mrs. Ainslie listened with interest to Elspeth's 
 story, and when it was ended she drew little 
 Kenneth to her and left many a kiss upon his 
 upturned face. 
 
 Marjorie often came to the castle in those days, 
 for she sympathized with the bereaved friends.
 
 SORROW AT THE CASTLE. 153 
 
 Her presence was like sunshine, and young as she 
 was, she said many comforting words to her aunt 
 and uncle. 
 
 Then there came a long and very precious 
 letter from Lady Annie, in which she wrote, "I 
 shed tears myself over the death of the wee in- 
 fant; yet I ken that however tenderly the little 
 one may have been cared for here, heaven has 
 joys far exceeding any joy that human love can 
 devise or human thoughts conceive of. I am sure, 
 my dear Marion, that you wull turn to your Sa- 
 viour in your sorrow and then you wullna find 
 your grief overmastering." 
 
 In the spring a family moved into old Ste- 
 phen's cottage. Aleck Fisher was the name of the 
 new farm-hand. He had a wife and four children, 
 all of whom were boys. It seemed strange to 
 the family at the castle to look out and see chil- 
 dren playing around the door of the cot so long 
 occupied by a childless couple, and Sir William 
 whiled away many a weary hour watching the 
 merry pranks of the unsuspecting little urchins. 
 He soon learned their names, and distinguished 
 them thus: "Sandy is the ane wi' the red head; 
 Rab is the ane wi' the black head; Tarn is the 
 ane wi' the muckle head; an' Geordie is the ane 
 wi' the white head." 
 
 Their mother was a good woman; but she
 
 154 " LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 was an easy-going person, a fact of which the 
 lads were already aware. The father was a dif- 
 ferent parent and when he was at home the chil- 
 dren were very quiet and obedient, and to his 
 question, " Hae a' the bairns been gude?" the 
 mother would answer, "Vera gude, Aleck, vera 
 gude," although they had " worried her the haill 
 day," as she had more than once told them. 
 Thus the boys soon caught the idea that all was 
 well as long as their father did not know of 
 their ill-behavior. This management would have 
 done much towards spoiling the children but for 
 the explanation the mother gave them. "You 
 see, lads, your faither works hard to give us 
 bread, sae I diuna like to fash his head wi' oor 
 troubles." But if she had carefully examined 
 her motives, she would have known she feared 
 that the father would correct the lads. 
 
 Sir William was not long in selecting a favor- 
 ite among the boys, and it was the one with the 
 " muckle head." " Gude for wee Tarn," he often 
 said as he watched a game or scuffle where Tom 
 was victorious. Altogether it was a pleasant 
 thing to have the children under his sight so 
 much. The aged need to see life and activity 
 around them in order to keep their own spirits 
 young, and Sir William was glad that the little 
 ones often diverted his mind from his aches and
 
 SORROW AT THE CASTLE. 155 
 
 pains. When tired of reading and of resting too 
 for Mr. Ainslie took all the care of the estate upon 
 himself he was often led back to his own boy- 
 hood by watching the ' ' wee rogues ' ' at their 
 sports. And not unfrequently he was led to re- 
 member that there is a world where none ever 
 grow old; then would come a feeling not unlike 
 a willingness to be there.
 
 156 " LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 CHANGES. 
 
 DURING the next few years many things of 
 interest happened to our friends. Among the 
 sad events were the death of Lady Annie and the 
 severe sickness of the faithful Elspeth ; among the 
 pleasant ones were the birth of another daughter 
 at the castle and also the birth of a son at the 
 Cameron place. 
 
 But to tell of the events in the order that they 
 happened would lead us first to the old farmhouse. 
 Marjorie and Graham thought that there never 
 was a fairer child, and they were sure that the 
 old place could never be unattractive to them 
 since it was the home of their little son. Nor 
 were they alone in thinking so; the old servants, 
 who held their places so long under Felix only 
 to procure their ' ' sair-worn penny fee, ' ' now felt 
 that all was changed. They said to each other, 
 " Wha ever could hae thought to find pleasure i' 
 warkin' here?" 
 
 And they could best judge of the change. 
 True, Graham had lived a few years with his 
 grandfather, but he had been a favorite with the
 
 CHANGES. 157 
 
 old man. When his daughter died, Felix took 
 the little Graham to his home and tried to make 
 him happy. Yet he made no effort to soften the 
 hard places in the life of those who had grown 
 old in his service. But Marjorie's coming proved 
 to the two old house servants, Jean and Nelly 
 Hughs, that all service was not hard service^ 
 and Graham's different management on the farm 
 lightened the burden of those who toiled amid 
 the cold of winter and the depressing heat of the 
 summer's sun. 
 
 Nor was this all inat was changed. Th^ voice 
 of prayer was never heard in the house of Felix 
 Cameron, while cursing and swearing were not 
 strange sounds. Now the order was reversed, for 
 daily did prayer ascend to the Facher of mercies, 
 while profanity was prohibited. 
 
 ' ' God be praised that we hae lived to see this 
 day!" said old Jean Hughs to her sister. 
 
 " You may well give tlie praise to Him wha 
 has worked the pleasing change. It minds me 
 o' oor ain hanie. ' ' 
 
 "Ay, it is like it. I trow that we will be bet- 
 ter prepared to gang to oor account sin' we live 
 wi' Christian folk." 
 
 Blspeth often enjoyed a run down to Marjorie's, 
 but soon after the little son was born Elspeth's 
 visits were discontinued for a long time. She fell
 
 158 * LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 sick and was the object of much solicitude not 
 only to the family at the castle, but also to Mar- 
 jorie. A fever had prostrated Elspeth. She was 
 very delirious and the name of Robin was often 
 on her lips. "Ay, I am coming, Robin," or "It 
 is a lang time sin' I hae seen you, Robin;" some 
 such sentence she often uttered, and the watchers 
 would shake their heads and say, "She is goin' 
 to him." 
 
 But she did not then go to Robin. The fever 
 abated, and then came the long, wearing, yet pa- 
 tient waiting for health to come again. 
 
 " I think I maun be vera sick," said Elspeth 
 to Marjorie one day. 
 
 "You hae been vera sick, but you are better 
 noo, or you wull be after a bit." 
 
 " Do you think sae, Marjorie? I think that I 
 wunna be better, for I am that feckless that I can 
 hardly lift my hand. I am sae weary, tae, that I 
 feel that I could just close my e'en an' dee." 
 
 "You maunna dee, Elspeth." 
 
 "That wull be as the gude Lord thinks best," 
 returned the sick woman, closing her eyes wearily. 
 Mrs. Ainslie looked at her and thought that prob- 
 ably the Lord was about to summon Elspeth to 
 the other world. 
 
 But in a few weeks her old friend was sitting 
 in an easy-chair, and she said, "I wush that I
 
 CHANGES. 159 
 
 could hae the wee lass upon my knees. You ken 
 that I hae scarcely set e'en on her yet." 
 
 Mrs. Ainslie brought the child and laid it in 
 Elspeth's arms. She passed her hand gently over 
 the child's head, smoothing the hair, saying, ' ' Dear 
 wee lassie, bonnie wee lassie! Auld Elspeth ance 
 thought that she wad never haud you i' her 
 arms." 
 
 She seemed to be perfectly happy with the 
 babe in her arms and Kenneth standing by her 
 knee. 
 
 "Hae you missed me, my bairn?" she asked 
 Kenneth one day. 
 
 "Ay, I hae, an' I heard some folk say that you 
 wad dee; but you wunna dee noo, Elspeth, wull 
 you?" 
 
 " I am in nae muckle danger noo, I am think- 
 in', but I canna say. Sic things are wi' God, in 
 his hands, an' he alane kens oor time, my wee 
 man." 
 
 " Weel, I hope that you wull live a lang, lang 
 time, onyway," answered the child. 
 
 In a few days Elspeth had improved so much 
 that she took a short walk in the direction of the 
 ' ' burnie. ' ' She knew that the summer days were 
 over, but she was not prepared for the change in 
 the face of nature. The verdure that had feasted 
 her eyes when she last sought the brookside was
 
 160 - LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 blackened by the frost and the air was. crisp and 
 cold; still, the sun shone brightly and its golden 
 light lay on the steep hillsides, warming the few 
 plants that had braved the chilling air of autumn. 
 It also warmed the heart and hopes of Elspeth 
 Lundie. 
 
 u It is God's token to me the morn," she said, 
 encouraged. " If it hadna been for the bright sun- 
 licht I might hae had a gloomy walk amang the 
 deed flowers that I left sae bright an' fair. Sae 
 it aye is; God aye puts something pleasant over 
 against that which wad be likely to cast oor hearts 
 doon. He is sic a perfect Faither to us, sae tender 
 an' sae mindfu', although he is King o' kings an' 
 Lord o' lords," she murmured as she turned to 
 look upon the mountains and the lake, the rugged 
 rocks and the winding stream. The dead leaves 
 rustled beneath her feet and she sighed a little 
 that she must tread upon them. But she checked 
 herself, saying, " I maunna fret at the fate o' the 
 bonnie green things; they hae served their turn 
 an' answered their creation. May I do as weel; 
 an' when I am called to lie beneath the ground 
 where they rustle, when soul an' body shall hae 
 parted company till the resurrection morn, I shall 
 ken the happiness o' the redeemed i' the paradise 
 o' God." 
 
 She went slowly towards the house, while her
 
 CHANGES. l6l 
 
 heart was full of the subject of changes, changes 
 that come to animate and inanimate things. Mrs. 
 Ainslie came to meet her, for she feared that Els- 
 peth would, in the joy of her freedom, walk too 
 far and tax her strength. 
 
 ' ' I am seeking you, Blspeth, ' ' she said. 
 
 ' ' Are you though ? That is muckle trouble 
 for you to take for the likes o' me ; but you hae 
 done muckle mair for me during the weeks that 
 I hae been sick. I hae been a great trouble to 
 you, my leddy, an' I hae shed mony a tear on the 
 saft pillows that you put under my head, I was 
 that overcome by your kindness. But noo that 
 I am well again, an' haena shared the fate o' the 
 deed things aboot me, it wull be my first care to 
 be mair faithfu' to you." 
 
 " I am at a loss to ken hoo you could be mair 
 faithfu', Elspeth," said Mrs. Ainslie, smiling. 
 " As for the care that I had during your sickness, 
 I was grieved that I could not minister to your 
 wants mair than I did. It was Marjorie's hand 
 ofttimes that smoothed your pillow." 
 
 ' ' I ken that. Marjorie is wullin' an' handy, 
 but your touch is sae saft an' restfu', my dear 
 leddy." 
 
 They had reached the castle, but Elspeth's 
 mind was not diverted from the thoughts that had 
 filled it during her walk, and she said, ' ' Auld age 
 
 Lady Marion's Answer. 1 1
 
 162 ^ LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 maun be vera sad to unbelievers. The last leuk 
 o' onything pleasant is apt to make us sad, even 
 when we ken that we are to hae mair an' newer 
 delights. But what maun it be for ane to ken. 
 that he maun close his e'en upon this pleasant 
 warld and its goodly sights; to ken that he maun 
 close his ear to the voices of freends, the sang o' 
 the birds, an' the sighing o' the simmer breeze, 
 an' never mair see onything delightfu', never 
 mair hear a joyfu' sound! I tell you it maun be 
 dreadfu'!" 
 
 Sir William entered the room in time to hear 
 the last sentence, and he asked, "Of what are you 
 speakin' sae earnestly, gude Elspeth?" 
 
 " I was speakin' o' the certainty o' the change 
 that maun come to auld age, and hoo sad it maun 
 be to the unbeliever." 
 
 "Were you thinkin' o' your auld maister, 
 Elspeth?" 
 
 " Na in particular the noo." 
 
 "Weel, I wish that you wad think o' me, es- 
 pecially when you are on your knees, for I hae 
 lived tae lang withoot the friendship o' Him 
 whose bluid cleanseth frae a' sin. An' you tae, 
 my dear daughter, think often in like manner o' 
 your auld faither, for he is amaist dune wi' this 
 life, an' its wasted years trouble his vera soul." 
 
 This was said with a tremulous voice. It was
 
 CHANGES. 163 
 
 certain that Sir William had at last discovered 
 the folly of a worldly life. Tears dimmed the 
 eyes of Mrs. Ainslie, and the choking sensation 
 in her throat forbade utterance, but Elspeth's 
 voice framed the hearty words, ' ' God be praised 
 that you hae come at last to ken your entire de- 
 pendence on the merits o' the Saviour." This 
 conversation was followed by many more on the 
 same subject, and before many weeks Sir Wil- 
 liam partook of the sacrament in the modest little 
 kirk where he had long been an occasional at- 
 tendant. 
 
 Mrs. Ainslie was comforted for the loss of the 
 little Isabel by the birth of her second little daugh- 
 ter. It was a fine, healthy child, and Sir Wil- 
 liam feelingly remarked, " It makes it seem as if 
 we had the wee. lass back again." It was laid in 
 its mother's arms during Elspeth's illness, and so 
 slowly did health come back to the old nurse that 
 the child was several weeks old before she had the 
 strength to attend it. 
 
 Great was Elspeth's joy when she was well 
 enough to resume all of her duties and responsi- 
 bilities. The children, especially the baby, re- 
 ceived much of her attention ; but Mrs. Ainslie 
 was a mother in the true sense of the word, and 
 no one, not even Elspeth, must defraud her of the 
 pleasure of caring for her children. She did not
 
 164 * LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 name the infant for some time. But when Lady 
 Annie died, Mrs. Ainslie in her grief for- the loss 
 of her friend and kinswoman called the child 
 Annie. 
 
 When Lady Annie's will was opened it was 
 found that she had left a large sum of money to 
 Mrs. Ainslie, but she had left the bulk of her 
 property to Edith Grant's father, he being nearer 
 of kin. Archie Grant was disappointed, for he 
 expected to be remembered; but Lady Annie saw 
 fit to make a different disposal of her property. 
 
 When Mrs. Ainslie came into possession of her 
 money she wished to buy back the land that her 
 father had sold when in his straits. Graham 
 Walker readily consented to part with the prop- 
 erty, and the bargain was soon completed. Al- 
 though Sir William's heart was no longer set 
 upon worldly treasures, yet he rejoiced that the 
 ancient patrimony was once more entire, that the 
 Campbell family owned every acre up to the an- 
 cient landmarks. Marion herself found no little 
 pleasure in the thought that her son would inherit 
 Cragsby Castle with all that had belonged to it in 
 the days of the ancestor for whom he was named.
 
 ROGER'S SECRET. 165 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 ROGER'S SECRET. 
 
 ROGER'S school-days were over and he returned 
 home to rest, as was supposed; but any close ob- 
 server could have seen that he did not rest even 
 when he seemed most idle. Marjorie complained 
 because he spent so little time at the farmhouse, 
 and though he was pleasant to all at the castle, 
 he spent much of his time in his room. His un- 
 cle more than once rallied him upon his exclu- 
 siveness, and Roger merely laughed and made no 
 reply, neither did he change his course, but he 
 became paler and thinner every day. 
 
 At last Sir William spoke out. " Roger, lad, 
 I wunna hae it; you maun e'en gang to the field 
 an' do a bit wark. You ken that you are as a son 
 to me, an' I wunna hae sic a white face around. 
 Sae gang oot an' do something or do naething, as 
 you like, but get the sun an' air an' a bit o' color 
 in your cheeks; an' if that wunna do I wull get 
 a doctor for you." 
 
 Thus closely watched, Roger spent more time 
 out of doors; but anywhere, on a stone under the 
 shade of the hedgerdw, at the brookside, or on the
 
 1 66 * LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 margin of the quiet lake, he seemed to be think- 
 ing. 
 
 Marjorie was the first to solve the mystery. It 
 was one evening when she was at the castle and 
 all the family were complaining of Roger's devo- 
 tion to some secret purpose that Marjorie ex- 
 claimed, "The book, the book! Is it aboot a 
 haunted hoose, Roger? an' what do you ca' it?" 
 
 Roger was not a little annoyed that his secret 
 was a secret no longer; still he laughed and re- 
 plied, "It is called 'The Testimony of the 
 Walls.' " 
 
 After it was understood that Roger was wri- 
 ting a book he was left to himself, with a caution 
 to take care of his health. Sir William said, "I 
 ken noo that you arena in ony trouble that is like 
 to drive you daft, so on wi' your buik. I want to 
 see it myseP, an' I ken that my years are but 
 few." 
 
 Sir William did live to see Roger's book in 
 print, and he as well as the rest of the family was 
 very proud of it. The uncle had often wished 
 that Roger was less imaginative, but after reading 
 the book he was satisfied that he was as he was. 
 
 You may be sure that Elspeth was interested 
 in Roger's success. A copy of the book lay in a 
 convenient place, and whenever she had a spare 
 moment she would don her heavy steel-bowed
 
 ROGER'S SECRET. 167 
 
 spectacles and be lost in the volume. Not many 
 days elapsed before she had read it once; but she 
 was not satisfied with that, and she read it again. 
 Thus she obtained a sufficient knowledge of it to 
 add its stories to those that she treasured in her 
 memory. 
 
 It was not long before she had an opportunity 
 to rehearse them to the Hughs sisters, for they 
 had become very good friends since Marjorie went 
 to live at the farmhouse. As was very natural, 
 Elspeth often spoke to them in praise of their 
 young mistress and her brother, for were they not 
 the "Ainslie bairns" of other days and still dear 
 to her heart ? 
 
 Once, when she was seated with her knitting 
 by the fire in Marjorie Walker's kitchen, Jean 
 Hughs said, " I hear that young Ainslie has writ- 
 ten a book. I wad like to ken what it is aboot." 
 
 Elspeth replied, ' ' I hae nae doot but I can 
 gi'e you an understanding aboot the story or the 
 stories that it contains. It is aboot ane family, 
 but it is a family o' five generations, an' their 
 lives dinna run in ane groove, you ken. lyet me 
 think a bit; yes, five generations: the last son's 
 family, his faither's family, his grandfaither's, his 
 great-grandfaither's, an' his great-great-grand- 
 faither's families. Weel, a' that lad imagines 
 aboot those folk is just wonderfu'. I can aye re-
 
 i68 * LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 member a gude story mysel',but I canna mak' up 
 ane." 
 
 Jean and Nelly nodded assent, and Elspeth 
 went on: "It begins somat like this: Lang ago, 
 when there was a sair feud atween the chiefs o' 
 twa Highland clans, there was a secret merriage 
 atween the son o' ane an' the daughter o' anither, 
 an' baith the bride an' the groom laid hands on a' 
 the valuables that they could come to in the hooses 
 of their faithers an' gaed awa'. I canna tell just 
 where they went, but it was far frae their hames. 
 Weel, they gaed i' the night-time, an' sic surprise 
 an' sic anger an' sic mourning as there was i' the 
 morn when baith chiefs missed their firstborn, 
 their hoarded siller, an' their best gear. But the 
 meaning o' it was soon kenned, and naebody 
 dooted that fair Margaret and brave Roderick 
 had gane together. The young folk kenned that 
 their parents wad never consent to their merriage, 
 an' they loved each ither weel. 
 
 "When the parents found oot that the mer- 
 riage had really taken place they didna pursue 
 their bairns, but they were that angry that they 
 counted them as deed. Only the mither o' Mar- 
 garet wept in secret, believing that she should see 
 her daughter nae mair. An' there were tears in 
 Margaret's eyes as she was left alane day after 
 day. She had nae company but a shepherd's wife
 
 ROGER'S SECRET. 169 
 
 an' her childish auld mither a' the time that 
 Roderick was awa' building a hame for her. 
 
 "It was a sma' but strang castle that he built, 
 an' I mind noo that it was amang the mountains 
 that are situate between the river Spey an' the 
 river Dee, but weel to the west an' far frae the 
 mouths o' the rivers. Weel, lanely as Margaret 
 was an' a bit hamesick forbye, she aye had a 
 smile o' welcome when her husband rode up at 
 nightfa'. 
 
 "At last, when Margaret went to the home 
 that Roderick had prepared for her, she didna 
 forget that lowly woman wi' whom she had be- 
 come sae well acquainted. Through her she got 
 servants that were faithfu' an' gude. But the 
 leddy's hame was ruder than her faither's, an', 
 mairover, she missed her gentle mither. Sae the 
 walls o' the castle often inclosed a heavy-hearted 
 wife. But after a bit, when Roderick was the 
 proud an' happy faither o' a wee son, she left off 
 sighing an' fancied that she wad never be un- 
 happy again. She sang sweet cradle songs to the 
 wee ane wha lay at her breast, an' the yearnin' 
 for her mither seemed to dee oot i' the gladness o' 
 her ain mitherhood. 
 
 " One evening,^ when she had been five years 
 frae her early hame, an auld servant of her fai- 
 ther's stood before her door.
 
 170 - LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 " 'Come in, Alan,' said Margaret; 'but I see 
 you are the bearer o' evil tidings. ' 
 
 " ' I am that,' said he. ' Your mither is sick 
 unto death, and I am come to convey her dyin' 
 message to her far-awa' daughter. ' 
 
 ' ' Fu' loviu' an' tender were the wards that 
 he spake to the sad leddy, an' they were the 
 mither' s wards repeated, you ken. Weel, she fell 
 a-greetin', an' she grat till her e'en were red. 
 Then was Roderick wroth, an' he said, ' You hae 
 shed tears enough. You show plainly that your 
 heart is but half wi' me. I trow that you wadna 
 greet sae sairly an' I lay deed before you. ' An' 
 his face grew dark wi' rage that she sae weel re- 
 membered the hame he had taken her frae. The 
 puir leddy bent her tearfu' face over the curly 
 head o' her wee lad an' the fountain o' her tears 
 dried up, but her heart was a' the heavier. She 
 longed to ask her mither' s forgiveness through 
 Alan, but she daredna do sae. She saw the auld 
 mon depart, an' her heart was amaist breakin' as 
 she said, 'Gi'e mither my love.' Eh, what a 
 burden there was upon her heart! The walls 
 around seemed to gi'e an answering sound that 
 mocked her grief, an' her footfa' on the floor sent 
 oot the sound, ' Alane, alane !' 
 
 " But a mair heedfu' wife than this same Mar- 
 garet there couldna be. Nae wish o' her hus-
 
 ROGER'S SECRET. 171 
 
 band's could shape itself into wards before she set 
 aboot to grant it an' to please him in a' things. 
 She clean forgot hersel' in her devotion to Rod- 
 erick and Cuthbert her son. It was easy to see 
 frae her leuk that she thought not o' hersel', for 
 her e'e grew large an' her cheek became pale an' 
 thin, an' the pitifu' servants whispered arnang 
 themselves, 'The mistress wull dee.' A' the 
 while Roderick loved his wife in his ain way. It 
 was a love, you ken, that demanded a' her heart's 
 affections, that wad break doon a' the cherished 
 memories o' other days; an' yet he demanded the 
 right to divert himsel' in the chase 'an' sic-like 
 sports for days together. He didna stop to see 
 that Margaret was unhappy, that her cheek was 
 owre fair an' her ance red lips were owre pale. 
 He didna hear the oft-heaved sigh, but the walls 
 were the silent witnesses o' them. The puir led- 
 dy wad oft sit in the chimney corner wi' her heid 
 bent upon her breast, an' she wad ask hersel' if 
 happiness could ever come back to her heart; 
 an' the wild winds answered hoarsely doon the 
 wide chimney, ' Never mair, never mair !' 
 
 "In her sorrow she bethought hersel' o' the 
 dear, compassionate Lord an' o' the prayer he 
 gave us. Although in her haste to. leave her fai- 
 ther's hame she hadna taken her Bible, she could- 
 na be robbed o' the comfort o' that prayer, for she
 
 172 * LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 kenned it ward for ward. She was wont to say it 
 reverently, an' then to add, ' O Lord Jesus, if it 
 isna wrang, I will put this muckle to thine ain 
 prayer: Prepare me to dee i' peace wi' thee, an' 
 guide my bairn that he doesna grow up to be a 
 sinfu' mon.' 
 
 "Weel, grief is a great slayer o' hearts, you 
 ken, especially when it is pent up, and Margaret 
 wadna think to tell the servants or ony ane that 
 she was just pinin' awa' for companionship. If 
 she had been a widow it wad hae done to tell it, 
 but sin' her husband was living she wadna mak' 
 sic an admission. She thought that she wad 
 live till Cuthbert came to years o' understanding 
 but she didna. She had nae human comforter, 
 the buik says, an' this was weel, else she wadna 
 hae been in sic earnest to win her way to the di- 
 vine Comforter. Him she found, an' she died 
 believing that she wad live again where disap- 
 pointment an' sorrow canna follow. 
 
 " Roderick never merried again, but the death 
 of his wife didna soften him. He missed her 
 an' he blamed God that she was awa'. He was 
 proud o' his bairn an' he longed for the time to 
 come when he could be trained to a' the sports 
 that he himsel' loved sae weel. Scarce had 
 Cuthbert reached mon's stature when his faither 
 was that crippled that he couldna lift himsel'
 
 ROGER'S SECRET. 173 
 
 again. Eh ! but then there were sounds for the 
 walls to hear. An' sounds they were that aniaist 
 made them cry oot wi l shame, for it was mon 
 cursin' his Maker. Roderick grew a waur mon 
 day after day, for when trouble doesna mak' a 
 mon better it aye mak's him waur. Weel, after 
 a few years daith came, an' Roderick, although 
 he should hae been in the prime o' life, was called 
 awa' to answer for a wasted life. 
 
 "Weel, here I am but through the first gen- 
 eration, an' the evening is far spent an' my yarn 
 is knitted up. I canna tell you mair aboot the 
 buik to-night, but gin you wish to hear the rest, I 
 wull come again. ' ' 
 
 "Weel, come soon, Elspeth, for I like the 
 story weel," said Jean Hughs, and her sister re- 
 peated the request.
 
 174 - LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 ELSPETH AT THE FARMHOUSE. 
 
 A FEW days later Elspeth went again to the 
 old farmhouse to spend the evening. The Hughs 
 sisters came and sat down with an expectant look 
 on their faces, and Elspeth began, 
 
 "Weel, where was I? Oh, I ken. Roderick 
 died an' Cuthbert was left alane. He merried a 
 bonnie-faced shepherdess, an' Mysie, for that was 
 her name, was as good as she was bonnie. There 
 was noo a happy family in the hame amang the 
 mountains. Sons and daughters were born to 
 Cuthbert and Mysie. Gude bairns they were 
 too, a' but ane wha was named Roderick. This 
 ane seemed to justify the sayin' that bairns are 
 like those for whom they are named. He seemed 
 to hae the same reckless daring that led his grand- 
 faither to persuade Margaret to leave her hame, 
 the same selfish spirit that led him to forget her 
 happiness in seekin' his ain. But his parents 
 kenned weel hoo to rule in their family. Mysie 
 hadna had a wise, stern faither for nothing. She 
 tried to rear up her bairns in the way that they 
 should gang, an' she oft told them, ' Mind, I ex-
 
 ELSPETH AT THE FARMHOUSE. 175 
 
 pect you to do richt. ' But the strang, firm leadin' 
 o' Roderick's parents made him deceitfu'; he 
 was aye after some underhanded trick. He 
 wasna content wi' gaen wrang himsel', but he 
 aye tried to lead his brither awa' wi' him. When 
 he tried to persuade Gilbert to do onything vera 
 bad, he made this answer: ' Nae, Roderick, I 
 maun behave myself; for mither expects it o' 
 me.' 
 
 u ' Mither expects it o' me, too, Gilbert.' 
 
 ' ' ' Mair shame to you that you disappoint her, 
 Roderick Stewart. ' 
 
 " ' As sure as daith, Gilbert, you are a cow- 
 ard, ' Roderick replied. 
 
 1 ' ' You are waur than a coward, for if you 
 hae spirit, it isna o' the richt kind.' 
 
 ' ' Then they had mony a hasty ward between 
 them, but Gilbert wadna gi'e in. Mony a strife 
 they had while they were lads, ane pullin' the 
 richt way and the ither pullin' the wrang way, 
 an' when they grew to manhood the case was nae 
 different. At last Roderick said to his brither, 
 4 1 am gaen to rin awa'.' 
 
 ' ' ' Where wull you gang ?' 
 
 " ' Where wull I gang? Anywhere frae this.' 
 
 '"What for?' 
 
 ' ' ' For gude reasons. I w r ant to better my con- 
 dition. '
 
 176 - LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 ' ' Gilbert supposed that this was but an idle 
 threat, an' it went oot o' his mind. But ane 
 morn Roderick couldna be found. His parents 
 were sairly grieved as day after day went by an' 
 they could gain no tidings o' him. They had 
 ane gude son left an' three dutifu' daughters, an' 
 they comforted their hearts as best they could, 
 giving their absent son to God's keepin'; for the 
 inither kenned weel hoo to pray. 
 
 "Roderick was far frae following the peace- 
 ful avocations of his family ; he was bound to get 
 gain by fair or by foul means. Sae far did greed 
 rule in his heart that mony a traveller emptied 
 his pock that he might win past Roderick wi' his 
 life. Ane dark night, when a traveller refused 
 to gi'e him his purse an' seemed to be a match 
 for him, Roderick drew his dirk an' was aboot 
 to plunge it into the breast o' his brither mon, lit- 
 tle thinkin' that it was his vera ain brither. But 
 it was sae. It seemed that some gude still spake 
 oot in this bad mon's heart. He threw doon the 
 dirk an' said, 'I maun hand back; I maun keep 
 my hands free frae the bluid o' mon. Mither ex- 
 pects it o' me. ' 
 
 "'As sure as daith, it is Roderick,' said the 
 mon at his side. ' Brither, brither, hoo could 
 you do sic a thing ?' 
 
 "'Gilbert, is it you? Dinna tell it,' an' he
 
 ELSPETH AT THE FARMHOUSE. 177 
 
 said nae mair, but ran wi' speed into the wood 
 hard by. Gilbert couldna find him for a' his 
 searching. Sae he kenned that his brither was a 
 highwaymon, an' not far frae his ain hame. He 
 hoped that Roderick wasna a murderer, that 
 some influence o' his mither wad keep him frae 
 goin' that length. Puir Gilbert, what could he 
 do ? He daredna tell his parents the truth, an' the 
 secret drove him amaist daft. He strove mair 
 than ever to be a gude son; but he knew that the 
 auld folk wearied for a sight of their firstborn. 
 
 " ' If he wad but come hame, ' said the mither, 
 ' I could forgive him ony sins save twa.' 
 
 "Gilbert weel kenned that one o' these sins 
 was touchin' the life o' a fellow mortal. He 
 wasna quite sure o' the ither, but as he leuked 
 around on his fair, virtuous sisters he settled the 
 matter in his ain mind. 
 
 "It was late in life before Gilbert merried, for 
 he said, ' Suppose I should become parent to sic 
 a son as Roderick.' But his faither said, ' Wull 
 you let your family dee oot, Gilbert?' Sae he 
 took a wife, an' but ane son was born o' that 
 union. Gilbert aye bided wi' his faither. Twa 
 o' his sisters, Katherine an' Margaret, were mer- 
 ried, but Agnes bided at hame. A great fear 
 was upon Gilbert until he kenned that his son 
 was good an' dutifu'.
 
 178 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 "A' hope o' the return o' Roderick had died 
 oot in the hearts o' the auld faither an' mither. 
 They were waitin' in the gloamin' o' a winter 
 evening for the candles to be brought when Gil- 
 bert entered an' said, ' Faither, mither, can you 
 bear strange news the night ?' 
 
 " ' Is it gude or bad news?' they asked. 
 
 "'It is baith gude an' bad,' he answered. 
 'Roderick is but noo come hame, an' he is a 
 dyin' mon.' 
 
 "'God help us!' said they as they went to 
 meet Roderick. 
 
 " His voice was tremulous an' a muckle tear 
 ' stood in each e'e as he said, ' Mither I hae come 
 hame to dee.' 
 
 " Weel, I canna tell you hoo affectin' it was, 
 but the buik says that they a' lifted up their 
 voices an' wept together. Roderick had said truly 
 that he had come hame to dee, but he was pen- 
 itent. Mony a confession he poured out before 
 God; sometimes it seemed that he confessed his 
 sins to the vera walls. He tauld his mither that 
 her teachin' had kept him frae ane great sin, 
 but he couldna bring himsel' to tell her that he 
 had amaist spilled his ain brither's bltiid. He 
 died lamentin' his sins an' his waywardness. 
 His parents soon followed him, an' as they passed 
 over they baith were enabled to bear witness to
 
 ELSPETH AT THE FARMHOUSE. 179 
 
 the depth o' peace that God gi'es to them wha 
 trust in him. As they were aboot to step oot 
 on the untried road that daith opens they said, 
 4 Though I walk through the valley of the shadow 
 of daith, I wull fear no evil, for thou art wi' me; 
 thy rod an' thy staff, they comfort me. ' 
 
 " Weel, after the auld folk died Gilbert's fam- 
 ily seemed small. His expenses were light an' 
 siller was plenty. If he had been a mon like his 
 brither, he wad hae gloated over a' the shinin' 
 gowd that passed through his hands, but he was- 
 na. He kenned weel that there are other riches 
 than this warld offers an' mair endurin', ye ken. 
 Besides he thought o' his mither an' o' her expec- 
 tations o' him. ' Mither expects me to use this 
 warld as na abusin' it, an' to live sae that I may 
 meet her in heaven,' he wad say. This was a 
 strang leadin' line in the right direction, an' kept 
 him oot o' temptation. Ay, I maun say that 
 when I read that I thought it wad be weel for us 
 to remember that oor friends wha hae passed 
 over are hopin' an' expectin' that we wull do 
 oor best in the warld to mak' oor calling an' 
 election sure. 
 
 "Weel, it wad be hard to tell hoo muckle gude 
 this Gilbert did. Hoo mony puir he clad, hoo 
 mony empty meal-pocks he filled, hoo mony com- 
 fortin' wards he spake, an' hoo mony blessin's fol-
 
 180' LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 lowed him couldna be estimated. His life just 
 flowed on an' on like a smooth-rinnin' river till it 
 emptied into the ocean o' eternity. Nane dooted 
 that a gude mon had passed awa', an' mony a 
 hearthstane bare witness that he was missed. 
 The walls o' his hame seemed to be the witnesses 
 to the wards written aboon his heid as he lay 
 quiet in daith, ' So He giveth His beloved sleep.' 
 
 "His widow mourned in her laneliness. His 
 sister Agnes felt that her hame was hame nae 
 langer; but she had kenned nae ither, sae she bided 
 there till her nephew Gilbert brought hame a gay 
 wife wi' strange ways, then she went to bide wi' 
 her sisters. 
 
 " Frae the merriage o' Gilbert sprang a large 
 family, an' the walls o' the castle heard mair 
 laughter an' mair discord, mair sangs an' mair 
 curses, mair frolic an' mair dourness, than ever 
 before. The mither wasna frae common folk, an' 
 this wad seem mair promisin' for her family. 
 Still, simple-minded folk often manage their 
 bairns in a mair praiseworthy manner; an', after 
 a', it depends whether the parents seek help frae 
 the Faither o' us a' whether the bairns do good or 
 ill. Gilbert's wife was destitute o' the ane thing 
 needfu' ; the fear o' the Lord wasna before her 
 e'en. Her heart was taken up wi' the pleasures 
 o' this warld an' the deceitfulness o' riches. She
 
 ELSPETH AT THE FARMHOUSE. l8l 
 
 gave little thought to her bairns, an' they gave 
 little heed to her, an' that was why they were sic 
 an unsteady family. Gilbert wasna like his fai- 
 ther before him, or he wad hae putten doon the 
 thoughtless youngsters o' his an' made them mair 
 tentie-like. But that isna a' ; the bairns scattered 
 the siller forbye, but their puir auld graudmither 
 didna live to see it. Puir soul, she wadna hae 
 had muckle pleasure wi' sic grandchildren, wi' 
 their clavers an' their havers, let alane the scat- 
 term' o' their warldly goods an' the desecration 
 o' the Sabbath an' sic like. It was tae muckle 
 for Gilbert ; he groaned wi' the disappointment ; 
 but his wife was the rulin' spirit, you see. 
 
 "Weel, to make a lang story short, those 
 chiels o' his just made trouble enough wi' bad 
 debts an' bad, idle habits, an' the faither bowed 
 under it an' gave up. He was taken wi' a bad 
 cold. There was nae ane to leuk after him, an' 
 he had nae heart to leuk after himsel' . He slipped 
 awa' oot o' the din an' strife aboot him into the 
 ither warld. An' upon the walls o' the hoose was 
 written his confession, ' I hae failed in ilka thing; 
 wae is me!' 
 
 "Then the eldest son, named Cuthbert, took 
 matters in his ain hands. Noo it is easy to see 
 that he couldna set matters straight at ance, even 
 if he had been baith wise an' gude; but he was
 
 182 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 neither. "The property was soon a' under debt, 
 an' he an' his mither quarrelled the haill time. 
 The other sons, one after another, gaed oot in the 
 warld, but nae glide gaed wi' them. 
 
 "Weel, things gaed on frae bad to warse wi' 
 the mither and Cuthbert, till ane day, when wards 
 o' strife ran high, the mither was in a rage an' 
 the son grew desperate. He spoke these words : 
 ' I wull male' an end o' mysel',' an' he hurried to 
 his room an' stabbed himsel'. His heart's bluid 
 spurted oot upon the flure an' left its ane testi- 
 mony. The mither got such a shock that she fell 
 doon dead beside her son. The creditors came 
 an' claimed their ain, an' naebody wad dwell in 
 the hoose because o' the suicide o' Gilbert. Folk 
 said that sounds came oot o' the walls, an' that 
 the bliiid-stains wadna wash oot o' them ; that 
 Cuthbert the first an' the twa Gilberts wad come 
 an' wring their han's an' mak' loud an' lang lam- 
 entation owre the ruin o' the family. 
 
 "But I hae nae patience wi' sic-like tales; I 
 canna abide them. The haill story was gotten up 
 by Roger's imagination," Elspeth explained to her 
 excited hearers. Then she added, ' ' Roger was 
 asked why he didna gi'e the last Gilbert a gude 
 wife, and then a' wad hae been weel; but he said, 
 'Folk arena particular enough to choose gude 
 wives. There's mony a mon wha mak's as puir
 
 ELSPETH AT THE FARMHOUSE. 183 
 
 a choice as Gilbert did. ' Then he was asked why 
 he gave ony o' the Stewarts a gude character sin' 
 he gave the story sic a bad ending, an' he an- 
 swered, ' To show that ilka mon maun think an' 
 act for himsel' ; that he cannot win through the 
 warld on the merits o' his faithers.' Weel, that 
 is sae; we maun a' build oor ane characters, you 
 ken." 
 
 M Ay, that is sae, that is sae, ' ' said Jean and 
 Nelly in a breath. 
 
 " Noo," said Blspeth, " I haena tauld you the 
 story as the buik was writ. I haena the language 
 to tell it weel, but you hae an inkling o' it." 
 
 "An' vera glad we are that you hae tauld 
 us," responded the Hughs sisters. After a mo- 
 ment's silence Jean asked, " Isna young Ainslie 
 to tak' a wife to himsel' soon?" 
 
 "I expect he wull ; leastways it leuks vera 
 like it noo. I think that Edith Grant wullna be 
 like Gilbert's wife." 
 
 Within a year's time Roger's marriage to Edith 
 had taken place. Elspeth's comment was, ' ' Weel, 
 baith the Ainslie bairns are weel merried."
 
 184 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE MOTHERLESS BAIRNS. 
 
 WHEN Aleck Fisher had been living three years 
 in old Stephen's cottage he had the misfortune to 
 lose his wife. Mrs. Ainslie's heart was filled with 
 sympathy for the motherless children, and she sent 
 for them to come to the castle, when she showered 
 comforts upon them with a lavish hand. 
 
 No one seeing the four lads bowed with sorrow 
 would have thought it possible that they were the 
 same merry little urchins that had so often attract- 
 ed the attention of Sir William with their rough, 
 boisterous play. "The red head, the black head, 
 the muckle head, and the white head," all were 
 uncovered in the presence of Mrs. Ainslie. Her 
 unlooked-for kindness made them thoughtful and 
 gentle, while it partly softened their sorrow and 
 filled the blank that death had made. 
 
 Elspeth watched her young mistress with evi- 
 dent satisfaction and admiration, and she asked, 
 ' ' My dear leddy, are you goin' to mither a' those 
 bairns?" 
 
 "For the present, at least," Mrs. Ainslie an- 
 swered.
 
 THE MOTHERLESS BAIRNS. 185 
 
 ' ' It beats a' , " answered Elspeth, and ventured 
 no further remark. 
 
 Mr. Ainslie was sure that his wife possessed 
 rare traits of goodness and benevolence. Sir Wil- 
 liam feelingly said, ' ' Marion, daughter, you grow 
 mair an' mair like her wha bore you. I thought 
 that you hadna her sweetness, but it blossoms oot 
 every year. You are liker her than I ever dared 
 to hope. I see that you ripen fast in faith an' 
 gude warks; God grant that you mayna be as 
 early called to your reward. She went to her rest 
 at five an' thirty. That was mony years agone, 
 an' hoo mony o' those years I hae groped in the 
 darkness an' blindness o' sin." After a moment's 
 hesitation he continued, " Perhaps, after a', Mar- 
 ion, I am sadder for the trouble I gave you aboot 
 matrimony than onything else. Thank God that 
 the answer you gave Dalziel saved you frae a 
 blighted life, for I weel believe that he is a doon- 
 right scoundrel. Even then I hadna muckle faith 
 in his morality, but I looked at the gowd an' the 
 siller; I looked at the gowd an' the siller. It 
 gars me tak' shame to mysel' to own it noo, an' 
 I thought you were disobedient an' undutifu', 
 puir mitherless lassie that you were." 
 
 "Dinna blame yoursel' ony mair, faither ; I 
 am a happy woman, as you see. I hae a' that 
 heart can wish for, an' it amaist frightens me
 
 i86 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 when I think o' the gude that falls to my lot. 
 Perhaps you can understand the pleasure it gives 
 me to comfort the Fisher laddies. Oot o' my 
 abundance I wad fain drop crumbs to the empty. ' ' 
 
 " Ay, I understand your mind weel enough to 
 ken that, Marion. I suppose that you hae often 
 thought o' what I hae been thinkin' o' late, hoo 
 far aboon a' human example o 1 disinterested be- 
 nevolence stands the divine example o' oor suf- 
 ferin' Saviour. Reach oot as we may, forget oor- 
 sel's as much as possible, there is naething that 
 we can do for oor fellow-mortals that is worthy to 
 stand in the shadow o' his ane great act o' love." 
 
 "Naething," answered Mrs. Ainslie; "an' 
 yet there is nae reason why we shouldna do a' that 
 we can, even though we do fa' sae short o' the 
 divine pattern. An' there are mony acts o' oor 
 dear Lord that we may mair nearly imitate." 
 
 "Ay, we can visit the sick an' gang aboot 
 doing gude, though even in that we canna give 
 the comfort that he gave. I hae often thought o' 
 the time the Maister girded himsel' wi' a towel 
 an' washed his disciples' feet in that upper cham- 
 ber. I think it was that vera act o' his that gave 
 me hope. For you ken that God stands sae far 
 aboon us that we darena think to approach him; 
 an' oor Saviour, too, in his life on earth, was sae 
 unique, sae grandly gude an' blameless, that I
 
 THE MOTHERLESS BAIRNS. 187 
 
 couldna seem to win to him. But amang his fol- 
 lowers he became as ane o' them ; he took the 
 place o' a servant amang them ; sae I said to my- 
 sel', This is reachin' doon even to me; here is a 
 hand held oot, here is ane wha wunna scorn to 
 wash my heart, bad as it is, sin' he washed the 
 feet o' sinfu' men. ' ' 
 
 "I see," said Mrs. Ainslie; "we a' want to 
 see the human side o' oor Saviour to give us cour- 
 age to hope in his mercy, for then we realize that 
 he understands us an' feels for us an' wi' us. 
 We feel that he is indeed oor Elder Brither an' 
 that we are acquaint wi' him." 
 
 "Ay, acquaint wi' him; I like that. Then 
 aboot his bein' a Brither an' stickin' closer than a 
 brither. Ane wha had a gude, thoughtfu' brither 
 as I had can understand that. My brither died 
 when I needed him rnaist; but this Brither ever 
 liveth to mak' intercession for us. The Buik may 
 weel say that ' he sticketh closer than a brither.' " 
 
 Mrs. Ainslie wept tears of joy to know that her 
 father was thus ' ' growing in grace and in the 
 knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ." Nothing 
 more was said, and Sir William turned and looked 
 out of the window. Soon he said, as if speaking 
 his thoughts, " Puir wee mon !" 
 
 "What is it, faither?" 
 
 "The wee white-headed lad has been over to
 
 1 88 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 the auld xot, an' is comin' awa' greetin' oot- 
 right." 
 
 " Puir wee heart!" answered Mrs. Ainslie, "I 
 maun awa' to try an' comfort him." 
 
 When she met him she said, "Dinna greet, 
 Geordie, dinna. I ken that you miss your mither, 
 an' I wull try to be a mither to you ; I wull see 
 that you want for naething. Your mither is in 
 heaven, Geordie, an' she is sae happy that you 
 shouldna wish her here again." 
 
 The little fellow shook his head doubtfully, 
 and answered, " Nae, I saw her put in the 
 ground." 
 
 Mrs. Ainslie took the child to a seat, put her 
 arm around him, and said, "Geordie, before your 
 mither died, when you said, 'Mither,' she heard 
 you, knew you, an' thought aboot you " 
 
 " Ay, she did that," interrupted the child. 
 
 " But after she died she could not see you, she 
 could not hear you, she did not know you " and 
 in the pause while Mrs. Ainslie was thinking what 
 to say next Geordie said, " I ken she didna, for I 
 couldna wake her, an' it was sae strange." 
 
 "Nae, not strange, for she was dead. The 
 soul, the part that loved you an' smiled on you 
 through her e'en an' answered your call, had gone 
 oot o' her body, an' sae there was naething left to 
 answer, Geordie. The thinking, loving part has
 
 THE MOTHERLESS BAIRNS. 189 
 
 gone to heaven. She doesna know that her body 
 is in the grave ; leastways she doesna feel the 
 ground upon her, an' naething frets her; sae 
 cheer up, my wee mon, an' be as happy as you 
 can. Some time, if you are gude, you shall gang 
 to your mither. Come awa' wi' me an' see what 
 I can find for a gude little lad. ' ' 
 
 Geordie wiped his eyes and trudged along be- 
 side Mrs. Ainslie, hoping that she would find 
 sugar-plums ; nor was he disappointed. When 
 he was again with his brothers he tried to explain 
 what Mrs. Ainslie had told him. 
 
 "I kenned a' that," Sandy quickly replied; 
 1 'but it is bad enough, after a', that we maun be 
 left mitherless. I doot if mither wadna rather 
 hae stayed wi' us." 
 
 "I ken weel she wad," said Rab. "Weel, 
 she couldna, or she wad; an' I ken that Mistress 
 Ainslie is vera gude to tak' us to her bonnie 
 name." 
 
 " Sae she is," said Sandy, " an' I mean to love 
 her weel." 
 
 " Sae do I," chimed in the other three. 
 
 "Elspeth is gude, tae; but she aye says, 'Be 
 quiet, lads, be quiet, lads.' Dear kens, we are 
 quiet enough now-a-days, ' ' said Rab. 
 
 "That is true, ' ' answered Tarn. ' ' If she had 
 us by her fire, as we were when mither was alive,
 
 190 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 she might weel say, ' Be quiet, lads, be quiet, 
 lads.'" 
 
 Rab's dark eyes filled with tears as he said, 
 "Hither was gude, an' I doot if we are ever sae 
 happy again." 
 
 "She was that gude that she wad amaist lee 
 for us," said Tarn. 
 
 " Hoots! Dinna speak like that, an' her awa'! 
 She was gude, an' that is enough to say." 
 
 "Of coorse, of coorse," meekly answered the 
 other, feeling the propriety of his brother's repri- 
 mand. 
 
 This conversation was interrupted by Elspeth's 
 call, "Come, noo, an' tak' your supper, lads." 
 
 "I wush that the lads wadna wear sic sad 
 faces," said Sir William to Mr. Ainslie as they 
 stood together watching the children. "I tell 
 them to gang an' play by themsel's, but they fling 
 themsel's doon on the grass, an' the next thing 
 I see is ane o' them wipin' his e'en upon his 
 sleeve. I didna think that the rough lads had 
 sae muckle heart." 
 
 " You canna always tell wha is sensitive. A 
 tender heart is often hidden under the coarse 
 jacket o' a noisy lad. I like them the better that 
 they grieve a bit. If they could sae soon forget 
 their puir mither wha made sic a slave o' herseP 
 for them, because they are weel housed an' weel
 
 THE MOTHERLESS BAIRNS. 191 
 
 fed, I wad think them destitute o' natural affec- 
 tion. They wull laugh an' play again, give them 
 time, faither. " 
 
 " Weel, weel, be it sae. But I miss their wee 
 games as I sit idly by the window. I haena 
 muckle change, you see, an' their play minds me 
 o' the time when I was a lad an' played wi' my 
 brither on the same spot. Baith o' us had a wee 
 doggie; weel, as to that, what ane had the ither 
 had. Puir Tarn, puir brither Tarn ! I believe I 
 like the lad wi' the muckle heid best because o' 
 his name. Graham wants ane o' them; he canna 
 hae Tarn. I think that Sandy better gang, an' 
 that wull leave the three younger anes here wi' 
 their faither. Aleck is vera gratefu' that we take 
 sae muckle care o' the bairns, an' he wunna ob- 
 ject to Sandy's goin' to Graham's. Marjorie. an' 
 baith the auld lassies wull pet an' cuddle him." 
 
 Aleck was consulted, and Sandy went to Walk- 
 er's, nothing loath, since he could see his father 
 and his brothers as often as he pleased.
 
 192 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 DEATH OF JEAN HUGHS. 
 
 AGAIN the snows of Scotland lay upon her 
 mountains, her hillsides, and her moorlands, and 
 her streams were locked in the embrace of winter. 
 
 It was one bitterly cold night that Elspeth was 
 wrapping herself in a heavy cloak. " I wish that 
 you didna need to go, gude Elspeth ; the night is 
 fearsome," said Mrs. Ainslie. 
 
 " You may weel say that it is fearsome," said 
 Sir William, drawing nearer to the blazing fire. 
 
 "I ken that; but Jean is waur the nicht, an' 
 Nelly is amaist worn oot wi' watching. There is 
 a mon wi' a conveyance waitin' at the gate, sae I 
 dinna think that I shall suffer cauld." 
 
 "Weel, that wull do; I thought if you were 
 goin' to foot it there, we wad hae a sick woman 
 here, an' perhaps a dead ane, ' ' answered Sir Wil- 
 liam. 
 
 "Na sae bad as that, I hope. I maunna be 
 sae afraid o' the cauld. Gude nicht to you a'." 
 
 In a short time Elspeth was left at the door of 
 the farmhouse. Nelly met her, saying, "Dear, 
 gude Elspeth, I am sae glad you hae come. I
 
 DEATH OF JEAN HUGHS. 193 
 
 thought you wad come, though the nicht is sae 
 terrible." 
 
 Without making any reply Elspeth asked, 
 "Hooisshenoo?" 
 
 "She isna ony better. I fear that she isna 
 through the warst o' it. ' ' 
 
 Elspeth followed Nelly to the bedside of her 
 suffering sister, and as soon as she saw Jean she 
 turned to Nelly with a startled look on her face. 
 The look was understood, and the poor frightened 
 woman put out her hand, saying, ' ' Dinna, dinna 
 tell me that she wull dee." 
 
 But even while she was speaking a stony look 
 came into the eyes of Jean, and Elspeth said, " I 
 maun ca' Mistress Walker." 
 
 She went to Marjorie, and said, "Whatever 
 shall we do ? Jean canna live till morn, an' Nelly 
 wunna hear ane ward. Come awa' an' speak wi' 
 her." 
 
 ' ' Oh, I canna tell her, Elspeth. Are you na 
 mistaken? She wullna dee, wull she?" 
 
 " Come awa' an' see for yoursel'. I wad hope, 
 an' I could, that I am mistaken." 
 
 Elspeth and Marjorie went back to the sick- 
 room. It was hard to tell whose face was the 
 whiter, Nelly's or Jean's. Neither sister looked 
 up when Elspeth and Marjorie entered; for one 
 was fast losing consciousness because life itself 
 
 Lady Marion's Answer. I 7
 
 194 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 was going out, and the other was conscious of but 
 one thing, and that she was fighting against with 
 all the strength of her nature. Nelly had always 
 walked contentedly in the shadow of her sister. 
 Jean was the elder, and she had first secured the 
 place of service at Felix Cameron's, and then she 
 had procured a place for her sister. They had 
 seen long, dark years of thankless service, but 
 they had endured them because they were to- 
 gether. When frowns were blackest upon the 
 face of their old master, then they had a smile for 
 each other. Forty years of faithful service had 
 they rendered side by side. Jean had been there 
 three years when Mrs. Cameron died. Her ser- 
 vices were appreciated by her mistress, and on her 
 death-bed she asked her to remain and care for her 
 little daughter, Graham's dead mother. 
 
 When we \valk a long distance on life's path- 
 way in one direction we come to think it will 
 never change. So poor Nelly found it when the 
 certainty of Jean's death forced itself upon her 
 mind ; she was spellbound, and only shook her- 
 self free when Marjorie asked in a frightened 
 voice, " Wull she dee, tae?" 
 
 "Naebody wull dee," Nelly roused herself to 
 say. 
 
 "Alack! she is already awa', Nelly," said 
 Elspeth. "Noo be calm. Nae greetin', nae
 
 DEATH OF JEAN HUGHS. 195 
 
 mournin', nae rebellious feelin's can bring her 
 back, puir lass. Sae gi'e in, gi'e in to a wisdom 
 higher than your ain, an' say wi' true submission, 
 ' The Lord's wull be done.' If you canna say it 
 noo, pray for grace that you may be enabled to 
 speak the wards sae becomin' to a Christian 
 heart." 
 
 " I canna, I canna; it is sae sudden, saem ourn- 
 ful, that I canna stand it, ' ' she said, bursting into 
 tears. 
 
 Elspeth gave Marjorie a look which said, 
 "She wull stand it noo." 
 
 And she did bear up very well under her bur- 
 den of sorrow. Elespeth and Marjorie did not 
 fail to ask help for her from above. 
 
 The next morning the cold had abated and 
 the sun was shining upon the white fields. Els- 
 peth felt that all was not so sad even in winter 
 and with death so near. 
 
 When she reached the castle she told the 
 news by saying simply, "She is awa', Jean is 
 awa'." 
 
 " Can it be possible !" exclaimed Sir William. 
 Then he added, "Weel, she has but answered 
 the call that maun come to a'. I doot if Nelly 
 stays lang ahint her, she was that bound up in 
 Jean. Hoo strange it wull be to see her at the 
 kirk an' her sister na wi' her. ' '
 
 196 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 Mrs. Ainslie replied, "Ay, it wull seem strange. 
 The affection they showed for each other was 
 beautiful, I think." 
 
 "They were a' the warld to each ither. If 
 Jean had died when auld Felix was maister doon 
 there, Nelly wad hae pined awa', but wi' Marjorie 
 she wunna," said Elspeth. 
 
 "That is sae. Marjorie wull cheer her if 
 onybody can. She is gude an' cheerfu' an' wise. 
 She is fit to be the companion o' ony leddy in the 
 Ian', an' yet she doesna feel aboon ony decent 
 person she meets wi'," said Sir William. 
 
 "You wull be needed to help make ready for 
 the funeral," said Mrs. Ainslie. 
 
 "Ay, I was goin' to ask you if I could gang 
 doon this afternoon. The funeral wull be at the 
 kirk, an' there isna muckle to be done, but I ken 
 weel I can make mysel' useful; besides, Nelly 
 begged me to come back," answered Elspeth. 
 
 The evening after the funeral Elspeth sat 
 with little Annie in her lap and Kenneth stand- 
 ing by her knee. Finally she said, " I hae been 
 thinkin' that daith calls auld folk oot o' the warld 
 aboot as fast as the young are born into it. Twa 
 are lately gone frae oor neighborhood. Wha 
 wull be the next the gude Lord alane kens. 
 May we a' be ready, an' it wunna matter vera 
 muckle wha it is. Heaven is oor hame, onyway.
 
 DEATH OF JEAN HUGHS. 197 
 
 We are but pilgrims an' sojourners here, as oor 
 faithers were before us. ' ' 
 
 She said no more, but looked down tenderly 
 upon the children she fondled. She had a good, 
 motherly feeling for the little Fisher lads, but for 
 Kenneth and Annie, heirs of the house of Camp- 
 bell, she felt something akin to devotion. She 
 saw that the "mitherless bairns" were well 
 helped to parritch, which food she recommended 
 for them. If she did not help them with her 
 own hand, she would say to the serving-maid, 
 "Give them plenty, give the bairns plenty," but 
 her attentions to the children of her "leddy" 
 were more delicate and constant. She knitted 
 the softest of lamb's wool stockings for their "wee 
 feet," and mittens for Kenneth's hands. When 
 he went to play out of doors in cold weather, she 
 called him to her and saw that he was ' ' weel 
 bundled." 
 
 The children added much interest to the home- 
 life within the castle. The older inmates grew 
 older without realizing it, and Mr. and Mrs. 
 Ainslie fast developed in mind and heart because 
 of their parental love and duties, and in Christian 
 charity because they opened their hearts as well 
 as their home to the little ones who needed their 
 care.
 
 198 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 RETRIBUTION. 
 
 A FEW years sped on. Sir William was be- 
 coming quite infirm and he was glad that he had 
 such a son-in-law as Ainslie proved to be, for he 
 was one whom he could trust and on whom he 
 could lean. "He is a great hame-body," Sir 
 William would say, and the fact pleased him. 
 One day a letter bearing the London postmark 
 came to Ainslie. 
 
 " Bootless it is frae my uncle, for I dinna ken 
 ony one else wha wad write to me frae London," 
 said he as he broke the seal. He read it through; 
 then he said, " It is frae my uncle's lawyer. My 
 uncle is dead. I maun gang to London, Marion; 
 there is property left to me, an' I maun attend to 
 the matter in person." 
 
 Mr. Ainslie set out for London at once. It 
 was in the early springtime and the work on the 
 farm had not really commenced, and Aleck Fisher 
 declared himself competent to stand at the head 
 of affairs. He said to Mr. Ainslie, "I wull keep 
 ilka thing in order. A' wull gang as straight as 
 if you were here yoursel'."
 
 RETRIBUTION. 199 
 
 "I can trust you, Aleck," replied Mr. Ainslie. 
 
 These words gave Aleck much pleasure, for he 
 felt that he was trusted as Stephen Watson had 
 been, and he had heard a great deal about Ste- 
 phen's faithfulness. The first day that Mr. Ainslie 
 was away Aleck went briskly from one duty to an- 
 other, bent upon doing his best. He could not 
 refrain from planning for his master, although he 
 would not venture to suggest anything to him. 
 He was in the stable currying Rory, and he said 
 to himself, "This beastie is lang past his prime. 
 He does nothing but eat, an' a' that he eats maun 
 be o' the vera best. I wad soon sell him, gin I 
 were the maister. An' the blacks arena sic as 
 the maister micht own. Nae doot they hae been 
 gude in their day, for they are weel built." 
 Looking at their teeth, he said, u Ay, they hae 
 seen a score o' years, I'se warrant." 
 
 It was not surprising that Aleck reasoned thus, 
 for the castle farm yielded excellent harvests and 
 money was plenty. But he did not know the 
 history of Rory and the blacks, that they had 
 been sold, and redeemed by Mr. Ainslie and given 
 to his wife. In the evening Aleck ventured to 
 speak his mind to Blspeth as he piled up the 
 wood for the kitchen fire. He supposed that she 
 would think him a shrewd calculator; but she 
 was much displeased and replied very tartly,
 
 2oo LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 u 'Deed, an' Rory wull be keepit here as lang as 
 he lives, though he should hae nae teeth to grind 
 his food an' I should hae to make messes over the 
 fire for him an' feed him wi' a spoon. An' as 
 for the blacks, you wull hae to let them bide 
 their time as weel. Though you dinna ken it, 
 there are reasons why nane o' them wull be 
 parted wi', reasons that ilka new-comer needna 
 ken." 
 
 "Weel, weel," replied Aleck, somewhat of- 
 fended, "you may keep your reasons. I doot I 
 can serve my maister withoot kennin' a' his busi- 
 ness; but you needua be sae curt, Mistress Lun- 
 die." 
 
 Elspeth thought for a minute, then she said, 
 " I needna, that 's a fac'." And Aleck, not will- 
 ing to be outdone in generosity, made the conces- 
 sion, "It is nae matter, nae matter at a'. Wull 
 that be wood enough, think you?" 
 
 "I should judge sae," she replied good-na- 
 turedly, and the ill-feeling went no farther. 
 
 When Mrs. Ainslie received the first letter 
 from her husband she was disappointed, for he 
 wrote that he would be obliged to remain in Lon- 
 don for several weeks. He gave directions con- 
 cerning the work that could not be deferred until 
 his return. 
 
 Sir William missed Mr. Ainslie every day,
 
 RETRIBUTION. 2OI 
 
 and he often said, " I long to see Roger hame 
 again." 
 
 He could say nothing that would give his 
 daughter more pleasure than this. When Ains- 
 lie did come he was the first to see him, being on 
 the watch for him.- He got up with considerable 
 difficulty and went to meet him. 
 
 Mr. Ainslie was very glad and thankful that he 
 was at home again, but he seemed very thought- 
 ful, and Sir William asked, " Haena your busi- 
 ness affairs gone weel, Roger?" 
 
 u Ay, but I hae met wi' some ane that I wish 
 I hadna seen, leastways not in the condition that 
 I found him. ' ' 
 
 "It wasna Dalziel?" 
 
 "Ay, it was; but hoo came you to think o' 
 him?" 
 
 "I dinna ken; but the meenit you spoke I 
 thought o' him. Hoo did you find him? Tell 
 me, for I hae a wish to know." 
 
 " I found him a beggar in the streets o' Lon- 
 don." 
 
 "You dinna tell me sae ! Marion, did you 
 hear that?" 
 
 Mrs. Ainslie bowed assent, but made no other 
 answer. 
 
 "Tell us a' aboot him, Ainslie." 
 
 "I was passing through ane o' the quiet streets
 
 2O2 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 ane day when my attention was attracted to a 
 group o' three persons. An auld mon, or ane 
 wha had the appearance o' age, was beggin' o' a 
 man an' a boy. The man paid no heed to the 
 beggar, save that he glowered fiercely at him, an' 
 he wad hae passed on; but the 4ad pit his han' in 
 his pocket as if to gi'e him a bit, when his com- 
 panion said, ' Not to him, Tommy, not to him. ' 
 I stood still, for it seemed that I maun, an' the 
 twa passed on. Then the beggar turned to me 
 an' said, ' Hae you na a shilling to gi'e to a mou 
 in distress ?' 
 
 u Weel, I gave him the shilling, an' as I leuked 
 in his face I said, * Why, Dalziel, is this you ?' 
 
 u ' Ay, is it, Ainslie,' he replied; ' I am a beg- 
 gar in the streets, but I wullna be here lang. I 
 wull soon be dead an' lost. But hoo came it that 
 you werena drowned ? I thought you were dead. ' 
 
 " ' I was mercifully saved,' I replied. 
 
 " ' I used to think that I was mercifully saved 
 frae dro \vnin', an' by your ain hand. But I think 
 it wad hae been better for me gin I had slipped 
 oot o' the warld then an' there. ' 
 
 "I was silent, for what could I say, an' he 
 went on: 'I hae but noo met wi' folk wha minded 
 me o' my sins. There they gang noo,' an' he 
 pointed to the couple that had just left him. 
 ' Leuk at the lad; does he na leuk like me?'
 
 RETRIBUTION. 303 
 
 "I leuked, an' then I said, 'If he had black 
 e'en he wad leuk enough like you to be your ain 
 son.' 
 
 " 'He is my son, but I dinna think that he 
 kens it. I saw the leuk o' his mither, an' o' my- 
 sel' too, for that matter; besides, I knew the mon 
 that he was wi'. I asked for a few pence, an' the 
 lad wad hae gi'en them, but the mon wouldna let 
 him.'" 
 
 Then Dalziel told the story of Gentle Annie 
 and her wrongs. When he had finished, he said, 
 " I wush I hadna seen the lad; he minds me o' 
 things that I wad like to forget. ' ' 
 
 "Weel," continued Mr. Ainslie, "I wad do 
 nae gude to blame him, an' I said, 'I am sorry 
 that you hae done sic a great wrang. God forgi'e 
 you. ' Then I asked, ' Hoo is it that you are oot 
 o' siller?' 
 
 " ' I am like the prodigal son that the Buik 
 tells o' ; I hae wasted my substance in riotous 
 livin'.' 
 
 "Weel, I felt a minglin' o' pity, blame, an' 
 sorrow ; an' he said, ' Ainslie, dinna leuk sae ; I 
 amna warth a pityin' leuk frae a decent mon.' 
 
 " 'What can I do for you?' I asked. 
 
 " ' Nae thing, unless you can gi'e me a couple 
 o' pounds to haud me together for a wee while, 
 for Satan wull soon claim his ain.' Then he add-
 
 204 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 ed, ' If ever you gang to Cragsby Castle you can 
 tell the folk that they are weel off that they had 
 nae mair to do wi' me. That minds me o' somat 
 I had clean forgotten: I left your brither's bairns 
 there. I didna want to bother wi' them, an' I 
 didna want to see them suffer, an' I thought that 
 Leddy Marion wad befriend them.' 
 
 "I said naething in reply except that I had 
 found the bairns. I couldna bear to hear him 
 speak o' you, Marion, even to praise you, nor 
 could I say aught o' oor happiness here. Whether 
 it was because I despised him tae muckle to talk 
 wi' him, or whether I thought that he wad feel 
 his ain miserable condition mair by the contrast, 
 I couldna tell, nor can I tell yet." 
 
 Mr. Ainslie ceased speaking. Both Sir Wil- 
 liam and his daughter had listened intently, but 
 only Sir William spoke. 
 
 " Marion," said he, "I said lang ago, touchin' 
 ane important decision, that if you didna heed my 
 wushes you wad repent it. But I ken to-night, 
 better than I ever kenned before, that you wull 
 never repent o' that answer, nor wull I." 
 
 "Faither," replied Mrs. Ainslie, "surely you 
 hae made enough acknowledgment aboot that un- 
 happy affair; noo let it never be mentioned again 
 between us."
 
 A TALK IN THE GLOAMING. 205 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 A TALK IN THE GLOAMING. 
 
 As summer advanced Mrs. Ainslie noticed 
 that her father seldom went outside of the castle. 
 He lost his interest in the sports of "the laddies" 
 and often seemed to be engaged in serious thought. 
 One evening when he sat thus pensive Mrs. Ains- 
 lie asked, " Faither, you do not feel sad, do you?" 
 
 u Nae, not exactly sad, but I ain nearin' the 
 dure o' the shadowy passageway, an' I was won- 
 derin' if it is so shadowy after a'. I was leukin' 
 oot into the shades o' night when the moon sud- 
 denly glinted oot an' dispelled them ; an' there 
 may be something to dispel the shadows o' the 
 night o' death. What think you, Marion?" 
 
 " I think that there is no terror in the daith o' 
 the righteous. I haena thought muckle aboot 
 daith ; I suppose it is because I am still young an' 
 hae sae muckle to live for." 
 
 "It maun be that. When I was your age I 
 didna gi'e it ane thought; but that time seems 
 lang sin'. Marion, when ane in castin' a back- 
 ward glance on his life admits that it leuks lang, 
 you may set it doon that he is unhappy, an' that
 
 2o6 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 is what I hae been. I hae had mair enjoyment in 
 the wee time that I hae tried to be an honest mon 
 than in the haill o' my life before. I say an hon- 
 est mon, for I hand to it that nae mon is honest 
 when he defrauds his Maker an' Preserver o' the 
 homage due to him, to say naething o' the greater 
 debt we owe for oor purchased salvation." 
 
 Elspeth sent up the light, but Sir William 
 turned to the maid and said, "We dinna want 
 lights noo." 
 
 Then resuming his conversation with his 
 daughter, he said, "I like this hour better than 
 any ither noo. It canna be tae lang for me, but 
 ance I couldna bear it. Hoo we are changed 
 when ance the grace o' God gets into oor hearts ! 
 The gloamin' aye seems to bid me think, an' that 
 is what I didna like; but sin' I hae been able to 
 pray David's prayer, 'Search me, O God, and 
 know my heart : try me and know my thoughts, 
 and see if there be any wicked way in me, and 
 lead me in the way everlasting,' I haena been 
 afraid to be alane wi' my thoughts. My ! but it 
 is a different thing to be at peace wi' God than 
 na to be, to hae his smile than to hae his frown. 
 My heart seems to be clean made over ; it is as 
 saft as a bairn's. Not that I am growin' childish 
 in the way folk use the ward, but I mak' bauld to 
 hope that I am becomin' mair like oor Saviour
 
 A TALK IN THE GLOAMING. 207 
 
 said we maun be like little children, you mind. 
 Weel, I wad like to be as guileless as when I was 
 a bairn. I wad like to be as trustful, when I leuk 
 up with the eye o' faith as I was when a wee lad 
 I leuked up in my mither's face. Marion, I had 
 a gude mither ; I doot I iver tauld you muckle 
 aboot her." 
 
 "I ken vera little aboot her; I wad like you 
 to tell me mair. " 
 
 "I wull tell you what I can recall. Some 
 things wull gi'e us baith pleasure, but a' isna 
 pleasant that presents itsel' to my memory, for 
 my mither had a sad, hard life o' it. Yet I ken, 
 for I had it frae hersel', that her troubles drove 
 her nearer to the invisible but never-failin' Friend. 
 I canna tell you when my first recollections o' 
 mither began, but it was when I was small enough 
 to sit in her lap an' pillow my heid on her mither- 
 heart, as your wee Annie is doin' noo. Weel, 
 before I gang farther, I wad say that this is ane 
 way in which I feel like a bairn. It seems that I 
 am lying in the lap o' God's providence an' my 
 weary heid is resting on the great heart o' oor 
 universal Faither. 
 
 "Weel, to go on aboot your grandmither, if 
 you should ask me hoo she looked, I wad say, 
 bonnie; if you should ask me aboot her character, 
 I wad say it was blameless. But that wunna sat-
 
 2o8 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 isfy me ; it wadna satisfy ony ane wha feels that 
 he wad like to talk aboot his mither, to ca' mony 
 things frae the dusty past au' gi'e them into the 
 keepin' o' anither. I hae aye wushed you to be 
 like your mither ; that is why I wadna seem to 
 set your grandmither afore her by speakin' muckle 
 in her praise. Nor hae I changed my mind in 
 this respect. Your gude, gentle mither wad hae 
 been better prepared to meet life's battles if she 
 had possessed mair o' your grandmither' s firm- 
 ness. Nae doot I wad hae been a better mon if 
 mither had lived langer. I had a vera bad exam- 
 ple set afore me ; you can guess by whom ; an' 
 after he wha set it had been removed my mither 
 had great hopes o' winnin' me owre to the right. 
 Mony, ay, constant, were her efforts to uproot the 
 evil habits I had formed; but a' the while disease 
 was preyin' upon her, an' naebody kenned it but 
 hersel' an' God, who for some wise but inscruta- 
 ble purpose sent the affliction. I canna dwell 
 upon that trouble ; the sudden revelation to us 
 puir lads, my brither an' mysel', was amaist over- 
 powering. Puir Tarn cried. ' What wull life be 
 warth withoot mither?' an' I had the same 
 thought, but I didna say it, for I wasna as oot- 
 spoken as Tarn. Weel, she soon passed frae us, 
 an' then we kenned the desolate feelin' that or- 
 phanage brings. I wad sit whiles by mysel' an'
 
 A TALK IN THE GLOAMING. 20$ 
 
 imagine that she was wi' us again. I could 
 amaist see her pleasant face an' hear her cheerfu' 
 voice, an' fancy that I heard her quick, light 
 step, for she was aye movin' aboot, aye busy. 
 ' Leddy Grissel Campbell ate no idle bread, ' that 
 was what folk said aboot her. 
 
 "My mither was a Christian. What she be- 
 lieved to be wrang she wadna do; she could neither 
 be coaxed nor driven to it. What she thought 
 right she wadna be turned frae, though friends op- 
 posed an' she stood alane in her opinion. She was 
 wont to say, ' I need but Ane on my side; let me 
 ken that I hae Him, an' whaever is against us wull 
 strive against fearfu' odds. ' You mayna be able to 
 understand hoo she wad need to oppose others sae 
 muckle, an' I may as weel tell you that my faither 
 was an unco unkind, unsteady husband. I was 
 bad enough myseP, but not like him. He aye 
 gathered the wrang kind o' people aboot him, 
 an', as mither often tauld him, he fouled the at- 
 mosphere an' made us laddies familiar wi' shame 
 an' sin. I mind o' seein' her carry hersel' wi' 
 the majesty o' an indignant queen, for she believed 
 that there is sic a thing as righteous indignation. 
 I hae seen her clear the house mair than ance 
 when the maister was too fu' o' wine to ken aught 
 o' propriety. I hae heard my mither say, * Nae 
 mair wine the nicht,' an' not a servant wad stir a 
 
 Lady Marion's Answer. 1 4
 
 210 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 foot for it though commanded by my faither him* 
 sel'. I maunna say mair, for it calls up ane scene 
 that I hae aye wushed to forget, but I canna. 
 Eh ! it is sae vivid before my e'en noo." 
 
 After a short pause Sir William went on, "I 
 told you that she was aye busy, an' as I leuk back 
 I think she maun hae been a veritable Dorcas. 
 It is nae wonder that a' oor tenants loved her, an' 
 we had mair tenants then than sin' I hae had the 
 management It Was some distance to gang to 
 the cottages, but ilka youngster kenned an' loved 
 her. Weel they might, for many were the gar- 
 ments she took them year after year, mony o' 
 them made wi' her ain hands. She an' her 
 maids wad sit up o' nichts when the cold weather 
 was comin' on to sew for the poor. I might as 
 weel say here that Jock Cargill is doon sick an' 
 the family are in want. If my mither kenned 
 aboot us, I fear that she wad think us very lax 
 aboot oor people. ' ' 
 
 "I see noo, faither, why you talked o' your 
 mither. It was to wake me up to my duty. 
 Thank God that I do not have to contend wi' 
 the evils that she had, but the paths to the cot- 
 tages, so often trodden by her, maun grow mair 
 familiar to me. We have not thought how oor 
 own people live. I wull gang to-morrow to see 
 Jock Cargill at least."
 
 A TALK IN THE GLOAMING. 211 
 
 " That is richt, my bairn, gang. I feel that I 
 hae been a slothfu' man a' these years, that I hae- 
 na looked after my tenants. It is but lately that 
 I hae thought muckle aboot it, an' noo I am auld 
 an' feeble. Another thing, Marion, I am glad 
 that you thank God because you haena the trou- 
 ble that your grandmither had. You hae reason 
 to thank him, great reason, Marion. I dinna 
 doot but you hae the kindest an' the best hus- 
 band o' ony leddy that ever lived within these 
 castle walls."
 
 212 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 AMONG THE TENANTRY. 
 
 THE next morning Mrs. Ainslie, true to her 
 promise, went to see Jock Cargill's family. She 
 took little Kenneth with her. This she did to 
 give him pleasure and also for the sake of his 
 company, for he was a pleasant, talkative child, 
 and very sensible withal. 
 
 The air was soft and balmy and the hills were 
 clothed in the freshness and beauty of summer. 
 Exclamations of delight were on Kenneth's lips 
 as he watched the flight of the birds and lis- 
 tened to their songs or plucked the heatherbells 
 and the sweet-brier roses. He was in excellent 
 spirits when they reached the cottage, and Mrs. 
 Ainslie herself was so charmed by the beauty of 
 the morning that before she was aware of it she 
 stood upon the doorstone. Then it occurred to 
 her that her joy might be in striking contrast to 
 the trouble of the cottagers; that where sickness 
 and poverty were found gladness would be a 
 stranger. She knew not that the feeling of peace 
 and security was there. 
 
 Mrs. Ainslie' s gentle knock was answered
 
 AMONG 
 
 THE COTTAGERS. Page 212.
 
 AMONG THE TENANTRY. 313 
 
 by a pleasant "Come in." She lifted the wood- 
 en latch, and as she entered, a sprightly little 
 woman rose from her seat by the bedside and 
 dropped a low curtsey. Then she said with some 
 embarrassment, " 'Deed, my leddy, had I kenned 
 it was yoursel' I wadna hae received you sae. 
 I wadna hae kept my seat an' bade you come in 
 like common people. The neebors come an' gang, 
 an' I thought for sure it was some o' them." 
 
 "Never mind, my gude woman," said Mrs. 
 Aiuslie. " How is your husband this morning?" 
 
 "He is mendin' noo, I mak' nae doot ; but 
 he has suffered muckle considerin' the short time 
 he has been doon. ' ' 
 
 "I did not know till yestere'en that he was 
 ailing." 
 
 "Did you na? Mr. Ainslie kenned it, an' 
 on his way back frae the toon he left the gude 
 mon a right lot o' nourishin' things; neither is it 
 the first time he has been mindfu' o' oor comfort; 
 may he never want for a friend. I maun think 
 that the nourishin' things that he brought are 
 settin' Jock up again; besides, it gave him a com- 
 fortable feelin' that Mr. Ainslie leuked in on him. 
 A body aye picks up heart, you ken, when he 
 finds that he isna clean set aside an' forgotten." 
 
 Jock Cargill awoke and turned his eyes upon 
 Mrs. Ainslie. He spoke, saying, "Gude day,
 
 214 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 Mrs. Ainslie. I take it as a vera great kindness 
 that you come to see the likes o' us. An' there 
 is the wee inon, too, leukin' as blithe as possible. 
 Heard you the bit birds the morn? I trow you 
 heard them doon by the wood yonder. I aye liked 
 to wark doon by the wood, sae that I could hear 
 the wee sangsters. My ears are gleg to hear the 
 music o' the laverock to this day. Weel I canna 
 win there noo, but my auld heart is fu' o' music. 
 I wad fain mak' melody unto the Lord for a' his 
 gudeness to me. Surely he verifies ilka promise 
 to us. The last few days hae gi'en me proof o' 
 this. I did fret a bit when I took my bed, for the 
 siller was low. But I hae proven again that we 
 are afflicted for oor gude. Sae near an' gracious 
 has God been to me sin' I hae been sick that I 
 feel that his presence mair than mak's up for my 
 suffering an' loss. ' ' 
 
 "That was what he was sayin' to me the 
 morn, an' I take it that he kens what he speaks 
 o', he is that cheerfu'," said Mrs. Cargill. 
 
 "There is a blessing hidden underneath a' 
 our afflictions if we patiently leuk for it," said 
 Mrs. Ainslie. 
 
 "That is sae," returned the old man. "Hoo 
 is Sir William, your faither?" 
 
 " Faither does not seem to be in good health, 
 though he complains very little."
 
 AMONG THE TENANTRY. 215 
 
 "I thought the last time that I saw him at 
 the kirk that he was failin'. It is but naitral, 
 Mrs. Ainslie, that he should. When a mon 
 nears his threescore an' ten 'years he maun ex- 
 pect to feel the infirmities o' age. I am half a 
 score o' years younger than Sir William, an' 
 though I am still gude for a day's wark, I ken 
 weel that I wunna be sae lang. Your faither 
 wull gang weel; alloo me to rejoice a bit \vi' you 
 that this is sae. It was ane o' my happiest days 
 when I saw Sir William partake o' the sacred 
 bread an' wine." 
 
 Jock said no more just then, but his wife spoke, 
 saying, ' ' Ay, indeed it was a happy day to the 
 gudemon, and weel it might be, sin' the maister's 
 conversion seemed but the answer to his mony 
 prayers." 
 
 Mrs. Ainslie was much affected on hearing 
 this. She thought, " Here in one o' my faither' s 
 cottages is a man who has been praying for him; 
 while we have given him scanty wages for his 
 services, he has been laboring for the salvation of 
 my faither's soul." She spoke with feeling. "I 
 am very greatly obliged to you for your kind re- 
 membrance of my faither's greatest need. God 
 grant that your ain life may be mair blessed 
 through your faithfulness for others. ' ' 
 
 "Ay, it was faithfulness that I aimed at. I
 
 2i6 LADsf MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 had the gude o' my maister at heart, an' though 
 I had no siller nor ony influence to help him in 
 his straits. I said to mysel', Sir William has an- 
 ither need, an' his help maun come frae Ane to 
 whom J can speak. He is nae respecter o' per- 
 sons, an' he wull hear puir Jock Cargill's prayer 
 as soon as that o' the king on the throne. Sae 
 I just betook mysel' to prayer, as the gudewife 
 has said. But I needna be speakin' aboot it; it 
 was but my bounden duty. I owed as muckle 
 to his mither, for it was Leddy Grissel Camp- 
 bell wha set me thinkin' o' my soul's wel- 
 fare." 
 
 "Then you knew her?" 
 
 " Should I na ken ane wha gave me mony a 
 gude bit of advice, and has putten mony a gar- 
 ment to my back forbye? It is true, I was but 
 young, but impressions are made upon the minds 
 o' wee bairns sooner than we think; for that 
 reason we should mind what we say afore them. 
 Your wee lad wull nae doot remember his first 
 visit to auld Jock Cargill's, an' sin' this is likely, 
 I wad fain say something to profit him; but 
 what can I say except to repeat the wards o' 
 Holy Writ, 'They that seek me early shall find 
 me.' " 
 
 Mrs. Ainslie slipped a sovereign into the hand 
 of Mrs. Cargill, and with the blessings of the pious
 
 AMONG THE TENANTRY. 217 
 
 couple upon her head she left them. She took 
 her way down to the other cottage where lived 
 James Moray and his wife. There was no sick- 
 ness in that cottage. The door stood open, and 
 as the shadow of the visitors fell athwart the 
 threshold Mrs. Moray left her spinning and came 
 forward to welcome her guests. Mrs. Ainslie 
 was surprised to find that she possessed a refine- 
 ment not common to cotters' wives. After spend- 
 ing a half-hour with her, during which time she 
 learned many of the hopes and plans of the young 
 couple, she went back to the castle. She felt 
 that she had long robbed herself of one source of 
 pleasure by not visiting the poor in her neighbor- 
 hood. 
 
 As for the families she had visited, they felt 
 like joining in the opinion of Aleck Fisher and his 
 lads, who thought Mrs. Ainslie was the nicest and 
 the best lady in the world. 
 
 When Mrs. Ainslie had an opportunity to talk 
 over the matter with her husband she asked him 
 why he had not told her of Jock Cargill's illness 
 and his visits to him. He replied, " I did not tell 
 you that he was ill, for I thought that your sym- 
 pathies were sufficiently called out towards the 
 Fisher laddies. I did not tell you of my attempts 
 to help them, because we are told that we maun- 
 na let our left hand know what our right hand
 
 2i8 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 doeth, although I maun say I do not count you 
 my left hand, Marion." 
 
 Then followed a long talk, in which Sir Wil- 
 liam joined, and it resulted in a more settled con- 
 viction that "it is more blessed to give than to 
 receive," and in a plan for a systematic care for 
 the benefit of the poorer folk around them.
 
 ELSPETH'S SURPRISE. 219 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 ELSPETH'S SURPRISE. 
 
 "WHAT have we here?" said Mr. Ainslie as 
 he untied a package that had been left by the car- 
 rier. "Books, are they? Ay, they are, and 
 written by Roger. The title is ' Well-Remem- 
 bered Tales.' " 
 
 There were several copies of the book, and the 
 different members of the family were soon busied 
 in looking at them. Sir William put on his spec- 
 tacles, and glancing over one of the volumes came 
 upon the name Jamie Geddes. "Jamie Geddes," 
 he repeated ; ' ' Elspeth, is he na in ane o' your 
 stories?" 
 
 " Ay; it is queer that Roger took that name." 
 
 "He has taken the whole story," said Mrs. 
 Ainslie. 
 
 Elspeth opened her eyes wide at this. In a 
 few minutes Mrs. Ainslie spoke again. ' ' Elspeth, 
 Roger has put all your stories in the book." 
 
 Elspeth seized the book and looked at it a few 
 minutes, then she exclaimed, "As sure as daith, 
 I believe he has putten doon every story that he 
 an' Marjorie ever coaxed frae me!" She count-
 
 220 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 ed the chapters and went on, "I didna think that 
 I had tauld sae mony. Weel, I am surprised; 
 wha wad hae thought it! I didna think that he 
 counted it warth his while to give ony heed to 
 them." 
 
 On the fly-leaf of one book was written, " To 
 Mistress Elspeth Lundie, to whom I am indebted 
 for the subject matter of this volume." 
 
 A few days later Elspeth was reading in her 
 much-cherished treasure. She sighed heavily 
 and said to Mrs. Ainslie, u Here is ane story that 
 I hae never tauld him, an' hoo he came to it I 
 canna make oot" 
 
 "What is it aboot, Elspeth?" asked Mrs. 
 Ainslie. 
 
 "It is my ain sad story, an' it is sadder here 
 than I could hae tauld it, though Roger's wards 
 dinna come up to the fu' measure o' sufferin' it 
 gave me. Ay, ay, it is the same. I ken it, though 
 he has given Robin an' mysel' different names. 
 Oh, I ken hoo he came to it! I tauld Marjorie, 
 an' she maun hae tauld her brither." 
 
 Marjorie was anxious to talk over the new book 
 with the family at the castle, and she came over 
 with Graham and Roger, their little son, to spend 
 the evening. This visit was such as is often en- 
 joyed among intimate friends. Incidents of the 
 past were rehearsed, the present was discussed,
 
 ELSPETH'S SURPRISE. 221 
 
 and the future looked into with cheerfulness. Of 
 course the young author's name was often upon 
 their lips. Marjorie and the others were much 
 amused when Mr. Ainslie recalled many things 
 concerning Roger's childhood. Sir William spoke 
 of his faithfulness during the years that he had 
 lived at the castle, and he added, "Albeit, faith- 
 fu' as he was with his wark, I came to the con- 
 clusion that he shouldna be kept at the plough's 
 tail." 
 
 Elspeth had her own words of praise, and they 
 were these: " An' I too kenned that faithfu' as he 
 was, his heart was wi' his buiks. Evenings be- 
 fore the candles were brought 'in, when he could 
 nae longer get light enough at the western win- 
 dow, he wad close his e'en an' his lips wad move. 
 I kenned that he was goin' o'er something that he 
 wished to keep in his mind. I hae often said to 
 mysel', There isna anither callan like him in a' 
 these parts." 
 
 "What do you think, Marjorie," asked Sir 
 William; " wull Roger continue his profession, 
 or wull he drop it an' gi'e his time to author- 
 ship?" 
 
 "I dinna ken, but I think he wull keep to his 
 profession for a while at least. Edith likes weel 
 to hae him write, an' perhaps he does it to please 
 her. How nicely he has tauld Elspeth's stories."
 
 222 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 "Ay, has he. Muckle better than I tauld 
 them to him," assented Elspeth. 
 
 "What has become o' Archie Grant, your 
 auld sweetheart, Marjorie?" asked Sir William. 
 
 " He is at hame still, but he doesna amount to 
 muckle. He is a chiel o' the most consequence 
 in his ain e'en, an' o' the least consequence in the 
 e'en o' others, o' all folk I hae met with." 
 
 "Hoot, Marjorie," laughed Sir William; 
 "dinna be sae hard on auld friends." 
 
 " Weel, he wull never be warth the room that 
 he takes up in the warld an' he doesna do better 
 than he has sae far. Of course there is nae tellin' 
 when he may take a turn for the better. I never 
 knew two persons more unlike than Edith an' 
 Archie Grant." 
 
 "Edith is a bonnie, winsome woman," said 
 Graham. 
 
 "She is that," replied Mr. Ainslie, "but she 
 is nae bonnier nor more winsome than oor ain 
 wives, Graham." 
 
 "No, indeed," said Graham. 
 
 Mrs. Ainslie smiled, and Marjorie said, "Noo, 
 Uncle Roger, you maunna feel that you hae to 
 class me with Aunt Marion an' Edith. In mony 
 ways I dinna feel their equal." 
 
 "An' whyfore no? We a' ken your warth 
 too weel to allow you to speak sae o' yourseP.
 
 ELSPETH'S SURPRISE. 223 
 
 There isna ane here wha isna better because he 
 has kenned you, ' ' said Sir William heartily. 
 
 "That is sae," came from one and another, 
 and Marjorie's eyes grew dim because of this un- 
 expected tribute to her modest worth. Her hus- 
 band was the last to speak, and he said, " Marjo- 
 rie's faithfulness to her God led me to think of 
 the claims he has upon me, and now her consist- 
 ent example is such a help to me that I bless God 
 for giving me her companionship." 
 
 After this none but serious words were spoken. 
 Bach talked freely of the undeserved blessings 
 that God had given, and when they parted it was 
 with the feeling that they were not sufficiently 
 thankful for the friendship of God, and that even 
 earthly friendships are not fully appreciated.
 
 224 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE DEATH OF SIR WILLIAM. 
 
 IT was later in the season, though summer- 
 time still. The sun's beams still fell upon the 
 lap of earth, but Sir William no longer watched 
 the full play of its morning radiance or the side- 
 long rays it flung when setting. He was very ill, 
 and no one doubted that it was his last illness. 
 
 Mrs. Ainslie was almost constantly at the bed- 
 side of her father. Elspeth came often to proffer 
 her assistance, and was as often called away to 
 answer the anxious inquiries of friends. Old Jock 
 Cargill stopped three times a day to inquire of the 
 Fisher laddies, if no one else was in sight, " Hoo 
 is the maister noo?" And often he went in to see 
 the sick man. 
 
 Nelly Hughs felt a great sympathy with the 
 "sweet leddy," and she told Elspeth, "I ken a* 
 aboot a separation that parts near friends. My, 
 but there are mony trials in this warld o' ours," 
 she added, sighing wearily. After a moment she 
 continued, "I maunna forget that the Lord aye 
 gives us grace to bear whatever he puts upon 
 us."
 
 returned Ekpeth ' that ' s for 
 
 s "re, 
 
 William's illness! Nore a t] M ray d "rin g Sir 
 confined to Elspeth Mr? A , C nversatio ^ 
 soled by Molly's wel, T Amshe oft ^ felt con- 
 -unsel 
 
 soled by Molly's wel, se o ^ felt con 
 
 -unself *Sy cSlt *"* f Chrfsti - 
 P-ience, nurt/red f ^ "*"- *- 
 'o sum up her t , / amict 'n. She was wont 
 
 nation, <<God I 3 v 7'* ^ Words of sig- 
 oor ' 5 
 
 tentp 2*^^^ SS^ 
 
 "^^es^thM^T 11 "^ *;S? 
 
 mair. I hae seen vera , Vf T? "* " P ny 
 a sick folk for whom I had 
 
 ^e sae crabbed-like that nae- 
 15
 
 226 LADY MARION'S ANSWER. 
 
 body could please them. But a' that ane does for 
 the maister is gude, an' it is 'Thank you,' an' 
 'Dinna trouble yoursel'.' It amaist makes me 
 greet that he should think onything we do for 
 him a trouble. For these inony years he has been 
 the best o' maisters. ' ' 
 
 Marjorie Walker felt very sad, for she knew 
 she was losing a good friend. She spent much of 
 her time at the castle, trying to assist and com- 
 fort the afflicted family. 
 
 Even little Kenneth felt the hush upon his 
 spirit, and little Annie looked up wonderingly in- 
 to the saddened face of her mother. The Fisher 
 lads thought not of noisy sports; they ate their 
 " parr itch " in silence, and dutifully waited about 
 the doors in the hope of being useful. 
 
 Thus within and without the strong gray walls 
 of the castle fell a quiet like the hush of the Sab- 
 bath. At last the end came, in the gray light of 
 a September morning. Mr. and Mrs. Ainslie 
 were sitting in the sick-room: she was tenderly 
 holding the hand of the dying man. Already the 
 film of death obscured his sight, but his voice was 
 clear, though low, as he said, "Marion, I canna 
 see you. It maun be time to say farewell. Where 
 is Ainslie? Tell him I am goin' noo, an' bid him 
 come here." 
 
 " I am here, faither."
 
 THE DEATH OF SIR WILLIAM. 227 
 
 "That is weel. I hae something to say to 
 you both. I wish that it might be as effectual as 
 the blessing o' the ancient patriarchs. But I 
 maun hasten, for death hastens. God bless you 
 an' yours after you even to mony generations. I 
 believe that this auld castle is noo a godly hoose; 
 never before hae the heads o' it been united in 
 servin' God. You may hope for great things. 
 God grant it to you oot o' his ain fulness. Fare 
 ye weel!" 
 
 In a few moments they noticed an unmistak- 
 able change. Mrs. Ainslie, still holding the hand 
 that was fast becoming cold, slipped upon her 
 knees and with bowed head silently committed 
 the departing soul to God. Nor did she arise till 
 her husband said, " Marion dear, he is awa'."
 
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