by it-unless she paused; and then added, 'unless it made him as miserable as I feared-I thought it would.' "The laird saw it would never do to go on at this rate, that nothing could be gained by it, and therefore resolved to try his hand at his lady's plan: he repeated his assurance that such were his embarrassments that a very little time would witness his ruin, unless some decided steps were taken to prevent it; he told her that Roland could possess the hand of Lady Lucy Graham, if he chose to take it; and that nothing would then be wanting to make them flourish. Again Millicent's eyes scanned the laird's countenance, but the expression was changed:-' And so,' she said, 'you would sell your son to save yourself?' M'Lean grew angry-he reproached her with presumption he repeated the insinuations his wife had more coarsely used; but Millicent's spirit would not brook such treatment. She rose as he rose; and the man of the world saw that more could be accomplished by touching her feelings than rousing her pride. His inanner again became gentle; he descanted on the high name brought low on the great trampled in the dust on the misery that would rest upon her, if she saw a husband, such as Roland, steeped to the very lips in poverty, with the consciousness that it was she who had done this. He assured her that his mother's curse would rest upon him to the last hour, if their destinies were ever united; and he, therefore, implored her to think of the desolation she would entail upon them all, by persisting in her acquaintance with his son. "Marry Lady Lucy Graham! marry Lady Lucy Graham!' she repeated time after time And you, laird, think he would marry Lady Lucy Graham?' "I know he would; he told me himself that if it were not for his promise to you, he would marry her at once.' "He said that?' she added; and again suspiciously perused his countenance. And ye think that, before his life was ended, he would be happier with her than with me?' "God witness for me, I do!' said the laird. 'How, think ye, could a M'Lean abide poverty and the disgrace of a prison to any of his kith or kin?" "With the rapidity of thought Milly's mind glanced back to Ronald's habits, Ronald's tastes, Ronald's opinions; and the review confirmed his father's statement: his habits were expensive, his tastes refined, his opinions extravagant. She had often thought so-but, then, he was a laird, and a M'Lean; and she looked upon their rude magnificence as an heritage. After a pause, and during that pause much that was great, much that was truly noble, rallied in her soul, she drew forth from her bosoin a small pocket-book, and, tearing out a leaf, wrote a few sentences upon it; then, rising from the sward whereon she had knelt to write, she stood before the laird with that right noble dignity of manner which those only possess whose bodies are the temples of living and active virtne. "Laird of M'Lean, you come of a noble race; and though it may be but a vain and silly thing, yet I have been taught to believe, that as the richest soil yields the best fruits, so the best blood gives forth the most glorious actions. For myself, I was born in a cottage, I have lived in a cottage, and, God willing, may die in one. We who are so born, and so to die, cannot be expected to understand much that you have said; but you have called God to witness your belief, that before your son's life was ended, he would be happier with Lady Lucy Graham than with me; that God heard and now sees us both: if such be really your belief, give him this paper -and-then-I shall see his face no more. If-if-you know of any thing to change your opinion, oh! do not, do not for the sake of the gold that glitters, sell the happiness of such as Ronald M'Lean! And now, laird, God be wi' you! and from my heart I pray, that you may no' have cause to mourn for keeping this tryst with Milly of the Manse.' - About a week after this Milly went to visit an aunt who was far away in Edinburgh; and before she came back to her father's manse, the country and the bells had rung with tales and joy for that the houses of M'Lean and Graham were now one. Before her return home, her mother had died suddenly. Here was a divided grief, and though I thought I understood it all, I could not for my life tell what change had come over Millicent Morrison. She was more useful in the house; as studious in the library; she conversed as freely; but there was certainly a change-little odds and ends of bitternesses-not ill-temper either, but positive bitterness would mingle with, or rather, like a wasp's sting, end her conversations. She was rather watchful than abstracted, and more keen than I had known hernot worldly-minded, and yet looking after trifles; fonder than I thought quite beseemed a woman of diving into people's motives; not so fond of birds or flowers as she used to be, for those are the affections of a simple and unseared mind. She was not much thinner, nor much paler, but her features had acquired the acuteness of her mind; in short, I cannot tell how it was- but Milly was changed." "That was about the time I'm thinking you fell in love with her yerself," said Mrs. Campbell, taking advantage of the minister's pause, and saying so between the sobered mirthfulness of jest, and the seriousness of a remembered displeasure. The good lady's husband blushed, positively blushed, (how odd, and queer, and awkward is a man's blush!) and rubbed his forehead, as if to obliterate the sense of his timidity; and both his wife and myself were malicious enough to enjoy his confusion. "I will not deny that-I-I-in short, she refused-better and greater than I-for, notwithstanding the change, Milly of the Manse was the desired of many hearts. And now to the dole of the story:- God forgive old M'Lean and his bitter lady! for how they could ever think that such as Ronald could be happy with Lady Lucy, is what I could never understand; nor could I quite make out how they got him to give up Milly. Disappointed and heart-broken, the poor fellow rushed into all sorts of extravagances; he seemed to care for nothing, to stick at nothing. And at last all the country cried, Shame upon him! all, all but one- there was one who never joined the cry that was raised against him-one who never believed that he was so very wicked, though he had been tempted to commit grievous sin. "Ten years had not passed from the time of the auld laird's keeping the tryst of the young, when Castle M'Lean was advertised to be sold by public roup, and Lady Lucy had burst a blood-vessel in a fit of passion, on learning the utter destruction of all her property. Where was Ronald M'Lean? Ronald M'Leen had gone to India. And where was the auld laird, whose family pride had wrought such desolation? even in the cauld and noisome cell of the jail he had dreaded. It was night, and the jail gate was opened to a neat and well-dressed female, who had passed the day within the prison walls the minister of peace and consolation to the old white-headed chieftain, who had wrecked the happiness of that fair and excellent girl, and with it foundered the hopes and aspirations of his first-born and only son. Poor Millicent! not a week passed without her spending one, and often two days with M'Lean. And it was a calm and holy sight, to see that woman, lovely and still young, sitting at the old chieftain's feet reading him passages from holy writ, and paying him that homage in which his heart delighted, till the last, which soon arrived, for his spirit was bowed and broken. I forgot to tell you that his wife had never lived to see her son's temporary prosperity; she died before his marriage. When it was known that M'Lean was dead, all the old chiefs seemed to think that it was a point of duty, more, in my mind, connected with their own station than the old gentleman's merits, to give him a grand funeral, though he might have nearly still starved in prison but for the exertions of Milly of the Manse. However, the pall and the pibroch were not wanting, and scores of bare-legged gillies came down from the highlands: and Milly stood at one of the windows in the market-place to see it all pass; and though the tear of womanly feeling was in her eye, there was an expression of such scorn and contempt upon her lip, that I cared not to look on it a second time. - "After a lapse of about six years, word came that Ronald M'Lean had married married again in India! and all I heard Millicent say, was, 'So best.' But when she made tea for us (I was staying for a few days, at the time, with her father) — when she made tea for us in the evening, I perceived that her eyes were red, and that she put three times her usual quantity of tea into the teapot, which was uncommon for her who was so frugal. Now comes the wonder of the story; a brother of the minister, one whom he had not seen since his boyhood, died in Mexico, and all the accumulated hoards of years on years came to Millicent Morrison, in right of her father; he, poor body, was nearly childish from age. Here was a change -a wonderful change for Milly, not only in that it made her independent, and even rich, but, that it showed forth her character in its true and perfect light. Poverty had been accounted to her a crime-it had stood between her and her earthly happiness it had formed a barrier, as it always does, between what might be almost termed the living and the dead: the knowledge that she was poor had made her proud, and cold, and stern; and fearful that her advances would be repulsed because of her poverty, she made none. Nor would she receive the overtures of strangers kindly, for she thought, 'When they find me poor, I shall be insulted:' this, as she now confesses, was a sinful pride; but the wealth which puffs up so many, made her gentle and humble as the shorn lamb. It is only a noble mind that can support prosperity; every one tries to bear up against adversity, but prosperity is the touchstone of greatness. - "The quiet calm smile came back to Millicent's rigid lip; gentleness again reigned over all her actions. She was not bitter in word as she had been; and, as her sphere of doing good increased, she appeared cheerful almost happy; yet did I never hear her sing. And, I have marked, a deepened blush would suffuse her cheek, whenever the M'Lean was alluded to, which certainly was not often the case- -for the unfortunate are soon forgotten. "I had been married some time; the poor auld minister, full of years, had been gathered to his fathers, and a neat white marble slab, raised by the hand of his affectionate daughter, marked out the place of his final rest, in the kirk of Haverling. Milly had settled fairly down into an old maid, and indulged in many of the whimsies which are overlooked in a married woman, but are put down as tokens of the sisterhood when a lady arrives at a certain age. (Oh! Oh! thought I.) She had a gray cat, lively, though not mischievous. She was fond of knitting and patchwork, and wofully particular in the shape and fashioning of the bit ribands to trim her caps and bonnets; but she was actively benevolent — worshipped by the poor-respected by the rich. It might have been, as nearly as I remember, about seven years after the news that Ronald M'Lean was again married in India, that Millicent Morrison came to my house, for I was the oldest friend of the family in existence, and after some difficulty, and many sorrowing looks, produced a letter, which she permitted me to transcribe." The minister took it out of his desk. "When you receive this, Millicent, the hand that pens it will be cold as the clay of this burning country, and the Ronald whom you once, and I would fain hope, always loved, will be then no more. I have heard of you, Milly my old father heard of your good fortune-and I believe in your faithfulness. My life has been a turbulent dream, beginning in ambition, ending in disappointment. One thing hangs heavily at my hearthe died in a jail, which would have been utterly desolate but for you. Milly, how great was your revenge! may God bless may God reward you I cannot. My wife will be the bearer of this to England; she is of another country-she knows nothing of European habits, and in Scotland the M'Lean has now no friends; perhaps I deserve it--but she does not. There are reasons why she cannot remain here, which you will hear her explain, that is but I do hope that you may meet. She is a guileless, simple Indian girl, only a girl-not yet twenty, though the mother of three children; feel for her-pity her-for she loved me, not wisely, but too well.' You bore our separation like a heroine- she will, I know, only bear it like a woman and hers will be the same as ours, for an earthly eternity. God bless you, Milly. Love Annabel for my sake-no, not for mine, for you ought not to love me, but for her own sweet sake- and farewell-farewell for ever EVER! "R. M'L." "And they are come to England?" I said. "They are,' she replied; and it was the first time I ever saw her weep: now the tears rolled rapidly and heavily down her cheeks. They are come, but he is gone; and though people say that insensibility comes with age, and I am not young, God knows how gladly I would have died to save the life of Ronald M'Leandied to save him for his wife and helpless children; they are at Portsmouth.' And you?"? "I am going there directly. I have hired a carriage for the purpose; for it is no fit that Ronald M'Lean's wife and bairns should tramp the country in a public coach, as if they had nae bluid in their veins. If they want worldly gear, they must share of all I have; and whether they do or no, they shall not need a friend. You shall not go alone, Miss Milly,' I replied; 'I too will welcome M'Lean's widow; and I know Mrs. Campbell will be proud to go with us.' It was Millicent's first visit to England; and we did all we could to rouse her attention to the scenery, and the difference so palpably existing between Scotland and this cultivated country: but her mind was far away-and at last we agreed it was the wisest plan to leave her to herself. My Nancy enjoyed the journey much; for it was far pleas anter going that way, than being jolted inside a public coach." "That's like ye'r bundle story," interrupted Mrs. Campbell, turning up her really pretty little nose, that's like ye'r bundle story – -as if I was never in a private carriage till then; -I've been in the Duchess of Buccleugh's carriage, before now." And she looked at him as one should say, "I wish you would not be so blunt before strangers." "I remember it," replied the minister, quietly; "it was when Mistress Laurie Grant, her companion, your own first-cousin, broke her leg, and you went with her to the doctor's." "Never mind-how should you ken. Surely it was her grace's carriage, at all events," replied the worthy woman. We found the widow of Ronald M'Lean a poor delicate Indian creature, who could do nothing for herself, and less for others- hardly able to rise off the sofa - with hands that could not work, and feet that could not walk-with a pale brown cheek, and black soft gazelle cyes that seemed fainting for the sun, whose rays they had fed upon in her own bright land: her manners were languid and ladylike, and there was a tone of tender and deep feeling in her low musical voice, that rendered her desolate situation ten times more interesting-desolate indeed it was. What her reasons for seeking a refuge in Scotland were, was known only to Millicent and herself; but she made no secret of her straitened circumstances; and her helplessness was the most pitiable I ever witnessed. Added to the languid bearing so characteristic of every Indian, she was languid also from ill health, and her pallid cheek, occasionally flushed by a deep crimson spot, betokened a disease which I shuddered but to think upon. She would sit for hours and days caressing her children, or gazing upon a miniature - his likeness-which she always wore round her neck. As soon as she was able to travel, Mi.licent bore her and hers to her own home; and the widow of the proud house of M'Lean was indebted to the despised Milly of the Manse for food and shelter. My fears as to the dangerous nature of the disease which was preying upon her, from her first arrival in England, were confirmed; the hothouse plant could not bear removal to a colder clime-and she drooped and drooped and for two years Milly tended her sick bed, until it became the bed of death. It was not one of her least trials that the temper of an Indian, ever hard to bear, was unequal to support with firmness the struggles of departed nature. Millicent was obliged to listen to her complainings, and to endure, as well as she could, the weak petulance of the mother, and the tiresome, tormenting noise (was ever old maid so situated !) of three romping, spoiled children. Yet she not only bore them, but was cheerful under all these trials; and God greatly blessed her exertions: for, though that Indian lady's soul was in a state of pitiable darkness when she came to England, before she died she had sought and found the Saviour and sought and found Him through the instrumentality of the humble Milly. I had remained with M'Lean's wife on one particular evening- and we had enjoyed much profitable conversation during the time. It was a painful, and yet a pleasing thing for me to witness the struggles the poor lady underwent, trying to conquer her constitutional weakness and irritability of temper the spirit warring against the flesh, and the flesh against the spirit. If betrayed into error, she so quickly perceived her fault, and strove so earnestly to remove the predilection to evil, that it was impossible not to love the frail and fragile being who was so quickly hastening to join, as she hoped, her Ronald in another world. As I wished her good night, I though she appeared more feeble than usual, and her eyes gleamed from out her pale thin countenance with an unearthly brightness. This trial will soon pass away now,' I said to Milly, as she followed me to the door. "The poor children!' sighed Millicent. Ay, indeed, the poor children,' I repeated, 'what will become of them?" "I have no kin,' she replied; 'and even if I had, I think that love is stronger than blood: I will be to them as much a mother as I can- and, by the protection of the Lord, and your advice, I trust they will not disgrace their name.' 'But, my dear Miss Milly, you are not aware of the fresh trials you are bringing on yourself. Norman Cunningham, the late laird's fourth cousin, has offered to take the boy.' "And breed him up to fish and shoot without heeding God's counsel, or caring for man's — then turn him off into a regiment, to be shot at like a popinjay! No, no-I'll do my best with the three. You know, I am only an old maid,' she continued, faintly smiling, and used to trials; and, like all things else, they are nothing when you grow accustomed to them. God's will be done! this care will save the fag end of my life from being spent either selfishly or uselessly; and, maybe, the young creatures, when they grow up, will have an affection for her who cared for them all so well; it takes the desolate feel from about one's heart, to have something to live for and love.' This was a long speech for Milly; and I went home through the starlight, pondering upon the dispensations of the Almighty, and thinking to myself, how hard it is for us to pass right judgment upon each other. No one, to see that stiff, formal, particular old maiden, would |