the windows were rarely closed--the countess like sunshine and
fresh air, but now all was shut up and silent, and not a soul was to be
seen about the place.

Mr. Cardross sighed, and walked round to the other side of the castle,
where was my lady's flower-garden, or what was to be made into one.
Then he entered by French windows, from a terrace overlooking it, my
lord's library, also incomplete. For the earl, who was by no means a
bookish man, had only built that room since his marriage, to please his
wife, whom perhaps he loved all the better that she was so exceedingly
unlike himself. Now both were away--their short dream of married
life ended, their plans and hopes crumbled into dust. As yet, no
external changes had been made, the other solemn changes having come so
suddenly. Gardeners still worked in the parterres, and masons and
carpenters still, in a quiet and lazy manner, went on completing the
beautiful room; but there was no one to order them--no one watched
their work. Except for workmen, the place seemed so deserted that Mr.
Cardross wandered through the house for some time before he found a
single servant to direct him to the person of whom he was in search.

Mr. Menteith sat alone in a little room filled with guns and fishing
rods, and ornamented with stag's heads, stuffed birds, and hunting
relics of all sorts, which had been called, not too appropriately, the
earl's "study." He was a little, dried-up man, about fifty years old,
of sharp but not unkindly aspect. When the minister entered, he looked
up from the mass of papers which he seemed to have been trying to reduce
into some kind of order--apparently the late earl's private papers,
which had been untouched since his death, for there was a sad and
serious shadow over what otherwise have been rather a humorous face.

"Welcome, Mr. Cardross; I am indeed glad to see you. I took the liberty
of sending for you, since you are the only person with whom I can
consult--we can consult, I should say, for Dr. Hamilton wished it
likewise--on this--this most painful occasion."

"I shall be very glad to be of the slightest service," returned Mr.
Cardross. "I had the utmost respect for those that are away." He had
the habit, this tender-hearted, pious man, who, with all his learning,
kept a religious faith as simple as a child's, as speaking of the dead
as only "away."

The two gentlemen sat down together. They had often met before, for
whenever there