Tallisker had repeatedly urged a year’s foreign travel.  But the laird had been much averse to the plan.  France, in his opinion, was a hotbed of infidelity; Italy, of popery; Germany, of socialistic and revolutionary doctrines.  There was safety only in Scotland.  Pondering these things, he resolved that marriage was the proper means to “settle” the lad.  So he entered into communication with an old friend respecting his daughter and his daughter’s portion; and one night he laid the result before Colin.

Colin was indignant.  He wanted to marry no woman, and least of all women, Isabel McLeod.

“She’ll hae L50,000!” said the laird sententiously.

“I would not sell myself for L50,000.”

“You’d be a vera dear bargain at half the price to any woman, Colin.  And you never saw Isabel.  She was here when you were in Glasgow.  She has the bonniest black e’en in Scotland, and hair like a raven’s wing.”

“When I marry, sir, I shall marry a woman like my mother:  a woman with eyes as blue as heaven, and a face like a rose.  I’ll go, as you did, to Shetland for her.”

“There isna a house there fit for you to take a wife from, Colin, save and except the Earl’s ain; and his daughter, the Lady Selina, is near thirty years old.”

“There are my second cousins, Helga and Saxa Vedder.”

Then the laird was sure in his own heart that Tallisker’s advice was best.  France and Italy were less to be feared than pretty, portionless cousins.  Colin had better travel a year, and he proposed it.  It hurt him to see how eagerly his heir accepted the offer.  However, if the thing was to be done, it was best done quickly.  Letters of credit suitable to the young laird’s fortune were prepared, and in less than a month he was ready to begin his travels.  It had been agreed that he should remain away one year, and if it seemed desirable, that his stay might even be lengthened to two.  But no one dreamed that advantage would be taken of this permission.

“He’ll be hamesick ere a twelvemonth, laird,” said the dominie; and the laird answered fretfully, “A twelvemonth is a big slice o’ life to fling awa in far countries.”

The night before Colin left he was walking with his sister on the moor.  A sublime tranquillity was in the still September air.  The evening crimson hung over the hills like a royal mantle.  The old church stood framed in the deepest blue.  At that distance the long waves broke without a sound, and the few sails on the horizon looked like white flowers at sea.

“How beautiful is this mansion of our father!” said Helen softly.  “One blushes to be caught worrying in it, and yet, Colin, I fear to have you go away.”

“Why, my dear?”

“I have a presentiment that we shall meet no more in this life.  Nay, do not smile; this strange intelligence of sorrow, this sudden trembling in a soul at rest, is not all a delusion.  We shall part to-morrow, Colin.  Oh, darling brother, where shall we meet again?”