said Malcolm to himself. But to Florimel | to presume; for if I should displease your he replied, "If your ladyship should wish ladyship my chance was gone. So I kept to keep Kelpie, you will have to keep me about Lossie House as long as I could, too, for not a creature else will she let near hoping to see my way to some plan or ber." other. But when at length Mr. Craithie turned me away, what was I to do but come to your ladyship? And if your ladyship will let things be as before in the way of service I mean I canna doobt, my leddy, but it 'll be pleesant i' the sicht o' yer father whanever he may come to ken o' 't, my lady."

"And, pray, tell me what use, then, can I make of such an animal?" said Florimel.

"Your ladyship, I should imagine, will want a groom to attend you when you are out on horseback, and the groom will want a horse; and here am I and Kelpie," answered Malcolm.

Florimel laughed. "I see," she said. "You contrive I shall have a horse nobody can manage but yourself." She rather liked the idea of a groom so mounted, and had too much well-justified faith in Malcolm to anticipate dangerous results. "My lady," said Malcolm, appealing to her knowledge of his character to secure credit, for he was about to use his last means of persuasion and as he spoke in his eagerness he relapsed into his mothertongue"My lady, did I ever tell ye a lee?"

"Certainly not, Malcolm, so far as I know. Indeed, I am certain you never did," answered Florimel, looking up at him in a dominant yet kindly way.

Florimel gave him a strange, half-startled look. Hardly more than once since her father's funeral had she heard him alluded to, and now this fisher-lad spoke of him as if he were still at Lossie House.

Malcolm understood the look. "Ye mean, my leddy - I ken what ye mean," he said. "I canna help it. For to lo'e onything is to ken 't immortal. He's livin' to me, my lady."

Florimel continued staring, and still said nothing.

I sometimes think that the present belief in mortality is nothing but the almost universal although unsuspected unbelief in immortality grown vocal and articulate.

But Malcolm gathered courage and went on. "An' what for no, my leddy?" "Then," continued Malcolm, "I'll tell he said, floundering no more in English, your ladyship something that you may find but soaring on the clumsy wings of his hard to believe, and yet is as true as that I mother-dialect. "Didna he turn his face loved your ladyship's father. Your lady- to the licht afore he dee'd? an' Him 'at ship knows he had a kindness for me?"" rase frae the deid said 'at whaever believed "I do know it," answered Florimel gen-in Him sud never dee. Sae we maun betly, moved by the tone of Malcolm's voice and the expression of his countenance.

"Then I make bold to tell your ladyship that on his death-bed your father desired me to do my best for you took my word that I would be your ladyship's true ser

vant."

Is it so, indeed, Malcolm?" returned Florimel with a serious wonder in her tone, and looked him in the face with an earnest gaze. She had loved her father, and it sounded in her ears almost like a message from the tomb.

"It's as true as I stan' here, my leddy," said Malcolm.

Florimel was silent for a moment. Then she said, "How is it that only now you come to tell me?"

"Your father never desired me to tell you, my lady; only he never imagined you would want to part with me, I suppose. But when you did not care to keep me, and never said a word to me when you went away, I could not tell how to do as I had promised him. It wasn't that one hour I forgot his wish, but that I feared

lieve 'at he's livin', for gien we dinna believe what He says, what are we to believe, my leddy?"

Florimel continued yet a moment looking him fixedly in the face. The thought did arise that perhaps he had lost his reason, but she could not look at him thus and even imagine it. She remembered how strange he had always been, and for a moment had a glimmering idea that in this young man's friendship she possessed an incorruptible treasure. The calm, truthful, believing, almost for the moment enthusiastic, expression of the young fisherman's face wrought upon her with a strangely quieting influence. It was as if one spoke to her out of a region of existence of which she had never even heard, but in whose reality she was compelled to believe because of the sound of the voice that came from it.

Malcolm seldom made the mistake of stamping into the earth any seeds of truth he might cast on it: he knew when to say no more, and for a time neither spoke. But now, for all the coolness of her upper

In order to speak good English, Wallis now and then, like some Scotch people of better education, anglicized a word ludicrously.

"Is there no news of his marriage?" asked Malcolm; adding, "They say he has great property."

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My love she's but a lassie yet,'" said Wallis, "though she too has changed quite as much as my lord."

crust, Lady Florimel's heart glowed - not, | shouldered man to the boot of the bargain. indeed, with the power of the shining truth He used to be such a windlestraw!" Malcolm had uttered, but with the light of gladness in the possession of such a strong, devoted, disinterested squire. "I wish you to understand," she said at length, "that I am not at present mistress of this house, although it belongs to me. I am but the guest of Lady Bellair, who has rented it of my guardians. I cannot therefore arrange for you to be here. But you can find accommodation in the neighborhood, and come to me at one o'clock every day for orders. Let me know when your mare arrives: I shall not want you till then. You will find room for her in the stables. You had better consult the butler about your groom's livery." Malcolm was astonished at the womanly sufficiency with which she gave her orders. He left her with the gladness of one who has had his righteous desire, held consultation with the butler on the matter of the livery, and went home to his lodging. There he sat down and meditated.

A strange, new, yearning pity rose in his heart as he thought about his sister and the sad facts of her lonely condition. He feared much that her stately composure was built mainly on her imagined position in society, and was not the outcome of her character. Would it be cruelty to destroy that false foundation, hardly the more false as a foundation for composure that beneath it lay a mistake?—or was it not rather a justice which her deeper and truer self had a right to demand of him? At present, however, he need not attempt to answer the question. Communication even such as a trusted groom might have with her, and familiarity with her surroundings, would probably reveal much. Meantime, it was enough that he would now be so near her that no important change of which others might be aware could well approach her without his knowledge, or anything take place without his being able to interfere if necessary.

CHAPTER XIII.

TWO CONVERSATIONS.

THE next day Wallis came to see Malcolm and take him to the tailor's. They talked about the guests of the previous evening.

"There is a great change in Lord Meikleham," said Malcolm.

"There is that," said Wallis: "I consider him much improved. But, you see, he's succeeded: he's the earl now, and Lord Liftore and a menseful broad

"Who are you speaking of?" asked Malcolm, anxious to hear the talk of the household on the matter.

"Why, Lady Lossie, of course. Anybody with half an eye can see as much as that."

"Is it settled, then?"

"That would be hard to say. Her ladyship is too like her father: no one can tell what may be her mind the next minute. But, as I say, she's young, and ought to have her fling first-so far, that is, as we can permit it to a woman of her rank. Still, as I say, anybody with half an eye can see the end of it all: he's forever hovering about her. My lady, too, has set her mind on it; and, for my part, I can't see what better she can do. I must say I approve of the match. I can see no possible objection to it."

"We used to think he drank too much," suggested Malcolm.

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Claret," said Wallis, in a tone that seemed to imply no one could drink too much of that.

I've seen the

"No, not claret only. whiskey follow the claret." "Well, he don't now not whiskey, at least. He don't drink too much - not much too much-not more than a gentleman should. He don't look like it - does he now? A good wife, such as my Lady Lossie will make him, will soon set him all right. I think of taking a similar protection myself one of these days."

"He's not worthy of her," said Malcolm.

"Well, I confess his family won't compare with hers. There's a grandfather in it somewhere that was a banker or a brewer or a soap-boiler, or something of the sort, and she and her people have been earls and marquises ever since they walked arm-in-arm out of the ark. But, bless you! all that's been changed since I came to town. So long as there's plenty of money, and the mind to spend it, we have learned not to be exclusive. It's selfish, that. It's not Christian. Everything lies in the mind to spend it, though. Mrs.

Tredger- that's our lady's-maid; only this is a secret- says it's all settled: she knows it for certain fact; only there's nothing to be said about it yet: she's so young, you know."

"Who was the man that sat nearly opposite my lady, on the other side of the table?" asked Malcolm.

"I know who you mean. Didn't look as if he'd got any business there not like the rest of them - did he? No, they never do. Odd-and-end sort of people, like he is, never do look the right thing, let them try ever so. How can they when they ain't it? That's a fellow that's painting Lady Lossie's portrait. Why he should be asked to dinner for that, I'm sure I can't tell. He ain't paid for it in victuals, is he? I never saw such land-leapers let into Lossie House, I know. But London's an awful place. There's no such a thing as respect of persons here. Here you meet the butcher, the baker, the candlestickmaker any night in my lady's drawingroom. I declare to you, Ma'colm MacPhail, it makes me quite uncomfortable at times to think who I may have been waiting upon without knowing it. For that painter-fellow- - Lenorme they call him I could knock him on the teeth with the dish every time I hold it to him. And to see him stare at Lady Lossie as he does!"

"A painter must want to get a right good hold of the face he's got to paint," said Malcolm. "Is he here often? "He's been here five or six times already," answered Wallis, "and how many more times I may have to fill his glass I don't know. I always give him second-best sherry, I know. I'm sure the time that pictur''s been on hand! He ought to be ashamed of himself. If she's been once to his studio, she's been twenty times to give him sittings, as they call it. He's making a pretty penny of it, I'll be bound. I wonder he has the cheek to show himself when my lady treats him so haughtily. But those sort of people have no proper feelin's, you see: it's not to be expected of such."

of the marquisate as on one of the lower orders — ignorant, vulgar, even dirty.

They had already gazed together upon not a few of the marvels of London, but nothing had hitherto moved or drawn them so much as the ordinary flow of the currents of life through the veins of the huge city. Upon Malcolm, however, this had now begun to pall, while Peter already found it worse than irksome, and longed for Scaurnose. At the same time loyalty to Malcolm kept him from uttering a whisper of his homesickness. It was yet but the fourth day they had been in London.

"Eh, my lord," said Blue Peter, when by chance they found themselves in the lull of a little quiet court somewhere about Gray's Inn, with the roar of Holborn in their ears, "it's like a month, sin' I was at the kirk. I'm feart the din's gotten into my heid, an' I'll never get it oot again. I cud maist wuss I was a mackerel, for they tell me the fish hears naething. I ken weel noo what ye meant, my lord, whan ye said ye dreidit the din micht gar ye forget yer Macker."

---

"I hae been wussin' sair mysel', this last twa days," responded Malcolm, "at I cud get ae sicht o' the jaws clashin' upo' the Scaurnose or rowin' up upo' the edge o' the links. The din o' natur' never troubles the guid thouchts in ye. I reckon it's 'cause it's a kin' o' a harmony in 'tsel', an' a' harmony's jist, as the maister used to say, a higher kin' o' a peace. Yon organ 'at we hearkent till ae day ootside the kirk-ye min', man - it was a quaietness in 'tsel', an' cam' throu' the din like a bonny silence - like a lull i' the win' o' this warl'. It wasna a din at a', but a gran' repose, like. But this noise tumultuous o' human strife, this din o' iron shune an' iron wheels, this whurr an' whuzz o' buyin' an' sellin' an' gettin' gain it disna help a body to their prayers." "Eh, na, my lord. Jist think o' the preevilege - I never saw nor thoucht o' 't afore-o' haein' 'ti' yer pooer, ony nicht 'at ye're no efter the fish, to stap oot at yer ain door an' be i' the mids o' the temple. Be 't licht or dark, be 't foul or fair, Wallis liked the sound of his own the sea sleepin' or ragin', ye hae aye room, sentences, and a great deal more talk of an' naething atween ye an' the throne o' similar character followed before they got the Almichty, to the whilk yer prayers ken back from the tailor's. Malcolm was tired the gait as weel's the herrin' to the shores enough of him, and never felt the differ- o' Scotlan': ye hae but to lat them flee, ence between man and man more strongly an' they gang straucht there. But here ye than when, after leaving him, he set out hae to luik sae gleg efter yer boady, 'at, as for a walk with Blue Peter, whom he found ye say, my lord, yer sowl's like to come aff waiting him at his lodging. On this same the waur, gien it binna clean forgotten." Blue Peter, however, Wallis would have "I doobt there's something no richt looked down from the height of his share | aboot it, Peter," returned Malcolm.

"There maun be a heap no richt aboot | maisters, or sic as cares for naething but it," answered Peter. coontin' an' Laitin, an' the likes o' that!"

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Ay, but I'm no meanin' 't jist as ye du. I had the haill thing throu' my heid last nicht, an' I canna but think there's something wrang wi' a man gien he canna hear the word o' God as weel i' the mids o' a multitude no man can number, a' made ilk PRESENT ane i' the image o' the Father as weel, I say, as i' the hert o' win' an' watter, an' the lift an' the starns an' a'. Ye canna say 'at thae things are a' made i' the image o' Godi' the same w'y, at least, 'at ye can say 'to' the body an' face o' a man, for throu' them the God o' the whole earth revealed himsel' in Christ."

"Ow weel, I wad alloo what ye say, gien they war a' to be considered Christians."

"Ow, I grant we canna weel du that i' the full sense, but I doobt, gien they bena a' Christians 'at ca's themsel's that, there's a hep mair Christi-anity nor gets the credit o' its ain name. I min' weel hoo Maister Graham said to me ance 'at hoo there was something o' Him 'at made him luikin' oot o' the een o' ilka man 'at He had made; an' what wad ye ca' that but a scart or a straik o' Christi-anity?"

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Weel, I kenna; but, ony gait, I canna think it can be again' the trowth o' the gospel to wuss yersel' mair alane wi yer God nor ye ever can be in sic an awfu' Babylon o' a place as this."

Na, na, Peter: I'm no sayin' that. I ken weel we're to gang intill the closet an' shut to the door. I'm only feart 'at there be something wrang in mysel' 'at taks 't ill to be amon' sae mony neibors. I'm thinkin' 'at, gien a' was richt 'ithin me, gien I lo'ed my neibor as the Lord wad hae them 'at lo'ed him lo'e ilk ane his brither, I micht be better able to pray among them-ay, i' the verra face o' the bargainin' an' leein' a' aboot me."

"An' min' ye," said Peter, pursuing the train of his own thoughts, and heedless of Malcolm's, "'at oor Lord himsel' bude whiles to win' awa', even frae his disciples, to be him-lane wi' the Father o' 'im."

"Ay ye're richt there, Peter," answered Malcolm; "but there's ae p'int in 't ye maunna forget; an' that is, 'at it was never i' the daytime, sae far's I min', 'at he did sae. The lee-lang day he was amon''s fowk workin' his michty wark. Whan the nicht cam', in which no man could work, he gaed hame till's Father, as 'twar. Eh me but it's weel to hae a man like the schuilmaister to put trowth intill ye. I kenna what comes o' them 'at hae drucken

From The Fortnightly Review. ASPECTS OF THE EASTERN QUESTION.

YEARS instead of months seem to have passed since, in last December, I wrote in this review under the heading, "The True Eastern Question." A revolt against Turkish oppression was then going on in Bosnia and Herzegovina, a revolt which showed to all who kept their eyes open that the long-oppressed Slavonic subjects of the Turk had fully made up their minds to throw off his yoke once and forever. To those who had eyes to see, the insurrection which began last summer marked the beginning of an era in the history of the world. It marked that the wicked power of the Turk was doomed. From the stern determination with which the insurgents drew the sword, from the deep and universal sympathy with their cause among their free neighbors of the same blood and speech, it was plain that this revolt was no mere local or casual disturbance, but the beginning of a great uprising of a mighty people. It was plain that a ball had been sent rolling which would grow as it rolled; it was plain that a storm had burst which must in the end sweep away before it the foul fabric of oppression which European diplomatists had been so long vainly and wickedly striving to prop up. When I wrote in December last, as when I wrote on these matters twenty years back, I wrote as one of a small band, maintaining an unpopular view. We looked for no general approval; we were rejoiced if we could find so much as a stray listener here and there. The cause which I had then in hand was one which governments pooh-poohed and about which the world in general was careless. I then set forth, as I had often set forth before, as I do not doubt that I shall often have to set forth again, the true nature of Ottoman rule, the causes which make it hopeless to look for any reform in Ottoman rule, the one remedy by which only the evils of Ottoman rule can be got rid of - by getting rid of the Ottoman rule itself. In that article, I pleaded for the oppressed Christian; but I also bore in mind the danger lest, in delivering the oppressed Christian, a way might be opened for the oppression of the Mussulman. I said then that the direct

rule of the Turk must cease in every land | many merely a petty strife in lands whose whose inhabitants had risen against his names they had hardly heard. The old rule. I said that, as Bosnia and Herze- traditions also had to be struggled with. govina had risen, his rule must at once Englishmen had to be taught what their cease in Bosnia and Herzegovina; that dear ally the Turk was, what he had ever when Albania and Bulgaria should rise, been, what he ever must be. The "Rushis rule must cease in Albania and Bulga- sian hobgoblin " had to be laid, and with ria also. I said that the least that could many minds it was hard work to lay it.. be accepted was the practical setting free For months and months the few who had of the revolted lands by making them trib- their eyes open were still preaching in the utary states like Servia and Roumania. wilderness. At last the Turk did our But I also proposed, in the special inter- work for us. He told a shuddering world est of the large Mahometan minority in what he really was in words stronger than Bosnia, that that particular province any that we could put together. He painted should be annexed to the Austro-Hunga- his own picture on the bloody fields of rian monarchy, as a power strong enough Bulgaria in clearer colors than we could to hinder the professors of either religion have painted it. The common heart of from doing any wrong to the professors of mankind was stirred. We who had before the other. When I said this, there was been preaching in the wilderness found still only a local warfare in two provinces, a hearing in market-places and in couna warfare waged by the people of those cil-chambers. What we had whispered in provinces, goaded to revolt by intolerable the ear in closets was now preached on wrongs, and strengthened only by private the housetops by a mighty company of volunteers from the lands immediately preachers. Great statesmen put forth with around them. It was not till several voice and pen the same facts, the same months later that there was any Bulgarian arguments, for which, nine months before, insurrection, any national war on the part it was hard to get a hearing. All England of Servia and Montenegro. Meanwhile spoke with one voice, a voice which spoke the Turk was engaged in his usual work in the same tones in every corner of the of putting forth lying promises, promises land save two. It was only from the beerin which the men who had arisen against shops of Oxford and the Foreign Office at him were far too wise to put trust for a Westminster that discordant notes came moment. Meanwhile diplomatists were up. While the rest of England was speakengaged in their usual work of pooh-pooh- ing the words of truth and righteousness, ing the great events whose greatness they Lord Derby was still putting forth fallacould not understand. They were busy cies, while his Oxford admirers raised an with their usual nostrums, their petty pal- inarticulate howl which was not more unliatives, their Andrassy notes and their reasonable than the fallacies of their chief. Berlin memorandums. Feeble attempts Those who, in season and out of season, indeed to stop the torrent were their pro- have fought this battle for twenty years posals for this and that reform, for this and more, may perhaps be indulged in a and that guaranty. Such were the sops little feeling of triumph when they see which they thought might be swallowed that the world has at last come round to either by the tyrant whose one object was their side. England, so long the abettor to get back his victims into his clutches, of the Turk, has at last found out what or by the men who had sworn to die the Turk is. The nation has awakened rather than again bow their heads under from its slumber; it has cast away its fethis yoke. While diplomatists were won-ters; it has dared to open its eyes and to dering and pottering, men were acting. use its reason; it has declared as one Servia and Montenegro at last came open- man that England will no longer have a ly to the help of their brethren, and help- share in maintaining that foul fabric of less ambassadors and foreign secretaries wrong, that Englishmen will put up with found themselves face to face with a nothing short of the deliverance of the national war and no longer with a local brethren against whom they have, as a insurrection. And meanwhile, if men had nation, so deeply sinned. been acting, fiends had been acting also. Bulgaria rose; how its rising was put down the world knows, in spite of the self-made Earl of Beaconsfield. And, when the world knew, the world shuddered and the world spoke. It had been hard to call public attention to what seemed to

The people of England have spoken; but it is not enough that the people should speak. Their rulers must be made to act; and just now we have rulers whom it is very hard to goad to action at all events to action on behalf of right. The Times says that Lord Derby must be "educated,"