"Much has been said, much ever will be said," answered Gowrie, "upon that, in regard to which little can ever be known on this side of the grave. Philosophy, my Julia, says one thing, and something in man's own breast ever says another. Our knowledge tells us that we can never see that which has no substance, that we cannot hear that which has no voice. The spirit within says, 'There are means of communication between me and my unimprisoned brethren. The eye is my servant in my communication with earthly things, the ear is but the portico of the audience chamber of the mind, where the voices of earth are heard; but for things not of earth there is another sight, another hearing. The sovereign mind communicates with them direct, and not through her ministers.'"
He spoke gravely, for the subject was one of those in regard to which we are inclined to apply the aids of philosophy to confirm opinions formed already without their help. Few persons in the world, and very few, indeed, in Scotland, at that time, were without faith in dreams and apparitions; and what is, indeed, very strange, those who were the most sceptical of the truths of revealed religion, were often the most credulous of the tales of superstition.
Julia, however, saw that he was sad, and she made every effort to conquer the gloom which her strange dream had cast upon her own mind; for there can be no doubt that it had made its impression--not, indeed, that she received it as a real warning from another world, for her mind had been differently tutored in early years; but still it had filled her thoughts with gloomy images, and she had given way to them more than was customary with her. Now, however, she strove to resume her natural cheerfulness, and quietly, easily, with that simple art which nature teaches to a kind heart, led the conversation away, without any abrupt transition, from the subject which seemed to give pain to him she loved.
They were now at the bottom of the hill; and although they had ridden more rapidly down than was perhaps very prudent, they drew in their horses' reins when they reached the level ground, in order to let Mr. Rhind rejoin them. He was riding slowly along, still reading; but a sound, which startled the whole party, and their horses also, soon caused him to quicken his pace, in order to get to Lord Gowrie's side again. 'Tis a strange power which strong minds have over weak ones. By circumstances, power and authority may be placed in the hands of the weak, and they may exercise them till the exercise becomes habitual; but in every moment of difficulty or danger, the strong mind assumes the sway, and the weaker one takes refuge under its shelter. Mr. Rhind had known Lord Gowrie from his infancy, had received rule over him when he was a boy, had been placed with him to guide him when he was a youth. He hardly looked upon him as more even now; he hardly comprehended that his tutorship was finished; but the instant that a peril presented itself, or an embarrassment occurred, instead of protecting and guiding, he sought protection and guidance from his former pupil.
I left the reader waiting for a sound, or at least for some description of that sound which startled the whole party. It was that of a cannon-shot, not very far distant either; and before Mr. Rhind could reach the young earl's side, or any one could ask any questions, another and another succeeded, till the number reached to four-and-twenty.
"Good gracious, my dear lord, we have got into the midst of the hostile armies," exclaimed Mr. Rhind.
"The king must have made more rapid progress than I expected," replied Lord Gowrie, in a calm, quiet tone. "Those guns must be from Montmeillant or Chamberry."
"From Montmeillant, my lord," said Austin Jute, who had ridden up. "The sounds come from the east."
"But the wind blows down the valley," answered the earl. "What shall we do, dear Julia? Are you afraid?"
"What is the choice?" she asked.