'Well, I had very little difficulty in that,' I laughingly replied. 'Talking of sales, though--pardon my introducing the commercial element into our conversation, Miss Stuart--but I would like very much to have a companion picture to this one, something local of course. I'll leave the price to yourself. There's no hurry, you know; only I should be sorry to miss the opportunity of procuring another, treated with the same loving skill.' 'How much did you pay for this one?' she asked, with a twinkle in her eye. 'Well--I--I really cannot tell you exactly. You see, I didn't buy it myself. I happened to hear your clerical friend say something about the Laurieston bazaar; so I wrote to Ormskirk, my confidential clerk, giving him the few particulars I possessed, and he managed everything to my satisfaction. The price he paid for it will be noted down: he stated it in his letter, but as it was of minor importance I don't remember the exact figure.' I had risen from my chair when she stood up to examine the picture; and, thinking she might be tired standing, I asked her to sit down. She made no response, however; and, lost in thought, looked long into the glowing fire. 'Ormskirk! Mr Ormskirk, your confidential clerk!' she repeated slowly. 'The name seems familiar to me. Oh yes, now I remember;' and she laughed cheerily, and gave me a blithe look. 'It is a coincidence, Mr Russell; but I was received once by a Mr Ormskirk of an Edinburgh legal firm. The name struck me as being unusual.' 'Well, Miss Stuart, so far as I know there is only one Ormskirk in our profession in Edinburgh, and he is with us--my firm, I mean--Monteith & Russell.' 'Monteith & Russell!' she repeated. 'And you are'---- 'Well, I'm Mr Monteith's partner.' She looked at me with surprise in her big dark eyes, and then slowly every vestige of colour left her face. 'You--you are Mr Russell! Oh, I am so glad to meet you! I have corresponded with you, and my father very often spoke of you. I am Désirée Stuart. My affairs are in your firm's hands. I am the daughter of General Stuart of Abereran. This is very bewildering!' and she smiled feebly through moist, lustrous eyes. I was too astonished to speak. No suitable words could I utter in acknowledgment of this unexpected information. Never for a moment had I associated Miss Stuart the artist with Miss Stuart of Abereran. Somehow, I cannot say exactly what followed; but I have a dim recollection of hearing her apologising for sobbing, on the plea that I was the first person she had met since her father's death of whom, in his last illness, he had spoken with kindliness and affectionate regard. And I welcomed this with avidity as another link which bound me to her.