“You have used the results of her teaching well on her behalf today.  It is no trifle—­a clear income of ten thousand a year; but she will make a good use of it.”

“I am sure of that.  So, now, all is safe and right, and I may die as soon as God pleases.”

He leaned his head back wearily, and his face was overspread by that melancholy shadow which it wore at times, showing how, at best, life was a heavy burden, as it could not but be—­to him.

“Come, now,” said the earl, rousing himself, “we have still a good many things to talk over, which I want to consult you about before you go,” whereupon the young man opened up such a number of schemes, chiefly for the benefit of his tenantry and the neighborhood, that Mr. Menteith was quite overwhelmed.

“Why, my lord, you are the most energetic Earl of Cairnforth that ever came to the title.  It would take three lifetimes, instead of a single one, even if that reached threescore and ten, to carry out all you want to do.”

“Would it?  Then let us hope it was not for nothing that those good folk yesterday made themselves hoarse with wishing me ’a lang life and a merry ane.’  And when I die—­but we’ll not enter upon that subject.  My dear old friend, I hope for many and many a thirtieth of June I shall make you welcome to Cairnforth.  And now let us take a quiet drive together, and fetch all the Manse people up to dinner at the Castle.”

Chapter 8

The same evening the earl and his guests were sitting in the June twilight—­the long, late northern twilight, which is nowhere more lovely than on the shores of Loch Beg.  Malcolm had just come in with candles, as a gentle hint that it was time for his master, over whose personal welfare he was sometimes a little too solicitous, to retire, when there happened what for the time being startled every body present.

Malcolm, going to the window, sprang suddenly back with a shout and a scream.

“I kent it weel.  It was sure to be!  Oh, my lord, my lord!”

“What is the matter?” said Mr. Menteith, sharply.  “You’re gone daft, man;” for the big Highlander was trembling like a child.

“Whisht!  Dinna speak o’t.  It was my lord’s wraith, ye ken.  It just keekit in and slippit awa.”

“Folly!  I saw nothing.”

“But I think I did,” said Lord Cairnforth.

“Hear him!  Ay, he saw’t his ain sel.  Then it maun be true.  Oh my dear lord!”

Poor Malcolm fell on his knees by the earl’s little chair in such agitation that Mr. Cardross looked up from his book, and Helen from her peaceful needle-work, which was rarely out of her active hands.

“He thinks he has seen his master’s wraith; and because the earl signed his will this morning, he is sure to die, especially as Lord Cairnforth saw the same thing himself.  Will you say, my lord, what you did see?”