"No," said Mrs. Catherine. "What Lewis cares for, is the winning of the bairn Alice--what you care for, first and most specially, is the clearing of your brother's disgraced name. Norman is safest in your hands, Anne. Read the letters." "Mr. Aytoun," said Anne, with nervous firmness, "we have no systematic proof to lay before you. Anything which can directly meet and overcome the evidence of which you speak, remains still to be gathered--and it is possible, that this, on which we build our hopes, may seem but a very feeble foundation to you. In law, I suppose, it could have no weight for a moment: but yet to those who knew my brother Norman, and were acquainted with his peculiar temperament and nature, it carries absolute conviction.--I scarcely hope that it can have the same power of convincing you--but I pray you to receive as certainly true, before I read this, the judgment which all his friends pronounced upon my unhappy brother, before this dishonor came upon him. They call him the most truthful and generous of men: they distinguish him for these two qualities above all his compeers. Mrs. Catherine, I speak truly?" "Truthful as the course of nature itself, which the Almighty keeps from varying. Generous as the sun that He hath set to shine upon the just and the unjust. Do not linger, Anne: read Norman's letter." Anne lifted the letter, and glanced up at James before she began to read--his eyes were fixed upon her, his face was full of grave anxiety--convinced or unconvinced, she was sure at least of an attentive listener. She began to read--her voice trembling at first, as the quick throbbings of her heart almost choked it, but becoming hysterically strong, as she went on; her mind agitated as Norman's was when he wrote that letter, eager like him, by what repetitions or incoherent words soever, that were strongest and most suitable for the urgent purpose, to throw off the terrible accusation under which he lay: it was like no second party reading an old letter; it was the very voice and cry of one pleading for life--for more than life--for lost good fame and honor. James Aytoun's eyes were steadily fixed upon her; and as she closed the letter, her whole frame vibrating, he drew a long breath--that most grateful of all sounds to the ears of a speaker who desires to move and impress his audience. Anne looked up eagerly and anxious. He had covered his face with his hand. Neither of them spoke; until, at last, James raised his head: "May I see that letter, Miss Ross? Can you give it me?"