No one made any response; saving himself and Mrs. Catherine, no one was sanguine on that subject: they were very glad to join in good wishes for the broken laird; but saw all the improbabilities in a stronger light than his more solicitous friends could do. "If he does," said Mr. Lumsden, "if he ever can redeem the estate again, I suppose the Macalpines are safe." Mr. Ferguson looked with gratitude at the minister. It was pleasant to have his hope homologated even so slightly. "Safe? ay, without doubt or fear! there is not a kinder heart in all Scotland. How many men will there be, Mr. Lumsden? how many able men?" Mr. Lumsden entered into a calculation. We need not follow him through the list of Duncans, and Donalds, and Rodericks; there were eleven fathers of families. Duncan Roy and his sister Flora were orphans; besides, there were six or seven young men, and a plentiful undergrowth of boys of all ages and sizes. "Say sixteen men," said Mr. Ferguson, "the rest could be herds, or--there is always work for these halflin lads. What do you say, Mr. Coulter?" Mr. Coulter's deliverance was favorable. Mrs. Catherine had urgent need of a plough-man, she suddenly discovered. Mrs. Coulter thought she "could do with" another maid. The Macalpines were in a fair way of being settled. "Mind what I say," said Mrs. Catherine, "its only for a time. They shall recover their ancient holdings, every inch of them; their right to the land is as good as Archie's; the clansman holds it on as clear a title as the chief. Mind, I put this in the bargain; that whenever the estate returns to its rightful owner, the Macalpines return to Oranmore." Mr. Ferguson's eyes glistened. He seemed to be looking forward to some apocryphal future gladness, which he dared hardly venture to believe in, yet to which his heart could not choose but cling. God speed the adventurer in the new world! Mr. Lumsden proceeded down stairs immediately, to visit the aged and sick who had been brought to the Tower: in a short time he returned. The guests young and old were more amalgamated than before; they were sitting in a wide circle round Mrs. Catherine's chair. They did not perceive the minister's entrance: for some reason known to himself he stepped behind the window-curtain. He was looking out upon the clear, cold, starry night. "Bless me," said Mrs. Bairnsfather, "Mr. Lumsden is in high favor with us all. It's a wonder a fine young man like him has not got a wife yet." Marjory Falconer looked thundery; she had been aware of a private telegraphic sign made by the hand of a certain tall dark figure, which was looking out upon the night. "All in good time," said Mrs. Coulter, "he is but a young man yet." "How old would you say?" inquired Mrs. Bairnsfather. "Oh! one or two and thirty perhaps--not more." "Not more!" Mrs. Bairnsfather had a vindictive recollection of sundry invasions of her husband's parish. "I'll warrant him a good five years older than that."