The parlour or drawing-room, for it might be called either, was a handsome room, though it was on the second story, and its very comfortable furniture had an air of older fashion than the present time, which suited very gracefully with the age of its mistress. Near one of its large windows stood an antique spider-legged table, bearing a work-box of somewhat elaborate manufacture, an open book, with Mrs. Charteris’ silver thimble lying on it for a mark, and Mrs. Charteris’ work by its side--while within reach of these stood an easy chair and a footstool. The spring was brightening rapidly, and Mrs. Charteris’ chair stood always in this window, when the weather permitted her to leave the fireside--for here, as she plied her sewing, or glanced up from her book, she could observe the passengers in the street below, and watch for Cuthbert as he came home from his little office. Cuthbert had a slight look of excitement to-day, his mother thought, as she took off her spectacles, and looked at him with her own kindly unassisted eyes. Mrs. Charteris fancied her son had perhaps got a brief. “Well, Cuthbert, my man, what brings you home so soon?” said Mrs. Charteris, sitting down in her chair, and drawing in her footstool. “I think I will go through to Glasgow to-morrow, mother,” said Cuthbert hastily. The old lady looked up with her glasses on. There was certainly an unusual flush and a happy embarrassed smile upon the face of her good son. “The laddie’s possessed!” said Mrs. Charteris. “What would you do in Glasgow again so soon. It is not a month since you came home, Cuthbert?” “Neither it is, mother,” said the advocate, “but I have got some business in hand--a mystery, mother, to exercise my legal judgment on.” Mrs. Charteris was interested. “Aye, what’s that?” There was a good deal of hesitation about the learned gentleman--it was evident there was no fee in this case. “I told you about that young man, mother,--that family of Muirs.” The old lady looked up quickly. She was a good deal interested in this family of Muirs, partly because her son had spoken much of them, and still more because he seemed so very willing to return to the subject. “What about them, Cuthbert?” “I had Davie Lindsay with me to-day,” said Cuthbert, lifting up and turning over the pages of his mother’s book. “He is very anxious to trace out the heirs of a small old estate near Stirling, and I’ve a notion these Muirs are the people he wants.” Mrs. Charteris dropped her work on her knee, and looked up with much interest. “The lost heir had two daughters called Rose and Violet,--rather a singular conjunction. Now the two younger Muirs bear these names--a strange coincidence, if it is nothing else; and if one could help such a family--I told you how much they interested me, mother.” “Yes,” said the old lady; “Violet--that was the little girl--I heard you mention her--but which of them is Rose?”