For, as before said, the only hope of the lineal continuance of the race was in this one child.

It lay in a cradle resplendent with white satin hangings and lace curtains, and beside it sat the nurse--a mere girl, but a widow already--Neil Campbell's widow, whose first child had been born only two days after her husband was drowned.

Mr.Cardross knew that she had been suddenly sent for out of the clachan, the countess having, with her dying breath, desired that this young woman, whose circumstances were so like her own, should be taken as wet-nurse to the new-born baby.
So, in her widow's weeds, grave and sad, but very sweet-looking--she had been a servant at the Castle, and was a rather superior young woman -- Janet Campbell took her place beside her charge with an expression in her face as if she felt it was a charge left her by her lost mistress, which must be kept solemnly to the end of her days--as it was.
The minister shook hands with her silently--she had gone through sore affliction--but the lawyer addressed her in his quick, sharp, business tone, under which he often disguised more emotion than he liked to show.
"You have not been dressing the child?
Dr.Hamilton told you not to attempt it." "Na, na, sir, I didna try," answered Janet, sadly and gently.
"That is well.

I'm a father of a family myself," added Mr.Menteith, more gently: "I've six of them; but, thank the Lord, ne'er a one of them like this.

Take it on your lap, nurse, and let the minister look at it! Ay, here comes Dr.Hamilton!" Mr.Cardross knew Dr.Hamilton by repute--as who did not?
Since at that period it was the widest-known name in the whole medical profession in Scotland.