and the girl, like her mother, is like a ghost with grief.'

'Bob Lintie is as innocent of plotting as May herself,' replied Alan warmly; he left the club when-'

'When what?'

'Well, when the members began to talk about doing their duty.'

In other words, when they began to talk treason. Bob was wise. But see the effect of keeping doubtful company. Though Bob ceased to be a member of the club, the shadow of it has followed and enveloped him, and the innocent is confounded with the guilty. However, he must not be allowed to lie in prison, if justice can get him out, or terror will let him go free.'

This was wandering from the subject; and Alan made another mighty effort to bend the current of conversation to the celestial topic. With much stumbling, he contrived to convey to Mr. Dundas's mind the impression that he wished to know whether the revolution in his affairs would mar his hope of securing Christine as a wife. The laird, having no wish to evade the question, gave answer straight and strong:

'I confess, Alan, that the liking which exists between yourself and Christine has hitherto rather pleased me. Nor do I say that it displeases me now,

although, as you must admit, the confession of my deceased cousin has introduced a new element into your account. According to your own view, you are nobody; but for myself, I cannot look with the same severity upon you, in spite of the dubious figure you now cut. A man of honour and ability is so, not always on account of parentage and station, but sometimes apparently in spite of them. What signifies a man's origin, if he so live as to be worthy of the noblest origin? At the same time, you know, a father will always regard it as a desirable, if not a necessary, thing to know something authentic about the parentage of the man who aspires to the hand of his daughter. Philosophy can't altogether extinguish that amiable prejudice. You know that on these and other matters I am as liberal as need be. Still, I am a man; and having cause beyond your knowledge to love Christine, my only child, I have unusual reason to be anxious and careful as to how she is disposed of in marriage. That's plain, I suppose ?' Plain, and most reasonable,' Alan replied earnestly.

'Well, to be still plainer, I will confess to you, Alan, that Christine and yourself have seemed to me not ill adapted to each other.'

At this declaration, though slightly vague, Alan's heart bounded with joy, while, in spite of the February wind, he glowed fire from ear to ear.

'But,' added the prudent father, 'you are both too young; and your own prospects, particularly, are too confused just now to permit of any definite arrangement regarding this matter. Have patience for a few years'

Alan groaned inaudibly, and grew visibly pale.

Two years at least,' continued Mr. Dundas, must elapse before I can listen to any proposal. It is something, surely, if I say to you," Woo her and win her."

'It is everything!' responded Alan with emphasis.

'No, it is not everything. Something will depend on how you grapple with the peculiar circumstances of your case. Whoever wins Christine, only a brave, honest gentleman can be allowed to marry her.'

'Brave and honest! The task will be easy.' 'Perhaps,' dubiously assented the laird, who added significantly, 'Bravery and honesty are supposed to exclude a great many follies and weaknesses.'

CHAPTER XXV.

IN THE FOREST.

YOUNG Archer, who was long and strong-limbed, with altogether a splendid figure, had walked up to Millheugh, but Mr. Dundas offered him a drive. down ; and as it was necessary that Alan should visit Hamilton sooner or later, he chose to do so now, and thus accompany the others to the town, intending, as was his wont, to return through Cadzow Forest.

The lawyer parted with his companions near Avon Bridge, at the south end of Hamilton, and the laird and Alan slowly continued their journey, the former giving the latter some useful counsels as to his immediate conduct.

One of these, however, was like death to him; namely, that Alan, on his return to the city, would find it more in accordance with altered circumstances not to live in Cockmylane, but to lodge elsewhere. It would secure his own independence, and not unfairly test his ingenuity of resource and constancy of affection.

‘And now, Alan, goodbye for the present,' said Mr. Dundas in a cheery voice, as his companion alighted from the gig; 'you will write, of course,

and I hope we may see you soon. In the mean time, keep quiet, and as much as possible out of sight. Don't let my plain speaking disturb or discourage you. The worst is said, and you are still living, with the solid world under your foot.'

Although in some measure commending itself to his reason, all that the laird had said did nevertheless feel to the warmth and impatience of his love like the mere edict of authority-cold, tyrannous, and heartless. It seemed as if the world was turning its sunless side upon him altogether. The gloom of his great loss still hung heavily over him. But at the worst, the loss of supposed parents was only the loss of an idea, not of a fact; and however profound the shock of it had been, Alan still felt that somewhere in the utter darkness of his confusion and grief there was shining for him, and for him alone, a healing spirit-beautiful, sympathetic, divine. But now even this special creation of heaven, Christine, seemed suddenly blotted from his sight, snatched from his longing arms and aching heart, and borne almost beyond his reach, by the cold philosopher and confounding magician, her father.

It was completely dark as Alan neared Barncleuth on his way to the forest, after having done some little business in Hamilton. On passing a

cottage, he heard the sound of music. He paused, and knew at once that the family within were singing