GRAHAM HALL.
It was a morning fraught with deep and painful memories, for as
Roland related the story of his mother's trials, and his own
struggles with poverty and suffering, Malcolm's manly heart was
stirred within him; and when he read the manuscript which Mrs. Bruce
had left, floods of memory overpowered him for one moment, for it
took him back so painfully to the days of his youth.
"But she is at rest noo, Roland; there ne'er was a purer, holier
heart in the form o' woman, than that which beat in the bosom o' Mary
Gordon. I should hae made her happy, Roland, but God willed it
otherwise, an' I am content; but how is it that she could hae
suffered so much, with sic friends in Scotland? Did she na write
home?"
"She did, frequently, Uncle Malcolm; for the first year we received
answers; then we were surrounded by mystery; we could not imagine how
it was, but at last, my mother thought that death must have removed
her relatives, and she ceased to write."
Malcolm opened a small drawer that was kept carefully locked, and
lifting an old pocket-book, took out a lock of golden hair, and a
piece of faded blue ribbon.
"That is to be buried with me in my grave, Roland; it is a' that is
left to me, on earth, o' Mary Gordon; but I believe that we shall
meet in Heaven; for, Roland, we were made for each other, and shall
hold communion yet; here is a perfect likeness o' your mother, when
she was sweet Mary Gordon;" and Roland gazed upon the picture with
feelings of loving reverence.
It was a bright young face, with deep blue eyes, and a profusion of
light curly hair; innocence marked its general expression, but in the
eyes there was a look of high and holy inspiration, such as she never
lost.
"If ye should outlive me, Roland, that is yours; your name shall be
placed upon the back; would that I could hae kenned my boy in the
days o' his adversity; and now I hae ane request to make, and it is
this; ca' me always Uncle Malcolm; would that I were mair to ye."
"That will be very easy, dear Uncle Malcolm; for I feel as if I had
indeed found not only a friend, but a relative; but it is better that
I had not known you before; the very discipline of my life has called
out qualities which prosperity could never have fostered."
"That talisman, Roland, has been your a', it has been the making o'
Mary Gordon's son. 'Looking aloft!' O, what blessedness in those
holy, strengthening words! It shall be placed upon her miniature,
Roland."
When Roland related the early struggles of his life in New York, the
trials at college, the weariness of hope deferred, his "News-Boys'
Home," Malcolm sat with head bowed upon his hands, and when he had
finished his recital, he clasped Roland in his arms, and said,--
"Ye are indeed the chiel o' Providence; be my son, Roland, for I love
ye as my ain."
But little was said concerning his early friend, Madeline, but even
the few passing words spoke volumes to Malcolm Graham.
Bowing down together before the mercy-seat, Malcolm poured out his
soul in earnest prayer for the youth kneeling by his side, and Roland
took up the language of supplication and praise, and from a full
heart poured out his gratitude. Arm in arm they left the study, and
the servants wondered what the master had found in the lost traveller
of the night before.
"I have some inquiries to make about Aunt Douglass, for I am strongly
inclined to believe that my father still lives; I think perhaps that
she may know something of him."
A painful expression passed over Malcolm's face, as he replied,--
"I can direct ye, Roland, but dinna gae yet; stay wi' me a few days;
I want to tell ye aboot a' my plans, and as soon as the travelling
will allow us, I hae mickle to show ye o' Highland life."
The next day brought Roland acquainted with Uncle Malcolm's daily
habits. A part of each morning was devoted to Annot's studies, a
part to superintending general business, keeping accounts, and a
portion to regular systematic reading.
Sometimes Uncle Malcolm indulged in sporting, a part of the
amusements of Scotch gentlemen.
Friday evening came, and after supper, the master said,
"Dugald, bring in the books an' get ready for the meeting," and the
old servant soon returned with additional seats, and a large number
of hymn books.
"We hae a meeting o' my tenants every Friday, Roland; we are vera far
frae ony kirk, an' I hae to be minister to them, for they can only
attend the quarterly communions."
Soon the people began to assemble; rough Highlanders, with their
wives and elder children came flocking in.
Malcolm sat at the head of a long table, and as each one saluted him,
it was manifest with what feelings of affectionate reverence good
Uncle Malcolm was regarded by his humble people. A chapter from the
Bible with some familiar remarks just to the point for his hearers,
several beautiful Scotch psalms, in which all joined earnestly, and
then a prayer from Malcolm, and another from Roland, closed the
evening.
Several remained behind to ask advice; some about their business,
their families, their spiritual needs, their cares and sorrows, their
disputes and difficulties; and the kind words dropped by the good
steward of his Master's goods, testified to the fidelity with which
he discharged his holy trust.
Daily did Malcolm and Roland ride around among his humble dependents,
and a book for one, a tract for another, some pecuniary help for
others, marked all these visits.
"You see, Roland, that I am pretty busy for an old bachelor; I could
na' live without employment. Then we hae some pleasant society here,
although we live so far apart. When the gentry visit us, it is to
stay several days, sometimes weeks at a time, for the latch o' Graham
Hall is always up."
On Sabbath afternoon, a company of little ones flocked to the Hall,
and Malcolm, Mrs. Lindsay, and Annot were the teachers on these
occasions. It was quite a pleasant treat to Roland to aid in the
good work.
In the evenings, Annot entertained them with her sweet Scotch songs,
and Roland frequently accompanied her with his deep, rich voice, and
Uncle Malcolm with his flute.
Malcolm often wondered what he should do when Roland would leave him,
for every day he learned to love him, not only for Mary Gordon's, but
for his own sake.
"We shall hae to ask for your room to-night, Roland," said Mrs.
Lindsay, "for the minister is coming, and he always occupies that
room."
"It makes no difference to me, dear Madam; put me anywhere that suits
you."
The Rev. Mr. Murray was a fine specimen of a Scotch minister, grave,
earnest, faithful; he was always welcome among his humble mountain
parishioners, and came quarterly to look after their welfare.
"Are there ony ready for the Lord's supper, Mr. Graham?" inquired the
minister.
"I think there are four; they will be here next Sabbath, when ye can
examine them."
There was a large gathering at Graham Hall on that holy day, for
notice had been given that the minister was coming.
He preached an earnest, faithful sermon, somewhat longer than Roland
had been accustomed to, for an hour and a half were given up to that
exercise; long prayers, and long psalms made the occasion tedious to
one not accustomed to such services, but the people did net complain,
although it brought their dinner two hours later than on other days.
In the afternoon, the minister examined several candidates for the
Lord's Supper, which was to be administered on the following Sabbath,
and paid a just tribute to the fidelity with which they had been
instructed by the minister's earnest helper. Mr. Murray stayed all
night, and gave some wise spiritual advice to Roland before he took
his departure.
"He seems to be a chiel o' God," said Mr. Murray, "and can come to
the sacrament, if he wishes, next Sabbath; it must be pleasant to hae
sic a guest."
"He is a descendant o' the Gordons, Mr. Murray, and a chiel o'
earnest prayer."
"They were aye a godly race, Mr. Graham, an' mony an ancient martyr
bears their name."
On the following Sabbath, Malcolm, Roland, Mrs. Lindsay, and Annot
started at early down in one carriage, and all the servants in a
large, comfortable wagon; the house was closed for the day, for in
Scotland these sacrament days occupy the whole Sabbath.
Arrived at the place of concourse, large numbers were seen coming in
all directions; carriages, wagons, people on horseback and on foot,
hurried to the service, for as it occurred so seldom, it was a great
occasion to devout Scotch people.
Owing to the numbers, the services were out of doors; a table was
spread under large shady trees, and temporary seats provided for the
occasion.
A long sermon was preached, but full of power; long prayers, but full
of unction; deep, sonorous, stirring psalms were sung by the great
multitude, and Roland thought of the songs of the redeemed in the
Revelations, where the hallelujahs were compared to the voice of many
waters. The effect was sublime under these old trees; young men and
old, mothers, maidens, and little children all joining in the solemn
chorus, with the heavens for their canopy, and the green sward for
their carpeted aisles.
"'Neath cloistered boughs each floral bell that swingeth,
And tolls its perfume on the passing air,
Makes Sabbath in the fields, and ever ringeth,
A call to prayer!
"Not to the domes where crumbling arch and column,
Attest the feebleness of mortal hand;
But to that fane, most catholic and solemn,
Which God hath planned!
"To that cathedral, boundless as our wonder,
Whose quenchless lamps the sun and moon supply,
Its choir, the winds and waves, its organ thunder,
Its dome, the sky!"
But here was the voice of God's ambassador, and the presence of the
Holy Ghost, and Roland listened and worshipped with solemn awe in
nature's grand cathedral.
In the intervals between the services, the people assembled in
serious groups under the trees to eat their meals, for all who lived
at a distance had come with the intention to spend the Sabbath.
No lightness was manifest among the crowds, for Scotch people are
proverbial for their reverence for the Sabbath. The minister mingled
occasionally with his people; but none, not even the little children,
seemed to forget that it was the holy Sabbath. At the close of the
solemn day, Malcolm and his family returned to their mountain home,
doubtless benefitted by the exercises of this holy service.
"We have had a pleasant day, Uncle Malcolm," said Roland, "but would
it not be better if the services were not quite so long? I observed
many old people nodding in the afternoon."
"It would be doubtless better, but the customs of the old Scotch
church are very hard to remodel. The good Dr. Chalmers has done much
in the way of reform, but it has not reached us yet."
"What a noble witness for the truth is that good man! There is but
one such man in our age, Uncle Malcolm; at least but one given to an
especial branch of the Christian church."
"Yes, Roland, the Church of England has her Bickersteth; the Baptist,
her Robert Hall; the Methodist, her Wesley; and a' seeking one great
end, the glory of the Saviour, and the spread of his kingdom. What a
blessed day that will be, when these sects shall pass away, and we
shall be truly one in Christ, once more the simple primitive
Christians of Antioch!"
And thus they fulfilled the blessed command of their Master, talking
of the things of his kingdom, until like the disciples on their way
to Emmaus their hearts burned within them with emotions of holy love.
Where the fountain is full, the streams will gush forth naturally,
freely, healthfully.
"It is a fine day, Uncle Malcolm," said Roland, on the following
Monday; "can we go to-day to visit the glen where my martyred
ancestors lie?"
"I was thinking o' it mysel', Roland; the weather could na' be
better, hard roads, and clear sharp air--it is a long ride frae'
here, and we will set out early--hae the carriage ready, Dugald, and
a basket o' provision; we will gae in aboot an hour."
It was a splendid ride over these mountain roads, winding around in
their ascent to heights whence there were vistas charming in their
grandeur even at this season; then descending into rural glens where
the cottages of the peasantry ever and anon met their view. "There
is Castle Kennicott, Roland;" and Malcolm pointed to a miserable
range of buildings, so dilapidated that his companion smiled at the
name.
"There lives old Sir Peter Kennicott; he is a specimen o' an auld
Scottish laird, vera poor, and vera proud; his wife, Lady Catherine,
and three daughters, make up his household; they visit us two or
three times a year, and living as they do in the seclusion o' their
Highland home, ken but little o' the ways o' the rest o' the warld;
they are vera amusing wi' their quaint auld-fashioned manners; but
Lady Catherine is a guid woman, and much esteemed."
Beguiling the way with pleasant chat, in a few hours they reached the
spot they sought for. Dismounting, they stood around the lowly
grave--the same ruined chimney, the same grand old trees, the same
dark and sombre glen, where no human habitation was visible, recalled
the picture so deeply engraved upon the memory of Roland.
"We stood just here, Uncle Malcolm," (and Roland almost whispered,
for he felt in the midst of solemn associations,) "when my mother
told me the story of old David Gordon and the sweet Lilian, and I
think from that day my childish soul took a great leap in its
existence, and I never could forget the thoughts which stirred within
me, as I remembered that my ancestors were among the holy band of
Christian martyrs."
"It is a great honor, Roland, to be descended frae those who will
hereafter be kings and priests unto God."
"What a cruel being man must be that can slay such innocence as
slumbers here!"
"And yet it is frae oot sic dreadful scenes o' bluidshed that great
principles to bless our race arise; the struggles between right and
wrong are often ushered in by the gibbet, the stake, or the
battle-axe."
"O, what a happy time that will be, Uncle Malcolm, when the nations
shall learn war no more! when man shall love his brother man."
"It is coming, Roland; sure as God's word is true, sic a day will
dawn upon the earth."
Hours were spent around the humble grave, for both felt the
inspiration of the scene.
"I hae something mair to show ye, Roland; here is ane o' the caves
where our fathers used to hide in those dismal days; and mony a time
in the midst o' baptismal or sacrament seasons in these lonely glens,
at the sound o' the tramp o' Claverhouse and his troopers, would they
hae to fly to these damp and gloomy shelters."
"How solemn must have been the worship of these days, Uncle Malcolm;
ever on the borders of eternity, they must always have sounded like
funereal hymns in these solitudes!"
"And yet how much we hae read o' their heroic spirit, their brave
endurance, and their triumph over death! I can imagine strains o'
victory always mingling wi' a martyr's hymn."
When they arrived at home, letters from Edmund awaited Roland; he
seemed to be growing tired of travelling alone. Uncle Malcolm, with
his accustomed hospitality, immediately wrote a few lines of cordial
invitation to Graham Hall.
"Wha' hae we here?" asked Mrs. Lindsay.
Roland looked out, and, lumbering up the road, came a large
old-fashioned carriage, with two fat, lazy horses.
"It is Sir Peter," continued the lady; and soon the party stopped at
the door.
"How fares it wi' ye a'?" said the old man, as he stepped slowly from
the carriage, and warmly shook the master's hand.
Lady Catherine followed, and then the three daughters, with their
pets--Miss Juliana, with her cat; Miss Winnie, with a fat lap-dog;
and Miss Jacky, with a large parrot, brought to her from abroad by a
sailor cousin. Sundry bandboxes, and a trunk, indicated that they
meant to stay for some days at least. The three ladies had all
passed the hey-day of youth, for the youngest was thirty at least.
Miss Juliana, the eldest, having passed two seasons at Edinburgh, was
the only one who pretended to the manners of a lady; she still
preserved carefully the wardrobe of those youthful days for extra
occasions, such as a visit to Graham Hall. On this day, a worn-out
travelling dress, made in the fashion of twenty years ago, looked
rather antiquated; but the narrow purse of Kennicott Castle made a
virtue of necessity.
Sir Peter, clad in the costume of ancient times, with his bob-wig and
powdered hair, his small clothes, and silver knee and shoe-buckles,
his three-cornered hat, and silver-headed cane, with a coat whose
pockets were large enough to hold a change of clothing, presented a
most grotesque appearance, and really might have been mistaken for a
person rigged out for a dramatic scene. Lady Catherine was equally
antique. After the ceremony of introduction, they were escorted to
their rooms; and nothing more was seen of them until dinner-time,
when their appearance at the table indicated the employment of the
morning.
Miss Juliana was arrayed in a youthful dress of light blue silk; and,
as the eldest, wore the old family jewels, which certainly were not
of the most costly kind. Her hair was dressed in the most youthful
style; but artificial rose-buds could not conceal the gray locks, or
hide the shrivelled cheeks. She carried a fan, with which she
performed certain singular manœuvres, which she considered the
very tip of the haut-ton.
Miss Juliana was the oracle of the family; for had she not been in
Edinburgh for two seasons? and ought she not to know the fashions of
high life?
Miss Winnie was fat and coarse, with high cheek bones, large hands
and feet, freckled skin, and red hair; she certainly did not pretend
to be the beauty of the family.
Miss Jacky, the "Baby," as they still called her, was considered the
"beauty."
A small figure, with a profusion of light flaxy hair, tortured into
curling, light complexion, with high color, unmeaning china-blue
eyes, and pursed-up little mouth, distinguished her from her sisters.
They were all bent upon Baby's making a great match; therefore, all
the finery of the past generation, that remained in the old family
chest, was kept especially for her. A heavy crimson brocade for
winter, that stood alone, was made up with low neck and short
sleeves; and in summer, one light pink taffeta was likewise
remodelled. One wreath of roses for her hair, one string of pearls
for the neck, with ear-rings to match, one pair of soiled kid gloves
for the hands, and one pair of narrow pointed slippers, made up
Baby's wardrobe, and this she had worn on her visits to Graham Hall,
and Douglass Manor, ever since she was eighteen; and now, alas! Baby
was thirty.
She had sung the same songs, danced the same Scotch reels, said the
same pretty silly things; charming only to her family, and yet Baby
was not married.
Sir Peter had long thought that a seat at the head of the table at
Graham Hall, would be the very thing for Baby, but unfortunately, the
master did not concur in sentiment.
"Annot, my dear, come sit by me," said the sweet young lady, for she
knew that Malcolm dearly loved his little niece. Baby was devoted in
her attentions to the child, but it all seemed lost upon Malcolm, who
was busily engaged in talking to Sir Peter about the cattle and the
sheep during the late snow storm. "I lost ten o' my best sheep, Mr.
Graham," remarked the old man.
"I did na lose ane, Sir Peter," was the answer, and Malcolm dropped
many hints which might have been useful, if the old man had not been
too indolent to profit by them.
The politeness of the household was much taxed by their efforts to
entertain their guests; for there were just four subjects of
conversation for the four ladies.
Lady Catherine discussed household economy; Miss Juliana, her visit
to Edinburgh, twenty years ago, an unfailing subject; Miss Winnie,
her pet lap-dog, with all his wonderful tricks; and Baby, "The
Children of the Abbey," and the "Sorrows of Werter."
It was in vain that Mrs. Lindsay tried to divert the channel of
conversation to better things; back to the old worn-out sayings and
doings of their little world they would come.
All the ladies employed themselves in knitting while they talked.
Lady Catherine knit stockings for the winter; Miss Juliana mitts
innumerable; Miss Winnie, tippets of all sizes; and Baby tidies and
mats for parlor and chamber.
Knit! knit! knit! talk! talk! talk! Truly a visit from Kennicott
Castle was a trial to Christian patience! And then, the darling
pets! Miss Juliana's pet cat fought with the master's noble dog;
Miss Winnie's lap-dog tried to tear out the eyes of Annot's little
kitten; and Baby's parrot screamed night and day, "Polly wants Baby!
Polly wants Baby!" Then Miss Juliana's cat must have sweet milk
three times a day, and the most delicate pieces of meat cut up very
fine; Miss Winnie's lap-dog must be fed upon cream; and Baby's parrot
could open her cage-door, and help herself to whatever she liked upon
the table. This was great fun to Baby, but disgusting to others, who
could not bear a dirty parrot walking over the dinner-plates. Miss
Juliana played two old marches, Miss Winnie two old pieces, and Baby
three songs exactly.
They all attended punctually upon the family devotions, and then
Malcolm could pray that all who knelt around that altar should set
their affections upon things above, and not on the vain and fleeting
things of earth; their frivolity pained him, and the good master
tried many ways to do them good.
He talked to the ladies about schools for the poor children, and
about comforts for their parents.
"Dear me!" said Miss Juliana, "Mr. Graham you would na' expect us to
stoop to these wild Highlanders; why! they are na' mair than savages!"
"And sae they will continue, my dear Madam," ("Madam!" Miss Juliana
did not like that,) "if you will na' step forward to their help; and
in sic a lonesome place, I should think it would be pleasant wark."
"Why, Mr. Graham, it would take twa hunters ilka morn to catch the
wild things; on the tops o' the highest hills, down in the deepest
glens, hidden amang the steep rocks, we might as well try to tame the
wild animals as these rough, outlandish children o' the crags."
"Try, Miss Juliana, gi' them something for the body, and, after
awhile, they will come to ye for something for the mind."
Miss Juliana yawned, "It is sae mickle work, Mr. Graham, for a
high-born lady; I could na' think of sic a thing."
For two weeks the visitors remained; but no visible progress was made
by Baby, and the party turned their faces homeward.
"Ye will return our visit soon, Mr. Graham; bring yer young friend
wi' ye; we canna promise mickle at Kennicott, but we will mak' ye
welcome."
"Thank ye, Sir Peter, when we hae leisure, we will accept your kind
invitation."
The old carriage was brought up, Sir Peter and Lady Catherine
comfortably seated, followed by Miss Juliana and her cat, Tabby; Miss
Winnie and her dog, Charley; and Baby with her talking Poll,
screaming, as she went, "Poll wants Baby;" with sundry band-boxes and
trunks, filled with the old finery, to be packed away for future
occasions; while the ladies would now assume their tartan plaid and
woollen hose, until making another visitation.
Mrs. Lindsay gave one long, expressive breath; good Uncle Malcolm
smiled with a look of relief, and little Annot clapped her hands as
she hugged up her pet kitten, and said, "Now, tittens! that horrid
dog is gone, and ye shall hae some peace o' your life."
In a few days, Edmund arrived, and received a hearty welcome from the
master of Graham Hall. Soon domesticated, he revelled in the
comforts of the hospitable mansion; and day after day, seated by the
blazing fire of the family-room, he would rub his hands with delight,
exclaiming,
"This is living, Roland! How shall I ever content myself in that
Babel of a city after these grand mountains, these noble trees, this
free life out-of-doors, and this glowing, warm-hearted hospitality
within!"
"It is a charming home, indeed!" was Roland's reply, "the very
perfection of that sweet word; though so cold without, one feels all
the time here in the midst of a warm glow of Christian love, and
hearty welcome."'
"What a charming piece of simplicity is that dear little Annot,
Roland! So fresh! so naive! After the glitter of New York belles,
she is really captivating; and then her music--why, she warbles
sweetly as a mavis."
Roland smiled as he replied, "Where is Miss Hamilton, Edmund?"
"O, she is out of my reach! a bright divinity that I may worship in
the distance! But this little Scotch mountain girl! innocent child
that she is, charms me daily more and more, with her winning ways,
and her sweet, loving eyes."
"Take care, Edmund, how you allow yourself to become enchanted; for
you may never see Scotland again."
"That is not so certain, my dear sir, for I have had a taste of
Highland life that I shall never forget; and this sweet face I must
see again."
Roland found that he must seek out his aunt; therefore, in a day or
two, Uncle Malcolm and he sat out for Douglass Manor, leaving Edmund
behind to seek his own pleasures. It was a long two-storied stone
mansion, that had long been in the family, and therefore dignified by
the name of "The Manor."
Mr. Graham inquired for the mistress; asked into the parlor, they
awaited her arrival.
In a few minutes, a tall lady, with pleasing aspect, and dignified
address, entered the parlor.
"Ye are welcome, Mr. Graham; it is a long time syne I hae had this
honor."
"I cam' to introduce a family connexion, Mrs. Douglass."
The lady looked earnestly at Roland, a change passed over her
countenance, as she advanced towards the young man, and taking his
hand, she said,--
"I dinna ken what to think, but surely ye are vera like my brother
Stephen, lost so lang ago."
Malcolm had left the room.
"I am Roland Bruce, your brother's son, Aunt Douglass; you are the
first relative that I have met in Scotland."
She grasped his hand, and drawing him to her, kissed him
affectionately.
"My dear nephew! This is joyful indeed! Nane o' my kindred hae I
left on earth, but yoursel'!"
Roland then related his story to his aunt; she was deeply moved; as
soon as he mentioned the name of Elsie Gibson, she exclaimed,
"Is it possible that Elsie is in America? We missed her years ago,
but nane could tell whate'er became o' her."
"What relation does she bear to us?" inquired Roland.
"Roland, she luved your father dearly, an' had he married her, he wud
hae been a happier mon; but he was aye like one crazed on the subject
o' Mary Gordon."
"My mother made him a good wife, Aunt Douglass; she was most faithful
and devoted."
"Yes, Roland, I ken a' that to be true; but her heart was na wi' her
husband."
"It was with no one else, Aunt Douglass; I wish that you could have
known my dear mother."
At the end of their interview, Mrs. Douglass was convinced that her
brother was yet alive.
"I will gae wi' ye, Roland, when ye return to America; I maun find my
brother, for our property is yet unsettled, although my father has
been dead these four years; ye maun stay wi' me, Roland, it is sic a
pleasure to see a branch o' my ain hoose," and Aunt Douglass
affectionately laid her hand upon the young man's shoulder.
"Looking aloft!" thought Roland, "how many of my prayers and hopes
have been fulfilled! I will never distrust a gracious God, so true
to all his promises."
Malcolm left Roland with the promise to come once more to Graham Hall
ere he left the country.
Mrs. Douglass busied herself in preparing all the documents necessary
ere she left Scotland, and after having shown her nephew all that was
interesting around the Manor, she started, with her nephew for
Malcolm's home.
"Would it not be better, Uncle Malcolm, to settle my mother's estate
before I leave Scotland? I should like to dispose of it, for my
future home will be in America."
"I will attend to all that, Roland; I have taken charge o' a' ever
syne the death o' your kindred; indeed, it is sold already."
Uncle Malcolm did not then tell Roland that he was himself the
purchaser, and had given a higher price than any stranger would have
done.
In a short time, all was arranged; Roland received a handsome price,
and old Jennie Scott was sorely distressed at the thought of a
stranger in the old manse.
"Dinna trouble yourself, Jennie," was Malcolm's word of comfort; "it
will be the manse still, a guid minister shall abide there, and
Jennie shall be the woman o' a' wark there yet."
She kissed Malcolm's hand,--"Ye're a guid an' faithfu' mon, Mr.
Graham, an' God will bless ye evermair."
The time of parting had arrived--Roland was grieved to leave the dear
shelter of Graham Hall, for it was indeed to him a home, and its
master a kind and generous father. Mrs. Lindsay, too, had been like
a dear mother, and little Annot clung around him, and cried at
parting with "dear Cousin Roland."
Edmund could not leave the dear home-circle of Graham Hall without
deep regret; and as he bade a sorrowful farewell to artless Annot
Lindsay, and held her little hand fondly within his own, he whispered,
"I shall come again, Annot, and then we shall have the pleasant walks
and rides once more."
She dropped her sweet eyes on the ground, then raising them to
Edmund's face, swimming in tears, she replied,
"I shall miss ye, Mr. Norris, so vera, vera much; but ye'll come
again, an' I'll learn so mony new songs just for ye, an' nane ither."
Annot stood at the window looking at the carriage as it turned away;
and ere it vanished out of sight, a familiar face smiled at her from
the back of the carriage, and a hand waved a last farewell, that she
knew was Edmund's.
Soon in London, Malcolm took lodgings for himself, Mrs. Douglass, and
his young friends; and many pleasant visits did they pay together
among the homes of the destitute; and many useful hints were given by
the wise and faithful friend to Roland and Edmund. Riding out one
day, Mr. Graham perceived a carriage passing close by their side. It
contained two ladies, one remarkable for her beauty. She looked
startled, blushed, smiled, waved her hand, and was gone.
Roland was deeply agitated,
"Who was that, Roland?" inquired his friend.
"That was Madeline Hamilton, Uncle Malcolm," and Roland dropped his
eyes beneath the earnest look of his friend.
"Ye never told me that she was in London, Roland."
"No, Uncle Malcolm, I did not."
"And why, my son, may I ask?"
"I am not on terms of intimacy with Miss Hamilton now."
"How is that, Roland?"
"She does not belong to my world, Uncle Malcolm; so her relatives
think."
Uncle Malcolm bit his lip, as he replied slowly,
"Does Madeline think sae, Roland?"
"I think not; she is simple-hearted, truthful as a child, above all
that is sordid, or worldly; but they may spoil her here in London."
Malcolm read at once the whole of Roland's secret.
"Ye could keep up intercourse wi' Miss Hamilton if ye please, Roland?"
"I think I could, Uncle Malcolm; but I would not tempt her from the
path of duty."
Malcolm Graham smiled, a bright and happy smile; for in the future,
he saw a path so high! so blessed for his dear young protégé.
"Looking aloft!" in the right sense thought Malcolm, "and God will
take care o' his interests, for time and eternity."
"Roland, my boy, trust in God; for he will make a' things work
together for your good. Seek first the kingdom o' God and his
righteousness, and a' these things shall be added unto ye; all
_these_ things, Roland--whatever is for your real good."