He reverenced Duncan both for his uprightness and for a certain grandeur of spirit, which, however ridiculous to the common eye, would have been glorious in the eyes of the chivalry of old; he looked up to him with admiration because of his gifts in poetry and music; and loved him endlessly for his unfailing goodness and tenderness to himself. Even the hatred of the grand old man had an element of unselfishness in its retroaction, of power in its persistency, and of greatness in its absolute contempt of compromise. At the same time he was the only human being to whom Malcolm’s heart had gone forth as to his own; and now, with the knowledge of yet deeper cause for loving him, he had to part with the sense of a filial relation to him! And this involved more; for so thoroughly had the old man come to regard the boy as his offspring, that he had nourished in him his own pride of family; and it added a sting of mortification to Malcolm’s sorrow, that the greatness of the legendary descent in which he had believed, and the honourableness of the mournful history with which his thoughts of himself had been so closely associated, were swept from him utterly. Nor was this all even yet: in losing these he had had, as it were, to let go his hold, not of his clan merely, but of his race: every link of kin that bound him to humanity had melted away from his grasp. Suddenly he would become aware that his heart was sinking within him, and questioning it why, would learn anew that he was alone in the world, a being without parents, without sister or brother, with none to whom he might look in the lovely confidence of a right bequeathed by some common mother, near or afar. He had waked into being, but all around him was dark, for there was no window, that is, no kindred eye, by which the light of the world whence he had come, entering might console him. But a gulf of blackness was about to open at his feet, against which the darkness he now lamented would show purple and gray. One afternoon, as he passed through the Seaton from the harbour, to have a look at the cutter, he heard the Partaness calling after him. “Weel, ye’re a sicht for sair een--noo ’at ye’re like to turn oot something worth luikin’ at!” she cried, as he approached with his usual friendly smile. “What du ye mean by that, Mistress Findlay?” asked Malcolm, carelessly adding: “Is yer man in?” “Ay!” she went on, without heeding either question; “ye’ll be gran’ set up noo! Ye’ll no be haein’ ‘a fine day’ to fling at yer auld freen’s, the puir fisher-fowk, or lang! Weel! it’s the w’y o’ the warl! Hech, sirs!” “What on earth’s set ye aff like that Mrs Findlay?” said Malcolm. “It’s nae sic a feerious (_furious_) gran’ thing to be my lord’s skipper--or henchman, as my daddy wad hae ’t--surely! It’s a heap gran’er like to be a free fisherman, wi’ a boat o’ yer ain, like the Partan.”