“You must forgive her that, Halbert; she was not aware of his character when she received him as her cousin’s friend,” and Christian looked distressed and uneasy, and continued; “and Halbert, you must not cherish a vindictive feeling even against Forsyth, bad as he is, and great as is the mischief he did you; promise me that, Halbert, promise me, now.” “Well, I do promise you; I could not, if I would; and I now pity him much more than hate him.” They sat together conversing, till the shadows began to lengthen, when Christian, compelled by domestic cares and preparations for the evening, left her new found brother for a time. [Illustration: text decoration] CHAPTER IV. Bear a lily in thy hand; Gates of brass cannot withstand One touch of that magic wand. Bear through sorrow, wrong and ruth, In thy heart the dew of youth, On thy lips the smile of truth.--LONGFELLOW. The day wore away, and now the evening darkened fast, and old Ailie’s beaming face, illuminated by the lights she carries, interrupts brother and sister, again seated in the cheerful fire-light, which, ere the candles are set upon the table, has filled the room with such a pleasant flickering half-gloom, half-radiance. And there, too, is Mr. Melville’s knock, which never varies, at the door. Halbert knows it as well as Christian, and grows pale and involuntarily glides into a corner--as he had done of old when he had transgressed--but Christian has met her father at the door, and whispered that there is a stranger newly arrived in the room. It fortunately so happens to-night that Mr. Melville has come home more complacent and willing to be pleased than he has done for many a day. Some speculation suggested by James, and agreed to with sundry prudent demurring by the heads of the house, has turned out most successfully, and Mr. Melville has taken the credit of James’s foresight and energy all to himself, and is marvellously pleased therewith. “A stranger, aye, Christian, and who is this stranger?” he says most graciously, as he divests himself of his outer wrappings; but Christian has no voice to answer just then, and so he pushes open the half-shut door, and looks curiously about the room; his son stands before him, his eyes cast down, his cheeks flushed, his heart beating. “Halbert!” The human part of Mr. Melville’s nature melts for the moment, the surprise is pleasurable; but he soon grows stern again. “Where have you been, sir? what have you been doing? and why have you never written to your sister?” Halbert’s trial has taught him meekness, and his answers are in words which turn away wrath, and his father turns round to seek his easy-chair on the most sheltered and cosiest side of the glowing fire. “Humph!” he says; “well, since you are home, I suppose it’s no use making any more enquiries now, but what do you intend to do?”