The freshness of the morning, the sunshine and the feeling that there was yet another chance for him, slight as it was, chased many of the phantoms of gloom and despair from his mind. He was not long in arriving at Learmont’s house and entering the hall, for it was the fashion then of many of the wealthy to keep their outer-doors open, and trust to the throng of servant’s they kept in their halls, to defend them from any improper intrusion. He inquired for Learmont. He was replied to by a question concerning his business, when luckily recollecting his letter, he produced it, saying,— “I have a note from the squire, requesting my attendance upon him.” “Oh,” said a servant, “if that is the case, young sir, I will take your name in. Pray follow me.” Albert followed the man, and was conducted into a small, but magnificent apartment, with an exquisitely painted roof, and hung with crimson damask. He had not waited long when the servant re-appeared to say,—“that his master had no sort of recollection of the affair, and wished to see his own letter which the stranger said he had.” “Here is the letter,” said Albert; “but his worship will see by the date, that the time therein mentioned scarcely authorises my present visit. Be so good as to add that long illness and the death of one near and dear to me, accounts for the delay.” The man took the note and was away for some time, when he entered and requested Albert Seyton to follow him, for that his master would see him. He was then conducted through a magnificent suite of rooms, until the servant paused at a door which was a little way open. At this he knocked gently, and a deep-toned hollow voice from within said,— “Come in.” The servant motioned Albert Seyton to enter the apartment, and in the next moment he was in the presence of Learmont, who fixed his keen searching eyes upon the young man’s face for several moments before he spoke. Then he said in a low tone,— “Young man, your application now can scarcely be considered as encouraged by me. The note you have bears date a long time back.” “It does, sir,” replied Albert; “but I have been on a bed of sickness myself, and am now bereft of the parent who then—” Albert’s feelings would not permit him to say more, and he paused. “Are you an orphan?” said Learmont. “I am.” “And poor and friendless—and, and very nearly driven to despair? Have you found out what a hollow cheat the care of Providence is? Are you one of Fortune’s foot-balls, kicked here and there as the jade thinks proper? Have you met with ingratitude where you should have had succour? Contempt where you trusted upon honour—derision where you went for sympathy—are you, young man, one of those who have seen enough of misery to retaliate upon the world? Speak, young man, are you such as I have described?”