When the minister entered, he looked up from the mass of papers which he seemed to have been trying to reduce into some kind of order--apparently the late earl's private papers, which had been untouched since his death, for there was a sad and serious shadow over what otherwise have been rather a humorous face.
"Welcome, Mr.Cardross; I am indeed glad to see you.

I took the liberty of sending for you, since you are the only person with whom I can consult--we can consult, I should say, for Dr.Hamilton wished it likewise--on this--this most painful occasion." "I shall be very glad to be of the slightest service," returned Mr.
Cardross.

"I had the utmost respect for those that are away." He had the habit, this tender-hearted, pious man, who, with all his learning, kept a religious faith as simple as a child's, as speaking of the dead as only "away." The two gentlemen sat down together.

They had often met before, for whenever there were guests at Cairnforth Castle the earl always invited the minister and his wife to dinner, but they had never fraternized much.

Now, a common sympathy, nay, more, a common grief--for something beyond sympathy, keen personal regret, was evidently felt by both for the departed earl and countess--made them suddenly familiar.
"Is the child doing well ?" was Mr.Cardross's first and most natural question; but it seemed to puzzle Mr.Menteith exceedingly.
"I suppose so--indeed, I can hardly say.