“Bravely answered, Halbert,” said Mossgray; “but these are invaluable qualities all, and as necessary for a conscientious country Laird, as for your great merchant of Glasgow or Liverpool. But let us speak more gravely; before you were so wise and sensible as to come here to me, it was my custom to consider myself the last Graeme of Mossgray. Now, Halbert, supposing that our ancestors had entailed these lands, in what position would you have been?”
Halbert blushed and was embarrassed; it was impossible that such a thought should not have sometimes entered the young man’s mind; but he really had not self-interested views; and now he remained silent with too much good taste to disclaim, while he yet felt awkwardly uncomfortable under the fear of such an imputation.
“The race would have been resuscitated in you,” said the old man; “you would have brought new life to the withering stock; for, Halbert, you are the only remaining heir of the Graemes of Mossgray.”
“I have the name, Sir,” said Halbert quickly, his embarrassment growing on him as he met his kinsman’s eye; “it is the share of the family inheritance which comes to me; and the provision which you made for the helpless portion of my life, Mossgray, is more than a cadet’s share. Now that I am able to make use of the faculties which your kindness and my good master’s have trained and made available, I hope to do no dishonour to the name.”
The Laird of Mossgray looked steadily into his young kinsman’s glowing, animated face; the natural diffidence which subdued its expression, and the charm of its simple, frank manliness were very pleasant in the old man’s eyes. He held out his hand and grasped that somewhat astonished, irresolute one of Halbert’s.
“I have no fear,” he said, kindly; “I believe you will be a good steward of your name; but remember, Halbert, that there devolves upon you an inheritance of old duties, old kindnesses, old generosities, along with the old lands; and that I will as surely leave you heir to all the good purposed and planned by your predecessors, bravely and faithfully to fulfil and increase it, as I leave you heir of Mossgray.”
Halbert looked up with a sudden start; the words did not carry their proper significance to him, for he had expected nothing like this.
“If I had thought you would weary of the lifetime which remains to me,” said Mossgray, “I might have kept this secret from you, lest you should be tempted to wish my few remaining days shortened; but I have all confidence in you, Halbert, and what I give you is your right.”
Halbert said something now; but it was said in so strange a tumult that the words would not bear recording. Nevertheless they answered their purpose, and Mossgray did not think the less either of them or of the speaker, because they were by no means elegantly put together, or rather were not put together at all.
And then the old man, more openly than he had done with Lilias, sought, and after some happy hesitation, received, the confidence of Halbert; and then some arrangements were made, very much to the satisfaction of the heir of Mossgray. The old man decided that Halbert’s “being settled” should be for some time delayed, but did by no means say anything to the detriment of Menie Monikie. To wait a little was all the condition he asked.