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"Donal Grant, by George MacDonald"

What would
the earl think of him? He must have concluded him unfit any longer
to keep charge of his son! For his own part he did not feel he was
to blame, but rather that an accident had befallen him. Whence then
this sense of something akin to shame? Why should he be ashamed of
anything coming upon him from without? Of that shame he had to be
ashamed, as of a lack of faith in God! Would God leave his creature
who trusted in him at the mercy of a chance--of a glass of wine
taken in ignorance? There was a thing to be ashamed of, and with
good cause!
He got up, found to his dismay that it was almost ten o'clock--his
hour for rising in winter being six--dressed in haste, and went
down, wondering that Davie had not come to see after him.
In the schoolroom he found him waiting for him. The boy sprang up,
and darted to meet him.
"I hope you are better, Mr. Grant!" he said. "I am so glad you are
able to be down!"
"I am quite well," answered Donal. "I can't think what made me sleep
so long? Why didn't you come and wake me, Davie, my boy?"
"Because Simmons told me you were ill, and I must not disturb you if
you were ever so late in coming down."
"I hardly deserve any breakfast!" said Donal, turning to the table;
"but if you will stand by me, and read while I take my coffee, we
shall save a little time so."
"Yes, sir.--But your coffee must be quite cold! I will ring.


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