“I will wager you a silver crown, Cuthbert,” said Mrs. Charteris, “that the bairn is called after old Mrs. Violet Primrose of Govan, and that Mrs. Hervey of Monkland, is the name-mother of the elder one; and to make it the more appropriate, to-morrow is the first of April, and Davie Lindsay has sent you on a gouk’s errand, for a credulous callant as you are; now mind, I told you.” “Very well, mother, we shall see,” responded Cuthbert. CHAPTER VII. “He has a secret motive in his search, Honest, yet would he not that all the world Saw full into his heart:--a right good heart-- Devising nothing evil, yet aware Of certain silent secrets of its own.” OLD PLAY. IT was not without a little embarrassment that Cuthbert presented himself next day at the office of his uncle. It was the day before the despatch of one of the mails, and everybody in the office was very busy. Round the desk of Mr. Gilchrist, the cashier, who had the capital business head, and the two hundred yearly pounds, the snuff lay in little heaps, and all the clerks of meaner degree were working furiously, with scarcely time to interchange now and then, the usual _badinage_ of the counting-house; while, in Mr. Buchanan’s room, Richard sat writing letters beside his father. “Better get away out of town, Cuthbert,” said the merchant, “we shall be late to-night; but your aunt and Clemie are at home, and are always glad to see you, you know, whereas we shall only bore you, if you wait for us. I think you had better go down to Greenbank at once.” “Very well, uncle,” said Cuthbert. He was quite resigned to postpone his enjoyment of their company for a few hours. “I have some business to do, but I shall get home before you, I think.” “I say, Cuthbert,” said Richard in an aside, “why don’t you ask for Harry Muir? I believe you’ve been there already.” “Then you believe nonsense, Dick,” said Cuthbert, with a little heat. “How is he, poor fellow?” “He’s gone down to Ayr. Oh, he’s recovering fast,” said Richard. “These women made it worse than it was, you know, with their lamentations. I suppose you’re going to call, Cuthbert?” “I am going to look after a case which my friend Lindsay is engaged in,” said Cuthbert, with some dignity. “I must do that before I make any calls. There now, that will do--you are sure to be late with your letters, Dick.” “I should not wonder,” mused Dick Buchanan, as Cuthbert made his escape, “if his business was in Port Dundas after all.” And the curious young merchant endeavoured to discover, through the opaque window, which course his cousin took; but the endeavour was quite unsuccessful. The dim yellow pane preserved Cuthbert’s secret.