Roland stood for one minute, in the midst of a large hall, while the master removed his tartan, knocked the snow off his boots, and hung his cap upon the pegs, where the master's hunting-dress, his powder-horn, and game-bag, indicated his love for mountain sports. A set of antlers mounted the hall-door, and some hunting pictures adorned the wall. "Ye are weak and sick, sir," was the kind salutation; "tak' my arm," and Malcolm Graham led Roland into a bright family room, where a large wood fire blazed upon the hearth of a Franklin stove--the rich, dark carpet, the heavy oak furniture, old fashioned chairs, and pictures of Highland scenery gave an air of charming comfort to the apartment, which was truly grateful to the sick and jaded traveller. "Lie down, sir, on the couch;" and Malcolm beat up the soft chintz cushions with the tenderness of a woman, as he laid Roland down on the comfortable lounge. Perceiving that Roland made several attempts to speak, the master continued, "Dinna talk, there is plenty o' time for that; I will be back in a minute," and speedily returning, he sat down by the side of the young man, watching his motions. "Here, brother, is the negus," said a lady, opening the door slightly; and Malcolm handed it to Roland. The warm drink speedily restored vitality to his frame; then taking off his boots, his kind host rubbed his feet briskly, dropping cheering words as he performed the service. By this time, Roland was sufficiently recovered to look around him; and first he glanced at the tall and noble-looking man that waited upon him. The dark gray eyes expressed a world of feeling, and the mouth, though firm, was loving as a woman's. 'Tis true that the fine head was partially bald, and the hair that remained was silvered with marks of time, but there was that about Malcolm Graham that won Roland's heart at once. "Do you know, sir, whom you are befriending?" was Roland's first remark. "No, sir, a' that I ken is that ye are a stranger, an' I took ye in." "It is fitting that you should know--my name is Roland Bruce, sir." Malcolm's color changed, as, seizing the young man's hand, he exclaimed: "Mary Gordon's son! I thank thee, O, my Father!" and Malcolm hid his face in his handkerchief to conceal the storm of mixed emotions which swept over his countenance, and shook his frame. "I came from America to search for my relations; but I find none of my mother's kindred left. I am truly alone in the wide world; she bade me search for you also." "Not alone, Roland; Mary's son is my especial care, and my heart opens wide to receive ye; come to my arms, my son, and let me press my lips upon yer young brow." For that warm embrace, the friendship of future years was sealed, and the two were no more strangers. Malcolm opened the door and called, "Annie, I hae some one to introduce to ye," and his sister, Mrs. Lindsay, entered the room. "This is Mary Gordon's son, Annie; ye will luve him for my sake."