with "the moist, rich smell of the rotting
leaves," and the roads lying deep in mud, and the low shore hung with
constant mists, give a general impression of dreariness. The far-away
hills vanish entirely for days together, and the loch itself takes a
leaden hue, as if it never could be blue again. You can hardly believe
that the sun will ever again shine out upon it; the white waves rise,
the mountains reappear, and the whole scene grows clear and lovely, as
life does sometimes if we have only patience to endure through the weary
winter until spring.

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