The earl smiled.  He was accustomed to, and often rather amused by his cousin’s honest worldliness and outspoken skepticisms—­that candid confession of badness which always inclines a kindly heart to believe the very best of the penitent.

“Nevertheless, though Miss Cardross may be ‘no bonnie,’ and too good to please your taste, I hope you will go often to the Manse in my absence, and write me word how they are, otherwise I shall hear little—­the minister’s letters are too voluminous to be frequent—­and Miss Cardross is not given to much correspondence.”

Captain Bruce promised, and again the two young men sat silent, listening to the eerie howling of the wind.  It inclined both of them to graver talk than was their habit when together.

“I wonder,” said the earl, “whether this blast, according to popular superstition, is come to carry many souls away with it ’on the wings of the wind!’ Where will they fly to the instant they leave the body?  How free and happy they must feel!”

“What an odd fancy!  And not a particularly pleasant one,” replied the captain, with a shiver.

“Not unpleasant, to my mind.  I like to think of these things.  If I were out of the body, I should, if I could fly back to Cairnforth.”

“Pray don’t imagine such dreadful things.  May you live a hundred years!”

“Not quite, I hope.  A hundred years—­of my life!  No. the most loving friend I have would not wish it for me.”  Then, suddenly, as with an impulse created by the sad events of the day—­the stormy night—­ and the disturbed state of his own mental condition, inclining him to any sort of companionship, “Cousin, I am going to trust you, specially, in a matter of business which I wish named to the Cardrosses.  I should have done so before they left to-night.  May I confide to you the message?”

“Willingly.  What is it about?” and the captain’s keen black eyes assumed an expression which, if the earl had noticed, he might have repented of his trust.  But no, he never would have noticed it.  His upright, honest nature, though capable of great reserve, was utterly incapable of false pretense, deceit, or self-interested diplomacy.  And what was impossible in himself he never suspected in other people.  He thought his cousin shallow sometimes, but good-natured; a little worldly, perhaps, but always well-meaning.  That Captain Bruce could have come to Cairnforth for any other purpose than mere curiosity, and remained there for any motive except idleness and the pursuit of health, did not occur to Lord Cairnforth.

“It is on the subject that you so much dislike my talking about—­my own death; a probability which I have to consider, as being rather nearer to me than it is to most people.  Should I die, will you remember that my will lies at the office of Menteith and Ross, Edinburg?”

“So you have made your will?” said the captain, rather eagerly; then added, “What a courageous man you are!  I never durst make mine.  But then, to be sure, I have nothing to leave—­except my sword, which I hereby make over to you, well-beloved cousin.”