"These hills and these vales, from this tower that ye see,
They all shall belong, my young chieftain, to thee."
The horse pawed the ground for several minutes of delay, and then there appeared Mr. Menteith, followed by Mrs. Campbell, who was quite a grand lady now, in silks and satins, but with the same sweet, sad, gentle face. The lawyer and she stood aside, and made way for a big, stalwart young Highlander of about one-and-twenty or thereabouts, who carried in his arms, very gently and carefully, wrapped in a plaid, even although it was such a mild spring day, what looked like a baby, or a very young child.
"Stop a minute, Malcolm."
At the sound of that voice, which was not an infant's, though it was thin, and sharp, and unnatural rather for a boy, the big Highlander paused immediately.
"Hold me up higher; I want to look at the loch."
"Yes, my lord."
This, then—this poor little deformed figure, with every limb shrunken and useless, and every joint distorted, the head just able to sustain itself and turn feebly from one side to the other, and the thin white hands piteously twisted and helpless-looking—this, then, was the Earl of Cairnforth.
"It's a bonnie loch, Malcolm."
"It looks awful' bonnie the day, my lord."
"And," almost in a whisper, "was it just there my father was drowned?"