There was another long silence; but on moving forward, Alan took up the broken thread of the former discourse by asking,

And what, if any, was the farther result of your friend's dilemma ?'

'A very curious, but perhaps not an unnatural one. He came to disbelieve in the authenticity of the parents he had discovered, and ended by believing in the illusion originally entertained-that he must still be the son of somebody of importance. It was impossible that so clever a fellow should have been moulded out of vulgar clay. I suppose he was right, and that there is really a moiety of porcelain in his flesh, and a few drams of aristocratic indigo in his blood.'

'A curious case certainly,' Alan remarked. 'I presume it is a fact?'

'Unquestionably. I know the gentleman, who is still living.'

'Do you not think he expected too much? If one could be assured only of honesty and decency as the result of such an investigation, it would be something.'

'It would be everything; but the chances are all against that hope. To put the matter plain-as a rule, decent and honest people do not fling their babies to the dogs.'

Alan felt that, however true this might be, Mr.

Dundas had stated the fact very sharply-almost with a degree of cruelty. Apparently it amounted as nearly as possible to saying that his parents could hardly have been either honest or decent. Cut to the soul, he walked along speechless and grim, with the desire rising in his mind to rush away out of sight, into some wilderness if possible, there to brood, in the bitterness of his mind, on the darkness of the prospect before him. Dundas, who guessed the cause of his companion's gloom and silence, added,

one.

I

'You will pardon me, Alan, for stating the case so plainly; but really, talking as rational men, don't see what profit there would be in allowing the judgment to be deluded by tricks of imagination. There are exceptions to the rule I have indicated, and in its origin your case may be an exceptional But even here I must say that the parents you may possibly discover, however good, will be no better than they should be. Nothing I have said will, of course, prevent you either from desiring to know the truth, or from searching it out; but you are at least warned against a twofold failure-failure to find anything at all, or in finding something quite different from what you may expect.'

'All you say is reasonable, I willingly acknowledge,' Alan frankly replied, yet there is little pleasure in hearing it.'

Naturally, my boy; for the bitterest of all pills is a truth opposed to the vanity of human wishes.'

'How very snappy he is!' thought Alan, once more relapsing into silence. They were now nearing Millheugh, which they reached with the aid of a few farther monosyllables!

CHAPTER XXIV.

A DELICATE QUESTION.

ON entering the cottage they found seated beside Mrs. Dalziel a young gentleman, whom Alan recognised as the son of Mr. Archer, the leading lawyer in Hamilton. William Archer promised, by the exercise of very superior ability, shaped and sharpened by a good classical education and first-rate legal training, to build still higher the reputation already reared by his father. 'Good heart, clear head, honest, and wholesome,' was the private comment made upon him by Lewis Dundas, who was a shrewd observer of men.

The young lawyer had been sent by his father, who was at present unwell, and the duty upon which he came was to read the will of the late Mr. Dalziel. That the deceased had left a will was known to those

present, but only the lawyer and the widow knew anything about the contents of the document. Therefore, although both Mr. Dundas and Alan were well acquainted with the careful habits of their late friend, they were agreeably surprised to find that he had been able not only to make a fair provision for his widow for life, but also to leave Alan a legacy of forty pounds. Mrs. Dalziel would have ten shillings a week, and the use of the cottage and garden, both of which were to go to Alan at her death. The testator added to the will a single line expressing a desire that the garden should not be neglected, but carefully tended from year to year.

This reference to the garden quite melted Mrs. Dalziel, who remembered how deeply her husband had loved his little plot of ground, and what a wealth of affection he lavished upon his favourite plants and flowers. She remembered, too, that the most hopeful and tender period of her life was connected with the green recesses of that fairy garden; and in a moment, with overwhelming intensity, all the story of the past reacted itself in her mind. For a while the poor widow sat mentally stunned, unable to speak or move, as if all the billows of sorrow had gone over her.

At length, when her sudden access of feeling had somewhat subsided, she rose and placed before her guests what homely fare she could afford.

VOL. II.

Mr. Dundas was going back to Glasgow that night; but before leaving he and Alan met in the garden for a few minutes.

Now or never was the time, Alan thought, to mention the name of Christine to her father. Yet, how to speak the first word? He knew what he wished to say, but his lips refused to open on the one important subject. The two walked up and down along the pathways several times in perfect silence. Mr. Dundas guessed that Alan had something on his mind, and perhaps also he suspected the colour of it; but it was not for him to begin the conversation.

Almost desperate, Alan began to speak rather incoherently, and the words, when gathered up and put together, had some resemblance to an inquiry as to the state of Christine's health.

Lewis, smiling in his mind, replied that she was well enough, but something sad.

Is it for me that she is sad?' wondered the puzzled lover.

She is rather sad,' repeated her father slowly, on account of her young favourite, May Lintie.'

Is May unwell?' inquired Alan, somewhat shocked to hear that anybody but himself could possibly be the cause of sorrow in Christine.

'May is so far well in health, but they have put her father in prison as a suspected Radical plotter,