“Halbert will make us rich, Lilias,” said Mossgray; “I am glad the lad likes work; but I fancy we must come to some decision about him; let me hear what you advise.”
“You suffered me to speak of Halbert once before, Mossgray,” said Lilias, “while he was as much a stranger to you as to me.”
“Yes, I remember I did,” said the old man, smiling, “and you were very foolishly generous as youthful people are. Must I fall back on my memory for the arguments you used then, Lilias? have you nothing new to advance: are your opinions still the same?”
“I have nothing new to advance save the good qualities which now you know, Mossgray,” said Lilias, returning the smile. “Halbert himself—so frank and simple and manly; there could be no better representative of the old Graemes.”
The old man shook his head.
“You are a special pleader, Lilias; you want to rouse what family pride may be in me. Well, granting that Halbert is all you say—manly and frank and simple—and he is so: I acknowledge that my old friend Monikie, and the good healthful atmosphere of the North, have done credit to themselves in their pupil—what then? does it follow that Halbert must get my land; must be my heir—my heir—is he like my heir, Lilias?”
“You could not have an heir like yourself, Mossgray,” said Lilias. “I think you must be alone, and have no successor to rival you; for nature does not seem to do it. Nature only makes one in a race here and there who would take up orphans like Halbert and me, and set us in families, under the shelter of his kindness—therefore you will have no heir, Mossgray—none but humanity; and on some other spirit, in some other country, your mantle will fall when you yourself use it no longer; for you will have no heir.”
“Hush, Lilias,” said Mossgray; “shall I have to train you to more philosophical modes of thinking? I did not think you were so heterodox. We must bring Reid and Brown and Dugald Stewart down upon you. Halbert himself has some metaphysics, dogmatical as their parent, Monikie. We shall have a regular breaking of spears, Lilias; though I think your friend Helen and you, on behalf of the poets, might rout the philosophers if you looked well to your weapons. By the by, I like that friend of yours—you suit each other well; and how does it fare with Mr Oswald’s resolution? Has he learned to break it yet with a good grace?”
“I do not hear now, since Hope is not at home to keep me informed,” said Lilias; “but I think he must be melting; only his son is absent, and there is no visible progress. Mr Oswald is an obstinate man, and Helen is proud; I see that there is an evident consciousness both on her side and his; but, Mossgray, you have done William Oswald harm; you have given him a rival.”
“I, Lilias?” said the old man; “is it Halbert? I should regret that.”