‘If you are thinking of coming north after your return to England,’ ran the letter, ‘I wish you would come as soon as you can. I feel as if a crisis in my life were approaching, and as if I were all unprepared to meet it. I need a friend at my side. My father has set his heart on my becoming a Presbyterian minister; and as I took my degree in May, he thinks my next step will be to enter one of the Free Church Colleges. I shall do nothing of the kind; and I told him so as civilly as I could, but he seems to think he can break down my resolution. I believe he would be content if I were to take a place under Semple (you remember meeting him?) in my uncle’s oil-works; but I am nearly as unwilling to do that as to don the Geneva gown. The worst of it is, my father’s reproach that I don’t know my own mind is true enough. And yet, I am sure I have no desire to lead an idle life. I wish you were here to advise me. Do you think I should have any chance at the English bar? Everybody says there is not the slightest opening at the Scotch bar; but I know so little of the world!’ ‘You do indeed, poor fellow!’ was the reader’s inward comment. But Hubert was deceiving himself when he ascribed his sudden resolution to set off for Scotland to a desire to see Alec Lindsay through his difficulties; or rather, he refused to listen to the whisper in which his heart told him that if he went to the Castle Farm he would in all probability find Margaret there. He had forced himself to stay away from Scotland for two years; he had come back to England (as he thought) cured of his passion; and at the first reasonable excuse the other half of his nature, the half which had so long been denied a hearing, sprang up and refused to be suppressed. ‘At least go down to see her once more. You do not need to stay long, but to spend a day or two at the farm will hurt no one, and you may be of service to Alec.’ Thus spoke his heart while his judgment condemned; and Sophy, glancing at him, guessed something of what was going on in his mind. She had not failed to notice how her cousin (as she called him) had found his way down to Scotland again and again; and when she saw among his letters one bearing the Muirburn post-mark, she told herself that if he went to the north shortly after coming home she would know that her guess had been a right one. But she had not expected that before he had been four hours in the house he would have decided upon making the journey, and it was in a cold indifferent tone that she asked Hubert whether he thought of making an early start. ‘If I take the 7.15 from Euston,’ he replied, ‘I can get to the farm the same evening. I had better do that; but don’t make any alteration in your usual arrangements. I can easily get a cup of coffee at the railway station.’ When he came downstairs next morning, however, Sophy was tranquilly presiding over a well-furnished breakfast-table.