Mrs. Catherine was in the little room; she had spent most of the morning there. She had provided Archibald with all temporal necessities--she was pleading now, before God, for that other, and yet more needful spiritual providing, which should keep him blameless, in the warfare of an evil world. No vain repetitions were there in that speechless agony of supplication: the strong spirit, with its mighty grasp of faith, was wrestling for a blessing--for prosperity and success, if it should please the Giver of all Good; but, above all earthly success and prosperity, for purity and deliverance from sin. Half an hour before the time of his departure, the young man joined her. "Archie," said Mrs. Catherine, "I desired to say my last words to you here: you mind your return to my house--you mind your covenant with me, before God, and within the shadow of Sholto Douglas, my one brother, whom, if it had not been otherwise ordained, you might have drawn your name and blood from--Archie Sutherland, you mind your covenant?" "I do." "In whatever circumstances the Lord may place you--in peril, in toil, in striving with the world harder than that, in ease, and peace, and prosperity, if it be His will to give you these: with a single eye, and an honest heart, and in the strength of Him that saved you, you will resist sin. Archie Sutherland, you hold by your covenant? you plight me your word again?" "Most earnestly--most truthfully. You trust me, Mrs. Catherine?" "I trust you, Archie. The Lord uphold and strengthen you in your goings-out, and in your comings-in!" There was a pause.--"And have you gotten everything right, Archie? are you sure there is nothing wanting that you will need, or that I can get for ye?" "Nothing," said Archibald. "You are only too lavish in your kindness, Mrs. Catherine; you forget that I am but a poor adventurer now." "Hush!" said Mrs. Catherine. "Kindness is not a word to be between your mother's son and me. Ay, Archie, you are an adventurer; mind it is no common errand you are going forth upon. To the like of you, hope is the natural breath and common air--the hopes of age are solemn ventures, our last and weightiest--when they fail, there is no new upspringing in the pithless soil that many hopes have withered and died upon, like September leaves. Archie, the last great hope of an aged woman is embarked in your labor. See--look where my first sun set--the darkness of its sinking is not out of my heart yet. You might have been of my own blood, boy; you might have borne the name of Sholto Douglas! Now the last of them all is on your head.--Archie Sutherland, be mindful of it; let me see you honorably home in your own land, before I go to another country." Archibald answered her almost incoherently: "If it was within the power of man--if any toil could accomplish it--"