“My dear, dear Kate,” was his first exclamation, as he kissed her affectionately; his next, in a tone of unqualified surprise, was—“What a fine fellow you have grown, Mark!” and the two brothers were locked in each other's arms.
The sentiment which thus burst from him in the first moment of surprise, was the very counterpart of Mark's own feeling on beholding Herbert. Time had worked favourably for both. On the elder brother, the stamp of manhood more firmly impressed, had given an elevation to the expression of his features, and a character of composure to his air; while with Herbert, his career of study alternating with a life passed among cultivated and polished circles, had converted the unformed stripling into a youth of graceful and elegant demeanour. The change was even greater in him than in his brother. In the one case it was, as it were, but the growth and development of original traits of character; in the other, new and very different features were distinguishable. His thoughts, his expressions, his very accent was changed; yet through this his old nature beamed forth, bright, joyous, and affectionate as ever. It was the same spirit, although its flights were bolder and more daring—the same mind, but its workings more powerful and more free. The one had placed his ambition so high, he scarcely dared to hope; the other had already tasted some of the enjoyments of success—life had even already shed around him some of its fascinations, and quickened the ardour of his temper. A winner in the race of intellect, he experienced that thrilling ecstasy which acknowledged superiority confers; he knew what it was to feel the mastery over others, and, even now, the flame of ambition was lighted in his heart, and its warm glow tingled in his veins and throbbed in every pulse. In vain should they who knew him once, seek for the timid, bashful boy, that scarcely dared to make an effort from very dread of failure. His flashing eye and haughty brow told of victory; still around his handsome mouth the laughing smile of happy youth showed that no ungenerous feeling, no unworthy pride, had yet mingled with his nature.
“They tell me you have swept the University of its prizes, Herbert—is not this so?” said Mark, as he leaned his arm affectionately on his shoulder.
“You would think but poorly of my triumphs, Mark,” replied Herbert, with a smile. “The lists I fight in, peril not life or limb.”
“Still, there is honour in the game,” said Mark. “Wherever there is success on one side, and failure on the other—wherever there is hope to win, and dread to lose—there, the ambition is never unworthy.”
“But what of you, Mark? Tell me of yourself. Have you left a buck in the glen, or is there a stray grouse on the mountain? What have you been doing since we met?”
Mark coloured and looked confused, when Kate, coming to the rescue, replied—
“How can you ask such a question, Herbert? What variety does life afford in this quiet valley? Is it not the very test of our happiness, that we can take no note of time? But here comes my uncle.”
Herbert turned at the words, and rushed to meet the old man.
“Have you won baith, Herbert,” cried he—“baith premiums? Then I must gie you twa hands, my dear boy,” said he, pressing him in a fond embrace. “Were the competitors able ones? Was the victory a hard one? Tell me all, every thing about it.”