“They don’t appear to me at all picturesque,” said Colin; “and nobody looks at them that I can see except ourselves; so they can’t ruin many souls. But you and I don’t agree in all things, Meredith. The cross does not seem to me to come amiss anywhere. Perhaps the uglier and ruder it is it becomes the more suggestive,” the young man added, with a little emotion. “I should like to build a few crosses along our Scotch roads; if anybody was moved to pray, I can’t see what harm would be done; or, if anybody was surprised by a sudden thought, it might be all the better; even--one has heard of such a thing,” said Colin, whose heart was still a little out of its usual balance--“a stray gleam of sunshine might come out of it here and there. If I was rich like some of your Glasgow merchants, Lauderdale,” he said, laughing a little, “I think, instead of a few fine dinners, I’d build a cross somewhere. I don’t see that it would come amiss on a Scotch road--” “I wish you would think of something else than Scotch roads,” said Meredith, with a little vexation; “when I speak of things that concern immortal souls, you answer me with something about Scotland. What is Scotland to the salvation of a fellow-creature? I would rather that Scotland, or England either, was sunk to the bottom of the sea than stand by and see a man dying in his sins.” The two Scotchmen looked at each other as he spoke; they smiled to each other with a perfect community of feeling and motive, which conveyed another pang of irritation to the invalid who by nature had a spirit which insisted upon being first and best beloved. “I think we had better go home,” he said abruptly, after a pause. “I know Scotch pretty well, but I can’t quite follow when you speak on these subjects. I want to have a talk with Maria about her brother, who used to be very religiously disposed. Poor fellow, he’s ill now, and I’ve got something for him,” said the young man. Here he paused, and drew forth from his pocket a sheet folded like a map, which he opened out carefully, looking first to see that there was nobody on the road. “They took them for maps at the dogana,” said Meredith; “and geography is not prohibited--to the English at least; but this is better than geography. I mean to send it to poor Antonio, who can read, poor fellow.” The map, which was no map, consisted of a large sheet of paper, intended apparently to be hung upon a wall, and containing the words, “Come unto me all ye that labour and are heavy laden,” translated into Italian. It was not without a little triumph that Meredith exhibited this effort at clandestine instruction. “He has to lie in bed,” he said, with a softened inflection of his voice; “this will console him and bear him company. It is a map of his future inheritance,” the young missionary concluded, putting it back fondly into its deceitful folds;--and after this there was an uneasy pause, no one quite knowing what to say.