Mr. Cardross, perhaps, should have been there to welcome the child—­ his conscience rather smote him that he was not—­but it was the minister’s unbroken habit of years to spend Saturday evening alone in his study.  And it might be that, with a certain timidity, inherent in his character, he shrank from this first meeting, and wished to put off as long as possible what must inevitably be awkward, and might be very painful.  So, in darkness and rain, unwelcomed save by his own servants, most of whom even had never yet seen him, the poor little earl came to his ancestral door.

But on Sunday morning all things were changed, with one of those sudden changes which make this part of the country so wonderfully beautiful, and so fascinating through its endless variety.

A perfect June day, with the loch glittering in the sun, and the hills beyond it softly outlined with the indistinctness that mountains usually wear in summer, but with the soft summer coloring too, greenish-blue, lilac, and silver-gray varying continually.  In the woods behind, where the leaves were already gloriously green, the wood-pigeons were cooing, and the blackbirds and mavises singing, just as if it had not been Sunday morning, or rather as if they knew it was Sunday, and were straining their tiny throats to bless the Giver of sweet, peaceful, cheerful Sabbath-days, and of all other good things, meant for man’s usage and delight.

At the portico of Cairnforth Castle, for the first time since the hearse had stood there, stood a carriage—­one of those large, roomy, splendid family carriages which were in use many years ago.  Looking at it, no passerby could have the slightest doubt that it was my lord’s coach, and that my lord sat therein in solemn state, exacting and receiving an amount of respect little short of veneration, such as, for generations, the whole country-side had always paid to the Earls of Cairnforth.  This coach, though it was the identical family coach, had been newly furnished; its crimson satin glowed, and its silver harness and ornaments flashed in the sun; the coachman sat in his place, and two footmen stood up in their place behind.  It was altogether a very splendid affair, as became the equipage of a young nobleman who was known to possess twenty thousand a year, and who, from his castle tower —­it had a tower, though nobody ever climbed there—­might, if he chose, look around upon miles and miles of moorland, loch, hill-side, and cultivated land, and say to himself—­or be said to by his nurse, as in the old song—­

“These hills and these vales, from this tower that ye see,
   They all shall belong, my young chieftain, to thee.”

The horse pawed the ground for several minutes of delay, and then there appeared Mr. Menteith, followed by Mrs. Campbell, who was quite a grand lady now, in silks and satins, but with the same sweet, sad, gentle face.  The lawyer and she stood aside, and made way for a big, stalwart young Highlander of about one-and-twenty or thereabouts, who carried in his arms, very gently and carefully, wrapped in a plaid, even although it was such a mild spring day, what looked like a baby, or a very young child.