Still James was very little happier or more restful.  He lay awake again, but this night it was not to fret and fume, but to calmly think over his position and determine what was best and right to do.  For James still thought of “right,” and would have been shocked indeed if any angel of conscience had revealed to him the lowest depths of his desires and intentions.  In the first place, he saw that David would tolerate no element of quarrelling and bitterness in his peaceful home, and that if he would continue to visit there he must preserve the semblance of friendship for Donald McFarlane.  In the second, he saw that Donald had already made so good his lien upon his uncle’s and cousin’s affections that it would be very hard to make them believe wrong of the lad, even if he should do wrong, though of this James told himself there would soon be abundance.

“For the things David will think sinful beyond all measure,” he argued, “will seem but Puritanical severity to him; forbye, he is rich, gay, handsome, and has little to do with his time, he’ll get well on to Satan’s ground before he knows it;” and then some whisper dim and low in his soul made him blush and pause and defer the following out of a course which was to begin in such a way.

So Donald and he fell into the habit of meeting at David’s two or three nights every week, and an apparent friendship sprang up between them.  It was only apparent, however.  On Donald’s side was that good-natured indifference that finds it easy enough to say smooth words, and is not ready to think evil or to take offence; on James’ part a wary watchfulness, assuming the role of superior wisdom, half admiring and half condemning Donald’s youthful spirits and ways.

David was quite deceived; he dropped at once the authoritative manner which had marked his displeasure when he perceived James’ disposition to envy and anger; he fell again into his usual pleasant familiar talks with the young man, for David thought highly of James as of one likely to do his duty to God and himself.

In these conversations Donald soon began to take a little share, and when he chose to do so, evinced a thought and shrewdness which greatly pleased his uncle; more generally, however, he was at Christine’s side, reading her some poem he had copied, or telling her about some grand party he had been at.  Sometimes James could catch a few words of reproof addressed in a gentle voice to Donald by Christine; more often he heard only the murmur of an earnest conversation, or Christine’s low laugh at some amusing incident.

The little room meanwhile had gradually become a far brighter place.  Donald kept it sweet and bright with his daily offerings of fresh flowers; the pet canary he had given Christine twittered and sang to her all the day through.  Over Christine herself had come the same bright change; her still, calm face often dimpled into smiles, her pale-gold hair was snooded with a pretty ribbon, and her dress a little