"But we maun hae grand doings this time, ye ken," said an old farmer to
the minister, "for I doubt there'll ne'er be anither Earl o'
Cairnforth."

Which fact every one seemed sorrowfully to recognize. It was not only
probable, but right, that in this Lord Cairnforth--so terribly
afflicted--the long line should end.

As the day of the earl's majority approached, the minister's feelings
were of such a mingled kind that he shrank from these demonstrations of
joy, and rather repressed the warm loyalty which was springing up every
where toward the young man. But after taking counsel with Helen, who
saw into things a little deeper than he did, Mr. Cardross decided that
it was better all should be done exactly as if the present lord were not
different from his forefathers, and that he should be helped both to act
and to feel as like other people as possible.

Therefore, on a bright June morning, as bright as that of his sad
birth-day and his mother's death-day, twenty-one years before, the earl
awoke to the sound of music playing--if the national pipes of the
peninsula could be called music--underneath his window, and heard his
good neighbors from the clachan, young and old, men, women, and bairns,
uniting their voices in one hearty shout, wishing "A lang life and a
merry ane" to the Earl of Cairnforth.

Whether or not the young man's heart echoed the wish, who could tell?
It was among the solemn secrets which every human soul has to keep and
ever must keep between itself and its Maker.