It is said by the more inspired species of social reformer that what good men deem theoretically advisable is sure to happen sooner or later. In some cases, if the man be talented as well as good, it happens quickly. Within a few months of Jean's desertion came the last touch that was needed to complete the pathos of her brother's position and disarm the most hostile critic. Among the deaths in the _Scotsman_ appeared the name of James Heriot Walkingshaw. Nothing was said as to how or where he had died; and, in fact, the point was never satisfactorily settled whether the sad event took place in North Wales or Devonshire; but, of course, the cause was only too evident. Well, poor man, it was a mercy the end had come as swiftly as it had. His friends were sorry, of course, but not surprised and quite resigned. They were very pleased with the way his son took it. He departed quietly for the funeral in a hatband six inches wide, and returned with a thoughtful and chastened air to resume his daily work. The interment took place, it was understood, in a churchyard adjacent to the retreat; and under the sad circumstances people thought Andrew had done well to attend it unaccompanied by other mourners. In short, every circumstance connected with the tragedy served to increase the respect in which he was held. Even Jean's unfortunate omission to use black-edged paper when writing a few brief and curiously stiff acknowledgments of the letters of condolence she received, reacted indirectly in Andrew's favor. People pitied the brother of this unfeeling girl. How wounded he must feel by her callousness! But the most satisfactory consequence of all was the cessation of inquiries for any other Walkingshaw than Andrew. He considered himself justified in holding that this tacitly implied an admission that nobody could desire a better lawyer than he. And as there were none to contradict this assumption (since he had always made a point of avoiding the candid critic like the Devil, the impecunious school friend, and Sunday golf), he derived from it the full gratification to which he was entitled. Never, surely, was there a more signal triumph for the meek. His brother had abused him, and he was now broiling in India, torn for ever from his betrothed; his sister had snubbed him, and there she was homeless in London slaving in a hospital; Mrs. Dunbar had smacked his face, and she was an exile in the moors of Ross-shire; and now here was his father, who had plagued and despised him, numbered in the list of the deceased. Alas for Heriot Walkingshaw! He had despised the wrong man when he despised Andrew. "The Example is dead; long live the Example!" might well have been inscribed upon his tombstone, had their friends been able to learn precisely where that monument was situated. CHAPTER II