To give to the poor all he had intended to give to Helen! He could not! He could not! He could not do it! Helen could not have known what she was asking. He had meant, in one way or another, to give her, as the founder of the new line of Crawfords, at least one hundred thousand pounds. Was it reasonable to scatter hither and yon such a large sum, earned, as he told himself pitifully, "by his ain wisdom and enterprise!"
The dominie knew nothing of this terrible struggle going on ever in the man's soul who sat by his side. He saw that Crawford was irritable and moody, but he laid the blame of it on Colin. Oh, if the lad would only write, he would go himself and bring him back to his father, though he should have to seek him at the ends of the earth. But four years passed away, and the prodigal sent no backward, homeward sign. Every night, then, the laird looked a moment into the dominie's face, and always the dominie shook his head. Ah, life has silences that are far more pathetic than death's.
One night Crawford said, almost in a whisper,
"He'll be dead, Tallisker."
And Tallisker answered promptly,
"He'll come hame, laird."
No other words about Colin passed between the two men in four years. But destiny loves surprises. One night Tallisker laid a letter on the table.
"It is for you, laird; read it."
It was a singular letter to come after so long a silence, and the laird's anger was almost excusable.
"Listen, Tallisker; did e'er you hear the like?