It was settled that Mr. M’Leod should continue agent; and, for his credit, I must observe that, after he was made acquainted with my loss of rank and fortune, he treated me with infinitely more respect and regard than he had ever shown me whilst he considered me only as his employer. Our accounts were soon settled; and when this was done, and they were all regularly signed, Mr. M’Leod came up to me, and, in a low voice of great emotion, said, “I am not a man of professions; but when I say I am a man’s friend, I hope I shall ever be found to be so, as far as can be in my power: and I cannot but esteem and admire the man who has acted so nobly as you have done.” M’Leod wrung my hand as he spoke, and the tears stood in his eyes. I knew that the feeling must indeed be strong, which could extort from him even these few words of praise, and this simple profession of regard; but I did not know, till long afterwards, the full warmth of his affections and energy of his friendship. The very next day, unfortunately for me, he was obliged to go to Scotland, to his mother, who was dying: and at this time I saw no more of him. In due legal form I now made a surrender of all claim upon the hereditary property of the Earl of Glenthorn, and every thing was in readiness for my journey. During this time poor Ellinor never appeared at the castle. I went to see her, to comfort her about my going away; but she was silent, and seemingly sullen, and would not be comforted. “I’ve enough to grieve me,” said she: “I know what will be the end of all; I see it as plain as if you’d told me. There’s no hiding nothing from a mother: no, there’s no use in striving to comfort me.” Every method which I tried to console her seemed to grieve her more. The day before that which was fixed for my departure, I sent to desire to see her. This request I had repeatedly made; but she had, from day to day, excused herself, saying that she was unwell, and that she would be up on the morrow. At last she came; and though but a few days had elapsed since I had seen her, she was so changed in her appearance, that I was shocked the moment I beheld her countenance. “You don’t look well, Ellinor,” said I: “sit down.” “No matter whether I sit or stand,” said she, calmly; “I’m not long for this world: I won’t live long after you are gone, that’s one comfort.” Her eyes were fixed and tearless; and there was a dead unnatural tranquillity in her manner.