When service was over, he sat watching the congregation pass out, especially noticing a family of boys who occupied the adjoining pew.  They had neither father nor mother with them, but an elder sister, as she appeared to be—­a tall girl of about fifteen.  She marshaled them out before her, not allowing them once to turn, as many of the other people did, to look with curiosity at the poor little earl.  But in quitting the kirk she stopped at the vestry door, apparently to say a word to the minister; after which Mr. Cardross came forward, his gown over his arm, and spoke to Mr. Menteith—­

“Where is Lord Cairnforth?  I was so glad to see him here.”

“Thank you, Mr. Cardross,” replied a weak but cheerful voice from Malcolm’s shoulder, which so startled the good minister that he found not another word for a whole minute.  At last he said, hesitating,

“Helen has just been reminding me that the earl and countess used always to come and rest at the Manse between sermons.  Would Lord Cairnforth like to do the same?  It is a good way to the Castle—­or perhaps he is too fatigued for the afternoon service?”

“Oh no, I should like it very much.  And, nurse, I do so want to see Mr. Cardross’s children; and Helen—­who is Helen?”

“My daughter.  Come here, Helen, and speak to the earl.”

She came forward—­the tall girl who had sat at the end of the pew, in charge of the six boys—­came forward in her serious, gentle, motherly way—­alas!  She was the only mother at the Manse now—­and put out her hand, but instinctively drew it back again; for oh! what poor, helpless, unnatural-looking fingers were feebly advanced an inch or so to meet hers!  They actually shocked her—­gave her a sick sense of physical repulsion; but she conquered it.  Then, by a sudden impulse of conscience, quite forgetting the rank of the earl, and only thinking of the poor, crippled, orphaned baby—­for he seemed no more than a baby —­Helen did what her warm, loving heart was in the habit of doing, as silent consolation for every thing, to her own tribe of “motherless bairns”—­she stooped forward and kissed him.

The little earl was so astonished that he blushed up to the very brow.  But from that minute he loved Helen Cardross, and never ceased loving her to the end of his days.

She led the way to the Manse, which was so close behind the kirk that the back windows of it looked on the grave-yard.  But in front there was a beautiful lawn and garden—­the prettiest Manse garden that ever was seen.  Helen stepped through it with her light, quick step, a child clinging to each hand, often turning round to speak to Malcolm or to the earl.  He followed her with his eyes and thought she was like a picture he had once seen of a guardian angel leading two children along, though there was not a bit of the angel about Helen Cardross—­externally at least, she being one of those large, rosy, round-face,