"How did this sad story end?"
"Perhaps to my advantage," replied Lord Stair. "I recovered my calmness and composure of mind; never my light gaiety of heart. My own conscience acquitted me of any fault but boyish indiscretion; though the memory of having taken a brother's life remained as a dark cloud shading the too fervid heat of youth. I applied myself to intense study. I learned to think when others are dreaming. I sought abstraction from myself in the study of other men. I acquired in boyhood the mind of a man. The stream might be small, indeed, for it was not yet flooded by experience; but it was diverted from its natural channel by the rocks and precipices which surrounded it. At length, representations from my good tutor of the forced progress I had made, his overpraise of my character, disposition, and abilities, and his mild Christian expostulations against the injustice that was shown me, had their effect; and, at the end of several years, I was called back to my family. I returned with a feeling of dread and anxiety, which was not without cause; for, though I was nominally forgiven, I could see in all faces, I could hear in all tones, that what I had done was not forgotten--that a chilling memory existed of that dark accident, which extinguished all warm affection towards me. An opportunity of escape from such an icy dwelling soon presented itself, and I gladly seized it, by entering the army. Life was of little value to me--less so than to most of my companions; my previous studies gave me some advantages over them; and I became what I now am, succeeding to my father's honours and estates, on his sudden and somewhat mysterious death years ago. Wealth, power, and some share of fame, have all been mine; but I can tell you, my Lord, that I would sacrifice them all, fall back into obscurity, or even poverty, and pursue a humble course of laborious and unknown exertion, in any drudging profession, without a murmur, could I but blot out the past, could I but find some breeze to waft away the one dark cloud that hangs upon memory, could I but wash from my hand the stain of a brother's blood, however innocently shed."
As he spoke, Lord Stair covered his eyes with his hands, and then came a long silent pause. Smeaton knew not how to break it, except by rising to depart; but the movement instantly called the Earl's attention.
"Do not go," he said, "do not go. You must stay and sup with me. We have other things to think of. I should wish to do something that would be of service to you, or might be useful, in case of need; for my mind foreshadows troublous times coming. But I must think of what can be effected."
"I thank you most sincerely, my dear Lord," replied Smeaton, "but assure you as sincerely that I do not propose to meddle with troublous times, nor take part in troublous scenes."
"Propose!" echoed the Earl, with a faint smile. "How many things affect the whole course of our existence, in ways which we never proposed to our minds? Circumstances make man, more often than man makes circumstances. Let no one answer for his actions, even of to-morrow; for we may fearlessly affirm that he knows not what they will be. It is well to be prepared for all."
He rose, and rang the bell, saying, when the servant appeared.
"Supper at the usual hour. This gentleman sups with me."
Then, resuming the conversation, he led it in a different course, talking of many general subjects, and gradually regaining his ordinary tone and manner.
"And now, my young friend," he said, at length, "to return to the object of your coming; what of this business between my running footman, Thomas Hardy, and young Newark, thrifty Sir John Newark's son?"