“All!” repeated the clergyman, with something very like a sneer; “—but what if I think that all a very great deal? What if I imagine myself set in charge over young minds and hearts? What if I know you better than the good man whose friendship for your parents gives him a kind interest in you? You little thought how you were undermining your prospects last Friday! My old friend would scarcely have me welcome to my parish one he may be glad to see out of his own! You can go to the kitchen and have your dinner—I have no desire to render evil for evil—but I will not bid you God-speed. And the sooner you take yourself out of this, young man, the better!”
“Good morning, sir!” said Donal, and left the room.
On the doorstep he met a youth he had known by sight at the university: it was the minister’s son—the worst-behaved of all the students. Was this a case of the sins of the father being visited on the child? Does God never visit the virtues of the father on the child?
A little ruffled, and not a little disappointed, Donal walked away. Almost unconsciously he took the road to the castle, and coming to the gate, leaned on the top bar, and stood thinking.
Suddenly, down through the trees came Davie bounding, pushed his hand through between the bars, and shook hands with him.
“I have been looking for you all day,” he said.
“Why?” asked Donal.
“Forgue sent you a letter.”
“I have had no letter.”
“Eppy took it this morning.”