“But why do you say so? Everage! look here! I really do think that you have more right—a great deal more right to the estate than I have. You and all your ancestors were British born. I and my immediate progenitors were American born. What right had I to come over here and claim this title and estate? None whatever in _right_, whatever I might have had in law. And I cannot continue to hold it and to transmit it to my son, unless I expatriate myself and become a British subject. And I will not do that. Therefore I do not _want_ Killcrichtoun. A man is not even to be thanked for giving away what he don’t want. As I said before, I shall make over the whole of the landed estate to _you_. I wish to Heaven I could also give you the title; but that cannot be so transferred, I believe; so the title must be dropped; for, of course, I cannot continue to bear it in my own country—it would make me simply ridiculous. When, however, you become the owner of Killcrichtoun, although you cannot be the baron, yet you will have the territorial title, according to the custom of Scotland. You will be called ‘Killcrichtoun’ or ‘Everage of Killcrichtoun.’ Come, come! cheer up, man!” “Too much! it is too much! too much and too late!” groaned the poor gentleman, as he sat with his hands clasped tightly around his head, his bosom heaving and his eyes streaming with tears. CHAPTER XXXV. THE PEACE-OFFERING.—_Continued._ To Alick there seemed something awful in Everage’s tremendous emotion. He had been a very handsome, fine-looking man, with that natural air of majesty and grace which not even the bitterness of poverty and servitude could take from him; but now he was all broken down. Deep compassion moved the heart of Alick as he gazed on him. “What is the matter, Everage?” he softly inquired. “Coals of fire! Coals of fire!” answered the conscience-stricken man. And covering his bowed face with his hands, ‘he wept bitterly,’ as repentant Peter wept. Alexander looked on with awe for an instant, and then turned away his head; he could not bear to see such abject grief. At length, with an effort, Everage gained a mastery over his passion and raised his head, and with a look of anguish still upon his face, and in a voice still vibrating with intense emotion, he said: “You ask me what is the matter? Remorse is killing me! Remorse! and now your kindness!” “‘Remorse,’ Everage?” exclaimed Alexander, in consternation. “Yes, remorse! I am a criminal of the darkest dye! I am not worthy to live!” “A criminal!—You!” “Yes, I!—a God forsaken criminal.”