To Jock, the time had been a rest from the victory
which had cost him so dear, and though the wounds
still smarted, there had been nothing to call them
into action; and he had fortified himself against the
inevitable reminders he should meet with in London.
He had been studying with all his might for the preliminary
examination, and eagerness in so congenial a pursuit
was rapidly growing on him, while conversations with
Mr. Ogilvie had been equally pleasant to both, for
the ex-schoolmaster thoroughly enjoyed hearing of the
scientific world, and the young man was heartily glad
of the higher light he was able to shed on his studies,
and for being shown how to prevent the spiritual world
from being obscured by the physical, and to deal with
the difficulties that his brother’s materialism
had raised for him. He had never lost, and trusted
never to lose, hold of his anchor in the Rock; but
he had not always known how to answer when called on
to prove its existence and trace the cable.
Thus the winter at St. Cradocke’s had been very
valuable to him personally, and he had been willing
to make return for the kindness for which he felt so
grateful, by letting the Vicar employ him in the night-schools,
lectures, and parish diversions-—all in short for which
a genial and sensible young layman is invaluable,
when he can be caught.
And for their mother herself, she had been sheltered
from agitation, and had gathered strength and calmness,
though with her habitual want of self-consciousness
she hardly knew it, and what she thanked her old friend
for was what he had done for her sons, especially Armine.
“He and I shall be grateful to you all the rest
of our lives,” she said, with her bright eyes
glistening.
David Ogilvie, in his deep, silent, life-long romance,
felt that precious guerdons sometimes are won at an
age which the young suppose to be past all feeling-—guerdons
the more precious and pure because unconnected with
personal hopes or schemes. He still knew Caroline
to be as entirely Joseph Brownlow’s own as when
he had first perceived it, ten years ago, but all
that was regretful jealousy was gone. His idealisation
of her had raised and moulded his life, and now that
she had grown into the reality of that ideal, he was
content with the sunshine she had brought, and the
joy of having done her a real service, little as she
guessed at the devoted homage that prompted it.
CHAPTER XXXIV. BLIGHTED BEINGS.
Allen-a-Dale has no faggot for burning,
Allen-a-Dale has no farrow for turning,
Allen-a-Dale has no fleece for the spinning,
Yet Allen-a-Dale has red gold for the winning.
Scott.
Copyrights
Magnum Bonum from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
