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 A SON OF THE SOIL, 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 SON OF THE SOIL 
 
 IN TWO YOLTOIES. 
 YOL. I. 
 
 ^onbon anb Cambribgc: 
 
 MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 1866. 
 
 [The Eight of Traiislation and Reproduction is reserved.}
 
 LONDON 
 CLAY. SON, AND TA\XOP, PRINTERS, 
 BREAD STREET HILL.
 
 y. I 
 
 A SON OF THE SOIL. 
 
 ^ CHAPTER I. 
 
 " I SAY, you boy, it always rains here, doesn't it ? — or ' "whiles 
 
 snaws' — as the aborigines say. You're a native, ar'nt youl 
 
 ^ "When do you think the rain will go off? — do you ever have any 
 
 -' fine weather here ? I don't see the good of a fine country when 
 
 ^ it rains for ever and ever ! What do you do with yourselves, 
 
 ^^ you people, all the year round in such a melancholy place ? " 
 
 .J " You see we know no better " — said the farmer of Eamore, 
 
 who came in at this moment to the porch of his house, where the 
 
 young gentleman was standing, confronted by young Colin, who 
 
 -, would have exploded in boyish rage before now, if he had not 
 
 ,been restrained by the knowledge that his mother was within 
 
 * hearing — "and, wet or dry, the country-side comes natural to 
 
 [^-"them it belongs to. If it werena for a twinge o' the rlieumatics 
 
 r^ noo and then — and my lads are ower young for that — it's a grand 
 
 country. If it's nae great comfort to the purse, it's aye a plea- 
 
 (y sure to the e'e. Come in to the fire, and take a seat till the rain 
 
 O^lows by. My lads," said Colin of Ramore, with a twinkle of 
 
 < approbation in hi-s eye, "take little heed whether it's rain or 
 
 .^ine." 
 ^ " I'm of a different opinion," said the stranger, "I don't like 
 s walking up to the ankles in those filthy roads." He was a 
 
 i 
 
 VOL. L
 
 2 A Son of the Soil. [Chap. 
 
 boy of fifteen or so, the same age as young Colin, who stood 
 opposite him breathing hard with opposition and natural 
 enmity; but the smart Etonian considered himself much more 
 a man of the world and of experience than Colin the elder, 
 and looked on the boy with calm contempt. "I'll be glad to 
 dry my boots if you'll let me," he said, holding up a foot 
 which beside young Colin's sturdy hoof looked preternaturally 
 small and dainty. 
 
 " A fit like a lassie's !" the country boy said to himself 
 with responsive disdain. Young Colin laughed half aloud as 
 his natural enemy followed his father into the house. 
 
 " He's feared to wet his feet," said the lad, with a chuckle of 
 mockery, holding forth his own, which to his consciousness 
 were never dry. Any moralist, who had happened to be at 
 hand, might have suggested to Colin that a faculty for acquiring 
 and keeping up wet feet during every hour of the twenty-four 
 which he did not spend in bed was no great matter to brag of : 
 but then moralists did not flourish at Eamore. The boy made 
 a rush out through the soft-falling incessant rain, dashed down 
 upon the shingly beach with an impetuosity which dispersed 
 the wet pebbles on all sides of him, and jumping into the boat, 
 pushed out upon the loch, not for any particular purpose, but to 
 relieve a little his indignation and boyish discomfiture. The 
 boat was clumsy enough, and young Colin's "style" in rowing 
 was not of a high order, but it caught the quick eye of the Eton 
 lad, as he glanced out from the window. 
 
 " That fellow can row," he said to himself, but aloud, with 
 the Tionclialance of his race, as he went forward, passing the 
 great cradle which stood on one side of the fire, to the chair 
 which the farmer's wife had placed for him. She received with 
 many kindly homely invitations and welcomes the serene young 
 potentate as he approached her fireside throne. 
 
 " Come awa — come in to the fire. The roads are past speaking
 
 /.] A Son of the Soil. 3 
 
 o' in this soft weather. Maybe the young gentleman would like 
 to change his feet," said the soft- voiced woman, who sat in a 
 wicker-work easy chair, with a very small baby, and cheeks still 
 l)ale from its recent arrival. She had soft, dark, beaming eyes, 
 and the softest pink flush coming and goiug over her face, and 
 was wrapped in a shawl, and evidently considered an invalid — 
 which, for the mother of five or six children, and the mistress 
 of Ramore Farm, was an honourable but inconvenient luxury. 
 " I could bring you a pair of my Colin's stockings in a moment. 
 I dare say they're about your size — or if you would like to gang 
 ben the house into the spare room, and change them " 
 
 " Oh, thanks ; but there is no need for that," said the visitor, 
 with a slight blush, being conscious, as even an Eton boy could 
 not help being, of the humorous observation of the farmer, who 
 had come in behind him, and in whose eyes it was evident the 
 experienced " man " of the fifth form was a less sublime per- 
 sonage than he gave himself credit for being. " I am living 
 down at the Castle," he added, hastily ; " I lost my way on the 
 hills, and got dreadfully wet ; other^vise I don't mind the rain." 
 And he held the dainty boots, which steamed in the heat, to 
 the fire. 
 
 " But you maunna gang out to the hills in such slight things 
 again," said Mrs. Campbell, looking at them compassionately ; 
 "I'll get you a pair of my Colin's strong shoes and stockings 
 that'll keep your feet warm. I'll just lay the wean in the cradle, 
 and you can slip them off the time I'm away," said the good 
 woman, with a passing thought for the boy's bashfulness. But 
 the farmer caught her by the arm and kept her in her chair. 
 
 "I suppose there's mair folk than you about the house, 
 Jeannie?" said her husband, '' though you're so positive about 
 doing everything yoursel'. I'll tell the lass ; and I advise you, 
 young gentleman, not to be shamefaced, but take the wife's advice. 
 It's a great quality o' hers to ken what's good for other folk." 
 
 b2
 
 4 A Son of the Soil. [Chap. 
 
 *' I ken by myselV said the gentle-voiced wife, with a smile 
 — and she got up and went softly to the window, while the young 
 stranger took her counsel. " There's Colin out in the boat 
 again, in a perfect pour of rain," she said to herself, with a gentle 
 sigh — "he'll get his death o' cauld; but, to be sure, if he had 
 been to get his death that gate, it would have come afore now. 
 There's a great deal of rain in this country, you'll be thinking ? 
 — a' the strangers say sae ; but I canna see that they bide away 
 for a' that, though they're aye grumbling. And if you're fond 
 o' the hills, you'll get reconciled to the rain. I've seen mony an 
 afternoon when there was scarce an hour without two or three 
 rainbows, and the mist liftin' and droppin' again, as if it was set 
 to music. I canna say I have any experience mysel', but so far 
 as ane can imagine, a clear sky and a shining sun, day after day, 
 would be awfu' monotonous — like a face wi' a set smile. I tell 
 the bairns it's as guid as a fairy-tale to watch the clouds — and 
 it's no common sunshine when it does come, but a kind o' wist- 
 ful light, as if he couldna tell whether he ever might see you 
 again ; but it's awfu' when the crops are ont, as they are the noo 
 —the Lord forgive me for speaking as if I liked the rain !" 
 
 And by this time her boy-visitor, having succeeded, much to 
 his comfort and disgust, in replacing his wet chaussures by Colin' s 
 dry, warm stockings and monstrous shoes, Mrs. Campbell came 
 back to her seat and lifted her baby again on her knee. The 
 baby was of angelic disposition, and perfectly disposed to make 
 itself comfortable in its cradle, but the usually active mother 
 evidently made it a kind of excuse to herself for her compulsory 
 repose. 
 
 " The wife gets easy to her poetry," said the farmer, with a 
 smile, "which is pleasant enough to hear, though it doesn't 
 keep the grain from sprouting. You're fond o' the hills, you 
 Southland folk ? You'll be from level land yoursel', I reckon ? 
 - — where a' the craps were safe housed afore the weather broke ?
 
 /.] A Son of the Soil. 5 
 
 We have nae particular reason to complain yet, if we could "but 
 make sure o' a week or twa's dry weather. It'll be the holidays 
 stiU with you?" 
 
 " Yes," said young Frankland, slightly disgusted at being so 
 calmly set down as a schoolboy. 
 
 " I hear there's some grand schools in England," said I^Irs. 
 Campbell ; *' no' that they're to compare wi' Edinburgh, I sup- 
 pose ? Colin, there's some sherry wine in the press ; I think a 
 glass wouldna' harm the young gentleman after his wetting. 
 He'll take something any-way, if you would tell Jess. It's 
 hungry work climbing our hills for a laddie like you — at least 
 if I may reckon by my ain laddies that are aye ready at meal 
 times," said the farmer's wife, with a gracious smile that would 
 not have misbecome a duchess. " You'll be at ane o' the great 
 schools, I suppose 1 I aye like to learn what I can when there's 
 ony opportunity. I would like my Colin to get a' the advan- 
 tages, for he's well worthy o' a good education, though we're 
 rather out of the way of it here." 
 
 "I am at Eton," said the English boy, who could scarcely 
 refrain from a little ridicule at the idea of sharing " a' the 
 advantages" of that distinguished foundation with a colt like 
 young Colin ; " but I should think you would find it too far off 
 to send your son there," he added, all his good breeding being 
 unable to smother a slight laugh as he looked round the homely 
 apartment, and wondered what " all the fellows " would say to 
 a schoolfellow from Eamore. 
 
 "iN'ae occasion to laugh, young gentleman," said CoHn the 
 elder ; " there's been Lord Chancellors o' England, and generals 
 o' a' the forces, that have come out of houses nae better than 
 this. I am just as ye find me, but I wouldna' say what might 
 befall our Colin. In this country there's nae law to bind a man 
 to the same line o' life as his fathers. Despise naebody, my 
 man, or you may live to be despised in your turn."
 
 6 A Son of the Soil. [CHAp. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said young Frankland, blushing hotly, 
 and feeling Colin' s shoes weigh upon his feet like lead ; "1 did 
 not intend " 
 
 " No, no," said Mrs. Campbell, soothingly ; " it's the maister 
 that takes up fancies ; but nae doubt Eton is far ower expensive 
 for the like of us, and a bit callant like you may laugh without 
 ony offence. When Colin comes to be a man he'll make his 
 ain company, or I'm mista'en ; but I've no wish to pit him 
 amang lords and gentlemen's sons that would jeer at his homely 
 ways. And they tell me there's schules in Edinburgh far afore 
 onything that's kent in England — besides the college," said the 
 mother, with a little pride ; " our Colin's done with his schuling. 
 Education takes longer wi' the like of you. After Martinmas 
 he's gaun in to Glasgow to begin his course." 
 
 To this proud intimation the young visitor listened in silence, 
 not being able to connect the roughshod lad in the boat with a 
 University, whatever might be its form. He addressed himself 
 instead to the scones and butter which Jess the servant, a hand- 
 some, powerful woman of five feet eight or so, had set .before 
 him on the table. Jess lingered a little, ere she left the room, 
 to pinch the baby's cheeks, and say, " Bless the lamb ! eh, what 
 a guid bairn ! " with patriarchal friendly familiarity. Meanwhile 
 the farmer sat down, with a thump which made it creak, upon 
 the large old haircloth sofa which filled up one end of the room. 
 
 " IVe heard there's a great difference between our colleges and 
 the colleges in England," said Colin. " Wi' you they dinna 
 train a lad to onything in particular ; wi' us it's a' for a profes- 
 sion, — the kirk, or the law, or physic, as it may be, — a far mair 
 sensible system. I'm no sure it's just civil, though," said the 
 farmer, with a quaint mingling of Scotch complacency and Scotch 
 politeness, " to talk to a stranger of naething but the inferiority 
 o' his ain country. It may be a' true enough, but there's 
 pleasanter topics o' discourse. The Castle's a bonnie situation %
 
 /.] A Son of the Soil. 7 
 
 and if you're fond o' the water, yachting, and boating, and that 
 kind o' thing, there's grand opportunity amang our lochs." 
 
 " "We've got a yacht," said the boy, who found the scones 
 much to his taste, and began to feel a glow of comfort diffusing 
 itseK through his inner man — " the fastest sailer I know. "\Ye 
 made a little run yesterday down to the Kyles ; but Sir Thomas 
 prefers the grouse, though it's awfully hard work, I can tell you, 
 going up those hills. It's so beastly wet," said the young hero. 
 " I never was down here before ; but Sir Thomas comes every 
 year to the Highlands j he Hkes it — he's as strong as a horse — 
 but I prefer tlie yacht, for my part." 
 
 " And who's Sir Thomas, if ane may speer — some friend 1 '' 
 said the farmer's wife. 
 
 " Oh — he's my father ! " said the Etonian ; and a natui-al 
 flush of shamefacedness at acknowledging such a relationship 
 rose upon the countenance of the British boy. 
 
 " Your father 1 " said Mrs. Campbell, with some amazement, 
 " that's an awfu' queer way to speak of your father ; and have 
 you ony brothers and sisters that you're this lang distance off 
 your lane, — and your mamma maybe anxious about you ? " con- 
 tinued the kind mother, wdth a wistful look of inquiry. She 
 was prepared to be sorry for him, concluding that a boy who 
 spoke of his father in such terms, must be motherless, and a 
 neglected child. It was the most tender kind of curiosity which 
 animated the good woman. She formed a theory about the lad 
 on the spot, as women do, and concluded that his cruel father 
 paid no regard to him, and that the boy's heart had been 
 hardened by neglect and want of love. " Figure our Colin ca'ing 
 the maister Mr. Campbell ! " she said to herself, and looked very 
 pitifully at young Frankland, who ate his scone without any 
 consciousness of her amiable imaginations. 
 
 " Oh, I'm not afraid," said the calm youth. " She knows 
 better ; there's ten of us, and some one of the family comes to
 
 8 A Son of the Soil. [chap. 
 
 grief most days, you know. She's used to that. Besides, I'll 
 get home long before Sir Thomas. It's only four now, and I 
 suppose one could walk down from here — how soon 1 " All this 
 time he went on so steadily at the scones and the milk, that the 
 heart of the farmer's wife warmed to the possessor of such a 
 frank and appreciative appetite. 
 
 "You might put the horse in the gig and drive the young 
 gentleman down," said the soft-hearted woman ; " or Colin 
 could row him in the boat as far as the pier. It's a lang walk 
 for such a callant, and you're no thrang. It's awfu' to think o' 
 the rain, how it's taking the bread out of us poor folk's mouths ; 
 but to be sure it's the Lord's will — if it be na," said the homely 
 speculator, "that the weather's ane of the things that has been 
 permitted, for wise reasons, to fa' into Ither Hands ; and I'm 
 sure, judging by the way it comes just when it's no' wanted, ane 
 might think so, mony a time, in this country side. But ah ! it's 
 sinfu' to speak, — and look at yon bonnie rainbow," she con- 
 tinued, turning to the window with her baby in her arms. 
 
 Young Frankland got up slowly as he finished his scone. He 
 was only partially sensible of the extreme beauty of the scene 
 before him ; but the farmer's wife stood with her baby in her 
 arms, with hidden lights kindling in her soft eyes, expanding 
 and beaming over the lovely landscape. It did her good like a 
 cordial ; though even Colin, her sensible husband, looked on, 
 with a smile upon his good-humoured countenance, and was a 
 little amused and much puzzled, as he had been a hundred 
 times before — seeing his wife's pleasure in those common and 
 every-day processes of nature, to know why. 
 
 Young Colin in the boat understood better, — he was lying 
 on his oars gazing at it the same moment ; arrested in his 
 petulant boyish thoughts, as she had been in her anxieties, the 
 lad came out of, and lost himself in the scene. The sun had 
 burst out suddenly upon the noble range of hills which stretched
 
 I.] A Son of the Soil. 9 
 
 across the upper end of the loch — that wistful tender sun which 
 shone out always, dazzling with pathetic gleams of sudden love 
 in this country, " as if he couldna tell whether he might ever 
 see you again," as ^Irs. Camphell said — and, just catching the 
 skirts of the rain, had flung a double rainbow across the 
 sheltered lovely curve of the upper banks. One side of the 
 arch stooping over the heathery hillside, lighted it up with an 
 unearthly glory, and the other came down in stately columns, 
 one grand shaft within the other, with soHd magnificence and 
 steadiness, into the water. Young Frankland at the window 
 could not help thinking witliin himself, what a beautiful picture 
 it would make, " if any of those painter fellows could do a 
 rainbow ; " but as for young Colin in the boat, the impulse in 
 his heart was to dash up to those heavenly archways, and em- 
 brace the shining pillar, and swing himself aloft half-boy, half- 
 poet, to that celestial world, where fiery columns may stand 
 fast upon moving waters — and all is true, but nothing real. 
 The hills, for their share, lay very quiet, taking no part in the 
 momentary drama of the elements ; standing passive, letting 
 the sudden light search them over and over, as if seeking for 
 hidden treasure. Just in the midst of the blackness of the 
 rain, never Avas light and joy so sweet and suddem The farmer's 
 wife came away from the window with a sigh of pleasure, as 
 the baby stirred in her arms ; " Eh, but the world's bonnie, 
 bonnie !" she said to herself, with a feeling that some event of 
 jo}^ul importance had just been enacted before her. As for the 
 boy on the loch, who, being younger, was more abstracted from 
 common afiairs, his dream was interrupted loudly by a call from 
 the door : " Come in wi' the boat ; I've a message to gie ye for 
 the pier," cried the farmer, at the top of his voice ; and the 
 country boy started back to himself, and made a dash at his 
 oars, and pulled inshore as violently and imhandsomely as if 
 the nature of his dreams had been found out, and he was
 
 10 A Son of the Soil. [chap. 
 
 asliamecl of liimself. Colin forgot all the softening influences 
 of the scene, and all the fine thoughts that had, unconscious to 
 himself, come into his head, when he found that the commission 
 his father meant to give him was that of rowing the stranger- 
 boy as far as the pier, which was about three miles farther down 
 the loch. If disobedience had been an offence understood at 
 Ramore, possibly he might have refused ; but neither boy nor 
 man, however well-inclined, is likely to succeed in doing, the 
 first time of trying, a kind of sin with which he has no ac- 
 quaintance. To give Colin justice, he did his best, and showed 
 a cordial inclination to make himself disagreeable. He came in 
 so clumsily that the boat grounded a yard or two off shore, and 
 would not by any coaxing be persuaded to approach nearer. 
 And when yoimg Frankland, much to his amazement, leapt on 
 board without wetting his feet, as the country lad maliciously 
 intended, and came against Colin with such force as almost to 
 knock him down, the young boatman thrust his passenger 
 forward very rudely, and was as near capsizing the boat as pride 
 would permit him. " Sit forrit in the stern, sit forrit. Were ye 
 never in a boat afore, that ye think I can row and you sitting 
 there?" said the unchristian Colin, bringing one of the oars 
 heavily against his adversary's shins. 
 
 " What the deuce do you mean by that ? Give me the oar ! 
 We don't row like that on the Thames, I can tell you," said the 
 stranger ; and the brief skirmish between them for the possession 
 of the oar having terminated abruptly by the intervention of 
 Colin the elder, who was still within hearing, the two boys set 
 off, sullenly enough, down the loch. The rainbow was dying 
 off by this time, the clouds rolling out again over the hills ; and 
 the celestial pillars and heavenly archways had no longer, as 
 may be suj)posed, since this rude invasion of the real and dis- 
 agreeable, the least remnant of ground to stand upon in the 
 thoughts of young Colin of Ramore.
 
 u.] A Son of the Soil. 11 
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 " Ye saw the young gentleman safe to tlie pier ? He's a bonnie 
 lad, though maybe no as weel-mannered as ane would like to 
 see," said Mrs. CampbeU. " Keep me ! such a way to name 
 his father — Bairns maun be awfu' neglected in such a gitind 
 house — aye left ^vi' servants, and never trained to trust their 
 bits of secrets to father or mother. Laddies," said the farmer's 
 wife, with a little solemnity, looking across the sleeping baby 
 upon the four heads of diflerent sizes which bent over their 
 supper at the table before her, " mind you aye, that, right or 
 wrong, them that's maist interested in whatever befalls you is 
 them that belongs to you — maist ready to praise if ye've done 
 weel, and excuse you if ye've done wrang. I hope you were 
 civil to the strange callant, Colin, my man ] " 
 
 " Oh, ay," said young Colin, not without a movement of 
 conscience; but he did not think it necessary to enter into 
 details. 
 
 " When a callant like that is pridefu', and looks as if he 
 thought himself better than other folk, I hope my laddies are 
 no the ones to mind," said the mistress of Eamore. " It shows 
 he hasna had the advantages that might have been expected. 
 It's nae harm to you, but a great deal o' harm to him. Ye 
 dinna ken how weel off you are, you boys," said the mother, 
 making a little address to them as they sat over their supper ; 
 Little Johnnie, whose porridge was too hot for him, turned 
 towards her the round, wondering black eyes, which beamed out 
 like a pair of stray stars from his little freckled face, and
 
 12 A Son of the Soil. [CHAf. 
 
 throiigli his wisps of flaxen hair, bleached white by rain and 
 sun ; but the three others went on very steadily with their 
 supper, and did not disturb themselves ; " there's aye your 
 father at hand ready to tell ye whatever you want to ken — no 
 like yon poor callant, that would have to gang to a tutor, or a 
 servant, or something worse ; no that he's an ill laddie ; but 
 I'm aye keen to see ye behave yoursels like gentlemen, and yon 
 wasna ony great specimen, as it was very easy to see." 
 
 After this there was a pause, for none of the boys were 
 disposed to enter into that topic of conversation. After a 
 little period of silence, during which the spoons made a diver- 
 sion and filled up the vacancy, they began to find their tongues 
 again. 
 
 " It's awfu' wet up on the hill," said Archie, the second boy, 
 " and they say the glass is aye falling, and the corn on the 
 Barnton fields has been out this three weeks, and Dugald Mac- 
 farlane, he says it's sprouting — and oh, mother I" 
 
 "What is it, Archie?" 
 
 " The new minister came by when I was down at the smiddy 
 with the brown mare. You never saw such a red head. It is 
 red enough to set the kirk on fire. They were saying at the 
 smiddy that naebody would stand such a colour of hair — it's 
 waur than no preaching weel — and I said I tho Light that too," 
 said the enterprising Archie ; " for I'm sure I never mind ony 
 o' the sermon, but I couldna forget such red hair." 
 
 " And I saw him too," said little Johnnie ; " he clapped me on 
 the head, and said how was my mammaw ; and I said we never 
 ca'ed onybody mammaw, but just mother ; and then he clapped 
 me again, and said I was a good boy. What for was I a good 
 boy f said Johnnie, who was of an inquiring and philosophical 
 frame of mind, " because I said we didna say mammaw ? or just 
 because it was meV 
 
 " Because he's a kind man, and has a kind thought for even
 
 //.] A Son of the Soil. 13 
 
 the little baims," said Mrs. Campbell, " and it wasna' like a boy 
 o' mine to say an idle word against bim. Do you think they 
 know better at the smiddy, Archie, than here ? Poor gentle- 
 man," said the good woman, " to be a' this time wearyin' and 
 waitin', and his heart yearnin' within him to get a kirk, and do 
 his Master's work ; and then to ha'e a parcel of haverels set up 
 and make a faction against him because he has a red head. It 
 makes ane think shame o' human nature and Scotch folk 
 baith." 
 
 " But he canna preach, mother," said Colin, breaking silence 
 almost for the first time ; " the red head is only an excuse." 
 
 " I dinna like excuses," said his mother, " and I never kent 
 before that you were a judge o' preaching. You may come to 
 ken better about it yoursel before a' 's done. I canna but think 
 there's something wrang when the like o' that can be," said Mrs. 
 Campbell ; " he's studied, and he's learned Latin and Greek, 
 and found out a' the ill that can be said about Scripture, and a' 
 the lies that ever have been invented against the truth ; and 
 he's been brought up to be a minister a' his days, and knows 
 what's expected. But as soon as word gangs about that the 
 Earl has promised him our kirk, there's opposition raised, ^o' 
 that onybody kens ony ill of him ; but there's the smith, and 
 the wright, and Thomas Scott o' Lintwearie, maun lay their 
 heads thegether — and first they say be canna preach, and then 
 that he'll no' visit, and at least, if a'thing else fails, that he has 
 a red head. If it was a new doctor that was coming, wha would 
 be heeding about the colour o' his hair? but it's the minister 
 that's to stand by our deathbeds, and baptize our bairns, and 
 guide us in the right way : and we're no to let him come in 
 peace, or sit down in comfort. If we canna keep him from 
 getting the kirk, we can make him miserable when he does get 
 i't. Eh, bairns ; I think shame ! and I'm no' so sure as I am 
 in maist things," said the farmer's wife, looking up with a
 
 14 A So7i of the iSoil. [chap. 
 
 consciousness of her husband's presence, that the maister 
 himsel — " 
 
 "Weel, I'm aye for popular rights," said Colin of Eamore. 
 He had just come in, and had been standing behind taking off 
 his big coat, on which the rain glistened, and listening to all 
 that his wife said. " Eut if Colin was a man and a minister," 
 said the farmer with a gleam of humour, as he drew his chair 
 towards the fire, "and had to fight his way to a kirk like a' the 
 young men now-a-days, I wouldna say I would like it. They 
 might object to his big mouth; and you've ower muckle a mouth 
 yoursel', Jeanie," continued big Colin, looking admiringly at the 
 comely mother of his boys. " I might tell them wha he took 
 it from, and that if he had as grand a flow of language as his 
 mother, there would be nae fear o' bim. As for the red head, 
 the Earl himsel 's a grand example, and if red hair's right in an 
 earl, it canna be immoral in a minister ; but Jeanie, though 
 you're an awfu' revolutionary, ye maunna meddle with the kirk, 
 nor take away popular rights." 
 
 *' Em no gaun to be led into an argument," said the mistress, 
 with a slightly vexed expression ; " but Em far from sure about 
 the kirk. After you've opposed the minister's coming in, and 
 held committees upon him, and offered objections, and done 
 your best to worry the life out o' him, and make him disgusted 
 baitb at himsel' and you, do you think after that ye can attend 
 to him when you're weel, and send for him when you're sick, wi' 
 the right feelings 1 Eut Em no gaun to speak ony mair about 
 the minister. Is the corn in yet, Colin, from the East Eark ? 
 Eh, bless me ! and it was cut before this wean was born ?" 
 
 " We'll have but a poor harvest after a'," said the farmer ; 
 " it's a disappointment, but it canna be helpit. It's strange how 
 something aye comes in, to keep a man down when he thinks 
 he's to have a bit margin ; but we must jog on, Jeanie, my 
 woman. As long as we have bread to eat, let us be thankful.
 
 //.] A Son of the Soil. 15 
 
 And as for Colin, it needna make ony diflference. Glasgow's no 
 so far off, but lie can still get his parritcli out of the family meal ; 
 and as long as he's careful and diligent Tre'll try and fend for 
 him. It's hard work getting bread out of our hillside," said big 
 Colin ; " but ye may have a different life from your father's, lad, 
 if you take heed to the opportunities in your hands." 
 
 "A' the opportunities in the world," said Colin the younger, 
 in a burst, " wouldna give me a chance like yon English fellow. 
 Everything comes ready to him. It's no fair. I'll have to make 
 up wi' him first, and then beat him — and so I would," said the 
 boy, -with a glow on his face, and a happy unconsciousness of 
 contradicting himself, " if I had the chance." 
 
 ""Well," said big Colin, "that's just ane o' the things we 
 have to count upon in our way of living. It's little credit to a 
 man to be strong," said the farmer, stretching his great arms 
 with a natural consciousness of power, " unless he has that to do 
 that tries it. It's harder work to me, you may be sure, to get a 
 pickle corn off the hillside, than for the English farmers down 
 in yon callant's country to draw wheat and fatness out o' their 
 furrows. But I think mysel' nane the worse a man," continued 
 Colin of Eamore, vdih. a smile ; " Sir Thomas, as the laddie ca's 
 liim, gangs wading over the heather a' day after the grouse and 
 the paitricks ; he thinks he's playing, himsel', but he's as hard 
 at work as I am. We're a' bluid relations, though the family 
 likeness whiles lies deep and is hard to find. A man maun be 
 fighting wi' something. K it's no the dour earth that refuses 
 him bread, it's the wet bog and the heather that comes atween 
 him and his sport, as he ca's it. I^ever you mind wha's before 
 you on the road. Make up to him, Colin. Many a day he'll 
 stray out o' the path gathering straws to divert himsel', when 
 you've naething to do but to push on," 
 
 " Eh, but I wouldna like a laddie o' mine to think," inter- 
 rupted his mother, eagerly, " that there's nae guid but getting
 
 16 A Son of the Soil. ichap. 
 
 on in the world. I'll not have my bairns learn ony such lesson ; 
 laddies," said the farmer's wife, in all the solemnity of her inno- 
 cence, "mind you this aboon a'. You might be princes the 
 morn, and no as good men as your father. There's nae Sir 
 Thomases, nor Earls, nor Lord Chancellors I ever heard tell o', 
 that was mair thought upon nor wi' better reason " 
 
 At this moment Jess entered from the kitchen, to suggest that 
 it was bedtime. 
 
 " And laiig enough for the mistress to be sitting up, and she 
 so delicate," said the sole servant of the house. "If ye had 
 been in your ain room wi' a fire and a book to read, it would 
 have been wiser-like, than among a' thae noisy laddies, wi' the 
 wean and a seam as if ye were as strong as me. Maister, I wish 
 you would speak to Colin ; he's awfu' masterfu' ; instead of gaun 
 to his bed, like a civilized lad, yonder he is awa' ben to the 
 kitchen and down by the fire to read his book, till his hair's 
 like a singed sheep's-head, and his cheeks like burning joeats. 
 Ane canna do a hand's-turn wi' a parcel o' callants about the 
 place day and nicht," said Jess, in an aggrieved tone. 
 
 " And just when Archie Candlish has suppered his horses and 
 come in for half an hour's crack," said the master. " I'll send 
 Colin to his bed ; but dinna have ower muckle to say to Archie, 
 he's a rover," continued the good-tempered farmer, who "made 
 allowances " for a little love-making. He raised himself out of 
 his arm-chair with a little hesitation, like a great mastiff uncoil- 
 ing itself out of a position of comfort, and went slowly away as 
 he spoke, moving off through the dimly-lighted room like an 
 amiable giant as he was. 
 
 " Eh, keep me ! — and Archie Caudlish had just that very 
 minute lookit in at the door," said Jess, lifting her apron to her 
 cheeks, which were glowing with blushes and laughter. " ^N"© 
 that I wanted him ; but he came in wi' the news aboot the new 
 minister, and noo I'll never hear an end o't, and the maister will 
 think he's aye there."
 
 Ti] A Son of tlie Soil. 17 
 
 " If he's a decent lad and means weel, its nae great matter," 
 said the mistress ; " but I dinna approve of ower mony lads. 
 Te may gang through the wood and through the wood and take 
 but a crooked stick at the end.'' 
 
 " There's naebody I ken o' that the mistress can mean, but 
 Bowed Jacob," said Jess reflectively, *' and ane might do waur 
 than take him though he's nae great figure of a man. The siller 
 that body makes is a miracle, aud it would be grand to live in 
 a twa-storied house, and keep a lass ; but he's an awfu' Estab- 
 lishment man, and he micht interfere wi' my convictions," said 
 the young woman with a glimmer of humour which found no 
 response in the mistress's serious eyes j for ^Irs. Campbell, 
 being of a poetical and imaginative temperament, took most 
 things much in earnest, and was slow to perceive a joke. 
 
 " You shouldna speak about convictions in that light way, 
 Jess," said the farmer's wife. " I wouldna meddle wi' them 
 mysel', no for a' the wealth o' the parish ; but though the 
 maister and me are strong Kii*k folk, ye ken ye never were 
 molested here." 
 
 " To hear Archie Candlish about the new minister ! " cried 
 Jess, whose quick ear had already ascertained that her master 
 had paused in the kitchen to speak to her visitor, "ye would 
 laugh ; but though it's grand fun for the folk, maybe it's no so 
 pleasant for the poor man. "We put down our names for the 
 man we like best, us Free Kirk folk, but it's different in the 
 parish. There's Tammas Scott, he vows he'll object to every 
 presentee the Ear] puts in. I'm no heeding for the Earl," said 
 Jesse ; " he's a dour tory and can fecht for himsel' ; but eh I 
 wouldna be that poor minister set up there for a' the parish to 
 object to. I'd rather work at a weaver's loom or sell herrings 
 about the country-side, if it was me ! " 
 
 " AVeel, weel, things that are hard for the flesh are guid for 
 the spirit — or at least folk say so," cried the mistress of Eamore. 
 
 c
 
 18 A Son of tlie Soil. [Chap 
 
 " I dinna believe in that for my part," said the energetic Jess, 
 as she lifted the wooden cradle in her strong arms. " Leave the 
 wean still, mistress, and draw your shawl about ye. I could 
 carry you too, for that matter. Eh me, I'm no o' that way 
 o' thinking ; when ye're happy and weel likit, ye' re aye good 
 in proportion. No to gang against the words o' Scripture," said 
 Jess, setting down the big cradle with a bump in her mistress's 
 bedroom, and looking anxiously at the sleeping baby, which 
 with a little start and gape, resisted this attempt to break its 
 slumbers ; " but eh, mistress, it's aye my opinion that the 
 happier folk are the better they are. I never was as happy 
 as in this house," continued the grateful handmaiden, furtively 
 pursuing a tear into the corner of her eye, with a large fore- 
 finger, " no that I'm meaning to say I'm guid ; but yet — " 
 
 " You might be waur," said the mistress, with a smile. 
 "You've aye a kind heart and a blythe look, and that gangs 
 a far way wi' the maister and me. But it's time Archie Cand- 
 lish was hame to his mother. When there's nae moon and 
 such heavy roads, you shouldna bring a decent man three mile 
 out of his way at this hour o' the nicht to see you." 
 
 " Me ? as if / was wanting him," said Jess, '' and him no 
 a word to say to me or ony lass, but about the beasts and the 
 new minister. I'll be back in half a minute ; I wouldna waste 
 my time upon a gomeril like you." 
 
 While Jess sallied forth through the chilly passages to which 
 the weeping atmosphere had communicated a sensation of 
 universal damp, the mistress knelt down to arrange her infant 
 more commodiously in its homely nest. The red firelight made 
 harmless glimmers all over her figure, catching now and then 
 a sidelong glance out of her eyes as she smoothed the little 
 pillow, and laid the tiny coverlet over the small unconscious 
 creature wrapt closely in webs and bands of sleep. When she 
 had done, she still knelt watching it as mothers will, with
 
 II.} A Son of the Soil 19 
 
 a smile upon lier face. After a while the beaming soft dark 
 eyes turned to the light with a natural attraction, to the glim- 
 mers of the fire shooting accidental rays into all the comers, 
 and to the steady little candle on the mantel-shelf. The mistress 
 looked round on all the familiar objects of the homely low-roofed 
 chamber. Outside, the rain fell heavily still upon the damp 
 and sodden country, soaking silently in the dark into the forlorn 
 wheat-sheaves, which had been standing in the fields to dry in 
 ineffectual hopefulness for past weeks. Matters did not look 
 promising on the farm of Eamore, and nothing had occurred to 
 add any particular happiness to its mistress's lot. But happi- 
 ness is perverse and follows no rule, and Jess's sentiment found 
 an echo in Mrs. Campbell's mind. As she knelt by the cradle, 
 her heart suddenly swelled with a consciousness of the per- 
 fection of life and joy in her and around her. It was in homely 
 words enough that she gave it expression — *' A' weel, and under 
 ae roof," she said to herself with exquisite dews of thankfulness 
 in her eyes. " And the Lord have pity on lone folk and sorrow- 
 ful," added the tender woman, with a compassion beyond words, 
 a yearning that all might be glad like herself; the pity of happi- 
 ness, which is of all pity, the most di\dne. Her boys were 
 saying abrupt prayers, one by one, as they sank in succession 
 into dreamless slumber. The master had gone out in the rain 
 to take one last look over his kyne and his farmyard, and see 
 that all was safe for the night, and Archie Candlish had just 
 been dismissed with a stinging jest from the kitchen door, 
 which Jess bolted and barred with cheerful din, singing softly 
 to herself as she went about the house putting up the innocent 
 shutters, which could not have resisted the first touch of a skilful 
 hand. The rain was falling all over the wet silent country ; the 
 Holy Loch gleamed like a kind of t^vilight spot in the darkness, 
 and the house of Eamore stood shut up and hushed, no light at 
 all to be seen but that from the open door, which the farmer 
 
 c2
 
 20 A Son of the Soil. [chap. 
 
 suddenly extinguished as lie came in. But when that solitary- 
 light died out from the invisible hillside, and the darkness and 
 the rain and the whispering night took undisturbed possession, 
 was just the moment when the mother within, kneeling over 
 her cradle in the firelight, was surprised by that sudden con- 
 scious touch of happiness. — " Happiness 1 oh, aj, weel enough ; 
 we've a great deal to be thankfu' for," said big Colin, with 
 a little sleepy surprise ; "if it werna for the sprouting corn and 
 the broken weather ; but I dinna see onything particular to be 
 happy about at this minute, and I'm gaun to my bed." 
 
 For the prose and the poetry did not exactly understand each 
 other at all times, even in the primitive farm-house of Eamore.
 
 in.] A Son of the .Soil. 21 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The internal economy of a Scotch parish is not so clearly com- 
 prehensible now-a-days as it was in former times. Civilization 
 itself has made countless inroads upon the original unities every- 
 where, and the changes that have come to pass within the recol- 
 lection of the living generation are almost as great though very 
 different from those which made Scotland during last century so 
 pictui'esque in its state of transition. 'WTien Sunday morning 
 dawned upon the Holy Loch, it did not shine upon that pretty 
 rm-al pictiu'e of unanimous church-going so well-known to the 
 history of the past. The groups from the cottages took different 
 ways — the carriage from the Castle swept round the hill to the 
 other side of the parish, where there was an " English Chapel." 
 The reign of opinion and liking was established in the once 
 primitive community. HaK of the people ascended the hillside 
 to the Free Church, while the others wound down the side of 
 the loch to the Kirk, which had once accommodated the whole 
 parish. This state of affairs had become so usual that even 
 polemical feeling had ceased to a great extent, and the two 
 streams of church-going people crossed each other placidly with- 
 out recriminations. This day, for a wonder, the sun was shining 
 brightly, notwithstanding a cloudy stormy sky, which now and 
 then heaved for^vard a rolling mass of vapour, and dispersed it 
 sharply over the hills in a flying mist and shower. 
 
 The parish church lay at the lower end of the loch, a pretty 
 little church built since the days when architecture had pene- 
 trated even into Scotland. Colin of Eamore and his family were
 
 22 A Son of the Soil. [chap. 
 
 there in their pew, the boys arranged in order of seniority 
 between Mrs. Campbell, who sat at the head, and the farmer 
 himself who kept the seat at the door. Black-eyed Johnnie, 
 with his hair bleached white by constant exposure, and his round 
 eyes wandering over the walls and the pews and the pulpit and 
 the people, sat by his mother's side, and the younger Colin 
 occupied his post of seniority by his father. They were all 
 seated, in this disposition, when the present occupant of the 
 Castle, Sir Thomas Frankland, lounged up the little aisle, with 
 his son after him. Sir Thomas was quite devout and respectable, 
 a man who knew how to conduct himself even in such a novel 
 scene — and after all a Presbyterian church was no novelty to the 
 sportsman — but to Harry the aspect of everything was new, and 
 his curiosity was excited. It was a critical moment in the 
 history of the parish. The former minister had been transferred 
 only a few weeks before to a more important station, and the 
 Earl, the patron, had, according to Scotch phraseology, "pre- 
 sented " a new incumbent to the living. This unhappy man 
 was ascending the pulpit when the Franklands, father and son, 
 entered tiie church. For the Earl's presentation by no means 
 implied the peaceable entrance of the new minister ; he had to 
 preach, to give the people an opportunity of deciding whether 
 they liked him or not ; and if they did not like him, they had 
 the power of " objecting," that is, of urging special reasons for 
 their dislike before the Presbytery, with a certainty of making 
 a little noise in the district, and a reasonable probability of 
 disgusting and mortifying the unlucky presentee, to the point 
 of throwing up his appointment. All this was well known to 
 the unfortunate man, who rose up in the pulpit as Sir Thomas 
 found a seat, and proceeded to read the psalm with a somewhat 
 embarrassed and faltering voice. He was moderately young 
 and well-looking, with a face, at the present moment, more 
 agitated than was quite harmonious with the position in which
 
 III.] A Son of Ute Soil. 23 
 
 he stood : for he was quite aware that everybody was criticizing 
 him, and that the inflections of his voice and the fiery tint of 
 his hair were being noted by eager commentators bent upon 
 finding ground for an '' objection " in everything he said. Such 
 a consciousness naturally does not promote ease or comfort. 
 His hair looked redder than ever, as a stray ray of sunshine 
 gleamed in upon him, and his voice took a nervous break as he 
 looked over the many hard unsympathetic faces which were 
 regarding him with the sharp curiosity and inspection of 
 excited ■vvits. 
 
 But while Harry Frankland made, as he thought, " an ass of 
 himself" on every occasion that offered — standing bolt upright 
 when the congregation began to sing, which they did at theii- 
 leisure, seated in the usual way — and kicking his heels in an 
 attempt to kneel when everybody round him rose up for the 
 prayer, and feeling terribly red and ashamed at each mistake, 
 Colin the younger, of Kamore, occupied himself, like a heart- 
 less young critic as he was, in making observations on the 
 minister, Colin, like his father, had a high opinion of " popular 
 rights." It was his idea, somehow drawn in with the damp 
 Highland air he breathed, that the right of objecting to a 
 presentee was one of the most important pri^'ileges of a Scotch 
 (Jhurchman. Then, he was to be a minister himself, and the 
 consciousness of this fact intensified the natural opposition 
 which prompted the boy's mind to resist anything and every- 
 thing that tlireatened to be imposed on him. Colin even 
 listened to the prayer, which was a thing not usual with him, 
 that he might find out the objectionable phrases. And to be 
 sure there were plenty of objectionable phrases to mar the real 
 devotion ; the vainest of vaiu repetitions, well-known and fa- 
 mihar as household words to every Scotch ear, demonstrated 
 liow little efi'ect the absence of a liturgy has in promoting 
 fervent and iudividual supplications. The congregation in
 
 24 A Son of the Soil. [CHAP, 
 
 general listened, like young Colin, standing np in easy attitudes, 
 and observing everything that passed around them with open- 
 eyed composure. It did not look much like common suppli- 
 cation, nor did it pretend to be — for the people were but 
 listening to the minister's prayer, which, to tell the truth, con- 
 tained various expository and remonstrative paragraphs, which 
 were clearly addressed to the congregation ; and they were all very 
 glad to sit down when it was over, and clear their throats, and 
 prepare for the sermon, which was the real business of the day. 
 
 " I dinna like a' that new-fangled nonsense to begin with," 
 said Eben Campbell, of Barnton, as he walked home after 
 church, with the party from Eamore ; " naebody wants twa 
 chapters read at one diet of worship. The Bible's grand at 
 hame, but that's no what a man gangs to the kirk for; that, 
 and so mony prayers — it's naething but a great offput of time." 
 
 " But we never can have ower muckle o' the word of God," 
 said Colin of Ramore's wife. 
 
 " I'm of Eben's opinion," said another neighbour. " We 
 have the word o' God at hame, and I hope we make a good use 
 o' it ; but that's no what we gang to the kirk to hear. When 
 ye see a man that's set up in the pulpit for anither purpose 
 a'thegether, spending half his time in reading chapters and 
 ither preliminaries, I aye consider it's a sure sign that he hasna 
 muckle o' his ain to say." 
 
 They were all walking abreast in a leisurely Sunday fashion 
 up the loch ; the children roaming about the skirts of the older 
 party, some in front and some behind, occasionally making 
 furtive investigations into the condition of the brambles, an 
 anti-Sabbatical occupation which was sharply interrupted when 
 found out — the women picking their steps along the edges of 
 the muddy road, with now and then a word of pleasant gossip, 
 while the men trudged on sturdily through the puddles, dis- 
 cussing the great subject of the day.
 
 III.] A Son of tlve Soil. 25 
 
 "Some of the new folk from the Castle were in the kirk 
 to-day," said one of the party, — "which is a respect to the 
 parish the Earl doesna pay liimself. Things are terrible changed 
 in that way since my young days. The auld Earl, this ane's 
 father, was an elder in the Kirk ; and gentle and simple, we 
 a' said our prayers thegether — " 
 
 *' I dinna approve of that expression," said Eben of Barnton. 
 " To speak of saying your prayers in the kirk is pure papistry. 
 Say your prayers at hame, as I hope we a' do, at the family 
 altar, no to speak of private devotions," said this defender of 
 the faith, with a glance at the unlucky individual who had just 
 spoken, and who was understood not to be so regular in the 
 article of family prayer as he ought to have been. " We gang 
 to the kirk to have our minds stirred up and put in remem- 
 brance. I dinna approve of the English fashion of putting 
 everything into the prayers." 
 
 •' Weel, weel, I meant nae harm," said the previous speaker. 
 "We a' gaed to the Kirk, was what I meant to say ; and there's 
 the Queen, she aye sets a grand example. You'll no find her 
 driving off three or four miles to an English Chapel. I consider 
 it's a great respect to the parish to see Sir Thomas in the 
 Castle pew." 
 
 " I would rather see him respect the Sabbath day," said Eben 
 Campbell, pointing out a little pleasure-boat, a tiny little cockle- 
 shell, with a morsel of snow-white sail, which just then appeared 
 in the middle of the loch, rushing up beautifully before the 
 wind, through the placid waters, and lighting up the landscape 
 with a touch of life and motion. Young Colin M'as at Eben's 
 elbow, and followed the movement of his hand with keen eyes. 
 A spark of jealousy had kindled in the boy's breast — he could 
 not have told why. He was not so hon-ified as he ought to 
 have been at the sight of the boat disturbing the Sunday quiet ; 
 but, with a swell of indignation and resentment in his boyish
 
 26 A Son of the Soil. [Chap 
 
 lieart, he thought of the difference between himself and the 
 young visitor at the Castle. It looked symbolical to Colin. 
 He, trudging heavily over the muddy, lengthy road ; the other, 
 flying along in that dainty, little, bhd-lil^e boat, with those 
 white wings of sail, which pleased Colin's eye in spite of him- 
 self, carrying him on as lightly and swiftly as heart could 
 desire. Why should one boy have such a wonderful advantage 
 over another? It was the first grand problem which had puzzled 
 and embittered Colin's thoughts. 
 
 " There they go ! " said the boy. " It's fine and easy, running 
 like that before the wind. They'll get to the end o' the loch 
 before we've got over a mile. That makes an awfu' difference," 
 said Colin, with subdued wrath ; he was thinking of other 
 things besides the long walk from church and the muddy road. 
 
 " We'll may be get home as soon, for all that," said his father, 
 who guessed the boy's thoughts ; for the elder Colin's experienced 
 eye had already seen that mists were rising among the hills, and 
 that the fair breeze would soon be fair no longer. The scene 
 changed as if by enchantment while the farmer spoke. Such 
 changes come and go like breath over the Holy Loch. The sun- 
 shine which had been making the whole landscape into a visible 
 paradise, vanished suddenly off the hills and waters like a fright- 
 ened thing, and a visible darkness came brooding over the 
 mountains, dropping lower every moment like a pall of gloom 
 over the lower banks and the suddenly paled and shivering loch. 
 The joyous little boat, which had been careering on as if by a 
 natural impulse of delight, suddenly changed its character along 
 with all the other details of the picture. The spectators saw its 
 white sail, fluttering like an alarmed seabird, against the black 
 background of cloud. Then it began to tack and waver and 
 make awkward tremulous darts across the darkened water. The 
 party of pedestrians stood still to watch it, as the position became 
 dangerous. They knew the loch and the winds too well to look
 
 ///.] A Son of the Soil. 27 
 
 on with composure. As for young Colin of Ramore, liis heart 
 began to leap and swell in his bopsh bosom. Was that his 
 adversary, the favoured rival whom he had recognised by instinct, 
 who was fighting for his life out there in midwater, with the 
 storm gaining on him, and his little vessel staggering in the 
 wind 1 Colin did not hear the remarks of the other spectators. 
 He felt in his heart that he was looking on at a struggle which 
 was for life or death, and his contempt for the skill of the ama- 
 teur sailor, whose unused hands were so manifestly unable to 
 manage the boat, was mingled with a kind of despau- lest a 
 stronger power should snatch this opponent of his oAvn out of 
 the future strife, in which Colin had vowed to himself to be 
 victorious. 
 
 " You fool I take in the sail," he shouted, putting both his hands 
 to his mouth, forgetting how impossible it was that the sound 
 could reach ; and then scarcely knowing what he was about, the 
 boy rushed down to the beach, and jumped into the nearest boat. 
 The sound of his oars furiously plashing through the silence was 
 the first indication to liis companions of what he had done. And 
 he did not even see nor hear the calls and gestures with which 
 he was summoned back again. His oars, and how to get there 
 at a flight like a bird, occupied his mind entirely. Yet even in 
 his anxiety he scorned to ask for helj) which would have carried 
 him so much sooner to the spot he aimed at. As this sudden 
 sound echoed through the profound silence, various outcries came 
 from the group on the bank. 
 
 " It's tempting Providence," cried Eben Campbell. " Yon's 
 a judgment on the Sabbath -breaker, — and what can the laddie 
 do ? Come back, sh, this moment, come back ! Ye'll never 
 win there in time." 
 
 As for the boy's mother, after his first start she clasped her 
 hands together, and watched the boat with an interest too intense 
 for words. " He's in nae dancrer," she said to herself softlv :
 
 28 A Son of the Soil. [chap. 
 
 and it would have heen hard to tell whether she was sorry or 
 glad that her hoy's enterprise was attended by no personal 
 peril. 
 
 " Let him he," said the farmer of Eamore, pushing aside his 
 anxious neighbour, who was calling Colin ineffectually but with- 
 out intermission. Colin Campbell's face had taken a sudden 
 crimson flush which nobody could account for. He went off up 
 the beach with heavy rapid steps, scattering the shingle round 
 his feet, to a spot exactly opposite the struggling boat, and stood 
 there watching with wonderful eagerness. The little white sail 
 was still fluttering and struggling like a distressed bird upon the 
 black overclouded water. Now it lurched over till the very 
 mast seemed to touch the loch — now recovered itself for a 
 tremulous moment — and finally, shivering like a living creature, 
 gave one wild sudden stagger, and disappeared. When the 
 speck of white vanished out of the black landscape, a cry came 
 out of all their hearts ; and hopeless as it was, the very man who 
 had been calling Colin back, rushed in his turn to a boat, and 
 pushed off violently into the loch. The women stood huddled 
 together, helpless with terror and grief. " The bit laddie ! the 
 bit laddie ! " cried one of them — " some poor woman's bairn." 
 As for Mrs. Campbell, the world grew dark round her as she 
 strained her eyes after Colin's boat. She did not faint, for such 
 was not the habit of the Holy Loch; but she sank down 
 suddenly on the wet green bank, and put up her hand over her 
 eyes as if to shade them from some imaginary sunshine, and 
 gazed, not seeing anything, after her boy. To see her, delicate 
 as she was, with the woman weakness which they all understood, 
 seating herself in this wild way on the wet bank, distracted the 
 attention of her kindly female neighbours, even from the terrible 
 event which had just taken place before their eyes. 
 
 " Maybe the lad can swim," said Eben Campbell's wife — 
 " onyway yonder 's your Colin running races with death to save
 
 ///.I A Son of the Soil. 29 
 
 him. But you maunna sit here — come into Dugald Macfarlane's 
 house. There's my man away in another boat and some mair. 
 But we canna let you sit here." 
 
 **Eh, my Colin, I canna see my Colin," said the mistress of 
 Eamore ; but they led her away into the nearest cottage, not- 
 withstanding her reluctance. There they all stood clustering at 
 the window, aiding the eyes which had failed her in her weak- 
 ness. Colin's mother sat silent in the chair where they had 
 placed her, trembling and rocking herself to and fro. Her heart 
 mthin her was praying and crying for the boys — the two boys 
 whom in this moment of confused anxiety she could not separate 
 — her own first-bom, and the stranger who was " another 
 woman's bairn." God help all women and mothers ! — though 
 Colin was safe, what could her heart do but break at the thought 
 of the sudden calamity which had shut out the sunshine from 
 another. She rocked herself to and fro, ceasing at last to hear 
 what they said to her, and scarcely aware of anytliing except the 
 dull clank of the oars against the boat's side ; somebody coming 
 or going, she knew not which — always coming or going — never 
 bringing certain news which was lost and which saved. 
 
 The mistress of Eamore was still in this stupor of anxiety, 
 when young Harry Frankland, dripping and all but insensible, 
 was carried into Dugald Macfarlane's cottage. The Kttle room 
 became dark instantly with such a cloud of men that it was 
 difficult to make out how he had been saved, or if there was 
 indeed any life left in the lad. But Dugald Macfarlane's wife, 
 who had the ferry-boat at Struan, and understood about drown- 
 ing, had bestirred herself in the meantime, and had hot blankets 
 and other necessaries in the inner room where big Colin Camp- 
 bell carried the boy. Then all the men about burst at once into 
 the narrative. "If it hadna been for little Colin o' Eamore" — 
 was about all Mrs. Campbell made out of the tale. The cottage 
 was so thronged that there was scarcely an entrance left for the
 
 30 A Son of the Soil. [CHAp. 
 
 doctor and Sir Thomas who had both been summoned by anxious 
 messengers. By this time the storm had come down upon the 
 loch, and a wild sudden tempest of rain was sweeping black 
 across hill and water, obliterating every line of the landscape. 
 Half-way across, playing on the surface of the water was a bit of 
 spar with a scarlet rag attached to it, which made a great show 
 glistening over the black waves. This was all that was visible 
 of the pleasure-boat in which the young stranger had been 
 bounding along so pleasantly an hour before. The neighbours 
 dropped off gradually, dispersing to other adjacent houses to talk 
 over the incident, or pushing homeward with an indifference to 
 the storm that was natural to the dwellers on the Holy Loch ; 
 and it was only when she was left alone, waiting for her husband, 
 who was in the inner room with Sir Thomas and the saved boy, 
 that Mrs. Campbell perceived Colin's bashful face gleaming in 
 furtively at the open door. 
 
 " It's no so wet as it was ; come away, mother, now," said 
 Colin, " there's nae fears o' him ? " And the lad pointed half 
 with an assertion, half with an inquiry, towards the inner room. 
 It was an unlucky moment for the shy hero, for just then big 
 Colin of Eamore appeared with Sir Thomas at the door. 
 
 "This is the boy that saved my son," said Harry's father. 
 "You are a brave fellow; neither he nor I will ever forget it. 
 Let me know if there is anything I can serve you in, and to th& 
 best of my power I will help you as you have helped me. What 
 does he say ? " 
 
 "I say," said Colin the younger, with fierce blushes, "that it 
 wasna me. I've done naething to be thanked for. Yon fellow 
 swims like a fish, and he saved himsel." 
 
 And then there came an answering voice from the inner room 
 — a boy's voice subdued out of its natural falsetto into feminine 
 tones of weakness, " He's telling a lie, that fellow there," cried 
 the other from his bed ; " he picked me up when I was about
 
 777.] A Sou of the Soil. 31 
 
 done for. I'll fight Mm if he likes as soon as I'm able. But 
 that's a lie he tells you ; that's him — that CampheU fellow 
 there." 
 
 Upon which young Colin of Eamore clenched his fists in his 
 wet pockets and faced towards the door, which Dugald Mac- 
 farlane's wife closed softly, looking out upon him, shaking her 
 head and holding up a finger to impose silence j the two fathers 
 meanwhile looked in each other's faces. The English baronet and 
 the Scotch farmer both broke into a low, unsteady laugh, and then 
 with an impulse of fellowship, mutually extended their hands. 
 
 " We have nae reason to think shame of our sons," said Colin 
 Campbell with his Scotch dignity ; " as for service or reward 
 that is neither here nor there ; what my boy did your boy would 
 do if he had the chance, and there's nae mair to be said that I 
 can see." 
 
 " There's a great deal more to be said," said Sir Thomas ; 
 " Lady Frankland will call on Mrs. Campbell, and thank that 
 brave boy of yours; and if you think I can forget such a 
 service, — I tell you there's a great deal more to be said," said 
 the sportsman, breaking down suddenly with a little effusion, of 
 which he was half ashamed. 
 
 "The gentleman's right, Colin," said the mistress of Eamore. 
 " God be thanked for the two laddies ! My heart was breaking 
 for the English lady. God be thanked ! That's a' there is to 
 say. But I'll be real glad to see that open-hearted caUant when 
 he's well, and his mother too," said the farmer's wife, turning 
 her soft eyes upon Sir Thomas, with a gracious response to the 
 overflowing of his heart. Sir Thomas took off his hat to her as 
 respectfully as he would have done to the Queen, when she took 
 her husband's strong arm, and followed Colin, who by this time, 
 with his hands in his pockets and his heart beating loudly, was 
 half way to Eamore; and now they had other topics besides 
 that unfailing one of the new minister to talk of on the way.
 
 32 A Son of the Soil. [CHAp. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 November weather is not clieerful on the Holy Loch. The 
 dazzling snow on the hills when there is sunshine, the sharp cold 
 blue of the water, the withered ferns and heather on the banks, 
 give it, it is true, a new tone of colour unknown to its placid 
 summer beauty ; but, when there is no sunshine, as is more 
 usual, when the mountains are folded in dark mists, and the 
 pain falls cold, and the trees rain down a still heavier and more 
 melancholy shower of perpetually falling leaves, there is little in 
 the landscape to cheer the spirits of the inhabitants, who, fortu- 
 nately for themselves, take it very calmly, like most people 
 accustomed to such a climate. The farmer's wife of Eamore, 
 however, was not of that equable mind. When she looked out 
 from her homely parlour-window, it opjiressed her heart to miss 
 her mountains, and to see the heavy atmosphere closing in over 
 her own little stretch of hill-side. She was busy, to be sure, 
 and had not much time to think of it ; but, when she paused 
 for a moment in her many occujiations, and looked wistfully for 
 signs of " clearing," the poetic soul in her homely bosom fell 
 subdued into an unconscious harmony with the heavy sky. If 
 the baby looked pale by chance, the mother took gloomy views 
 of the matter on such days, and was subject to little momentary 
 failures of hope and courage, which amazed, and at the same 
 time amused, big Colin, who by this time knew all about it. 
 
 "You were blythe enough about us a' yesterday, Jeanie," he 
 would say with a smile, " and nothing's happened to change the 
 prospect but the rain. It's just as weel for the wean that the
 
 v.] A Son of the Soil. 33 
 
 doctor's a dozen miles off; for it's your e'en that want physic, 
 and a gKnt o' sunshine would set a' right." He was standing by 
 her, hovering like a great good-humoured cloud, his eyes dwelling 
 upon her with that tender perception of her sacred weakness, 
 and admiring pride in her more delicate faculties, which are of 
 the highest essence of love. 
 
 "I hope you dinna think me a fool altogether." the mistress 
 would answer, with momentary offence ; " as if I was thinking 
 of the rain, or as if there was onything but rain to be lookit for ! 
 but when I mind that my Colin gangs away the morn — " 
 
 And then she took up her basket of mended stockings, and, 
 with a little impatience, to hide a chance drop on her eyelash, 
 carried them away to Colin's room, where his chest stood open 
 and was being packed for the journey. It was not a very long 
 journey, but it was the boy's first outset into independent life ; 
 and very independent life was that which awaited the country 
 lad in Glasgow, where he was going to the University. On such 
 a day dark shadows of many a melancholy story floated somehow 
 upon the darkened atmosphere into ^Irs, Campbell's mind. 
 
 " If we could but have boarded him in a decent family," she 
 said to herself as she packed her boy's stockings. But it had 
 been " a bad year " at Eamore, and no decent family would have 
 received young Colin for so small a sum as that on which he 
 himself and various more wise advisers considered it possible 
 for Mm to live, by the help of an occasional hamper of home- 
 produce, in a little lodging of his own. Mrs. Campbell had 
 acceded to this arrangement as the best ; but it occurred to her 
 to remember various wrecks she had encountered even in her 
 innocent life ; and her heart failed her a Little as she leaned over 
 Colin's big ^'kist." 
 
 Colin himself said very little on the subject, though he 
 thought of nothing else ; but he was a taciturn Scotch boy, 
 totally unused to disclose his feelings. He was strolling round 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 A Son of the Soil. [chap. 
 
 and round the place with his hands in his pockets, gradually- 
 getting soaked by the persistent rain, and rather liking it than 
 otherwise. As he strayed about — having nothing to do that 
 day in consideration of its being his last day at home — Colin's 
 presence was by no means welcomed by the other people about 
 the farm. Of course, being unoccupied himself, he had the 
 sharpest eyes for every blunder that was going on in the stable 
 or the byre, and announced his little discoveries with a charming 
 candour. But in his heart, even at the moment when he was 
 driving Jess to frenzy by uncalled-for remarks touching the 
 dinner of the pigs, Colin was all a-blaze with anticipation of the 
 new life that was to begin to-morrow. He thought of it as 
 something grand and complete, not made up of petty details like 
 this life he was leaving. It was a mist of learning, daily stimu- 
 lation and encounter of wits, with glorious prizes and honours 
 hanging in the hazy distance, which Colin saw as he went 
 strolling about the farm-yard in the rain, with his hands in his 
 pockets. If he said anything articulate to himself on the subject, 
 it was comprised in one succinct, but seemingly inapplicable, 
 statement. '' Eton's no a college," he said once, under his 
 breath, with a dark glow of satisfaction on his face as he stopped 
 opposite the door, and cast a glance upon the loch and the boat, 
 which latter was now drawn up high and dry out of reach of the 
 wintry water ; and then a cloud suddenly lowered over Colin's 
 face, as a sudden doubt of his own accuracy seized him — a tor- 
 turing thought which drove him indoors instantly to resolve his 
 doubt by reference to a wonderful old Gazetteer which was 
 believed in at Ramore. Colin found it recorded there, to his 
 great mental disturbance, that Eton was a college; but, on 
 further inquiry, derived great comfort from knowing that it 
 certainly was not a university, after which he felt himself again 
 at liberty to issue forth and superintend and aggravate all the 
 busy people about the farm.
 
 iv.] A Son of the Soil. 35 
 
 That night the family supper-table was somewhat dull, not- 
 withstanding the excitement of the boys, for Archie was to 
 accompany his father and brother to Glasgow, and was in great 
 glee over that unusual delight. ^Irs. Campbell, for her part, 
 was full of thoughts natural enough to the mother of so many 
 sons. She kept looking at her boys as they sat round the table, 
 absorbed in their supper. " This is the beginning, but wha can 
 tell what may be the end 1 " she said half to herself ; " they'll a' 
 be gane afore we ken what we're doing." Little Johnnie, to be 
 sure, was but six years old ; but the mother's imagination leapt 
 over ten years, and saw the house empty, and all the young lives 
 out in the world. " Eh me ! " said the reflective woman, " that's 
 what we bring up our bairns for, and rejoice over them as if they 
 were treasure ; and then by the time we're auld they're a' gane ; " 
 and, as she spoke, not the present shadow only, but legions of 
 vague desolations in the time to come came rolling up like mists 
 upon her tender soul. 
 
 " As lang as there's you and me, we'll fend, Jeanie," said the 
 farmer, with a smile; "twa's very good company to my way o' 
 thinkiug ; but there's plenty of time to think about the dispersion 
 which canna take place yet for a year or twa. The boys came 
 into the world to live their ain lives and serve their Maker, and 
 no' just to pleasure you and me. If you've a' done, ye can cry- 
 on Jess, and bring out the big Eible, Colin. We maiinna miss 
 our prayers to-night." 
 
 To tell the truth, Colin of Eamore was not quite so regular in 
 his discharge of this duty as his next neighbour, Eben Campbell 
 of Barnton, thought necessary, and was disapproved of accord- 
 ingly by that virtuous critic ; but the homely little service was 
 perhaps all the more touching on this special occasion, and 
 marked the " night before Colin went first to the college," as a 
 night to be remembered. When his brothers trooped off to bed, 
 Colin remained behind as a special distinction. His mother was 
 
 d2
 
 36 A Son of the Soil. \chap. 
 
 sitting by the fire without even her knitting, with her hands 
 crossed in her lap, and clouds of troubled, tender thought veiling 
 her soft eyes. As for the farmer, he sat looking on with a faint 
 gleam of humour in his face. He knew that his wife was going 
 to speak out her anxious heart to her boy, and big Colin's 
 respect for her judgment was just touched by a man's smile at 
 her womanish solemnity, and the great unlikelihood that her 
 innocent advices would have the effect she imagined upon her 
 son's career. But, notwithstanding the smile, big Colin, too, 
 listened with interest to all that his wife had to say. 
 
 " Come here and sit down," said Mrs. Campbell ; " you 
 needna' think shame of my hand on your head, though you are 
 gaun to the college the morn. Eh ! Colin, you dinna ken a' 
 the temptations nor the trials. Ye've aye had your ain way at 
 hame — " 
 
 Here Colin made a little movement of irrepressible dissent. 
 " I've aye done what I was bidden," said the honest boy. He 
 could not accept that gentle fiction even when his heart was 
 touched by his mother's farewell. 
 
 " Weel, wee]," said the farmer's wife, with a little sigli ; 
 " you've had your ain way as far as it was good for you. But 
 its awfu' different, living among strangers, and living in your 
 father's house. Ye'll have to think for yoursel' and take care 
 of yoursel' now. I'm no one to give many ad^dces," said the 
 mother, putting up her hand furtively to her eyes, and looking 
 into the fire till the tears should be re-absorbed which had 
 gathered there. " But I w^ouldna like my firstborn to leave 
 Eamore and think a' was as fair in the world as appears to the 
 common e'e. I've been real weel off a' my days," said the 
 mistress, slowly, letting the tears which she had restrained before 
 drop freely at this reminiscence of happiness ; " a guid father 
 and mother to bring me up, and then him there, that's the 
 kindest man ! — But you and me needna praise your father,
 
 IV.} A Son of the Soil. 37 
 
 Colia ; we can leave that to them that dinna ken," she went on, 
 recovering herself; "but I've had ae trouble for a' so weel as 
 I've been, and I mean to tell you what that is afore you set out 
 in the world for yoursel'." 
 
 " Xothing about poor George," said the farmer, breaking in — 
 
 " Oh, ay, Colin, just about poor George ; I maun speak," said 
 the mistress. " He was far the bonniest o' our family, and the 
 best-likit ; and he was to be a minister, laddie, like you. He 
 used to come hame with his prizes, and bring the very sunshine 
 to the auld house. Eh ! but my mother was proud ; and for me, 
 I thought there was nothing in this world he mightna' do if he 
 likit. Colin," said Mrs. Campbell, with solemn looks, " are ye 
 listening ? The last time I saw my brother was in a puir place 
 at Liverpool, a' in rags and dirt, with an auld coat buttoned to 
 his throat, that it mightna' be seen what was wantin', and a' his 
 wild hair hangin' about his face, and his feet out o' his shoon, 
 and hunger in his eye — " 
 
 " Jeanie, Jeanie, nae mair," said big Colin from the other side 
 of the fire. 
 
 " But I maun say mair ; I maun tell a'," cried his wife, with 
 tears. " Hunger in his bonnie face, that was ance the blythest 
 in the country-side — no hunger for honest meat as nature might 
 crave, but for a' thing that was unlawfu', and evil, and killin' to 
 soul and body. He had to be watched for fear he should spend 
 the hard-won silver that we had a' scraped together to send him 
 away. Him that had been our pride, we couldna trust him, 
 Colin, no ten minutes out o' our sight but he was in some new 
 trouble. It was to Australia we sent him, where a' the un- 
 fortunates go. Eh, me ! the like o' that ship sailing ! If there 
 was a kind o' hope in our breasts it was the hope o' despair. It 
 wasna' my will, for what is there in a new place to make a man 
 reform his ways ? And that was how your Uncle George went 
 away."
 
 38 A Son of the Soil. [chap. 
 
 " And then ? " cried the boy, whose interest was raised, and 
 who had heard mysteriously of this Uncle George before. 
 
 "We've heard no word from that day to this," said Mrs. 
 Campbell, drying her eyes. " Listen till I tell you a' that his 
 pleasurings brought him to. First, and greatest, to say what 
 was not true, Colin — to deceive them that trusted him. If the 
 day should ever dawn that I couldna trust a bairn o' mine — if it 
 should ever come sickening to my heart that e'e or tongue was 
 false that belonged to me — if I had to watch my laddies, and to 
 stand in doubt at every word they said — eh ! Colin, God send I 
 may be in my grave afore such an awfu' fate shoald come to me." 
 
 Young Colin of Eamore answered not a word ; he stared into the 
 fire instead, making horrible faces unawares. He could not have 
 denied, had he been taxed with it, that tears were in his eyes ; 
 but rather than shed them he would have endured tortures ; 
 and any expression of his feelings in words was more impossible 
 still. 
 
 " JN"© as if I was a better woman than my mother, or worthy 
 o' a better fate," said the thoughtful mistress of Eamore ; " for 
 she was ane o' the excellent of the earth, as a'body kens ; and if 
 ever a woman won to her rest through great tribulations, she was 
 ane ; and, if the Lord sent the cross. He would send the strength 
 to bear it. But oh ! Colin, my man, it would be kind to drown 
 your mother in the loch, or fell her on the hill, sooner than 
 bring upon her such great anguish and trouble as I have told 
 you of this night." 
 
 " 1^0 w, wife," said the farmer, interfering, " you've said your 
 part. Nac such thought is in Colin's head. Gang you and look 
 after his kist, and see that a' thing's right ; and him and me will 
 have our crack the time you're away. Your mother's an innocent 
 woman," said big Colin, after a pause, when she had gone away ; 
 " she kens nae mair of the world than the bairn on her knee. 
 When you're a man you'll ken the benefit of taking your first
 
 ir.] A Son of the Soil. 39 
 
 notions from a woman like that. Xo an imagination in her 
 mind but what's good and true. It's hard work fechtiug through 
 this world without marks o' the battle," said big Colin with a 
 little pathos ; " but a man wi' the like o' he?- by his side maun 
 be ill indeed if he gangs very far wrang. It mightna' be a' to 
 the purpose," continued the farmer, with a little of his half- 
 conscious common-sense superiority, " as appeals to the feehngs 
 seldom are ; but, Colin, if you take my advice, you'll mind every 
 word of what your mother says." 
 
 Colin said not a syllable in reply. He had got rid of the 
 tears safely, which was a great deal gained : they must have 
 fallen had the mistress remained two seconds longer lookincr at 
 him with her soft beaming eyes ; but he had not quite gulped 
 down yet that climbing sorrow which had him by the throat. 
 Anyhow, even if his voice had been at his own command, he 
 was very unlikely to have made any reply. 
 
 " Ye'U find a' strange when ye gang to Glasgow," continued 
 the farmer. " I'm no feared for any great temptation, except 
 idleness, besetting a callant like you ; but a man that has his ain 
 bread and his ain way to make in the world, has nae time for 
 idleness. You've giiid abilities, Colin, and if they dinna come 
 to something you'll have but yoursel' to blame : and I wouldna' 
 put the reproach on my Maker of having brought a useless soul 
 into the world, if I were you," said big Colin. " There's never 
 ony failures that I can see among the lower creation, without 
 some guid reason ; but it's the privilege o' men to fail without 
 ony cause o' failure except want o' will to do week "When ye 
 see the like of George, for instance, ye ask what the Lord took 
 the trouble to make such a ne'er-do-weel for ? " said the homely 
 philosopher ; " I never could help thinking, for my part, that it 
 was labour lost — though nae doubt Providence kent better ; but 
 I wouldna' be like that if I could help it. There's no a silly sheep 
 on the hill, nor horse in the stable, that isna' a credit to Him
 
 40 A Son of the Soil. [CHAp. 
 
 that made it. I would take good heed no to put mysel' beneath 
 the brute beasts, if I were you." 
 
 " I'm no meaning," cried Colin, with ungrammatical abrupt- 
 ness and a little offence ; for he was pricked in his pride by this 
 address, which was not, according to his father's ideas, any 
 " appeal to his feelings," but a calm and common-sense way of 
 putting an argument before the boy. 
 
 " I never said you were," said the farmer. " It'll cost us hard 
 work to keep ye at your studies, and I put it to your honour no 
 to waste your time ; and you'll write regular, and mind what 
 kind o' thoughts your mother's thinking at home in Ramore ; 
 and I may tell you, Colin, I put confidence in you," said the 
 father, laying his big hand with a heavy momentary pressure 
 upon the lad's shoulder. " Now, good night, and go to your 
 bed, and prepare for the morn." 
 
 Such were the parting advices with which the boy was sent 
 out into the world. His mother was in his room, kneeling 
 before his chest, adding the last particulars to its store, when 
 Colin entered the homely little chamber — but what they said to 
 each other before they parted was for nobody's ear; and the 
 morning was blazing with a wintry brightness, and all the hills 
 standing white against the sky, and the heart of the mistress 
 hopeful as the day, when she wiped off her tears with her apron, 
 and waved her farewell to her boy, as he went off in the little 
 steamer which trnce a day thriUed the loch with communica- 
 tions from the world. " He'U come back in the spring," she 
 said to herself, as she went about her homely work, and ordered 
 her household. And so young Colin went forth, all dauntless 
 and courageous, into the great battlefield, to encounter whatso 
 ever conflicts might come to bim, and to conquer the big world 
 and all that was therein, in the victorious dreams of his youth.
 
 v.] A Son of the Soil. 41 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The first disappointment encountered by the young hero was 
 the wonderful shock of finding out that it was not an abstract 
 world he had to encounter and fight with, but that life was an 
 afiair of days and hours exactly as at Eamore, which was about 
 his first real mental experience and discovery. It was a strange 
 mortification to Colin, who was, like his mother, a poet in his 
 soul, to find out that there was nothing abstract in his new 
 existence, but that a perpetually recurring round of lessons to 
 learn, and classes to attend, and meals to eat, made up the days, 
 which were noways changed in their character from those days 
 which he had already known for all the fifteen years of his hfe. 
 After the first shock, however, he went on with undiminished 
 courage — for at fifteen it is so easy to think that those great 
 hours are waiting for us somewhere in the undisclosed orb of 
 existence. Certainly a time would come when every day, of 
 itseK a radiant whole and complete unity, would roll forth 
 majestic like the earth in the mystic atmosphere. He had 
 missed it this time, but after a while it must come ; for the 
 future, like the past, works wonders upon the aspect of time ; 
 and still it is true of the commonest hours that they — 
 
 " win 
 
 A glory from their being far, 
 And orb into the perfect star 
 "We saw not when we walked therein. " 
 
 So thought Colin, looking at them from the other side, and 
 seeing a perfection which nobody ever reached in this world.
 
 42 A ISon of the Soil. [CHAP. 
 
 But of course lie did not know that — so he postponed those 
 grand days, and barred them up with shining doors, on which 
 was written the name and probable date of the next great 
 change in his existence ; and, contenting himself for the present 
 with the ordinary hours, went light-hearted enough upon his 
 boyish way. 
 
 A little adventure which occurred to the neophyte on his 
 first entrance upon this new scene, produced results for him, 
 however, which are too important to be omitted from his 
 history. Everybody who has been in that dingiest of cities 
 knows that the students at the University of Glasgow, small as 
 their influence is otherwise upon the character of the town, are 
 bound to do it one superficial service at least. Custom has 
 ordained that they should wear red gowns ; and the fatigued 
 traveller, weary of the universal leaden grey, can alone appre- 
 ciate fully the sense of gratitude and relief occasioned by the 
 sudden gleam of scarlet fluttering up the long unlovely street on 
 a Il^ovember day. But that artistic sense which penetrates but 
 slowly into barbarous regions has certainly not yet reached the 
 students of Glasgow. So far from considering themselves public 
 benefactors through the medium of their red gowns, there is no 
 expedient of boyish ingenuity to which the ignorant youths 
 will not resort to quench the splendid tint, and reduce its glory 
 as nearly as possible to the sombre hue of everything around. 
 Big Colin of Eamore was unacquainted with the tradition which 
 made a new and brilliant specimen of the academic robe of 
 Glasgow as irritating to the students as the colour is supposed 
 to be to other animals of excitable temper; and the good 
 farmer naturally arrayed his son in a new gown, glorious as any 
 new ensign in the first delight of his uniform. As for Colin, 
 he was far from being delighted. The terrible thought of 
 walking through the streets in that blazing costume seriously 
 counterbalanced all the pleasure of independence, and the pride
 
 v.] A ,b'o;z of the Soil. 43 
 
 of being " at college." The "^poor boy slunk along by the least 
 frequented way, and stole into his place the first morning like a 
 criminal. And it was not long before Colin, perceived that 
 his new companions were of a similar opinion. There was not 
 another gown so brilliant as his own among them all. The 
 greater part were in the last stage of tatters and dinginess; 
 though among a company, which included a number of lads 
 of CoUn's own age, it was evident that there must be many who 
 wore the unvenerated costume for the first time. Dreams of 
 rushing to the loch, which had been his immediate resource all 
 his life hitherto, and soaking the obnoxious wrapper in the salt- 
 water, confused his mind; but he was not prepared for the sum- 
 mary measures which were in contemplation. As soon as Colin 
 emerged out of the shelter of the class-room, his persecution 
 commenced. He was mobbed, hustled, pelted, until his spirit 
 was roused. The gown was odious enough ; but Cohn was not 
 the lad to have even the thing he most wanted imposed upon 
 him by force. As soon as he was aware of the meaning of his 
 tormentors, the country boy stood up for his costume. He 
 gathered the glowing folds round him, and struck out fiercely, 
 bringing down two or three of his adversaries. Colin, however, 
 was alone against a multitude ; and what might have happened 
 either to himself or his dress it would have been difficult to 
 predict, had not an unexpected defender come in to the rescue. 
 Next to Colin in the classroom a man of about twice his age 
 had been seated — a man of thirty, whose gaimt shoulders 
 brushed the boy's fair locks, and whose mature and thoughtful 
 head rose strangely over the young heads around. It was he 
 who strode through the ring and dispersed Colin's adversaries. 
 
 "For shame o' yourselves," he said in a deep bass voice, 
 which contrasted wonderfully with the young falsettos round 
 hinu " Leave the laddie alone ; he knows no better. Til lick 
 ye a' for a set of schoolboys, if you don't let him be. Here, boy.
 
 44 A Son of the Soil. [CHAP. 
 
 take off the red rag and throw it to me," said Colin's new 
 champion ; but the Campbell blood was up. 
 
 "I'll no take it off/' cried Colin ; " it's my ain, and I'll wear 
 it if I like ; and I'll fell anybody that meddles with me ! " 
 
 Upon which, as was natural, a wonderful scuffle ensued. 
 Colin never knew perfectly how he was extricated from this 
 alarming situation ; but, when he came to himself, he was in 
 the streets on his way home, with his new friend by his side — 
 very stiff, and aching in every limb, with one sleeve of his gown 
 torn out, and its glory minished by the mud which had been 
 thrown at it, but still held tightly as he had gathered it round 
 him at the first affray. When he recovered so far as to hear 
 some other sound besides his own panting breath, Colin dis- 
 covered that the gaunt giant by his side was preaching at him 
 in a leisurely reflective way from his eminence of six feet two 
 or three. Big Colin of Eamore was but six feet, and at that 
 altitude two or three inches tell. The stranger looked gigantic 
 in his lean length as the boy looked up, half wondering, half- 
 defiant, to hear what he was saying. What he said sounded 
 wonderfully like preaching, so high up and so composed was 
 the voice which kept on arguing over Colin's head, with an 
 indifference to whether he listened or not, which, in ordinary 
 conversation, is somewhat rare to see. 
 
 " It might be right to stand up for your gown ; I'll no commit 
 myself to say," was the first sentence of the discourse which fell 
 on Colin's ear ; "for there's no denying it was your own, and 
 a man, or even a callant, according to the case in point, has 
 a right to wear what he likes, if he's no under lawful authority, 
 nor the garment offensive to decency ; but it would have been 
 more prudent on the present occasion to have taken off the red 
 rag as I advised. It's a remnant of superstition in itself, and 
 I'm no altogether sure that my conscience, if it was put to the 
 question, would approve of wearing gowns at all, unless, indeed,
 
 r.] A Son of the Soil. 45 
 
 it had ceased to be customary to wear other garments ; but that's 
 an unlikely case, and I would not ask you to take it into con- 
 sideration," said the calm voice, half a mile over Colin's head. 
 "It's a kind of relic of the monastic system, which is out of 
 accordance with modern ideas j but, as you're no old enough to 
 have any opinions — " 
 
 " I have as good a right to have opinions as you," exclaimed 
 Colin, promptly, glad of an opportunity to contradict and defy 
 somebody, and get rid of the fumes of his excitement. 
 
 " That's no the subject under discussion," said the stranger. 
 " I never said any man had a right to opinions ; I incline to 
 the other side of that question mysel'. The thing we were 
 arguing was the gown. A new red gown is as aggravating to 
 the students of Glasgow University as if they were so many 
 bulls — no that I mean to imjDly that they re anything so forcible. 
 You'll have to yield to the popular superstition if you would Kve 
 in peace." 
 
 " I'm no heeding about living in peace," interrupted Colin. 
 " I'm no feared. It's naebody's business but my ain. My gown 
 is my gown, and I'll no change it if — " 
 
 "Let me speak," said his new friend; "you're terrible talka- 
 tive for a callant. Where do you Hve 1 I'll go home with ye 
 and argue the question. Besides, you've got a knock on the 
 head there that wants looking to, and I suppose you're in 
 Glasgow by yourself? You needna' thank me, it's no neces- 
 sary," said the stranger, with a bland movement of the hand. 
 
 " I wasna' meaning to thank you. I'm living in Donaldson's 
 Land, and I can take care of myself," said Colin. But the boy 
 was no match for his experienced classfellow, who went on 
 calmly preaching as before, arguing aU kinds of questions, till 
 the two arrived at the foot of the stairs which led to Colin's 
 humble lodging. The stair was long, narrow, and not very 
 clean. It bore stains of spilt milk on one flight, and long
 
 46 A Son of the Soil. ICHAP. 
 
 droppings of water on another ; and all the miscellaneous smells 
 of half a dozen different households, none of them particularly- 
 dainty in their habits, were caught and concentrated in the deep 
 well of a staircase, into which they all opened. Colin's abode 
 was at the very top. His landlady was a poor widow, who had 
 but three rooms, and a host of children. The smallest of the 
 three rooms was let to Colin, and in the other two she put up 
 somehow her own sons and daughters, and did her mantua- 
 making, and accomplished her humble cookery. The roojns 
 had sloping roofs and attic windows ; and two chairs and a 
 slip of carpet made Colin's apartment splendid. Colin led the 
 way for his " friend," not without a slight sentiment of pride, 
 which had taken the place of his first annoyance. After all, 
 it was imposing to his imagination to have his society sought by 
 another student, a man so much older than himself; and Colin 
 was not unaware of the worship which it would gain him in the 
 eyes of his hostess, who had looked on him dubiously on the 
 day of his arrival, and designated him "little mair than a bairn." 
 Colin was very gracious in doing the honours of his room to his 
 unsolicited visitor, and spoke loud out that Mrs. Fergus might 
 hear. " You'll have to stoop when you go in at that door," said 
 the boy, already learning with natural art to shine in reflected 
 glory. But Colin was less complacent when they had entered 
 the room, half from natural shyness, half from an equally natural 
 defiance and opposition to the grown-up and experienced person 
 who had escorted him home. 
 
 "Well," said this strange personage, stooping grimly to con- 
 template himself in the little square of looking-glass which hung 
 over Colin's table ; " you and me are no very like classfellows ; 
 but I like a laddie that has some spirit and stands up for his 
 rights. Of course you come from the country ; but first come 
 here, my boy, before you answer any questions, and let me see 
 that knock on your head."
 
 J".] A Son of the Soil. 47 
 
 " I had nae intention of answering any questions ; and I can 
 take care of myself/' answered Colin, hanging back and declining 
 the invitation. The stranger, however, only smiled, stretched 
 out his long arm, and drew the boy towards him. And certainly 
 he had received a cut on the head which required to be attended 
 to. Eeluctant as he was, tlie lad was too shy to make any active 
 resistance, even if he had possessed moral courage enough to 
 oppose successfully the will of a man so much older than him- 
 self. He submitted to have the cut bathed and plastered up, 
 which his new friend did with the utmost tenderness, delivering 
 a slow and lengthy address all the while over his head. When 
 the operation was over, Colin was more and more perplexed 
 what to do with his visitor ; though a little faint after his fight 
 and excitement, he was still well enough to be very hungry, 
 but the idea of asking this unknown friend to share his dinner 
 did not occur to him. He had never done anything beyond 
 launching the boat, or mounting the horses on his own respon- 
 sibility before, and he could not tell what Mrs. Fergus would 
 think of his wound or his visitor. Altogether, Colin was highly 
 perplexed and not over civil, and sat down upon the edge of 
 a chair facing the intruder with an expression of countenance 
 very plainly intimating that he thought him much in the way. 
 
 But the stranger was much above any consideration of Colin's 
 countenance. He was very tall, as we have said, very gaunt 
 and meagre, with a long, pale face surmounted by black locks, 
 thin and dishevelled. He had a black beard, too — a thing much 
 less common at that time than now — which increased his general 
 aspect of dishevelment. His eyes were large, and looked larger 
 in the great sockets hollowed out by something more than years, 
 from which they looked out as from two pale caverns ; yet, with 
 all this gauntness of aspect, his smile, when he smiled, which 
 was seldom, threw a wonderful light over his face, and reminded 
 Colin somehow, he could not tell how, of the sudden gleam
 
 48 A Son of the Soil. [ceap. 
 
 of the sun over the Holy Loch when the clouds were at the 
 darkest, and melted the boy's heart in spite of himself. 
 
 "I was saying we were not very like classfellows," said the 
 stranger ; " that's a queer feature in our Scotch colleges ; there's 
 you, a great deal too young, and me, a great deal too old ; and 
 nere we meet for the same purpose, to learn two dead languages 
 and some sciences that are only half living ; and that's the only 
 way for either you or me to get ourselves made ministers. The 
 English system's an awful deal better, I'm meaning in theory ; 
 — as for the practice, that's neither here nor there, l^othing's 
 right in practice. It's a great thing to have a right idea at the 
 bottom if you can." 
 
 '^ Are you to be a minister 1 " said Colin, not well knowing 
 what to say. 
 
 " When I was like you I thought so," said his new friend ; 
 " it's a long time since then ; but, when I get a good grip of an 
 idea, it's no' easy to get it out of my head again. This is my 
 second session only, for all that," he said, after a momentary 
 pause ; " many a thing I little thought of has stood in my way. 
 I'm little further on than you, though I suppose I'm twice your 
 age ; but to be sure you're far too young for the college ; that's 
 what the Greek professor in Edinburgh is aye havering about ; 
 he might turn to the other side of the question if he knew me." 
 And the stranger interrupted his own monologue to give vent to 
 a long-drawn breath, by way of a sigh, which agitated the atmo- 
 sphere in Colin's little room, as if it had been a sudden breeze. 
 
 " Mr. Hardie's son was only thirteen when he went to the 
 college ; and that's two years younger than me," said Colin, with 
 some indignation. The lad heard a sound, as of knives and 
 plates outside, and pricked up his ears. He was hungry, and 
 his strange visitor seemed rooted upon his hard rush-bottomed 
 chair. But, just as Colin's mind was framing this thought, his 
 companion suddenly gathered himself up, rising in folds, as if 
 there was never to be an end of him.
 
 r.i A Son of the Soil 49 
 
 " You want your dinner ?" he said ; " come with me, it will 
 do you good. "What you were to have will keep till to-morrow ; 
 tell the decent woman so, and come with me. I'm poor, but 
 you shall have something you can eat, and I'll show you what to 
 do when you are tired of Iier provisions ; so come along." 
 
 " I would rather stay at home," said Colin ; " I don't know 
 you, I don't know even your name," he added a minute after, 
 feeling that he was about to yield to the strong influence which 
 was upon him, and doing what he could to save himself. 
 
 " My name's Lauderdale; that's easy settled," said the stranger; 
 ''tell the honest woman; what's her name? — I'll do it for you. 
 ^Irs. Fergus, my young friend here is going to dinner with me. 
 He'U be back, by-and-by, to his studies ; and, in the meantime," 
 said Colin's self-constituted guardian, putting the lad before him, 
 and pausing in the passage to speak to the widow, who regarded 
 his great height and strange appearance with a little curiosity, 
 " take you charge of his gown ; put it up the chimney, or give 
 it a good wash out with soap and soda ; it's too grand for Glas- 
 gow College ; the sooner it comes to be like this," said the 
 gigantic visitor, holding ^ip his own, which was of a dingy port- 
 wine colour, " the better for the boy." 
 
 And then Colin found himseK again walking along the Glas- 
 gow streets, in the murky, early twilight of that November 
 afternoon, with this strange unknown figure which was leading 
 m he knew not whither. "Was it a good or a bad angel which 
 had thus taken possession of the fresh life and unoccupied mind ? 
 Colin could not resist the fascination which was half dislike 
 and haK admiration. He went along quietly by the side of the 
 tall student, who kept dehvering over his head that flood of 
 monotonous talk. The boy grew interested even in the talk 
 before they had gone far, and went on, a little anxious about 
 his dinner, but still more curious concerning the companion 
 with whom Fate had provided him so soon. 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 A Son of the Soil. [chap. 
 
 CHAPTEE YI. 
 
 " 'No tliat I mean to say I believe in fate," said Lauderdale, 
 when tliey had finished their meal ; " though there is little 
 doubt in my mind that what happens is ordained. I couldna 
 tell why, for my part, though I believe in the fact — for most 
 things in life come to nothing, and the grandest train of causes 
 jDroduce nae effect whatsoever ; that's my experience. Indeed, 
 it's often a wonder to me," said the homely philosopher, who 
 was not addressing himself particularly to Colin, "what the 
 Almighty took the trouble to make man for at a'. He's a poor 
 creature at the best, and gives an awfu' deal of trouble for very 
 little good. Considering all things, I'm of opinion that we're 
 little better than an experiment, — and very likely we've been 
 greatly improved upon in mair recent creations. Are you 
 pleased with your dinner ? You're young now, and canna' have 
 much standing against you in the great books. Do you ever 
 think, laddie, of what you mean to be 1 " 
 
 " I mean to be a minister," said Colin, with a furious blush. 
 His thoughts on the subject, if he could but have expressed 
 them, were magnificent enough, but nothing was more impos- 
 sible to the shy country lad, than to explain the ambition which 
 glowed in his eager, visionary mind. He would have sacrificed 
 a finger at any time, rather than talk of the vague but splendid 
 intentions which were fermenting secretly in absolute silence 
 within his reserved Scotch bosom. His new friend looked with 
 a little curiosity at the subdued brightness of the boy's eyes, 
 which spoke more emphatically than his words.
 
 VI.] A Son of the Soil. 51 
 
 " They a' mean to be ministers," said Lauderdale, in his 
 reflective way; " haK of them would do far better to be cobblers; 
 but nae fool could ever be persuaded. As for you, I think 
 there's something in you, or I wouldna have fashed my head 
 about you and your gown. You've got a fair start, and nae 
 drawbacks. I would like to see you go straight forward, and 
 be good for something in your generation. You needna look 
 glum at me ; I'll never be good for much mysel'. You see I've 
 learnt to be fond of talking," he said, philosophically ; " and 
 a man that takes up that line early in life seldom comes to 
 much good ; though I grant you there's exceptions, like Macau- 
 lay, for example. I was just entered at college, when my father 
 died," he continued, falling into a historical strain. " I was 
 only a laddie like yoursel', but I had to give up that thought, 
 and work to help the rest. Xow they are all scattered, and my 
 mother dead, and I'm my own master. [N'o that I'm much the 
 better for that ; but, you see, after I got this situation " 
 
 " "What situation ? " said Colin, quickly. 
 
 " Oh, an honourable occupation," said his tall friend, with a 
 gradually brightening smile. "There's ane of the same trade 
 mentioned with commendation in the Acts of the Apostles. 
 Him and St. Paul were great friends. But you see I'm free for 
 the most part of the day ; and, it being a fixed idea in my mind 
 that I was to go to the college some time or other, it was but 
 natural that I should enter mysel' as soon as I was able. I may 
 go forward, and I may not ; it depends on the world more than 
 on me. So your name's Colin Campbell? — the same as Sir 
 Colin ; but, if you're to be a minister, you can never be any- 
 thing mair than a minister. In any other Line of life a lad can 
 rise if he likes, but there's nae promotion possible to that. If I 
 were you, and fifteen, I would choose another trade." 
 
 To this Colin answered nothing ; the suggestion staggered 
 him considerably, and he was not prepared with anything to 
 
 e2 
 
 U. Oi- ILL LIB.
 
 52 A Son of the Soil. [CHAP. 
 
 say. He looked round the shabby room, and watched the 
 shabby tavern-AA^aiter carrying his dinner to some other cus- 
 tomer ; and Colin's new and unaccustomed eyes saw something 
 imposing even in the aspect of this poor place. He thought of 
 the great world which seemed to surge outside in a ceaseless 
 roar, coming and going — the world in which all sorts of honours 
 and powers seemed to go begging, seeking owners worthy to 
 possess them : and he was pursuing this splendid chaia of pos- 
 sibilities, when Lauderdale resumed his monologue : — 
 
 " The Kirk's in a queer kind of condition a'thegither," said 
 the tall student; " so are most Kirks. Whenever you hit upon 
 a man that kens what he wants, all's well ; but that happens 
 seldom. It's no my case for one. And as for you, you're no at 
 the age to trouble your head about doctrine. You're a young 
 prince at your years — you don't know your privileges ; you 
 believe everything you've been brought up to believe, and are 
 far more sure in your own mind what's false and what's true 
 than a college of doctors. I would rather be you than a' the 
 philosophers in the world." 
 
 " I'm no a fool to believe everything," said Colin, angrily, 
 rousing himself up from his dreams. 
 
 " No," said his companion, " far from a fool ; it's true wisdom 
 if you could but keep it. But the present temper of the 
 world," said the philosopher calmly, " is to conclude that 
 there's nothing a'thegither false, and few things particularly 
 true. When you're tired of the dinners in Donaldson's Land," 
 he continued, without any change of tone, " and from the 
 looks of the honest woman I would not say much for the 
 cookery, you can come and get your dinner here. In tlie mean- 
 time, I'll take ye up to Buchanan Street, if you like. It's five 
 o'clock, and the shop -windows are lighted by this time. I'm 
 very fond of the lights in the shop-windows niysel'. When 
 I've been a poor laddie about the streets, the lights aye looked
 
 n.] A Son of the Soil. 53 
 
 friendly, wliicli is more thau the folk within do when you've no 
 siller. Come along ; it's no trouble to me, and I like to have 
 somebody to talk to," said Lauderdale. 
 
 Colin got up very reluctantly, feeling himself unable to 
 resist the strange personal fascination thus exercised over him. 
 The idea of being only somebody to talk to mortified the hofs 
 pride, but he could not shake himself free from the influence 
 which had taken possession of him. He was only fifteen, and 
 his companion was thirty ; and he had no power to enfranchise 
 himself. He went after the tall figure into the street with very 
 mingled feelings. The stream of talk, which kept flowing on 
 above him, stimulated Colin's mind into the most vigorous 
 action. Such talk was not incomprehensible to a boy who had 
 been trained at Eamore ; but the philosophers of the Holy 
 Loch were orthodox, and this specimen of impartial thoughtful- 
 ness roused all the fire of youthful polemics in Colin's bosom. 
 He set down his companion unhesitatiugly, of course, as a 
 " sceptic," perhaps an infidel; and was already longing to rush 
 in upon him, with arbitrary boyish zeal and disdain, to make 
 an end on the spot of his mistaken opinions. As for Colin 
 himself, he was very sure of everything, as was natural to his 
 years, and had never entertained any doubts that the Shorter 
 Catechism was as infallible a standard of truth, as it was a 
 terrible infliction upon the youthful memory. Colin went 
 along the murky streets, by his companion's side, thinking 
 within himself that, perhaps, his own better arguments and 
 higher reason might convert this mistaken man, and listened to 
 him eagerly as they proceeded together along the long line of 
 the Trongate, much excited by his own intentions, and feeling 
 somehow, in his boyish heart, that this universal stimulation of 
 everything, within and without, was a real beginning of life. 
 For everything was new to the country boy, who had never 
 in his life before been out of doors at night, anj^here, save in
 
 54 A Son of the Soil ichap. 
 
 the silent country roads, through darkness lighted by the moon, 
 or, when there was no moon, by the pale glimmer of the loch. 
 Now his eyes were dazzled by the lights, and all his senses 
 kept in exercise by the necessity of holding his own way, and 
 resisting the pressure of the human current which flowed past 
 him; while Lauderdale kept talking of a hundred things 
 which were opposed to his boyish belief, and which, amid all 
 this unaccustomed hubbub, he had to listen to with all his 
 might lest he should lose the thread of the argument — a loose 
 thread enough, certainly, but still with some coherence and 
 connexion. All this made Colin's heart thrill with a warmer 
 consciousness of life. He was only in Glasgow, among floods 
 of dusky craftsmen going home from their work ; but it ap- 
 peared to his young eyes that he had suddenly fallen upon the 
 most frequented ways of life and into the heart of the vast 
 
 worlds 
 
 f 
 
 " I m fond of a walk in the Trongate mysel', especially when 
 
 the lamps are lighted," said Lauderdale ; " I never heard of a 
 philosopher but was, ]N"o that I am much of a philosopher, 
 but — . It's here ye see the real aspect of human affairs. Here, 
 take the shopwindows, or take the passengers, there's little to 
 be seen but what's necessary to life; but yonder," said the 
 reflective student, pointing over Colin's head to the .street they 
 were approaching, '' there's nothing but luxury. We spend a 
 great deal of siller in Glasgow — ^T\''e're terrible rich, some of us, 
 and like the best of everything — ^but there's no so much differ- 
 ence as you would think. I have no pleasure in that side of 
 wealth for my part; there's an awful suggestion of eating and 
 drinking in everything about there. Even the grand furniture 
 and the pictures have a kind of haze about them, as if ye could 
 only see them through a dinner. I don't j)retend to have any 
 knowledge for my own part of rich men's feasts ; but it's no 
 pleasant to think that Genius and Art, no to speak of a great
 
 VI.] A Son of the Soil. 55 
 
 deal of skilful workmansliip, should he all subservient to a 
 man's pleasure in his dinner, and that that's what they're here 
 for. HaUo, laddie, T thought you had no friends in Glasgow 1 
 there's somebody yonder waving their hands to you. What do 
 you hang back for"? it's a lady in a carriage. Have you no 
 respect for yoursel' that you're so slow to answer 1 " cried Colin's 
 monitor, indignantly. Colin would gladly have sunk through 
 the pavement, or darted up a friendly dark alley which pre- 
 sented itself close by, but such an escape was not possible. It 
 was Lady Frankland who was making signals to him out of the 
 carriage-window, and with all his awkwardness, he was obliged 
 to obey them. 
 
 As for Lauderdale, whose curiosity was considerably excited, 
 he betook himself to the window of a printshop to await his 
 protege, not without some surprise in his mind. He knew 
 pretty nearly as much about Colin by this time as the boy him- 
 self did, though Colin was quite unaware of having opened up 
 his personal history to his new friend ; but he had heard nothing 
 about young Frankland, that being an episode in his life of 
 which the country lad was not proud. Lauderdale stood at the 
 printshop- window with a curious kind of half-pathetic egotism 
 mingling with his kindly observation. Xo fair vision of women 
 ever gleamed across his firmament. He was just about shaking 
 hands with youth, and no lady's face had ever bent over him 
 like a star out of the firmament, as the gracious countenance of 
 the English lady was just then bending over the farmer's son 
 from Eamore. " It's maybe the Duchess," said Lauderdale to 
 himself, thinking of the natural feudal princess of the lochs ; 
 and he looked with greater interest still, withdrawn out of 
 hearing, but near enough to see all that passed. Colin for his 
 part did not know in the least what to say or to do. He stood 
 before the carriage looking sulky in the excess of his embarrass- 
 ment, and did not even take off his cap to salute the lady, as
 
 56 A Son of the Soil. [CHAp 
 
 country politeness and his anxious mother had taught him. And, 
 to aggravate the matter, there was a bewildering little girl in the 
 carriage with Lady Frankland^a creature with glorious curls 
 over her shoulders, and a wonderful perfection of juvenile 
 toilette, which somehow dazzled Colin's unused and ignorant 
 eyes. In the midst of his awkwardness it occurred to the boy 
 to note this little lady's dress, which was a strange thing enough 
 for him, who did not know one article of feminine attire from 
 another. It was not her beauty so much as the delicacy of all 
 her little equipments which amazed Colin, and prevented him 
 from hearing what Lady Frankland had to say. 
 
 " So you have gone to the University?" said that gracious 
 lady. " You are ever so much further advanced than Harry, 
 who is only a schoolboy as yet ; but the Scotch are so clever. 
 You will be glad to hear that dear Harry is quite well, and 
 enjoying liimself very much at Eton/' continued Harry's mother, 
 who meant to be very kind to the boy who had saved her son's 
 life, l^ow the very name of Harry Frankland had, he could 
 not have told how, a certain exasperating effect upon Colin. He 
 said nothing in answer to this satisfactory intelligence, but un- 
 consciously gave a little frown of natural opposition, which Lady 
 Frankland's eyes were not sufficiently interested to see. 
 
 " He doesn't care for Harry, aunt," said the miniature woman 
 by Lady Frankland's side, darting out of the dusky twilight a 
 sudden flash of perception, under which Colin stood convicted. 
 She was about his own age, but a world in advance of him in 
 every other respect. A little amusement and a little offence 
 were in the voice, which seemed to Colin, with its high-bred 
 accent and wonderful "English," like the voice of another kind 
 of creature from any he had encountered before. Was she a 
 little witch, to know what he was thinking 1 And then a little 
 laugh of triumph rounded off the sentence, and the unfortunate 
 boy stood more speechless, more awkward, more incapable than 
 before.
 
 VI.] A Soil of the Soil. 57 
 
 " Xonsense, Matty ; when you know we owe Harry's life to 
 him," said bland Lady Frankland. " You must come and dine 
 with us to-morrow ; indeed you must. Sir Thomas and I are 
 both so anxious to know more of you. Sir Thomas would be so 
 pleased to forward your ^-iews in any way ; but the Scotch are 
 ,so independent," she said, with her most flattering smile. "Was 
 that your tutor who was walking with you, that very tall man ? 
 I am sure we should be delighted to see him too. I suppose he 
 is something in the University. Oh ! here comes my husband. 
 Sir Thomas, this is — Oh ! I am sure I beg your pardon ; I forget 
 your name — the dear, brave, excellent boy who saved Harry's 
 life." 
 
 Upon which Sir Thomas, coming out of one of the shops, 
 in that radiance of cleanness and neatness, perfectly brushed 
 wliiskers, and fresh face, which distinguishes his class, shook 
 hands heartily with the reluctant Colin. 
 
 " To be sure, he must dine with us to-morrow," said the good- 
 humoured baronet, " and bring his tutor if he likes ; but I 
 thought you had no tutors at the Scotch Universities. I want 
 to know what you're about, and what your ideas are on a great 
 many subjects, my fine fellow. Your father is tremendously 
 proud, and so are you, I su]3j)ose ; but he's a capital sjDecimen of 
 a man ; and I hope you allow that I have a right to recollect 
 such an obligation. Good-bye, my boy," said Sir Thomas. 
 " Seven to-morrow — but I'll probably be at your college and see 
 you in the morning. And mind you bring the tutor," he cried, 
 as the carriage drove off. Lady Frankland shed a jDerfect blaze 
 of smiles upon Colin, as she waved her hand to him, and the 
 creature with the curls on the other side gave the boy a little 
 nod in a friendly condescending way. He made a spring back 
 into the shade the minute after, wonderfully glad to escape, but 
 dazzled and excited in spite of himself ; and, as he retired rapidly 
 from the scene of this unexpected encounter, he came sharp up
 
 58 A Son of the Soil. [Chap. 
 
 against Lauderdale, wlio was coming to meet him, with his 
 curiosity largely excited. 
 
 " It was me he took for the tutor, I suppose 1 " said the 
 strange Mentor who had thus taken possession of Colin ; and 
 the tall student laughed with a kind of quaint gratification. 
 " And so I might have been if I had been bred up at Oxford or. 
 Cambridge," he added, after a moment ; " that is to say, if it 
 had been my lot to be bred up anywhere ; but they've a grand 
 system in these Enghsh universities. That was not the Duke," 
 he said interrogatively, looking at Colin, whose blood of clansman 
 boiled at the idea. ^ 
 
 " That the Duke ! " exclaimed the boy with great disdain ; 
 "no more than I am. It's one of the English that are aye 
 coming and making their jokes about the rain ; as if anybody 
 wanted them to come," said Colin, with an. outbreak of scorn ; 
 and then the boy remembered, that Archie Candlish had just 
 bought a house in expectation of such visitors, and stopped 
 abruptly in full career. " I suppose the English are awfu' fond 
 of grouse, or they wouldna' come so far for two or three birds," 
 he continued, in a tone of milder sarcasm. But his companion 
 was not to be so easily diverted from his questions. 
 
 " Grouse is a grand institution, and helps in the good govern- 
 ment of this country," said Lauderdale, " and, through this 
 coimtry, of the world — which is a fine thought for a bit winged 
 creature, if it had the sense to ken. Yon's another world," he 
 said, after a little pause, " no Paradise to be sure, but something 
 as far removed from this as Heaven itself ; farther, you might 
 say, for there's many a poor man down below here that's hovering 
 on the edge of heaven. And how came you to have such grand 
 friends 1 " asked the self-constituted guardian, stooping from his 
 lofty height to look straight into Colin's eyes. After a time, he 
 extracted the baldest narrative that ever was uttered by a hero 
 ashamed of his prowess from the half -indignant boy, and managed
 
 VI.] A Son of the Soil. 59 
 
 to guess as clearly as the -wonderful little lady in the carriage the 
 nature of Colin's sentiments towards the young antagonist and 
 rival whom he had saved. 
 
 " I wouldna have let a dog drown," said the aggrieved Colin ; 
 "there was nothing to make a work about. But you would 
 have laughed to see that fellow, with his boots like a lassie's and 
 feared to wet his feet. He could swim, though," added the boy, 
 candidly ; " and I would like to beat him," he said, after a 
 moment ; " I'd like to run races with him for something, and 
 win the prize over his head." 
 
 This was all Cohn permitted himself to say ; but the vehement 
 sentiment thus recalled to his miud made him, for the moment, 
 less attentive to Lauderdale, who, for his part, was considerably 
 moved by his young companion's excitement " I'm not going 
 to see your fine friends," he said, as he parted from the boy at 
 the " stairfoot " which led to Colin's lodging ; " but there's many 
 a true word spoken in jest, and, my boy, you shall not want a 
 tutor, though there's no such thing in our Scotch colleges." 
 
 When he had said so much, hastily, as a man does who is 
 conscious of having shown a Little emotion in his words, Colin's 
 new friend went away, disappearing through the misty night, 
 gaunt and lean as another Quixote. " I shoidd Like to have 
 something to do with the making of a new life," he said to 
 himself, muttering high up in the air over the ordinary passengers' 
 heads, as he mused on upon his way. And Colin and his story 
 had struck the rock in the heart of the lonely man, and drawn 
 forth fresh streams in that wilderness. He was more moved in 
 his imaginative, reflective soul, than he could have told any one, 
 with, half-consciously to himself, a sense of contrast, which was 
 natural enough, considering all things, and which coloured aU 
 his thoughts, more or less, for that night. 
 
 As for Colin — naturally, too — he thought no more of Lauder- 
 dale, nor of his parting words, and found himself in no need of
 
 60 A Son of the Soil. [Chap. 
 
 any tutor or guide, but fell asleep in the midst of his Greek, as 
 was to be expected, and dreamt of that creature with the curls 
 nodding at him out of gorgeous Lord Mayor's coaches, in endless 
 procession. And it was with this wonderful little vision dancing 
 about his fancy that the Scotch boy ended his first day at the 
 University, knowing no more what was to come of it all than 
 the saucy sparrow which woke him next morning by loud 
 chirping in the Glasgow dialect at his quaint little attic window. 
 The sjoarrow had his crumbs, and Colin had another exciting 
 day before him, and Avent out quite calmly to lay his innocent 
 liands upon the edge-tools which were to carve out his life.
 
 vii.] A Son of the Soil. 61 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Wonders come natural at fifteen ; the farmer's son of Eamore, 
 though a little dazzled at the moment, was by no means thrown 
 off his balance by the flattering attentions of Lady Frankland, 
 who said everything that was agreeable and forgot that she had 
 said it, and went over the same ground again half a dozen times, 
 somewhat to the contempt of Colin, who knew nothing about 
 fine ladies, but had all a boy's disdain for a silly woman. Thanks 
 to his faculty of silence, and his intense pride, Colin conducted 
 himself with great external propriety when he dined with his 
 new friends. Xobody knew the fright he was in, nor the strain 
 of determination not to commit himself, which was worthy of 
 something more important than a dinner. But after all, though 
 it shed a reflected glor}" over his path for a short time, Sir 
 Thomas Frankland's dinner and all its bewildering accessories 
 was but an affair of a day, and the only real result it left behind 
 was a conviction in the mind of Lauderdale that his young 
 2:)rot€ge was bom to better fortune. From that day the tall 
 student hovered, benignly reflective, like a tall genie over Colin's 
 boyish career. He was the boy's tutor so far as that was possible 
 where the teacher was himself but one step in advance of the 
 pupil ; and as to matters speculative and philosophical, Lauder- 
 dale's monologue, delivered high up in the air over his head, 
 became the accompaniment and perpetual stimulation of all 
 Colin's thoughts. The training was strange, but by no means 
 unnatural, nor out of harmony with the habits of the boy's 
 previous life, for much homely philosophy was current at
 
 62 A Son of the Soil. [Chap. 
 
 Eamore, and Colin had been nsed to receive all kinds of com- 
 ments upon human affairs with his daily bread. I^aturally 
 enough, however, the sentiments of thirty and those of fifteen 
 were not always harmonious, and the impartial and tolerant 
 thoughtfulness of his tall friend much exasj)erated Colin in the 
 absolutism of his youth. 
 
 " I'm a man of the age," Lauderdale would say as they 
 traversed the crowded streets together ; " by which I am claiming 
 no superiority over you, callant, but far the contrary, if you were 
 but wise enough to ken. I've fallen into the groove like the 
 rest of mankind, and think in limits as belongs to my century 
 — which is but a poor half-and-half kind of century, to say the 
 best of it — but you are of all the ages, and know nothing about 
 limits or possibilities. Don't interrujDt me," said the placid 
 giant ; " you are far too talkative for a laddie, as I have said 
 before. I tell you I'm a man of the age : I've no very particular 
 faith in anything. In a kind of a way, everything's true ; but 
 you needna tell me that a man that believes like that will never 
 make much mark in this world or any other world I ever heard 
 tell of. I know that, a great deal better than you do. The best 
 thing you can do is to contradict me ; it's good for you, and it 
 does me no harm." 
 
 Colin acted upon this permission to the full extent of all his 
 youthful prowess and prejudices, and went on learning his Latin 
 and Greekj and discussing all manner of questions in heaven and 
 earth, with the fervour of a boy and a Scotsman. They kept 
 together^ this strange pair, for the greater part of the short 
 winter days, taking long walks, when they left the University, 
 through the noisy dirty streets, upon which Lauderdale moralized; 
 and sometimes through the duller squares and crescents of 
 respectability which formed the frame of the picture. Sometimes 
 their peregrinations concluded in Colin's little room, where they 
 renewed theii' arguments over the oatcakes and cheese which
 
 FTJ.] A Son of the Soil. 63 
 
 came in periodical hampers from Eamore; and sometimes 
 Lauderdale gave his fiiend a cheap and homely dinner at the 
 tavern where they had first broken bread together. But not 
 even Colin, much less any of his less familiar acquaintances, 
 knew where the tall Mentor lived, or how he managed to main- 
 tain himself at college. He said he had his lodging provided 
 for him, when any inquiry was made, and added, with an odd 
 humourous look, that his was an honourable occupation ; but 
 Lauderdale afforded no further clue to his own means or dwelling- 
 place. He smiled, but he was secret and gave no sign. As for 
 his studies, he made but such moderate progress in them as was 
 natural to his age and his character. Xo particular spur of ambi- 
 tion seemed to stimulate the man whose habits were formed by 
 this time, and who found enjoyment enough, it appeared, in uni- 
 versal speculation. When he failed, his reflections as to the effect 
 of failure upon the mind of man, and the secondary importance 
 after all of mere material success, " which always turns out more 
 disappointing to a reflective spirit than an actual break-down," 
 the philosopher would say, " being aye another evidence how 
 far reality falls short of the idea," became more piquant than 
 usual ; and when he succeeded, the same sentiments moderated 
 his satisfaction. " Oh ay, I've got the prize," he said, holding 
 it on a level with Colin's head, and regarding its resplendent 
 binding with a smile ; " which is to say, Tve found out that it's 
 only a book with the college arms stamped upon it, and no a 
 palpable satisfaction to the soul as I might have imagined it to 
 be, had it been yours, boy, instead of mine." 
 
 But with all this composure of feeling as respected his own 
 success, Lauderdale was as eager as a boy about the progress of 
 his pupil. TThen the prize lay in Colin's way, his friend spared 
 no pains to stimulate and encourage and help him on ; and as 
 the years passed, and the personal pride of the elder became 
 involved in the success of the younger, Laruderdale's anxieties
 
 64 A Son of the Soil. [chap. 
 
 awoke a certain impatience in the bosom of his protege. Colin 
 was ambitions enough in his own person, but he turned naturally 
 with sensitive boyish pride against the arguments . and induce- 
 ments which had so little influence upon the speaker himself. 
 
 "You urge me on," he would say, "but you think it does 
 not matter for yourself." And though it was Colin's third 
 session, and he reckoned himself a man when he said this, he 
 w^as jealous to think that Lauderdale urged upon him what he 
 did not think it worth his while to practise in his own person. 
 
 " When a thing's spoilt in the making, it matters less what 
 use ye put it to," said the philosopher. It was a bright day in 
 March, and they were seated on the grass together in a corner 
 of the Green, looking at the pretty groups about, of women and 
 children — children and women, perhaps not over tidy, if you 
 looked closely into the matter, but picturesque to look at — some 
 watching the patches of white linen bleaching on the grass, and 
 some busily engaged over their needlework. The tall student 
 stretched his long -limbs on the grass, and watched the people 
 about with reflective eyes. " There's nothing in this world so 
 important to a man as a right beginning," he went on. " As 
 for me, I'm all astray, and can never win to any certain end — 
 no that I'm complaining, or taking a gloomy view of things in 
 general; I'm just as happy in my way as other folk are in 
 theirs — but that's no the question under discussion. When a 
 man reaches my years without coming to anything he'll never 
 come to much all his days ; but you're only a callant, and have 
 all the world before you, said Lauderdale. He did not look at 
 Colin as he spoke, but went on in his usual monotone, looking 
 into the blue air, in which he saw much that was not visible to 
 the eager young eyes which kept gazing at him. " When I was 
 like you," he continued, with a half-pathetic, half-humourous 
 smile, " it looked like misery and despair to feel that I was 
 not to get my own way in this world. I'm terrible indifferent
 
 VII.] A Son of tJie Soil. Go 
 
 now-a days — one kind of life is just as good as another as long 
 as a man has something to do that he can think to be his dutj^ ; 
 but such thoughts are no for you," said Colin's tutor, waking up 
 suddenly. " For you, laddie, there's nothing grand in the 
 world that should not be possible. The lot that's accomplished 
 is aye more or less a failure ; but there's always something 
 splendid in the life that is to come." 
 
 "You talk to me as if I were a child," said Colin, with a 
 little indignation ; " you see things in their true light yourself, 
 but you treat me like a baby. What can there be that is splendid 
 in my life ? — a farmer's son, with perhaps the chance of a country 
 church for my highest hope — after all kinds of signings, and 
 confessions, and calls, and presbyteries. It would be splendid, 
 indeed," said the lad, with boyish contempt, " to be plucked by 
 a country presbytery that don't know six words of Greek, or 
 objected to by a congregation of ploughmen — that's all a man has 
 to look for in the Church of Scotland, and you know it, Lauder- 
 dale, as well as I do." 
 
 Colin broke off suddenly, with a considerable show of heat 
 and impatience. He was eighteen, and he was of the advanced 
 party, the Young Scotland of his time. The dogmatic Old 
 Scotland, which loved to bind, and limit, and make confessions, 
 and sign the same, belonged to the past centuries. As for 
 Colin's set, they were " viewy " as the young men at Oxford used 
 to be in the days of Froude and Xewman. Colin's own " views " 
 were of a vague description enough, but of the most revolutionary 
 tendency. He did not believe m Presbytery, nor in that rule of 
 Church government which in Scotland is known as Lord Aber- 
 deen's Act; and his ideas respecting extempore worsliip and 
 common prayer were much unsettled. But as neither Colin 
 nor his set had any distinct model to fall back upon, nor any 
 clear perception of Avhat they wanted, the present result of 
 their enlightenment was simply the unpleasant one of general 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 A Son of the Soil. [CHAP. 
 
 discontent with existing things, and a restless contempt for the 
 necessary accessories of their lot. 
 
 *' Plucked is no a word in use in Scotland," said Lauderdale ; 
 " it smacks of the English universities, wliich are altogether a 
 different matter. As for the Westminster Confession, I'm no 
 clear that I could put my name to that myself as my act and 
 deed — but you are but a callant, and don't know your own mind 
 as yet. Meaning no offence to you," he continued, waving his 
 hand to Colin, who showed signs of impatience, " I was once a 
 laddie myself. Between eighteen and eight-and-twenty you'll 
 change your ways of thinking, and neither you nor me can 
 prophesy what they'll end in. As for the congregation of plough- 
 men, I would be very easy about you if that was the worst 
 danger. Men that are about day and night in the fields when 
 all's still, cannot but have thoughts in their minds now and 
 then. But it's no what you are going to be, I'm thinking of," 
 said Colin's counsellor, raising himself from the grass with a 
 spark of unusual light in his eyes, "but what you might be, 
 laddie. It's no a great preacher, far less what they call a popular 
 minister, that would please me. What I'm thinking of is, the 
 Man that is aye to be looked for, but never comes. I'm speaking 
 like a woman, and thinking like a woman,' he said, with a 
 smile ; " they have a kind of privilege to keep their ideal. For 
 my part, I ought to have more sense, if experience counted for 
 anything ; but I've no faith in experience. And, speaking of 
 that," said the philosopher, dropping back again softly on the 
 greensward, " what a grand outlet for what I'm calling the ideal 
 was that old promise of the Messias who was to come ! It may 
 still be so for anything I can tell, though I cannot say that I 
 put much trust in the Jews. But aye to be able to hope that 
 the next new soul might be the One that was above failure, 
 must have been a wonderful solace to them that had failed and 
 lost heart. To be sure, they missed Him when He came,"
 
 rii.] A Son of the Soil. 67 
 
 continued Lauderdale ; " that was natui-al. Human nature is 
 aye defective in action ; but a grand idea like that makes all the 
 difference between us and the beasts, and would do, if there 
 were a hundred theories of development — which I would not 
 have you put faith in, laddie," continued the volunteer tutor. 
 " Steam and iron make awful progress, but no man — " 
 
 " That is one of your favourite theories," said Colin, who was 
 ready for any amount of argument ; " though iron and steam are 
 dead and stationary, but for the mind which is always developing. 
 "What you say is a kind of paradox ; but you like paradoxes, 
 Lauderdale." 
 
 " Everything's a paradox," said the reflective giant, getting up 
 slowly from the turf j " and the grass is damp, and the wind's 
 cold, and I don't mean to sit here aqd haver nonsense any longer. 
 Come along, and I'll see you home. "VMiat I like women for is, 
 that they're seldom subject to the real, or convinced by what you 
 callants call reason. Eeason and reality are terrible fictions at 
 the bottom. I never believe in facts, for my part. The worst 
 of it is, that a woman's ideal is apt to look a terrible idiot when 
 she sets it up before the world," continued Lauderdale, his face 
 brightening gradually with one of his slow smiles. ^' The ladies' 
 novels are instructive on that point. But there's few things in 
 this world so pleasant as to have a woman at hand that beheves 
 in you," he said, suddenly breaking off in his discourse at an 
 utterly unexpected moment. Colin was startled by the unlooked- 
 for silence, and by the sound of something hke a sigh which 
 disturbed the air over his head ; and being still but a boy, and 
 not superior to mischief, looked up, with a little laughter. 
 
 " You must have once had a woman who believed in you, or 
 you would not speak so feelingly," said the lad, in his youthful 
 amusement ; and then Colin, too, stopped short, having en- 
 countered quite an unaccustomed look in his companion's face. 
 
 " Ay," said Lauderdale, and then there was a pause. " If it 
 
 f2
 
 68 A Son of the Soil. [chap. 
 
 were not that life is aye a failure, there would be some cases 
 harder than could be borne," he continued, after a moment ; 
 " no that I'm complaining ; but if I were you, laddie, I would 
 set my face dead -against fortune, and make up my mind to win. 
 And speaking of winning, when did you hear of your grand 
 English friends, and the callant you picked out of the loch 1 
 Have they ever been here in Glasgow again 1 " 
 
 At which question Colin drew himself to his full height, as he 
 always did at Harry Frankland's name ; he was ashamed now to 
 express his natural antagonism to the English lad in frank speech 
 as he had been used to do, but he insensibly elevated his head, 
 which, when he did not stoop, as he had a habit of doing, began 
 to approach much more nearly than of old to the altitude of his 
 friend's. 
 
 " I know nothing about their movements," he said, shortly. 
 " As for winning, I don't see what connexion there can be 
 between the Eranklands and any victory of mine. You don't 
 suppose Miss Matilda believes in me, do you 1 " said Colin, with 
 an uneasy laugh ; "for that would be a mistake," he continued, 
 a moment after. " She believes in her cousin." 
 
 " Maybe," said Lauderdale, in his oracular way, " it's an un- 
 canny kind of relationship upon the whole ; but I would not be 
 the one to answer for it, especially if it's him she's expected to 
 believe in. But there were no Miss Matildas in my mind," he 
 added, with a smile. " I'll no ask what she had to do in yours, 
 for you're but a callant, as I have to remind you twenty times in 
 a day. But such lodgers are no to be encouraged," said Colin's 
 adviser, with seriousness ; " when they get into a young head 
 it's hard to get them out again ; and the worst of them is, that 
 they take more room than their fair share. Have you got your 
 essay well in hand for the Principal ? That's more to the 
 purpose than Miss Matilda ; and now the end of the session's 
 drawing near, and I'm a thought anxious about the philosophy
 
 vii.] A Sore of the Soil. 69 
 
 class. Yon Highland colt with the red hair will run you close, 
 if you don't take heed. It's no prizes I'm thinking upon," said 
 Lauderdale ; " it's the whole plan of the campaign. I'll come 
 up and talk it all over again, if you want advice ; hut I've great 
 confidence in your own genius." As he said this, he laid his 
 hand upon the lad's shoulder and looked down into his eyes. 
 " Summer's the time to dream," said the tall student, with a 
 smile and a sigh. Perhaps he had given undue importance to 
 the name of Miss Matilda. He looked into the fresh young face 
 with that mixture of afi'ection and pathos — ambition for the lad, 
 mingled with a generous, tender envy of him — which all along 
 had moved the elder man in his intercourse with Colin. The 
 look for once penetrated through the mists of custom and touched 
 the boy's heart. 
 
 "You are very good to me, Lauderdale," he said, with a 
 little effusion ; at the sound of which words his friend grasped 
 his shoulder affectionately and went off, Avithout saying anjiihing 
 more, into the dingy Glasgow streets. Colin himself paused a 
 minute to watch the tall, retreating figure before he climbed his 
 own tedious stair. " Summer's the time to dream," he repeated 
 to himself, ^^iih. a certain brightness in his face, and went up 
 the darkling staircase three steps at a time, stimulated most 
 probably by some thoughts more exciting than anything con- 
 nected with college prizes or essays. It was the end of March 
 and already now and then a chance breeze whispered to Colin 
 that the primroses had begun to peep out about the roots of the 
 trees in all the soft glens of the Holy Loch. It had only been 
 in the previous spring that primroses became anything more to 
 Colin than they were to Peter Bell ; but now the youth's eyes 
 were anointed— he had begun to write poetry, and to taste the 
 delights of life. Though he had already learned to throw a 
 very transparent vein of pretended sadness upon his verses, it 
 did not occur to Colin as possible that the life which was so
 
 70 A Son of the Soil. [CHAP. 
 
 sweet one year might not be equally delightful the next, or that 
 anything could occur to deprive him. of the companionship 
 he was looking forward to. He had never received any shock 
 yet in his youthful certainty of pleasure, and did not stop to 
 think that the chance which brought Sir Thomas Frank land's 
 nursery, and with it his pretty niece, to the Castle, for all the 
 long spring and summer, might never recur again. So he went 
 upstairs three steps at a time, in the dingy twilight, and sat 
 down to his essay, raising now and then triumphant, youthful 
 eyes, which surveyed the mean walls and poor little room with- 
 out seeing anything of their poverty, and making all his young, 
 arrogant, absolute philosophy sweet with thoughts of the prim- 
 roses, and the awaking waters, and the other human creature, 
 the child-Eve of the boy's Paradise. This was how Colin 
 managed to compose the essay, which drew tears of mingled 
 laughter and emotion from Lauderdale's eyes, and dazzled the 
 professor himself with its promise of eloquence, and secured the 
 prize in the philosophy class. The Highland colt with the red 
 hair, who was Colin's rival, was very much sounder in his views, 
 and had twenty times more logic in his composition ; but the 
 professor was dazzled, and the class itself could scarcely forbear 
 its applause. Colin went home accordingly covered with glory. 
 He was nearly nineteen ; he was one of the most promising 
 students of the year ; he had already distinguished himself 
 sufficiently to attract the attention of people interested in college 
 successes ; and he had all the long summer before him, and no 
 one could tell how many rambles about the glens, how many 
 voyages across the loch, how many researches into the wonders 
 of the hills. He bade farewell to Lauderdale with a momentary 
 seriousness, but forgot before the smoke of Glasgow was out 
 of sight that he had ever parted from anybody, or that all his 
 friends were not awaitin^? him in this summer of delic^ht.
 
 777.] A Son of the Soil. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " Come away into the fire ; it's bonnie weather, but it's sharp 
 on the hillside," said the mistress of Eamore. " I never wearied 
 for you, Cohn, so much as I've done this year. Xo that there 
 was ony particular occasion, for we've a' been real weel, and a 
 good season, and baith bairns and beasts keeping their health ; 
 but the heart's awfu' capricious, and canna hear reason. Come 
 in bye to the fire." 
 
 "There's been three days of east w^ind," said the farmer, 
 who had gone across the loch to meet his son, and bring him 
 home in triumph, " which accounts for your mother's anxiety, 
 Colin. When there's plenty of blue sky, and the sun shining, 
 there's naething she hasna courage for. What's doing in 
 Glasgow? or rather what's doing at the coUege ? or maybe, 
 if you insist upon it, what are yo?« doing? for that's the most 
 important to us." 
 
 To which Colin, who was almost as shy of talking of his 
 own achievements as of old, gave for answer some bald account 
 of the winding up of the session, and of his o^ti honours. 
 " I told you all about it in my last letter," he said, hurrying 
 over the narrative ; " there was nothing out of the common. 
 TeU me rather all the news of the parish. AMio is at home 
 and who is away, and if any of the visitors have come yet ?" 
 said the lad, with a conscious tremor in his voice. ^Most likely 
 his mother understood what he meant. 
 
 " It's ower early for visitors yet," she said, " though I think 
 for my part there's nothing like the spring, mth the days
 
 72 A Son of the Soil. [chap. 
 
 lengthening, and the light aye eking and eking itself out. To 
 be sure, there's the east winds, which are a sore drawback, 
 but they have nae great effect on the west coast. The castle 
 woods are wonderful bonnie, Colin ; near as bonnie as they 
 were last year, when a' thae bright English bairnies made the 
 place look cheerful. I wonder the Earl bides there so seldom 
 himself. He's no rich, to be sure, but it's a moderate kind of 
 a place. If I had enough money I would rather live there 
 than in the Queen's palace, and so the minister says. You'll 
 have to go down to the manse the morn, and tell him a' about 
 your prizes, CoHn," said his proud mother, looking at him with 
 beaming eyes. She put her hand upon her boy's shoulder, and 
 patted him softly as he stood beside her. " He takes a great 
 interest in what you're doing at the college," she continued; 
 "he says you're a credit to the parish, and so I hope you'll 
 aye be," said Mrs. Campbell. She had not any doubt on the 
 subject so far as her own convictions went. 
 
 "He does not know me," said the impatient Colin; "but 
 I'll go to the manse to-morrow if you like. It's halfway to the 
 castle," he said, under his breath, and then felt himself colour, 
 much to his annoyance, under his mother's eyes. 
 
 " There's plenty folk to visit," said the farmer. " As for the 
 castle, it's out of our way, no to say it looked awfu' doleful the 
 last time I was by. The factor would get it but for the name 
 of the thing. We've had a wonderful year, take it a'thegither, 
 and the weather is promising for the season. If you're no 
 over-grand with all your honours, I would be glad of your 
 advice, as soon as you've rested, about the Easter fields. I'm 
 thinking of some changes, and there's nae time to lose." 
 
 " If you would but let the laddie take breath ! " said the 
 farmer's wife. " New out of all his toils and his troubles, and 
 you canna refrain from the Easter fields. It's my belief," said 
 the mistress, with a little solemnity, " that prosperity is awfu'
 
 viiL] A So7i of tlie Soil. 73 
 
 trj^ing to the soul. I dinna think you ever cared for siller, 
 Colin, till now ; but instead of rejoicing in your heart over the 
 Almighty's blessing, I hear nothing, from morning to night, but 
 about mair profit. It's no what I've been used to," said Colin's 
 mother, "and there's mony a thing mair important that I want 
 to hear about. Eh ! Colin, it's my hope you'll no get to be 
 over-fond of this world ! " 
 
 " K this world meant no more than a fifty pound or so in 
 the bank," said big Colin, with a smile ; " but there's no denying 
 it's a wonderful comfort to have a bit margin, and no be aye 
 from hand to mouth. As soon as your mother's satisfied with 
 looking at you, you can come out to me, Colin, and have a 
 look at the beasts. It's a pleasui-e to see them. Apart from 
 profit, Jeanie," said the farmer, with his humorous look, " if 
 you object to that, it's grand to see such an improvement in 
 a breed of living creatures that you and me spend so much of 
 our time among. Xext to bonnie bairns, bonnie cattle's a 
 reasonable pride for a farmer, no to say but that making siller 
 in any honest way is as laudable an occupation as I ken for a 
 man with a family like me." 
 
 " If it doesna take up your heart," said the mistress. " But 
 it's awfu' to hear folk how they crave siller for siller's sake ; 
 especially in a place like this, where there's aye strangers 
 coming and going, and a' body's aye trying how much is to 
 be got for everything. I promised the laddies a hoKday the 
 morn to hear a' Colin's neAvs, and you're no to take him off to 
 byres and ploughed land the very first day ; — though I dinna 
 say but I would like him to see Gowan's calf," said the farmer's 
 wife, yielding a little in her superior virtue. As for Colin, he 
 sat very impatiently through this conversation, vainly attempting 
 to bring in the question which he longed, yet did not like, to ask. 
 
 " I suppose the visitors will come early, as the weather is so 
 fine?" he ventured to say as soon as there was a pause.
 
 74 A Son of the Soil. [chap. 
 
 "Oh, ay, the Glasgow folk," said Mrs. Campbell; and she 
 gave a curious inquiring glance at her son, who was looking 
 out of the window with every appearance of abstraction. " Do 
 you know anybody that's coming, Colin 1 " said the anxious 
 mother ; " some of your new friends ? " And Colin was so 
 sensible of her look, though his eyes were turned in exactly 
 the opposite direction, that his face grew crimson up to the 
 great waves of brown hair which were always tumbling about 
 his forehead. He thrust his heavy lovelocks off his temples 
 with an impatient hand, and got up and went to the w^indow 
 that his confusion might not be visible. Big Colin of Eamore 
 was at the window too, darkening the apartment with his great 
 bullv, and the farmer laid his hand on his son's shoulder with a 
 homely roughness, partly assumed to conceal his real feeling. 
 
 " How tall are you, laddie 1 no much short of me now," he 
 said. " Look here, Jeanie, at your son." Then the mistress 
 put down her .work, and came up to them, defeating all Colin's 
 attempts to escape her look ; but in the meantime she, too, 
 forgot the blushes of her boy in the pleasant sight before her. 
 She was but a little woman herself, considered in the country- 
 side rather too soft and delicate for a farmer's wife ; and with 
 all the delicious confidence of love and weakness, the tender 
 woman looked up at her husband and her son. 
 
 " Young Mr. Frankland's no half so tall as Colin," said the 
 proud mother; "no that height is anything to brag about 
 unless a' things else is conformable. He's weel enough, and 
 a strong-built callant, but there's a great difference ; though, 
 to be sure, his mother is just as proud," said the mistress, 
 bearing her conscious superiority with meekness ; " it's a grand 
 thing that we're a' best pleased with our ain." 
 
 " When did you see young Frankland 1 " said Colin, hastily. 
 The two hoys had scarcely met since the encounter which 
 had made a link between the families without awaking very
 
 Fill.] A Son of the Soil. 75 
 
 friendly sentiments in the bosoms of the two persons principally 
 concerned. 
 
 " That's a thing to be discussed hereafter," said the farmer 
 of Ramore. "I didna mean to say onything about it till I 
 saw what your inclinations were, but women-folk are aye hasty. 
 Sir Thomas has made me a proposition, Colin. He would like 
 to send you to Oxford with his own son if you and me were 
 to consent. We're to gie him an answer when we've made 
 up our minds. Xae doubt he has heard that you were lil^:e 
 enough to be a creditable protejee," said Big Colin, with 
 natural complacency. " A lad of genius gies distinction to his 
 patron — if ye can put up with a patron, Colin." 
 
 "Canyow.?" cried his son. The lad was greatly agitated by 
 the question. Ambitious Scotch youths of Colin's type, in the 
 state of discontent which was common to the race, had come to 
 look upon the English universities as the goal of all possible 
 hopes. Xot that Colin would have confessed as much had his 
 fate depended on it — but such was the fact notwithstanding. 
 Oxford, to his mind, meant any or every possibility under 
 heaven, without any limit to the splendour of the hoj^es involved. 
 A different kind of flush, the glow of eagerness and ambition, 
 suddenly covered his face. But joined Mith this came a tumult 
 of vague but bui-ning offence and contradiction. While he 
 recognised the glorious chance thus opened to him, pride started 
 up to bolt and bar those gates of hope. He turned upon his 
 father with something like anger in his voice, with a tantalizing 
 sense of all the advantages thus flourished wantonly, as he 
 thought, before his eyes. *' Could you put up with a patron ?" 
 he repeated, looking almost fiercely in the farmer's face ; " and 
 if not, why do you ask me such a question 1" When he came 
 to think of it, Colin felt injured by the suggestion. To be offered 
 the thing of all others he most desired in the world, by means 
 which made it impossible to accept the offer would have been
 
 76 A Son of the Soil. [CHAP. 
 
 galling enough under any circumstances ; but just now, at this 
 crisis of his youthful ambition and excitement, such a tantalizing 
 glimpse of the possible and the imj^ossible was beyond bearing. 
 "Are we his dependents that he makes such an offer to me?" 
 said the exasperated youth ; and Big Colin himself looked on 
 with a little surprise at his son's excitement, comprehending 
 only partially what it meant. 
 
 " I'll no say I'm fond of patronage," said the farmer, slowly ; 
 " neither in the kirk nor out of the kirk. It's my opinion a 
 man does aye best that fights his own way; but there's aye 
 exceptions, Colin. I wouldna have you make up your mind in 
 any arbitrary way. As for Sir Thomas, he has aye been real 
 civil and friendly — no one of your condescending fine gentlemen 
 — and the son — " 
 
 " What right have I to any favour from Sir Thomas ?" cried 
 . Colin. " He is nothing to me. I did no more for young 
 Frankland than I would have done for any dog on the hillside," 
 he continued, with a contemptuous tone ; and then his conscience 
 reproved him. "I don't mean to say anything against 7wm. 
 He behaved like a man, and saved himself," said Colin, with 
 haughty candour. " As for all this pretence of rewarding me, it 
 feels like an insult. I want nothing at their hands." 
 
 " There's no occasion to be violent," said the farmer. " I 
 dinna expect that he'll use force to make you accept his offer, 
 which is weel meant and kind, whatever else it may be. I canna 
 say I understand a' this fury on your part ; and there's no good 
 that I can see in deciding this very moment and no other. I 
 would like you to sleep upon it and turn it over in your mind. 
 Such an offer doesna come every day to the Holy Loch. I'm no 
 the man to seek help," said Big Colin, " but there's times when 
 it's more generous to receive than to give." 
 
 The mistress had followed her son wistfully with her eyes 
 through all his changes of countenance and gesture. She was
 
 VIII.] A Son of the Soil. 77 
 
 not simply surprised like her husband, but looked at him with 
 unconscious insight, discovering by intuition what was in his 
 heart — something, at least, of what was in his heart — for the 
 anxious mother too was mistaken, and rushed at conclusions 
 which Colin himself was far from having reached. 
 
 " There's plenty of time to decide," said the farmer's wife ; 
 "and I've that confidence in my laddie that I ken he'll do 
 nothing from a poor motive, nor out of a jealous heart. There 
 never were ony sulky ways, that ever I saw, in ony bairn of 
 mine," said ]\lrs. Campbell ; " and if there was one in the world 
 that was mair fortunate than me, I wouldna show a poor spirit 
 towards him, because he had won. "Whiles it's mair generous to 
 receive than to give, as the maister says ; and whiles it's mair 
 noble to lose than to win," said the mistress, with a momentary 
 faltering of emotion in her voice. She thought the bitterness of 
 hopeless love was in her boy's heart, and that he was tempted to 
 turn fiercely from the friendship of his successfid rival. And 
 she lifted her soft eyes, which were beaming with all the mag- 
 nanimous impulses of nature, to Colin's face, who did not com- 
 prehend the tenderness of pity with which his mother regarded 
 him. But, at least, he perceived that something much higher 
 and profounder than anything he was thinking of was in the 
 mistress's thoughts ; and he turned away somewhat abashed 
 from her anxious look. 
 
 " I am not jealous that I am aware of," said Colin ; " but I 
 have never done anything to deserve this, and I should prefer 
 not to accept any favours from — any man," he concluded 
 abruptly. That was how they left the discussion for that time 
 at least. "UTien the farmer went out to look after his necessary 
 business, his wife remained with. Colin, looking at him often, as 
 she glanced up from her knitting, with eyes of wistful wonder. 
 Had she been right in her guess, or wa^ it merely a vague 
 sentiment of repulsion which kept him apart from young Frank-
 
 78 A Son of the Soil. [Chap. 
 
 land ? But all the motlier's anxiety could not break through the 
 veil which separates one mysterious individuality from another. 
 She read his looks with eager attention, half right and half 
 wrong, as people make out an unfamiliar language. He had 
 drifted off somehow from the plain vernacular of his boyish 
 thoughts, and she had not the key to the new complications. 
 So it was with a mixed and doubtful joy that the mistress of 
 Eamore, on the first night of his return, regarded her son. 
 
 " And I suppose," said Colin, with a smile dancing about his 
 lips, " that I am to answer this proposal when they come to the 
 castle 1 And they are coming soon as they expected last year 1 
 or, perhaps, they are there now ? " he said, getting up from his 
 chair again and walking away towards the door that his mother 
 might not see the gleam of expectation in his face. 
 
 *' But, Colin, my man," said the mistress, who did not perceive 
 the blow she was about to administer, "they're no coming to 
 the castle this year. The young lady that was delicate has got 
 w^ell, and they're a' in London and in an awfu' whirl o' gaiety 
 like the rest of their kind ; and Lady Mary, the earl's sister, is 
 to have the castle with her bairns ; and that's the way Sir 
 Thomas wants our answer in a letter, for there's none of the 
 family to be here this year." 
 
 It did not strike the mistress as strange that Colin made no 
 answer. He was standing at the door looking out, and she 
 could not see his face. And when he went out of doors presently, 
 she was not surprised — it was natural he should want to see 
 everything about the familiar place ; and she called after him to 
 say that, if he would wait a moment, she would go herself and 
 show him Gowan's calf. But he either did not hear her, or, at 
 least, did not wait the necessary moment; and when she had 
 glanced out in her turn, and had perceived with delight that the 
 wind had changed, and that the sun was going down in glorious 
 crimson and gold behind the hills, the mistress returned with a
 
 nil.] A Son of the Soil. 79 
 
 relieved heart to prepare the family tea. '' It'll be a fine day 
 to-morrow," she said to herself, rejoicing over it for Colin's 
 sake ; and so went in to her domestic duties with a lightened 
 heart. 
 
 At that moment Colin had just pushed forth into the loch, 
 flinging himself into the boat anj'how, disgusted with the world 
 and himself and everytliing that surroimded him. In a moment, 
 in the dra^ving of a breath, an utter blank and darkness had 
 replaced all the lovely summer landscape that was glowing by 
 anticipation in his heart. In the sudden pang of disappoint- 
 ment, the lad's first impulse was to fling himself forth into the 
 solitude, and escape the voices and looks which were hateful to 
 him at that moment. Xor was it simple disappointment that 
 moved him ; his feelings were complicated by many additional 
 shades of aggravation. It had seemed so natural that everything 
 should happen this year as last year, and now it seemed such 
 blind folly to imagine that it could have been possible. Xot 
 only were his dreams all frustrated and turned to nothing, but 
 he fell ever so many degrees in his own esteem, and felt so 
 foolish and vain and bhnd, as he turned upon himself with the 
 acute mortification and sudden disgust of youth. Whiat an 
 idiot he had been ! To think she would again leave aU the 
 brilliant world for the loch and the primroses, and those other 
 childish delights on which he had been dweUing Hke a fool ! 
 Very bitter were Colin's thoughts, as he dashed out into the 
 middle of the loch, and there laid up his oars and abandoned 
 himself to the buffetings of excited fancy. What right had he 
 to imagine that she had ever thought of him again, or to hope 
 that such a thread of gold could be woven into his rustic and 
 homely web of fate ? He scoffed at himself, as he remembered, 
 with acute pangs of self-contempt, the joyous rose-coloured 
 dreams that had occupied him only a few hours ago. AVliat a 
 fool he was to entertain such vain, complacent fancies ! He, a
 
 80 A Son of the Soil. [chap, 
 
 farmer's son, whose highest hope must be, after countless aggra- 
 vations and exasperations, to get " placed " in a country church 
 in some rural corner of Scotland. And then Colin recalled Sir 
 Thomas Frankland's proposal, and took to his oars again in a 
 kind of fury, feeling it impossible to keep still. The baronet's 
 kind offer looked like an intentional insult to the excited lad. 
 He thought to himself that they wanted to reward liim somehow 
 by rude, tangible means, as if he were a servant, for what Colin 
 proudly and indignantly declared to himself was no service — 
 certainly no intentional service. On the whole, he had never 
 been so wretched, so downcast, so fierce and angry and miserable, 
 in all his life. If he could but, by any means, by any toil, or 
 self-denial, or sacrifice, get to Oxford, on his own account, and 
 show the rich man and his son how little the Campbells of 
 Eamore stood in need of patronage ! All the glory had faded 
 ofi" the hills before Colin bethought himself of the necessity of 
 returning to the homely house which he had greeted with so 
 much natural pleasure a few hours before. His mother was 
 standing at the door looking out for him as he drew towards the 
 beach, looking at him with eyes full of startled and anxious 
 half-comprehension. She knew he was disturbed somehow, and 
 made guesses, right in the main, but all wrong in the particulars, 
 which were, though he tried hard to repress all signs of it, 
 another exasperation to Colin. This w^as how the first evening 
 of his return closed upon the student of Eamore. He could not 
 take any pleasure just then in the fact of being at home, nor in 
 the homely love and respect and admiration that surrounded 
 him. Like all the rest of the world, he neglected the true gold 
 lying close at hand for the longing he had after the false diamonds 
 that glittered at a distance. It was hard work for him to preserve 
 an ordinary appearance of affection and interest in all that was 
 going on, as he sat, absent and preoccupied, at his father's table. 
 " Colin's no like you idle laddies ; he has ower much to think of
 
 VIII.] A Son of the Soil. 81 
 
 to laugh and make a noise, like you," the mistress said with 
 dignity, as she consoled the younger brothers, who were disap- 
 pointed in Colin. And she haK believed what she said, though 
 she spoke with the base intention of deluding "the laddies," 
 who knew no better. The house, on the whole, was rather dis- 
 turbed than brightened by the return of the firstborn, who had 
 thus brought a foreign element into the household life. Such 
 was the inauspicious beginning of the holidays, which had been 
 to Cohn, for months back, the subject of so many dreams. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 82 A Son of tJie Soil. [CHAp. 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 It was some time before Colin recovered liis composure, or 
 found it possible to console bimself for the failure of his hopes. 
 He wrote a great deal of poetry in the meantime — or rather of 
 verses which looked wonderfully like poetry, such as young men 
 of genius are apt to produce under such circumstances. The 
 chances are, that if he had confided them to any critic of a 
 sympathetic mind, attempts would have been made to persuade 
 Colin that he was a poet. But luckily Lauderdale was not at 
 hand, and there was no one else to whom the shy young dreamer 
 would have disclosed himself. He sent some of his musings to 
 the magazines, and so added a little excitement and anxiety to 
 his life. But nobody knew Colin in that little world where, as 
 in other worlds, most things go by favour, and impartial appre- 
 ciation is comparatively unknown. The editors most probably 
 would have treated their unknown correspondent in exactly the 
 same manner had he been a young Tennyson. As it was, Colin 
 did not quite know what to think about his repeated failures 
 in this respect. "When he was despondent he became disgusted 
 with his own productions, and said to himself that of course such 
 maudlin verse could be procured by the bushel, and was not 
 worthy of paper and print. But in other moods the lad imagined 
 he must have some enemy who prejudiced the editorial world, 
 and shut against him the gates of literary fame. In books all 
 the heroes, who could do nothing else, found so ready a subsist- 
 ence by means of magazines, that the poor boy was naturally 
 puzzled to find that all his eff'orts could not gain him a hearing.
 
 IX.] A Son of the Soil. 83 
 
 And it began to be rather important to him to find something 
 to do. During the previous summers Colin had not disdained 
 the farm and its labours, but had worked with his father and 
 brothers without any sense of incongruity. Eut now matters 
 were changed. Miss Matty, with her curls and her smiles, had 
 bewitched the boy out of his simple innocent life. It did not 
 seem natural that the hand which she consented to touch with 
 her delicate fingers should hold the plough or the reaping hook, 
 or that her companion in so many celestial rambles should plod 
 through the furrows at other times, or go into the rough drol- 
 leries of the harvest field. 
 
 Colin began to think that the life of a farmer's son at Ram ore 
 was inconsistent with his future hopes, and there was nothing 
 else for it but teaching, since so little was to be made of the 
 magazines. When he had come to himself and began to see 
 the surrounding circumstances with clearer eyes, Cohn, who had 
 no mind to be dependent, but meant to make his own way as 
 was natural to a Scotch lad of his class, bethought himseK of the 
 most natural expedient. He had distinguished himself at college, 
 and it was not difficult to find the occupation he wanted. 
 Perhaps he was glad to escape from the primitive home, from 
 the mother's penetrating looks, and all the homely ways of 
 which the ambitious boy began to be a little impatient. He had 
 come to the age of discontent. He had begun to look forward 
 no longer to the vague splendours. of boyish imagination, but to 
 elevation in the social scale, and what he heard people call 
 success in life. A year or two before it had not occurred to 
 Colin to consider the circumstances of his own lot ; — his ambi- 
 tion pointed only to ideal grandeur, unembarrassed by jDarticulars 
 — and it was very possible for the boy to be happy, thinking of 
 some incoherent greatness to come, while engaged in the humblest 
 work, and living in the homehest fashion. Eut the time had 
 anived when the pure ideal had to take to itself some human 
 
 g2
 
 84 A Son of the Soil. [CHAP. 
 
 garments, and when the farmer's son became aware that a scholar 
 and a gentleman required a greater degree of external refinement 
 in his surroundings. His young heart was wounded by this 
 new sense, and his visionary pride offended by the thought that 
 these external matters could count for anything in the dignity of 
 a man. But Colin had to yield like every other. He loved his 
 family no less, but he was less at home among them. The inevit- 
 able disrujDtion was commencing, and already, with the quick 
 insight of her suscej^tible nature, the mistress of Eamore had 
 discovered that the new current was setting in, that the individual 
 stream of Colin' s life was about to disengage itself, and that her 
 proud hopes for her boy were to be sealed by his separation 
 from her. The tender-hearted woman said nothing of it, except 
 by an occasional pathetic reflection upon things in general, which 
 went to Colin's heart, and which he understood perfectly j but 
 perhaps, though no one would have confessed as much, it was a 
 relief to all when the scholar-son, of whom everybody at Ramore 
 was so proud, went off across the loch, rowed by two of his 
 brothers, with his portmanteau and the first evening coat he had 
 ever possessed, to Ardmartin, the fine house on the opposite 
 bank, where he was to be tutor to Mr. Jordan's boys, and eat 
 among strangers the bread of his own toil. 
 
 The mistress stood at the door shading her eyes with her 
 hand, and looking after the boat as it shot across the bright 
 water. Never at its height of beauty had the Holy Loch looked 
 more fair. The sun was expanding and exulting over all the 
 hills, searching into every hollow, tlii'owing up unthought-of 
 tints, heaps of moss, and masses of rock, that no one knew of 
 till that moment ; and with the sunshine went flying shadows 
 that rose and fell like the lifting of an eyelid. The gleam of the 
 sun before she put up her hand to shade her face fell upon the 
 tear in the mistress's eye, and hung a rainbow upon the long 
 lash, which was wet with that tender dew. She looked at her
 
 7A'.] A Son of the Soil. 85 
 
 boys gliding over the locli through this veil of fairy colours, all 
 made out of a tear, and the heart in her tender bosom beat vriih 
 a corresponding conjunction of pain and happiness. " He'll 
 never more come back to bide at home like his father's son," 
 she said to herself, softly, "with a pang of natural mortification ; 
 " but, eh, I'm a thankless woman to complain, and him so weel 
 and so good, and naething in faut but nature," added the mother, 
 with all the compunction of true love ; and so stood gazing till 
 the boat had gone out of hearing, and had begun to enter that 
 sweet shadow of the opposite bank, projected far into the loch, 
 which plunged the whole landscape into a dazzling uncertainty, 
 and made it a doubtful matter which was land and which was 
 water. Colin himself touched by the loveliness of the scene, 
 had paused just then to look down the shining line to where this 
 beatified paradise of water opened out into the heaven of Clyde. 
 And to his mother's eyes gazing after him, the boat seemed to 
 hang suspended among the sweet spring foliage of the Lady's 
 Glen, which lay reflected, every leaf and twig, in the sweeter 
 loch. AVhen somebody called her indoors she went away with 
 a sigL "Was it earth, or a vision of Paradise, or " some unsub- 
 stantial fairy place?" The sense of all this loveliness struck 
 intense, with almost a feeling of pain, upon the gentle woman's 
 poetic heart. 
 
 And it was in such a scene that Colin wrote the verses which 
 borrowed from the sun and the rain prismatic colours hke those 
 of his mother's tears, and were as near poetry as they could 
 possibly be to miss that gloiy. Luckily for him he had no 
 favourite confidant at hand to persuade him that he was a poet ; 
 so the verse-making did him nothing but good, providing a 
 safety-valve for that somewhat stormy period of his existence. 
 
 ^h. Jordan was very rich and very liberal, and, indeed, lavish 
 of the money which had elevated him above all his early friends 
 and associations. He had travelled, he bought j)ictures, he
 
 86 A Son of the Soil. [CHAp. 
 
 prided himself upon his library, and he was very good to his 
 young tutor, who, he told everybody, was "a lad of genius;" 
 and though naturally, even with all this, Colin's existence was 
 not one of unniingled bliss, the change was good for him. As 
 soon as he had left Eamore he began to look back to it with 
 longing, as was natural to his years. The sense that he had that 
 home behind him, with everybody ready to stand by him what- 
 ever trouble he might fall into, and every heart open to hear and 
 sympathize in all the particulars of his life, restored the young man 
 all at once to content and satisfaction with the homely household 
 that loved him. When he was there life looked gray and sombre 
 in all its sober-coloured garments ; but when he looked across 
 the loch at the white house on the hillside, that little habitation 
 had regained its ideal character. He had some things to endure, 
 as was natural, that galled his high spirit, but, on the whole, he 
 was happier than if he had still been at Eamore. 
 
 And so the summer passed on. He had sent his answer to 
 Sir Thomas without any delay — an answer in which, on the 
 whole, his father concurred — written in a strain of lofty polite- 
 ness which would not have misbecome a young prince. " He 
 was destined for the Church of Scotland," Colin wrote, "and 
 such being the case, it was best that he should content himself 
 with the training of a Scotch university. Less perfect, no 
 doubt," the boy had said, with a kind of haughty humility ; 
 " but, perhaps, better adapted to the future occupations of a 
 Scotch clergyman. And then he went on to offer thanks in a 
 magnificent way, calculated to overwhelm utterly the good- 
 natured baronet, who had never once imagined that the pride 
 of the farmer's son would be wounded by his proposal. The 
 answer had been sent, and no notice had been taken of it. It 
 was months since then, and not a word of Sir Thomas Frankland 
 or his family had been heard about the Holy Loch. They 
 seemed to have disappeared altogether back again into their
 
 7X] A Son of (he Soil. 87 
 
 native firmament, never more to dazzle the eyes of beholders 
 in the west country. It was hard upon Colin thus to lose, at a 
 stroke, not only the hope on which he had built so securely, but 
 at the same time a great part of the general stimulation of his 
 life. !N'ot only the visionary budding love which had filled him 
 with so many sweet thoughts, but even the secret rivalry and 
 opposition which no one knew of, had given strength and anima- 
 tion to his life — and now both seemed to have departed together. 
 He mused over it often with wonder, asking himseK if Lauder- 
 dale was right ; if it was true that most things come to nothing ; 
 and whether meetings and partings, which looked as if they 
 must tell upon life for ever and ever, were, after all, of not half 
 so much account as the steady routine of existence 1 The youth 
 perplexed himself daily with such questions, and wrote to 
 Lauderdale many a long mysterious epistle which puzzled his 
 anxious friend, who could not make out what had set Colin's 
 brains astray out of all the confident philosophies of his years. 
 When the young man, in his hours of leisure, climbed up the 
 woody ravine close by, to where the burn took long leaps over 
 the rocks, flinging itself do^vn in diamonds and showers of spray 
 into the heart of the deep summer foKage in the Lady's Glen, 
 and from that height looked down upon the castle on the other 
 side, seated among its lawns and trees on the soft promontory' 
 which narrowed the entrance of the loch, Colin could not but 
 feel the unexpected void which was suddenly made in his life. 
 The Frankland family had been prominent objects on his horizon 
 for a number of years. In disliking or liking, they had been 
 always before him ; and even at his most belligerent period, 
 there was something not disagreeable to the lad's fancy, at least, 
 in this link of connexion with a world so different from his own 
 — a world in which, however commonplace might be the majority 
 of the actors, such great persons as were to be had in the age 
 might still be found. And now they had gone altogether away
 
 88 A Son of tlie Soil. [chap. 
 
 out of Colin's reach or ken ; and he was left in his natural posi- 
 tion nowise affected by his connexion with them. It was a 
 strange feeling, and notwithstanding the scorn with which he 
 rejected the baronet's kindness and declined his patronage, much 
 disappointment and mortification mingled with the sense of sur- 
 prise in Colin's mind. " It is all as it ought to be," he said to 
 himself many times as he pondered over it ; but, perhaps, if it 
 had been quite as he expected, he would not have needed to 
 impress that sentiment on his mind by so many repetitions. 
 These reflections still recurred to him all the summer through 
 whenever he had any time to himself. But Colin's time was not 
 much at his own disposal. IN'ature had given to this country 
 lad a countenance which propitiated the world. Not that it was 
 handsome in the abstract, or could bear examination feature by 
 feature ; but there were few people who could resist the mingled 
 shyness and frankness of the eyes with which Colin looked out 
 upon the miraculous universe, perceiving perpetual wonders. 
 The surprise of existence was still in his face, indignant though 
 he would have been had anybody told him so ; and tired people 
 of the world, who knew better than they practised, took comfort 
 in talking to the youth, who, whatever he might choose to say, 
 was still looking as might be seen, with fresh eyes at the dewy 
 earth, and saw everything through the atmosphere of the morn- 
 ing. This unconscious charm of his told greatly upon women, 
 and most of all upon women who were older than himself. The 
 young ladies were not so sure of him, for his fancy was pre- 
 occupied ; but he gained many friends among the matrons whom 
 he encountered, and generally was a popular individual. And 
 then hospitality reigns paramount on those sweet shores of the 
 Holy Loch. Mr. Jordan filled his handsome house with a con- 
 tinual succession of guests from all quarters ; and as neither the 
 host nor hostess was in the least degree amusing, Colin's services 
 were in constant requisition. Sometimes the company was good,
 
 7X1 A Son of tJie Soil. 89 
 
 often indifferent ; "but, at all events, it occupied the youth, and 
 kept him from too much inquisition into the early troubles of 
 his o^wTi career. 
 
 His life -u-ent on in this fashion until September brought 
 sportsmen in flocks to the heathery braes of the loch. Colin, 
 whose engagement was but a temporary one, was beginning to 
 look forward once again to his old life in Glasgow — to the close 
 little room in Donaldson's Land, and the long walks and lunger 
 talks with Lauderdale, which were almost his only recreation. 
 Perhaps the idea was not so agreeable to him as in former years. 
 Somehow, he was going back with a duller idea of existence, 
 ■with no radiance of variable light upon his horizon ; and in 
 the absence of that fairy illumination the natural circumstances 
 became more palpable, and struck him with a sense of their 
 poverty and meanness such as he had never felt before. He 
 had to gidp down a little disgust as he thought of his attic, and 
 even, in the involuntary fickleness of his youth, was not quite 
 so sure of enjoying Lauderdale's philosophy as he had been for 
 all those bygone j^ears. 
 
 He was in this state of mind when he heard of a new party 
 of visitors who were to arrive the day after at Ardmartin — 
 a distinguished party of visitors, fine people, whom I\Ir. Jordan 
 had met somewhere in the world, and who had deigned to forget 
 his lack of rank, and even of interest, in his wealth, and his 
 grouse, and the convenient situation of his house ; for Colin's 
 employer was not moderately rich — a condition which does a 
 man no good in society — but had heaps upon heaps of money, 
 or was supposed to have it, which comes to about the same, 
 and was respected accordingly. Colin listened but languidly to 
 the scraps of talk he heard about these fine people. There was 
 a dowager countess among them, whose name abstracted the 
 lady of the house from all other considerations. As for Colin, 
 he was still too young to care for dowagers ; he heard without
 
 90 A /So?i of the Soil. [Chap. 
 
 hearing of all the preparations that were to be made, and the 
 exertions that were thonght necessary in order to make Ard- 
 martin agreeable to so illustrious a party, and paid very little 
 attention to anything that was going on, hoping within himself 
 to make his escape from the fuss of the reception, and have 
 a little time to liimself. On the afternoon on which they were 
 expected he betook himself to the hills, as soon as his work 
 with his pupils was over. It had been raining as usual, and 
 everything shone and glistened in the sun, which blazed all 
 over the braes with a brightness that did not neutralize the 
 chill of the season. The air was so still that Colin heard the 
 crack of the sportsmen's guns from different points around him, 
 miles apart from each other, and could even, on the height 
 where he stood, make out the throb of the little steamer which 
 was progressing through the loch at his feet, reflected to the 
 minutest touch, from its pennon of white steam at the funnel 
 to the patches of colour among its passengers on the deck, in 
 the clear water over which it glided. The young man pursued 
 his walk till the shadows began to gather, and the big bell of 
 Ardmartin pealed out its summons to dress into all the echoes 
 as he reached the gate. The house looked crowded to the very 
 door, where it had overflowed in a margin of servants, some of 
 whom were still unloading the last carriage as Colin entered. 
 He pursued his way to his own room languidly enough, for 
 he was tired, and he was not much interested in anything he 
 personally was likely to hear or see. 
 
 But as he went up the grand staircase, he passed a door 
 which was ajar, and from which came the sound of an animated 
 conversation. Colin started as if he had received a blow, as one 
 of these voices fell on his ear. He came to a dead pause in 
 the gallery upon which this room opened, and stood listening, 
 unconscious of the surprised looks of somebody's maid, who 
 passed him with her lady's dress in her arms, and looked very
 
 IX.] A Son of the Soil. 91 
 
 curiously at the tutor. Colin stopped short and listened, sud- 
 denly roused up to a degree of interest which brought the colour 
 to his cheek and the light to his eye. He thought all the ladies 
 of the party must be there, so varied was the pleasant din and 
 so many the voices; but he had been standing breathless, in 
 the most eager pose of listening, for nearly half the time allowed 
 for dressing, before he heard again the voice which had arrested 
 him. Then, when he began to imagine that it must have been 
 a dream, the sound struck his ear once more — a few brief sylla- 
 bles, a sweet, sudden laugh, and again silence. Was it her 
 voice 1 or was it only a trick of fancy ? While he stood linger- 
 ing, wondering, straining his ear for a repetition of the sound, 
 the door opened softly, and various white figures in dressing- 
 gowns flitted off upstairs and downstairs, some of them uttering 
 little exclamations of fright at sight of the alarming apparition 
 of a man. It was pretty to see them dispersing, like so many 
 white doves, from that momentary confabulation ; but she was 
 not among them. Colin went up to his room and dressed with 
 lightning speed, chafing within himseK at the humble place 
 which he was expected to take at the table. TThen he went 
 into the dining-room, as usual, all the rest of the party were 
 taking their places. The only womankind distinctly within 
 Colin's sight was a lady of fifty, large enough to make six 
 Matildas. He could not see her though he strained his eyes 
 up and down " through the long alley of fruits and flowers. 
 Though he was not twenty, and had walked about ten miles 
 that afternoon over the wholesome heather, the poor young 
 fellow could not eat any dinner. He had been placed beside 
 a heavy old man to amuse him, whom his employer thought 
 might be useful to the young student ; but Colin had not half 
 a dozen words to spend upon any one. ^Yas she here ? or was 
 it mere imagination which brought down to him now and then, 
 through the pauses of the conversation, a momentary tone that
 
 92 A Son of the Soil. [CHAP. 
 
 was like liers ? When the^ ladies left the room the young man 
 rushed, though it was not his office, to open the door for them. 
 Another moment and Colin was in paradise — the paradise of 
 fools. How was it possible that he could have been deceived 1 
 The little start with which she recognised him, the movement 
 of surprise which made her drop her handkerchief and brought 
 the colour to her cheek, rapt the lad into a feeling more ex- 
 quisite than any he had known all his life. She smiled ; she' 
 gave him a rapid, sweet look of recognition, which was made 
 complete by that start of surprise. She was here, under the 
 same roof — she whom he had never hoped to see again. Colin 
 fell headlong into the unintended snare. He sat pondering over 
 her look and her startled gesture all the tedious time, while the 
 other men drank their wine, without being at all aware what 
 divine elixir was in his cup. Her look of sweet wonder kept 
 shining ever brighter and brighter before his imagination. Was 
 it wonder only, or some dawning of another sentiment 1 H she 
 had spoken, the spell might have been less powerful. A crowd 
 of fairy voices kept whispering all manner of delicious follies in 
 Colin's ear, as he sat waiting for the moment when he could 
 follow her. Imagination did everything for hirii in that moment 
 of expectation and unlooked-for delight
 
 X.] A Son of the Soil. 93 
 
 CHAPTER, X. 
 
 Mr. Jordan had invited a large party of people to meet the 
 Dowager Countess ; but the greatness of the leading light, which 
 was to illustrate his house, had blinded him to the companion 
 stars that were to twinkle in her company. The principal people 
 about had consented graciously to be reviewed by her ladyship, 
 who, once upon a time, had been a very great lady and fashion- 
 able potentate. A very little fashion counts for much on the 
 shores of the Holy Loch, and the population was moved accord- 
 ingly. But the young ladies, who accompanied the dowager, 
 were less carefully provided for. When ]\Iiss Frankland, who 
 was unquestionably the beauty of the party, cast a glance of 
 careless but acute observation round her, after all the gentlemen 
 had returned to the drawing-room, she saw nobody whom she 
 cared to distinguish by her notice. Most of the men about had 
 a flavour of commerciality in their talk, or their m.anner, or their 
 whiskers. Most of them were rich, some of them were very 
 well bred and well educated, though the saucy beauty could not 
 perceive it ; but there was not an individual among them who 
 moved her curiosity on her interest, except one who stood rather 
 in the background, and whose eyes kept seeking her with wistful 
 devotion. 
 
 Colin had improved during the last year. He was younger 
 than ^liss Frankland, a fact of which she was aware, and he was 
 at the age upon which a year teUs mightily. Looking at him in 
 the background, through clouds of complacent people who felt 
 themselves CoUn's superiors, even an indifi'erent spectator might
 
 94 A Son of the Soil. \chap. 
 
 have distinguislied the tall youth, with those heaps of brown 
 hair overshadowing the forehead which might have been apostro- 
 phized as " domed for thought " if anybody could have seen it ; 
 and in his eyes that gleam of things miraculous, that uncon- 
 scious surprise and admiration which would have given a touch of 
 poetry to the most commonplace countenance. But Miss Matty 
 w^as not an indifferent spectator. She was fond of him in her 
 way as women are fond of a man whom they never mean to love . 
 — fond of him as one is fond of the victim wbo consents to glorify 
 one's triumph. As she looked at him, and saw how he had 
 improved, and perceived the faithful allegiance with which he 
 watched every movement she made, the heart of the beauty was 
 touched. Worship is sweet, even when it is only a country boy 
 who bestows it — and perhaps this country boy might turn out a 
 genius or a poet. ]N'ot that Matilda cared much for genius or 
 poetry, but she liked everything which, bestows distinction, and 
 was aware that in the lack of other titles, a little notability, even 
 in society, might be obtained if one w^as wise, and knew how to 
 manage it, even by such means. And besides all this, honestly 
 and at the foundation, she was fond of Colin. When she had 
 surveyed all the company, and had made up her mind that there 
 was nobody there in the least degree interesting, she held up her 
 fan with a pretty gesture, calling him to her. The lad made his 
 way through, the assembly at that call with a smile and glow of 
 exultation which it is impossible to describe. His face was 
 lighted up with a kind of celestial intoxication. " Who is that 
 very handsome young man?" the Dowager Countess was moved 
 to remark as he passed within her ladyship's range of vision, 
 which, was limited, for Lady Hallamshire was, like most other 
 people, shortsighted. " Oh, he is not a handsome young man, 
 he is only the tutor," said one of the ladies of the Holy Loch ; 
 but, notwithstanding, she too looked after Colin, with aroused 
 curiosity. " I suppose Matty Frankland must have met him in
 
 X] A Son of the Soil 95 
 
 society," said the Dowager, who was the most comfortable of 
 cliaperones, and went on with her talk, turning her eyeglass 
 towards her pretty charge. As for the young men, they stared 
 at Colin with mingled consternation and wrath. "WTiat was he ? 
 a fellow who had not a penny, a mere Scotch student, to be 
 distinguished by the prettiest girl in the room ? for the aspiring 
 people about the Holy Loch, as well as in the other parts of 
 Scotland, had come to entertain that contempt for the national 
 universities and national scholarship which is so curious a feature 
 in the present transition state of the country. If Colin had 
 been an Oxford man the west-country people would have thought 
 it quite natural, but a Scotch student did not impress them with 
 any particular respect 
 
 " I am so glad to meet you again ! " said Matty, with the warmest 
 cordiality, "but so surprised to see you here. What are you 
 doing here ? why have you come away from that delicious 
 Eamore, where I am sure I should live for ever and ever if it 
 were mine ? TMiat have you been doing with yourself all this 
 time ? Come and tell me all about it ; and I do so want to 
 know how everything is looking at that dear castle and in our 
 favourite glen. Don't you remember that darling glen behind 
 the church, where we used to gather basketfuls of primroses — 
 and all the lovely mosses ? I am dying to hear about everything 
 and everybody. Do come and sit down here, and tell me alL" 
 
 "Where shall I begin?" said Colin, who, utterly forgetful of 
 his position, and all the humilities incumbent on him in such an 
 exalted company, had instantly taken possession of the seat she 
 pointed out to him, and had placed himself according to her 
 orders dii'ectly between her and the company, shutting her 
 into a comer. Miss Matty could see very well all that was 
 going on in the drawing-room, but Colin had his back to the 
 company, and had forgotten everything in the world except 
 her face.
 
 96 A Son of the Soil. [chap. 
 
 " Oh, with yourself, of course," said Matty. " I want to 
 know all about it ; and, first of all, what are you doing among 
 these sort of people?" the young lady continued, with a little 
 nod of her head towards the assembled multitude, some of 
 whom were quite within hearing. 
 
 "These sort of people have very little to say to me," said 
 Colin, who suddenly felt himself elevated over their heads ; " I 
 am only the tutor ;" and the two foolish young creatures looked 
 at each other, and laughed, as if Colin of Eamore had been a 
 prince in disguise, and his tutorship an excellent joke. 
 
 "Oh, you are only the tutor?" said Miss Matty — "that is 
 charming. Then one will be able to make all sorts of use of 
 you. Everybody is allowed to maltreat a tutor. You will hav^e 
 to row us on the loch, and walk with us to the glen, and carry 
 our cloaks, and generally conduct yourself as becomes a slave and 
 vassal. As for me, I shall order you about with the greatest 
 freedom, and expect perfect obedience," said the beauty, looking 
 with her eyes full of laughter into Colin's face. 
 
 " All that goes without saying," said Colin, who did not like 
 to commit himself to the French. " I almost think I have 
 already proved my perfect allegiance." 
 
 " Oh, you were only a boy last year," said Miss Matty, with 
 some evanescent change of colour, which looked like a blush to 
 Colin's delighted eyes. " Now you are a man and a tutor, and 
 we shall behave to you accordingly. How lovely that glen was 
 last spring, to be sure," continued the girl, with a little quite 
 unconscious natural feeling ; " do you remember the day when 
 it rained, and we had to wait under the beeches, and when you 
 imagined all sorts of things in the pattering of the shower ? 
 Do you ever write any poetry now 1 I want so much to see 
 what you have been doing — since — " said the siren, who, half- 
 touched by nature in her own person, was still perfectly conscious 
 of her power.
 
 A'. J A Son of the Soil. 97 
 
 " Since ! " Colin repeated the word over to himself with a 
 flush of happiness which, perhaps, no real good in existence 
 could have equalled. Poor boy ! if he could but have known 
 what had happened " since " in Miss Matty's experience — but, 
 fortunately, he had not the smallest idea what was involved in 
 the season which the young lady had lately terminated, or in the 
 brilliant winter campaign in the country, which had brought 
 adorers in plenty, but nothing worthj^ of the beaut/s acceptance, 
 to jMiss Matty's feet. Colin thought only of the beatific dreams, 
 the faithful follies which had occupied his own juvenile imagi- 
 nation " since." As for the heroine herself, she looked slightly 
 confused to hear him repeat the word. She had meant it to 
 produce its effect, but then she was thinking solely of a male 
 creature of her own species, and not of a primitive, innocent soul 
 like that which looked at her in a glow of young delight out of 
 Colin's eyes. She was used to be admired and complimented, 
 and humoured to the top of her bent, but she did not understand 
 being believed in, and the new sensation somewhat fluttered and 
 embarrassed the young woman of the world. She watched his 
 look, as he replied to her, and thereby added doubly, though 
 she did not mean it, to the effect of what she had said. 
 
 "I never write poetry," said Colin, "I wish I could — I know 
 how I should use the gift ; but I have a few verses about some- 
 where, I suppose, like everybody else. Last spring I was almost 
 persuaded I could do something better ; but that feeling lasts 
 only so long as one's inspiration lasts," said the youth, looking 
 do"svn, in his turn, lest his meaning might be discovered too 
 quickly in his eye. 
 
 And then there ensued a pause — a pause which was more 
 dangerous than the talk, and which Miss Matty made haste to 
 break. 
 
 " Do you know you are very much changed ?" she said. " You 
 never did any of this society-talk last year. You have been 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 A Son of the Soil. [Chap. 
 
 making friends with some ladies somewhere, and they have 
 taught you conversation. But, as for me, I am your early 
 friend, and I preferred you when you did not talk like other 
 people," said Miss Matty, with a slight pout. " Tell me who 
 has been forming your mind 1" 
 
 Perhaps it was fortunate for Colin at this moment that Lady 
 Hallamshire had become much bored by the group which had 
 gathered round her sofa. The dowager was clever in her way, 
 and had written a novel or two, and was accustomed to be amused 
 by the people who had the honour of talking to her. Though 
 she was no longer a leader of fashion, she kept up the manners 
 and customs of that remarkable species of the human race, and 
 when she was bored, permitted her sentiments to be plainly 
 visible in her expressive countenance. Though it was the 
 member for the county who was enlightening her at that moment 
 in the statistics of the West Highlands, and though she had 
 been in a state of great anxiety five minutes before about the 
 emigration which was depopulating the moors, her ladyship 
 broke in quite abruptly in the midst of the poor-rates with a 
 totally irrelevant observation — 
 
 " It appears to me that Matty Frankland has got into another 
 flirtation ; I must go and look after her," said the Dowager ; 
 and she smiled graciously upon the explanatory member, and 
 left him talking, to the utter consternation of their hostess. 
 Lady Hallamshire thought it probable that the young man was 
 amusing as well as handsome, or Matty Frankland, who was a 
 girl of discretion, would not have received him into such marked 
 favour. " Though I daresay there is nobody here worth her 
 trouble," her chaperone thought as she looked round the room ; 
 but anyhow a change was desirable. " Matty, mignonne, I want 
 to know what you are talking about," she said, suddenly coming 
 to anchor opposite the two young people ; and a considerable 
 fuss ensued to find her ladyship a seat, during which time Colin
 
 XI A Son of the Soil 99 
 
 had a hundred minds to run away. The company took a new 
 centre after this performance on the part of the great lady, and 
 poor CoHn, all at once, began to feel that he was doing exactly 
 the reverse of Avhat was expected of him. He got up with a 
 painful blush as he met Mr. Jordan's astonished eye. The poor 
 boy did not know that he had been much more remarked before : 
 " flirting openly with that dreadful little coquette !Miss Frank- 
 land, and turning his back upon his superiors," as some of the 
 indignant bystanders said. Even Colin's matronly friends, who 
 pitied him and formed his mind, disapproved of his behaviour. 
 " She only means to make a fool of you, and you ought not to 
 allow yourself to be taken in by it," said one of these patronesses 
 in his ear, calling him aside. But Fate had detennined otherwise. 
 
 " Don't go away," said Lady Hallamshire. " I like flatty to 
 introduce all her friends to me ; and you two look as if you had 
 known each other a long time," said the dowager, graciously ; 
 for she was pleased, like most women, by Colin's looks. " One 
 would know him again if one met him," she added, in an 
 audible aside ; "he doesn't look exactly like everybody else, as 
 most young men do. Who is he, Matty ?" And Miss Frank- 
 land's chaperone turned the light of her countenance full upon 
 Colin, quite indifferent to the fact that he had heard one part of 
 her speech quite as well as the other. When a fine lady consents 
 to enter the outer world, it is to be expected that she should 
 behave herself as dualized people do among savages, and the 
 English among the other nations of the world. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! we have known each other a long time," said 
 Matty, partly with a generous, partly with a mischievous, 
 instinct. "My uncle knows Mr. Campbell's father very well, 
 and Harry and he and I made acquaintance when we were 
 children. I am sure you must have heard how nearly Harry 
 was drowned once when we were at Kilchurn Castle. It was 
 Mr. Campbell who saved his life."
 
 100 A Son of the Soil. [CHap. 
 
 " Oh ! " said Lady Hallamsliire ; " but I thought that was " — 
 and then she stopped short. Looking at Colin again, her lady- 
 ship's experienced eye perceived that he was not arrayed with 
 that perfection of apparel to which she was accustomed ; but at 
 the same moment her eye caught his glowing face, half pleased, 
 half haughty with that pride of lowliness which is of all pride 
 the most defiant. "I am very glad to make Mr. Campbell's 
 acquaintance," — she went on so graciously that everybody forgot. 
 the pause. " Harry Frankland is a very dear young fuiend of 
 mine, and we are all very much indebted to his deliverer." 
 
 It was just what a distinguished matron would have said in 
 the circumstances in one of Lady Hallamshire's novels ; but, 
 instead of remaining overcome with grateful confusion, as the 
 hero ought to have done, Colin made an immediate reply. 
 
 " I cannot take the credit people give me," said the lad, with 
 a little heat. " He happened to get into my boat when he was 
 nearly exhausted — that is the whole business. There has been 
 much more talk about it than was necessary. I cannot pretend 
 even to be a friend of Mr. Frankland," said Colin, with the 
 unnecessary explanatoriness of youth, " and I certainly did not 
 save his life." 
 
 With which speech the young man disappeared out of sight 
 amid the wondering assembly, which privately designated him a 
 young puppy and a young prig, and by various other epithets, 
 according to the individual mind of the speaker. As for Lady 
 Hallamshire, she was considerably disgusted. "Your friend is 
 original, I dare say ; but I am not sure that he is quite civil," 
 she said to Matty, who did not quite know whether to be vexed 
 or pleased by Colin' s abrupt withdrawal. Perhaps on the whole 
 the young lady liked him better for having a mind of his own, 
 notwithstanding his devotion, and for preferring to bestow his 
 worship without the assistance of spectators. If he had been a 
 man in the least eligible as a lover, Miss Frankland might have
 
 XI A Son of the Soil. 101 
 
 been of a different opinion ; but, as that was totally out of 
 possibility, ]Matty liked, on the whole, that he should do what 
 was ideally right, and keep up her conception of him. She gave 
 her head a pretty toss of semi-defiance, and went across the 
 room to Mrs. Jordan, to whom she was very amiable and caress- 
 ing all the rest of the evening. But she still continued to watch 
 with the corner of her eye the tall boyish figure which was now 
 and then to be discerned in the distance, with those masses of 
 brown hair heaped like clouds upon the forehead, which Cohn's 
 height made visible over the heads of many very superior people. 
 She knew he was watching her and noted every movement she 
 made, and she felt a little proud of the slave, who, though he 
 was only the tutor and a poor farmer's son, had something in his 
 eyes which nobody else within sight had any inkling of. Matty 
 was rather clever in her way, which was as much different from 
 Colin's as light from darkness. N"o man of a mental calibre 
 like hers could have found him out ; but she had a little insight, 
 as a woman, which enabled her to perceive the greater height 
 when she came within sight of it. And then poor Colin, all 
 unconsciously, had given her such an advantage over him. He 
 had laid his boy's heart at her feet, and, half in love, half in 
 imagination, had made her the goddess of his youth. If she had 
 thought it likely to do him any serious damage, perhaps Matty, 
 who was a good girl enough, and was of some use to the rector and 
 very popular among the poor in her own parish, might have done 
 her duty by Colin, and crushed this pleasant folly in the bud. 
 But then it did not occur to her that a " friendship " of which 
 it was so very evident nothing could ever come, could harm 
 anybody. It did not occur to her that an ambitious Scotch boy, 
 who knew no more of the world than a baby, and who had been 
 fed upon aU the tales of riches achieved and glories won which 
 are the common fare of many a homely household, might possibly 
 entertain a different opinion. So Matty asked all kinds of
 
 102 A Son of the Soil. [CHAP. 
 
 questions about him of Mrs. Jordan, and gave him now and then 
 a little nod when she met his eye, and generally kept up a kind 
 of special intercourse far more flattering to the youth than ordi- 
 nary conversation. Poor Colin neither attempted nor wished to 
 defend himself. He put his head under the yoke, and hugged 
 his chains. He collected his verses, poor boy ! when he went 
 to his own room that night — verses which he knew very well 
 were true to her, but in which it would be rather difficult to 
 explain the fatal stroke — the grievous blow on which he had 
 expatiated so vaguely that it might be taken to mean the death 
 of his lady rather than the simple fact that she did not come to 
 Kilchurn Castle when he expected her. How to make her 
 understand that this was the object of his lamentations puzzled 
 him a little; for Colin knew enough of romance to be aware 
 that the true lover does not venture to address the princess until 
 he has so far conquered fortune as to make his suit with honour 
 to her and fitness in the eyes of the world. 
 
 It was thus that the young tutor sat in his bare little room 
 out of the way, and, with eyes that glowed over his midnight 
 candle, looked into the future, and calculated visionary dates at 
 which, if all went with him as he hoped, he might lay his 
 trophies at his lady's feet. It is true that Matty herself fully 
 intended by that time to have daughters ready to enter upon the 
 round of conquest from which she should have retired into 
 matron dignity ; but no such profanity ever occurred to Colin. 
 Thus the two thought of each other as they went to their rest — 
 the one with all the delusions of heroic youthful love, the other 
 with no delusions at all, but a half gratitude, half affection — a 
 woman's compassionate fondness for the man who had touched 
 her heart a little by giving her his, but whom it was out of the 
 question ever to think of loving. And so the coils of Fate 
 began to throw themselves around the free-born feet of young 
 Colin of Eamore.
 
 XL] A Son of the Soil. 103 
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 Lady Hallamshiee was a woman very accessible to a little 
 judicious flattery, and very sensible of good living. She liked 
 Mr. Jordan's liberal house, and she liked the court that was 
 paid to her ; and was not averse to lengthening out her visit, 
 and converting three days into a fortnight, especially as her 
 ladyship's youngest son, Horace Fitz-Gibbon, who was a lieu- 
 tenant in the navy, was expected daily in the Clyde — at least 
 his ship was, which conies to the same thing. Horace was a 
 dashing young fellow enough, with nothing but his handsome 
 face (he had his mother's nose, as everybody acknowledged, and, 
 although now a dowager, she had been a great beauty in her day), 
 and the honourable prefix to his name to help him on in the 
 world. Lady Hallamshire had heard of an heiress or two about, 
 and her maternal ambition was stimulated ; and, at the same 
 time, the grouse were bewitching, and the cookery most credit- 
 able. The only thing she was sorry for was Matty Frankland, 
 her ladyship said, who never could stay more than a week any- 
 where, unless she was flirting with somebody, without being 
 bored. Perhaps the necessary conditions had been obtained even 
 at Ardmartin, for Matty bore up very well on the whole. She 
 fulfilled the threat of making use of the tutor to the fullest 
 extent; and Colin gave himself up to the enjoyment of his fool's 
 paradise without a thought of flying from the dangerous felicity. 
 They climbed the hills together, keeping far in advance of theii* 
 companions, who overtook them only to find the mood change, 
 and to leave behind in the descent the pair of loiterers, whose
 
 104 A Son of the Soil. [CHap. 
 
 pace no calls nor advices, nor even the frequent shower, could 
 quicken ; and they rowed together over the lovely loch, about 
 which Matty, having much fluency of language, and the adroit- 
 ness of a little woman of the world in appropriating other 
 people's sentiments, showed even more enthusiasm than Colin. 
 Perhaps she too enjoyed this wonderful holiday in the life which 
 already she knew by heart, and found no novelty in. To be 
 adored, to be invested with all the celestial attributes, to feel 
 herself the one grand object in somebody's world, is pleasant to 
 a woman. Matty almost felt as if she was in love, without the 
 responsibility of the thing, or any need for troubling herself 
 about what it was going to come to. It could come to nothing — 
 except an expression of gratitude and kindness to the young 
 man who had saved her cousin's life. When everything was so 
 perfectly safe, there could be no harm in the enjoyment ; and 
 the conclusion Matty came to, as an experimental philosopher, 
 was, that to fall in love really, and to accept its responsibilities, 
 would be an exciting but highly troublesome amusement. She 
 could not help thinking to herself how anxious she should be 
 about Colin if such a thing were possible. How those mistakes 
 which he could not help making, and which at present did not 
 disturb her in the least, would make her glow and burn witt. 
 shame, if he were really anything to her. And yet he was a 
 great deal to her. She was as good as if she had been really 
 possessed by that love on which she speculated, and almost as 
 happy ; and Colin was in her mind most of the hours of the 
 day, when she was awake, and a few of those in which she 
 slept. The difference was, that Matty contemplated quite calmly 
 the inevitable fact of leaving Ardmartin on Monday, and did 
 not think it in the least likely that she would break her heart 
 over the parting ; and that, even in imagination, she never for a 
 moment connected her fate with that of her young adorer. 
 But as for the poor youth himself, he went deeper and deeper
 
 XL] A Son of the Soil. 105 
 
 into the enchanted land. He went without any resistance, 
 giving himself up to the sweet fate. She had read the poems 
 of course, and had inquired eagerly into that calamity which 
 occupied so great a part in them, and had found out what it was, 
 and had blushed (as Cohn thought), but was not angry. 'What 
 could a shy young lover, whose lips were sealed by honour, but 
 who knew his eyes, his actions, his productions to be alike 
 eloquent, desire more ? Sometimes Lady Hallamshire consented 
 to weigh down the boat, which dipped hugely at the stem under 
 her, and made Colin's task a hard one. Sometimes the tutor, 
 who counted for nobody, was allowed to conduct a cluster of 
 girls, of whom he saw but one, over the peaceful water. Lessons 
 did not count for much in those paradisaical days. Miss 
 Frankland begged hoHdays for the boys; begged that they 
 might go excursions with her, and make pic-nics on the hill-side, 
 and accompany her to all sorts of places, till ]\Irs. Jordan was 
 entirely captivated with Matty. She never saw a young lady 
 so taken up with children, the excellent woman said ; and pro- 
 phesied that Miss Matty would make a wonderful mother of a 
 family when her time came. As for the tutor, ^Irs. Jordan 
 too took him for a cipher, and explained to him how improving 
 it was for the boys to be in good society, by way of apologizing 
 to Colin. At length there occurred one blessed day in which 
 Colin and his boys embarked with !Miss Frankland alone, to row 
 across to Eamore. " My uncle has so high an opinion of Mr. 
 Campbell," Matty said very demurely ; " I know he would never 
 forgive me if I did not go to see him." As for Colin, his 
 blessedness was tempered on that particular occasion by a less 
 worthy feeling. He felt, if not ashamed of Eamore, at least, 
 apologetic of it and its accessories, which apology took, as was 
 natural to a Scotch lad of his years, an argumentative and 
 defiant tone. 
 
 " It is a poor house enough," said Colin, as he pointed it out,
 
 106 A Son of the Soil. [CHap. 
 
 gleaming white upon the hill-side, to Miss Matty, who pretended 
 to remember it perfectly, but who after all had not the least 
 idea which was Eamore — " but I would not change with any- 
 body I know. We are better off in the cottages than you in the 
 palaces. Comfort is a poor sort of heathen deity to be wor- 
 shipped as you worship him in England. As for us, we have a 
 higher standard," said the lad, half in sport and more than half 
 in earnest. The two young Jordans after a little gaping at the 
 talk which went over their heads (for Miss Matty was wonder- 
 fully taken up with the children only when their mother was 
 present), had betaken themselves to the occupation of sailing a 
 little yacht from the bows of their boat, and were very well- 
 behaved and disturbed nobody. 
 
 " Yes," said Matty, in an absent tone. " By the way, I wish 
 very much you would tell me why you rejected my uncle's 
 proposal about going to Oxford. I suppose you have a higher 
 standard j but then they say you don't have such good scholars 
 in Scotland. I am sure I beg your pardon if I am wrong." 
 
 " But I did not say you were wrong," said Colin, who, however, 
 grew fiery red, and burned to prove his scholarship equal to that 
 of any Eton lad or Christ-church man. " They say, on the 
 other side, that a man may get through without disgrace, in 
 Oxford or Cambridge, who doesn't know how to spell English," 
 said the youth, with natural exasperation — and took a few long 
 strokes which sent the boat fl3^ng across the summer ripples, 
 and consumed his angry energy. He was quite ready to sneer 
 at Scotch scholarship in his own person, when he and his fellows 
 were together, and even to sigh over the completer order and 
 profounder studies of the great Universities of England ; but to 
 acknowledge the inferiority of his country in any particular to 
 the lady of his wishes, was beyond the virtue of a Scotchman 
 and a lover. 
 
 " I did not speak of stupid people," said Miss Matty ; " and
 
 XL] A So)i of the Soil. 107 
 
 1 am sure I did not mean to vex you. Of course I know you 
 are so very clever in Scotland ; everybody allows that. I love 
 Scotland so much," said the politic little woman ; " but then 
 every country has its weak points and its strong points ; and 
 you have not told me yet why you rejected my uncle's proposal. 
 He wished you very much to accept it ; and so did I," said the 
 siren, after a little pause, lifting upon Colin the half-subdued 
 light of her blue eyes. 
 
 " "Why did you wish it f the lad asked, as was to be expected, 
 bending forward to hear the answer to his question. 
 
 *' Oh, look there ! little Ben will be overboard in another 
 minute," said Matty, and then she continued lower, "I can't 
 tell you, I'm sure; because I thought you were going to turn 
 out a great genius, I suppose. " 
 
 " But you don't believe that ?" said Colin ; " you say so only 
 to make the Holy Loch a little more like Paradise ; and that is 
 unnecessary to-day," the lad went on, glancing round him with 
 eyes full of the light that never was on sea or land. Though he 
 was not a poet, he had what was almost better, a poetic soul. 
 The great world moved for him always amid everlasting melodies, 
 the morning and the evening stars singing together even through 
 the common day. Just now his cup was about running over. 
 What if, to crown all, God, not content with giving him life and 
 love, had indeed visibly to the sight of others, if not to his own, 
 bestowed genius also, the other gift most prized of youth. 
 Somehow, he could not contradict that divine peradventure. 
 "If it were so," he said under his breath, " if it were so !" and 
 the other little soul opposite, who had lost sight of Colin at that 
 moment, and did not know through what bright mists he was 
 wandering, strained her limited vision after him, and wondered 
 and asked what he meant. 
 
 "If it were so," said Matty, ''what then ?" Most likely she 
 expected a compliment — and Colin's compliments being made
 
 108 A Son of the Soil. [chap. 
 
 only by inference, and with a shyness and an^emotion unknown 
 to habitual manufacturers of such articles, were far from being 
 unpleasant offerings to Miss Matty, who was slightly blase of the 
 common coin. 
 
 But Colin only shook his head, and bent his strong young 
 frame to the oars, and shook back the clouds of brown hair from 
 his half- visible forehead. The boat flew like a swallow along the 
 crisp bosom of the loch. Miss Matty did not quite know what 
 to make of the silence, not being in love. She took off her . 
 glove and held her pretty hand in the water over the side of the 
 boat, but the loch was cold, and she withdrew it presently. 
 What was he thinking of, she wondered 1 Having lost sight of 
 him thus, she was reluctant to begin the conversation anew, lest 
 she might perhaps say something which would betray her non- 
 comprehension, and bring her down from that pedestal which, 
 after all, it was pleasant to occupy. Eeminine instinct at last 
 suggested to Matty what was the very best thing to do in the 
 circumstances. She had a pretty voice, and perfect ease in the 
 use of it, and knew exactly what she could do, as people of 
 limited powers generally can. So she began to sing, murmuring 
 to herself at first as she stooped over the water, and then rising 
 into full voice. As for Colin, that last touch was almost too 
 much for him ; he had never heard her sing before, and he 
 could not help marvelling as he looked at her why Providence 
 should have lavished such endowments upon one, and left so 
 many others unprovided — and fell to rowing softly, dropping his 
 oars into the sunshine with as little sound as possible, to do full 
 justice to the song. When Matty had come to the end she 
 turned on him quite abruptly, and, almost before the last note 
 had died from her lips, repeated her question. " IS'ow tell me 
 why did you refuse to go to Oxford V said the little siren, look- 
 ing full into Colin's face. 
 
 " Because I can't be dependent upon any man, and because I
 
 AT.] A So7i of the Soil. 109 
 
 had done nothing to entitle me to such a recompense," said Colin, 
 who was taken by surprise ; " you all make a mistake about that 
 business," he said, with a slight sudden flush of coloui', and 
 immediately fell to his oars again with all his might. 
 
 " It is very odd," said ]Miss Matilda. " ^^hy don't you like 
 Harry ? He is nothing particular, but he is a very good sort of 
 boy, and it is so strange that you should have such a hatred to 
 each other — I mean to say, he is not at all fond of you" she 
 continued, with a laugh. "I believe he is jealous because we 
 all talk of you so much ; and it must be rather hard upon a boy 
 after all to have his life saved, and to be expected to be grateful ; 
 for I don't believe a word you say," said !Miss Matty. " I know 
 the rights of it better than you do — you did save his life." 
 
 " I hope you will quite release him from the duty of being 
 grateful," said Colin ; " I don't suppose there is either love or 
 hatred between us. 'We don't know each other to speak of, 
 and I don't see any reason why we should be fond of each 
 other ; " and again Colin sent the boat forward with long, rapid 
 strokes, getting rid of the superfluous energy which was roused 
 \sithin by hearing Frankland's name. 
 
 " It is very odd," said Matty again. " I wonder if you are 
 fated to be rivals, and come in each other's way. K I knew 
 any girl that Harry was in love "uith, I should not like to 
 introduce you to her," said Miss Matty, and she stojDped and 
 laughed a little, evidently at something in her own mind. 
 " How odd it would be if you were to be rivals through life," 
 she continued ; " I am sure I can't teU which I should most 
 wish, to win — my cousin, who is a very good boy in his way, 
 or you, who puzzle me so often," said the little witch, looking 
 suddenly up into Colin's eyes. 
 
 '* How is it possible I can puzzle you ? " he said ; but the 
 innocent youth was flattered by the sense of superiority involved. 
 " There can be very little rivalry between an English baronet
 
 110 A Son of the Soil. [chap. 
 
 and a Scotch minister," continued Colin. "We shall never 
 come in each other's way." 
 
 " And omist you be a Scotch minister 1 " said Miss Matty, 
 softly. There was a regretful tone in her voice, and she gave 
 an appealing glance at him, as if she were remonstrating against 
 that necessity. Perhaps it was well for Colin that they were 
 so near the shore, and that he had to give all his attention 
 to the boat, to secure the best landing for those delicate little 
 feet. As he leaped ashore himself, ankle-deep into the bright 
 but cold water, Colin could not but remember his boyish scorn 
 of Henry Frankland, and that dislike of wet feet which was 
 so amusing and wonderful to the country boy. Matters were 
 wonderfully changed now-a-days for Colin ; but still he plunged 
 into the water with a certain relish, and pulled the boat ashore 
 with a sense of his strength and delight in it which at such 
 a moment it was sweet to experience. As for Miss Matty, she 
 found the hill very steep, and accepted the assistance of Colin's 
 arm to get over the sharp pebbles of the beach. " One ought 
 to wear strong boots," she said, holding out the prettiest little 
 foot, which indeed had been perfectly revealed before by the 
 festooned dress, which Miss Matty found so convenient on the 
 hills. When Colin's mother saw from her window this pair 
 approaching alone (for the Jordan boys were ever so far behind, 
 still coquetting with their toy yacht), it was not wonderful if 
 her heart beat more quickly than usual. She jumj)ed, with her 
 womanish imagination, at all kinds of incredible results, and 
 saw her Colin happy and great, by some wonderful conjunction 
 of his own genius and the favour of others, which it would have 
 been hopeless to attempt any comprehension of. The mistress 
 altogether puzzled and overwhelmed Miss Matty by the greeting 
 she gave her. The little woman of the world looked in utter 
 amazement at the poor farmer's wife, whom she meant to be 
 very kind and amiable to, but who to her consternation, took
 
 XL] A Son of the Soil. Ill 
 
 the superior part by right of nature ; for Mrs. Camphell, being 
 possessed by her own idea, was altogether obtuse to her visitor's 
 condescensions. The parlour at Ramore looked dingy certainly 
 after the drawing-rooms of Ardmartin, and all the business of 
 the farm was manifestly going on as usual; but even Colin, 
 sensitive as he had become to all the diflferences of circum- 
 stances, was puzzled, like Matty, and felt his mother to have 
 suddenly developed into a kind of primitive princess. Perhaps 
 the poor boy guessed why, and felt that his love was elevating 
 not only himself but everybody who belonged to him ; but Miss 
 Matty, who did not understand how profound emotion could 
 affect anybody's manners, nor how her young admirer's mother 
 could be influenced by his sentiments, was entirely in the dark, 
 and could not help being immensely impressed by the bearing 
 and demeanour of the mistress of Eamore. 
 
 " I'm glad it's such a bonny day," said Colin's mother ; " it 
 looks natural and seemly to see you here on a day like this. As 
 for Colin, he aye brings the light with him, but no often such 
 sunshine as you. I canna lay any great feast before you," said 
 the farmer's wife with a smile, " but young things like you are 
 aye near enough heaven to be pleased with the common mercies. 
 After a', if I was a queen I couldna offer you anything better 
 than the white bread and the fresh milk," said the mistress; 
 and she set down on the table, with her own tender hands, the 
 scones for which Eamore was famous, and the abundant over- 
 running jug of milk, which was not to be surpassed anywhere, 
 as she said. Matty sat down with an odd involuntary con- 
 viction that Mr. Jordan's magnificent table on the other side of 
 the loch offered but a poor hospitality in comparison. Though 
 she laughed at herself an hour after, it was quite impossible at 
 that moment to feel otherwise than respectfid. " I never saw 
 anybody with such beautiful manners," she said to Cohn as 
 they went back to the boat. She did not take his arm this
 
 112 A Son of the Soil. [Chap. 
 
 time, but walked very demurely after liim down the narrow 
 path, feeling ujDon her the eyes of the mistress, who was standing 
 at her door as usual to see her son go away. Matty could not 
 help a little natural awe of the woman whose soft eyes were 
 watching her. She could manage her aunt perfectly, and did 
 not care in the least for Lady Hallamshire, who was the most 
 accommodating of chaperones, but Mrs. Campbell's sweet looks, 
 and generous reception of her son's enslaver somehow over- 
 whelmed Matty. The mistress looked at the girl as if she con- 
 sidered her capable of all the grand and simple emotions which 
 were in her own heart, and Matty was half-ashamed and half- 
 frightened, and did not feel able at the moment to pursue her 
 usual amusement. The row back, to which Colin had been 
 looking with a thrill of expectation, was silent and grave, 
 in comparison with all their former expeditions, notwith- 
 standing that this was the last time they were likely to see 
 each other alone. Poor Colin thought of Lauderdale and his 
 philosophy, for the first time for many days, when he had to 
 stop behind to place the boat in safety on the beach, while 
 Matty, who generally waited for him, skipped up the avenue 
 as- fast as she could go, with the little Jordans beside her. 
 ]N^ever yet was reality which came truly up to the expectation. 
 Here was an end of his fool's paradise ; he vexed himself by 
 going over and over all that had passed, wondering if anything 
 had offended her ; and then thought of Eamore with a pang at 
 his heart — a pang of something nobler than the mere bitterness 
 of contrast, which sometimes makes a poor man ashamed of his 
 home. But all this time the true reason for her new-born 
 reserve — which Miss Matty kept up victoriously until about 
 the close of the evening, when, being utterly bored, she forgot 
 her good resolution and called him to her side again — was quite 
 unsuspected by Colin. He could not divine how susceptible to 
 the opinion of women was the heart of a woman, even when it
 
 XI.] A Son of the Soil. 113 
 
 retained but little of its first freshness. Matty was not startled 
 by Colin's love, but she was by his mother's belief in it and 
 herself; it stopped her short in her careless career, and sug- 
 gested endings that were not pleasant to think of. If she had 
 been kept in amusement for a day or two after, it might have 
 been well for Colin — but being bored she returned to her natural 
 sport., and this interruption did him no good in the end. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 114 A Son of the Soil. [chap. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 The parting of tlie two who had been thrown so much togethef, 
 who had thought so much of each other, and who had, notwith- 
 standing, so few things in common, was as near an absolute 
 parting as is practicable in this world of constant commotion, 
 where everybody meets everybody else in the most unlikely 
 regions. Colin dared not propose to write to her; dared not, 
 indeed — being withheld by the highest impulses of honour — 
 venture to say to her what was in his heart ; and Miss Matty 
 herself was a little silent — perhaps a little moved — and could 
 not utter any commonplaces about meeting again, as she had 
 intended to do. So they said good-bye to each other in a kind 
 of absolute way, as if it might be for ever and ever. As for 
 Matty, who was not in love, but whose heart was touched, and 
 who had a vague, instinctive sense that she might never more 
 meet anybody in her life like this country lad — perhaps she had 
 enough generosity left in her to feel that it would be best they 
 should not meet again. But Colin had no such thoughts. He 
 felt in his heart that one time — how or when he knew not — he 
 should yet go to her feet and offer what he had to offer : every- 
 thing else in the world except that one thing was doubtfid to 
 Colin, but concerning that he was confident, and entertained no 
 fear. And so they parted ; she, perhaps, for half an hour or so, 
 the most deeply moved of the two. Miss Matty, however, was 
 just as captivating as usual in the next house they went to, 
 where there were one or two people worth looking at, and the 
 company in general was more , interesting than at Ardmartin ;
 
 XII.] A Son of the Soil. 115 
 
 but Colin, for his part, spent most of the evening on the hill- 
 side, revohdng in the silence a hundred tumultuous thoughts. 
 It was the end of September, and the nights were cold on the 
 Holy Loch. There was not even a moon to enliven the land- 
 scape, and all that could be seen was the cold, blue glimmer of 
 the water, upon which CoHn looked down with a kind of deso- 
 late sense of elevation — elevation of the mind and of the heart, 
 which made the grief of parting look like a grand moral agent, 
 quickening all his powers, and concentrating his strength. Hence- 
 forward the strongest of personal motives was to inspire him in 
 all his conflicts. He was going into the battle of life with his 
 lady's colours on his helmet, like a knight of romance, and 
 failure was not to be thought of as a possibility. As he set his 
 face to the wind, going back to Ardmartin, the pale sky lightened 
 over the other side of the loch, and underneath the breaking 
 clouds, which lay so black on the hills, Colin saw the distant 
 glimmer of a light, which looked like the light in the parlour 
 window at Eamore. Just then a sudden gust swept across the 
 hill-side, throwing over him a shower of falling leaves, and big 
 rain-drops from the last shower. There was not a soul on the 
 road but Colin himself, nor anything to be seen far or near, 
 except the dark tree-tops in the Lady's Glen, which were sigh- 
 ing in the night wind, and the dark side of Ardmartin, where 
 all the shutters were closed, and one soft star hanging among 
 the clouds just over the spot where that little friendly light in 
 the farmhouse of Eamore held up its glimmer of human conso- 
 lation into the darkness. It was not Hero's torch to light her 
 love — was it, perhaps, a sober gleam of truth and wisdom to 
 caU the young Leander back from those bitter waters in which 
 he could but perish ? All kinds of fancies were in Colin's mind 
 as he went back, facing the wind, to the duU, closed up house, 
 from which the enchantment had departed; but among them 
 there occurred no thought of discouragement from this pursuit 
 
 i2
 
 116 A Son of the Soil. [ciiAr. 
 
 upon which now his heart was set. He would have drowned 
 himself could he have imagined it possible that he could cease 
 to love — and so long as he loved how was it possible to fail 1 
 
 " And must you be a Scotch minister 1 " When Colin went 
 home a fortnight later to make his preparations for returning to 
 the University, he was occupied, to the exclusion of almost all 
 other questions, by revolving this. It is true that at his age, 
 and with his inexperience, it was possible to imagine that even 
 a Scotch minister, totally unfavoured by fortune, might, by mere 
 d:nt of genius, raise himself to heights of fame sufficient to 
 bring Sir Thomas Eranklin's niece within his reach — but the 
 thing was unlikely, even to the lively imagination of twenty. 
 And it was the fact that Colin had no special "vocation" towards 
 the profession for which he was being trained. He had been 
 educated and destined for it all his life, and his thoughts had a 
 natural bias that way. But otherwise there was no personal 
 impulse in his mind towards what Mrs. Jordan called "the 
 work of the ministry." Hitherto his personal impulses had 
 been neither for nor against. Luckily for Colin, and many of his 
 contemporaries, there were so many things to object to in the 
 Church of Scotland, so many defects of order and external 
 matters which required reformation, that they were less strongly 
 tempted to become sceptical in matters of faith than their fellows 
 elsewhere. As for Colin himself, he had fallen off no doubt 
 from the certainty of his boyhood upon many important matters ; 
 but the lad, though he was a Scotchman, was happily illogical, and 
 suffered very little by his doubts. Nothing could have made him 
 sceptical, in any real sense of the word, and accordingly there 
 was no repulsion in Colin's mind against his future profession. 
 But now ! He turned it over in his mind night and day in the 
 interval between Matty's departure and his own return to Eamore. 
 What if, instead of a Scotch minister, incapable of promotion, 
 and to whom ambition itself was unlawful, he were to address
 
 A7/.] A Soil of tlie Soil. 117 
 
 himself to the Bar, where there were at least chances and possi- 
 bilities of fame ] He was occupied with this question, to the 
 exclusion of every other, as he crossed the loch in the little steamer, 
 and landed on the pier near Eamore, where his young brothers 
 met him, eager to carry his travelling-bag, and convey him 
 home in triumph. Colin was aware that such a proposal on his 
 part would occasion grievous disappointment at home, and he 
 did not know how to introduce the subject, or disclose his 
 wavering wishes. It was a wonderful relief, as well as confusion 
 to him, when he entered the Eamore parlour, to find Lauderdale 
 in possession of the second arm-chair, opposite the mistress's, 
 which was sacred to visitors. He had arrived only the evening 
 before, having left Glasgow " for a hohday, like everybody else, 
 in the saut- water season ; the first I ever mind of having in 
 my life," he said, with a certain boyish satisfaction, stretching 
 out his long limbs by the parlour fire. 
 
 " It's ower cauld to have much good of the water," said the 
 mistress ; " the boat's no laid up yet, waiting for Colin, but 
 the weather's awfu' winterly — no to say soft," she added, with 
 a little sigh, "for its aye soft weather among the lochs, though 
 we've had less rain than common this year." 
 
 And as the mistress spoke, the familiar, well-known rain 
 came sweeping down over the hiUs. It had the usual effect 
 upon the mind of the sensitive woman. " TTe maun take a' 
 the good we can of you, laddie," she said, laying her kind hand 
 on her boy's shoulder, " it's only a sight we get now in passing. 
 He's owre much thought of, and made of, to sjDend his time at 
 hame," the mistress added, turning, with a half-reproachful 
 pride to Lauderdale ; "I'll be awfu' sorry if the rain lasts, on 
 your account. But, for myself, I could put up with a little 
 soft weather, to see mair of Colin ; no that I want him to stay 
 at hame when he might be enjoying himself," she continued 
 with a compunction. Soft weather on the Holy Loch signified
 
 118 A Son of the Soil. [CHAp. 
 
 rain and mist, and everything that was most discouraging to 
 Mrs. Campbell's soul, but she was ready to undergo anything 
 the skies could inflict uj^on her, if fortified by the society of 
 her son. 
 
 It was the second night after his return before Colin could 
 make up his mind to introduce the subject of which his thoughts 
 were full. Tea was over by that time, and all the household 
 assembled in the parlour. The farmer himself had just laid 
 down his newspaper, from which he had been reading scraps of 
 county gossip aloud, somewhat to the indignation of the mistress, 
 who, for her part, liked to hear what was going on in the 
 world, and took a great interest in Parliament and the foreign 
 intelligence. " I canna say that I'm heeding about the muckle 
 apple that's been grown in Clydesdale, nor the new bailies in 
 Greenock," said the farmer's wife. "If you would read us 
 something wise-like about thae poor oppressed Itahans, or what 
 Louiss Napoleon is thinking about — I canna excuse him for 
 what they ca' the coo-detaw,'" said Mrs. Campbell ; " but for 
 a' that, I take a great interest in him ;" and with this the 
 mistress took up her knitting with a pleasant anticipation of 
 more important news to come. 
 
 "There's naething in the Herald about Louiss Napoleon," 
 said the farmer, " nor the Italians neither — no that I put much 
 faith in thae Italians ; they'll quarrel amang themselves when 
 there's naebody else to quarrel wi' — though I'm no saying ony- 
 thing against Cavour and Garibaldi. The paper's filled full o' 
 something mair immediately interesting — at least, it ought to 
 have mair interest to you wi' a son that's to be a minister. 
 Here's three columns mair about that Dreepdaily case. It may 
 be a grand thing for popular rights, but it's an awfu' ordeal 
 for a man to gang through," said big Colin, looking ruefully 
 at his son. 
 
 " I was looking at that," said Lauderdale. " It's his prayers
 
 xin A Son of the Soil. 119 
 
 the folk seem to object to most — and no wonder. I've heard 
 the man mysel', and his sermon was not bad reasoning, if any- 
 body wanted reasoning ; but it's a wonderful thing to me the 
 way that new preachers take upon them to explain matters to 
 the Almighty," said Colin's friend reflectively. "So far as I 
 can see, we've little to ask in our worship ; but we have an 
 awfu' quantity of things to explain." 
 
 " It is an ordeal I could never submit to," said Colin, with 
 perhaps a httle more heat than was necessary. " I'd rather 
 starve than be set up as a target for a parish. It is quite 
 enough to make a cultivated clergy impossible for Scotland. 
 Who would submit to expose one's life, all one's antecedents, 
 all one's qualities of mind and language to the stupid criticism 
 of a set of boors ? It is a thing I never could submit to," said 
 the lad, meaning to introduce his doubts upon the general 
 subject by this violent means. 
 
 "I dinna approve of such large talking," said the farmer, 
 laying down his newspaper. " It's a great protection to popular 
 rights. I would sooner run the risk of disgusting a fastidious 
 lad now and then, than put in a minister that gives nae satis- 
 faction ; and if you canna submit to it, Colin, you'll never get 
 a kirk, which would be worse than criticism," said his father, 
 looking full into his face. The look brought a conscious colour 
 to Colin's cheeks. 
 
 "Well," said the young man, feeling himseK driven into 
 a corner, and taking what courage he could from the emergency, 
 ''one might choose another profession j" and then there was a 
 pause, and everybody in the room looked with alarm and amaze- 
 ment on the bold speaker. "After all, the Church is not the 
 only thing in Scotland," said Colin, feeling the greatness of his 
 temerity. " Xobody ventures to say it is in a satisfactory state. 
 How often do I hear you criticising the sermon and finding 
 fault with the prayers 1 and, as for Lauderdale, he finds fault
 
 120 A Son of the Soil. [Chap. 
 
 with, everything. Then, look how much a man has to bear 
 before he gets a church as you say. As soon as he has his pre- 
 sentation the Presbytery comes together and asks if there are 
 any objections ; and then the parish sits upon the unhappy 
 man; and, when everybody has had a turn at him, and all his 
 peculiarities and personal defects and family history have been 
 discussed before the Presbytery — and put in the newspapers, if 
 they happen to be amusing — then the poor wretch has to sign 
 a confession which nobody — " 
 
 *' Stop you there, Colin, my man," said the farmer, " that's 
 enough at one time. I wouldna say that you were a'thegither 
 wrong as touching the sermon and the prayers. It's awfu' to go in 
 from the like of this hill-side and weary the very heart out of you 
 in a close kirk, listening to a man preaching that has nothing in 
 this world to say. I am whiles inclined to think — " said big 
 Colin, thoughtfully — "laddies, you may as well go to your beds. 
 You'll see Colin the morn, and ye canna understand what we're 
 talking about. I am whiles disposed to think," he continued 
 after a pause, during which the younger members of the family 
 had left the room, after a little gentle persuasion on the part of 
 the mistress, " when I go into the kirk on a bonnie day, such 
 as we have by times on the lock baith in summer and winter, 
 that it's an awfu' waste of time. You lose a' the bonnie prospect, 
 and you get naething but weariness for your pains. I've aye 
 been awfu' against set prayers read out of a book ; but I canna 
 but allow the English chapel has a kind of advantage in that, 
 for nae fool can spoil your devotion there, as I've heard it done 
 many and many's the time. I ken our minister's prayers very 
 near as well as if they were written down," said the farmer of 
 Eaniore, " and the maist part of them is great nonsense. Ony 
 little scraps o' real supplication there may be in them, you 
 could get through in five minutes ; the rest is a' remarks, that 
 1 never can discriminate if they're meant for me or for the
 
 XII.] A Son of the Soil. 121 
 
 Almighty ; but my next neibor would think me an awfu' 
 heathen if he heard what I'm saying," he continued, with a 
 smile ; "and I'm far from sure that I would get a mair merciful 
 judgment from the wife herself" 
 
 The mistress had been very busy with her knitting while her 
 husband was speaking; but, notwithstanding her devotion to 
 her work, she was uneasy and could not help showing it. " If 
 we had been our lane it would have been naething," she said to 
 Colin, privately ; " but afore yon man that's a stranger and 
 doesna ken ! " AVith which sentiment she sat listening, much 
 disturbed in her mind. "It's no a thing to say before the 
 bairns," she said, when she was thus appealed to, " nor before 
 folk that dinna ken you. A stranger might think you were a 
 careless man to hear you speak," said Mrs. Campbell, turning 
 to Lauderdale with bitter vexation, " for a' that you havena 
 missed the kirk half a dozen times a' the years I have kent you 
 — and that's a long time," said the mother, lifting hers oft eyes 
 to her boy. When she looked at him she remembered that he 
 too had been rash in his talk. " You're turniug awfu' like your 
 father, Colin," said the mistress, " taking up the same thought- 
 less way of talking. Eut I think difierent for a' you say. Our 
 ain kirk is aye our ain kirk to you as well as to me, in spite o' 
 your speaking. I'm well accustomed to their ways," she said, 
 with a smile, to Lauderdale, who, so far from being the dan- 
 gerous observer she thought him, had gone off at a tangent into 
 his own thoughts. 
 
 "The Confession of Faith is a real respectable historical 
 document,'' said Lauderdale. " I might not like to commit 
 myself to a' it says, if you were to ask me; but then I'm not the 
 kind o' man that has a heart to commit myself to anything in 
 the way of intellectual truth. I wouldna bind myself to say 
 -.that I would stand by any document a year after it was put 
 forth, far less a hundred years. There's things in it naebody
 
 122 A Son of the Soil. [CHap. 
 
 believes — for example, about the earth being made in six days ; 
 but I would not advise a man to quarrel with his kirk and his 
 profession for the like of that. I put no dependence on geology 
 for my part, nor any of the sciences. How can I tell but some- 
 body might make a discovery the morn that would upset all 
 their" fine stories? But, on the whole, I've very little to say 
 against the Confession. It's far more guarded about predesti- 
 nation and so forth than might have been expected. Every 
 man of common sense believes in jDredestination; though I would 
 not be the man to commit myself to any statement on the 
 subject. The like of me is good for little," said Coiin's friend, 
 stretching his long limbs towards the fire, "but I've great 
 ambition for that callant. He's not a common callant, though 
 I'm speaking before his face," said Lauderdale ; "it would Ibe 
 terrible mortifying to me to see him put himself in a corner 
 and refuse the yoke." 
 
 " If I cannot bear the yoke conscientiously, I cannot bear it at 
 all," said Colin, with a little heat. " If ^ou can't put your name 
 to what you don't beheve, why should 1 1 — and as for ambition," 
 said the lad, " ambition! what does it mean ? — a country church, 
 and two or three hundred ploughmen to criticise me, and the 
 old wives to keep in good humour, and the young ones to drink 
 tea with — is that work for a man 1 " cried the youth, whose 
 mind was agitated, and who naturally had said a good deal more 
 than he intended to say. He looked round in a little alarm 
 after this rash utterance, not knowing whether he had been 
 right or wrong in such a disclosure of his sentiments. The 
 father and mother looked at each other, and then turned their 
 eyes simultaneously upon their son. Perhaps the mistress had 
 a glimmering of the correct meaning which Colin would not 
 have betrayed wittingly had it cost him his life. 
 
 " Eh, Colin, sometime ye'll think better," she cried under her 
 breath — " after a' our pride in you and our hopes ! " The tears
 
 XII.] A Son of the Soil. 123 
 
 came into her eyes as she looked at him. '' It's muir honour to 
 serve God than to get on in this world," said the mistress. 
 The disappointment went to her heart, as Cohn could see ; she 
 put her hands hastily to her eyes to clear away the mois- 
 ture which dimmed them. " It's maybe naething but a pass- 
 ing fancy — but it's no what I expected to hear from any 
 bairn of mine," she said with momentary bitterness. As 
 for the farmer, he looked on with a surprised and inquiring 
 countenance. 
 
 "There has some change come over you, Colin — what has 
 happened ? " said his father. " I'm no a man that despises 
 money, nor thinks it a sin to get on in the world, but it's only 
 fools that quarrel wi' what's within their reach for envy of what 
 they can never win to. If ye had displayed a strong bent any 
 other way I wouldna have minded," said big Colin. " But it's 
 the new-fangled dishes at Ardmartin that have spoiled the 
 caUant's digestion; he'll come back to his natural incKnation 
 when he's been at home for a day or two," the farmer added, 
 laying liis large hand on his son's shoulder with a pressure which 
 meant more than his words ; but the youth was vexed, and im- 
 patient, and imagined himself laughed at, which is the most 
 dreadful of insults at Colin's age, and in his circumstances. He 
 paid no attention to his father's looks, but plunged straightway 
 into vehement declaration of his sentiments, to which the elder 
 people around him listened with many complications of feehng 
 unknown to Colin. The lad thought, as was natural at his 
 years, that nobody had ever felt before him the same bondage of 
 circumstance and perplexities of soul, and that it was a new 
 revelation he was making to his little audience. If he could 
 have imagined that both the men were looking at him with the 
 half s}-mpathy, half pity, half envy of their maturer years, 
 remembering as vividly as if it had occurred but yesterday 
 similar outbreaks of impatience and ambition and natural resist-
 
 124 A Son of the Soil. [chap. 
 
 ance to all the obstacles of life, Colin would have felt deeply 
 humiliated in his youthful fervour; or, if he could but have 
 penetrated the film of softening dew in his mother's eyes, and 
 beheld there the woman's perennial spectatorsliip of that conflict 
 which goes on for ever. Instead of that, he thought he was 
 making a new revelation to his hearers ; he thought he was 
 cruel to them, tearing asunder their pleasant mists of illusion, 
 and disenchanting their eyes ; he had not an idea that they 
 knew all about it better than he did, and w^ere watching him as 
 he rushed along the familiar path which they all had trod in 
 different ways, and of which they knew the inevitable ending. 
 Colin, in the heat and impatience of his youth, took full advan- 
 tage of his moment of utterance. He poured forth in his turn 
 that flood of immeasurable discontent with all conditions and 
 restrictions, which is the privilege of his years. To be sure, the 
 restrictions and conditions surrounding himself were, so far as he 
 knew, the sole objects of that indignation and scorn and defiance 
 which came to his lips by force of nature. As for his mother, 
 she listened, for her part, with that mortification which is always 
 the woman's share. She understood him, sympathised with him, 
 and yet did not understand nor could tolerate his dissent from 
 all that in her better judgment she had decided upon on his 
 behalf. She was far more tender, but she was lest tolerant than 
 the other spectators of Colin's outburst ; and mingled with all 
 her personal feeling w^as a sense of wounded pride and mortifica- 
 tion, that her boy had thus betrayed himself " before a stranger." 
 "If we had been our lane, it would have been less matter," she 
 said to herself, as she wiped the furtive tears hurriedly from the 
 corners of her eyes. 
 
 When Colin had come to an end there was a pause. The boy 
 liimself thought it was a pause of horror and consternation, and 
 perhaps was rather pleased to produce an effect in some degree 
 corresponding to his own excitement. After that moment of
 
 XI 1.1 A Son of the Soil. 125 
 
 silence, however, tlie farmer got up from his chair. "It's very 
 near time we were a' gaun to our beds," said big Colin. " I'll 
 take a look round to see that the beasts are comfortable, and then 
 we'll have in the hot water. You and me can have a talk the 
 morn," said the farmer to his son. This was all the reply which 
 the youth received from the parental authorities. "When the 
 master went out to look after the beasts, Lauderdale followed to 
 the door, where Colin in another moment strayed after him, 
 considerably mortified, to tell the truth; for even his mother 
 addressed herself to the questio* of " hot water," which implied 
 various other accessories of the homely supper-table ; and the 
 young man, in his excitement and elevation of feeling, felt as if 
 he had suddenly tumbled down out of the stormy but lofty 
 firmament, into which he was soaring — down, with a shock, 
 into the embraces of the homely tenacious earth. He went after 
 his friend, and stood by Lauderdale's side, looking out into a 
 darkness so profound that it made his eyes ache and confused 
 his very mind. The only gleam of light visible in earth or 
 heaven was big Colin' s lantern, which showed a tiny gleam from 
 the door of the byre where the farmer was standing. All the 
 lovely landscape round, the loch and the hills, the sky and the 
 clouds, lay unseen — hidden in the night. " "Which is an awfu' 
 grand moral lesson, if we had but sense to discern it," said the 
 voice of Lauderdale ascending half-way up to the clouds ; " for 
 the loch hasna' vanished, as might be supposed, but only the 
 light. As for you, callant, you ken neither the hght nor the 
 darkness as yet, but are aye seeing miraculous effects like yon 
 man Turner's pictures, Northern. Streamers, or Aurora Borealis, 
 or whatever ye may caU it. And it's but just you should have 
 your day ;" with which words Lauderdale heaved a great sigh, 
 which moved the clouds of hair upon Colin's forehead, and 
 even seemed to disturb, for a moment, the profound gloom 
 of the night.
 
 126 A Son of the Soil. [CHAP. 
 
 " Wliat do you mean "by having my day ? " said Colin, who 
 was affronted by the suggestion. " You know I have said 
 nothing that is not true. Can I help it if I see the difficulties 
 of my own position more clearly than you do, who are not in my 
 circumstances 1 " cried the lad with a little indignation. Lauder- 
 dale, who was watching the lantern gliding out and in through 
 the darkness, was some time before he made any reply. 
 
 " I'm no surprised at yon callant Leander, when one comes to. 
 think of it," he said in his reflective way ; " it's a fine symbol, 
 that Hero in her tower. May be she took the lamp from the 
 domestic altar and left the household god in darkness," said the 
 calm philosopher ; " but that makes no difference to the story. 
 I wouldna' say but I would swim the Hellespont myself for 
 such an inducement — or the Holy Loch — it's little matter which ; 
 but whiles she lets fall the torch before you get to the end — " 
 
 " Wliat do you mean '? or what has Hero to do with me 1 " 
 cried Colin, with a secret flush of shame and rage, which the 
 darkness concealed but which he could scarcely restrain. 
 
 " I was not speaking of you — and after all, it's but a fable," 
 said Lauderdale ; " most history is fable, you know ; it's no 
 actual events, (which I never believe in, for my part,) but the 
 instincts o' the human mind that make history — and that's how 
 the Heros and Leanders are aye to be accounted for. He was 
 drowned in the end like most people," said Lauderdale, turning 
 back to the parlour where the mistress was seated, pondering 
 with a troubled countenance upon this new aspect of her boy's 
 life. Amid the darkness of the world outside this tender woman 
 sat in the sober radiance of her domestic hearth, surrounded and 
 enshrined by light; but she was not like Hero on the tower. 
 Colin, too, came back, following his friend with a flush of excite- 
 ment upon his youthful countenance. After all, the idea was 
 not displeasing to the young man. The Hellespont, or the Holy 
 Loch, were nothing to the bitter waters which he was prepared
 
 X/7.] A Son of the Soil. 127 
 
 to breast by the light of the imaginary torch held up in the hand 
 of that imaginary woman who was beckoning Colin, as he thought, 
 into the unknown world. Life was beginning anew in his person, 
 and all the fables had to be enacted over agaiu ; and what did it 
 matter to the boy's heroic fancy, if he too should go to swell the 
 record of the ancient martyrs, and be drowned, as Lauderdale 
 said — like most people — in the end ? 
 
 There was no further conversation upon this important subject 
 until next morning, when the household of liamore got up early, 
 and sat down to breakfast before it was perfect daylight ; but 
 Colin's heart jumped to his mouth, and a visible thrill went 
 through the whole family, when the farmer came in from his 
 early inspection of all the byres and stables, with another letter 
 from Sir Thomas Frankland conspicuous in his hand.
 
 128 A Son of the Soil [CHap. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " The question is, will ye go or will ye stay 1 " said big Colin of 
 Ramore ; " but for this, you and me might have had a mair 
 serious question to discuss. I see a providence in it for my part. 
 You're but a callant ; it will do you nae harm to wait ; and 
 you'll be in the way of seeing the world at — what do they call 
 the place ? If your mother has nae objections, and ye see your 
 ain way to accepting, I'll be very well content. It's awfu' kind 
 o' Sir Thomas after the way ye've rejected a' his advances — but, 
 no doubt he's heard that you got on gey weel, on the whole, at 
 your ain college," said the farmer, with a little complacency. 
 They were sitting late over the breakfast table, the younger boys 
 looking on with eager eyes, wondering over Colin's wonderful 
 chances, and feeling severely the contrast of their own lot, who 
 had to take up the ready satchel and the " piece," which was to 
 occupy their healthful appetites till the evening, and hurry off 
 three miles down the loch to school. As for Archie, he had 
 been long gone to his hard labour on the farm, and the mother 
 and father and the visitor were now sitting, a little committee 
 upon Colin's prospects, which the lad himself contemplated with 
 a mixture of delight and defiance wonderful to see. 
 
 " It's time for the school, bairns," said the farmer's wife ; 
 " be good laddies, and dinna linger on the road either coming 
 or going. Ye'll get apples a-piece in the press. I couldna give 
 ony advice, if you ask me," said the Mistress, looking at her 
 son with her tender eyes : " Colin, my man, it's no for me nor 
 your father either to say one thing or another — it's you that
 
 xiin ^ Son of the Soil. 129 
 
 must decide — it's your ain well-being and comfort and happi- 
 ness ." Here the Mistress stopped short with an emotion 
 
 which nobody could explain ; and at which even Colin, who 
 had the only clue to it, looked up out of his own thoughts, 
 with a momentary surprise. 
 
 " Hoot," said the farmer ; " you're aj^e thinking of happiness, 
 you women. I hope the laddie's happiness doesna lie in the 
 power of a year's change one way or another. I canna see that 
 it will do him any harm — especially after what he was saying 
 last night — to pause awhile and take a little thought; and here's 
 the best opportunity he could well have. But he doesna say 
 anything himself — and if you're against it, Colin, speak out. 
 It's your concern, most of all, as your mother says." 
 
 "The callant's in a terrible swither," said Lauderdale, with 
 a smile ; " he'll have it, and he'll no have it. For one thing, it's 
 an awfu' disappointment to get your ain way just after you've 
 made up your mind that you're an injured man ; and he's but 
 a callant after all, and kens no better. For my part, I'm no 
 fond of changing when you've once laid your plans. dSo man 
 can teU what terrible difference a turn in the road may make. 
 It's aye best to go straight on. But there's exceptions," con- 
 tinued Lauderdale, laying his hand on Colin's shoulder. " So 
 far as I can see, there's no reason in this world why the callant 
 should not stand still a moment and taste the sweetness of his 
 lot. He's come to man's estate, and the heavens have never 
 gloomed on him yet. There's no evil in him, that I can see,' ' 
 said Colin's friend, with an unusual trembling in his voice ; 
 " but for human weakness, it might have been the lad Michael 
 or Gabriel, out of heaven, that's been my companion these glad- 
 some years. It may be but more sweetness and blessing that's 
 in store for him. I know no reason why he shouldna pause 
 while the sun's shining, and see God's meaning. It cannot be 
 but good." 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 A Son of the Soil [CHAp. 
 
 The lad's friend who understood him best stopped short, like 
 his mother, with something in his throat that marred his utter- 
 ance. Why was it ? Colin looked up with the sunshine in his 
 eyes, and laughed with a little annoyance, a little impatience. 
 He was no more afraid of his lot, nor of what the next turn in 
 the path would bring, than a child is who knows no evil. Life 
 was not solemn, but glorious, a thing to be conquered and made 
 beautiful, to his eyes. He did not understand what they meant 
 by their faltering and their fears. 
 
 " I feel, on the whole, disposed to accept Sir Thomas's offer," 
 said the young prince. " It is no favour, for I am quite able to 
 be his boy's tutor, as he says; and I see nothing particularly 
 serious in it either ; most Scotch students stop short sometime 
 and have a spell of teaching. I have been tutor at Ardmartin ; 
 I don't mind being tutor at Wodensbourne, I would not be 
 dependent on Sir Thomas Frankland or any man," said Colin ; 
 "but I am glad to work for myself, and free you, father. I 
 know you are willing to keep me at college, but you have plenty 
 to do for Archie and the rest ; and now it is my turn ; I may 
 help myself and them too," cried the youth, glad to disguise in 
 that view of the matter the thrill of delight at his new pros- 
 pects, which came from a very different source. " It will give 
 us a little time, as you say, to think it all over," he continued, 
 after a momentary pause, and turned upon his mother with 
 a smile. " Is there anything to look melancholy about 1 " said 
 Colin, tossing back from his forehead the clouds of his brown 
 hair. 
 
 " Oh, no, no, God forbid ! " said the Mistress — " nothing biit 
 hope and the blessing of God ; " but she turned aside from the 
 table, and began to put away the things by way of concealing 
 the tears that welled up to her tender eyes ; though neither she 
 nor any one for her could have told why. 
 
 " Never mind your mother," said the farmer, " though it's out
 
 XJ//.] A Son of the Soil. 131 
 
 of the common to see a cloud on her face when there's no cloud 
 to speak of on the sky. But women are aye having freits and 
 fancies. I think mysel' it's the wisest thing ye can do to close 
 with Sir Thomas's proposal I wouldna say but you'll see a 
 good deal o' the world,'' said the farmer, shrewd but ignorant ; 
 " not that I'm so simple as to suppose that an English gentle- 
 man's coimtry-seat will bring you to onything very extraordinary 
 in the way of company ; but still, that class of folk is wonder- 
 fully connected, and ye might see mair there in a season than 
 you could here in a lifetime. It's time I were looking after 
 Archie and the men," said big Colin ; " it's no often I'm so 
 late in the morning. I suppose you'U write to Sir Thomas 
 yourself, and make a' the arrangements. Ye can say we're quite 
 content, and pleased at his thoughtfulness. If that's no to your 
 mind, Colin, I'm sorry for it ; for a man should be aye man 
 enough to give thanks where thanks are due." With this last 
 admonition big CoHn of Eamore took up his hat and went off 
 to his fields. " I wish the callant didna keep a grudge," he 
 said to himself, as he went upon his cheerful way. " If he 
 were to set up in rivalry ^vi' young Frankland ! " but with the 
 thought a certain smile came upon the father's face. He too 
 could not refrain from a certain contempt of the baronet's dainty 
 son; and there was scarcely any limit to his pride and confi- 
 dence in his boy. 
 
 The jMistress occupied herself in putting things to rights in 
 the parlour long after her husband had gone to the fields. She 
 thought Lauderdale too wanted to be alone with Colin; and, 
 with natural jealousy, could not permit the first word of counsel 
 to come from any lips but her ovra. The mistress had no baby 
 to occupy her in these days ; the little one whom she had on 
 her bosom at the opening of this history, who bore her own 
 name and her own smile, and was the one maiden blossom of 
 her life, had gone back to God who gave her ; and, when her 
 
 e2
 
 132 A Son of the Soil. [CHAP. 
 
 boys were at school, tlie gentle woman was alone. There was 
 little doing in the dairy just then, and Mrs. Camphell had planned 
 her occupations so as to have all the time that was possible to 
 enjoy her son's society. So she had no special call upon her at 
 that moment, and lingered over her little businesses, till Lauder- 
 dale, who would fain have said his say, strayed out in despair, 
 finding no room for him. " When you've finished your letter, 
 Colin, you'll find me on the hill,'' he said, as he went out ; and 
 could not refrain from a murmur in his own mind at the trouble- 
 some cares of " thae women." " They're sweet to see about a 
 house, and the place is hame where they are," said the philo- 
 sopher to himself with a sigh ; " but, oh, such fykes as they ware 
 their hearts on ! " The mistress's " fykes," however, were over 
 when the stranger left the house. She came softly to Colin's 
 table, where he was writing, and sat down beside him. As for 
 Colin, he was so much absorbed in his letter that he did not 
 observe his mother ; and it was only when he lifted his head to 
 consider a sentence, and found her before him, that he woke up, 
 with a little start, out of that more agreeable occupation, and 
 asked, " Do you want me '? " wdtli a look of annoyance which 
 went to the mistress's heart. 
 
 " Yes, Colin, I want you just for a moment," said his mother. 
 " I want to speak to you of this new change in your life. Your 
 father thinks nothing but it's Sir Thomas Erankland you're going 
 to, to be tutor to his boys ; but, oh, Colin, I ken better ! It's 
 no the fine house and the new life that lights such light in my 
 laddie's eye. Colin, listen to me. She's far above you in this 
 world, though it's no to be looked for that I could think ony 
 woman was above you ; but she's a lady with mony wooers, and 
 you're but a poor man's son. Oh, Colin, my man ! dinna gang 
 near that place, nor put yourself in the way of evil, if you havena 
 confidence both in her and yoursel'. Do you think you can see 
 her day by day and no break your heart 1 or do you think she's
 
 A'///.] A Son of the Soil. 133 
 
 worthy of a heart to be thrown away under her feet 1 Or, oh, 
 my laddie ! tell me this first of a' — do you think you could ask 
 her, or she could consent, to lose fortune and grandeur for your 
 sake ? Colin, I'm no joking ; it's awfu' earnest, whatever you 
 may think. Tell me — if you've ony regard for your mother, or 
 '^xdsh her ony kind of comfort the time you're away." 
 
 This Mrs. Campbell said with tears shining in her eyes, and a 
 look of entreaty in her face, which Colin had hard ado to meet. 
 But the lad was full of his OTvn thoughts, and impatient of the 
 interruption which detained him. 
 
 " I wish I knew what you meant," he said pettishly. " I 
 wish you would not talk of — people who have nothing to do 
 with my poor little concerns. Surely, I may be suffered to 
 engage in ordinary work like other people," said Colin. " A? 
 for the lady you speak of — " 
 
 And here the youth paused with a natural smile lurking at 
 the corners of his lips — a smile of youthful confidence and self- 
 gratulation. Xot for a kingdom would the young hero have 
 boasted of any look or word she had ever bestowed upon him ; 
 but he could not deny himself the delicious consciousness that 
 she must have had something to do with this proposal — that it 
 must have been her suggestion, or at least supported, seconded 
 by her. Only through her could her uncle have known that he 
 was tutor at Ardmartin ; and the thought that it was she herself 
 who was taking what maidenly means she could for their speedy 
 reunion was too sweet to Colin's heart to be breathed in words, 
 even if he could have done it without a betrayal of his hopes. 
 
 " Ay, Colin, the lady — " said his mother ; " you say no more 
 in words, but your eye smiles, and your mouth, and I see the 
 flush on your cheek. She's bonnie and sweet and fair-spoken, 
 and I canna think she means ony harm ; but, oh, Colic, my 
 man, mind what a difference in this world ! You've nothing to 
 offer her like what she's been used to," said the innocent woman,
 
 134 A Son of tlie Soil, [CHAP. 
 
 " and if I was to see my son come back breaking bis beart for 
 ane that was above his reach, and maybe no worthy ! — " She 
 could not say any more, partly because she had exhausted her- 
 self, partly because Colin rose from the table with a flush of 
 excitement, which made his mother tremble. 
 
 " Worthy of me ! " said the young man, with a kind of groan, 
 " worthy of me ! Mother, I don't think you know what you 
 are saying. I am going to Wodensbourne whatever happens. 
 It may be for good or for evil ; I can't tell ; but I am going, and 
 you must ask me no further questions — not on this point. I am 
 to be tutor to Sir Thomas Erankland's boy," said Colin, sitting 
 down, with the smile again in his eyes. " I:Tothing more — and 
 what could happen better to a poor Scotch student 1 He might 
 have had a Cambridge man, and he chooses me. Let me finish 
 my letter, mother dear." 
 
 " He wouldna get many Cambridge men, or ony other men, 
 like my boy," said the mother, half reassured ; and she rearranged 
 with her hands, that trembled a little, the writing-desk, which 
 Colin's hasty movements had thrust out of the way. 
 
 *' Ah, mother, but a Scotch University does not count for the 
 same as an English one," said Colin, with a smile and a sigh ; 
 " it is not for my gifts Sir Thomas has chosen me," he added, 
 somewhat impatiently, taking up his pen again. What was it 
 for 1 That old obligation of Harry Frankland's life saved, which 
 Colin had always treated as a fiction 1 or the sweet influence of 
 some one who knew that Colin loved her 1 Which was it ? If 
 the youth determined it should be the last, could anybody won- 
 der? He bent his head again over his paper, and wrote, with 
 his heart beating high, that acceptance which was to restore him 
 to her society. As for the Mistress, she left her son, and went 
 about her homely business, wiping some tears from her eyes. 
 *' I kenna what woman could close her heart," she said to herself, 
 with a little sob, in her ignorance and innocence. " Oh, if she's
 
 xiiL] A Son of the Soil. 135 
 
 only Tvorthy ! " but, for all tliat, the mother's heart was heavy 
 within her, though she could not have told why. 
 
 The letter was finished and sealed up before Colin joined his 
 friend on the hillside, where Lauderdale was straying about with 
 his hands in his pockets, breathing long sighs into the fresh air, 
 and unable to restrain, or account for, his own restlessness and 
 uneasiness. One of those great dramas of sunshine and shadow, 
 which are familiar to the Holy Loch, was going on just then 
 among the hills, and the pliilosopher had made various attempts 
 to interest himself in those wonderful alternations of gloom and 
 light, but without avail. Nature, which is so fuU of interest 
 when the heart is unoccupied, dwindles and grows pale in presence 
 of the poorest human creature who throws a shadow into her 
 sunshine. "Not all those wonderful gleams of light — not all those 
 clouds, driven wildly Kke so many gigantic phantoms into the 
 solemn hollows, could touch the heart of the man who was 
 trembling for his friend. Lauderdale roused himself up when 
 Colin came to him, and met him cheerfully. " So you've written 
 your letter?" he said, " and accepted the offer? I thought as 
 much, by your eye." 
 
 " You did not need to consult my eye," said Colin, gaily. " I 
 said as much. But I must walk down the loch a mile or two to 
 meet the postman. "Will you come ? Let us take the good of 
 the hills," said the youth, with his heart running over. " Who 
 can teU when we may be here again together? I like this 
 autumn weather, with its stormy colours j and I suppose now 
 my fortune, as you call it, will lead me to a flat country — that is, 
 for a year or two at least." 
 
 " Ay," said Lauderdale, with a kind of groan ; " that is how 
 the world appears at your years. Who can tell when we may 
 be here again together ? Who can tell, laddie, what thoughts 
 may be in our hearts when we are here again ? I never have 
 any security myself, when I leave a place, that I'll ever dare to
 
 136 A Son of the Soil. [Chap. 
 
 come back," said the meditative man. "The innocent fields 
 might have a cruel aspect, as if God had cursed them, and, for 
 anything I know, I might hate the flowers that could bloom, and 
 the sun that could shine, and had no heart for my trouble. No 
 that you understand what I'm meaning ; but that's the way it 
 affects a man like me." 
 
 " What are you thinking of 1 " cried Colin, with a little dis- 
 may ; " one would fancy you saw some terrible evil approaching. 
 Of course the future is uncertain, but I am not particularly 
 alarmed by anything that appears to me. What are you think- 
 ing of, Lauderdale 1 Your own career 1 " 
 
 " Oh, ay, just my ain career," said Lauderdale, with a smile ; 
 " such a career to make a work about ! though I am just as 
 content as most men. I mind when my ain spirit was whiles 
 uplifted as yours is, laddie ; it's that that makes a man think. 
 It comes natural to the time of life, like the bright eye and the 
 bloom on the cheek; and there's no sentence of death in it 
 either, if you come to that," he went on to himself after a pause. 
 " Life holds on — it aye holds on ; a hope mair or less makes little 
 count. And without the struggle, never man that was worth 
 calling man came to his full stature." All this Lauderdale kept 
 saying to himself as he descended the hiUside, leaping here 
 and there over a half-concealed streamlet, and making his way 
 through the withered ferns and the long tangled streamers of the 
 bramble, which caught at him as he passed. He was not so 
 skilful in overcoming these obstacles as Colin, who was to the 
 manner born ; and he got a little out of breath as he followed 
 the lad, who, catching his monologue by intervals in the descent, 
 looked at the melancholy philosopher with his young eyes, which 
 laughed, and did not understand. 
 
 " I wonder what you are thinking of," said Colin. " 'Not of 
 me, certainly ; but I see you are afraid of something, as if I were 
 going to encounter a great danger. Lauderdale," said the lad,
 
 xiTL] A Son of the Soil 137 
 
 stopping and laying his hand on his friend's arm for one confi- 
 dential moment, " whatever danger there is, I have encountered 
 it. Don't be afraid for me." 
 
 " I was saying nothing about you, callant," said Lauderdale, 
 pettishly. ^\"hy should I aye be thinking of you ? A man has 
 more things to consider in this life than the vagaries of a slip of 
 a laddie, that doesna see where he's bound for. I'm tliinking of 
 things far out of your way," said the philosopher ; " of dis- 
 appointments and heart-breaks, and a' the eclipses that are in- 
 visible to common e'en. I've seen many in my day. I've seen 
 a trifling change that made no difference to the world quench a' 
 the light and a' the comfort out of life. There's more things in 
 heaven or earth than were ever dreamt of at your years. And 
 whiles a man wonders how, for rery pity, God can stay still in 
 His heavens and look on — " 
 
 Colin could not say anything to the groan with wliich his 
 friend broke off. He was troubled and puzzled, and could not 
 make it out. They went on together along the white line of 
 road, on which, far off in the distance, the youth already saw the 
 postman whom he was hastening to meet ; and, busy as he was 
 with his own thoughts, Colin had already forgotten to inc[uire 
 what his companion referred to, when his attention, which had 
 wandered completely away, was suddenly recalled again by the 
 voice at his side. 
 
 "I'm speaking like a man that cannot see the end," said 
 Lauderdale, " which is clear to Him, if there's any meaning in 
 life. You're for taking your chance and posting your letter^ 
 laddie ! and you ken nothing about any nonsense that an old 
 fool like me may be maundering. For one thing, there's aye 
 plenty to divert the mind in this country," said the philosopher, 
 with a sigh; and stood still at the foot of the long slope 
 they had just descended, looking with a wistful abstracted look 
 upon the loch and the hills ; at which change of mood Colin
 
 138 A Son of the Soil. [chap. 
 
 could not restrain himself, but witli ready boyish, mirth laughed 
 aloud. 
 
 " What has this country to do with it all 1 You are in a very 
 queer mood to-day, Lauderdale — one moment as solemn and 
 mysterious as if you knew of some great calamity, and the next 
 talking of the country. What do you mean I wonder 1 " But his 
 wonder was not very deep, and stirred lightly in the heart which 
 was full of so many wishes and ambitions of its own. With that 
 letter in his hand, and that new life before him, how could he 
 help but look at the lonely man by his side with a half-divine 
 compassion ? — a man to whom life offered no prizes, and scarcely 
 any hopes. He was aware in his heart that Lauderdale was 
 anxious about himself, and the thought of that unnecessary 
 solicitude moved Colin half to laughter. Poor Lauderdale — 
 upon whom he looked down from the elevation of his young life 
 with the tenderest pity ! He smiled upon his friend in his 
 exaltation and superiority. " You are more inexplicable than 
 usual to-day. I wonder what you mean 1 " said Colin with all 
 the sunshine of youth and joy, defying evil forebodings, in his 
 
 " It would take a wise man to tell," said Lauderdale ; " I would 
 not pretend, for my own part, to fathom what any fool might 
 mean — much less what I mean myself, that have glimmerings of 
 sense at times. Yon sunshine's awfu' prying about the hills. 
 Light's aye inquisitive, and would fain be at the bottom of every 
 mystery — which is, maybe, the reason," said the speculative 
 observer, " why there's nae grandeur to speak of, nor meaning, 
 according to mortal notions, without clouds and darkness. Yon- 
 der' s your postman, callant. Give him the letter and be done 
 with it. I whiles find myself wondering how it is that we take 
 so little thought to God's meanings — what ye might call His 
 lighter meanings — His easy verses and such-like, that are thrown 
 about the world, in the winds and the sky. To be sure, I ken
 
 XIII.] A Son of the Soil. 139 
 
 just as well as you do tliat it's currents of air, and masses of 
 vapour, and electricity, and all the rest of it. It's awfu' easy 
 learning the words — but will you tell me there's no meaning to a 
 man's heart and soul in the like of that ? " said ColLn's companion, 
 stopping suddenly with a sigh of impatience and vexation, which 
 had to do with something more vital than the clouds. Just then, 
 nature truly seemed to have come to a pause, and to be standing 
 still, like themselves, looking on. The sky that was so blue and 
 broad a moment since had contracted to a black vault over the 
 Holy Loch. Blackness that was positive and not a mere nega- 
 tion frowned out of all the half-disclosed mysterious hollows of 
 the hills. The leaves that remained on the trees thrilled with a 
 spasmodic shiver, and the little ripples came crowding up on the 
 beach with a sighing suppressed moan of suspense and apprehen- 
 sion. So, at least, it seemed to one if not both of the spectators 
 standing by. 
 
 " It means a thunderstorm, in the first place," said Colin ; 
 " look how it begins to come down in a torrent of gloom over 
 Loch Goil. We have just time to get under shelter. It is very 
 well for us we are so near Eamore." 
 
 "Ay — " said Lauderdale. He repeated the syllable over 
 again and again as they hurried back. " But the time will come, 
 when we'll no be near Eamore," he said to himself as the storm 
 reached him and dashed in his face not twenty yards from the 
 open door. Colin's laugh, as he reached with a bound the kindly 
 portal, was all the answer which youth and hope gave to expe- 
 rience. The boy was not to be discouraged on that s-weet 
 threshold of his life.
 
 140 A Son of the Soil. [chap. 
 
 CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 WoDENSBOURNE was as different from any house that Colin had 
 ever seen before, as the low flat country, rich and damp and 
 monotonous, was unlike the infinitely varied landscape to which 
 his eye had been accustomed all his life. The florid upholstery 
 of Ardmartin contrasted almost as strangely with the sober 
 magnificence of the old family-house, in which the Franklands 
 had lived and died for generations, as did the simple little rooms 
 to which Colin had been accustomed in his father's house. 
 Perhaps, on the whole, Ramore, where everything was for use 
 and nothing for show, was less unharmonious with all he saw 
 about him than the equipments of the bran new castle, all built 
 out of new money, and gilded and lackered to a climax of 
 domestic finery. Colin' s pupil was the invalid of the family ; a 
 boy of twelve, who could not go to Eton like his brothers, but 
 whom the good-natured baronet thought, as was natural, the 
 cleverest of his family. — " That's why I wanted you so much, 
 Campbell," Sir Thomas said, by way of setting Colin at ease in 
 his new occupation ; " he's not a boy to be kept to classics isn't 
 Charley — there's nothing that boy wouldn't master — and shut 
 up as he has to be, with his wretched health, he wants a little 
 variety. I've always heard you took a wider range in Scotland ; 
 that's what I want for my boy." It was with this exposition of 
 his patron's wishes that the new tutor was introduced to his 
 duties at Wodensbourne. But a terrible disappointment awaited 
 the young man, a disappointment utterly unforeseen. There was 
 nobody there but Sir Thomas himself, and Charley, and some
 
 XIV.] A Son of the Soil. 141 
 
 little ones still in the nursery. " We're all by ourselves, but you 
 won't mind," said the baronet, who seemed to think it all the 
 better for Colin ; " my lady and Matty will be home before 
 Christmas, and you can get yourself settled comfortably in the 
 meantime. Lady Frankland is with her sister, who is in very 
 bad health. I don't know what people mean by getting into bad 
 health — women, too, that can't go in for free living and that 
 sort of thing," said Sir Thomas. " The place looks dreary with- 
 out the ladies, but they'll be back before Christmas," and he 
 went to sleep after dinner as usual, and left the young tutor at 
 the other side of the table sitting in a kind of stupefied amaze- 
 ment and mortification, in the silence, wondering what he came 
 here for, and where all his hopes and brilliant auguries had gone. 
 Perhaps Colin did not know what he himself meant when he 
 accepted Sir Thomas Frankland's proposal. He thought he was 
 coming to live in Matty's society, to be her companion, to walk 
 with her and talk with her, as he had done at Ardmartin ; but, 
 when he arrived to find TVodensbourne deserted, with nothing 
 to be seen but Sir Thomas and a nursery governess, who some- 
 times emerged with her little pupils from the unknown regions 
 upstairs, and was very civil to the new tutor, Colin' s disappoint- 
 ment was overwhelming. He despised himself with a bitterness 
 only to be equalled by the brilliancy of those vain expectations 
 over which he laughed in youthful rage and scorn. It was not 
 to be Matt/s companion he had come ; it was not to see, how- 
 ever far ofi*, any portion of the great world which he could not 
 help imagining sometimes must be visible from such an eleva- 
 tion. It was only to train Charley's precocious intellect, and 
 amuse the baronet a little at dinner. After dinner Sir Thomas 
 went to sleep, and even Charley was out of the way, and the 
 short winter days closed down early over the great house, over 
 the damp woods and silent park, which kept repeating them- 
 selves, day by day, upon Colin's wearied brain. There was not
 
 142 A Son of the Soil. [CHAP. 
 
 even an undulation within sight, nothing higher than the dull 
 line of trees, which after a while it made him sick to look at. 
 To be sure, the sunshine now and then caught upon the lofty 
 lantern of Earie Cathedral, and by that means woke up a gleam 
 of light on the flat country ; but that, and the daily conflict 
 with Charley's sharp invalid understanding, and the sight of 
 Sir Thomas sleeping after dinner, conveyed no exhilaration to 
 speak of to lighten the dismal revulsion of poor Colin's thoughts. 
 His heart rose indignant sometimes, which did him more good. 
 This was the gulf of dismay he tumbled into without defence or 
 preparation after the burst of hope and foolish youthful delight 
 with which he left Eamore. 
 
 As for the society at Wodensbourne, it was at the present 
 moment of the most limited description. Colin, who was inex- 
 perienced, roused up out of his dullness a little w^hen he heard 
 that two of the canons of Earie were coming to dinner one 
 evening. The innocent Scotch lad woke himself up, with a 
 little curiosity about the clerical dignitaries, of whom he knew 
 nothing, and a good deal of anxiety to comport himself as 
 became the representative of a Scotch University, about whom 
 he did not doubt the visitors would be a little curious. It 
 struck Colin with the oddest surprise and disappointment, to 
 find that the canons of Earie were perfectly indifferent about 
 the Scotch student. The curate of the parish, indeed, who was 
 also dining at "Wodensbourne that day, was wonderfully civil to 
 the new tutor. He told him that he understood the Scotch 
 mountains were very near as fine as Switzerland, and that he 
 hoped to see them some day, though the curious prejudices 
 about Sunday and the whisky-drinkiug must come very much 
 in the way of closer intercourse ; at which speech Colin's indig- 
 nation and amusement would have been wonderful to see, had 
 any one been there who cared to notice how the lad was looking. 
 On the Sundays, Colin and his pupil went along the level ways
 
 XIV.] A Son of tlte Soil. 143 
 
 to the quaint old mossy cliurch, to which this same curate Tvas 
 devoting all his time and thoughts by way of restoration. The 
 Scotch youth had never seen anything at once so homely and so 
 noble as this little church in the fen-country. He thought it 
 nothing less than a poem in stone, a pathetic old psalm of 
 human life and death, joining in for ever and ever, with the 
 tenderest, sad responses, in the worship of heaven. Xever any- 
 where had he felt so clearly how the dead were waiting for the 
 great Easter to come, nor seen Christianity standing so plainly 
 between the beginning and the end ; but when Colin, with his 
 Scotch ideas, heard the curious little sermons to which his curate 
 gave utterance under that roof, all consecrated and holy with 
 the sorrows and hopes of ages, it made the strangest anti-climax 
 in the youth's thoughts. He laughed to himself when he came 
 out, not because he was disposed to laughter, but because it was 
 the only alternative he had ; and Sir Thomas, who had a glim- 
 mering perception that this must be something new to his inex- 
 perienced guest, gave a doubtful sort of smile, not knowing how 
 to take Colin's strange looks. 
 
 " You don't believe in saints' days, and such like, in Scot- 
 land ? " said the perplexed baronet ; ''and of course the sermon 
 does not count for so much with us." 
 
 " Xo, it does not count for much," said Colin j and they did 
 not enter further into the subject. 
 
 As for the young man himself, who had still upon his mind 
 the feeling that he was to be a Scotch minister, the lesson was 
 the strangest possible ; for, being Scotch, he could not help listen- 
 ing to the sermon according to the usage of his nation. The 
 curate, after he had said those prayers which are all but divine 
 in their comprehension of the wants of humanity, told his people 
 how wonderfully their beloved Church had provided for aU their 
 wants ; how sweet it was to recollect that this was the day 
 which had been appointed the Twentieth Sunday after Trinity
 
 144 A Son of the Soil. [CHAP. 
 
 — and how it was their duty to meditate a fact so touching 
 and so important. Colin thought of the Holy Loch, and the 
 minister's critics there, and laughed to himself, perhaps a little 
 bitterly. He felt as if he had given up his own career — the 
 natural life to which he was born ; and at this distance the 
 usual enchantments of nature began to work, and in Ms heart 
 he asked himself what he was to gain by transferring his lot 
 and hopes to this wealthy country, where so many things were 
 fairer, and after which he had been hankering so long. The 
 curate's sermons struck him as a kind of comical cHmax to his 
 disappointments — and the curate himself who looked at Colin 
 much as he might have looked at a South-Sea Islander, and 
 spoke of the Scotch whisky and Scotch Sabbaths. Poor curate ! 
 He knew a great deal more than Colin did about some things, 
 and, if he did not understand how to preach, that was not the 
 fault of his college ; neither did they convey much information 
 at that seat of learning about the northern half of the British 
 island — no more than they did at Glasgow about the curious 
 specimen of humanity which is known as a curate on the brighter 
 side of the Tweed. 
 
 All these things went through Colin's mind as he sat in the 
 dining-room after dinner contemplating Sir Thomas's nap, which 
 was not of itself an elevating spectacle. He thought to himself 
 at that moment that he was but fulfilling the office of a drudge 
 at Wodensbourne, which anybody could fill. It did not require 
 those abilities which had won with acclamation the prize in the 
 philosophy class to teach Charley Frankland the elements of 
 science ; and all the emulations and glories of his college career 
 came back to Colin's mind. The little public of the University 
 had begun to think of him — to predict what he would do, and 
 anticipate his success, at home ; but here, who knew anything 
 about him 1 These thoughts disturbed him much as he sat 
 watching the fire gleam in the wainscot, and calculating the
 
 xiv] A Son of the Soil. 145 
 
 recurrence of that next great snore wMch would wake Sir 
 Thomas, and make him sit up of a sudden and look fiercely at 
 his companion before he murmured out a "Beg your pardon," 
 and went to sleep again. iN'ot an interesting prospect certainly. 
 Should he go home ? should he represent to the baronet, when 
 he woke up for the night, that it had all been a mistake, and 
 that his present office was perfectly unsuited to his ambition 
 and his hopes 1 But then what could he say 1 for after all it 
 was as Charley Frankland's tutor simply, and with his eyes 
 open, that he came to Wodensbourne, and Sir Thomas had said 
 nothing about the society of his niece, or any other society, to 
 tempt him thither. CoKn sat in a bitterness of discontent, 
 which would have been incredible to him a few weeks before, 
 pondering these questions. There was not a sound to be heard, 
 but the dropping of the ashes on the hearth, and Sir Thomas's 
 heavy breathing as he slept. Life went on velvet slippers in the 
 great house from which Colin would gladly have escaped (he 
 thought) to the poorest cottage on the Holy Loch. He could 
 not help recalling his shabby little room in Glasgow, and Lau- 
 derdale's long comments upon life, and all the talk and the 
 thoughts that made existence bright in that miserable little 
 place, which Sir Thomas Frankland's grooms would not have 
 condescended to live in, but which the unfortunate young tutor 
 thought of with longing as he sat dreary in the great dining- 
 room. What did it matter to him that the floor was soft with 
 Turkey carpets, that the wine on the table was of the most 
 renowned vintages, and that his slumbering companion in the 
 g-reat easy-chair was the head of one of the oldest commoner 
 families in England — a baronet and a county member 1 Colin 
 after all was only a son of the soil ; he longed for his Glasgow 
 attic, and his companions who spoke the dialect of that remark- 
 able but unlovely city, and felt bitterly in his heart that he had 
 been cheated. Yet it was hard to say to any one — hard even to 
 
 VOL. I, L
 
 146 A Son of the Soil. [chap. 
 
 put in words to himself — what the cheat was. It was a decep- 
 tion he had practised on himself, and in the bitterness of his 
 disappointment the youth refused to admit that anybody's 
 absence was the secret of liis mortification. What was she to 
 him ? — a great lady as far out of his reach as the moon or the 
 stars, and who no doubt had forgotten his very name. 
 
 These were not pleasant thoughts to season the solitude ; and 
 he sat hugging them for a great many evenings before Sir 
 Thomas awoke, and addressed, as he generally did, a few good- 
 humoured, stupid observations to the lad whom, to be sure, the 
 baronet found a considerable bore, and did not know what to do 
 with. Sir Thomas could not forget his obligations to the young 
 man who had saved Harry's life ; and thus it was, from pure 
 gratitude, that he made Colin miserable — though there was no 
 gratitude at all, nor even much respect, in the summary judg- 
 ment which the youth formed of the heavy 'squire. 
 
 This was how matters were going on when Wodensbourne 
 and the world, and everything human, suddenly, all at once, 
 sustained again a change to Colin. He had been living thus, 
 for six weary weeks — during which time he felt himseK getting 
 morose, ill-tempered, and miserable — writing sharp letters home, 
 in which he would not confess to any special disappointment, 
 but expressed himself in general terms of bitterness like a young 
 misanthrope, and in every respect making himself, and those 
 who cared for him, unhappy. Even the verses, which did very 
 well to express the tender griefs of sentiment, had been throAvn 
 aside at this crisis ; for there was nothing melodious in his 
 feelings, and he could not say in sweet rhymes and musical 
 cadences how angry and wretched he was. He was sitting in 
 such a mood one dreary December evening when it was raining 
 fast outside and everything was silent within — as was natural 
 in a well-regulated household where the servants knew their 
 duty, and the nursery was half a mile away through worlds of
 
 XIV.] A Son of tJie Soil. 147 
 
 complicated passages. Sir Thomas was asleep as usual, and, with 
 his eyes shut and his mouth open, the excellent baronet was not, 
 as we have already said, an elevating spectacle ; and, at the other 
 end of the table, sat Colin, chafing out his young soul with such 
 thoughts of what was not, but might have been, as youth does 
 not know how to avoid. It was just then, when he was going 
 over his long succession of miseries — thinking of his natural 
 career cut short for the sake of this dreary penance of which 
 nothing could ever come — that Colin was startled by the sound 
 of wheels coming up the wintry avenue. He could not venture 
 to imagine to himself what it might be, though he listened as if 
 for life and death j he heard the sounds of an arrival and the 
 indistinct hum of voices which he could not distinguish, without 
 feeling that he had any right to stir from the table to inquire 
 what it meant ; and there he sat accordingly, with his hair 
 thrust back from his forehead and his great eyes gleaming out 
 from the noiseless atmosphere, when the door opened and a 
 pretty figure, all eager and glowing Tsdth life, looked into the 
 room. Colin was too much absorbed, too anxious, and felt too 
 deeply how much was involved, to be capable even of rising up 
 to greet her as an indifferent man would have done. He sat and 
 gazed at her as she darted in like a fairy creature, bringing every 
 kind of radiance in her train. 
 
 " Here they are, aunty ! " cried Miss Matty ; and she came in 
 flying in her cloak, with the hood still over her head and great 
 raindrops on it, which she had caught as she jumped out of the 
 carriage. "NMiile Colin sat gazing at her, wondering if it was 
 some deluding apparition, or, in reality, the new revelation of 
 life and love that it seemed to be, Matty had thrown herself 
 upon Sic Thomas and woke the worthy baronet by kissing him, 
 which was a pretty sight to behold. " Here we are, uncle ', 
 wake up ! " cried Matty ; " my lady ran to the nursery first, but 
 I came to you, as I always do." And the little witch looked up 
 
 l2
 
 148 A Son of the Soil. [CHAp. 
 
 at Colin, with a glance under wliicli heaven and earth changed 
 to the lad. He stumbled to his feet, while Sir Thomas rubbed 
 his astonished eyes. What could Colin say 1 He stood waiting 
 for a word, seeing the little figure in a halo of light and fanciful 
 glory. "How do you do ? I knew you were here," said Miss 
 Matty, putting out two fingers to him while she still hung over 
 her \mcle. And presently Lady Frankland came in, and the 
 room became full of pleasant din and commotion as was in- 
 evitable. When Colin made a move as if to leave them, fearful 
 of being in the way, Miss Matty called to him, " Oh, don't go, 
 please ; we are going to have tea, and my lady must be served 
 without giving her any trouble, and I want you to help me," 
 said Matty ; and so the evening that had begun in gloom ended 
 in a kind of subdued glory too sweet to be real; surely too good 
 to be true. 
 
 Lady Frankland sat talking to her husband of their reason 
 for coming back so suddenly (which was sad enough, being an 
 unexpected death in the house : but that did not make much 
 difference to the two women who were coming home); Matty 
 kept coming and going between the tea-table and the fire, send- 
 ing Colin on all sorts of errands, and making comments to him 
 aside on what her aunt was saying. " Only fancy the long 
 dreary drive we have had, and my uncle and Mr. Campbell 
 making themselves so cozy," the little siren said, kneeling down 
 before the fire with still one drop of rain sparkling on her bright 
 locks. And the effect was such that Colin lost his head altogether, 
 and could not have affirmed, had he been questioned on his oath, 
 that he had not enjoyed himself greatly all the time. He took 
 Lady Frankland her tea, and listened to all the domestic chatter 
 as if it had been the talk of angels ; and was as pleased when 
 the mistress of the house thanked him for his kindness to 
 Charley, as if he had not thought Charley a wretched little 
 nuisance a few hours ago. He did not in the least know who
 
 XI F.] A Son of the Soil. 149 
 
 the people were about whoin the two ladies kept up such an 
 unceasing talk, and, perhaps, under other circumstances would 
 have laughed at this sweet-toned gossip, with all its lively com- 
 ments upon nothing, and incessant personaUties ; but, at the 
 present moment, Colin had said good-bj^e to reason, and could 
 not anyhow defend himself against the sudden happiness which 
 seized upon him without any notice. While Sir Thoma^ and 
 his wife sat on either side of the great fire, and Matty kept 
 darting in and out between them, Colin sat behind near the 
 impromptu tea-table, and listened and felt that the world was 
 changed If he could have had time to think, he might have 
 been ashamed of himself ; but then he had no time to think, and 
 in the meantime he was happy, a sensation not to be gainsaid or 
 rejected ; and so fled the few blessed hours of the first evening 
 of Matty's return. 
 
 WTien he had gone up stairs, and had heard, at a distance, 
 the sound of the last good-night, and was fairly shut up again 
 in the silence of his own room, the youth, for the first time, 
 began to realize what he was doing. He paused, mth a little 
 consternation, a little fright, to question himself. Por the first 
 time, he saw clearly, without any possibiUty of self-delusion, 
 what it was which had brought him here, and which made all 
 the difi'erence to him between happiness and misery. It was 
 hard to realize now the state of mind he had been in a few hours 
 before ; but he did it, by dint of a great exertion, and saw, with 
 a distinctness which alarmed him, how it was that everything 
 had altered in his eyes. It was Matty's presence that made all 
 the difi'erence between this subdued thrill of happiness and that 
 blank of impatient and mortified misery. The young man tried 
 to stand still and consider the reality of his position. He had 
 stopped in his career, made a voluntary pause in his Kfe, entered 
 upon a species of existence which he felt in his heart was not 
 more, but less, noble (for him) than his previous course — and
 
 150 A Son of the Soil. [Chap. 
 
 what was it for 1 All for the uncertain smile, for the society — 
 which might fail him at any time — of a woman so far out of his 
 way, so utterly removed from his reach, as Matilda Frankland ? 
 For a moment, the youth was dismayed, and stopped short, 
 Wisdom and Truth whispering in his ear. Love might be fair, 
 but he knew enough to know that life must not be subservient 
 to tllat witchery ; and Colin's good angel spoke to him in the 
 silence, and bade him flee. Better to go back, and at once, to 
 the grey and sombre world, where all his duties awaited him, 
 than to stay here in this fool's paradise. As he thought so he 
 got up, and began to pace about his room, as though it had been 
 a cage. Best to flee — it might take all the light out of his life 
 and break his heart, but what else had he to look for sooner or 
 later 1 He sat up half the night, still pacing about his room, 
 hesitating over his fate, while the December storm raged outside. 
 What was he to do ? When he dropped to sleep at last, his 
 heart betrayed him, and strayed away into celestial worlds of 
 dreaming. He woke, still undecided, as he thought, to see the 
 earliest wintry gleam of sunshine stealing in through his shutters. 
 What was he to do ? But abeady the daylight made him feel 
 his terrors as so many shadows. His heart was a traitor, and he 
 was glad to find it so ; and that moment of indecision settled 
 more surely than ever the bondage in which he seemed to have 
 entangled his life.
 
 XV.] A Son of the Soil. 151 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 • 
 
 Erom that day life flew upon celestial wings for Charley Frank- 
 land's tutor. It was not that love-making proved possible, 
 or that existence at AVodensbourne became at all what it had 
 been at Ardmartin. The difference was in the atmosphere, which 
 was now bright with all kinds of gladsome chances, and pervaded 
 by anticipations — a charm wliich, at Colin's age, was more than 
 reality. He never knew what moment of delight might come to 
 him any day — what words might be said, or smiles shed upon 
 him. Such an enchantment could not, indeed, have lasted very 
 long ; but, in the meantime, it was infinitely sweet, and made 
 his life like a romance to the young mam There was nobody at 
 Wodensbourne to occupy l^Iiss Matty, or withdraw her attention 
 from her young worshipper ; and Colin, with his poetic tempera- 
 ment, and his youthful genius, and all the simplicities and 
 inexperience which rendered him so different from the other 
 clever young men who had been seen or heard of in that region, 
 was very delightful company, even when he was not engaged in 
 any acts of worship. Lady Frankland herself acknowledged that 
 Mr. Campbell was a great acquisition. " He is not the least like 
 other people," said the lady of the house ; " but you must take 
 care not to let him fall in love with you, Matty; " and both the 
 ladies laughed softly as they sat over their cup of tea. As for 
 Matty, when she went to dress for dinner, after that admonition, 
 she put on tartan ribbons over her white dress, partly, to be 
 sure, because they were the fashion ; but chiefly to please Colin, 
 who knew rather less about tartan than she did, and had not the
 
 152 A Son of the Soil. [chap. 
 
 remotest idea that the many-coloured sash had any reference to 
 himself. 
 
 " I love Scotland," the little witch said to him, when he came 
 into the drawing-room, to which he was now admitted during 
 Sir Thomas's nap — and, to tell the truth, Lady Frankland her- 
 self had just closed her eyes in a gentle doze, in her easy chair — 
 "but, though you are a Scotchman, you don't take the least 
 notice of my ribbons ; I am very fond of Scotland," said Matty ; 
 — " and the Scotch," the wicked little girl added, with a glance 
 at him, which made Colin's heart leap in his deluded breast. 
 
 "Then I am very glad to be Scotch," said the youth, and 
 stooped down over the end of the sash till Matty thought he 
 meant to kiss it, which was a more decided act of homage than 
 it would be expedient, under the circumstances, to permit. 
 
 " Don't talk like everybody else," said Miss Matty ; " that 
 does not make any difference — you were always glad to be Scotch, 
 I know you all think you are so much better and cleverer than 
 we are in England. But, tell me, do you still mean to be a 
 Scotch minister ? I wish you would not," said Matty, with a 
 little pout. And then Colin laughed — half with pleasure at 
 what he thought her interest in him, and half with a quaint 
 recollection which belonged only to himself. 
 
 " I don't think I could preach about the twentieth Sunday 
 after Trinity," he said with a smile; which, however, was a 
 speech Miss Matty did not understand. 
 
 " People here don't preach as you do in Scotland," said the 
 English girl, with a little offence. " You are always preaching, 
 and that is what makes it so dull. But what is the good of being 
 a minister 1 There are plenty of dull people to be ministers ; 
 you who are so clever — " 
 
 *' Am I clever ? " said Colin. " I am Charley's tutor — it does 
 not require a great deal of genius — " but while he spoke, his eyes 
 — which Matty did not comprehend, which always went leagues
 
 XV.] A Son of the Soil. 153 
 
 further than she could follow — kindled up a little. He looked 
 a long way beyond her, and no doubt he saw something ; but it 
 piqued her not to be able to follow hini, and find out what he 
 meant 
 
 " K you had done what I wished, and gone to Oxford, Camp- 
 bell," said Sir Thomas, whose repose had been interrupted earlier 
 than usual ; ''I can't say much about what I could have done 
 myself, for I have heaps of boys of my own to provide for; 
 but, if you're bent on going into the Church, something would 
 certainly have turned up for you. I don't say there's much of 
 a career in the Church for an ambitious young fellow, but stiU, 
 if you do work well and have a few friends — . As for your 
 Scotch Church, I don't know very much about it," said the 
 baronet, candidly. *' I never knew any one who did. What 
 a bore it used to be a dozen years ago, when there was all that 
 row j and now, I suppose, you're all at sixes and sevens, ain't 
 you ? " asked the ingenuous legislator. " I suppose whisky and 
 controversy go together somehow." Sir Thomas got himself 
 packed into the corner of a sofa very comfortably, as he spoke, 
 and took no notice of the lightning in Colin's eyes. 
 
 " Oh, uncle ! don't," said ^liss flatty ; " don't you know that 
 the Presbyterians are all going to give up and join the Church ? 
 and it's all to be the same both in England and Scotland I You 
 need not laugh. I assure you I know quite well what I am 
 saying," said the little beauty, with a look of dignity. " I have 
 seen it in the papers ; such funny papers ! — with little para- 
 graphs about accidents, and about people getting silver snuff- 
 boxes ! — but all the same, they say what I tell you. There's to 
 be no Presbyterians and no precentors, and none of their wicked 
 ways, coming into church with their hats on, and staring all 
 round instead of saying their prayers ; and all the ministers are 
 to be made into clergymen — priests and deacons, you know ; 
 and they are going to have bishops and proper service like other
 
 154 A Son of the Soil. [CHAP. 
 
 people. Mr. Campbell," said Matty, looking up at Mm with a 
 little emphasis, to mark that, for once, she was calling him 
 formally by his name — " knows it is quite true." 
 
 "Humph," said Sir Thomas, "I know better; I know how 
 Campbell, there, looked the other day when he came out of 
 church. I know the Scotch and their ways of thinking. Go 
 and make the tea, and don't talk of what you don't understand. 
 But, as for you, Campbell, if you have a mind for the University 
 and to go in for the Church — " 
 
 But this was more than Colin, being twenty, and a Scotch- 
 man, could bear. 
 
 " I am going in for the Church," said the lad, doing all he 
 could to keep down the excitement at which Sir Thomas would 
 have laughed, " but it did not in the least touch my heart the 
 other day to know that it was the twentieth Sunday after Trinity. 
 Devotion is a great matter," said the young Scotchman, "I grant 
 you have the advantage over us there ; but it would not do in 
 Scotland to preach about the Church's goodness, and what she 
 had appointed for such or such a day. We preach very stupid 
 sermons, I dare say ; but at least we mean to teach somebody 
 something — what God looks for at their hands, or what they 
 may look for at His. It is more an occupation for a man," cried 
 the young revolutionary, " than reading the sublimest of prayers. 
 I am going in for the Church — but it is the Church of Scotland," 
 said Colin. He drew himself up with a grand youthful dignity, 
 which was much lost on Sir Thomas, who, for his part, looked 
 at his new tutor with eyes of sober wonderment, and did not 
 understand what this emotion meant. 
 
 "There is no occasion for excitement," said the baronet; 
 " nobody now-a-days meddles with a man's convictions ; indeed, 
 Harry would say, it's a great thing to have any convictions. 
 That is how the young men talk now-a-days," said Sir Thomas ; 
 and he moved off the sofa again, and yawned, though not un-
 
 XV.} A Son of the Soil, 155 
 
 civilly. As for Miss Matty, she came stealing up when she had 
 made the tea, with her cup in her hand. 
 
 " So you do mean to be a minister 1 " she said, in a half whis- 
 per, -wdth a deprecating look. Lady Frankland had roused up, 
 like her husband, and the two were talking, and did not take 
 any notice of Matty's proceedings with the harmless tutor. The 
 yoimg lady was quite free to play T\ith her mouse a little, and 
 entered upon the amusement with zest, as 'was natural. "You 
 mean to shut yourself up in a square house, Avith five windows 
 in front, like the poor gentleman who has such red hair ; and 
 never see anybody but the old women in the parish, and have 
 your life made miserable every Sunday by that precentor — " 
 
 " I .hope I have a soul above precentors," said Colin, with 
 a little laugh, which was unsteady still, however, with excite- 
 ment ; " and one might mend all that," he added a minute after, 
 looking at her with a kind of wistful inquiry which he could 
 not have put into words. What was it he meant to ask with 
 his anxious eye ? But he did not himself know. 
 
 " Oh yes," said jMatty, "I know what you could do : you could 
 get a little organ and marry somebody who would play it, and teach 
 the people better ; I know exactly what you could do," said the 
 young lady with a piquant little touch of spite, and a look that 
 startled Colin ; and then she paused, and hung her head for 
 a moment and blushed, or looked as if she blushed. " But you 
 would not I " said Matty, softly, with a sidelong glance at her 
 victim. " Don't marry anybody ; no one is of any use after 
 that. I don't approve of marrying, for my part, especially for 
 a priest. Priests should always be detached, you know, from 
 the world." 
 
 " Why ? " said Colin. He was quite content to go on talking 
 on such a subject for any length of time. " As for marrying, it 
 is only your rich squires and great people who can marry when 
 they please ; we who have to make our own way in the world
 
 156 A Son of the Soil. [CHAp. 
 
 — " said the young man, with a toucli of grandeur, but was 
 stopped by Miss Matty's sudden laughter. 
 
 " Oh, how simple you are ! As if rich squires and great 
 people, as you say, could marry when they pleased — as if any 
 man could marry when he pleased ! " cried Miss Matty, scorn- 
 fully. " After all, we do count for something, we poor women ; 
 now and then, we can put even an eldest son out in his calcu- 
 lations. It is great fun too," said the young lady, and she 
 laughed, and so did Colin, who could not help wondering what 
 special case she might have in her eye, and listened with all 
 the eagerness of a lover. " There is poor Harry — " said Miss 
 Matty under her breath, and stopped short and laughed to her- 
 self and sipped her tea, while Colin lent an anxious ear. But 
 nothing further followed that soft laughter. Colin sat on thorns, 
 gazing at her with a world of questions in his face, but the siren 
 looked at him no more. Poor Harry ! Harry's natural rival 
 was sensible of a thrill of jealous curiosity mingled with anxiety^ 
 What had she done to Harry, this witch who had beguiled 
 Colin 1 — or was it not she who had done anything to him, but 
 some other as pretty and as mischievous 1 Colin had no clue to 
 the puzzle, but it gave him a new acces of half-conscious enmity 
 to the heir of Wodensbourne. 
 
 After that talk there elapsed a few days during which Colin 
 saw but little of Matty, who had visits to pay, and some solemn 
 dinner-parties to attend in Lady Frankland's train. He had to 
 spend the evenings by himself on these occasions after dining 
 with Charley, who was not a very agreeable companion ; and, 
 when this invalid went to his room, as he did early, the young 
 tutor found himself desolate enough in the great house, where 
 no human bond existed between him and the little community 
 within its walls. He was not in a state of mind to take kindly 
 to abstract study at that moment of his existence, for Colin had 
 passed out of the unconscious stage in which he had been at
 
 XV.] A Son of the Soil. 157 
 
 Ardmartin. There, howeyer much he might have wished to 
 be out of temptation, he could not help himself, which was a 
 wonderful consolation; but now he had come wilfully and 
 knowingly into danger, and had become aware of it; and far 
 more distinctly than ever before had become aware of the differ- 
 ence between himself and the object of his thoughts. Though 
 he found it very possible at times to comfort himself with the 
 thought that this was an ordinary interruption of a Scotch 
 student's work, and noways represented the Armida's garden 
 in which the knight lost both his vocation and his life, there 
 were other moments and moods which were less easily manage- 
 able ; and, on the whole, he wanted the stimulus of perpetual 
 excitement to keep him from feeling the false position he was 
 in, and the inexpediency of continuing it. Though this feeling 
 haunted him all day, at night, in the drawing-room — which was 
 brightened and made sweet by the fair English matron who was 
 kind to Colin, and the fairer maiden who was the centre of all 
 his thoughts — it vanished like an evil spirit, and left him with 
 a sense that nowhere in the world could he have been so well ; 
 but, when the stimulus was withdrawn, the youth was left in 
 a very woeful plight, conscious, to the bottom of his heart, that 
 he ought to be elsewhere, and here was consuming his strength 
 and life. He went out in the darkness of the December nights 
 through the gloomy silent park into the little village with its 
 feeble lights, where everybody and everything was unknown to 
 him ; and all the time his demon sat on his shoulder and asked 
 what he did there. One evening while he strayed through the 
 broken, irregular village-street, to all appearance looking at the 
 dim cottage-windows and listening to the rude songs from the 
 little ale-house, the curate encountered the tutor. Most pro- 
 bably the young priest, who was not remarkable for wisdom, 
 imagined the Scotch lad to be in some danger ; for he laid 
 a kindly hand upon his arm and turned him away from the
 
 158 A Son of the Soil. [CHap. 
 
 vociferous little tavern, which was a vexation to the curate's 
 soul. " I should like you to go up to the Parsonage with me, 
 if you will only wait till I have seen this sick woman," he 
 said ; and Colin went in very willingly within the cottage porch 
 to wait for his acquaintance, who had his prayer-book under 
 his arm. The young Scotchman looked on with wondering eyes 
 while the village priest knelt down by his parishioner's bedside 
 and opened his book. ]N"aturally there was a comparison always . 
 going on in Colin's mind. He was like a passive experimentalist, 
 seeing all kinds of trials made before his eyes, and watching the 
 result. " I wonder if they all think it is a spell," said Colin to 
 himself; but he was rebuked and was silent when he heard the 
 responses which the cottage folk made on their knees. When 
 the curate had read his prayer he got up and said good-night, 
 and went back to Colin; and this visitation of the sick was 
 a very strange experience to the young Scotch observer, who 
 stood revolving everything, with an eye to Scotland, at the 
 cottage- door. 
 
 " You don't make use of our Common Prayer in Scotland ? " 
 said the curate ; " pardon me for referring to it. One cannot 
 help being sorry for people who shut themselves out from such 
 an inestimable advantage. How did it come about ? " 
 
 '* I don't know," said Colin. " I suppose because Laud was a 
 fool, and King Charles a " 
 
 "Hush, for goodness sake," said the curate, with a shiver. 
 "What do you mean? such language is painful to listen to. 
 The saints and martyrs should be spoken of in a different tone. 
 You think that was the reason 1 Oh, no ; it was your horrible 
 Calvinism, and John Knox, and the mad influences of that un- 
 fortunate Eeformation which has done us all so much harm ; 
 though I suppose you think difierently in Scotland," he said with 
 a little sigh, steering his young companion, of whose morality he 
 felt uncertain, past the alehouse door.
 
 XV.] A Son of the Soil. 159 
 
 " Did you never hear of John Knox's liturgy ] " said the 
 indignant Colin ; " the saddest, passionate service ! You always 
 had time to say your prayers in England, but we had to snatch 
 them as we could. And your prayers would not do for us now," 
 said the Scotch experimentalist ; " I wish they could ; but it 
 would be impossible. A Scotch peasant would have thought 
 that an incantation you were reading. AYhen you go to see a 
 sick man, shouldn't you like to say, God save him, God forgive 
 him, straight out of your heart without a book 1 " said the eager 
 lad ; at which question the curate looked up with wonder in the 
 young man's face. 
 
 " I hope I do say it out of my heart," said the English priest, 
 and stopped short, with a gravity that had a great effect upon 
 Colin j — " but in words more sound than any words of mine," 
 the curate added a moment after, which dispersed the reverential 
 impression from the Scotch mind of the eager boy. 
 
 ^ I can't see that," said Colin, quickly, " in the church for 
 common prayer, yes ; at a bedside in a cottage, no. At least, I 
 mean that's how we feel in Scotland — though I suppose you 
 don't care much for our opinion," he added with some heat, 
 thinking he saw a smile on his companion's face. 
 
 " Oh, yes, certainly ; I have always understood that there is a 
 great deal of intelligence in Scotland," said the curate, courteous 
 as to a South-Sea Islander. " But people who have never known 
 this inestimable advantage — I believe preaching is considered 
 the great thing in the Is'orth 1 " he said with a little curiosity. 
 " I wish society were a little more impressed by it among our- 
 selves ; but mere information even about spiritual matters is of 
 so much less importance ! though that, I daresay, is another 
 point on which we don't agree ?" the curate continued, pleasantly. 
 He was just opening the gate into his own garden, which was 
 invisible in the darkness, but which enclosed and surrounded a 
 homely house with some lights in the windows, which, it was a
 
 160 A Son of the Soil. [CEAp. 
 
 little comfort to Colin to perceive, was not much handsomer nor 
 more imposing in appearance than the familiar manse on the 
 borders of the Holy Loch. 
 
 " It depends on what you call spiritual matters," said the 
 polemical youth. " I don't think a man can possibly get too 
 much information about his relations with God, if only anybody 
 could tell him anything ; but certainly about ecclesiastical 
 arrangements and the Christian year," said the irreverent young 
 Scotchman, " a little might suffice ; " and Colin spoke with the 
 slightest inflection of contempt, always thinking of the twentieth 
 Sunday after Trinity, and scorning what he did not understand, 
 as was natural to his years. 
 
 " Ah, you don't know w^hat you are saying," said the devout 
 curate. " After you have spent a Christian Year, you will see 
 what comfort and beauty there is in it. You say, * if anybody 
 could tell him anything.' I hope you have not got into a 
 sceptical way of thinking. I should like very much to have a 
 long talk with you," said the village priest, who was very good 
 and very much in earnest, though the earnestness was after a 
 pattern different from anything known to Colin ; and, before the 
 youth perceived what was going to happen, he found himself in 
 the curate's study, placed on a kind of moral platform, as the 
 emblem of Doubt and that pious unbelief which is the favourite 
 of modern theology. Now, to tell the truth, Colin, though it 
 may lower him in the opinion of many readers of his history, 
 was not by nature given to doubting. He had, to be sure, 
 followed the fashion of the time enough to be aware of a wonder- 
 ful amount of unsettled questions, and questions which it did 
 not appear possible ever to settle. But somehow these elements 
 of scepticism did not give him much trouble. His heart was 
 full of natural piety, and his instincts all fresh and strong as a 
 child's. He could not help believing, any more than he could 
 help breathing, his nature being such ; and he was half-amused
 
 xv.^ A Son of the Soil. IGl 
 
 and half-irritated bj the position in -which he found himself, 
 notwithstanding the curate's respect for the ideal sceptic, whom 
 he had thus pounced upon. The commonplace character of 
 Colin's mind was such, that he was yery glad when his new 
 friend relaxed into gossip, and asked him who was expected at 
 the Hall for Christmas ; to which the tutor answered by such 
 names as he had heard in the ladies' talk, and remembered with 
 friendliness or with jealousy, accordkig to the feeling with which 
 Miss flatty pronounced them — which was Colin's only guide 
 amid this crowd of the unknown. 
 
 " I wonder if it is to be a match," said the curate, who, re- 
 covering from his dread concerning the possible habits of his 
 Scotch guest, had taken heart to share his scholarly potations of 
 beer with his new friend. " It was said Lady Frankland did 
 not like it, but I never believed that After all, it was such a 
 natural arrangement. I wonder if it is to be a match % " 
 
 " Is what to be a match ? " said Colin, who all at once felt his 
 heart stand still and grow cold, though he sat by the cheerful fire 
 which threw its light even into the dark garden outside. " I have 
 heard nothing about any match," he added, with a little effort. 
 It dawned upon him instantly what it must be, and his impulse 
 was to rush out of the house or do something rash and sudden 
 that would prevent him from hearing it said in words. 
 
 " Between Henry Frankland and his cousin," said the calm 
 curate ; " they looked as if they were perfectly devoted to each 
 other at one time. That has died off, for she is rather a ffirt, I 
 fear ; but aU the people hereabouts had made up their mindt 
 on the subject. It would be a very suitable match on the whole. 
 But why do you get up ? yon are not going away ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I have something to do when I go home," said Colin, 
 " something to prepare," which he said out of habit, thinking 
 of his old work, at home, without remembering what he was 
 saying or whether it meant anything. The curate put down the 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 A Son of the Soil. [chap. 
 
 poker which he had lifted to poke the fire, and looked at Colin 
 with a touch of envy. 
 
 " Ah ! something literary, I suppose ? " said the young priest, 
 and went with his new friend to the door, thinking how lucky 
 he was, at his age, to have a literary connexion ; a thought very 
 natural to a young priest in a country curacy with a very small 
 endowment. The curate wrote verses, as Colin himself did, 
 though on very different subjects, and took some of them out of 
 his desk and looked at them, after he had shut the door, with 
 affectionate eyes, and a half intention of asking the tutor what 
 was the best way to get admission to the magazines ; and on the 
 whole he was pleased with what he had seen of the young 
 Scotchman, though he was so ignorant of church matters; an 
 opinion which Colin perfectly reciprocated, with a more distinct 
 sentiment of compassion for the English curate, who knew about 
 as much of Scotland as if it had lain in the South Seas. 
 
 Meanwhile Colin walked home to Wodensbourne with fire and 
 passion in his heart. " It would be a very suitable match on 
 the whole," he kept saying to himself, and then tried to take a 
 little comfort from Matty's sweet laughter over " Poor Harry ! " 
 Poor Harry was rich and fortunate, and independent, and Colin 
 was only the tutor ; were these two to meet this Christmas time 
 and contend over again on this new ground ] He went along 
 past the black trees as if he were walking for a wager ; but, 
 quick as he walked, a dog-cart dashed past him with lighted 
 lamps gleaming up the avenue. When he reached the Hall- 
 door, one of the servants was disappearing up stairs with a 
 portmanteau, and a heap of coats and wrappers lay in the 
 HaU. 
 
 " Mr. Harry just come, sir — a week sooner than was expected," 
 said the butler, who was an old servant and shared in the joys 
 of the family. Colin went to his room without a word, and shut 
 himself up there with feelings which he could not have explained
 
 XV.] A Son of the Soil. 163 
 
 to any one. He had not seen Harry Frankland since they were 
 both boysj but he had never got over the youthful sense of 
 rivalry and opposition which had sent him skimming over the 
 waters of the Holy Loch to save the boy who was his born 
 rival and antagonist. Was this the day of their encounter and 
 conflict which had come at last ? 
 
 M 2
 
 164 A Son of the Soil. ichap. 
 
 CHAPTEE XYI. 
 
 Harry Frankland's return made a great difference to the 
 tutor, between whom and the heir of the house there existed 
 that vague sense of jealousy and rivalship which was embittered 
 on the part of young Frankland by a certain consciousness of 
 obligation. He was a good-natured fellow enough, and above 
 the meanness of treating unkindly anybody who was in a depen- 
 dent position ; but the circumstances were awkward, and he did 
 not know how to comport himself towards the stranger. " The 
 fellow looks like a gentleman," he said privately in confidence to 
 his mother ; " if I had never seen him before we might have 
 got on, you know ; but it's a horrible nuisance to feel that 
 you're obliged to a fellow in that kind of position — neither your 
 equal, you know, nor your inferior, nor-r-. \^Tiat on earth 
 induced the governor to have him here 1 If it hadn't been for 
 these cheap Scotch universities and stuff, he'd have been a 
 ploughman that one could have given ten pounds to and been 
 done with him. It's a confounded nuisance having him here." 
 
 '' Hush, Harry," said Lady Frankland. " He is very nice and 
 very gentlemanly, I think. He used to be very amusing before 
 you came home. Papa, yDu know, is not entertaining after 
 dinner ; and really Mr. Campbell was quite an acquisition, espe- 
 cially to Matty, who can't live without a slave," said the lady of 
 the house, with an indulgent, matronly smile. 
 
 " Oh, confound it, why did the governor have him here 1 " 
 cried the discontented heir. " As for Matty, it appears to me 
 she had better begin to think of doing without slaves," he said
 
 XVI.] A Son of the Soil. 165 
 
 moodily, with a cloud on his face ; a speech which made his 
 mother look up with a quick movement of anxiety, though she 
 still smiled. 
 
 " I can't make out either you or Matty," said Lady Frankland. 
 " I wish you would be either off or on. With such an appearance 
 of indifference as you show to each other — " 
 
 " Oh, indifference, by Jove ! " said Harry, breaking in upon his 
 mother's words ; and the young man gave a short whistle, and, 
 jumping up abruptly, went off" ^vdthout waiting for any more. Lady 
 Frankland was not in the habit of disturbing herself about things 
 in general. She looked after her son with a serious look, which, 
 however, lasted but a moment. Then she returned immediately 
 to her placidity and her needlework. " I daresay it will come 
 all right/' she said to herself, with serene philosophy, which per- 
 haps accounted for the absence of wrinkles in her comely, middle- 
 aged countenance. Harry, on the contrary, went off in anything 
 but a serene state of mind. It was a foggy day, and the clouds 
 lay very low and heavy over the fen-country, where there was 
 nothing to relieve the dulness of nature. And it was afternoon 
 — the very time of the day when all hopes and attempts at 
 clearing up are over — and dinner was still too far off to throw its 
 genial glow upon the dusky house. There had been nothing 
 going on for a day or two at Wodensbourne. Harry was before 
 his time, and the expected guests had not yet arrived, and the 
 weather was as troublesome and hindersome of every kind of 
 recreation as weather could possibly be. Young Frankland went 
 out in a little fit of impatience, and was met at the hall-door by 
 a mouthful of dense white steaming air, through which even the 
 jovial trees of holly, all glowing with Christmas berries, loomed 
 like two prickly ghosts. He uttered an exclamation of disgust 
 as he stood on the broad stone steps, not quite sure what to do 
 with himseK — whether to face the chill misery of the air outside, 
 or to hunt up flatty and Charley, and betake himself to the
 
 166 A Son of the Soil. [Chap. 
 
 billiard-room within. But then the tutor — confound the fellow ! 
 Just at that moment Harry Frankland heard a laugh, a pro- 
 voking little peal of silver bells. He had an odd sort of affection 
 — half love, half dislike — for his cousin. But of all Matty's 
 charms, there was none which so tantalized and bewitched him 
 as this laugh, which was generally acknowledged to be charming. 
 " Much there is to laugh about, by Jove ! " he muttered to him- 
 self, with an angry flush ; but he grew grimly furious when he 
 heard her voice. 
 
 " You won't give in," said Matty ; ''the Scotch never will, 
 I know ; you are all so dreadfully argumentative and quarrel- 
 some. But you are beaten, though you won't acknowledge it ; 
 you know you are. I like talking to you," continued the little 
 witch, dropping her voice a little, "because — hush ! I thought 
 I heard some one calling me from the house." 
 
 "Because why?" said Colin. They were a good way off, 
 behind one of those great holly trees ; but young Frankland, 
 with his quickened ears, discerned in an instant the softness, 
 the tender admiration, the music of the tutor's voice. "By 
 Jove ! " said the heir to himself ; and then he shouted out, 
 " Matty, look here ! come here ! " in tones as different from 
 those of Colin as discord is from harmony. It did not occur to 
 Mm that Miss Matty's ear, being perfectly cool and unexcited, 
 was quite able to discriminate between the two voices which 
 thus claimed her regard. 
 
 " What do you want ? " said Matty. " Don't stand there 
 in the fog like a ghost; if you have anything to say, come 
 here. I am taking my constitutional; one's first duty is the 
 care of one's health," said the wicked little creature, mth her 
 ring of laughter; and she turned back again under his very 
 eyes along the terrace without looking at him again. As for 
 Harry Frankland, the words which escaped from his excited 
 lips were not adapted for publication. If he had been a little
 
 xri.] A Son of the Soil. 167 
 
 less angry lie would have joined them, and so made an end of 
 the tutor ; but, being furious, and not understanding anything 
 about it, he burst for a moment into profane language, and then 
 went off to the stables, where all the people had a bad time of 
 it until the dressing-bell rang. 
 
 " What a savage he is," said Matty, confidentially. " That is 
 the bore of cousins ; they can't bear to see one happy, and yet 
 they won't take the trouble of making themselves agreeable. 
 How nice it used to be down at Kil churn that summer — you 
 remember? And what quantities of poetry you used to write. 
 I suppose Wodensbourne is not favourable to poetry 1 You 
 have never shown me anything since you came here." 
 
 " Poetry is only for one's youth," said Colin ; " that is, if 
 you dignify my verses with the name — for one's extreme youth, 
 when one believes in everything that is impossible ; and for 
 Kilchurn, and the Lady's Glen, and the Holy Loch," said the 
 youth, after a pause, with a fervour which disconcerted Matty. 
 " TJiat summer was not summer, but a bit of paradise — and 
 life is real at Wodensbourne." 
 
 "I wish you would not speak in riddles," said Miss Matty, 
 who was in the humour to have a little more of this inferred 
 worship. " I should have thought life was a great deal more 
 real at Ramore than here. Here we have luxuries and things — 
 and — and — and books and — ." She meant to have implied 
 that the homely life was hard, and to have delicately intimated 
 to Colin the advantage of living under the roof of Sir Thomas 
 Frankland ; but, catching his eye at the outset of her sentence, 
 Matty had suddenly perceived her mistake, and broke down in 
 a way most unusual to her. As she floundered, the young man 
 looked at her with a full unhesitating gaze, and an incompre- 
 hensible smile. 
 
 " Pardon me," he said — he had scarcely ever attempted before 
 to take the superiority out of her hands, little trifler and fine
 
 168 A Son of the Soil. [chap. 
 
 lady as she was — he had been quite content to lay himself down 
 in the dust and suffer her to march over him in airy triumph. 
 But, while she was only a little tricksy coquette, taking from 
 his imagination all her higher charms, Colin was a true man, a 
 man full of young genius, and faculties a world beyond anything 
 known to Matty ; and, when he was roused for the moment, 
 it was so easy for him to confound her paltry pretensions. 
 " Pardon me," he said, with the smile which piqued her, which 
 she did not understand ; "I think you mistake. At Eamore I 
 was a poor farmer's son, but we had other things to think of 
 than the difference between wealth and poverty. At Eamore 
 we think nothing impossible ; but here — " said Colin, looking 
 round him with a mixture of contempt and admiration, which 
 Matty could not comprehend. "That, you perceive, was the 
 age of poetry, the age of romance, the golden age," said the 
 young man, with a smile. '' The true knight required nothing 
 but his sword, and was more than a match for all kinds of 
 ugly kings and wicked enchanters ; but Wodensbourne is prose, 
 hard prose — fine English if you like, and much to be applauded 
 for its style," the tutor ran on, delivering himself up to his 
 fancy. " jS'ot Miltonian, to be sure ; more like Macaulay — fine 
 vigorous English, not destitute of appropriate ornament; but 
 still prose, plain prose. Miss Erankland — only prose ! " 
 
 " It appears to me that you are cross, Mr. Campbell," said 
 Matty, with a little spite ; for her young vassal showed signs of 
 enfranchisement when he called her by her name. " You like 
 your rainy loch better than anything else in the world ; and you 
 are sorry," said the su*en, dropping her voice, " you are even so 
 unkind as to be sorry that you have come here ? " 
 
 " Sometimes, yes," said Colin, suddenly clouding over. " It 
 is true." 
 
 "Always," said Matty; "though you cannot deny that we 
 freed you from the delightful duty of listening to Sir Thomas
 
 xvi.] A Son of the Soil. 169 
 
 after dinner/' she went on, with a laugh. " Dear old uncle, 
 why does he snore ? So you are really sorry you came 1 I do 
 so wish you would tell me why. A^^odensbourne, at least, is 
 better than Ardmartin," said ^liss Matty, with a look of pique. 
 She was rather relieved and yet horribly disappointed at the 
 thought that Colin might perhaps be coming to his senses, in so 
 for as she herself was concerned. It would save her a good 
 deal of embarrassment, it was true, but she was intent upon 
 preventing it all the same. 
 
 " I will teU' you why I am sorry, if you will tell me why I 
 ought to be glad," said Colin, who was wise enough, for once, 
 to see that he had the best of the argument. 
 
 " Oh, I don't loiow," said Matty ; "if you don't see yourself 
 — if you don't care about the advantages — if you don't mind 
 living in the same — I mean, if you don't see the good — " 
 
 " I don't see any good," said Colin, with suppressed passion, 
 " except one wliich, if I stated it plainly, you would not permit 
 me to name. I see no advantages that I can venture to put in 
 words. On the other hand, TVodensbourne has taught me 
 a great deal. This fine perspicuous Enghsh prose points an 
 argument a great deal better than aU the Highland rhymings in 
 existence," said the young man, bitterly ; " I'll give you a pro- 
 fessional example, as I'm a tutor. At the Holy Loch we con- 
 jugate all our verbs afi&rmatively, interrogatively. Charley and 
 I are getting them up in the negative form here, and it's 
 hard work," said Charley's tutor. He broke off with a laugh 
 which sounded strange and harsh, an unusual effect, to his com- 
 panion's ear. 
 
 " Affirmatively 1 Interrogatively?" said ]Miss Matty, with a 
 pretty puzzled look ; " I hate long words. How do you suppose 
 I can know what you mean 1 It is such a long time since I 
 learnt my verbs — and then one always hated them so. Look 
 here, what a lovely holly-leaf! II m'aime, il ne m'aime pas .^"
 
 170 A Son of the Soil, [chap. 
 
 said Miss Matty, pricking her fingers on the verdant spikes and 
 casting a glance at Colin. When their eyes met they both 
 laughed, and blushed a little in their several ways — that is to 
 say, Miss Matty's sweet complexion grew a little, a very little, 
 brighter for one moment, or Colin at least thought it did; 
 whereas the blood flushed all over his face, and went dancing 
 back like so many streams of new life and joy to exhilarate his 
 foolish youthful heart. 
 
 " By the bye, I wonder if that foolish Harry came from my 
 aunt ; perhaps she wants me," said Miss Matty, who had gone 
 as far as she meant to go. "Besides, the fog gets heavier; 
 though, to be sure, I have seen it twenty times worse at Kil- 
 churn. Perhaps it is the fog and the rain that makes it poetical 
 there 1 I prefer reality, if that means a little sunshine, or even 
 the fire in my lady's dressing-room," she cried, with a shiver. 
 " Go indoors and write me some pretty verses : it is the only 
 thing you can do after being such a savage. Au revoir — there 
 are no half-partings in English; and it's so ridiculous to say 
 good-bye for an hour or two," said Miss Matty. She made 
 him a little mock curtsey as she went away, to which, out of 
 the fulness of her grace, the little witch added a smile and a 
 pretty wave of her hand as she disappeared round the corner of 
 the great holly, which were meant to leave Colin in a state of 
 ecstasy. He stayed on the foggy terrace a long time after she 
 had left him, but the young man's thoughts were not ecstatic. 
 So long as she was present, so long as the strongest spell of 
 natural magic occupied his eyes in watching and his ears in 
 listening to her, he was still carried along and kept up by the 
 witchery of young love. But in the intervals when her presence 
 was withdrawn, matters grew to be rather serious with Colin. 
 He was not like a love-sick girl, able to exist upon these occa- 
 sional sweetnesses ; he was a man, and required something more 
 to satisfy his mind than the tantalizing enchantments and dis-
 
 xrr.] A Son of the Soil. 171 
 
 appointments of this intercourse, wliich was fascinating enough 
 in its way, but had no substance or reality in it. He had 
 spoken truly — it had been entire romance, sweet as a morning 
 dream at the Holy Loch. There the two young creatures, wan- 
 dering by the glens and streams, were the ideal youth and 
 maiden entering upon their natural inheritance of beauty and 
 love and mutual admiration ; and at homely Eamore, where the 
 world to which Matty belonged was utterly unknoT\Ti, it was 
 not difficult either for Colin himself, or for those around him, to 
 believe that — ^with his endowments, his talents, and genius — he 
 could do anything, or win any woman. Wodensboume was a 
 most sobering, disenchanting reaUty after this wonderful delu- 
 sion. The FranMands were all so kind to the young tutor, and 
 their sense of obligation towards him made his position so much 
 better than any other tutor's of his pretensions could have been, 
 that the lesson came with all the more overwhelming force upon 
 his awakening faculties. The morning and its dreams were 
 gliding away — or, at least, Colin thought so ; and this clear day- 
 light, which began to come in, dissipating all the magical effects 
 of sunshine and mist and dew, had to be faced as he best could. 
 He was not a young prince, independent of ordinary require- 
 ments ; he was truly a poor man's son, and possessed by an 
 ideal of life and labour such as has inspired many a young 
 Scotchman. He wanted not only to get on in the world, to 
 acquire an income and marry Matty, but also to be good for 
 something in his generation. K the course of true love had 
 been quite smooth with him, if ^Matty had been his natural 
 mate, Colin could not have contented himself with that personal 
 felicity. He was doubtful of all his surroundings, like most 
 young men of his period — doubtful what to do and how to do it 
 — more than doubtful of all the local ways and fashions of the 
 profession to which he had been trained. But underneath this 
 uncertainty lay something of which Colin had no doubt. He
 
 172 A Son of the Soil. [chap. 
 
 had not been brought into the world without an object; he did 
 not mean to leave it without leaving some mark that he had 
 been here. To get through life easily and secure as much plea- 
 sure as possible by the way was not the theory of existence 
 known at Eaniore. There it was understood to be a man's, a 
 son's duty to better his position, to make his way upwards in 
 the world ; and this philosophy of life had been enlarged and 
 elevated in the poetic soul of Colin's mother. He had some- 
 thing to do in his own country, in his own generation. This 
 was the master-idea of the young man's mind. 
 
 But how it was to be reconciled with this aimless, dependent 
 life in the rich English household — with this rivalry, which 
 could never come to anything, with Sir Thomas Frankland's 
 heir — with this vain love, which, it began to be apparent to 
 Colin, must, like the rivalry, end in nothing — it was hard to see. 
 He remained on the terrace for about an hour, walking up and 
 down in the fog. All that he could see before him were some 
 indistinct outlines of trees, looking black through the steaming 
 white air, and, behind, the great ghost of the house, with its 
 long front and wings receding into the mist — the great, wealthy, 
 stranger house, to which he and his life had so little relation- 
 ship. Many were the thoughts in Colin's mind during this 
 hour j and they were far from satisfactory. Even the object of 
 his love began to be clouded over with fogs, which looked very 
 different, breathing over those low, rich, English levels, from 
 the fairy mists of the Lady's Glen. He began to perceive dimly 
 that his devotion was a toy and plaything to this little woman 
 of the world. He began to perceive what an amount of love 
 would be necessary to make sach a creature as Matty place 
 herself consciously by the side of such a man as himself. Love ! 
 — and as yet all that he could say certainly of Matty was that 
 she liked a little love-making, and had afforded him a great 
 many facilities for that agreeable but unproductive occupation.
 
 xvL] A Son of the Soil 173 
 
 Colin's heart lost itself in an uncertainty darker than the fog. 
 His own position galled him profoundly. He was Charley's 
 tutor. They were all very kind to him ; but, supposing he 
 were to ask the child of the house to descend from her eminence 
 and be his wife — not even his wife, indeed, but his betrothed ; 
 to wait years and years for him until he should be able to claim 
 her — what would everybody think of him ? Cohn's heart beat 
 against his breast in loud throbs of wounded love and pride. 
 At Wodensboume everything seemed impossible. He had not 
 the heart to go away and end abruptly his first love and all his 
 dreams ; and how could he stay to consume his heart and his 
 life ? How go back to the old existence, which would now be 
 so much harder ? How begin anew and try another life apart 
 from all his training and traditions, for the sake of that wildest of 
 incredible hopes 1 Colin had lived for some time in this state 
 of struggle and argument with himself, and it was only flatty's 
 presence which at times delivered him from it. Xow, as before, 
 he took refuge in the thought that he could not immediately 
 free himself; that, having accepted his position as Charley's 
 tutor, he could not reKnquish it immediately j that honour 
 bound him to remain for the winter at least. "When he had 
 come, for the fiftieth time, to this conclusion, he went indoors, 
 and upstairs to his room. It was a good way up, but yet it 
 was more luxurious than anj^hing in Ramore, and on the table 
 there were some flowers which she had given him the night 
 before. Poor Colin ! after his serious reflections he owed him- 
 self a little holiday. It was an odd enough conclusion, certainly, 
 to his thoughts, but he had an hour to himself and his writing- 
 desk was open on the table, and involimtarily he bethought 
 himseK of Miss Matty's parting words. The end of it was that 
 he occupied his hour writing and re-writing and polishing into 
 smooth couplets the pretty verses which that young lady had 
 asked for. Colin's verses were as follows ; from which it will
 
 174 A Son of the Soil. [CHAP. 
 
 be seen that, thoiigli he had a great deal of poetical sentiment, 
 he was right in refusing to consider himself a poet : — 
 
 " In English speech, my lady said. 
 There are no sweet half-partings made — 
 Words half regret, half joy, that tell 
 "We meet again and all is well. 
 Ah, not for sunny hours or days 
 Its grave ' Farewell ' our England says ; 
 Nor for a moment's absence, true. 
 Utters its prayer, ' God be with you. ' 
 Other the thoughts that Love may reach, 
 In the grave tones of English speech ; 
 Deeper than Fancy's passing breath. 
 The blessing stands for life or death. 
 If Heaven in wrath should rule it so, 
 If earth were capable of woe 
 So bitter as that this might be 
 The last dear word 'twixt thee and me — 
 Thus Love in English speech, above 
 All lighter thoughts, breathes : ' Farewell, Love ; 
 For hours or ages if we part, 
 God be with thee, where'er thou art. 
 To no less hands than His alone 
 I trust thy soul out of mine own.' 
 Thus speaks the love that, grave and strong, 
 Can master death, neglect, and wrong, 
 Yet ne'er can learn, long as it hves, 
 To limit the full soul it gives. 
 Or cheat the parting of its pain 
 With light words ' Till we meet again. ' 
 Ah, no, while on a moment's breath 
 Love holds the poise 'twixt life and death, 
 He cannot leave who loves thee, sweet, 
 With light postponement * Till we meet ; ' 
 But rather prays, * Whate'er may be 
 My life or death, God be with thee ! 
 Though one brief hour my course may tell, 
 Ever and ever Fare thou well.' " 
 
 Probably the readers of this history will think that Colin 
 deserved his fate.
 
 xvi.-i A Son of the Soil. 175 
 
 He gave them to her in the evening, when he found her 
 alone in the drawing-room — alone, at least, in so far that Lady 
 Frankland was nodding over the newspaper, and taking no 
 notice of Miss Matty's proceedings. " Oh, thank you ; how 
 nice of you ! " cried the young lady ; but she crumpled the 
 little billet in her hand, and put it, not into her bosom as young 
 ladies do in novels, but into her pocket, glancing at the door as 
 she did so. " I do believe you are right in saying that there 
 is nothing but prose here," said Matty. " I can't read it just 
 now. It would only make them laugh, you know ; " and she 
 went away forthwith to the other end of the room, and began 
 to occupy herself in arranging some music. She was thus em- 
 ployed when Harry came in, looking black enough. Colin was 
 left to himself all that evening. He had, moreover, the grati- 
 fication of witnessing all the privileges once accorded to himself 
 given to his rival. Even in matters less urgent than love, it 
 is disenchanting to see the same attentions lavished on another 
 of which one has imagined one's self the only possessor. It 
 was in vain that Colin attempted a grim smile to himseK at 
 this transference of Matty's wiles and witcheries. The lively 
 table-talk — more lively than it could be with him, for the two 
 knew all each other's friends and occupations ; the little services 
 about the tea-table which he himseK had so often rendered to 
 Matty, but which her cousin could render with a freedom impos- 
 sible to Colin j the pleased, amused looks of the elders, who 
 evidently imagined matters to be going on as they wished ; — 
 would have been enough of themselves to drive the unfortunate 
 youth half wild as he sat in the background and witnessed it 
 all. But, as Colin's evil genius would have it, the curate was 
 that evening dining at Wodensboume. And, in pursuance of 
 his benevolent intention of cultivating and influencing the 
 young Scotchman, this excellent ecclesiastic devoted himself to 
 Colin. He asked a great many questions about Scotland and
 
 176 A Son of the Soil. [Chap. 
 
 the Sabbath question, and the immoral habits of the peasantry, 
 to which the catechumen replied with varying temper, some- 
 times giving wild answers, quite wide of the mark, as he applied 
 his jealous ear to hear rather the conversation going on at a 
 little distance than the interrogatory addressed to himself. Most 
 people have experienced something of the difficulty of keeping 
 up an indifferent conversation while watching and straining to 
 catch such scraps as may be audible of something more in- 
 teresting going on close by ; but the difficulty was aggravated in 
 Colin's case by the fact that his own private interlocutor was 
 doing everything in his power to exasperate him in a well- 
 meaning and friendly way, and that the words which fell on 
 his ear close at hand were scarcely less irritating than the half- 
 heard words, the but too distinctly seen combinations at the 
 other end of the room, where Matty was making tea, with her 
 cousin hangino' over her chair. After he had borne it as long 
 as he could, Colin turned to bay. 
 
 " Scotland is not in the South Seas," said the young Scotch- 
 man ; " a day's journey any time will take you there. As for 
 our Universities, they are not rich like yours, but they -have 
 been heard of from time to time," said Colin, with indignation. 
 His eyes had caught fire from long provocation, and they were 
 fixed at this moment upon Matty, who was showing her cousin 
 something which she half drew out of her pocket under cover of 
 her handkerchief. Was it his foolish offering that the two were 
 about to laugh over 1 In the bitterness of the moment, he could 
 have taken the most summary vengeance on the irreproachable 
 young clergyman. " We don't tattoo ourselves now-a-days, and 
 no Englishman has been eaten in my district within the memory 
 of man," said the young savage, who looked quite inclined to 
 swallow somebody, though it was doubtful who was the imme- 
 diate object of the passion which played in his brown eyes. 
 Perhaps Colin had never been so much excited in his life.
 
 XVI.] A Son of the Soil. 177 
 
 *' I beg your pardon," said tlie wondering curate. " I tire you, 
 I fear — " and he followed Colin's eyes, after his first movement 
 of offence was over, and perhaps comprehended the mystery, 
 for the curate himself had been in his day the subject of experi- 
 ments. " They seem to have come to a very good understanding, 
 these two," he said, with a gentle clerical leaning towards in- 
 evitable gossip. " I told you how it was likely to be. I wish 
 you would come to the vicarage oftener," continued the young 
 priest. " If Frankland and you don't get on — " 
 
 " Why should not we get on?" said Colin, who was half mad 
 with excitement ; he had just seen some paper, wonderfully like 
 his own verses, handed from one to another of the pair who 
 were so mutually engrossed — and, if he could have tossed the 
 curate or anybody else who might happen to be at hand out of 
 window, it would have been a relief to his feelings. " He and 
 I are in very different cii'cumstances," said the young man, with 
 his eyes aflame. " I am not aware that it is of the least impor- 
 tance to any one whether we get on or not. You forget that I 
 am only the tutor." It occurred to him, as he spoke, that he 
 had said the same words to Matty at Ardmartin, and how they 
 had laughed together over his position. It was not any laughing 
 matter now ; and to see the two heads bending over that bit of 
 paper was more than he could bear. 
 
 " I wish you would come oftener to the parsonage," said the 
 benevolent curate. "I might be — we might be — of — of some 
 use to each other. I am very much interested in your opinions. 
 I wish I could bring you to see the beauty of all the Church's 
 arrangements and the hapj^iness of those — " 
 
 Here Colin rose to his feet without being aware of it, and 
 the curate stopped speaking. He was a man of placid temper 
 himself, and the young stranger's aspect alarmed him. Harry 
 Frankland was coming forward with the bit of paper in his 
 hand. 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 ^ ^071 of the Soil. [CHap. 
 
 "Look here," said Frankland, instinctively turning his back 
 on the tutor, "here's a little drawing my cousin has been making 
 for some schools you want in the village. She says they must 
 be looked after directly. It's only a scratch, but I think it's 
 pretty — a woman is always shaky in her outlines, you know ; 
 but the idea ain't bad, is it "? She says I am to talk to you on 
 the subject," said the heir ; and he spread out the sketch on the 
 table and began to discuss it with the pleased curate. Harry 
 was pleased too, in a modified way ; he thought he was grati- 
 fying Matty, and he thought it was good of such a wayward 
 little thing to think about the village children ; and, finally, he 
 thought if she had been indifferent to the young lord of the 
 manor she would not have taken so much trouble — which were 
 all agreeable and consolatory imaginations. As for Colin, standing 
 up by the table, his eyes suddenly glowed and melted into a mist 
 of sweet compunctions ; he stood quite still for a moment, and 
 then he caught the smallest possible gesture, the movement of 
 a finger, the scarce-perceptible lifting of an eyelash, which called 
 him to her side. When he went up to Matty he found her 
 reading very demurely, with her book held in both her hands, 
 and his little poem placed above the printed page. "It is 
 charming ! " said the little witch ; " I could not look at it till 
 I had got rid of Harry. It is quite delightful, and it is the 
 greatest shame in the world not to print it ; but I can't conceive 
 how you can possibly remember the trumpery little things I 
 say." The conclusion was, that sweeter dreams than usual 
 visited Colin's sleep that night. Miss Matty had not yet done 
 with her interesting victim.
 
 XVII.] A Sofi of the Soil. 170 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Colin found a letter on the breakfast-table next morning, which 
 gave a new development to his mental struggle. It was from 
 the Professor in Glasgow in whose class he had won his greatest 
 laurels. He was not a correspondent nor even a friend of 
 Colin's, and the effect of his letter was increased accordingly^ 
 *' One of our exhibitions to BaUiol is to be competed for imme- 
 diately after Christmas," wrote the Professor. "I am very 
 anxious that you should be a candidate. Prom all I have seen 
 of you, I am inclined to augur a brilliant career for your talents 
 if they are fully cultivated ; and for the credit of our University, 
 as well as for your own sake, I should be glad to see you the 
 holder of this scholarship. Macdonald, your old rival, is a very 
 satisfactory scholar, and has unbounded perseverance and steadi- 
 ness — doggedness, I might almost say ; but he is not the kind of 
 man — I speak to you frankly — to do us any credit at Oxford, 
 nor indeed to do himseK any particular advantage. His is the 
 commonly received type of Scotch intelligence — hard, keen, and 
 unsympathetic — a form as little true to the character of the 
 nation as conventional types usually are. I don't want, to speak 
 the truth, to send him to my old college as a specimen of what 
 we can produce here. It would be much more satisfactory to 
 myself to send you, and I think you could make better use of the 
 opportunities thus opened to you. Lauderdale informs me that 
 Sir Thomas Prankland is an old fiiend and one under obligations 
 to you or your family : probably, in the circumstances, he would 
 not object to release you from your engagement. The matter is 
 
 n2
 
 180 A Son of the Soil. [Chap 
 
 so important, that I don't think you should allow any false 
 delicacy in respect to your present occupation to deter you from 
 attending to your own interests. You are now just at the age to 
 benefit in the highest degree by such an opportunity of prose- 
 cuting your studies." 
 
 This was the letter which woke all the slumbering forces of 
 Colin's mind to renew the struggle against his heart and his 
 fancy which he had already waged unsuccessfully. He was not 
 of much use to Charley for that day at least ; their conjugations, 
 negative or affirmative, made but small progress, and the sharp- 
 witted boy gave his tutor credit for being occupied with Matty, 
 and scorned him accordingly — of which fact the young man was 
 fortunately quite unaware. When it became possible for Colin 
 to speak to Sir Thomas on the subject, he had again lost himself 
 in a maze of conflicting inclinations. Should he leave this false 
 position, and betake himself again, in improved and altered 
 circumstances, to the business of his life 1 But Colin saw very 
 clearly that to leave his present position was to leave Matty — to 
 relinquish his first dream ; to give up the illusion which, not- 
 withstanding all its drawbacks, had made life lovely to him for 
 the past year at least. Already he had so far recovered his 
 senses as to feel that, if he left her now, he left her for ever, and 
 that no new tie could be woven between his humble fortunes 
 and those of the little siren of Wodensbourne. Knowing this, 
 yet all the while subject to her witcheries — hearing the song 
 that lured him on — how was he to take a strenuous resolution, 
 and leap back into the disenchanted existence, full of duty but 
 deprived of delights, which awaited him in his proper sphere ? 
 He had gone out to the terrace again in the afternoon to argue it 
 out with himself, when he encountered Sir Thomas, who had a 
 cold, and was taking his constitutional discreetly for his health's 
 sake, not without an eye to the garden in which Lady Franldand 
 intended sundry alterations which were not quite satisfactory to
 
 xviL] A Son of tlie Soil. 181 
 
 her lord. " Of course I don't mean to interfere with my lady's 
 fancies," said the baronet, who was pleased to find some one to 
 whom he could confide his griefs ; " a flower-garden is a woman's 
 department, certainly, if anything is; but I won't have this 
 terrace disturbed. It used to be my mother's favourite walk," 
 said Sir Thomas. The good man went on, a little moved by this 
 particular recollection, meditating his grievance. Sir Thomas 
 had got very nearly to the other end of that table-land of exist- 
 ence which lies between the ascent and the descent — that interval 
 hi which the suns burn hottest, the winds blow coldest, but upon 
 which, when it is fair weather, the best part of Hfe may be 
 spent. By right of his extended prospect, he was naturally a 
 little contemptuous of those griefs and struggles of youth which 
 cloud over the ascending way. Had any one told him of the 
 real conflict which was going on in Colin's mind, the excellent 
 middle-aged man would but have laughed at the boy's folly — a 
 laughter softened yet confirmed by the recollection of similar 
 clouds in his o\vn experience which had long dispersed into thin 
 air. He was a little serious at the present moment, about my 
 lady's caprice, which aimed at altering the smooth stretch of 
 lawn to which his eyes had been accustomed for years — and 
 turned to listen to Colin, when the young man addressed him, 
 with a slight air of impatience, not knowing anything of import- 
 ance which the youth could have to say. 
 
 *' I should be glad to know," said Cohn, with hesitation, " how 
 long you think Charley wiU want my ser^ices. Lady Frankland 
 was speaking the other day of the improvement in his health — " 
 
 " Yes," said the baronet, brightening up a little, for his invaKd 
 boy was his favourite. " "We are greatly obliged to you, Camp- 
 bell. Charley has brightened and improved amazingly since you 
 came here." 
 
 This was an embarrassing way of receiving Colin's attempt at 
 disengaging himself from Charley. The youth hesitated and
 
 182 A So7i of the Soil. [Chap. 
 
 ammered, and could not well make up his mind what to say- 
 next. In his perplexity he took out the letter which had stimu- 
 lated him to this attempt. Sir Thomas, who was still a little 
 impatient, took it out of his hands and read it. The baronet 
 whistled under his breath with puzzled astonishment as he read. 
 ^' What does it mean ?" said Sir Thomas. " You declined to go 
 to Oxford under my auspices, and now here is something about 
 a scholarship and a competition. You want to go to the Uni- 
 versity after all — but why then reject my proposal when I made 
 it ?" said Colin's patron, who thought his protege had chosen a 
 most unlucky moment for changing his mind. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Colin, "but I could not accept your 
 offer at any time. I could not accept such a favour from any 
 man ; and I know no claim I have upon you to warrant — " 
 
 " Oh, stuff ! " said Sir Thomas ; " I know very well what are 
 the obligations I am under to you, Campbell. You saved my 
 son Harry's life — we are all very sensible of your claims. I 
 should certainly have expected you to help Harry as far as was 
 possible — for he is like myself — he is more in the way of cricket 
 and boating, and a day with the hounds when he can get it, than 
 Greek ; but I should have felt real pleasure," said the baronet 
 blandly, " in helping so deserving a young man, and one to whom 
 we all feel so much indebted — " 
 
 " Thank you," said Colin, who at that moment would have 
 felt real pleasure in punching the head, or maltreating the person 
 of the heir of Wodensbourne — "I suppose we have all some 
 pride in one way or another. I am obliged to you, Sir Thomas, 
 but I could not accept such a favour from you ; whereas, a prize 
 won at my own university," said the young man, with a little 
 elevation, " is no discredit, but — 
 
 " Discredit ! " said Sir Thomas ; " you must have a very strange 
 idea of me, Mr. Campbell, if you imagine it discreditable to 
 accept a kindness at my hands."
 
 XVII.] A Son of the Soil. 183 
 
 " I beg your pardon," again said Colin, who was at his wit's 
 end ; " I did not mean to say an}i:hing imcivil ; but I am Scotch. 
 I dislike receiving favours. I prefer — " 
 
 Sir Tliomas rubbed his hands. The apology of nationality 
 went a long way with him, and restored his temper. " Yes, yes ; 
 I understand," he said, with good-humoured superiority : " you 
 prefer conferring favours — you like to keep the upper hand. I 
 know a great deal of you Scotchmen ; I flatter myself I under- 
 stand your national character. I should like to know now," said 
 the baronet, confidentially, " if you are set upon becoming a 
 Scotch minister, as you once told me, what good it will do you 
 going to Oxford ? Supposing you were to distinguish yourself, 
 which I think very possible ; supposing you were to take a — a 
 second-class, or even a first-class, for example, what would be the 
 good? The reputation and the — the prestige and that sort of 
 thing would be altogether lost in Scotland. All the upper classes 
 you know have gone from the old Kirk, and you would not 
 please the peasants a bit better for that — indeed, the idea of an 
 Oxford first-class man spending his hfe preaching to a set of 
 peasants is absurd," said Sir Thomas. " I know more about 
 Scotland than most men : I paid a great deal of attention to that 
 Kirk question. K you go to Oxford I shall expect you to 
 change your mind about your profession. If you don't take to 
 something more ambitious, at least you'll go in for the Church." 
 
 " I have always intended so," said Colin, with his grand air, 
 ignoring the baronet's meaning. " To preach, if it is only to 
 peasants, is more worth a man's while than reading prayers for 
 ever, like your curate here. I am only Scotch; I know no 
 better," said Colin. " "We want changes in Scotland, it is true ; 
 but it is as good to work for Scotland as for England — better for 
 me — and I should not grudge my first-class to the service of my 
 native Church," said the youth, with a movement of his head 
 which tossed his heavy brown locks from his concealed forehead.
 
 184 A Son of the Soil. [chap. 
 
 Sir Thomas looked at him with a blank amazement, not knowing 
 in the least what he meant. He thought the young fellow had 
 been piqued somehow, most probably by Matty, and was in a 
 heroical mood, wliich mood Colin's patron did not pretend to 
 understand. 
 
 " Well, well," he said, with some impatience, " I suppose you 
 will take your own way ; but I must say it would seem very odd 
 to see an Oxford first-class man in a queer little kirk in the 
 Highlands, preaching a sermon an hour long. Of course, if you 
 like it, that's another matter ; and the Scotch certainly do seem 
 to like preaching," said Sir Thomas, with natural wonder ; " but 
 we flattered ourselves you were comfortable here. I am sorry 
 you want to go away." 
 
 This was taking Colin on his undefended side. The words 
 brought colour to his cheeks and moisture to his eye. " Indeed, 
 I don't want to go away," he said, and paused, and faltered, and 
 grew still more deeply crimson. " I can never forget ; I can 
 never think otherwise than with — with gratitude of Wodens- 
 bourne." He was going to have said tenderness, but stopped 
 himself in time ; and even Sir Thomas, though his eyes were 
 noway anointed with any special chrism of insight, saw the 
 emotion m his face. 
 
 " Then don't go," said the straightforward baronet ; " why 
 should you go if you don't want to 1 We are all most anxious 
 that you should stay. Indeed, it would upset my plans dread- 
 fully if you were to leave Charley at present. He's a w^onderful 
 fellow, is Charley. He has twice as much brains as the rest of 
 my boys, sir ; and you understand him, Campbell. He is 
 happier, he is stronger, he is even a better fellow — poor lad, 
 when he's ill he can't be blamed for a bit of temper — since you 
 came. Indeed, now I think it over," said Sir Thomas, "you 
 will mortify and disappoint me very much if you go away. I 
 quite considered you had accepted Charley's tutorship for a year
 
 A-I77.] A Son of the Soil. 185 
 
 at least. My dear, here's a pretty business," he said, tiirniiig 
 round at the sound of steps and voices, which Colin had already 
 discerned from afar with a feeling that he was now finally 
 vanquished, and could yield with a good grace ; " here's Camp- 
 bell threatening to go away." 
 
 " To go away ! " said Lady Frankland. '' Dear me, he can't 
 mean it. Why, he only came the other day ; and Charley, you 
 know" — said the anxious mother; but she recollected Harry's 
 objection to the tutor, and did not make any very warm opposi- 
 tion. Colin, however, was totally unconscious of the lukewarm- 
 ness of the lady of the house. The little scream of dismay with 
 which Miss Matty received the intelligence might have deluded 
 a wiser man than he. 
 
 " Going away ! I call it downright treachery," said Miss 
 Matty. " I think it is using you very unkindly, uncle ; when 
 he knows you put such dependence on him about Charley ; and 
 when we know the house has been quite a different thing since 
 Mr. Campbell came," said the little \vitcli, with a double meaning, 
 of which Colin, poor boy, swallowed the sweeter sense, without 
 a moment's hesitation. He knew it was not the improvement in 
 Charley's temper which had made the house different to Matty : 
 but Lady Frankland, who was not a woman of imagination, took 
 up seriously what seemed to be the obvious meaning of the 
 words. 
 
 " It is quite true. I am sure we are much obliged to Mr. 
 Campbell," she said; " Charley is quite an altered boy ; and I 
 had hoped you were liking Wodensbourne. If we could do any- 
 thing to make it more agreeable to you," said Lady Frankland, 
 graciously, remembering how Charley's " temper " was the horror 
 of the house. " I am sure Sir Thomas would not grudge — " 
 
 " Pray do not say any more," said Colin, confused and blush- 
 ing ; "no house could be more — no house could be so agreeable 
 to me. You are all very kind. It was only my — my own — "
 
 186 A Son of the Soil. [Chap. 
 
 What he was going to say is "beyond the reach of discovery. 
 He was interrupted by a simultaneous utterance from all the 
 three persons present, of which Colin heard only the soft tones 
 of Matty. " He does not mean it," she said; "he only means 
 to alarm us. I shall not say good-bye, nor farewell either. You 
 shall have no good wishes if you think of going away. False as 
 a Campbell," said the siren under her breath, with a look which 
 overpowered Colin. He never was quite sure what words 
 followed from the elder people ; but even Lady Frankland 
 became fervent when she recalled what Charley had been before 
 tlie advent of the tutor. " What we should do with him now, 
 if Mr. Campbell was to leave and the house full of people, I 
 tremble to think," said the alarmed mother. When CoHn 
 returned to the house it was with a slightly flattered sense of 
 his own value and importance new to him — with a sense too 
 that duty had fully acquitted and justified inclination, and that 
 he could not at the present moment leave his post. This delicious 
 unction he laid to his soul while it was still thrilling with the 
 glance and with the words which Matty, in her alarm, had used 
 to prevent her slave's escape. Whatever happened, he could 
 not, he would not, go ; better to perish with such a hope, than 
 to thrive without it ; and, after all, there was no need for perish- 
 ing, and next year Oxford might still be practicable. So Colin 
 said to himself, as he made his simple toilette for the evening, 
 with a face which was radiant with secret sunshine, " It was 
 only my — my own — ." How had he intended to complete that 
 sentence which the Franklands took out of his mouth 1 Was he 
 going to say interest, advantage, peace 1 The unfinished words 
 came to his mind involuntarily when he was alone. They kept 
 flitting in and out, disturbing him with vague touches of un- 
 easiness, asking to be completed. " My own — only my own," 
 C'olin said to himself as he went downstairs. He was saying 
 over the words softly as he came to a landing, upon which there
 
 XVII.] A Son of the Soil. 187 
 
 Avas a great blank staircase-window reachiDg do\vn to the floor, 
 and darkly filled at this present moment with a grey M'aste of 
 sky and tumbling clouds, with a wild wind visibly surging 
 through the vacant atmosphere, and conveying almost to the eye 
 in palpable vision the same demonstration of its presence as it 
 did to the ear. " My own — only my own. I wonder what you 
 mean; the words sound quite sentimental," said Miss Matty, 
 suddenly appearing at Colin's side, with a light in her hand. 
 The young man was moved strangely ; he could not tell why. 
 "I meant my own life, I believe," he said with a sudden 
 impulse, unawares; "only my own life," and went down the 
 next flight of stairs before the young lady, not knowing what he 
 was about. When he came to himself, and stood back, blushing 
 with hot shame, to let her pass, the words came back in a 
 dreary whirl, as if the wind had taken them up and tossed them 
 at him, out of that wild windowful of night. HLs life — only 
 his life ; was that what he had put in comparison with Charley's 
 temper and Matty's vanity, and given up with enthusiasm? 
 Something chill, like a sudden cold current through his veins, 
 ran to Colin's heart for a moment. Xext minute he was in the 
 room, where bright lights, and lively talk, and all the superficial 
 cordiality of prosperity and good-humour fiUed the atmosphere 
 round him. Whatever the stake had been, the cast was over 
 and the decision made.
 
 188 A Son of the Soil. [chap 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 The Christmas guests began to arrive at Wodensbourne on the 
 same day that Colin concluded this sacrifice ; and for some days 
 the tutor had scant measure of that society which had lured him 
 to the relinquishment even of his " life." When the house was full 
 of people, Matty found a thousand occupations in which of neces- 
 sity Colin had no share, — not to say that the young lady felt it a 
 matter of prudence, after she had accepted his sacrifice, to be as 
 little as possible in his society. It was pleasant enough to feel her 
 power, and to know that for her invaluable smile the boy had bar- 
 tered his independent career; but to put him in the way of claiming 
 any reward for his offering would have been exceedingly incon- 
 venient to Matty. He paid the full penalty accordingly for at 
 least a week thereafter, and had abundant opjDortunity of counting 
 the cost and seeing what he had done. It was not exhilarating 
 to spend the mornings with Charley, to answer his sharp 
 questions, to satisfy his acute but superficial mind — in which 
 curiosity was everything, and thought scarcely existed — and to 
 feel that for this he had given up all that was individual in his 
 life. He had left his own University, he had given up the 
 chance of going to Oxford, he had separated himself from his 
 companions and given up his occupations — all for the pleasure 
 of teaching Charley, of standing in a corner of the Wodensbourne 
 drawing-room, and feeling acutely through every fibre of his 
 sensitive Scotch frame that he was the tutor, and stood accord- 
 ingly in about as much relationship to the society in which he 
 found himself as if he had been a New Zealand chief. Colin, 
 however, had made up his mind, and there was nothing for it now
 
 XVIII.] A Son of the Soil. 189 
 
 but to consent and accept liis fate. But it was astonisliing how 
 different things looked from that corner of the drawing-room — 
 unspeakably different from the aspect they bore when Colin him- 
 seK was the only stranger present, and even different from the 
 state of affairs after Harry came home, when he had been thrown 
 into the shade, and a fever of excitement and jealousy had taken 
 possession of Colin's breast. He was very young, and was not 
 used to society. When Matty addressed to her cousin the same 
 witcheries which she had expended on her worshipper, the young 
 man was profoundly wretched and jealous beyond description. 
 But when he saw her use the same wiles with others, lavishing 
 freely the smiles which had been so precious to his deluded 
 fancy upon one and another, a painful wonder seized the mind of 
 Colin. To stand in that corner possessed by one object was to 
 be behind the scenes. Colin was mortal ; he had made a great 
 sacrifice, and he was glad to have made it ; but he could not for- 
 get it, nor stand at his ease, accepting the civihties that might 
 be offered to him as to another. At first he expected the equiva- 
 lent which he imagined had been pledged to him, and when he 
 found out his mistake in that, he discovered also how impossible 
 it was to refrain from a feeling of injury, a jealous consciousness 
 of inadequate appreciation. He hiniseK knew, if nobody else 
 did, the price at which he had bought those siren smiles, and 
 under these circumstances to stand by and see them bestowed 
 upon others, was an experience which conveyed wonderful insight 
 to Colin's inexperienced eyes. If Miss Matty saw him at all, 
 she saw him in the comer, and gave him a nod and a smile in 
 passing, which she thought quite enough to keep him happy for 
 the time being. For, unluckily, the professors of this art of 
 fascination, both male and female, are apt now and then to deceive 
 themselves as to the extent of their own powers. AVhde Matty was 
 so perfectly easy in her mind about the tall figure in the corner, 
 he, for his part, was watching her with feelings which it would
 
 190 ^ Son of the Soil. ichap. 
 
 be very hard to describe. His very admiration, the sincerity of 
 his love, intensified the smouldering germs of disappointment 
 and disgust of which he became uneasily conscious as he stood 
 and watched. He saw by glimpses '' the very heart of the 
 machine " from that unnoticed observatory. He saw how she 
 distributed and divided her bright looks, her playful talk ; he 
 perceived how she exerted herself to be more and more charming 
 if any victim proved refractory, and was slow to yield. Had 
 Colin been kept more perfectly in hand himself, had she devoted 
 a little more time, a little more pains to him, it is probable that 
 the sweet flattery would have prevailed, and that he might have 
 foro-iven her the too great readiness she showed to please others. 
 But, as it was, the glamour died out of Colin' s eyes ray by ray, 
 and bitter in the consciousness of all he had sacrificed, he began 
 to find out how little the reward, even could he have obtained it, 
 was worth the price. The process was slow, but it went on night 
 by night — and night by night, as the disenchantment progressed, 
 Colin became more and more unhappy. It was wretched to see 
 the sweet illusion which had made life so beautiful disappearing 
 under his very eyes, and to feel that the enchantment, which 
 had to him been so irresistible, was a conscious and studied art, 
 which could be used just when the possessor pleased, with as 
 much coolness as if it had bean the art of embroidery or any 
 other feminine handicraft. A wise spectator might, and probably 
 would, have said, that to learn this lesson was the best thing 
 possible for Colin ; but that did not make it the less cruel, the 
 less bitter. In his corner the young man gradually drew nearer 
 and nearer to the fierce misanthropy of outraged youth, that mis- 
 anthropy which is as warm a protest against common worldliness 
 as the first enthusiasm. But his heart was not yet released, 
 though his eyes were becoming enlightened; reason works 
 slowly against love — and bitter at the bottom of all lay the sense 
 of the sacrifice, which was only his life.
 
 XVIII.] A Son of the Soil. 191 
 
 A few days after Christmas, a party of the young men staying 
 at "Wodensboume were bound uj^on a boating expedition, to 
 decide some bet which bore remotely upon one of the greatest 
 events of the University year — the great match between Oxford 
 and Cambridge. Harry Frankland, who was an Oxford man, 
 though the spires of Cambridge might almost have been visible 
 from his father's park, had there been any eminence high enough 
 to afford a view, was deeply interested on the side of his own 
 University ; and some unfortunate youths belated at Cambridge 
 during the holidays for want of friends, or money, or some other 
 needful adjunct of festival-keeping, were but too glad to seize 
 the opportunity of a day's pleasure. Colin never knew how it 
 was that he came to be asked to join the party. Though Harry's 
 jealousy was gone, for the moment at least, there was not even a 
 pretence of friendship between the tutor and the heir. Xor 
 could Colin ever explain how it was that he consented to go, for 
 scores of objections naturally presented themselves at the first 
 proposal. He was sensitive, affronted, feeling deeply his false 
 position, and ready to receive with suspicion any overtures of 
 friendliness from any man possessed by a benevolent wish to be 
 kind to the tutor. It was, however, his fate to go, and the pre- 
 liminaries arranged themselves somehow. They started on a 
 frosty bright morning, when the trees of the park were still only 
 emerging from mists tinted red by the sunshine, a joyous, rather 
 noisy party ; they were to walk to the river, which was about 
 six miles off, and when their business was decided, to lunch at 
 a favourite haunt of the Cambridge undergraduates. Lady Frank- 
 land, who did not much approve of the expedition, gave them 
 many counsels about the way. " I wish you would drive and 
 get back by daylight," she said ; " otherwise I know you will be 
 taking that path across the fields." 
 
 ""What path?" said some one present; "if there is one 
 specially objectionable we will be sure to take it."
 
 192 A Son of the Soil. \_chap. 
 
 " I would not if I were you," said Miss Matty. " There is a 
 nasty canal in tlie way ; if you pass it after dark, some of you 
 will certainly fall in. It would be a pity to be drowned in such 
 a slimy, shabby way. Much better have all sorts of dog-carts 
 and things, and drive back in time for a cup of tea." 
 
 At which speech there was a general laugh. " Matty would 
 give her soul for a cup of tea," said her cousin. " What a 
 precious fright you'll all be in if we're late for dinner. I ought 
 to know all about the canal by this time. Come along. It's too 
 cold to think of drowning," said Harry Frankland, with a filial 
 nod of leave-taking to his mother. As for Matty, she went to 
 the door with them to see them go off, as did some others of the 
 ladies. Matty lifted her pretty cheek sideways and stretched 
 out her hand into the frosty atmosphere as if to feel for rain. 
 
 " I thought I saw some drops," she said ; "it would be 
 frightful if it came on to rain now, and spoiled our chances 
 of skating. Good morning, and, whatever you do, I beg of you 
 don't get drowned in the canal. It would be such a shabby way 
 of making an end of one's self," said Matty. When she looked 
 up she caught Colin's eye, who was the last to leave the house. 
 She was in the humour to be kind to him at that moment. 
 " Shall I say good-bye, or farewell V she said softly, with that 
 confidential air which Colin, notwithstanding his new enlighten- 
 ment, had no heart to resist. 
 
 " You shall say what you please," said Colin, lingering on the 
 step beside her. The young man was in a kind of desperate 
 mood. Perhaps he liked to show his companions that he too 
 could have his turn. 
 
 " Good-bye — farewell," said Matty, " but then that implies 
 shaking hands," and she gave him her pretty hand with a little 
 laugh, making it appear to the group outside that the clownish 
 tutor had insisted upon that unnecessary ceremony. "But 
 whatever you please to say, I like an revoir best," said Miss
 
 xviiL] A So7i of tJie Soil 193 
 
 Matty ; " it does not even suggest parting." And she waved 
 her hand as she turned away. " Till we meet again," said the 
 little enchantress. It might be to him especially, or it might be 
 to all, that she made this httle gesture of farewell. Anyhow, 
 Colin followed the others with indescribable sensations. He no 
 longer believed in her, but her presence, her looks, her words, 
 had still mastery over him. He had walked half the way before 
 the fumes of that leave-taking had gone out of his brain ; though 
 most part of the time he was keeping up a conversation about 
 things in general with the stupidest of the party, who kept 
 pertinaciously by the tutor's side. 
 
 The day went off with considerable satisfaction to all the 
 party, and, as Colin and Frankland did not come much in 
 contact, there was little opportunity for displaying the spirit of 
 opposition and contradiction which existed between them. For- 
 tunately, Colin was not at hand to hear Harry's strictures upon 
 Ms method of handling the oars, nor did Frankland perceive 
 the smile of contemptuous recollection which came upon the 
 tutor's face as he observed how tenderly the heir of Wodens- 
 bonme stepped into the boat, keeping clear of the wet as of old. 
 " That fellow has not a bit of science," said young Frankland ; 
 "he expects mere strength to do everything. Look how he 
 holds his oar. It never occurs to him that he is in anything 
 lighter than a Highland fishing cobble. What on earth, I 
 wonder, made us bring him here ? " 
 
 " Science goes a great way," said the most skilled oarsman of 
 the party, " but I'd like to have the training of Campbell all the 
 same. He talks of going to Balliol, and I shall write to Cox 
 about him. IVTiat a chest the fellow has," said the admiring 
 spectator. Meanwhile Colin had not hesitated to explain his 
 smile. 
 
 " I smile because I recollect smiling years ago," said Colin. 
 " See how Frankland steps into the boat. When he was a boy 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 194 A Son of the Soil. [ciiap. 
 
 he did the same. I remember it, and it amused me ; for wet 
 feet were a new idea to me in those days ;" and Colin laughed 
 outright, and the eyes of the two met. Neither knew what the 
 other had been saying, but the spectators perceived without more 
 words that the young men were not perfectly safe companions 
 for each other, and took precautions, with instinctive compre- 
 hension of the case. 
 
 " Those two don't get on," said one of the party, under his 
 breath. '' It is hard upon a fellow, you know, to have another fellow 
 stuck up at his side who saved his life, and that sort of thing. 
 I shouldn't like it myself Somebody keep an eye on Frankland 
 — and on the Scotch fellow, too," said the impartial peace-maker. 
 Luckily, neither of the two who were thus put under friendly sur- 
 veillance was at all aware of the fact, and Colin submitted with 
 as good a grace as possible to the constant companionship of the 
 stupidest and best-humoured of the party, who had already 
 bestowed his attentions and society upon the tutor. This state 
 of things, however, did not endure after the luncheon, at which 
 it was not possible for Colin to remain a merely humble spectator 
 and sharer of the young men's entertainment. He had not been 
 broken in to such duty ; and, excited by exercise and the freedom 
 round him, Colin could no more help talking than he could help 
 the subsequent discovery made by his companions that "the 
 Scotch fellow " was very good company. The young men spent 
 —as was to be expected — a much longer time over their lunch 
 than was at all necessary ; and the short winter day was just 
 over when they set out on their way home through the evening 
 mists, which soon deepened into darkness, very faintly lighted 
 by a few doubtful stars. Everybody declared, it is true, that 
 there was to be a moon ; indeed, it was with the distinct under- 
 standing that there was to be a moon that the party had started 
 on foot from Wodensbourne. But the moon showed herself 
 lamentably indifferent to the arrangements which depended on
 
 xviiL] A Son of the Soil. 195 
 
 her. She gave not the least sign of appearing anywhere in that 
 vast, windy vault of sky, which indeed had a little light in itself, 
 but could spare scarcely any to show the wayfarers where they 
 were going through the dreary wintry road and between the 
 rustling leafless hedges. When they got into the fields matters 
 grew rather worse. It was hard to keep the path, harder still to 
 find the stiles and steer through gaps and ditches. The high 
 road made a round which would lead them three or four miles 
 out of their way, and Frankland insisted upon his own perfect 
 knowledge of the by-way by which they could reach Wodens- 
 boume in an hour. *' Mind the canal we were warned of this 
 morning," suggested one of the party, as they paused in the 
 dark at the comer of a black field to decide which way they 
 should go. " Oh, confound the canal j as if I didn't know 
 every step of the way," said young Frankland. *' It's a settled 
 principle in the female mind that one is bent upon walking into 
 canals whenever one has an opportunity. Come along ; if you're 
 afraid, perhaps Campbell will show you the other way." 
 
 " Certainly," said Colin, without the least hesitation. " I 
 have no wish to walk into the canal, for my part;" upon 
 which there was a universal protest against parting company. 
 " Come along," said one, who thrust his arm through Colin's as 
 he spoke, but who was no longer the stupid member of the 
 party, " we'll all take our chance together ; " but he kept the 
 tutor as far as possible from the heir of Wodensbourne. 
 " Frankland and you don't seem to get on," said Colin's com- 
 panion ; " yet he's a very nice fellow when you come to know 
 him. I suppose you must have had some misunderstanding, 
 eh ? Wasn't it you who saved his life 1 " 
 
 " I never saved any one's life," said Colin, a little sharply ; 
 " and we get on well enough — as well as is necessary. We 
 have no call to see much of each other." After this they all 
 went on through the dark as weU as they could, getting into 
 
 o2
 
 196 A Son of the Soil. {CHAP. 
 
 difficulties now and then, sometimes collecting together in a 
 bewildered group at a stile or turning, and afterwards streaming 
 on in single file — a succession of black figures which it was 
 impossible to identify except by their voices. Certainly they 
 made noise enough. What with shouts from the beginning to 
 the end of the file, what with bursts of song which came 
 occasionally from one or another pr were taken up in uproarious 
 chorus, the profound stillness which enveloped and surrounded 
 them was compelled to own their human presence to the ear at 
 least. In the natural course of their progress Colin and his 
 immediate companion had got nearly to the front, when the 
 laughter and noise was suddenly interrupted. " I don't quite 
 see where we are going," said Harry. " Stop a bit ; I shouldn't 
 mind going on myself, but I don't want to risk you fellows who 
 are frightened for canals. Look here ; the road ought to have 
 gone on at this corner, but here's nothing but a hedge. Keep 
 where you are till I look out. There's a light over there, but I 
 can't tell what's between." 
 
 " Perhaps it's the canal," said some one behind. 
 
 " Oh, yes, of course it's the canal," said Frankland, with 
 irritation. " You stand back till I try ; if I fall in, it's my own 
 fault, which will be a consolation to my friends," cried the 
 angry guide. He started forward impatiently, not, however, 
 without being closely followed by two or three, among whom 
 was Colin. 
 
 " Don't be foolish, Frankland," said one voice in the dark- 
 ness ; " let us all go together — let us be cautious. I feel some- 
 thing like gravel under my feet. Steady, steady; feel with 
 your foot before you put it down. Oh ! good heavens, what is 
 it 1 " The voice broke off abruptly ; a loud splash and a ciy 
 ensued, and the young men behind saw the figures in advance 
 of them suddenly drop and disappear. It was the canal, upon 
 which they had been making unawares. Two out of the four
 
 xviiL] A Son of the Soil. 197 
 
 had only stumbled on the hank, and rose up again immediately ; 
 and as those behind, afraid to press forward, not knowing what 
 to do, stood watching appalled, another and another figure 
 scrambled up with difficulty, calling for help, out of the water, 
 into which they had not, however, plunged deeply enough to 
 peril their lives. Then there was a terrible momentary pause. 
 
 "Are we all here?" said Colin. His voice sounded like a 
 funeral beU pealing through the darkness. He knew they were 
 not all tl^ere. He, with his keen eyes, rendered keener by 
 opposition and enmity, had seen beyond mistake that the first 
 of all went down and had not risen again. The consciousness 
 made his voice tragic as it rang through the darkness. Somebody 
 shouted, " Yes, yes, thank God ! " in reply. It was only a 
 second, but years of life rolled up upon Colin in that moment of 
 time — years of sweet troublous existence behind ; years of fair 
 life before. Should he let him die ? It was not his fault ; 
 nobody could blame him. And what right had he to risk his 
 life a second time for Harry Frankland ? All^^.that a murderer, 
 all that a martyr could feel rushed through Colin's mind in that 
 instant of horrible indecision. Then somebody said, *' Frank- 
 land, Frankland ! where is Frankland ? " That voice was the 
 touch of fate. With a strange shout, of which he was uncon- 
 scious, Colin plunged into the black invisible stream. By this 
 time the others of the party saw with unspeakable relief lights 
 approaching, and heard through the darkness voices of men 
 coming to their assistance. They were close by one of the locks 
 of the canal ; and it was the keeper of it, not unused to such 
 accidents, who came hurrying to give what help was possible. 
 His lantern and some torches which the anxious young men 
 managed to light threw a wild illumination over the muddy, 
 motionless stream, in which two of their number, lately as gay 
 and light-hearted as any, were now struggling for their life. 
 The same light flared horribly over the two motionless figures,
 
 198 A Son of the Soil. ighap. 
 
 which, after an interval which seemed hke years to the 
 bystanders, were at length brought out of the blackness ; one of 
 them still retaining strength and consciousness to drag the other 
 with him up the stony margin before his senses failed. They 
 lay silent both, with pallid faces, upon the hard path ; one as 
 like death as the other, with a kind of stony, ghostly resem- 
 blance in their white insensibility, except that there was blood 
 on the lips of one, who must have struck, the lockman said,' 
 upon some part of the lock. They were carried into the cottage, 
 and hurried messengers sent to the nearest doctor and to 
 Wodensbourne. Meanwhile the two lay together, pallid and 
 motionless, nobody knowing which was living and which dead.
 
 XIX.} A Son of the Soil. 199 
 
 CHAPTEE XIX. 
 
 Colin never ascertained what were the events immediately 
 succeeding his plunge into the canal ; all he could recall dimly 
 of that strange crisis in his life was a sense of slow motion in 
 which he himself was passive, and of looking up at the stars in 
 a dark-blue, frosty, winterly sky, with a vague wonder in his 
 mind how it was that he saw them so clearly, and whether it 
 was they or he that moved. Afterwards, when his mind became 
 clear, it grew apparent to him that he must have opened his eyes 
 for a moment while he was being carried home ; but there inter- 
 vened a period during which he heard nothing distinctly, and in 
 which the only clear point to him was this gleam of starlight, 
 and the accompanying sense of motion, which perplexed his 
 faculties in his weakness. "While he lay feverish and unconscious 
 he kept repeating, to the amazement of the bystanders, two stray 
 lines which had no apparent connexion with any of the circum- 
 stances surrounding him. 
 
 * ' Each with its httle span of sky, 
 And little lot of stars," 
 
 poor Colin said to himseK over and over, without knowing it. 
 It had been only for a moment that he opened his eyes out of 
 the torpor which was all but death, but that moment was enough 
 to colour all the wanderings of his mind while stiU the weakness 
 of the body dominated and overpowered it. Like a picture or 
 a dream, he kept in his recollection the sharp frosty glimmer, 
 the cold twinkling of those passionless, distant lights, and with
 
 200 A Son of the Soil. [CHAP. 
 
 it a sense of rushing air and universal cliill, and a sound and 
 consciousness of wending liis way between rustling hedges, though 
 all the while he was immovable. That feeling remained with 
 him till he woke from a long sleep one afternoon when the twi- 
 light was setting in, and found himself in a room which was 
 not his own room, lying in a great bed hung with crimson cur- 
 tains, which were made still more crimson by a ruddy glow of 
 lire-light which flashed reflections out of the great mirror opposite 
 the end of the bed. Colin lay a while in a pause of wonder and 
 confusion when he woke. The starlight went out of his eyes 
 and the chill out of his frame, and a certain sense of languid 
 comfort came over him. When he said, " Where am I *? " faintly, 
 in a voice which he could scarcely recognise for his own, two 
 women rose hastily and approached him. One of these was 
 Lady Frankland, the other a nurse. While the attendant 
 hurried forward to see if he wanted anything. Lady Frankland 
 took his hand and pressed it warmly in both hers. 
 
 " You shall hear all about it to-morrow," she said, with the 
 tears in her eyes ; " you will do well now, but you must not 
 exert yourself to-night. We have all been so anxious about you. 
 Hush, hush ! You must take this ; you must not ask any more 
 questions to-night." 
 
 What he had to take was some warm jelly, of which he swal- 
 lowed a little, with wonder and difliculty. He did not under- 
 stand what had befallen him, or how he had been reduced to 
 this invalid condition. " Hush, hush ! you must not ask any 
 questions to-night," said Lady Frankland ; and she went to the 
 door as if to leave the room, and then came back again and bent 
 over Colin and kissed his forehead, with her eyes shining through 
 tears. " God bless you and reward you !" she said, smiling and 
 crying over him ; " you will do well now — you have a mother's 
 blessing and a mother's prayers," and with these strange words 
 she went away hastily, as if not trusting herself to say more.
 
 XIX. \ A Son of the Soil. 201 
 
 Colin lay back on his pillow witli his mind full of wonder, 
 and, catching at the clue she had given him, made desperate 
 feeble ejBforts to piece it out, and get back again into his life. He 
 found it so hard fighting through that moment of starlight which 
 still haunted him, that he had to go to sleep upon it, but by-and- 
 by woke up again when all was silent — when the light was 
 shaded, and the nurse reclining in an easy chair, and everything 
 betokened night — and lying awake for an hour or two, at last 
 began to gather himseK up, and recollect what had happened. 
 He had almost leaped from his bed when he recalled the scene 
 by the canal — his conviction that Frankland had gone down, 
 his own desperate plunge. But Colin was past leaping from his 
 bed, for that time at least. He followed out this recollection, 
 painfully trying to think what had occurred. Was Harry Frank- 
 land alive or dead % Had he himself paused too long on the 
 brink, and was the heir of Wodensbourne gone, out of all his 
 privileges and superiorities? This was the interpretation that 
 appeared most likely to Colin. It seemed to him to explain 
 Lady Frankland's tears and pathos of gratitude. The tutor had 
 suffered in his attempt to save the son, and the parents, moved 
 by the tenderness of grief, were thankful for Ms ineffectual 
 efforts. As he lay awake in the silence, it appeared to bim that 
 this was the explanation ; and he too thought with a certain 
 pathos and compunction of Harry — his instinctive rival, his 
 natural opponent. Was it thus he had fallen, so near the begin- 
 ning of the way — snatched out of the life which had so many 
 charms, so many advantages for him ? As Colin lay alone in 
 the silence, his thoughts went out to that unknown life into 
 which he could not but imagine the other young man, who was 
 yesterday — was it yesterday 1 — as strong and life-like as himself, 
 had passed so suddenly. Life had never seemed so fair, so 
 bright, so hopeful to himself as while he thus followed with 
 wistful eyes the imaginary path of Harry into the unknown awe
 
 202 A Son of the Soil. [chap. 
 
 and darkness. The thought touched him deeply, profoundly, 
 ■with wistful pity, with wonder and inquiry. Where was he now, 
 tliis youth who had so lately been by his side 1 Had he found 
 out those problems that trouble men for their life long ? Had 
 existence grown already clear and intelligible to the eyes which 
 in this world had cared but little to investigate its mysteries 1 
 
 While Colin's mind was thus occupied, it occurred to him 
 suddenly to wonder why he himself was so ill and so feeble. He 
 had no inclination to get up from the bed on which he lay. 
 Sometimes he coughed, and the cough pained him ; his very 
 breathing was a fatigue to him now and then. As he lay pon- 
 dering this new thought, curious half-recollections, as of things 
 that had happened in a dream, came into Colin's mind ; visions 
 of doctors examining some one — he scarcely knew whether it 
 was himself or another — and of conversations that had been held 
 over his bed. As he struggled through these confusing mazes of 
 recollection or imagination, his head began to ache and his heart 
 to beat ; and finally his uneasy movements woke the nurse, who 
 was alarmed and would not listen to any of the questions he 
 addressed to her. " My lady told you as you'd hear everything 
 to-morrow," said Colin's attendant ; " for goodness gracious sake 
 take your draught, do, and lie still ; and don't go a-moidering 
 and a-bothering, and take away a poor woman's character, as 
 was never known to fall asleep before, nor wouldn't but for 
 thinking you was better and didn't want nothing." It was 
 strange to the vigorous young man, who had never been in the 
 hands of a nurse in his life, to feel himself constrained to obey — 
 to feel, indeed, that he had no power to resist, but was reduced 
 to utter humiliation and dependence, he could not tell how. 
 He fell asleep afterwards, and dreamed of Harry Frankland 
 drowning, and of himself going down, down through the muddy, 
 black water — always down, in giddy circles of descent, as if it 
 were bottomless. When he woke again it was morning, and his
 
 XIX.] A San of the Soil. 203 
 
 attendant was putting his room to rights, and disposed to regard 
 himself -with- more friendly eyes. "Don't you go disturbing of 
 yourself," said the nurse, " and persuading of the doctor 4s you 
 ain't no better. You're a deal better, if he did but know it. 
 What's come to you 1 It's all along of falling in the canal that 
 night along of ^Ir. Harry. If you takes care, and don't get no 
 more cold, you'll do well." 
 
 " Along with Mr. Harry — poor Harry ! — and he — ? " said 
 Colin. His own voice sounded very strange to him, thin and 
 far-off, like a shadow of its former selt When he asked this 
 question, the profoundest wistful pity filled the young man's 
 heart. He was sorry to the depths of his soul for the other 
 Hfe which had, he supposed, gone out in darkness. '-'Poor 
 Frankland ! " he repeated to himself, with an action of mournful 
 regret. He had been saved, and the other lost. So he thought, 
 and the thought wont to his heart. 
 
 "]Mr. Harry was saved, sir, when you was drownded," said 
 the nurse, who was totally unconscious of Colin's feelings ; " he's 
 fine and hearty again, is Mr. Harry. Bless you, a ducking ain't 
 nothing to him. As for you," continued the woman, going 
 calmly about her occupations — " they say it wasn't the drowning, 
 it was the striking against " 
 
 " I understand," said Colin. He stopped her further explana- 
 tions with a curious sharpness which he was not responsible 
 for, and at which he himself wondered. "Was not he glad that 
 Harry Frankland lived ? But then, to be sure, there came upon 
 him the everlasting contrast — the good fortune and unfailing 
 luck of his rival, who was well and hearty, while Colin, who 
 would have been in no danger but for him, lay helpless in 
 bed ! He began to chafe at himself, as he lay, angry and impotent, 
 submitting to the nurse's attentions. What a poor weakling 
 anybody must think him, to fall ill of the ducking which had done 
 no harm to Harry ! He felt ridiculous, contemptible, weak —
 
 204 A Son of the Soil. [Chap. 
 
 which was the worst of all — thinking with impatience of the 
 thanks which presently Lady Frankland would come to pay 
 him, and the renewed obligations of which the family would be 
 conscious. If he only could get up, and get back to his own 
 room ! But, when he made the attempt, Colin was glad enough 
 to fall back again upon his pillows, wondering and dismayed. 
 Harry was well, and had taken no harm; what could be the 
 meaning of his sudden and unlooked-for weakness 1 
 
 Lady Frankland came into the room, as he had foreseen, 
 while it was still little more than daylight of the winter morning. 
 She had always been kind to Colin — indifferently, amiably kind, 
 for the most part, with a goodness which bore no particular 
 reference to him, but sprang from her own disposition solely. 
 This time there was a change. She sat down by his side with 
 nervous, wistful looks, with an anxious, almost frightened 
 expression. She asked him how he was with a kind of 
 tremulous tenderness, and questioned the nurse as to how he 
 had slept. "I am so glad to hear you have had a refreshing 
 sleep," she said, with an anxious smile, and even laid her soft 
 white hand upon Colin's and caressed it as his own mother 
 might have done, whilst she questioned his face, his aspect, his 
 looks, with the speechless scrutiny of an anxious woman. Some- 
 how these looks, which were so solicitous and wistful, made 
 Colin more impatient than ever. 
 
 " I am at a loss to understand why I am lying here," he said, 
 with a forced smile ; "I used to think I could stand a ducking 
 as well as most people. It is humiliating to find myself laid up 
 like a child by a touch of cold water " 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Campbell, pray don't say so," said Lady Frankland ; 
 
 " it was not the cold water ; you know you struck against 
 
 Oh, how can we thank you enough ! — how can I ever express 
 my gratitude ! " said the poor lady, grasping his hands in both 
 hers, while her eye filled unawares with tears.
 
 XIX.] A Son of tJie Soil. 205 
 
 " There is no need for gratitude," said Colin, drawing away 
 his hand with an impatience which he could not have explained. 
 " I am sorry to find myself such a poor creature that I have to 
 be nursed, and give you trouble. Your son is all right, I hear." 
 This he said with an effort at fiiendliness which cost him some 
 trouble. He scorned to seem to envy the young favourite of 
 fortune, but it was annoying to feel that the strength he was 
 secretly proud of had given way at so slight a trial He turned 
 his face a little more towards the wall, and away from Harry's 
 mother, as he spoke. 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Lady Frankland, " he is quite well, and he 
 is very, very grateful to you, dear Mr. Campbell. Believe me, 
 we are all very grateful Harry is so shy ; and he has never 
 once had an opportunity to pay you that — that attention which 
 you deserve at his hands ; and it showed such noble and dis- 
 interested regard on your part " 
 
 "Pray don't say so," said Colin, abruptly; "you make me 
 uncomfortable ; there was no regard whatever in the case." 
 
 "Ah, yes ! you say so to lighten our sense of obligation," 
 said Lady Frankland. " It is so good, so kind of you. And 
 when I think what it has made you suffer — but I am sure you 
 will believe that there is nothing we would not do to show our 
 gratitude. If you were our o^vn son neither Sir Thomas nor I 
 could be more anxious. We have sent for Sir Apsley Wendown, 
 and I hope he will arrive to-day ; and we have sent for your 
 dear Mother, ^Ir. Campbell " 
 
 "My mother?" said Colin. He 'was so much startled that 
 he raised himself up om his pillows without thinking, and as he 
 did so was seized by a horrible pain which took away his 
 breath. *• Sir Aspley Wendown and my mother ? What does 
 it mean 1 " the young man said gasping, as he managed to slide 
 do-vvn again into his former recumbent position. " Am I ill ? or 
 does all this commotion arise simply from an unlooked-for ducking
 
 206 A Son of the Soil. [chap. 
 
 and a knock against the side of tlie canal." He got this out with 
 difficulty, though he strove with all his might to conceal the 
 trouble it gave him ; then he turned his eyes to Lady Frankland, 
 who sat wringing her hands and full of agitation by his bedside. 
 The poor lady had altogether lost her good-natured and amiable 
 composure. "Whatever she had to say to him, whatever the 
 character of the communication might be, it disturbed her 
 greatly. She wrung her hands, and gave him a painful hurried 
 glance, and then withdrew her eyes from his inquiring looks. 
 All this time Colin lay impatient, looking at her, wondering, 
 with a sharp sensation of anger, what she could have to say. 
 
 " Dear Mr. Campbell," she said at length, "you are ill ; you 
 have been wandering and insensible. Oh, it is hard to think you 
 are suffering for your goodness, suffering for us ! We could not 
 trust you to our doctor here after we knew ; we thought it best 
 to have the best advice, and we thought you would prefer to 
 have your mother. I would have nursed you myself and tended 
 you night and day," said Lady Frankland, with enthusiasm ; "I 
 owe you that and a great deal more ; you who have saved my 
 dear boy." 
 
 " What is the matter with me ? " said Colin. It appeared to 
 him as if a great cloud was rolling up over the sky, throwing 
 upon him a strange and ominous shadow. He scarcely heard 
 what she said. He did not pay any attention to her. What 
 was Henry Frankland's mother to him, or her thanks, or the 
 things she was willing to do to show her gratitude 1 He wanted 
 to know why he was lying there powerless, unable to move 
 himself. That was the first thing to be thought of. As for 
 Lady Frankland, she wrung her hands again, and hesitated 
 more and more. 
 
 " I hope God will reward you," said the agitated woman ; " I 
 would give everything I have in the world to see you well and 
 strong as you were when you came here. Oh, Mr. Campbell, if
 
 XIX.] A Son of the Soil. 207 
 
 you only could know the feeling that is in all our hearts I " It 
 was her kindness, her reluctance to give him pain, her unfeigned 
 distress, that made her prolong Colin's suspense, and drive him 
 frantic with these exasperating professions of regard, for which, 
 true as they doubtless were, he did not care. 
 
 " I suppose I've broken some of my bones," said Colin ; " it 
 would be real kindness if you would tell me what is the 
 matter. Will it take a long time to mend me ? I should be 
 glad to know, at least, what it is." 
 
 Impelled by his looks and his tone. Lady Frankland burst 
 into her statement at last. "You have broken some of your 
 ribs," she said, " but I don't think that is of so much import- 
 ance ; Sir Apsley, when he comes, will tell us. He is coming 
 to-day and you are looking so much better. It was old Mr. 
 Eyre who gave us such a fright yesterday. He said your lungs 
 had been injured somehow, and that you might never — that it 
 might be a long time — that it might keep you delicate ; but 
 even if that were the case, with care and a warm climate — oh, 
 ^Ir. Campbell ! I think he is mistaken ; he is always such a 
 croaker. I think — I hope — I am almost sure Sir Apsley will 
 set you all right." 
 
 Again Colin had risen in his bed with a little start. This 
 time he was scarcely sensible of the pain which every motion 
 caused him. He fancied afterwards that for that moment his 
 heart stood still in his bosom, and the pulses in his veins stopped 
 beating. The shock was so strange, so sudden, so unlooked-for. 
 He sat up — struggled up — upon his pillows, and instinctively 
 and unawares faced and confronted the new Thing which 
 approached him. In that moment of strange consciousness and 
 revelation he felt as if the intimation was true — as if his doom 
 was sealed and his days numbered. He did not look at the 
 anxious woman who was wringing her arms by his bedside, nor 
 at any external object ; but with an irresistible impulse con-
 
 208 A Son of the Soil. [Chap. 
 
 fronted dumbly the new world — the changed existence. "When 
 he laid himself down again it seemed to Colin as if years had 
 passed over his head. He said some vague words of thanks, 
 without being very well aware what he was saying, to Lady 
 Frankland, and then lay silent, stunned and bewildered, like a 
 man who had received a blow. What she said to him after- 
 wards, or how long she remained in the room, he was scarcely 
 aware of Colin belonged to a race which had no weak mem^ 
 bers ; he had been used to nothing but strength and health — 
 wholesome rural life and vigour — all his days. He had even 
 learned, without knowing it, to take a certain pride in his own 
 physical gifts, and in those of his family, and to look with 
 compassionate contempt on people who were "delicate" and 
 obliged to take care of themselves. The idea that such a fate 
 might by any possibility fall to himself had never once occurred 
 to him. It was an impossible contingency at which, even a 
 week ago, the strong young man, just entering upon the full 
 possession of his powers, would have laughed, as beyond the 
 range of imagination. He might die, no doubt, like any other 
 man — might be snatched out of the world by violent disease or 
 sudden fever, as other strong men had been ; but to have his 
 strength stolen from him while still his life remained, had 
 appeared a thing beyond the bounds of possibility until now. 
 
 But as Colin lay helpless, stunned by this unlooked-for down- 
 fall, there came before his eyes, as vividly as if he saw them in 
 actual presence, the sick people of his native district — the young 
 men and the young women who now and then paid, even on 
 the sweet shores of the Holy Loch, the terrible toll which con- 
 sumption takes of all the nations of the north. One of them, 
 a young man about his own age, who like himself had been in 
 training for the Scotch Church, whom Colin had pitied with all 
 his kind heart — with the deepest half-remorseful sense of his 
 own superior happiness — came before him with intense distinct-
 
 ^/xi A Son of the Soil. 209 
 
 ness as he lay struck silent by the cold shadow of fate. He could 
 almost have thought that he saw the spectral attenuated form, 
 with its hectic cheeks, its thin, long, wasted hands, its preter- 
 natural length of limb, seated in the old, high-backed easy-chair 
 in the farmhouse parlour. All the invalid's life appeared to him 
 in a sudden flash of recollection ; the kindly neighbours' visits ; 
 the books and papers which were lent him ; the soup and jellies 
 which the ministers wife and the other ladies of the parish, few 
 in number as they were, kept him provided with. Colin coidd 
 even remember his own periodical visits ; his efforts to think 
 what would interest the sick man ; his pity, and wonder, and 
 almost contempt, for the patience which could endure, and even 
 take a pleasure in, the poor comforts of the fading life. God 
 help him ! was this what he himself was coming to ? was this 
 all he had to anticipate ? Colin's heart gave a strange leap in 
 his breast at the thought. A sudden wild throb, a sense of 
 something intolerable, a cry against the fate which was too hard, 
 which could not be borne, rose within him, and produced a 
 momentary sickness which took the light out of his eyes, and 
 made everything swim round him in a kind of dizzy gloom. 
 Had he been standing he would have fallen down, and the 
 bystanders would have said he had fainted. But he had not 
 fainted ; he was bitterly, painfully conscious of everything. It 
 was only his heart that fluttered in his breast like a wounded 
 bird ; it was only his mind that had been struck, and reeled. 
 So much absorbed was he that he did not hear the voice of the 
 nurse, who brought him some invalid nourishment, and who 
 became frightened when she got no answer, and shook him 
 violently by the arm. "Lord bless us, he's gone," exclaimed 
 the woman ; and she was but little reassured when her patient 
 turned upon her with dry lips and a glittering eye. " I am not 
 gone yet," said Colin; "there is no such luck for me;" and 
 then he began once more to picture out to himself the sick man 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 A Son of the Soil. [CHap. 
 
 at the Holy Loch, with the little tray on the table beside him, 
 and his little basin of soup. God help him ! was this how he 
 was to be for all the rest of his life 1 
 
 This was how he sustained the first physical shock of the 
 intimation which poor Lady Frankland had made to him with 
 so much distress and compunction. It is hard enough at any 
 time to receive a sentence of death ; yet Colin could have died 
 bravely had that been all that was required of him. It was the 
 life in death thus suddenly presented before his eyes that appalled 
 his soul and made his heart sick. And after that. Heaven knows, 
 there were other considerations still more hard to encounter. If 
 we were to say that the young man thus stopped short in the 
 heyday of his life bethought himself immediately of what is 
 called preparation for dying, it would be false and foolish. 
 Colin had a desperate passage to make before he came to that. 
 As these moments, which were like hours, passed on, he came 
 to consider the matter in its larger aspects. But for Harry 
 Erankland he would have been in no danger, and now Harry 
 Frankland was safe, strong, and in the full enjoyment of his 
 life, while Colin lay broken and helpless, shipwrecked at the 
 beginning of his career. AVhy was it 1 Had God ordained this 
 horrible injustice, this cruel fate 1 As Colin looked at it, out 
 of the clouds that were closing round him, that fair career which 
 was never to be accomplished stretched bright before him, as 
 noble a future as ever was contemplated by man. It had its 
 drawbacks and disadvantages when he looked at it a week 
 before, and might, perhaps, have turned out a common-place life 
 enough had it come to its daily fulfilment ; but now, when it 
 had suddenly become impossible, what a career it seemed ! J^ot 
 of selfish profit, of money-making, or personal advantage — a life 
 which was to be for the use of his country, for the service of his 
 Church, for the furtherance of everything that was honest and 
 lovely, and of good report. He stood here, stayed upon the
 
 XIX.] A Son of the Soil. 211 
 
 tkreshold of his life, and looked at it with wonder and despair. 
 This existence God had cut short and put an end to. \Miy? 
 That another man might live and enjoy his common-place plea- 
 sures — might come into possession of all the comforts of the 
 world, might fill a high position without knowing, without 
 caring for it; might hunt, and shoot, and fall asleep after dinner 
 as his father had done before him. In the great darkness Colin's 
 heart cried out "svith a cry of anguish and terrible surprise to the 
 invisible, inexorable God, ''"Why? Why?" Was one of His 
 creatures less dear, less precious to Him than another, that He 
 should make this terrible difierence ? The pure life, the high 
 hopes, the human purpose and human happiness, were they as 
 nothing to the great Creator who had brought them into beicg 
 and suffered them to bud and blossom only that He might crush 
 them with His hands ? Colin lay still in his bed, with his lips 
 set close and his eyes straining into that unfathomable darkness. 
 The bitterness of death took possession of his soul — a bitterness 
 heavier, more terrible than that of death. His trust, his faith, 
 had given way. God sat veiled upon his awful throne, con- 
 cealed by a horrible cloud of disappointment and incomprehen- 
 sion, l^either love nor justice, neither mercy nor equal dealing, 
 was in this strange, unintelligible contrast of one man's loss and 
 another man's gain. As the young man lay struggling in this 
 hour of darkness, the God of his youth disappeared from him, 
 the Saviour of his childhood withdrew, a sorrowful shadow, into 
 the angry heavens. "What was left ? Was it a cajDricious Deity, 
 ruled by incomprehensible impulses of favour and of scorn ? 
 Was it a blind and hideous Chance, indifferent alike to hap- 
 piness and misery 1 Was it some impious power, owning no 
 everlasting rule of right and wrong, of good and evil, who 
 trampled at its will upon the hearts and hopes of men ? Colin 
 was asking himself these terrible questions when the curtain 
 was softly drawn, and a face looked down upon him, in which
 
 212 A Son of the Soil. [chap. 
 
 tenderness and grief and pity had come to such, a climax as no 
 words could convey any impression of. Ifc was his mother who 
 stood beside him, stretching out her arms like a pitying angel, 
 yearning over him with the anguish and the impatience of love. 
 Sometimes, surely, the Master gives us in the fellowship, of His 
 sufferings a human pang beyond His own — the will to suffer in 
 the stead of those we love, without the power.
 
 XX.] A So7i of the Soil. 213 
 
 CHAPTEE XX. 
 
 " They're awfu' grateful, Colin — I canna but say that for them," 
 said Mrs. Campbell ; " and as anxious as if you were their own 
 son. I'll no undertake to say that I havena an unchristian feel- 
 ing myself to Harry Frankland ; but, when you're a' weel and 
 strong, Colin," — 
 
 " And what if I am never well and strong ? " said the young 
 man. His mother's presence had subdued and silenced, at least, 
 for a time, the wild questions in his heart. She had taken them 
 upon herself, though he did not know it. So far human love 
 can stretch its fellowship in the sufferings of its Master, — not 
 to the extent of substitution, of salvation temporal or spiritual, 
 but, at least, to a modified deliverance. She had soothed her 
 son and eased him of his burden, but in so doing had taken it 
 to herseK. The eagle that had been gnawing his heart had gone 
 to fix its talons in hers ; but she carried it like the Spartan, 
 under her mantle, and smiled while it rent her in twaiiL 
 
 " Whisht, whisht ! " she said, in her martyrdom of com- 
 posure and calm looks, and took her boy's hand and held it 
 between hers — God only could tell how fondly — ^dth a firm, 
 warm grasp that seemed to hold him fast to life. " Colin, my 
 man, it's a' in God's hands," said the Mistress of Eamore ; 
 " whiles His ways are awfu' mysterious. I'm no one that pre- 
 tends to read them, or see a'thing plain, like some folk ; but I 
 canna think He ever makes a mistake or lets anything go by 
 hazard. We'll bide His time, Colin ; and who can tell what 
 mercy and goodness he may have in His hand ? "
 
 214 A Son of the Soil. [Chap. 
 
 " Mercy and goodness, or, perhaps, the contrary," said Colin. 
 If he had not been a little comforted and eased in his heart, he 
 would not have given utterance to words which he felt to be 
 unchristian. But now, with his longing to be soothed and to 
 accept the softening influence which surrounded him, came an 
 impulse to speak, — to use words which were even more strong 
 than his feelings. As for his mother, she was too thoughtful 
 a woman, and had in her own heart too heavy a burden, to be 
 shocked by what he said. 
 
 " Maybe what appears to us the contrary," she said, " though 
 that maun be but an appearance, like most things in this life. 
 I'm no one to deny my ain heart, or make a show as if I under- 
 stood the ways of the Lord, or could, aye, in my poor way, 
 approve of them, if a mortal creature might daur to say so, 
 Colin. There's things He does that appear a' wrang to me — 
 I canna but say it. I'm no doubting His wisdom nor yet His 
 love, but there's mony a thing He does that I canna follow, nor 
 see onything in but loss and misery. But oh, Colin, my bonnie 
 man, that's nae cause for doubting Him ! He maun have His 
 ain reasons, and they maun be better reasons than ours. If 
 you'll close your eyes, and try and get a sleep, I'll take a breath 
 of air to myself before night sets in. I was aye an awfu' woman 
 for the air ; and eh, laddie ! I think ye'll be thankful to get 
 back to Eamore after this dreary country, where there's neither 
 hill nor glen — though maybe it might be cauld for you in the 
 spring, when there's so much soft weather," said the tender 
 woman, smoothing his pillows, and bending over him with her 
 anxious smile. " It minds me o' the time when you were my 
 baby, Colin, to get you into my hands again. They say a 
 woman's aye a queen in a sick room," said the Mistress. Her 
 smile was such that tears would have been less sad ; and she 
 was impatient to be gone — to leave her son's bedside — because 
 she felt herself at the furthest stretch of endurance, and knew
 
 xx.-i A Son of the SoiL 215 
 
 that her strained powers must soon give way. Perhaps Colin, 
 too, understood what it was that made his mother so anxious to 
 leave him, for he turned his face to the waning evening light, 
 and closed his eyes, and after a while seemed to sleep. When 
 he had lain thus quietly for some time, the poor mother stole 
 downstairs and out into the wintry twilight. Her heart was 
 breaking in her tender bosom ; her strength had been strained 
 to the utmost bounds of possibility ; and nature demanded at 
 least the relief of tears. 
 
 Two days before the Mistress had been tranquil and content 
 in her peaceful life at home. "When Sir Thomas Frankland's 
 telegram came late at night, like a sudden thunderbolt into the 
 quiet house, the Holy Loch was asleep and at rest, cradled in 
 sweet darkness, and watched by fitful glances of that moon for 
 which Colin and his friends had looked to guide them on the 
 Light of the accident ; and no means of communicating with 
 the world until the morning was possible to the inhabitants of 
 Ramore. The anxious mother, whose eyes had not been visited 
 with sleep through all the lingering winter night, set off by 
 dawn to thread her weary unaccustomed way through all the 
 mazes of the railways which were to convey her to AVodens- 
 bourne. 8he had neither servant nor friend to manage for her ; 
 and no fine lady, accustomed to the most careful guardianship, 
 could be more unused to the responsibilities of travelling than 
 Mrs. Campbell When she arrived, it was to find her boy, her 
 firstborn, stretched helpless upon his bed, to see the exami- 
 nation made by the great doctor from London, to hear his 
 guarded statements, his feebly-expressed hopes, which conveyed 
 only despair — and with that sudden arrow quivering in her 
 heart to undertake the duties of a cheerful nurse — to keep 
 smiling upon Colin, telling him the news of the parish, and 
 the events of the countryside, as if her coming here had been 
 a holiday. All this, put together — though so many women
 
 216 A Son of the Soil [chap. 
 
 have borne it, and though the Mistress of Eamore was able 
 to bear it, and more, for her boy's sake — was a hard strain 
 upon her. When she got downstairs into the air, the first 
 thing she did was to sit down on the steps of the glass door 
 which led into th€ terrace and cry bitterly and silently. She 
 was alone among strangers, with scarcely even a friendly feature 
 of familiar nature to give her a little confidence. The aspect of 
 the great house, stretching its long wings and solemn front into 
 the twilight, containing a whole community of people unknown 
 to her, whose very voices were strange and sounded like a foreign 
 tongue, completed the forlorn sense she had of absence from 
 everything that could help or console ; and when, in the rest- 
 lessness of her musing, she got up and began to walk about 
 upon that deserted terrace which Colin had paced so often, all 
 Colin's questions, all his doubts, rushed with double force and 
 feminine passion into his mother's mind. 
 
 As she pursued her uncertain way, her eye was attracted by 
 the lights in the windows. One of them was large and low, 
 and so close upon the terrace that she could not help seeing the 
 interior, and what was passing there. Harry Frankland was stand- 
 ing by the fire with his cousin. The long billiard-table behind 
 them, and the cue which Miss Matty still held in her hand, did 
 not enlighten Mrs. Campbell as to what they had been doing. 
 Matty had laid her disengaged hand on her cousin's shoulder, 
 and was looking up, as if pleading for something, into his face ; 
 and the fire-light which gleamed upon them both, gave colour 
 and brightness to the two young faces, which seemed to the 
 sorrowful woman outside to be glowing with health and love and 
 happiness. When Mrs. Campbell looked upon this scene her 
 heart cried out in her breast. It was Colin's question that came 
 to her lips as she hurried past in the cold and the gathering 
 darkness— " Why ? Oh God! why?" Her son struck to the 
 earth in the bloom of his young life — rooted up like a young
 
 XX.] A Son of the Soil. 217 
 
 tree, or a silly flower — and tMs youth, this other Troman's son, 
 taking the happiness which should have been for CoKn. '^iVhy 
 was it ? The poor woman called in her misery upon the heavens 
 and the earth to answer her. One deprived of all, another 
 possessed of everything that soul of man could desire; one 
 heart smitten and rent asunder, and another filled to overflowing 
 with safety and happiness. 
 
 As she went on in her haste, without knowing where she 
 went, another window caught the Mistress's eye. It was the 
 nursery window where all the little ones were holding high 
 carnival Little boys and little girls, the younger branches of 
 the large happy family, with again the light gleaming rosy over 
 their childish faces. One of them was having her toilette made 
 for presentation in the drawing-room, and at sight of her another 
 blow, keen and poignant, went to ^Irs. Campbell's heart. Just 
 such a child had been the little maiden, the httle daughter who 
 once made sunshine in the homely house of Eamore. It came 
 upon the poor mother in the darkness to think what that child 
 would have been to her now had -she Kved — how her woman 
 child would have suffered with her, wept with her, helped to 
 bear the burden of her woe. Her heart yearned and longed in 
 her new grief over the little one who had been gone so many 
 years. She turned away hastily from the bright window and the 
 gay group and sank down upon her knees on the groond with a 
 sob that came from her heart — "Why? oh why?" God had 
 His reasons, but what were they ? The agony of loss, in which 
 there seemed no possible gain ; the bitterness of suffering, with- 
 out knowing any reason for it, overpowered her. The contrast 
 of her own trouble with the happiness, the full possession, the 
 universal prosperity and comfort which she saw, struck her 
 sharply with something which was not envy of her neighbour, 
 but the appeal of an amazed anguish to God. "The ways of 
 the Lord are not equal," she was saying in her soul. Was it, as
 
 218 A Son of the Soil. ichap. 
 
 Nature suggested, witli natural groans, because He loved her 
 less — or, as the minister said, because He loved her more, that 
 God sent upon her those pangs, and demanded from her those 
 sacrifices ? Thus she cried out of the depths, not knowing what 
 she said. "If I had but had my Jeanie!" the poor woman 
 moaned to herself, with a vision of a consoling angel, a daughter, 
 another dearer, fairer self, who would have helped to bear all 
 her burdens. But God had not afforded her that comfort, the 
 dearest consolation to a woman. When she had wept out those 
 few bitter tears, that are all of which the heart is capable when 
 it is no longer young, she gathered herself up out of the darkness 
 and prepared to go back again to Colin's bedside. Though she 
 had received no answer to her question — though neither God 
 Himself nor His angels, nor any celestial creature, had gleamed 
 through the everlasting veil, and given her a glimpse of that 
 Divine meaning which it is so hard to read — there was a certain 
 relief in the question itself, and in the tears that had been 
 wrung out of her heart. And so it was that, when Matty 
 Frankland came lightly out of the billiard-room, on her way to 
 dress for dinner, Mrs. Campbell, whom she met coming in from 
 the terrace, did not appear to her to bear a different aspect from 
 that which the Mistress of Ramore had borne in other days. 
 
 Matty did not lose a minute in making her advances to Colin's 
 mother. She was, indeed, extremely sorry, and had even been 
 conscious of a passing thought similar to that which had 
 struggled passionately into being, both in Colin's mind and in his 
 mother's — a passing sense of wonder why Harry, who was good 
 for nothing in particular, should have been saved, and Colin, who 
 was what Miss Matty called " so very clever," should have been 
 the sufferer. Such a doubt, had it gone deep enough — had it 
 become an outcry of the soul, as it was with the others — would 
 have made an infidel of that little woman of the world. She 
 ran to Mrs. Campbell, and took her hand, and led her into the
 
 xx.-\ A Son, of the Soil. 219 
 
 billiard-rooni, the door of which stood open. " Oh, dear Mrs. 
 Campbell, come and teU me about him," she said ; and, as it had 
 been the conjunction of a little real feeling with her habitual 
 wiles that brought Colin under her influence, the same thing 
 moved his mother at least to tolerate the inquiry. She drew 
 away her hand with some impatience from the little enchantress, 
 but her tender heart smote her when she saw an involuntary 
 tear in Matty's eye. Perhaps, after all, it was less her fault than 
 her misfortune ; and the Mistress followed the gii-l into the 
 room with less dislike, and more toleration, than she could have 
 supposed possible. It might be, after all, the older people — to 
 whom worldliness came by nature, as she was disposed to think — 
 who were to blame. 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Campbell, I am so sorry ; I cannot tell you how 
 sorry I am," cried Matty — and she spoke only the truth, and had 
 real tears in her eyes — " to think that he should save my cousin 
 again, and suffer so for his goodness. Don't be angry with us — 
 though, indeed, I should not wonder if you could not bear our 
 very name — I am sure I could not, if I were you." 
 
 " Xa, God forbid," said the Mistress. She was but half- 
 satisfied of the reality of the young lady^s professions, and this 
 suspicion, so unusual to her, gave dignity to her speech. " It 
 wasna you nor ony mortal person, but his own heart that moved 
 my Colin. You could do an awfu' deal," said Colin's mother, 
 looking with a woman's look of disapproving admiration on 
 ^Matty's pretty face, " but you couldna move my son like his ain 
 generous will. He never was one to think of his ain — com- 
 fort — " continued Mrs. Campbell with a little shudder, for some- 
 thing in her throat prevented her from saying his life — " when a 
 fellow creature was in danger. It was his ain heart that was to 
 blame — if anything was to blame — and not you." 
 
 And the homely woman's eyes went beyond her questioner with 
 that samejook which in CoUn had so often baffled Miss Matty,
 
 220 A Son of the Soil. [chap. 
 
 showing that the higher spirit had gone past the lesser into its own 
 element, where only its equals could follow. The girl was awed 
 for the moment and humbled. Not for her poor sake, not for 
 Harry Frankland, who was of no great account to anybody out 
 of his immediate family — but because of his own nature, 
 which would not permit him to see another perish, had Colin 
 suffered. This thought, imperfectly as she understood it, stopped 
 the voluble sympathy, pity and distress on Matty's lips. She no 
 longer knew what to say, and, after an awkward pause, could 
 only stammer over her old common-places. '' Oh, dear Mrs. 
 Campbell, I am so sorry ; I would give anything in the world to 
 make him well again ; and I only hope you won't be angry with 
 us," said Matty, with a suppressed sob, which was partly fright 
 and partly feeling. The Mistress came to herself at the sound 
 of the girl's voice. 
 
 "I'm no angry," she said — "God forbid; though I might 
 have something to say to you if my heart could speak. The like 
 of you whiles do mair harm in this world, Miss Frankland, 
 than greater sinners. I'm no saying you kent what you were 
 doing ; but, if it had not been for you, my Colin would never 
 have come near this place. You beguiled my son with your 
 pleasant words and your bonnie face. He had nae mair need to 
 come here to be tutor to yon bit crooked callant," said the 
 Mistress, with involuntary bitterness, " than Maister Frankland 
 himself. Eut he thought to be near you, that had beguiled him 
 and made him give mair heed to your fables than to anything 
 that was true in life. I'm no blaming my Colin," said the 
 Mistress, with an unconscious elevation of her head ; " he never 
 had kent onything but truth a' his days, and, if he wasna to 
 believe in a woman that smiled on him and enticed him to her, 
 what was he to believe in at his years 1 J^or I'm no to call 
 angry at you," said Colin's mother, looking from the elevation of 
 age and nature upon Miss Matty, who drooped instinctively, and
 
 XX.] A Son of the Soil. 221 
 
 became conscious what a trifling little soul she was. " TVe a' 
 act according to our ain nature, and you wasna capable of per- 
 ceiving what harm you could do ; but, if you should ever 
 encounter again one that was true himself and believed in 
 you " 
 
 Here Matty, who had never been destitute of feeling, and who, 
 in her heart, was fond of Colin in her way, and had a kind of 
 understanding of him, so far as she could go, fell into such an 
 outburst of natural tears as disarmed the ^listress, who faltered 
 and stopped short, and had hard ado to retain some appearance 
 of severity in sight of this weeping, for which she was not 
 prepared. Colin's mother understood truth, and in an abhorring, 
 indignant, resentful way, beheved that there was falsehood in 
 the world. But how truth and falsehood were mingled — how 
 the impulses of nature might have a Httle room to work even 
 under the fictions of art or the falseness of society — was a know- 
 ledge unimagined by the simple woman. She began to think 
 she had done Matty injustice when she saw her tears. 
 
 " Oh, ^Irs. Campbell, I know how good he is ! I — I never 
 
 knew any one like him. How could I help 1 But, indeed 
 
 — indeed, I never meant any harm ! " cried Matty, ingeniously 
 taking advantage of the truth of her own feelings, so far as they 
 went, to disarm her unconscious and singleminded judge. The 
 Mistress looked at her with puzzled, but pitiful eyes. 
 
 " It would be poor comfort to him to say you never meant it," 
 she said ; and in the pause that followed Matty had begun to 
 recollect that it was a long time since the dressing-bell rang, 
 though she still had her face hid on the table, and the tears were 
 not dried from her cheeks. "And things may turn out more 
 merciful than they look like," said the ^Mistress, with a sigh and 
 a wistful smile. Perhaps it occurred to her that the gratitude of 
 the Franklands might go so far as to bestow upon Colin the 
 woman he loved. "I'll no keep you longer," she continued,
 
 222 A Son of the Soil. [CHAP. 
 
 laying her tender hand for a moment on Matty's head. " God 
 bless you for every kind thought you ever had to my Colin. 
 He's weel worthy of them all," said the wistful mother. 
 
 Matty, who did not know what to say, and who, under this 
 touch, felt her own artifice, and was for a moment disgusted with 
 herself, sprang up in a little agony of shame and remorse, and 
 kissed Mrs. Camphell as she went away. And Colin's mother 
 went back to her son's room to find him asleep, and sat down by 
 his side, to ponder in herself whether this and that might not 
 still be possible. Love and happiness were physicians in whom 
 the simple woman had a confidence unbounded. If they came 
 smiling hand in hand to Colin's pillow, who could tell what 
 miracle of gladness might yet fall from the tender heavens 1
 
 zxj.] A Son of the Soil. 223 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 But, though Mrs. Campbell's heart relented towards Matty, and 
 was filled with vague hopes which centred in her, it was very 
 hard to find out what Colin's thoughts were on the same subject. 
 He scarcely spoke of the Franklands at all, and never named or 
 referred to the ladies of the house. When his mother spoke, 
 with natural female wiles to tempt him into confidence, of special 
 inquiries made for him, Colin took no notice of the inference. 
 She even went so far as to refer specially to Miss Matty with no 
 greater effect. " There's one in the house as anxious as me," 
 said the Mistress, with tender exaggeration, as she smoothed his 
 pillow and made her morning inquiries ; but her son only smiled 
 faintly, and shook his head with an almost imperceptible move- 
 ment of incredulity. He asked no questions, showed no pleasure 
 at the thought, but lay most of the day in a sQence which his 
 mother could find no means of breaking. 
 
 The first horror, the first resistance, had gone out of Colin's 
 mind ; but he lay asking himseK inevitable questions, facing the 
 great problem for which he could fijid no solution, which no man 
 has been able to explain. Had the thoughts of his mind been 
 put into words, the chances are that to most people who have 
 never themselves come to such a trial Colin would have seemed 
 a blasphemer or an infidel. But he was neither the one nor the 
 other, and was indeed incapable by nature either of scepticism 
 or of profanity. The youth had been born of a sternly-believing 
 race, which recognised in all God's doings an eternal right, 
 beyond justice and beyond reason, a right to deal with them and
 
 224 A Son of the Soil. [CHAP. 
 
 theirs as he might please ; but Colin himself was of the present 
 age, and was fully possessed by all those cravings after under- 
 standing and explanation which belong to the time. Without 
 any doubt of God, he was arrested by the wonderful mystery of 
 Providence, and stood questioning, in the face of the unanswer- 
 ing silence, " Why 1 " The good God, the God of the Gospels, 
 the Father of our Lord, was the Divine Euler whom Colin 
 recognised in his heart ; but the young man longed and struggled 
 to find reasonableness, coherence, any recognisable, comprehen- 
 sible cause, for the baffling arrangements and disarrangements, 
 the mysterious inequalities and injustices of life. He wanted to 
 trace the thread of reason which God kept in His own hand ; he 
 wanted to make out why the Father who loved all should dis- 
 pense so unequally, so differently, His gifts to one and another. 
 This awful question kept him silent for days and nights; he 
 could not make anything of it. Social inequalities, which 
 speculatists fret at, had not much disturbed Colin. It had not 
 yet occurred to him that wealth or poverty made much difference ; 
 but why the life of one should be broken off incomplete and that 
 of another go on — why the piu'poses of one should end in nothing, 
 why his hopes should be crushed and his powers made useless, 
 while another flourished and prospered, confounded him, in the 
 inexperience of his youth. And neither heaven nor earth gave 
 him any answer. The Bible itself seemed to append moral 
 causes, Vhich were wanting in his case, to the perennial inequali- 
 ties of existence. It spoke of the wicked great in power, 
 flourishing like the green bay- tree, and of the righteous oppressed 
 and suffering for righteousness' sake ; which was, in its way, a 
 comprehensible statement of the matter. But the facts did not 
 agree in Colin's case. Harry Frankland could not, by any exer- 
 tion of dislike, be made to represent the wicked, nor was Colin, 
 in his own thinking, better than his neighbour. They were two 
 sons of one Father, to whom that Father was behaving with the
 
 XXL] A Son of the Soil. 22b 
 
 most woeful, the most extraordinary partiality ; and nothing in 
 heaven or earth was of half so much importance as to prove the 
 proceedings of the Father of all to be everlastingly just and of 
 sublime reason. What did it mean ? This was what Colin was 
 discussing with himself as he lay on his bed. It was not 
 wonderful that such thoughts should obliterate the image of 
 Miss Matty. "Wlien she came into his mind at all, he looked 
 back upon her with a pensive sweetness as on somebody he had 
 known a lifetime before. Sterner matters had now taken the 
 place of the light love and hopes of bountiful and lavish youth. 
 The hopes had grown few, and the abundance changed into 
 poverty. If the author of the change had chosen to reveal the 
 cause for it, the young soul thus stopped short in his way could 
 have consented that all was well. 
 
 And then Lady Frankland came every day to pay him a visit 
 of sympathy, and to express her gratitude. " It is such a com- 
 fort to see him looking so much better," Lady Frankland said ; 
 " Harry would like so much to come and sit with you, dear Mr. 
 CampbelL He could read to you, you know, when you feel 
 tired ; I am sure nothing he could do would be too much to show 
 his sense of your regard " • 
 
 At which words Colin raised himself up. 
 
 "I should be much better pleased," said Colin, " if you would 
 not impute to me feelings which I don't pretend to. It was no 
 regard for Mr. Frankland that induced me " 
 
 " Oh, indeed ! I know how good your are," said Harry's 
 mother, pressing his hand, " always so generous and disposed to 
 make light of your own kindness ; but we aU know very well, 
 and Harry knows, that there is many a brother who would not 
 have done so much. I am sure I cannot express to you a tenth 
 part of what I feel Harry's life is so precious," said my Lady, 
 with a natural human appreciation of her own concerns, and 
 unconscious, unintentional indifference to those of others. " The 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226" A San of the Soil. [Chap. 
 
 eldest son ; and Sir Thomas has quite commenced to rely upon 
 liim for many things — and I am snre I don't know what I 
 should do without Harry to refer to/' Lady Frankland continued, 
 with a little smile of maternal pride and triumph. When she 
 came to this point, it chanced to her to catch a side glimpse of 
 Mrs. Campbell's face. The Mistress sat by her son's bedside, 
 pale, with her lips set close, and her eyes fixed upon the hem of 
 her apron, which she was folding and refolding in her hands. 
 She did not say anything, nor give utterance in any way to the 
 dumb remonstrance and reproach with which hex heart was 
 bursting ; but there was something in her face which imposed 
 silence upon the triumphant, prosperous woman beside her. 
 Lady Franldand gave a little gasp of mingled fright and com- 
 punction. She did not know what to say to express her full 
 sense of the service which Colin had done her ; and there was 
 nothing strange in her instinctive feeling, that she, a woman 
 used to be petted and tended all her life, had a natural claim 
 upon other people's services. She was very sorry, of course, 
 about Mr. Campbell ; if any exertion of hers could have cured 
 him, he would have been well in half-an-hour. But, as it was, 
 it appe^ed to her rather natural than otherwise that the tutor 
 should suffer and that her own son should be saved, 
 
 " I felt always secure about Harry when you were with him," 
 she said, with an involuntary artifice. " He was so fond of you, 
 Mr. Campbell — and I always felt that you knew how important 
 his safety was, and how much depended — " 
 
 " Pardon me," said Colin ; he was angry in his weakness at 
 her pertinacity. " I have no right to your_ gratitude. Your son 
 and I have no love for each other. Lady Frankland. I picked 
 him out of the canal, not because I thought of the importance of 
 his life, but because I had seen him go down, and should have 
 felt myself a kind of murderer had I not tried to save him. 
 That is the whole. Why should I be supposed to have any
 
 XXT.] A Son of tlie Soil. 227 
 
 special regard for him? Perhaps/' said Colin, whose words 
 came slowly and whose voice was interrupted by his weakness 
 — "I would have given my life with more comfort for any 
 other man." 
 
 " Oh Mr. Campbell ! don't be so angry and bitter. After all, 
 it was not our fault," said Lady Frankland, with a wondering 
 offence and disappointment — and then she hurriedly changed 
 her tone, and began to congratulate his mother on his improved 
 looks. " I am so glad to see him looking so much better. There 
 were some people coming here," said my lady, faltering a little ; 
 " we would not have them come so long as he was so ilL Neither 
 Harry nor any of us could have suffered it. We had sent to 
 put them off j but, now that he is so much better — " said Lady 
 Frankland, with a voice which was half complaint and half 
 appeal She thought it was rather ill-tempered of the mother 
 and son to make so little response. " When I almost asked their 
 permission!" she said, with a little indignation, when she had 
 gone downstairs ; " but they seem to think they should be quite 
 masters, and look as black as if we had done them an injury. 
 Send to everybody, and say it is to be on Wednesday, Matty ; 
 for Henry's interests must not be neglected." It was a ball, for 
 which Lady Frankland had sent out her invitations some time 
 before the accident; for Harry Frankland was to ask the 
 suffrages of the electors of Earie at the approaching election. 
 " I don't mean to be ungrateful to Mr. Campbell," said the 
 Lady of Wodensboume, smoothing her ruffled plumes. " I am 
 sure nobody can say I have not been grateful ; but, at the same 
 time, I can't be expected to sacrifice my own son." Such were 
 the sentiments with which Lady Frankland came downstairs. 
 As for the other mother, it would be hard to describe what was 
 in her mind. In the bitterness of her heart she was angry with 
 the God who had no pity upon her. If Harry Frankland's life 
 was precious, what was Colin's 1 and the ^Mistress, in her anguish, 
 
 q2
 
 228 A Hon of the Soil. [Chap. 
 
 made bitter comparisons, and cried out wildly with a woman's 
 passion. Downstairs, in the fine rooms which her simple imagi- 
 nation filled with splendour, they would dance and sing uncon- 
 cerned, though her boy's existence hung trembling in the balance : 
 and w^as not Heaven itself indifferent, taking no notice 1 She 
 was glad that twilight was coming on to conceal her face, and 
 that Colin, who lay very silent, did not observe her. And so, 
 while Lady Frankland, feeling repulsed and injured, managed to 
 escape partially from the burden of an obligation which was too 
 vast to be borne, and returned to the consideration of her ball, 
 the two strangers kept silence in the twilight chamber, each 
 dumbly contending with doubts that would not be overcome, 
 and questions which could not be answered. What did God 
 mean by permitting this wonderful, this incomprehensible differ- 
 ence between the two*? But the great Father remained silent 
 and made no reply. The days of revelation, of explanation were 
 over. For one, joy and prosperity; for another, darkness and 
 the shadow of death — plain facts not to be misconceived or 
 contested — and in all the dumb heavens and silent observant 
 earth no wisdom nor knowledge which could tell the reason 
 why.
 
 xxiL] A Son of the Soil. 229 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 " Ay, I heard of the accident. Xo that I thought anything 
 particular of that. You're no the kind of callant, nor come of 
 the kind of race, to give in to an accident. I came for my own 
 pleasure. I hope I'm old enough to ken what pleases myself. 
 Take your dinner, callant, and leave me to mind my business. 
 I could do that much before you were bom.'^ 
 
 It was Lauderdale who made this answer to Colin' s half- 
 pleased, half-impatient questioning. The new comer sat, gaunt 
 and strange, throwing a long shadow over the sick-bed^ and 
 looking, with a suppressed emotion, more pathetic than tears, 
 upon the tray which was placed on a little table by Colin's side. 
 It was a sad sight enough. The young man, in the flush and 
 beauty of his youth, with his noble physical development, and 
 the eager soul that shone in his eyes, laid helpless, with an 
 invalid's repast before him, for which he put out his hand with 
 a languid movement like a sick child, Lauderdale himseK 
 looked haggard and careworn. He had travelled by night, and 
 was unshaven and un trimmed, with a wild gleam of exhaustion 
 and hungry anxiety in his eyes. 
 
 " Whatever the reason may be, we're real glad to see you," 
 said ^Irs. CampbeU. " If I could have wished for anything 
 to do Colin good more than he's getting, it would have been 
 you. But he's a great deal better — a wonderful deal better; 
 you would not know him for the same creature that he was 
 when I came here ; and I'm in great hopes he'll no need to 
 be sent away for the rest of the winter, as the doctor said,"
 
 230 A Son of the Soil. [Chaf. 
 
 said the sanguine mother, who had reasoned herself into hope. 
 She looked with wistful inquiry as she spoke into Lauderdale's 
 eyes, trying hard to read there what was the opinion of the 
 new comer. " It would be an awfu' hard thing for me to send 
 him away by himsel', and him no strong," said the Mistress, 
 with a hope that his friend would say that Colin's looks did 
 not demand such a proceeding, but that health would come back 
 to him with the sweet air of the Holy Loch. 
 
 " I heard of that," said Lauderdale, " and, to tell the truth, 
 I'm tired of staying in one place all my life mysel'. If a man 
 is to have no more good of his ain legs than if he were a vege- 
 table, I see no good in being a man ; it would save an awfu' 
 deal of trouble to turn a cabbage at once. So I'm thinking of 
 taking a turn about the world as long as I'm able ; and, if CoHn 
 likes to go with me " 
 
 " Which means, mother, that he has come to be my nurse," 
 said Colin, whose heart was climing into his throat ; " and here 
 I lie like a log, and will never be able to do more than say 
 thanks. Lauderdale " 
 
 " Whisht, callant," said the tender giant, who stood looking 
 down upon Colin with eyes which would not trust themselves 
 to answer the mother's appealing glances ; " I'm terrible fatigued 
 with my life, and no able to take the trouble of arguing the 
 question. JSTot that I consent to your proposition, which has a 
 fallacy on the face of it ; for it would be a bonnie-like thing to 
 hear you say thanks either to your mother or me. Since I've 
 been in my situation — which, maybe, I'll tell you more about 
 by-and-bye, now that my mouth's opened — I've saved a little 
 siller, a hundred pounds — or maybe mair," said the philosopher, 
 with a momentary smile, " and I see no reason why I shouldna 
 have my bit holiday as weU as other folk. I've worked long for 
 it." He turned away just then, attracted by a gleam of sunshine 
 at the window, his companion thought, and stood looking out
 
 A-X7/.] A Son of the Soil 1231 
 
 disposing as he best could of a little bitter moisture that had 
 gathered in the deep corners of his eyes. "It'll no be very 
 joyful when it comes/' he said to himself, ^^ith a pang of which 
 nobody was aware, and stood forming his lips into an inaudible 
 whistle to conceal how they quivered. He, too, had built high 
 hopes upon this young head which was now lying low. He had 
 said to himself, with the involuntary bitterness of a mind disap- 
 pointed and forlorn, that here at least was a life free from all 
 shadows — free from the fate that seemed to follow all who 
 belonged to himself — through which he might again reconcile 
 himself to Providence, and re-connect himself with existence. 
 As he stood now, with his back to Colin, Lauderdale was again 
 going over the burning ploughshares, enduring the fiery ordeal. 
 Once more his unselfish hope was going out in darkness. When 
 he turned round again his lips had steadied into the doleful turn 
 of a familiar air, which was connected in Colin's mind with 
 many an amusing and many a tender recollection. Between the 
 two people who were regarding him with love and anguish so 
 intense, the sick youth burst into pleasant laughter — laughter 
 which had almost surprised the bystanders into helpless tears — 
 and repeated, with firmer breath than Lauderdale's, the fragment 
 of his favourite air. 
 
 "He never gets beyond that bar," said Colin. " It carries me 
 back to Glasgow and all the old days. We used to caU it 
 Lauderdale's pibroch. Give me my dinner, mother. I don't 
 see what I should grumble about as long as you and he are by 
 me. Help me to get up, old fellow," the young man said, 
 holding out his hands ; and he ate liis invalid meal cheerfully , 
 with eager questions about all his old companions, and bursts of 
 passing laughter, which to the ears of his friend were more 
 terrible than so many groans. As for the Mistress, she had got 
 used by this time to connect together those two ideas of Colin 
 and a sick-bed, the conjunction of which was as yet misery to
 
 232 A Son of the Soil. [CHAP. 
 
 Lauderdale ; and she was glad in lier boy's pleasure, and took 
 trembling hope from every new evidence of his unbroken spirit. 
 Before long the old current of talk had flowed into its usual 
 channel ; and, but for the strange, novel circumstances which 
 surrounded them, one at least of the party might have forgotten 
 for the moment that they were not in the pleasant parlour of 
 Eamore ; but that one did not see his own countenance, its 
 eloquent brightness, its flashes of sudden colour, and the shining 
 of its too brilliant eyes. But there could not be any doubt that 
 Colin improved from that moment. Lauderdale had secured a 
 little lodging in the village, from which he came every morning 
 to the " callant," in whom his disappointed spirit, too careless of 
 personal good, too meditative and speculative for any further 
 ambition on his own account, had fixed its last hopes. He even 
 came, in time, after he had accustomed himself to the young 
 man's illness, to share, by moments, in the Mistress's hopes. 
 When Colin at last got up from his bed, it was Lauderdale's arm 
 he leant on. That was an eventful day to the little anxious 
 group in the sick chamber, whose hopes sometimes leapt to cer- 
 tainty, but whose fears, with an intuition deeper still, sometimes 
 fell to the other extreme, and were hushed in the silence of an 
 anguish too deep to be fathomed, from Mdiich thought itself drew 
 back. It was a bright winter day, with symptoms of spring in 
 the air, when the young patient got up from his weary bed. 
 Colin made very light of his weakness in the rising tide of his 
 spirits. He faultered across the room upon Lauderdale's arm, to 
 look out again, as he said, upon the world. It was an unfor- 
 tunate moment for his first renewal of acquaintance with the 
 bright outside sphere of ordinary life, which had passed on long 
 ago, and forgotten Colin. The room in which they had placed 
 him when his illness began was one of the best rooms in the 
 house, and looked out upon the terrace and the big holly-trees 
 which Colin knew so well. It was the morning of the day on
 
 XXII.] A Son of the Soil. 233 
 
 which Lady Frankland's ball was to take place, and symptoms of 
 excitement and preparation were apparent. Immediately in 
 front of the window, when Colin looked out, Miss flatty was 
 standing in animated talk with her cousin. They had been 
 loitering about, as people do in the morning about a country 
 house, with no particular occupation — for the sun was warm, 
 though it was still only the end of January — and Matty was at 
 the moment engaged in indicating some special designs of her 
 own which were involved in Lady Frankland's alterations in the 
 flower-garden, for Harry's approval. She had, indeed, just led 
 him by the sleeve into the midst of the half-completed design, 
 and was describing circles round him with the walking-stick 
 which she had taken out of his hand for the purpose, as Colin 
 stood tremulous and uncertain by the Avindov^^, looking out. 
 Xobody could look brighter than Miss Matty; nobody more 
 happy than the heir of Wodensbourne. If the sick man had 
 entertained any hope that his misfortune threw a sympathetic 
 shadow over them, he must now have been undeceived very 
 summarily. Colin, however, bore the trial without flinching. 
 He looked at them as if they were miles or ages away, with a 
 strange smile, which did not seem to the anxious spectators to 
 have any bitterness in it. But he made no remark until he had 
 left the window, and taken his place on the sofa which had been 
 arranged for him by the fire. Then he smiled again, without 
 looking at^ny one, with abstract eyes, which went to the hearts 
 of his attendants. *• How far off the world seems," said Colin. 
 *' I feel as if I ought to be vexed by that pretty scene on the 
 terrace. Don't you think so, mother ? Eut I am not vexed, no 
 more than if it was a picture. I wonder what it means ?" 
 
 " Eh, CoIlq, my man, it means you're getting strong and no 
 heeding about them and their vanities," cried the Mistress, 
 whose indignant eyes were full of tears ; but Colin only shook 
 his head and smiled, and made no reply. He was not indignant
 
 234 A Son of the Soil. [Chaf. 
 
 He did not seem to care or be interested one way or other ; but, 
 as a spectator might have done, mused on the wonderful contrast, 
 and asked himself what God could mean by it 1 — a question 
 which there was no one to answer. Later the curate came to 
 visit him, as indeed he had done several times before, praying 
 out of his well-worn prayer-book by Colin's bedside in a way 
 which at first scandalized the Mistress, who had, however, become 
 used to him by this time. " It's better to speak out of a book 
 than to speak nonsense," Mrs. Campbell had said ; " but eh, 
 Colin, it's awfu' to think that a man like that hasna a word out 
 of his ain heart to make intercession for his fellow-creatures 
 when they're in trouble." However, the curate was kind, and 
 the mother was speedily mollified. As for that excellent clergy- 
 man himself, he did not at all understand the odd company in 
 which he found himself when he looked from Colin, of whom 
 he knew most, to the mother with her thoughtful eyes, and to 
 the gaunt gigantic friend who looked upon everything in a specu- 
 lative way, of which the curate had an instinctive suspicion. 
 To-day Colin's visitor was more instructive and hortatory than 
 was at all usual for him. He spoke of the mercy of God, which 
 had so far brought the patient towards recovery, and of the 
 motives for thankfulness ; to which Mrs. Campbell assented 
 with silent tears. 
 
 " Yes," said Colin ; and there was a little pause that surprised 
 the curate. " It is comfortable to be better," said the patient ; 
 " but it would be more than comfortable if one could but know, 
 if one could but guess, what meaning God has in it all. There 
 is Frankland downstairs with his cousin, quite well," said Colin. 
 " I wonder does he ever ask himself why 1 When one is on the 
 wrong side of the contrast, one feels it more, I suppose." The 
 curate had passed Harry Frankland before he came upstairs, and 
 had, perhaps, been conscious in his own mind of a momentary 
 personal comparison and passing wonder, even at the difference
 
 xxTi.-] A Son of the Soil. 235 
 
 between his own lot and that of the heir of Wodenshourne. 
 But he had thought the idea a bad one, and crushed it at once ; 
 and Colin's fancy, though more justifiable, was of the same 
 description, and demanded instant extinction. 
 
 " You don't grudge him his good fortune, I am sure ; and then 
 we know there must be inequalities in this life," said the curate. 
 " It is very mysterious, but nothing goes without compensation ; 
 and then we must always remember that * whom the Lord loveth 
 He chasteneth,' " said the go^d clergyman. " You are young to 
 have so much suffering; but you can always take comfort in that." 
 
 " Then you mean me to think that God does not love Harry 
 Frankland," said Colin, " and makes a favourite of me in this 
 gloomy way ? Do you really think so 1 — for I cannot be of that 
 opinion, for my part." 
 
 " My dear Mr. Campbell," said the curate, " I am very much 
 grieved to hear you speaking like this. Did not God give up 
 His own Son to sufferings of which we have no conception ? Did 
 not He endure " 
 
 " It was for a cause," said Colin. The young man's voice fell, 
 
 and the former bitterness came back upon him. " He suffered 
 
 for the best reason, and knew why ; but we are in the dark, and 
 
 know nothing ; why is it ? One with all the blessings of life — 
 
 another stripped, impoverished, brought to the depths, and no 
 
 reason in it, no cause, no good," said CoKn, in the momentary 
 
 outcry of his wonder and passion. He was interrupted, but not 
 
 by words of sacred consolation. Lauderdale was sitting behind, 
 
 out of the way, hiunming to himself, in a kind of rude chant, 
 
 out of a book he held in his hand. ^N'obody had been taking 
 
 any notice of him, for it was his way. Xow his voice rose and 
 
 broke in, in an uncouth swell of sound, not unharmonious with 
 
 the rude verse — 
 
 ' ' Theirs not to reason why, 
 Theirs not to make rej'ly,
 
 236 A Son of the Soil. [chap. 
 
 said Lauderdale, with a break of strong emotion in his voice ; 
 and he got up and threw down the book, and came forward into 
 the little circle. It was the first time that he had intimated by 
 so much as a look his knowledge of anything perilous in Colin's 
 illness. Now he came and stood opposite him, leaning his back 
 against the wall. " Gallant," he said, with a voice that sounded 
 as if it were blown about and interrupted by a strong wind, " if 
 I were on a campaign, the man I would envy would be him that 
 was chosen by his general for the forlorn hope — him that went 
 first, and met the wildest of the battle. Do you mean to tell 
 me you're no ready to follow when He puts the colours in your 
 hand? "
 
 xxiiL} A Son of the Soil. 237 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 It was for about six veeks altogetlier that the ^listress of 
 Ramore remained Sir Thomas Frankland's guest. For half of 
 that time Lauderdale, too, tall, and gaunt, and grim, strode daily 
 over the threshold of Wodensbourne. He never broke bread, 
 as he himself expressed it, nor made the slightest claim upon 
 the hospitality of the stranger's house. On the contrary, he 
 declined steadily every advance of friendship that was made to 
 him with a curious Scotch pride, extremely natural to him, but 
 odd to contemplate from the point of view at which the Frank- 
 lands stood. They asked him to dinner or to lunch as they 
 would have asked any other stranger who happened to come in 
 their way ; but Lauderdale was far too self-conscious to accept 
 such overtures. He had come uninvited, an undesired, perhaps 
 unwelcome, visitor ; but not for the world would the philosoj^her 
 have taken advantage of his position, as Colin's friend, to procure 
 himself even the comfort of a meal. Xot if he had been starving 
 would he have shared Colin's dinner or accepted the seat offered 
 him at the luxurious table below. " ]S'a, na ! I came without 
 asking," said Lauderdale ; " when they bid me to their feasts it's 
 no for your sake, callant, or for my sake, but for their own sakes 
 — for good breeding, and good manners, and not to be uncivil. 
 To force a man to give you your dinner out of civiHty is every 
 bit as shabby an action as to steal it. Fm no the man to som on 
 Sir Thomas for short time or long." And, in pursuance of this 
 whimsical idea of independence, Lauderdale went back every 
 evening along the dark country lanes to the little room he had
 
 238 A Son of the Soil. [CHAP. 
 
 rented in the village, and subdued his reluctant Scotch appetite 
 to the messes of bacon and beans he found there — which was as 
 severe a test of friendship as could have been imposed upon 
 him. He was not accustomed to fare very sumptuously at home ; 
 but the fare of an English cottager is, if more costly, at least as 
 distasteful to an untravelled Scotch appetite as the native porridge 
 and broth of a Scotch peasant could be to his neighbour over 
 the Tweed. The greasy meal filled Lauderdale with disgust, but 
 it did not change his resolution. He lived like a Spartan on 
 the bread which he could eat, and came back daily to his faith- 
 ful tendance of the young companion who now represented to 
 him almost all that he loved in the world. Colin grew better 
 during these weeks. The air of home which his mother brought 
 with her, the familiar discussions and philosophies with which 
 Lauderdale filled the weary time, gave him a connecting link 
 once more with the old life. And the new life again rose before 
 Colin, fresh, and solemn, and glorious. Painfully and sharply 
 he had been delivered from his delusions — those innocent de- 
 lusions which were virtues. He began to see that, if indeed 
 there ever was a woman in the world for whom it was worth a 
 man's while to sacrifice his existence and individuality, Miss 
 Matty, of all women, was not she. And after this divergence 
 out of his true path, after this cloud that had come over him, 
 and which once looked as though it might swallow him up, it is 
 not to be described how beautiful his own young life looked to 
 Colin, when it seemed to himself that he was coming back to it, 
 and was about to enter once more upon his natural career. 
 
 " I wonder how Macdonald will get on at Ealiol," he said ; 
 " of course he'll get the scholarship. It's no use regretting what 
 cannot be helped ; but when a man takes the wrong turning once 
 in his life, do you think he can get into the right road again? " 
 said Colin. He had scarcely spoken the words when a smile 
 gradually stealing over his face, faint and soft like the rising of
 
 A-A7//.] A Son of the Soil. 239 
 
 the moon, intimated to Ins companions that he had already 
 answered himself. Xot only so, but that the elasticity of his 
 youth had delivered Colin from all hea\ier apprehensions. He 
 was not afraid of the wrong turning he had taken. He was but 
 playing with the question in a kind of tender wantonness. 
 Neither his health nor his lost opportunity gave him much 
 trouble. The tide of life had risen in his heart, and again 
 everything seemed possible ; and, such being the case, he trifled 
 pleasantly with the dead doubts which existed no longer. 
 "There is a tide in the affairs of men," Colin said to himself, 
 smiling over it ; and the two people who were looking at him, 
 whose hearts and whose eyes were studying every change in 
 his face, saw that a new era had begun, and did not know 
 whether to exchange looks of gratulation or to betake them- 
 selves to the silence and darkness to shed tears of despair over 
 the false hope. 
 
 "When a callant goes a step astray, you mean," said Lauder- 
 dale, with a harshness in his voice which sounded contemptuous 
 to Colin — '' goes out of his way a step to gather a flower or the 
 like, — a man that takes a wrong turn is altogether a false eemage. 
 Everything in this world is awfu' mysterious," said the philo- 
 sopher. " I'm no clear in my mind about that wrong turning. 
 According to some theories there's no such thing in existence. 
 ' All things work together for good.' I would like to know what 
 was in Paul's head when he wrote down that, l^o to enter into 
 the question of inspiration, the opinion of a man like him is aye 
 worth having; but it's an awfu' mysterious saying to me." 
 
 " Eh, but it's true," said the Mistress ; " you're no to throw 
 ony of your doubts upon Providence. I'U no say but what it's 
 a hard struggle whiles ; but, if God doesna ken best — if He's not 
 the wisest and the kindest — I would rather, for my part, come 
 to an end without ony more ado about it. I'm no wanting to 
 live, either in earth or heaven, if there's ony doubts about Him."
 
 240 A Son of the Soil. [chap- 
 
 " That's aye the way with women/' said Lauderdale, reflec- 
 tively. " They've nae patience for a philosophical question. 
 But the practical argument is no doubt awfu' powerful, and 
 I can say nothing against it. I'm greatly of the same way o' 
 thinking myself. Life's no worth having on less terms; but 
 at the same time — " 
 
 " I was speaking only of the Baliol Scholarship," said Colin, 
 with a momentary pettishness ; " you are more abstruse than 
 ever, Lauderdale. If there should happen to be another vacancy 
 next year, do you think I've injured myself by neglecting this 
 one? I never felt more disposed for work," said the young 
 man, raising himself out of his chair. It said a great deal 
 for his returning strength that the two anxious spectators 
 allowed him to get up and walk to the window without offering 
 any assistance. The evening was just falling, and Colin looked 
 out upon a grey landscape of leafless trees and misty flats, over 
 which the shadows were gathering. He came back again with 
 a little exclamation of impatience. " I hate these dull levels," 
 said the restless invalid ; " the earth and the skies are silent 
 here, and have nothing to say. Mother, why do we not go 
 home V He stood before her for a moment in the twilight, 
 looking, in his diminished bulk and apparently increased height, 
 like a shadow of what he was. Then he threw himself back in 
 his chair with an impatience partly assumed to conceal the 
 weakness of which he was painfully sensible. "Let us go 
 to-morrow," said Colin, closing his eyes. He was in the state 
 of weakness which feels every contradiction an injury, and 
 already had been more ruffled in spirit than he cared to acknow- 
 ledge, by the diversion of the talk from his own individual 
 concerns to a general question so large and so serious. He lay 
 back in his chair, with his eyes closed, and those clouds of 
 brown hair of which his mother was so proud hanging heavily 
 over the forehead which, when it was visible, looked so pale and
 
 XXIII.] A Son of the Soil. 241 
 
 worn out of its glory of youth. The colour of day had all gone 
 out of the whispering, solemn twilight ; and, when the Mistress 
 looked at the face before her, pale, with all its outlines rigid in 
 the grey light, and its eyes closed, it was not wonderful that a 
 shiver went through her heart. 
 
 " That was just what I had to speak about, Colin, my man," 
 said Mrs. Campbell, nerving herself for the task before her. " I 
 see no reason myself against it, for I've aye had a great con- 
 fidence in native air ; but your grand doctor that was brought 
 down from London — " 
 
 " Do not say anything more. I shall not stay here, mother ; 
 it is impossible. I am throwing away my life," cried Colin, 
 hastily, not waiting to hear her out. *' Anybody can teach that 
 boy. As for the Franklands, I have done enough for them. 
 They have no right to detain me. We will go to-morrow," the 
 young man repeated with the petulance of his weakness; to 
 which Mrs. Campbell did not know how to reply. 
 
 "But, Colin, my man," said the ^Mistress, after a pause of 
 perplexity, " it's no that I'm meaning. Spring's aye sweet, and 
 its sweet aboon a' in your ain place, when ye ken every corner 
 to look for a primrose in. I said that to the doctor, Colin, but 
 he wasna of my opinion. A' that was in his mind was the east 
 wind (no that there's much o' that in our countryside, but thae 
 English canna tell one airt from another) and the soft weather ; 
 and I couldna say but what it was whiles damp," said the 
 candid woman ; *' and the short and the long is, that he said 
 you were to gang south and no north. If it wasna for your 
 health's sake, which keeps folk anxious, it would sound ower 
 grand to be possible," she continued, with a wistful smile, " and 
 awfu' proud I would be to think of my laddie in Italy — " 
 
 " In Italy ! " said Colin, with a cry of excitement and sur- 
 prise ; and then they both stopped short, and he looked in his 
 mother's eyes, which would not meet his, and which he could 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 A Son, of the Soil, [CIIAP. 
 
 see, hard as she struggled to keep them unseen, were wet and 
 shining with tears. " People are sent to Italy to die," said the 
 young man. " I suppose that is what the doctor thinks 1 — and 
 that is your opinion, my poor mother? — and Lauderdale thinks 
 so too ? Don't say No, no ; I can see it in your eyes." 
 
 "Oh, Colin, dinna say that ! dinna break my heart!" cried 
 the Mistress. "I'm telling you every word the doctor said. 
 He said it would be better for you in the future ; better for 
 your strength, and for getting free of danger in the many hard 
 winters — dour Scotch winters, frost, and snow, and stormy 
 weather, and you your duty to mind night and day — ^" She 
 made a little pause to get her breath, and smiled upon Colin, 
 and went on hastily, lest she should break down before all was 
 said. " In the mony hard winters that you have to look forward 
 to — the lang life that's to come — " 
 
 " Lauderdale," said Colin, out of the darkness, " do you hear 
 her saying what she thinks is deception and falsehood. My 
 mother is obliged to tell me the doctor's lie ; but it stumbles on 
 her lips. That is not how she would speak of herseK. She 
 would say — " 
 
 " Callant, hold your peace," said Lauderdale. His voice was 
 so harsh and strange, that it jarred in the air, and he rose up 
 with a sudden movement, rising like a tower into the twilight, 
 through which the pleasant reflections from the fire sparkled 
 and played as lightly as if the talk had been all of pleasure. 
 " Be silent, sir," cried Colin's friend. " How dare you say to 
 me that any word but truth can come out of the Mistress's lips 1 
 How dare ye — " But here Lauderdale himself came to a sudden 
 pause. He went to the window, as Colin had done, and then 
 came quickly back again. " Because we're a wee concerned and 
 anxious about him, he thinks he may say what he likes," said 
 the philosopher, with a strange, short laugh. "It's the way 
 with such callants. They're kings, and give the laws to us that
 
 XXTIL] A Son of tlie Soil. 243 
 
 ken better. You may say what you like, Colin, but you must 
 not name anything that's no true with your mother's name." 
 
 It is strange to feel that you are going to die. It is stranger 
 still to see your friends profoundly conscious of the awful news 
 they have to convey, painfully making light of it, and trying to 
 look as if they meant nothing. Colin perceived the significa- 
 tion of his mother's pathetic smiles, of his friend's impatience, 
 of the vigilant watch they kept upon him. He saw that, if 
 perhaps her love kept a desperate spark of hope alight in the 
 ^Mistress's heart, it was desperate, and she put no confidence in 
 it. All this he perceived, with the rapid and sudden perception 
 which comes at such a crisis. Perhaps for a moment the blood 
 went back upon his heart with a suffocating sense of danger, 
 against which he could make no stand, and of an inevitable 
 approaching fate which he could not avoid or flee from. The 
 next minute he laughed aloud. The sound of his laughter was 
 strange and terrible to his companions. The Mistress took her 
 boy's hand and caressed it, and spoke to him in the soothing 
 words of his childhood. " Colin, my man — Colin, my bonnie 
 man ! " said the mother whose heart was breaking. She thought 
 his laugh sounded like defiance of God, defiance of the approach- 
 ing doom ; and such a fear was worse even than the dread of 
 losing him. She kept his reluctant fingers in hers, holding him 
 fast to the faith and resignation of his home. As for Lauder- 
 dale, he went away out of sight, struggling with a hard sob 
 which all his strength could not restrain; and it was in the 
 silence of this moment that Colin's laugh, more faintly, more 
 softly, with a playfid sound that went to their hearts, echoed 
 again into the room. 
 
 " Don't hold me, mother," he said ; " I could not run away 
 from you if I would. You think I don't take my discovery^ as I 
 ought to do? If it is true," said Colin, grasping his mother's hand, 
 " you will have time enough to be miserable about me after ; let 
 
 R 2
 
 244 A Son of the Soil. [GHAP. 
 
 us be liappy as long as we can. But I don't tliink it is true. 
 1 have died and come alive again. I am not going to die any- 
 more just now," said Colin, witli a smile which was more than 
 liis mother could bear ; and his eyes were so fixed upon her, 
 that her efforts to swallow the climbing sorrow in her throat 
 were such as consumed her strength. But even then it was of 
 him and not herself that she thought. " I wasna meaning — I 
 wasna saying — " she tried to articulate in her broken voice ; and 
 then at intervals, "A' can be borne — a' can be borne — that 
 doesna go against the will of God. Oh Colin, my ain laddie ! 
 we maun a' die ; but we must not rebel against Him," cried the 
 Mistress. A little more, and even she, though long-enduring 
 as love could make her, must have reached the limits of her 
 strength ; but Colin, strangely enough, was no way disposed for 
 solemnity, nor for seriousness. He was at the height of the 
 rebound, and disposed to carry his nurses with him to that 
 smiling mountain-top from which death and sorrow had dispersed 
 like so many mists and clouds. 
 
 " Come to the window, and look out," said Colin ; "take my 
 arm, mother ; it feels natural to have you on my arm. Look 
 here — there are neither hills nor water, but there are always 
 stars about. I don't mean to be discouraged," said the young 
 man. He had to lean against the windoAv to support himself; 
 but, all the same, he supported her, keeping fast hold of the 
 hand on his arm. " I don't mean to be discouraged," said 
 Colin, "nor to let you be discouraged. I have been in the 
 valley of the shadow of death, but I have come out again. It 
 does not matter to me what the doctor says, or what Lauderdale 
 says, or any other of my natural enemies. You and I, mother, 
 know better," he said ; " I am not going to die." 
 
 The two stood at the window, looking up to the faint 
 stars, two faces cast in the same mould — one distraught with 
 a struggling of hope against knowledge, against experience;
 
 A'.Y///.] A Son of the Soil. 245 
 
 the other radiant with a smile of youth. '^ I am not quite able 
 to walk over the Alps, at present," said Colin, leading the 
 Mistress back to her chair; "but, for all that, let us go to 
 Italy since the doctor says so. And, Lauderdale, come out of 
 the dark, and light tiie candles, and don't talk any more 
 nonsense. We are going to have a consultation about the ways 
 and means. I don't know how it is to be done," said Colin, 
 gaily, "since we have not a penny, nor has anybody belonging 
 to us ; but still, since you say so, mother, and the doctor, and 
 Lauderdale " 
 
 The Mistress, all trembling and agitated, rose at this moment 
 to help Lauderdale, who had come forward without saying 
 anything, to do the patient's bidding. " You'll no be angry ? " 
 said Mrs, Campbell, under her breath ; " it's a' his spirits ; he 
 means nothing but love and kindness." Lauderdale met her 
 eye with a countenance almost as much disturbed as her own. 
 
 " Me angry 1 " said Colin's friend ; " he might have my head 
 for a football, if that would please him." The words were said 
 in an undertone which sounded like a suppressed growl ; and as 
 such Colin took this little clandestine exchange of confidence. 
 
 " Is he grumbling, mother 1 " said the object of their cares. 
 " Xever mind ; he likes to grumble. IS'ow come to the fire, 
 both of you, and talk. They are oracles, these great doctojs ; 
 they tell you what you are to do without telling you how to 
 do it. Must I go to Italy in a balloon 1 " said Colin. " After 
 all, if it were possible, it would be worth beiug ill for," said 
 the young man, with a sudden illumiriation in his eyes. He 
 took the management of afi'airs into his own hands for the 
 evening, and pointed out to them where they were to sit with 
 the despotism of an invalid. " ISTow we look comfortable," said 
 Colin, " and are prepared to listen to suggestions. Lauderdale, 
 your miud is speculative ; do you begin." 
 
 It was thus that Colin defeated the gathering dread and
 
 24:6 A Son of the Soil. [chap. 
 
 anguish which, even in the face of his apparent recovery, closed 
 more and more darkly round him; and, as what he did and 
 said did not arise from any set purpose or conscious intention, 
 but was a mere outburst of instinctive feeling, it had a certain 
 inevitable effect upon his auditors, who brightened up, in spite 
 of themselves and their convictions, under his influence. When 
 Colin laughed, instead of feeling inclined to sob or groan over 
 him, even Lauderdale, after a while, cleared up too into a 
 doubtful smile ; and, as for the Mistress, her boy's confidence 
 came to her like a special revelation. She saw it was not 
 assumed, and her heart rose. " When a young creature's 
 appointed to be taken, the Lord gives him warning," she said 
 in secret ; " but my Colin has nae message in himself," and her 
 tender soul was cheered by the visionary consolation. It was 
 under the same exhilarating influence that Lauderdale spoke. 
 
 " I've given up my situation," he said. " No but what it 
 was a very honourable situation, and no badly remunerated, but 
 a man tires of everything that's aye the same day by day. I've 
 been working hard a' my life ; and it's in the nature of man 
 to be craving. I'm going to Eetaly for my own hand," said 
 Lauderdale; "no on your account, callant. I've had enough 
 of the prose, and now's the time for a bit poetry. No that 
 I undertake to write verses, like you. If he has not me to 
 take care of him, he'll flee into print," said the philosopher, 
 reflectively. It would be a terrible shock to me to see our 
 first prizeman, the most distinguished student, as the Principal 
 himself said, coming out in a book with lines to Eetaly, and 
 verses about vineyards and oranges. That kind of thing is a' 
 very well for the callants at Oxford and Cambridge, but there's 
 something more expected from one of us/' said Lauderdale. " I'm 
 going to Eetaly, as I tell you, callant, as long as there's a glimmer 
 of something like youth left in me, to get a bit poetry into my 
 life. You and me will take our knapsacks on our backs and go
 
 XXIII.] A Son of t}te Soil. 247 
 
 off together, I have a trifle in the bank ; a hundred pounds — 
 or maybe mair : I couldn't say as to a shilling or two. K I'm 
 speculative, as you say, I'm no without a turn for the practical," 
 he continued with some pride ; " and everj-thing's awfu' cheap 
 when you know how to manage. This curate callant — he has 
 not a great deal of sense, nor ony philosophical judgment, that 
 I can see ; and, as for theolog}', he doesna understand what it 
 means ; but he does not seem to me to be deficient in other 
 organs," said the impartial observer, " such as the heart, for 
 example ; and he's been about the world, and understands 
 about inns and things. Every living creature has its use in 
 this life. I wouldna say he was good for very much in the 
 way of direct teaching from the pulpit, but he's been a^vfu' 
 instructive to me." 
 
 "And you mean me to save my Hfe at your cost?" said 
 Colin. " This is what I have come to ; at your cost or at my 
 father's, or by somebody's charity 1 Xo ; I'll go home and sit 
 in an easy-chair, like poor Hugh Carlyle ; and, mother, you'll 
 take care ." 
 
 When the sick man's fitful spirits thus yielded again his 
 mother was near to soothe him into steadier courage. Agaiu 
 she held his hands, and said, ''Colin, my man — Colin, my 
 bonnie man ! " with the voice of his childhood. " Youll come 
 back hale and strong to pay a'body back the trouble," said the 
 Mistress, while Lauderdale proceeded unmoved, without seeming 
 to hear what Colin said. 
 
 " They're a mystery to me, thae English priests," said the 
 meditative Scotchman. "They're not to call ignorant, in the 
 general sense, but they're awfu' simple in their ways. To think 
 of a man in possession of his faculties reading a verse or maybe 
 a chapter out of the Bible, which is verj'- near as mysterious 
 as life itself to the like of me, and then discoursing about the 
 Church and the Lessons appointed for this day or that. It's a
 
 248 A Son of the Soil. [CHAP. 
 
 grand tether, that Prayer-Book, though. Yon kind of callant, 
 so long as he keeps by that, he's safe in a kind of a way ; but 
 he knows nothing about what's doing outside his printed walls, 
 and, when he hears suddenly a' the stir that's in the world, 
 he loses his head, and invents a' the old heresies over again. 
 But he's awful instructive, as I was saying, in the article of 
 inns and steamboats. Not to say that he's a grand Italian 
 scholar, as far as I can understand, and reads Dante in the 
 original. It's a wonderful thought to realize the like of that 
 innocent reading Dante. You and me, Colin," said Lauderdale, 
 with a sudden glow in his eyes, "will take the poets by the 
 hand for once in our lives. What you were saying about cost 
 was a wonderful sensible saying for you. When the siller's 
 done we'll work our way home ; it's a pity you have no voice 
 to speak of, and I canna play the — guitar is't they call it ? " said 
 the philosopher, with a quaint grimace. He was contemptuous 
 of the lighter arts, as was natural to his race and habits, and 
 once more Colin's laugh sounded gaily through the room, which, 
 for many weeks, had known little laughter. They discussed 
 the whole matter, half playfully, half seriously, as they sat over 
 the fire, growing eager about it as they went on. Lauderdale's 
 hundred pounds "or maybe mair" was the careful hoarding 
 of years. He had saved it as poor Scotchmen are reported to 
 save, by minute economies, unsuspected by richer men. But 
 he was ready to spend his little fortune with the composure of 
 a millionaire. "And myself after it, if that would make it 
 more effectual," he said to himself, as he went back in the 
 darkness to his little lodging in the village. Let it not be 
 supposed, however, that any idea of self-sacrifice was in the 
 mind of Lauderdale. On the contrary, he contemplated this 
 one possible magnificence of his life with a glow of secret 
 satisfaction and delight. He was willing to expend it all upon 
 Colin, if not to save him, at least to please him. That was his
 
 XXIII.] A Son of the Soil. 249 
 
 pleasure, the highest gratification of which he was capable in 
 the circumstances. He made his plans Tsith the liberality of a 
 prince, without thinking twice about the matter — though it was 
 aU the wealth he had in the world which he was about to lavish 
 freely for Colin's sake. 
 
 " I don't mean to take Lauderdale's money, but we'll arrange 
 it somehow," said Colin; "and then for the hard winters you 
 speak of, mother, and the labour night and day." He sent her 
 away with a smile ; but, when he had closed the door of his own 
 apartment, which now at length he was well enough to have to 
 himself without the attendance of any nurse, the light went out 
 of the young man's face. After his kind attendants were both 
 gone, he sat down and began to think ; things did not look so 
 serene, so certain, so infallible when he was alone. He began to 
 think, What if after all the doctor might be right 1 AVhat if it 
 were death and not life that was ^\Titten against his name ? The 
 thought brought a little thrill to Colin's heart, and then he set 
 himself to contemplate the possibility. His faith was shadowy 
 in details, like that of most people ; his ideas about heaven had 
 shifted and grown confused from the first vague vision of beati- 
 tude, the crowns, and palms, and celestial harps of childhood. 
 What was that other existence into which, in the fulness of his 
 youth, he might be transported ere he was aware? There at 
 least must be the solution of all the difficulties that crazed the 
 minds of men; there at least, nearer to God, there must be 
 increase of faculty, elevation of soul. CoKn looked it in the face, 
 and the Unknown did not appal him ; but through the silence 
 he seemed already to hear the cry of anguish which would go up 
 from one homely house under the unanswering skies. It had 
 been his home all his life : what would it be to him in the event 
 of that change, wldch was death, but not destruction ? Must he 
 look down from afar off, from some cold, cruel distance, upon the 
 sorrow of his friends, himself being happy beyond reach, bearing
 
 250 A Son of the Soil. [Chap. 
 
 no share in the burden 1 Or might he, according to a still more 
 painful imagination, be with them, beside them, but unable by- 
 word or look, by breath or touch, to lift aside even for a moment 
 the awful veil, transparent to him, but to them heavy and dark 
 as night, which drops between the living and the dead ? It was 
 when his thoughts came to this point, that Colin withdrew, faint 
 and sick at heart, from the hopeless inquiry. He went to rest, 
 saying his prayers as he said them at his mother's knee, for 
 Jesus' sake. Heaven and earth swam in confused visions round 
 the brain which was dizzy with the encounter of things too 
 mysterious, too dark to be fathomed. The only thing in Earth 
 or Heaven of which there seemed to be any certainty was the 
 sole Existence which united both, in whose name Colin said his 
 prayers.
 
 xxiF.] A Son of tJie Soil. 251 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIY. 
 
 Miss Mattt Fraxkland all this time had not been without her 
 trials. They were trials as unlike CoKn's as possible, but not 
 without some weight and poignancy of their ovra, such as might 
 naturally belong to the secondary heartaches of a woman who 
 was far from being destitute either of sense or feeling, and yet 
 was at the same time a little woman of the world. In the first 
 place, she was greatly aggravated that Harry, who on the whole 
 seemed to be her fate, an inevitable necessity, should allow him- 
 self to be picked out of a canal at the hazard of another man's 
 life. Harry was, on the whole, a very good fellow, and was not 
 apt to fall into an inferior place among his equals, or show him- 
 self less manful, courageous, or fortunate than other people. 
 But it wounded ^Matt/s pride intensely to think that she might 
 have to marry a man whose life had been twice saved, all the 
 more as it was not a fault with which he could be reasonably 
 upbraided. And then, being a woman, it was impossible for her 
 to refrain from a little natural involuntary hero-worship of the 
 other ; who was not only the hero of these adventures, but her 
 own chivalrous adorer to boot — perhaps the only man in the 
 world who had suffered his life to be seriously affected by her 
 influence. Xot only so ; but at bottom Miss Matty was fond of 
 Colin, and looked upon him with an affectionate, caressing regard, 
 which was not love, but might very easily have borne the aspect 
 of love by moments, especially when its object was in a position 
 of special interest. Between these two sentiments the young 
 lady was kept in a state of harass and worry, disadvantageous
 
 252 A Son of the Soil. [CHap. 
 
 "both to her looks and her temper — a consciousness of which 
 re-acted in its turn upon her feelings. She put it all down to 
 Harry's score when, looking in her glass, she found herself paler 
 than usual. " I wonder how he could be such an ass," she said 
 to herself at such periods, with a form of expression unsuitable 
 for a boudoir ; and then her heart would melt towards his rival. 
 There were even some moments in which she felt, or imagined 
 she felt, the thraldom of society, and uttered to herself sighs and 
 sneers, half false and half true, about the " gilded chains," &c. 
 which bound her to make her appearance at Sir Thomas's dinner- 
 party, and to take an active part in Lady Frankland's ball. 
 
 All this conflict of sentiment was conscious, which made matters 
 worse : for all the time Matty was never quite clear of the idea 
 that she was a humbug, and even in her truest impulse of feeling 
 kept perpetually finding herself out. If Colin had been able to 
 appear downstairs, her position would have been more and more 
 embarrassing ; as it was, she saw, as clearly as any one, that the 
 intercourse which she had hitherto kept up with the tutor must 
 absolutely come to an end now, when he had a claim so much 
 stronger and more urgent upon the gratitude of the family. 
 And, the more closely she perceived this, the more did Matty 
 grudge the necessity of throwing aside the most graceful of all 
 her playthings. Things might have gone on in the old way for 
 long enough but for this most unnecessary and perplexing acci- 
 dent, which was entirely Harry's fault. N'ow she dared not any 
 longer play with Colin's devotion, and yet was very reluctant to 
 give up the young worshipper, who amused and interested and 
 affected her more than any other in her train. With this in her 
 mind. Miss Matty, as may be supposed, was a little fitful in her 
 spirits, and felt herself, on the whole, an injured woman. The 
 ordinary homage of the drawing-room felt stale and unprofitable 
 after Colin's poetic worship ; and the wooing of Harry, who felt 
 he had a right to her, and conducted himself accordingly, made
 
 xxir.] A Son of the Soil. 253 
 
 the contrast all the more distinct. And in her heart, deep down 
 beyond all impulses of vanity, there lay a woman's pity for the 
 sufferer, a woman's grateful but remorseful admiration for the 
 man who had given in exchange for all her false coin a most 
 unquestionable heart. 
 
 It will thus be apparent that Matty did not suspect the change 
 that had come over Colin's sentiments ; perhaps she could not 
 by any effort of her understanding have realized the sudden 
 revolution whicb these few weeks had worked in his mind. She 
 would have been humbled, wounded, perhaps angry, had she 
 known of his disenchantment. But, in her ignorance, a certain 
 yearning was in the young lady's mind. She was not reconciled 
 to give him up ; she wanted to see him again — even, so mingled 
 were her sentiments, to try her power upon him again, though it 
 could only be to give him pain. Altogether, the business was 
 complicated to an incredible extent in the mind of j\Iatty, and 
 she had not an idea of the simple manner in which Colin had 
 cut the knot and escaped out of all its entanglements. "\\Tien 
 the accident was discussed downstairs the remarks of the general 
 company were insufferable to the girl who knew more about 
 Colin than any one else did ; and the sharpness of her criticism 
 upon their talk confounded even Lady Frankland, whose powers 
 of observation were not rapid. " My dear, you seem to be losing 
 your temper," said the astonished aunt ; and the idea gave Lady 
 Frankland a little trouble. "A woman who loses her temper 
 will never do for Harry," she said in confidence to Sir Thomas. 
 " And, poor fellow, he is very ready to take offence since this 
 unfortunate accident. I am sure I am quite willing to acknow- 
 ledge how much we owe to IMr. Campbell ; but it is very odd 
 that nothing has ever happened to Harry except in his com- 
 pany," said the aggrieved mother. Sir Thomas, for his part, 
 was more reasonable. 
 
 " A very lucty thing for Harry," said the baronet " 2^'obody
 
 254 A Son of the Soil. [Chap. 
 
 else would have gone into that canal after him. I can't conceive 
 how Harry could be such a confounded ass," Sir Thomas added, 
 with a mortified air. " But as for Campbell, poor fellow, any- 
 thing that I can do for him — . By Jove, Mary, if he were to 
 die I should never forgive myself." On the whole, it will be 
 seen that the agitations occasioned by Colin were not confined to 
 his own chamber. As for Harry, he kept silence on the subject, 
 but did not the less feel the inferior position in which his mis- 
 fortune had left him. He was grateful so far, that, if he could 
 have persuaded Colin to accept any recompense, or done him 
 any overwhelming favour, he would have gladly given that 
 evidence of thankfulness. But, after the first shock of horror 
 with which he heard of the tutor's danger, it is certain that the 
 mortification of feeling that his life had been saved at the risk of 
 another man's life, produced in young Frankland anything but a 
 friendly sentiment. To accept so vast an obligation requires an 
 amount of generosity of which Harry was not capable. The 
 two young men were, indeed, placed in this singular relationship 
 to each other, without the existence of a spark of sympathy 
 between them. Not only was the mind of the saved in a sore 
 and resentful, rather than a grateful and affectionate, state ; but 
 even the other, from whom more magnanimity might have been 
 expected, had absolutely no pleasure in thinking that he had 
 saved the life of a fellow-creature. That sweet satisfaction and 
 approval of conscience which is said to attend acts of benevo- 
 lence did not make itself felt in the bosom of Colin. He was 
 rather irritated than gratified by the consciousness of having 
 preserved Harry Frankland from a watery grave, as the apothe- 
 cary said. The entire household was possessed by sensations 
 utterly unlike those which it ought to have felt when, on the 
 day succeeding his consultation with Lauderdale, Colin for the 
 first time came down stairs. There were still some people in 
 the house giving full occupation to Lady Frankland's powers of
 
 XXIV.] A Son of the Soil. 255 
 
 hospitality, and flatty's of entertainment ; but both the ladies 
 heard in a minute or two after his appearance that Mr. Campbell 
 had been seen going into the library. '' Perhaps it would be 
 best if you were to go and speak to him, !Matty," said Lady 
 Frankland. " There is no occasion for being too enthusiastic : 
 but you may say that I am very much occupied, or I would 
 have come myself to welcome him. Say anything that is proper, 
 my dear, and I will try and induce Harry to go and shake hands, 
 and make his acknowledgments. ]yien have such a horror of 
 making a fuss," said the perplexed mother. As for Matty, she 
 went upon her errand with eagerness and a little agitation. 
 Colin was in the library, seated at the table beside Sir Thomas, 
 when she went in. The light was shining full upon him, and 
 it did not subdue the beatings of Matty's contradictory little 
 heart to see how changed he was, and out of caves how deep 
 those eyes looked which had taken new meanings unintelligible 
 to her. She had. been, in her secret heart, a little proud of 
 understanding Colin's eyes ; and it was humiliating to see the 
 new significations which they had come to during his sickness, 
 and to which she had no clue. Sir Thomas was speaking when 
 she came in ; so Matty said nothing, but came and stood by him 
 for a moment, and gave her hand to Colin. When their eyes 
 met, they were both somewhat excited by it, though they were 
 not in love with each other ; and then Matty drew a chair to 
 the other side of the table, and looked remorsefully, pitifully, 
 tenderly, on the man whom she supposed her lover. She was 
 surprised that he did not seek her eye, or show himself alive to 
 all her movements, as he used to do ; and at that moment, for 
 the first time, it occurred to Matty to wonder whether the abso- 
 lute possession of Colin's heart might not be worth a sacrifice. 
 She was tired of Harry, and, to tell the truth, of most other 
 people just then. And the sight of this youth — who was 
 younger than she was, who was so much more ignorant and less
 
 256 A Son of the Soil. [chap. 
 
 experienced than she, and who had not an idea in his head 
 about settlements and establishments, but entertained visions of 
 an impossible life, with incomprehensible aims and meanings 
 in it, — had a wonderfully sudden effect upon her. For that 
 instant Matty was violently tempted ; — that is to say, she took 
 it into consideration as actually a question worth thinking of, 
 whether it might not be practicable to accept Colin's devotion, 
 and push him on in the world, and make something of him. 
 She entertained the idea all the more, strangely enough, because 
 she saw none of the old pleadings in Colin's eyes, 
 
 " I hope you will never doubt our gratitude, Campbell," said 
 Sir Thomas. " I understand that the doctor has said you must 
 not remain in this climate. Of course you must spend the 
 spring in Mce, or somewhere. It's charming scenery there- 
 abouts. You'll get better directly you get into the air. And in 
 summer, you know, there's no place so good as England — ^you 
 must come back here. As for expenses, you shall have a 
 travelling allowance over your salary. Don't say anything ; 
 money can never repay " 
 
 " As long as I was Charley's tutor," said Colin, " money was 
 natural. Pardon me — I can't help the change of circumstances ; 
 there is no bond between us now — only kindness," said the 
 young man with an effort. " You have all been very good to me 
 since I fell ill. I came to thank you, and to say I must 
 give up " 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Sir Thomas ; " but you can't imagine that I 
 will let you suffer for your exertions on my son's behalf, and for 
 the regard you have shown to my family 1" 
 
 "I wish you would understand," said Colin, with vexation. 
 " I have explained to Lady Frankland more than once. It may 
 seem rude to say so, but there was no regard for your family in- 
 volved in that act, at least. I was the only one of the party who 
 saw that your son had gone down. I had no wish to go down
 
 XXI v.] A Son of the Soil. 257 
 
 after him — I can't say I had any impulse, even ; but I had 
 seen him, and I should have felt like his murderer if I had not 
 attempted to save him. I am aware it is an ungracious thing to 
 say, but I cannot accept praise which I don't deserve," said 
 Colin, his weakness bringing a hot sudden colour over his face ; 
 and then he stopped short, and looked at Sir Thomas, who was 
 perplexed by this interruption, and did not quite know how to 
 shape his reply. 
 
 " "Well, well," said the baronet ; " I don't exactly understand 
 you, and I daresay you don't understand yourself. Most 
 people that are capable of doing a brave action give queer 
 explanations of it. That's what you mean, I suppose. Xo 
 fellow that's worth anything pretends to fine motives, and so 
 forth. You did it because you could not help it. But that 
 does not interfere with my gratitude. When you are ready to 
 go, you will find a credit opened for you at my bankers, and we 
 must see about letters of introduction, and all that ; and I advise 
 you, if you're going to Italy, to begin the language at once if 
 you don't know it. Miss Matty used to chatter enough for six 
 when we were there. I daresay she'd like nothing better than 
 to teach you," said Sir Thomas. He was so much relieved by 
 the possibility of turning over his difficult visitor upon Matty, 
 that he forgot the disadvantages of such a proposal. He got up, 
 delighted to escape and to avoid any further remonstrance, and 
 held out his hand to Colim " Delighted to see you downstairs 
 again," said the baronet ; " and I hope you'll bring your friend 
 to dinner with you to-night. Good-bye just now ; I have, 
 unfortunately, an engagement — " 
 
 " Good-bye," said Colin. " I will -^Tite to you all about it." 
 And so the good-hearted Squire went away, thinking everything 
 was settled. After that it was very strange for the two who had 
 been so much together to find themselves again in the same room, 
 and alone. As for Colin, he did not well kn ow what to say. 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 A Son of the Soil. [Chap. 
 
 Almost the last time he had been by Matty's side without any 
 witnesses, was the time when he concluded that it was only his 
 life that he was throwing away for her sake. Since that time 
 what a wonderful change had passed over him ! The idea that 
 he had thought her smile, a glance of her eye, worth such a costly 
 sacrifice, annoyed Colin. But still her presence sent a little 
 thrill through him when they were left alone together. And, as 
 for Miss Matty, there was some anxiety in her face as she looked 
 at him. What did he mean 1 was he taking a desperate resolu- 
 tion to declare his sentiments ? or what other reason could there 
 be for his unusual silence 1 for it never occurred to her to 
 attribute it to its true cause. 
 
 " My uncle thinks you have consented to his plan," said 
 Matty ; " but I suppose I know what your face means better 
 than he does. Why are you so hard upon us, I wonder? I 
 know well enough that Harry and you never took to each other ; 
 but you used to like the rest of us — or, at least, I thought so," 
 said the little siren. She gave one of her pretty glances at him 
 under her eyelashes, and Colin looked at her across the table 
 candidly, without any disguise. Alas ! he had seen her throw 
 that same glance at various other persons, while he stood in 
 the corner of the drawing-room observing everything ; and the 
 familiar artillery this time had no effect. 
 
 "I have the greatest respect for everybody at Wodensbourne," 
 said Colin ; " you did me only justice in thinking so. You have 
 all been very good to me." 
 
 " I did not say anything about respect," said Miss Matty, witlj 
 I)outing lips. " We used to be friends, or, at least, I thought so. 
 I never imagined we were to break off into respect so suddenly. 
 I am sure I wish Harry had been a hundred miles away when 
 he came to disturb us all," said the disarmed enchantress. She 
 saw affairs were in the fnost critical state, and her words were so 
 far true that she could have expressed her feelings best at that
 
 XXIV.] A So7i of the S(yiL 259 
 
 moment by an honest fit of crying. As this was impracticable. 
 Miss Matty tried less urgent measures. " We have caused you 
 nothing but suffering and vexation," said the young lady, drop- 
 ping her voice and fixing her eyes upon the pattern of the table- 
 cover, which she began to trace with her finger. " I do not 
 wonder that we have become disagreeable to you. But you 
 should not condemn the innocent with the guilty," said Miss 
 Matty, looking suddenly up into his eyes. A touch of agitation, 
 the slightest possible, gave interest to the face on which Colin 
 was looking ; and perhaps all the time he had known her she 
 had never so nearly approached being beautiful ; as certainly, all 
 the time, she had never so narrowly escaped being true. If 
 things had been with Colin as they once were, the probability 
 is that, moved by her emotion, the whole story of his love would 
 have poured forth at this emergency ; and, had it done so, there 
 is a possibility that Matty, carried away by the impulse of the 
 moment, might have awoke next morning the affianced wife of 
 the farmer's son of Eamore. 
 
 Providence, however, Avas kinder to the pair. Colin sat on 
 the other side of the table, and perceived that she was putting 
 her little delicate probe into his wound. He thought he saw 
 all the asides and stage directions, and looked at her with a 
 curious, vicarious sense of shame. Colin, indeed, in his new 
 enlightenment, was hard upon IMatty. He thought it was all 
 because she would not give up her power over the victim, whom 
 she intended only to torture, that she had thus taken the trouble 
 to re-open the ended intercourse. He could no more have 
 believed that at this moment, while he was looking at her, such 
 a thing was possible as that Matty might have accepted his love, 
 and pledged her Kfe to him, than he could have believed the 
 wildest nonsense that was ever written in a fairy tale. So the 
 moments passed, while the ignorant mortal sat on the opposite 
 side of the table — which was a very fortunate thing for both 
 
 s2
 
 260 A Son of the Soil. ichap. 
 
 parties. Nevertheless, it was with a certain sense of contempt 
 for him. as, after all, only an ordinary blind male creature, 
 unconscious of his opportunities, mingled with a thrill of ex- 
 citement, on her own part, natural to a woman who had just 
 escaped a great danger, that Miss Matty listened to what Colin 
 had to say. 
 
 " There is neither guilty nor innocent that I know of," said 
 Colin ; " you have all been very kind to me. It is very good of 
 you to take the pains to understand me. I don't mean to take 
 advantage of Sir Thomas Frankland's kindness ; but I am not 
 such a churl as to fling it back in his teeth as if it was pride 
 alone that made me refuse it. It is not pride alone," said Colin, 
 growing red, "but a sense of justice ; for what I have done has 
 been done by accident. I will write and explain to Sir Thomas 
 what I mean." 
 
 " Write and explain ? " said Matty. " You have twice said 
 you would write. Do you mean that you are going away 1 " 
 
 ** As soon as it is possible," said Colin ; and then he perceived 
 that he was speaking with rude distinctness. " Indeed, I have 
 been taking advantage of your uncle's kindness too long. I 
 have been a useless member of the household for six weeks at 
 least. Yes, I must go away." 
 
 "You speak very calmly," said Matty. She was a little 
 flushed, and there were tears in her eyes. If they had been 
 real tears she would have hidden them carefully, but as they 
 were only half real she had no objection to let Colin see that she 
 was concealing them. " You are very composed about it, Mr. 
 Campbell. One would think you were going away from a place 
 distasteful to you ; or, at least, which you were totally indif- 
 ferent about. I daresay that is all very right and proper ; but I 
 have a good memory, and it appears rather strange to me." 
 
 It was altogether a trying situation for Colin. If she had 
 been able to seduce him into a little recrimination she might
 
 XXIV.] A Son of tJie Soil 2G1 
 
 have succeeded in dragging the reluctant captive hack again into 
 her toils ; which, having by this time entirely recovered her 
 senses, was all Miss Matty wanted. Her downcast, tearful eyes, 
 the faltering in her voice, were wonderfully powerful weapons, 
 which the young man was unable to combat by means of mere 
 indifference. Colin, however, being a man of impulses, was 
 never to be calculated on beforehand for any particular line of 
 conduct ; and, on the present occasion, he entirely overleaped 
 Miss Matty's bounds. 
 
 " Yes, it is strange," said Colin. " Perhaps nothing but the 
 sight of death, who has been staring into my eyes for some time, 
 could have shown me the true state of affairs. I have uttered a 
 great deal of nonsense since I came to Wodensboume, and you — 
 have listened to it, ^Miss Frankland ; and, perhaps, rather enjoyed 
 seeing my tortures and my delights. But nothing could come of 
 that j and when death hangs on behind everything but love flies 
 before him," said Colin. " It was pleasant sport while it lasted ; 
 but everything, except love, comes to an end." 
 
 " Except love," said Miss Matty. She was terribly piqued 
 and mortified on the surface, and a httle humbled and sorrowful 
 within. She had a sense, too, that, for one moment, at the 
 beginning of this interview, she had almost been capable of 
 that sentiment which Coliu exalted so highly : and that, conse- 
 quently, he did her injustice in speaking of it as something with 
 which she had nothing to do. "I remember hearing you talk of 
 that sometimes, in the midst of what you call nonsense now. 
 If you did not understand yourself, you can't expect that I should 
 have understood you," she went on. To tell the truth. Miss 
 !Matty was very near crying. She had experienced the usual 
 injustice of human afi^irs, and been punished for her vanity just 
 at the moment when she was inclined to do better; and her 
 heart cried out against such cruel usage. This time, however, 
 she kept her tears quite in subjection and did not show them
 
 262 A Son of the Soil. [CHAP. 
 
 "but only repeated, " You could not expect that I should under- 
 stand you, if you did not understand yourself." 
 
 " No ; that is true at least," said Colin, with eyes that strayed 
 beyond her, and had gone off into other regions unknown to 
 Matty. This which had piqued her even at the height of their 
 alliance gave her an excuse for her anger now. 
 
 "And when you go off into sentiment I never understand 
 you," said the young lady. " I will levo Vincomodo, as the Italians 
 say. That shall be your first lesson in the language which my 
 uncle says I am to teach you," and she turned away with a 
 glance half-spiteful, half-wistful, which had more effect upon 
 Colin than a world of words. He got up to open the door for 
 her, weak as he was, and took her hand and kissed it as she went 
 away. Then Colin took himself laboriously upstairs, having 
 done his day's work. And so unreasonable was the young man, 
 that Matty's last glance filled his heart with gentler thoughts of 
 the world in general, though he was not in love any longer. " I 
 was not such a fool after all," he said to himself ; which was a 
 great consolation. As for Matty, she cried heartily when she 
 got to her room, and felt as if she had lost something. Nor 
 did she recover until after luncheon, when some people came to 
 call, and it was her duty to be entertaining, and relieve Lady 
 Frankland. " I hope you said everything that was proper to 
 Mr. Campbell, my dear," said the lady of the house when lunch 
 -was over. And so that chapter came to an end.
 
 XXV.] A Son of ilie Soil. 263 
 
 CHAPTEE XXV. 
 
 After this interview it was strange to meet again the little 
 committee upstairs, and resume the consideration of ways and 
 means, which Sir Thomas would have settled so summarily. 
 Colin could not help thinking of the difference with a Httle 
 amusement. He was young enough to be able to dismiss 
 entirely the grave thoughts of the previous night, feeling in his 
 elastic, youthful mind, something of the fresh influence of the 
 morning, or at least — for Colin had found out that the wind was 
 easterly, a thing totally indifferent to him in old times — of the 
 sentiment of the morning, which, so long as heart and courage 
 are unbroken, renews the thoughts and hopes. Money was a 
 necessary evil, to Colin's thinking. So long as there happened 
 to be enough of it for necessary purposes, he was capable of 
 laughing at the contrast between his own utter impecuniosity 
 and the wealth which was only important for sake of the 
 things that could be done with it. Though he was Scotch, and 
 of a careful, money-making race, this was as yet the aspect which 
 money bore to the young man. He laughed as he leaned back 
 in his easy chair. 
 
 " AYhat Lauderdale makes up by working for years, and what 
 we can't make up by any amount of working, Sir Thomas does 
 with a scrape of his pen," said Colin. " Do^vnstai^s they need 
 to take little thought about these matters, and up here a great 
 deal of thought serves very little purpose. On the whole, it 
 seems to me that it would be very good for our tempers and for 
 our minds in general if we all had plenty of money," said the
 
 264 A Son of the Soil. [CHAP. 
 
 young philosopher, still laughing. He was tolerably indifferent 
 on the subject, and able to take it easily. While he spoke, his 
 eye lighted on his mother's face, who was not regarding the 
 matter by any means so lightly. Mrs. Campbell on the contrary 
 was suffering under one of the greatest minor trials of a woman. 
 She thought her son's life depended on this going to Italy, and 
 to procure the means for it there was nothing on earth his mother 
 would not have done. She would have undertaken joyfully the 
 rudest and hardest labour that ever was undertaken by man. 
 She would have put her hands, which indeed were not un- 
 accustomed to work, to any kind of toil; but with this eager 
 longing in her heart she knew at the same time that it was quite 
 impossible for her to do anything by which she could earn those 
 sacred and precious coins on which her boy's life depended. 
 While Colin spoke, his mother was making painful calculations 
 what she could save and spare, at least, if she could not earn. 
 Colin stopped short when he looked at her ; he could not laugh 
 any longer. What was to him a matter of amusing speculation 
 was to her life or death. 
 
 "There canna but be inequalities in this world," said the 
 Mistress, her tender brows still puckered with their baffling 
 calculations. " I 'm no envious of ony grandeur, nor of taking 
 my ease, nor of the pleasures of this life. We're awfu' happy at 
 hame in our sma' way when a's weel with the bairns ; but it's for 
 their sakes, to get them a' that's good for them ! Money's 
 precious when it means health and life," said Mrs. Campbell 
 with a sigh ; " and it's awfu' hard upon a woman when she can 
 do nothing for her ain, and them in need." 
 
 "I've known it hard upon mony a man," said Lauderdale ; 
 *' there's little difference when it comes to that. But a hundred 
 pounds," he continued, with a delightful consciousness of power 
 and magnificence, "is not a bad sum to begin upon; before 
 that's done, there will be time to think of more. It's none of
 
 XXV.] A Son of the Soil 265 
 
 your business, callant, that I can see. If you'll no come with 
 me, you must even stay behind. I've set my heart on a holiday. 
 A man has little good of his existence when he does nothing but 
 work and eat, and eat and work again, as I've been doing. I 
 would like to take the play a while, and feel that I'm alive." 
 
 When the Mistress saw how Lauderdale stretched his long 
 limbs on his chair, and how Colin's face brightened with the 
 look, half sympathetic, half provocative, which usually marked 
 the beginning of a long discussion, she went to the other end of 
 the room for her work. It was Colin's linen which his mother 
 was putting in order, and she was rather glad to "svithdraw to a 
 distance, and retire within that refuge of needlework, which is a 
 kind of sanctuary for a woman, and in which she could pursue 
 undisturbed her own thoughts. After a while, though these 
 discussions were much in Mrs. Campbell's way, and she was not 
 disinclined in general to take part in them, she lost the thread 
 of the conversation. The voices came to her in a kind of 
 murmur, now and then chiming in with a chance word or two 
 in the current of her own reflections. The atmosphere which 
 surrounded the convalescent had never felt so hopeful as to-day, 
 and the heart of the mother swelled with a sense of restoration, 
 a trust in God's mercy which recently had been dull and faint 
 within her. Restoration, recovery, deliverance — Xature grows 
 humble, tender, and sweet under these influences of heaven. 
 The Mistress's heart melted within her, repenting of all the hard 
 thoughts she had been thinking, of aU the complaints she had 
 uttered. " It is good for me that I was afflicted," said the 
 Psalmist ; but it was not until his affliction was past that he 
 could say so. Anguish and loss make no such confession. The 
 heart, when it is breaking, has enough ado to refrain from 
 accusing God of its misery, and it is only the inhumanity of 
 human ad^dsers that adjure it to make spiiitual merchandize out 
 of the hopelessness of its pain.
 
 266 A Son of the Soil. [chap. 
 
 Matters were going on thus in Colin's chamber, where he and 
 his friend sat talking ; and the mother at the other end of the 
 room carefully sewing on Colin's buttons, began to descend out 
 of her heaven of thankfulness, and to be troubled with a pang 
 of apprehension lest her husband should not see things in the 
 same light as she did, but might, perhaps, demur to Colin's 
 journey as an unwarrantable expense. People at Eamore did 
 not seek such desperate remedies for failing health. "Whenever 
 a cherished one Avas ill, they were content to get "the best 
 doctors," and do everything for him that household care and 
 pains could do ; but, failing that, the invalid succumbed into 
 the easy chair, and, when domestic cherishing would serve the 
 purpose no longer, into a submissive grave, without dreaming of 
 those resources of the rich which might still have prolonged the 
 fading life. Colin of Eamore was a kind father, but he was only 
 a man, as the Mistress recollected, and apt to come to different 
 conclusions from an anxious and trembling mother. Possibly 
 he might think this great expense unnecessary, not to be thought 
 of, an injustice to his other children ; and the thought disturbed 
 her reflections terribly, as she sat behind backs examining Colin's 
 wardrobe. At all events, present duty prompted her to make 
 everything sound and comfortable, that he might be ready to 
 encounter the journey without any difiiculty on that score; and, 
 absorbed in these mingled cares and labours, she was folding up 
 carefully the garments she had done with, and laying them 
 before her in a snowy heap upon the table, when the curate 
 knocked softly at the door. It was rather an odd scene for the 
 young clergyman, who grew more and more puzzled by his Scotch 
 acquaintances the more he saw of them, not knowing how to 
 account for their quaint mixture of homeliness and intelligence, 
 nor whether to address them politely as equals, or familiarly as 
 inferiors. Mrs. Campbell came forward, when he opened the 
 door, with her cordial smile and looks as gracious as if she had
 
 xxv.} A Son of the Soil. 267 
 
 been a duchess. "Come away, sir," said the farmer's wife; "we 
 are aye real glad to see you," and then the Mistress stopped 
 short, for Henry Frankland was behind the curate, and somehow 
 the heir of Wodensboiirne was not a favourite mth Colin's 
 mother. But her discontent lasted only a moment. " I canna 
 bid ye welcome, !Mr. Frankland, to your own house," said the 
 diplomatical woman ; " but if it was mine I would say I was 
 glad to see you." This was how she got over the difficulty. 
 But she followed the two young men towards the fire, where 
 Colin had risen from his easy chair. She could but judge 
 according to her knowledge, like other people ; and she was a 
 little afraid that the man who had taken his love from him 
 who had hazarded his health and, probably, his life, would find 
 little favour in Colin's eyes ; and to be anything but courteous 
 to a man who came to pay her a visit, even had he been her 
 greatest enemy, was repugnant to her barbaric-princely Scotch 
 ideas. She followed accordingly, to be at hand and put things 
 straight, if they went wrong. 
 
 "Frankland was too late to see you to-day when you were 
 downstairs ; so he thought he would come up with me," said 
 the curate, giving this graceful version of the fact that, dragged 
 by himself and pursued by Lady Frankland, Harry had most 
 reluctantly ascended the stair. " I am very glad indeed to hear 
 that you were down to-day. You are looking — ah — better 
 already," said the kind young man. As for Harry Frankland, 
 he came foi-ward and offered his hand, putting down at the 
 same time on the table a pile of books with which he was 
 loaded. 
 
 " My cousin told me you wanted to learn Itahan," said Harry; 
 " so I brought you the books. It's a very easy language; though 
 people talk great nonsense about its being musical. It is not a 
 bit sweeter than English. If you only go to Xice, French will 
 answer quite weU." He sat down suddenly and uncomfortably
 
 268 A Son of the Soil. [Chap. 
 
 as he delivered himself of this utterance ; and Colin, for his 
 part, took np the grammar, and looked at it as if he had no 
 other interest under the sun. 
 
 " I don't agree with Frankland there," said the curate ; 
 "everything is harmonious in Italy except the churches. I 
 know you are a keen observer, and I am sure you will be struck 
 with the fine spirit of devotion in the people ; but the churches 
 are the most impious edifices in existence," said the Anglican, 
 with warmth — which was said, not because the curate was 
 thinking of ecclesiastical art at the moment, but by way of 
 making conversation, and conducting the interview between the 
 saved man and his deliverer comfortably to an end. 
 
 " I think you said you had never been in Scotland ?" said Lau- 
 derdale. For my part I'm no heeding much about the churches ; 
 but I'm curious to see the workings of an irrational system where 
 it has no limit. It's an awfu' interesting subject of inquiry; and 
 there is little doubt in my mind that a real popular system must 
 aye be more or less irrational " 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said the curate. " Of course there are 
 many errors in the Church of Eome ; but I don't see that such 
 a word as irrational " 
 
 " It's a very good word," said Lauderdale. "I'm no using it 
 in a contemptuous sense. Man's an irrational being, take him 
 at his best. I'm not saying if it's above reason or below reason, 
 but out of reason ; which makes it none the worse to me. All 
 religion's out of reason for that matter — which is a thing we 
 never can be got to allow in Scotland. You understand it better 
 here," said the philosopher ; but the curate's attention was too 
 much distracted to leave him any time for self-defence. 
 
 During this pause, however, Colin and Harry were eyeing 
 each other over the Italian books. " You won't find it at all 
 difiicult," said young Frankland ; " if you had been staying 
 longer we might have helped you. I say — look here ; I am
 
 XXV.] A Son of the Soil. 269 
 
 mucli obliged to you," Harry added suddenly : " a fellow does 
 not know what to say in such circumstances. I am horribly 
 vexed to think of your being ill. I'd be very glad to do as much 
 for you as you have done for me." 
 
 " Which is simply nothing at all," said Colin, hastily ; and 
 then he became conscious of the effort the other had made. 
 "Thank you for saying so much. I wish you could, and then 
 nobody would think any more about it," he said, laughing ; and 
 they regarded each other for another half minute across the 
 table while Lauderdale and the curate kept on talking heresy. 
 Then Colin suddenly held out his hand. 
 
 " It seems my fate to go away without a grudge against any- 
 body," said the young man ; " which is hard enough when one 
 has a certain right to a grievance. Good-bye. I daresay after 
 this your path and mine will scarcely cross again." 
 
 " Good-bye," said Harry Frankland, rising up — and he made 
 a step or two to the door, but came back again, swallowing a 
 lump in his throat. " Good-bye," he repeated, holding out his 
 hand another time. " I hope you'll soon get well ! God bless 
 you, old fellow ! I never knew you till now ; " and so dis- 
 appeared very suddenly, closing the door after him Avith a little 
 unconscious violence. Colin lay back in his chair with a smile 
 on his face. The two who were talking beside him had their 
 ears intently open to this bye-play, but they went on with 
 their talk, and left the principal actors in the little drama 
 alone. 
 
 "I wonder if I am going to die?" said CoHn, softly, to 
 himself; and then he caught the glance of terror, almost of 
 anger, with which his mother stopped short and looked at him, 
 with her lips apart, as if her breathing had stopped for the 
 moment. " Mother, dear, I have no such intention," said the 
 young man ; " only that I am leaving Wodensbourne with 
 feelings so amicable and amiable to everybody, that it looks
 
 270 A Son of the Soil. [Chap. 
 
 alarming. Even Harry Frankland, you see — and this morning 
 his cousin " 
 
 " What about his cousin, Colin ? " said the Mistress, with 
 bated breath. 
 
 Upon which Colin laughed — not harshly or in mockery — 
 softly, with a sound of tenderness, as if somewhere not far off 
 there laj^ a certain fountain of tears. 
 
 " She is very pretty, mother," he said, " very sweet, and kind, 
 and charming. I daresay she will be a leader of fashion a few 
 years hence, when she is married ; and I shall have great 
 pleasure in paying my respects to her when I go up from the 
 Assembly in black silk stockings, with a deputation, to present 
 an address to the Queen." 
 
 Mrs. Campbell never heard any more of what had been or had 
 not been between her son and the little siren whom she herself, 
 in the bitterness of her heart, had taken upon herself to reprove ; 
 and this was how Colin, without, as he said, a grudge against 
 anybody, concluded the episode of Wodensbourne. 
 
 Some time, however, elapsed before it was possible for Colin 
 and his companion to leave England. Colin of Eamore was, as 
 his wife had imagined, slow to perceive the necessity for so ex- 
 pensive a proceeding. The father's alarm by this time had come 
 to a conclusion. The favourable bulletins which the Mistress 
 had sent from time to time by way of calming the anxiety of the 
 family, had appeared to the farmer the natural indications of a 
 complete recovery ; and so thought Archie, who was his father's 
 chief adviser in the absence of the mistress of the house. 
 
 " The wife's gone crazy," said big ('olin. " She thinks this 
 laddie of hers should be humoured and made of as if he was 
 Sir Thomas Erankland's son." And the farmer treated with a 
 little carelessness his wife's assurances that a warmer climate was 
 necessary for Colin. 
 
 " Kaebody would ever have thought of such a thing had he
 
 XXV.] A Son of tlie Soil. 271 
 
 been at hame when the accident happened," said Archie ; which 
 was, indeed, very true : and the father and son, who were the 
 money-makers of the family, thought the idea altogether fan- 
 tastical. The matter came to be mentioned to the minister, who 
 was, like everybody else on the Holy Loch, interested about 
 Colin, and, as it happened, finally reached the ears of the 
 same Professor who had urged him to compete for the Baliol 
 scholarship. Xow, it would be hard in this age of competitive 
 examinations to say anything in praise of a* university prize 
 awarded by favour — not to say that the prizes in Scotch universi- 
 ties are so few as to make such patronage specially invidious. 
 Matters are differently managed now-a-days, and it is to be hoped 
 that pure merit always wins the tiny rewards which Scotch 
 learning has at its disposal ; but in Colin's day the interest of a 
 popular professor was worth something. The little conclave was 
 again gathered round the fire in Colin's room at Wodensbourne, 
 reading, with mingled feelings, a letter from Eamore, when 
 another communication from Glasgow was put into Colin's hand. 
 The farmer's letter had been a httle impatient, and showed a 
 household disarranged and out of temper. One of the cows was 
 ni, and the maid-servant of the period had not proved herself 
 equal to the emergency. " I don't want to hurry you, or to 
 make Colin move before he is able," wrote the head of the 
 house ; " but it appears to me that he would be far more Kkely 
 to recover his health and strength at home." The Mistress had 
 turned aside, apparently to look out at the window, from which 
 was visible a white blast of rain sweeping over the dreary plain 
 which surrounded "^"odensbourne, though in reality it was to 
 hide the gush of tears that had come to her eyes. Big Colin 
 and his wife were what people call " a very united couple," and 
 had kept the love of their youth wonderfully fresh in their 
 hearts ; but still there were times when the man was impatient 
 and dull of understanding, and could not comprehend the
 
 272 A Son of the Soil. [Chap. 
 
 woman, just as, perhaps, though Mrs. Campbell was not so 
 clearly aware of that side of the question, there might be times 
 when, on her side, the woman was equally a hindrance to the 
 man. She looked out upon the sweeping rain, and thought of 
 the " soft weather " on the Holy Loch, which had so depressing 
 an effect upon herself, notwithstanding her sound health and 
 many duties, and of the winds of March which were approaching, 
 and of Colin's life, — the most precious tiling on earth, because 
 the most in peril. What was she to do, a poor woman who had 
 nothing, who could earn nothing, who had only useless yearnings 
 and cares of love to give her son 1 
 
 While Mrs. Campbell was thus contemplating her impotence, 
 and wringing her hands in secret over the adverse decision from 
 home, Lauderdale was walking about the room in a state of high 
 good-humour and content, radiant with the consciousness of that 
 hundred pounds, " or maybe mair," with which it was to be his 
 unshared, exclusive privilege to succour Colin. " I see no 
 reason why we should wait longer. The Mistress is wanted at 
 home, and the east winds are coming on ; and, when our siller 
 is spent we'll make more," said the exultant philosopher. And 
 it was at this moment of all others that the professor's letter 
 was put into the invahd's hands. He read it in silence, while 
 the Mistress remained at the window, concocting in her mind 
 another appeal to her husband, and wondering in her tender 
 heart how it was that men were so dull of comprehension and 
 so hard to manage. "If Colin should turn ill again" — for she 
 dared not even think the word she meant — " his father would 
 never forgive himsel'," said the Mistress to herself; and, as for 
 Lauderdale, he had returned to the contemplation of a Conti- 
 nental Bradshaw, which was all the literature of which at this 
 crisis Colin's friend was capable. They were both surprised 
 when Colin rose up, flushed and excited, with this letter which 
 nobody had attached any importance to in his hands. " They
 
 XXV.] A Son of the Soil. 273 
 
 have given me one of the new seliolarships," said Colin without 
 any preface, "to travel and complete my studies. It is a hun- 
 dred pounds a year; and I think, as Lauderdale says, we can 
 start to-morrow," said the young man, who in his weakness and 
 excitement was moved almost to tears. 
 
 "Eh, Colin, the Lord bless them !" said the ^Mistress, sitting 
 do\vn suddenly in the nearest chair. She did not know who it 
 was upon whom she was bestowing that benediction, which came 
 from the depths of her heart ; but she had to sit still after she 
 had uttered it, blinded by two great tears that made even her 
 son's face invisible, and with a trembling in her frame, wliich 
 rendered her incapable of any movement. She was inconsistent, 
 like other human creatures. When she had attained to this 
 sudden deliverance, and had thanked God for it, it instantly 
 darted through her mind that her boy was going to leave her on 
 a solemn and doubtful journey, now to be delayed no longer; 
 and it was some time before she was able to get up and arrange 
 for the last time the carefully-mended linen, which was all ready 
 for him now. She packed it, shedding a few tears over it, and 
 saying prayers in her tender heart for her firstborn ; and God 
 only knows the difficulty with which she preserved her smile 
 and cheerful looks, and the sinking of her heart when all her 
 arrangements were completed "Would he ever come back again 
 to make her glad ? " You'll take awfa' care of my laddie ?" she 
 said to Lauderdale, who, for his part, was not delighted with the 
 scholarship ; and that misanthrope answered, " Ay, I'll take 
 care of him." This was all that passed between the two 
 guardians, who knew, in their inmost hearts, that the object of 
 their care might never come back again. All the household of 
 Wodensboume turned out to wish Colin a good journey next 
 morning when he went away ; and the Mistress put down her 
 old-fashioned veil when the express was gone which carried him 
 to London, and went home again humbly by the night- train. 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 A Son of the Soil. {CHAP. 
 
 Fortunately there was in the same carriage with her a harassed 
 young mother with little children, whose necessities speedily 
 demanded the lifting up of Mrs. Campbell's veil. And the day 
 was clear on the Holy Loch, and all her native hills held out 
 their arms to her, when the good woman reached her home. 
 She was able to see the sick cows that afternoon, and her ex- 
 perience suggested a means of relieving the speechless creatures 
 which filled the house with admiration. " She may be a foolish 
 woman about her bairns," said big Colin, who was half pleased 
 and half angry to hear her story ; " but it's a different-looking 
 house when the wife comes hame." And thus the natural sun- 
 shine came back again to the Mistress's eyes.
 
 xxvL] A Soil of the Soil. 
 
 175 
 
 :CHAPTEE XXVI. 
 
 Colin and his guardian went on their way in a direction opposite 
 to that in which the Mistress travelled sadly alone. They made 
 all the baste possible out of the cold and boisterous weather, to 
 get to sea; which was at once, according to all their hopes, 
 to bring health to the invalid. Lauderdale, who carried his little 
 fortune about him, had been at gi-eat pains in dispersing it over 
 his person ; so that, in case of falling among thieves — which, to 
 a man venturing into foreign parts for the first time, seemed but 
 too probable — he might, at least, have a chance of sa\dng some 
 portion of his store. But he was not prepared for the dire and 
 dreadful malady which seized him unawares, and made him 
 equally incapable of taking care of his money and of taking care 
 of CoHn. He could not even make out how many days he had 
 lain helpless and useless in what was called the second cabin of 
 the steamer — where the arrangements and the provisions were 
 less luxurious than in the more expensive quarters. But Lauder- 
 dale, under the circumstances, did not believe in comfort; he 
 gave it up as a thing impossible. He fell into a state of utter 
 scepticism as he lay in agonies of sea-sickness on the shelf which 
 represented a bed. "Say nothing to me about getting there," 
 he said, with as much indignation as he was capable of " What 
 do you mean by there, callant 1 As for land, I'm far from sure 
 that there's such a thing in existence. If there is, we'll never 
 get to it. It's an awful thing for a man in his senses to deliver 
 himself up to this idiot of a sea, to be played with like a bairn's 
 balL It's very easy to laugh ; if you had been standing on your 
 head, like me, for twenty days in succession — " 
 
 t2
 
 276 A Son of the Soil. [chap. 
 
 " Only four days," said Colin, laughing, " and tlie gale is over. 
 You'll be better to-morrow." 
 
 " To-morrow ! " said Lauderdale, with a contemptuous groan ; 
 " I've no faith in to-morrow. I'm no equal to reckoning time 
 according to ordinary methods, and I'm no conscious of ever 
 having existed in a more agreeable position. As for the chances 
 of ever coming head uppermost again, I would not give sixpence 
 for them. It's all very well for the Hke of you. Let me alone, 
 callant j if this infernal machine of a ship would but go down 
 without more ado, and leave a man in peace — that's the plea- 
 santest thing I can think of. Don't speak to me about Italy. 
 It's all a snare and delusion to get honest folk off firm ground. 
 Let me get to the bottom in peace and quiet. Life's no worth 
 having at such a price," sighed the sufferer ; to whom his un- 
 dutiful charge answered only by laughter and jibes, which, under 
 the circumstances, were hard to bear. 
 
 " You are better now," said the heartless youth, " or you could 
 not go into the philosophy of the subject. To-morrow morning 
 you'll eat a good breakfast, and — ^" 
 
 "Dinna insult my understanding," said Colin's victim. " Go 
 away, and look out for your Italy, or whatever you call it. A cal- 
 lant like you believes in everything. Go away and enjoy yourself. 
 If you don't go peaceably, I'll put you out," cried the miserable 
 man, lifting himself up from his pilloAv, and seizing a book wliich 
 Colin had laid there, to throw at his tormentor. A sudden lurch, 
 however, made an end of the discomfited philosopher. He fell 
 back, groaning, as Colin escaped out of the little cabin. " It's 
 quite intolerable, and I'll no put up with it any longer," said 
 Lauderdale to himself And he recalled, with a sense of injury, 
 Colin's freedom from the overpowering malady under which he 
 was himself suffering. "It's me that's ill, and no him," he 
 thought, with surprise, and the thought prevailed even over sea- 
 sickness. By-and-by it warmed with a delicious glow of hope
 
 XXVI.] A Son of the Soil. 277 
 
 and consolation the heart of the sufferer. " If it sets the callant 
 right, I'm no heeding for myself," he said in his own mind, with 
 renewed heroism. Perhaps it was because, as Colin said, Lauder- 
 dale was already beginning to be better that he was capable of 
 such generosity. Certainly the ship lurched less and less as the 
 evening went on, and the moonlight stole in at the port-hole and 
 caressed the sufferer, widening his horizon a little before he was 
 aware. He had begun to wonder whether Colin had his great- 
 coat on before long, and fell asleep in that thought, and worked 
 out his remaining spell of misery in gigantic efforts — continued 
 all through the night — to get into Colin's coat, or to get Colin 
 into his coat, he was not quite sure which. Meanwhile, the 
 object of Lauderdale's cares was on deck, enjoying the moon- 
 light, and the sense of improving health, and all the excitement 
 and novelty of his new life. 
 
 They had been four days at sea, and Colin, who had not been 
 ill, had become acquainted with the aspect of all his fellow- 
 passengers who were as good sailors as himsel£ They were going 
 to Leghorn, as the easiest way of reaching Italy ; and there were 
 several invalids on board, though none whose means made neces- 
 sary a passage in the second cabin, of which Colin himself and 
 Lauderdale were the sole occupants. Of the few groups on the 
 quarter-deck who were able to face the gale, Colin had already 
 distinguished one, a young man, a little older than himself, 
 exceedingly pale and worn with illness, accompanied by a girl a 
 year or two younger. The two were so like each other as to 
 leave no doubt that they must be brother and sister, and so 
 unlike as to call forth the compassionate observation of every- 
 body who looked at them. The young lady's blooming face 
 delicately round and full, with the perfect outline of health and 
 youth, had been paled at first by the struggle between incipient 
 sea-sickness and the determination not to leave her brother ; but 
 by this time — at the cost of whatever private agonies — she had 
 apparently surmounted the common weakness, and was throwing
 
 278 A Son of the Soil. [chap. 
 
 into fuller and fuller certainty, without knowing it, by the con- 
 trast of her own bloom, the sentence of death written on his face. 
 When they were on deck, which was the only time that they 
 were visible to Colin, she never left him ; holding fast by his 
 arm with an anxious tenacity, not receiving, but giving support ; 
 and watching him with incessant, breathless anxiety, as if afraid 
 that he might suddenly drop away from her side. The brother, 
 for his part, had those hollow eyes, set in wide pathetic niches, 
 which are never to be mistaken by those who have once watched 
 beloved eyes widening out into that terrible breadth and calm. 
 He was as pale as if the warm blood of life had already been 
 wrung out of him drop by drop ; but, notwithstanding this 
 aspect of death, he was still possessed by a kind of feverish 
 activity, the remains of strength, and seemed less disturbed by 
 the gale than any other passenger. He was on deck at all hours, 
 holding conversations with such of the sailors as he could get at 
 — talking to the captain, who seemed to eschew his society, and 
 to such of his fellow^- travellers as were visible there. 
 
 What the subject of this sick traveller's talk might be, Colin 
 from his point of observation could not tell ; but there was no 
 mistaking the evidences of natural eloquence and the eagerness 
 of the speaker. " He ought to be a preacher by his looks," 
 Colin said to himself, as he stood within the limits to which, as 
 a second-class passenger, he was confined, and saw at a little 
 distance from him, the worn figure of the sick man, upon whose 
 face the moonlight was shining. As usual, the sister was cling- 
 ing to his arm and listening to him with a rapt countenance ; 
 not so much concerned about what he said, it seemed, as absorbed 
 in anxious investigation of his looks. It was one of the sailors 
 this time who formed the audience which the invalid addressed 
 — a man whom he had stopped in the midst of something he was 
 doing, and who was listening with great evident embarrassment, 
 anxious to escape, but more anxious still, like a good-hearted 
 fellow as he was, not to disturb or irritate the suffering man.
 
 XXVI.] A Son of the Soil. 279 
 
 Colin drew a step nearer, feeling that the matter under discussion 
 could be no private one, and the sound of the little advance he 
 made caught the invalid's nervous ear. He turned round upon 
 Colin before he could go back, and suddenly fixed him with 
 those wonderful dying eyes. ''I shall see you again another 
 time, my friend," he said to the released seaman, who hastened 
 off with an evident sense of having escaped. When the stranger 
 turned round he had to move back his companion, so that in the 
 change of position she came to be exactly in front of Colin, so 
 near that the two could not help seeing, could not help observing 
 each other. The girl withdrew her eyes a moment from her 
 brother to look at the new face thus presented to her. She did 
 not look at Colin as a young woman usually looks at a young 
 man. She was neither indifferent, nor did she attempt to seem 
 so. She looked at him eagerly, with a question in her eyes. 
 The question was a strange one to be addressed, even from the 
 eyes, by one stranger to another. It said as plain as words, 
 " Are you a man to whom I can appeal — are you a man who will 
 understand him ? Shall I be able to trust you, and ask your 
 help 1 " That and nothiug else was in the wistful anxious look. 
 If Colin's face had not been one which said " Yes " to all such 
 questions, she would have turned away, and thought of him no 
 more ; as it was, she looked a second time with a touch of 
 interest, a gleam of hope. The brother took no more apparent 
 notice of her than if she had been a cloak on his arm, except 
 that from time to time he put out his thin white hand to make 
 sure that she was still there. He fixed his eyes on CoHn with 
 a kind of solemn stedfastness, which had a wonderful effect upon 
 the young man, and said something hasty and brief, a most sum- 
 mary preface, about the beautiful night. '-Are you ill?" he 
 added, in the same hasty, breathless way, as if impatient of 
 wasting time on such prelimiuaries. "Are you going abroad 
 for your health?" 
 
 Colin, who was surprised by the question, felt almost dis-
 
 280 A Son of the Soil [Chap. 
 
 inclined to answer it — for in spite of himself it vexed liim to 
 think that anybody could read that necessity in his face. He 
 said, " I think so," with a smile which was not quite spontaneous; 
 " my friends at least have that meaning," he added more natu- 
 rally a moment afterwards, with the intention of returning the 
 question ; but that possibility was taken rapidly out of his hands. 
 
 "Have you ever thought of death?" said the stranger. 
 "Don't start — I am dying, or I would not ask you. When 
 a man is dying he has privileges. Do you know that you are 
 standing on the brink of a precipice ? Have you ever thought 
 of death?" 
 
 " Yes, a great deal," said Colin. It would be wrong to say 
 that the question did not startle him ; but, after the first strange 
 shock of such an address, an impulse of response and sympathy 
 filled his mind. It might have been difficult to get into ac- 
 quaintance by means of the chit-chat of society, which requires 
 a certain initiation ; but such a grand subject was common 
 ground. He answered as very few of the people interrogated by 
 the sick man did answer. He did not show either alarm or 
 horror — he started slightly, it is true, but he answered without 
 much hesitation : 
 
 " Yes, I have thought often of death," said Colin. Though 
 he was only a second-class passenger, this was a question which 
 put all on an equality ; and now it was not difficult to under- 
 stand why the captain eschewed his troublesome questioner, and 
 how the people looked embarrassed to whom he spoke. 
 
 "Ah, I am glad to hear such an answer," said the stranger; 
 " so few people can say so. You have found out, then, the true 
 aim of life. Let us walk about, for it is cold, and I must not 
 shorten my working -days by any devices of my own. My 
 friend, give me a little hope that, at last, I have found a 
 brother in Christ." 
 
 " I hope so," said Colin, gravely. He was still more startled 
 by the strain in which his new companion proceeded; but a
 
 XXVI.] A Son of the Soil. 281 
 
 djing man had privileges. " I hope so," Colin repeated ; " one 
 of many here." 
 
 "Ah, no, not of many," said the invalid; "if you can feel 
 certain of being a child of God, it is what but few are permitted 
 to do. My dear friend, it is not a subject to deceive ourselves 
 upon. It is terribly important for you and me. Are you sure 
 that you are fleeing from the wrath to come ? Are you sure 
 that you are prepared to meet your God ? " 
 
 They had turned into the full moonlight, which streamed 
 upon their faces. The ship was rushing along through a sea 
 still agitated by the heavings of the past storm, and there was 
 nothing moving on deck except some scattered seamen busy in 
 their mysterious occupations. Colin was slow to answer the 
 new question thus addressed to him. He was stQl very young ; 
 delicate, and reticent about all the secrets of his soul; not 
 wearing his heart upon his sleeve even in particulars less 
 intimate and momentous than this. " I am not afraid of my 
 God," he said, after a minute's pause ; " pardon me, I am not 
 used to speak much on such subjects. I cannot imagine that to 
 meet God can be less than the greatest joy of which the soul is 
 capable. He is our Father. I am not afraid," 
 
 " Oh, my friend ! " said the eager stranger ; his voice sounded 
 in Colin's ear like the voice of a desperate man in a lifeboat, 
 calling to somebody who was drowning in a storm, — "don't 
 deceive yourself; don't take up a sentimental view of such an 
 important matter. There is no escape except through one way. 
 The great object of our lives is to know how to die — and to die 
 is despair, without Christ." 
 
 " What is it to Hve without Him l " said Colin. " I think 
 the great object of our lives is to live. Sometimes it is very 
 hard work. And, when one sees what is going on in the world, 
 one does not know how it is possible to keep living without 
 Him," said the young man, whose mind had taken a profound 
 impression from the events of the last three months. " I don't
 
 282 A Son of the Soil. [Chap. 
 
 see any meaning in the world otlierwise. So far we are agreed. 
 Death, which interests you so much, will clear up all the rest." 
 
 "Which interests me?" said his new friend; "if we were 
 indeed rational creatures, would it not interest every one? 
 Beyond every other subject, heyond every kind of ambition and 
 occupation — think what it is to go out of this life, with which 
 we are familiar, to stand alone before God, to answer for the 
 deeds done in the body " 
 
 "Then, if you are so afraid of God," said Colin, "what 
 account do you make of Christ ? " 
 
 A gleam of strange light went over the gaunt eager face. 
 He put out his hand with his habitual movement, and laid it 
 upon his sister's hand, which was clinging to his arm. " Alice, 
 hush ! " said the sick man ; " don't interrupt me. He speaks 
 as if he knew what I mean ; he speaks as if he too had some- 
 thing to do with it. I may be able to do him good or he 
 me. I have not the pleasure of knowing your name," he said, 
 suddenly turning again to Colin with the strangest difference 
 of manner. " Mine is Meredith. My sister and I will be glad 
 if you will come to our cabin. I should like to have a little 
 conversation with you. Will you come ? " 
 
 Colin would have said No ; but the word was stayed on 
 his lips by a sudden look from the girl who had been drawn 
 on along with them, without any ajaparent will of her own. It 
 was only in her eyes that any indication of individual meaning 
 on her part was visible. She did not speak, nor appear to 
 think it necessary that she should second her brother's invita- 
 tion ; but she gave Colin a hasty look, conveying such an 
 appeal as went to his heart. He did not understand it ; if he 
 had been asked to save a man's life the petition could not have 
 been addressed to him more imploringly. His own wish gave 
 way instantly before the eager supplication of those eyes : not 
 that he was charmed or attracted by her, for she was too much 
 absorbed, and her existence too much wrapt up in that of her
 
 xxvL] A Son of the Soil. 283 
 
 brother, to exercise any personal influence. A woman so pre- 
 occupied had given up her privileges of woman. Accordingly, 
 there was no embarrassment in the direct appeal she made. 
 The vainest man in existence could not have imagined that she 
 cared for his visit on her own account. Yet it was at her 
 instance that Colin changed his original intention, and followed 
 them down below to the cabin. His mind was sufficiently free 
 to leave him at hberty to be interested in others, and his 
 curiosity was already roused. 
 
 The pair did not look less interesting when Colin sat with 
 them at the table below, in the little cabin, which did not seem 
 big enough to hold anything else except the lamp. There, how- 
 ever, the sister exerted herself to make tea, for which she had 
 all the materials. She boiled her little kettle over a spirit-lamp 
 in a corner apart, and set everything before them with a silent 
 rapidity very wonderful to Colin, who perceived at the same 
 time that the sick man was impatient even of those soft and 
 noiseless movements. He called to her to sit down two or three 
 times before she was ready, and visibly fumed over the slight 
 commotion, gentle as it was. He had seated himself in a corner 
 of the hard little sofa which occupied one side of the cabin, and 
 where there already lay a pile of cushions for his comfort. His 
 thoughts were fixed on eternity, as he said and believed ; but his 
 body was profoundly sensitive to all the little annoyances of 
 time. The light tread of his sister's foot on the floor seemed to 
 send a cruel vibration through him, and he glanced round at her 
 with a momentary glance of anger, which called forth an answer- 
 ing sentiment in the mind of Colin, who was looking on. 
 
 "Forgive me, Arthur," said the girl, "I am so clumsy; I 
 can't help it" — an apology which Arthur answered with a 
 melancholy frown. 
 
 " It is not you who are clumsy; it is the evil one who tempts 
 me perpetually, even by your means," he said. '' Tell me what 
 your experience is," he continued, turning to Colin with more
 
 284 A Son of the Soil. [CHAp. 
 
 eagerness than ever ; I find some people who are embarrassed 
 when I speak to them about the state of their souls ; some who 
 assent to everything I say, by way of getting done with it : some 
 who are shocked and frightened, as if speaking of death would 
 make them die the sooner. You alone have spoken to me like a 
 man who knows something about the matter. Tell me how you 
 have grown familiar with the subject — tell me what your ex- 
 periences are." 
 
 Perhaps no request that could possibly have been made to 
 Colin would have embarrassed him so much. He was interested 
 and touched by the strange pair in whose company he found 
 himself, and could not but regard with a pity, which had some 
 fellow-feeling in it, the conscious state of life-in-death in which 
 his questioner stood, who was not, at the same time, much older 
 than himself, and still in what ought to be the flower of his 
 youth. Though his own thoughts were of a very different com- 
 plexion, Colin could not but be impressed by the aspect of the 
 other youth, who was occupying the solemn position from which 
 he himself seemed to have escaped. 
 
 "!N"either of us can have much experience one way or another," 
 he said, feeling somehow his own limitations in the person of his 
 new companion ; " I have been near dying ; that is all." 
 
 " Have been ! " said Meredith. " Are you not — are not we 
 all, near dying now ? A gale more or less, a spark of fire, a 
 wrong turn of the helm, and we are all in eternity ! How can 
 any reasonable creature be indifierent for a moment to such a 
 terrible thought 1 " 
 
 " It would be terrible, indeed, if God had nothing to do with 
 it," said Colin ; " and, no doubt, death is terrible when one looks 
 at it far off. I don't think, however, that his face carries such 
 terror when he is near. The only thing is the entire ignorance 
 we are in. "What it is — where it carries us — what is the extent 
 of the separation it makes ; all these questions are so hard to 
 answer." Colin's eyes went away as he spoke; and his new
 
 xxvn A Son of the Soil. 285 
 
 iriend, like Matty Frankland, was puzzled and irritated by the 
 look which he could not follow. He broke in hastily with a 
 degree of passion totally unlike Colin's calm. 
 
 " You think of it as a speculative question," he said ; " I 
 think of it as a dreadful reality. You seem at leisure to consider 
 when and how ; but have you ever considered the dreadful 
 alternative 1 Have you never imagined yourself one of the lost 
 — in outer darkness—shut out and separated from all good — 
 condemned to sink lower and lower ? Have you ever contem- 
 plated the possibility — ? " 
 
 " No," said Colin, rising ; " I have never contemplated that 
 possibility, and I have no wish to do so now. Let us postpone 
 the discussion. Nothing anybody can say," the young man 
 continued, holding out his hand to meet the feverish, thin 
 fingers which were stretched towards him, " can make me 
 afraid of God." 
 
 " Not if you had to meet Him this night in judgment 1 " said 
 the solemn voice of the young prophet, who would not lose a last 
 opportunity. The words and the look sent a strange chill 
 through Colin's veins. His hand was held tight in the feverish 
 hand of the sick man — the dark hollow eyes were looking him 
 through and througL Death himself, could he have taken shape 
 and form, could scarcely have confronted life in a more solemn 
 guise. " Not if you had to meet Him in judgment this night 1 " 
 
 " You put the case very strongly," said CoUn, who grew a 
 little pale in spite of himself. "But I answer, No — no. The 
 Gospel has come for very little purpose if it leaves any of His 
 children in fear of the Heavenly lather. No more to-night. 
 You look tired, as you may well be, with all your exertions, and 
 after this rough weather — " 
 
 "The rough weather is nothing to me," said Meredith; "I 
 must work while it is day — the night cometh in which no man 
 can work." 
 
 " The night has come," said CoUn, doing the best he could to
 
 286 A Son of the Soil. [CHAP. 
 
 smile ; *' tlie human night, in which men do not attempt to work. 
 Don't you think you should obey the natural ordinances as well 
 as the spiritual ? To-morrow we will meet, better quahfied to 
 discuss the question." 
 
 " To-morrow we may meet in eternity," said the dying man. 
 
 " Amen ; the question will be clear then, and we shall have 
 no need to discuss it," said Colin. This time he managed better 
 to smile. "But, wherever we meet to-morrow, good-bye for. 
 to-night — good-bye. You know what the word means," he said. 
 He smiled to himself even at the thoughts suggested to him by his 
 own words. He too was pale, and had no great appearance of 
 strength. If he himself felt the current of life flowing back into 
 his veins, the world and even his friends were scarcely of his 
 opinion. He looked but a little way farther off from the solemn 
 verge than his new acquaintance did, as he stood at the door of 
 the little cabin, his face lit up with the vague, sweet, brightening 
 of a smile, which was not called forth by anything external, but 
 came out of the musings and memories of his own heart. Such 
 a smile could not be counterfeit. When he had turned towards 
 the narrow stair which led to the deck, he felt a touch upon his 
 arm, like the touch of a bird, it was so light and momentary. 
 " Come again," said a voice in his ear, " come again." He knew 
 it was the sister who spoke ; but the voice did not sound in 
 Colin's ears as the voice of a woman to a man. It was imper- 
 sonal, disembodied, independent of all common restrictions. She 
 had merged her identity altogether in that of her brother. All 
 the light, all the warmth, all the human influence she had, she 
 was pouring into him, like a lantern, bright only for the bearer, 
 turning a dark side to the world. 
 
 Colin's head throbbed and felt giddy when he emerged into 
 the open air above, into the cold moonlight, to which the heaving 
 of the sea gave a look of disturbance and agitation which almost 
 reached the length of pain. There was nothing akin in that 
 passionless light to the tumult of the great chafing ocean, the
 
 XXVI.] A Son of the Soil 287 
 
 element most like humanity. True, it was not real storm, but 
 only the long pantings of the vast bosom, after one of those 
 anger-fits to which the giant is prone ; but a fanciful spectator 
 could not but link all kinds of imaginations to the night, and 
 Colin was pre-eminently a fanciful spectator. It looked like 
 the man storming, the woman watching with looks of powerless 
 anguish ; or like the world heaving and struggling, and some 
 angel of heaven grieving and looking on. Colin lingered on the 
 deck, though it was cold, and rest Avas needful "What could 
 there be in the future existence more dark, more hopeless than 
 the terrible enigmas which built up their dead walls around a 
 man in this world, and passed interpretation. Even the darkest 
 hell of poetic invention comprehended itself and knew why it 
 was ; but this life, who comprehended, who could explain ? 
 
 The thought was very different from those with which Arthur 
 Meredith resigned himself reluctantly to rest. He could not 
 consent to sleep till he had written a page or two of the book 
 which he meant to leave as a legacy to the world, and which 
 was to be called " A Voice from the Grave." This poor yoimg 
 fellow had forgotten that God Himself was likely to take some 
 pains about the world which had cost so much. After the 
 " unspeakable gift " once for all, it appeared to young Meredith 
 that the rest of the work was left on his shoulders, and on the 
 shoulders of such as he; and, accordingly he wore his dying 
 strength out, addressing everybody in season and out of season, 
 and working at " A Voice from the Grave." A strange voice 
 it was — saying little that was consolatory ; yet, in its way, true, 
 as everything is true in a certain limited sense which comes 
 from the heart. The name of the Eedeemer was named a great 
 many times therein, but the spirit of it was as if no Eedeemer 
 had ever come. A world, dark, confused, and full of judgments 
 and punishments — a world in which men would not believe 
 though one rose from the grave — was the world into which 
 he looked, and for which he was working. His sister Alice,
 
 288 A Son of the Soil. 
 
 watching by his side, noting with keen anxiety every time the 
 pen slipped from his fingers, every time it went vaguely over the 
 paper in starts which told he had gone half to sleep over his 
 work, sat with her intelligence una wakened, and her whole being 
 slumbering, thinking of nothing but him. After all, Colin was 
 not so fanciful when in his heart it occurred to him to connect 
 these two with the appearance of the moon and the sea. They 
 had opened the book of their life to him fortuitously, without . 
 any explanations, and he did not know what to make of it. 
 When he descended to his own cabin and found Lauderdale fast 
 asleep, the young man could not but give a little time to the 
 consideration of this new scene which had opened in his life. It 
 was natural to Colin's age and temperament to expect that some- 
 thing would come of such a strange, accidental meeting ; and so 
 he lay and pondered it, looking out at the troubled moonlight 
 on the water, till that disturbed guardian of the night had left 
 her big troublesome charge to himself. The ship ploughed along 
 its lonely road with tolerable composure and quietness, for the 
 first time since it set out, and permitted to some of its weary 
 passengers unwonted comfort and repose ; but, as for Colin, a 
 sense of having set out upon a new voyage came into his mind, 
 he could not tell why. 
 
 END OF VOL. 
 
 LONDON : R. CLAY, SON', AND TAYLOR. PRINTKKS. 
 
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