Miss Helena did not belong to a noble family, but she was Scotch, which equaled all nobilities in the eyes of Lord Glenarvan. This charming young creature, high-minded and devoted, the lord of Luss had made the companion of his life. He found her one day living alone, an orphan, almost without fortune, in the house of her father at Kilpatrick. He saw that the poor girl would make a noble wife, and he married her.
Miss Tuffnel was twenty-two, a youthful blonde, with eyes as blue as the waters of the Scotch lakes on a beautiful morning in spring. Her love for her husband exceeded even her gratitude. She loved him as if she had been the rich heiress, and he the friendless orphan. As to their tenants and servants, they were ready to lay down their lives for her whom they called “our good lady of Luss.”
Lord and Lady Glenarvan lived happily at Malcolm Castle, in the midst of the grand and wild scenery of the Highlands, rambling in the shady alleys of horse-chestnuts and sycamores, along the shores of the lake, where still resounded the war cries of ancient times, or in the depths of those uncultivated gorges in which the history of Scotland lies written in ruins from age to age. One day they would wander in the forests of beeches and larches, and in the midst of the masses of heather; another, they would scale the precipitous summits of Ben Lomond, or traverse on horseback the solitary glens, studying, comprehending, and admiring this poetic country, still called “the land of Rob Roy,” and all those celebrated sites so grandly sung by Walter Scott.
In the sweet, still evening, when the “lantern of Mac Farlane” illumined the horizon, they would stroll along the “bartizans,” an old circular balcony that formed a chain of battlements to Malcolm Castle, and there, pensive, oblivious, and as if alone in the world, seated on some detached rock, under the pale rays of the moon, while night gradually enveloped the rugged summits of the mountains, they would continue wrapt in that pure ecstasy and inward delight known only to loving hearts.
Thus passed the first months of their married life. But Lord Glenarvan did not forget that his wife was the daughter of a great traveler. He thought that Lady Helena must have in her heart all the aspirations of her father, and he was not mistaken. The Duncan was constructed, and was designed to convey Lord and Lady Glenarvan to the most beautiful countries of the world, along the waves of the Mediterranean, and to the isles of the Archipelago. Imagine the joy of Lady Helena when her husband placed the Duncan at her disposal! Indeed, can there be a greater happiness than to lead your love towards those charming “isles where Sappho sung,” and behold the enchanting scenes of the Orient, with all their spirit-stirring memories?
Meantime Lord Glenarvan had started for London. The safety of the unfortunate shipwrecked men was at stake. Thus, in his temporary absence, Lady Helena showed herself more anxious than sad. The next day a dispatch from her husband made her hope for a speedy return; in the evening a letter hinted at its postponement. His proposal had to encounter some difficulties, and the following day a second letter came, in which Lord Glenarvan did not conceal his indignation against the authorities.
On that day Lady Helena began to be uneasy. At evening she was alone in her chamber, when the steward of the castle, Mr. Halbert, came to ask if she would see a young girl and boy who desired to speak with Lord Glenarvan.
“People of the country?” asked Lady Helena.
“No, madam,” replied the steward, “for I do not know them. They have just arrived by the Balloch railway, and from Balloch to Luss they tell me they have made the journey on foot.”
“Bid them come up, steward,” said Lady Glenarvan.
The steward withdrew. Some moments afterward the young girl and boy were ushered into Lady Helena’s chamber. They were brother and sister; you could not doubt it by their resemblance.
The sister was sixteen. Her pretty face showed weariness, her eyes must have shed many tears; her resigned, but courageous, countenance, and her humble, but neat, attire, all prepossessed one in her favor. She held by the hand a boy of twelve years, of determined look, who seemed to take his sister under his protection. Indeed, whoever had insulted the young girl would have had to settle with this little gentleman.
The sister stopped, a little surprised at seeing herself before Lady Helena; but the latter hastened to open the conversation.
“You wish to speak with me?” said she, with an encouraging look at the young girl.
“No,” answered the boy, in a decided tone; “not with you, but with Lord Glenarvan himself.”
“Excuse him, madam,” said the sister, looking at her brother.
“Lord Glenarvan is not at the castle,” replied Lady Helena; “but I am his wife, and if I can supply his place with you—”
“You are Lady Glenarvan?” said the young girl.
“Yes, miss.”
“The wife of Lord Glenarvan, of Malcolm Castle, who published an advertisement in the Times in regard to the shipwreck of the Britannia?”
“Yes, yes!” answered Lady Helena, with alacrity. “And you?”
“I am Miss Grant, and this is my brother.”
“Miss Grant! Miss Grant!” cried Lady Helena, drawing the young girl towards her, and taking her hands, while she also drew the boy towards her.
“Madam,” replied the young girl, “what do you know of the shipwreck of my father? Is he living? Shall we ever see him again? Speak! oh, please tell me!”
“My dear child,” said Lady Helena, “God forbid that I should answer you lightly on such a subject; I would not give you a vain hope—”
“Please, madam, speak! I am strong against grief, and can hear all.”
“My dear child,” answered Lady Helena,
