“I have very lately returned from the funeral of Harry Muir,” said Cuthbert, whose face had been gradually becoming grave, and who had begun to grow anxiously impatient of their lighter conversation; “and just now, uncle, I come direct from his house, where his sister has been consulting me about her future arrangements. One cannot but be interested in this family--they clung to him with such devotion; and all they care for now, seems to be to maintain his good name, and clear his son’s inheritance. Poor Harry! few men are loved so, uncle.” “He was a very unsteady lad, Cuthbert,” said the merchant, shaking his head. “It might be so,” said Cuthbert. “I do not dispute that; but now he is dead; and I have set my heart on having help to Martha--I mean to his elder sister, who has charge of everything. She needs immediate assistance, uncle. I state my business, you see, very briefly; and now refuse if you will. I am not to be discouraged by any number of Nays.” “Assistance!” exclaimed Mr. Buchanan hastily, fumbling in his breast-pocket for his purse, “do you mean to say they’re so far reduced as that? No, no--no refusal, Cuthbert; I don’t often shut my heart when there is real charity in the case.” “I know you don’t, uncle, and this would be a great charity,” said Cuthbert quick, feeling his face flush in the darkness; “but no alms--no alms. I will tell you the true state of the case now. The estate has had very little cultivation, and produces very indifferent crops. Poor Harry during the last year had begun to improve it, and expended a great deal of money on the land; but now he is dead, and the money spent, and a heavy debt upon the estate. They could pay the interest off their income, but could not touch the principal. Now, what are they to do, uncle?” “Why, Cuthbert, a man of your sense! only one thing is possible--of course, sell the land.” “But Martha will never sell the land. Martha will labour at it with her own hands before she alienates the child’s inheritance,” said Cuthbert, getting excited. “I want money for her to carry on the works with; and this money she will have, one way or another, I know. My own scheme, uncle,” added Cuthbert, with a short laugh, under which a great deal of anxiety was hidden, “is that you should give her a thousand pounds, and charge no interest for a year or two, till she gets everything in progress. I think this is the best possible solution of the problem, kindly and Christian-like--” While Cuthbert spoke, Mr. Buchanan employed himself deliberately in buttoning his coat over the comfortable breast pocket, where his purse trembled with a presentiment. “Thank you, Cuthbert,” said the merchant drily, “I have no thousand pounds to throw away.” There was a pause; for Cuthbert, though not at all discouraged, needed to recover himself a little before he resumed the attack.