By these fierce words, and by the gleaming eyes, which made a sudden and total change in the subdued manner, and the plain, almost elderly face under the widow’s cap that Helen always wore, Lord Cairnforth guessed, more than he had ever guessed before, of what the sufferings of her married life had been.

“My friend,” he said, and there was infinite pity as well as tenderness in his voice, “believe me, you are wrong.  You are foreboding what, please God, will never happen.  God does not deal with us in that manner.  He bids us do His will, each of us individually, without reference to the doings or misdoings of any other person.  And if we obey Him, I believe He takes care we shall not suffer—­at least not forever, even in this world.  Do not be afraid.  Boy,” calling the little fellow, who was now sobbing in bitterest contrition behind the wheeled chair, “come and kiss your mother.  Promise her that you will never again vex her by telling a lie.”

“No, no, no.  Me’ll not vex mamma.  Good mamma!  Pretty mamma!  Boy so sorry!”

And he clung closely and passionately to his mother, kissing her averted face twenty times over.

“You see, Helen, you need not fear,” said the earl.

Helen burst into tears.

After that day it came to be a general rule that, when she could not manage him herself, which not infrequently happened—­for the very similarity in temperament and disposition between the mother and son made their conflicts, even at this early age, longer and harder—­Helen brought Boy up to the Castle and left him, sometimes for hours together, in the library with Lord Cairnforth.  He always came home to the Manse quiet and “good.”

And so out of babyhood into boyhood, and thence into youth, grew the earl’s adopted son; for practically it became that relationship, though no distinct explanation was ever given, or any absolute information vouchsafed, for indeed there was none who had a right to inquire; still, the neighborhood and the public at large took it for granted that such were Lord Cairnforth’s intentions toward his little cousin.

As for the boy’s mother, she led a life very retired—­more retired than even Helen Cardross, doing all her duties as the minister’s daughter, but seldom appearing in society.  And society speculated little about her.  Sometimes, when the Castle was full of guests, Mrs. Bruce appeared among them, still in her widow’s weeds, to be received by Lord Cairnforth with marked attention and respect—­always called “my cousin,” and whoever was present, invariably requested to take the head of his table; but, except at these occasional seasons, and at birthdays, new years, and so on, Helen was seldom seen out of the Manse, and was very little known to the earl’s ordinary acquaintance.