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. "Stop a minute, Malcolm." At the sound of that voice, which was not an infant's, though it was thin, and sharp, and unnatural rather for a boy, the big Highlander paused immediately. "Hold me up higher; I want to look at the loch." "Yes, my lord." This, then--this poor little deformed figure, with every limb shrunken and useless, and every joint distorted, the head just able to sustain itself and turn feebly from one side to the other, and the thin white hands piteously twisted and helpless-looking--this, then, was the Earl of Cairnforth. "It's a bonnie loch, Malcolm." "It looks awful' bonnie the day, my lord." "And," almost in a whisper, "was it just there my father was drowned?" "Yes, my lord." No one spoke while the large, intelligent eyes, which seemed the principal feature of the thin face, that rested against Malcolm's shoulder, looked out intently upon the loch. Mrs. Campbell pulled her veil down and wept a little. People said Neil Campbell had not been the best of husbands to her, but he was her husband; and she had never been back in Cairnforth till now, for her son had lived, died, and been buried away in Edinburg. At last Mr. Menteith suggested that the kirk bell was beginning to ring.