hear," she said, tuning her voice to its ordinary
tone of steady sweet contentment with all
things. "What is this that my mother writes
me about Janet Golden, dear Archie? Are we
likely to have a wedding soon, if all go well
among our mountains?"

Sir Archie started slightly at this question,
as if it were one he had neither wished for
nor expected. A shade of pained perplexity
was on his face as he made answer.

"My mother can tell you more of this affair
than I can," he said. "I really can hardly
explain how it has grown up. If you ask me
do I wish to marry Janet Golden, I say frankly,
I do not. I have no wish to marry any woman
at present; neither is Janet the kind of woman
I should select. She is too fond of gay life in
the cities to love a happy country home. She
has no interest in my interests, no concern with
my concerns. She is—let me see—well, I
believe I am not good at drawing nice definitions;
but she is not my ideal of a wife, sister
Mary. You will wonder, then, how I have
been weak enough to become so entangled, well
knowing that I am not versed in the art of
lovemaking for pastime. But of course you have
heard it all before now; that silly old story of an
engagement made by two mothers when Janet
was a baby and l a mere boy. I own I have
been hearing of it and laughing at it for years,
and not troubling myself to realise my position or
to interfere and declare that I had no intention
of acting up to such a ridiculous arrangement.
And now suddenly of late, when I had forgotten
the whole affair, the young lady is introduced
under my roof, and I am presented to her by
my mother as her fiancé. And she seems quite
content: takes it as a matter of course. How
else should she take it, says my mother, when
she has looked forward to the prospect all her
life? And I have never summoned courage to
undeceive her as yet. And so the matter stands,
while every day assures me she is not the
woman I could love. I cannot feel any wish
for her perpetual presence at my fireside, any
impulse to share with her my most intimate
feelings; therefore, I find it hard to wed my
wishes to her whims, as I find her constantly
expecting me to do."

"I am sorry to hear this," said the Mother
Augustine. "I had hoped it might all have
been so different. I remember Janet a merry
arch little girl, and I had hoped that she might
be very fit to bring new life into the old
home."

"Do not let me underrate pretty Janet,"
said Sir Archie. "She has indeed all those
points which are said to make up a charming
woman, to wit, bright eyes, saucy words, a very
tiny satin slipper, and a more than ordinary
share of caprice. But I am afraid there are
some things whieh are sadly thrown away upon
me, Mary, some super-excellent enchantments
which the modern poets rave about. Now, if
her soul were but as deep as her eyes, her
sympathies as keen as her wits—I am afraid I
am a very old-fashioned fellow in my tastes.
But then you see, if a man lives in an old-
fashioned castle, among old-fashioned hills,
over-seeing the lives of old-fashioned people,
it seems natural to follow that he should allow
himself to be moulded by his circumstances, or
else always live at war with his fate. And so
I suppose he may be excused for feeling rather
doubtful about the propriety of taking a new-
fashioned wife, at the risk of poisoning her with
his uncongenial atmosphere."

"My mother should have had an eye to the
antique in her search," said the nun, smiling;
"I should not wonder if you had set your heart
on Cousin Madge on the sly."

Sir Archie laughed. "Poor Madge!" he
said. "How indignant and shocked she would
be to hear you! But I did not make any
mention of the antique. Old-fashioned is a
word which is applied oftenest to children."

"Yes; and my mother's Janet is neither
simple enough nor wise enough to suit you.
It is a pity—a pity; and her wealth would
have been so useful in your hands, dear Archie."

"What is the world coming to when even
you are turning mercenary?" said Sir Archie,
smiling.

"I mean useful to the world," said the
mother, gravely. "If I did not know you
fitted for such a stewardship, I should pray that
you might remain untempted by the trial of
over plentiful possession. But you are not a
boy now, Archie, and the years of your early
youth have proved you. I would make you
guardian of the poor over untold gold. The
blessing that is settled on your glens must
extend beyond their limits, so far as wealth can
carry your power. If our poor Janet marry
some worldly man of fashion, for instance, will
not her many thousands be swallowed up in the
whirlpool of folly, of selfish luxury and neglect
of her fellow-creatures. If you have their
management they will be sown deep in the very
heart of nature, to come up again in peace and
security, in love and enlightenment, for the
future generations of at least one happy corner
of the earth."

"May be so, Mary, may be so," said Sir
Archie. "But you do not know how I might
change my ways if it happened that I turned
out a millionnaire. I could indeed enjoy the
freedom of action which enormous wealth can
give. But in the meantime I have always had
enough for myself and my people."

"And Janet?" asked the mother, after some
uneasy reflection. "What attitude does she
take in these arrangements? It seems to me,
Archie, judging from the tone of this confidence,
that you must play the part of lover in a lukewarm
manner. And it strikes me, as I remember
the little Janet of old times, that she was of
rather an exacting disposition."

"I can vouch for her that she has not lost that
trait in her character," said Sir Archie, smiling.
"But as I have said before, my mother assures
me that she is satisfied. And that being so,
she points out to me that I cannot draw back
from this engagement with honour."