And leading and supporting her drooping daughter, Mrs. Aytoun went to her own room, and, seating herself there, began to question Alice. And then the whole stream came flowing forth, hesitating and broken; how Lewis had travelled with her, and had been constantly at her side, ever since that momentous journey; how Anne had been her patient, kind, indulgent friend; how at last, upon that eventful New year's night, Lewis and herself had been alone together--and then--and then--there followed some incoherent words, which Mrs. Aytoun could comprehend the purport of; how Anne came in, looking so chill and pale, and horror-stricken; how Mrs. Catherine next day took her into the little room, and almost broke the gentle heart that was beating so high now, with anxiety and suspense; how Anne returned at night with voice as tender and hand as gentle as her mother's telling her that Norman was innocent; and then, how glad and happy they had all been together again--and then--if her mother could only see him--if she could only see Anne--they could tell her so much better! Mrs. Aytoun was still anxious and pale, but her tremor of agitation was quieted. "She must be a very kind, good girl, this Anne, Alice." Alice breathed more freely--if her mother had been very angry, was her simple reasoning, she would not have spoken so. "She is very good--very kind, mother--like you, gentler than Mrs. Catherine; but she is not a girl, she is older than--than Lewis." Mrs. Aytoun smiled. "How old is Lewis?" The simple little heart began to beat with troubled joy. "He is twenty-one, mother. It was his birthday just a week after I went to the Tower." Mrs. Aytoun did not speak for some time. "Alice," she said at last, "I must see this Lewis, and consult with James, before I make any decision--in the meantime you will be very patient, will you not?" "Oh, yes, yes--I do not care how long--only--if you saw him, mother, if you just saw him, I know how you would like him!" "Would I?" said Mrs. Aytoun, smiling: "well, we shall see; but now dry your eyes, and let us go back to James again." They returned to the parlor. James sat at the table, the letter lying before him, and his face exceedingly grave. He was very much disturbed and troubled. He did not well see what to do. For some time there was little conversation between them--the mother and son consulted together with their grave looks. Little Alice, again sadly cast down, sat silent by the fireside. At last her brother addressed her with a sort of timidity, blushing almost as she did herself, when he mentioned the name. "Alice, when does Mr. Ross come to Edinburgh?" Mr. Ross! so cold it sounded and icy--would not Lewis be his brother? "In a fortnight," murmured Alice.