But for the good man, John Menteith, his springs and winter were alike ended; he was gathered to his fathers, and his late ward mourned him bitterly.

Mr. Cardross and Helen, coming up to the Castle as soon as the news reached them, found Lord Cairnforth in a state of depression such as they had never before witnessed in him.  One of the things which seemed to affect him most painfully, as small things sometimes do in the midst of deepest grief, was that he could not attend Mr. Menteith’s funeral.

“Every other man,” said he, sadly, “every other man can follow his dear friends and kindred to the grave, can give them respect in death as he has given them love and help during life—­I can do neither.  I can help no one—­be of use to no one.  I am a mere cumberer of the ground.  It would be better if I were away.”

“Hush!  Do not dare to say that,” answered Mr. Cardross.  And he sent the rest away, even Helen, and sat down beside his old pupil, not merely as a friend, but as a minister—­in the deepest meaning of the word, even as it was first used of Him who “came not to be ministered unto, but to minister.”

Helen’s father was not a demonstrative man under ordinary circumstances; he was too much absorbed in his books, and in a sort of languid indifference to worldly matters, which had long hung over him, more or less, ever since his wife’s death; but, when occasion arose, he could rise equal to it; and he was one of those comforters who knew the way through the valley of affliction by the marks which their own feet have trod.

He and the earl spent a whole hour alone together.  Afterward, when sorrow, compared to which the present grief was calm and sacred, fell upon them both, they remembered this day, and were not afraid to open their wounded hearts to one another.

At last Mr. Cardross came out of the library, and told Helen that Lord Cairnforth wanted to speak to her.

“He wishes to have your opinion, as well as my own, about a journey he is projecting to Edinburg, and some business matters which he desires to arrange there.  I think he would have like to see Captain Bruce too.  Where is he?”

The captain had found this atmosphere of sorrow a little too overpowering, and had disappeared for a long ride; so Miss Cardross had been sitting alone all the time.

“Your father has been persuading me, Helen,” said the earl, when she came in, “that I am not quite so useless in the world as I imagined.  He says he has reason to believe, from things Mr. Menteith let fall, that my dear old friend’s widow is not very well provided for, and she and her children will have a hard battle even now.  Mr. Cardross thinks I can help her very materially, in one way especially.  You know I have made my will?”

“Yes,” replied unconscious Helen, “you told me so.”

“Mr. Menteith drew it up the last time he was here.  How little we thought it would be really the last time!  Ah!  Helen, if we could only look forward!”