“You do not tell me if you saw Lucy before she left Murrayshaugh; and I want to ask you a delicate question, Adam, which I should not put to any one whom I trusted less entirely--Charlie Graeme--what of him? Lucy does not speak of him as she once did; her last letter indeed intimates vaguely, that from the change in her own feelings towards him she has seen it necessary to break the engagement between them. Do you know anything of this? Whether Lucy is sinned against or sinning, I cannot tell--from her letter I should fancy the latter; though certainly she is the last person in the world whom I could think of as likely to change.” * * * * * Poor Lucy!--in her solitary bravery, her woman’s pride, she was stouter of heart than I. My spirit rose to the encouraging words of Hew. I too had been thinking more of late of the true end and aim of life; that momentous matter which always stands out in the twilight of grief, sometimes indeed arrayed in fantastic lights and shadows, but sometimes distinct and clear as it has been revealed. I had begun to discover how much my wayward soul was out of tune with the infinite mind disclosed to us in revelation, and the harmonious universe around. The warfare was begun within me. Hew Murray’s letter was such as I needed; it stirred me to better things, it made me ashamed of my indolent brooding, my cumbering of the ground. As I laid it down, I remarked the note which had fallen from its enclosure, and took it up with some curiosity. The handwriting was strange to me, and the first words made me start in the utmost alarm and terror--the remainder smote me down into the blank of utter grief. * * * * * “Sir,