After a sound night's rest and a substantial Scottish breakfast had fitted Shafto, as he thought, for facing anything, a cab deposited him and Florian (who was now beginning to marvel why he had travelled so far in a matter that concerned him not, in reality) at the residence of Mr. Kenneth Kippilaw, W.S., in Charlotte Square--a noble specimen of Adams Street architecture, having four stately symmetrical corresponding façades, overlooked by the dome of St. George's Church. 'Lawyers evidently thrive in Scotland,' said Shafto, as he looked at the mansion of Mr. Kippilaw, and mentally recalled the modest establishment of Lawyer Carlyon; 'but foxes will flourish as long as there are geese to be plucked.' Mr. Kippilaw was at home--indeed he was just finishing breakfast, before going to the Parliament House--as they were informed by the liveried valet, who led them through a pillared and marble-floored vestibule, and ushered them into what seemed a library, as the walls from floor to ceiling were lined with handsome books; but every professional man's private office has generally this aspect in Scotland. In a few minutes Mr. Kippilaw appeared with a puzzled and perplexed expression in his face, as he alternatively looked at his two visitors, and at Shafto's card in his hand. Mr. Kippilaw was now in his sixtieth year; his long since grizzled hair had now become white, and had shrunk to two patches far apart, one over each ear, and brushed stiffly up. His eyebrows were also white, shaggy, and under them his keen eyes peered sharply through the rims of a gold pince-nez balanced on the bridge of his long aquiline nose. Shafto felt just then a strange and unpleasant dryness about his tongue and lips. '_Mr. Shafto Melfort?_' said Mr. Kippilaw inquiringly, and referring to the card again. 'I was not aware that there was a Mr. Shafto Melfort--any relation of Lord Fettercairn?' 'His grandson,' said Shafto unblushingly. 'This gentleman with the dark eyes?' asked Mr. Kippilaw, turning to the silent Florian. 'No--myself,' said Shafto sharply and firmly. 'You are most unlike the family, who have always been remarkable for regularity of features. Then you are the son--of--of--' 'The late Major Lennard Melfort who died a few weeks ago----' 'Good Heavens, where?' 'On the west coast of Devonshire, near Revelstoke, where he had long resided under the assumed name of MacIan.' 'That of his wife?' 'Precisely so--my mother.' 'And this young gentleman, whose face and features seem curiously familiar to me, though I never saw him before, he is your brother of course.' 'No, my cousin, the son of my aunt Mrs. Gyle. I am an only son, but the Major ever treated us as if he had been the father of both, so great and good was his kindness of heart.'