The tone in which he said “so happy” made the tears start to Helen’s eyes.  She turned away to the window, where she saw her own big brothers, homely-featured, and coarsely clad, but full of health, and strength, and activity, and then looked at this poor boy, who had every thing that fortune could give, and yet—­nothing!  She thought how they grumbled and squabbled, those rough lads of hers; how she herself often felt the burden of the large narrow household more than she could bear, and lost heart and temper; then she thought of him—­poor, helpless soul!—­you could hardly say body—­who could neither move hand nor foot—­who was dependent as an infant on the kindness or compassion of those about him.  Yet he talked of being “so happy!” And there entered into Helen Cardross’s good heart toward the Earl of Cairn forth a deep tenderness, which from that hour nothing ever altered or estranged.

It was not pity—­something far deeper.  Had he been fretful, fractious, disagreeable, she would still have been very sorry for him and very kind to him.  But now, to see him as he was—­cheerful, patient; so ready with his interest in others, so utterly without envying and complaining regarding himself—­changed what would otherwise have been mere compassion into actual reverence.  As she sat beside him in his little chair, not looking at him much, for she still found it difficult to overcome the painful impression of the sight of that crippled and deformed body, she felt a choking in her throat and a dimness in her eyes—­a longing to do any thing in the wide world that would help or comfort the poor little earl.

“Do you learn any lessons?” asked she, thinking he seemed to enjoy talking with her.  “I thought at dinner today that you seemed to know a great many things.”

“Did I?  That is very odd, for I fancied I knew nothing; and I want to learn every thing—­if Mr. Cardross will teach me.  I should like to sit and read all day long.  I could do it by myself, now that I have found out a way of holding the book and turning over the leaves without nurse’s helping me.  Malcolm invented it—­Malcolm is so clever and so kind.”

“Is Malcolm always with you?”

“Oh yes; how could I do without Malcolm?  And you are quite sure your father will teach me every thing I want to learn?” pursued the little earl, very eagerly.

Helen was quite sure.

“And there is another thing.  Mr. Menteith says I must try, if possible, to learn to write—­if only so as to be able to sign my name.  In eleven more years, when I am a man, he says I shall often be required to sign my name.  Do you think I could manage to learn?”

Helen looked at the poor, twisted, powerless fingers, and doubted it very much.  Still she said cheerfully, “It would anyhow be a good thing to try.”

“So it would—­and I’ll try.  I’ll begin tomorrow.  Will you”—­with a pathetic entreaty in the soft eyes—­“it might be too much trouble for Mr. Cardross—­but will you teach me?”