had grown upon cheek and chin, and there was a matured manliness of
expression in the whole countenance, which formed a strange contrast to
the still puny and childish frame--alas! Not a whit less helpless or
less distorted than before. Yes, the experiment had failed.

They were so sure of this, Mr. Cardross and his daughter, that neither
put to him a single question on the subject, but instinctively passed it
over, and kept the conversation to all sorts of commonplace topics: the
journey--the wonders of London--and the small events which had
happened in quiet Cairnforth during the three months that the earl had
been away.

Lord Cairnforth was the first to end their difficulty and hesitation by
openly referring to that which neither of his friends could bear to
speak of.

"Yes," he said, at last, with a faint, sad smile, "I agree with old
Duncan--I never mean to go to London any more. I shall stay for the
rest of my days among my own people."

"So much the better for them," observed the minister, warmly.

"Do you think that? Well, we shall see. I must try and make it so, as
well as I can. I am but where I was before, as Dr. Hamilton said. Poor
Dr. Hamilton! He is so sorry."

Mr. Cardross did not ask about what, but turned to the table and began
cutting open the leaves of a book. For Helen, she drew nearer to Lord
Cairnforth's chair, and laid over the poor, weak, wasted fingers her
soft, warm hand.