"My father was an ill-starred wanderer, and perished miserably, poor man! What right have I to hope for, or to look for, a better fate than he? My mother, too..... Do they see me now, and know of all this? .... And Flora—dear Flora, whom I shall see no more!"
"Take a dram ere you go, laddie, for the night is dark and eerie," said Girvan, producing a flask from his pocket; "'a spur in the head is weel worth twa on the heels,' says an auld Scots proverb."
"You will bid the dominie good-bye for me."
"That shall I, laddie—that shall I."
"And tell—tell her, that I have gone forth to seek my fortune, and—and——"
His voice failed him, so he slung his little portmanteau on his shoulder, and wrung the hand of his kind friend for the last time. Hurrying away, he disappeared in the darkness, and, as he did so, a sound that followed on the wind made him pause, but for an instant.
It was the old quartermaster sobbing like a child.
* * * *
So, thus went Quentin Kennedy forth into the world.
"Few words," says a charming writer, "are more easily spoken than He went forth to seek his fortune; and what a whole world lies within the narrow compass! a world of high-hearted hopes and doubting fear; of noble ambition to be won and glorious paths to be trod, mingled with tender thoughts of home and those who made it such. What sustaining courage must be his who dares this course, and braves that terrible conflict—the toughest that ever man fought—between his own bright colouring of life, and the stern reality of the world. How many hopes has he to abandon—how many illusions to give up. How often is his faith to be falsified and his trustfulness betrayed; and, worst of all, what a fatal change do these trials impress upon himself—how different is he from what he had been."