The old man dropped his glass and fell back in his chair in a drunken slumber. Walter viewed him intently for a few moments, then said: Rather a bad example for a grand-father to set before his son. His son? exclaimed Frost. What do you mean by that? and what did he mean when he said “the dead are alive, the lost is found?” It means, replied Walter, that I am his grand-son. What? the son of William Wallace? the one that was driven from home for marrying Amelia Powers? Exactly so, my friend Frost. But let that remain a secret for the present. Would you know your father’s picture if you should see it? asked Tom. Yes, as well as I would my own. Then you shall see it. Here, Stupid! Where are you? Stupid stepped into the room. Show us to your Master’s gallery, said Tom. In a few minutes the trio stood in the art gallery of the Wallace mansion. One side of the room was filled with statuary, rusty swords and worn out helmets. The other side contained the pictures of the Wallace family for several generations. Walter’s eye fell on that of his father and of his aunt Mary, the mother of Amy. His gaze was long and earnest. In Mary, he saw the form and figure of his long lost Amy. How could he! How could he! he exclaimed, drive away two such lovely beings from his home? How could he be so unnatural as to violate the laws of his own nature and turn from his home his own flesh and blood? I should think that these walls would have cried out “Father, save mother, save me from this great and unnatural wrong.” Let us go, Frost, let us leave this memorial of the past. Let us visit your happy home, and see the contrast between the poor—happy and contented on the one hand, and the lordly, wealthy and miserable on the other. Lord Wallace slept and snored and snored and slept, until the fumes of the brandy had passed off. He then was, in a measure himself again. He opened his eyes and looked around, seemingly with the expectation of seeing the three sailors, but he looked in vain. They were gone. Stupid! he cried. Stupid, you blockhead! Where are the sailors that were here a few moments ago? They are gone, my Lord. Gone where? (bringing his cane down on the table with such violence as to set the tumblers dancing.) How dare you suffer them to depart without informing me? Go and get them and bring them back immediately, or I will break every bone in your body. My Lord, I neither know where they live or where they have gone. After you went to sleep, they went to the gallery. There the young sailor that fished you out became interested in the portrait of your absent son William. I heard him say “father,” and the one by his side he called “aunt Mary.” I heard him say “How could he be so unnatural as to drive two such lovely beings from his home?” What further did he say? He said “Let us go,” and they departed. The old man bent his head on the table, and for some moments remained silent. At last he said to himself: