One day when the preparations were nearly finished, Tallisker came up
to the Keep. Helen saw at once that he was moved by some intense
feeling, and there was a red spot on his cheeks which she had been
accustomed to associate with the dominie's anger. The laird was
sitting placidly smoking, and drinking toddy. He had been telling
Helen of the grand house he was going to build on the new estate he
had just bought; and he was now calmly considering how to carry out
his plans on the most magnificent scale, for he had firmly determined
there should be neither Keep nor Castle in the North Country as
splendid as the new Crawfords' Home.

He greeted Tallisker with a peculiar kindness, and held his hand
almost lovingly. His friendship for the dominie--if he had known
it--was a grain of salt in his fast deteriorating life. He did not
notice the dominie's stern preoccupation, he was so full of his own
new plans. He began at once to lay them before his old friend; he had
that very day got the estimates from the Edinburgh architect.

Tallisker looked at them a moment with a gathering anger. Then he
pushed them passionately away, saying in a voice that was almost a
sob, "I darena look at them, laird; I darena look at them! Do you ken
that there are fourteen cases o' typhus in them colliers' cottages you
built? Do you remember what Mr. Selwyn said about the right o'
laborers to pure air and pure water? I knew he was right then, and
yet, God forgive me! I let you tak your ain way. Six little bits o'
bairns, twa women, and six o' your pit men! You must awa to Athol
instanter for doctors and medicines and brandy and such things as are
needfu'. There isna a minute to lose, laird."

Helen had risen while he was speaking with a calm determination that