Alice Aytoun by this time was snugly settled in the Tower, and had already written a little note, overflowing with innocent pride and joyousness to her mother at home, describing that most cheerful of all inner drawing-rooms, and dwelling fully upon the glories of her own apartments, the carved wardrobe, the old piano, the beautiful flowers; mentioning, too, in the postscript, in the very slightest manner, a "young gentleman," who had pointed out all the places to her on the way, and who turned out to be Miss Ross's brother, though who Miss Ross was, Alice did not stay to particularize. And after the letter was written, Mrs. Catherine, whose eyes had been lingering on the youthful face with most genial kindliness, began to play with her in talk, half childish, and wholly affectionate, as with some toy of unknown construction, whose capabilities she did not yet quite see. Jacky, too, with those quick, sidelong glances, as she went jerking in and out at every possible opportunity, had commenced her study of the young stranger's character, and quickened by admiration of the simple pretty face, was advancing in her study as quickly as her mistress. The minds of the stately old lady and the elfin girl came to conclusions strangely similar. There rose in them both an instinctive impulse of kindly protection, natural enough in Alice Aytoun's aged kinswoman, but contrasting oddly with the age and position of Jacky Morison. Anne and Lewis visited the Tower next day. In the Sutherlands, of whom Lewis brought tidings so unfavorable, Mrs. Catherine was deeply interested, and listened while he spoke of them, with many shakings of her head, and doubts and fears. "Trysted to evil," she exclaimed, as Lewis told her in his careless way, of Mrs. Duncombe's Paris life. "Did I not say nothing good could come of the bairn that left the sick bed of her mother, for the sake of a strange man; ay, and made the sick-bed--a death-bed by the deed. Lewis, is't the lad's fault, think you, or is't hers?" "Oh, I don't know that there is much fault in it," said Lewis. "It's not a formal separation, you know; only Isabel's living with her brother, because it is, beyond dispute, pleasanter to live in Paris than in Gibraltar. You don't know really--you can have no idea." "Think you so?" said Mrs. Catherine, quickly, "but maybe there are folk living who knew such places and things, before you were born! Why does Isabel Sutherland not return to the house of her fathers, if she cannot dwell with the man she left father and mother for?" "There is no accounting for these things," said Lewis, with a slight sneer. "Lewis Ross," said Mrs. Catherine, "hold your peace; you are but a boy, and should leave that to your elders. Anne, I am sore grieved for Archie Sutherland; if evil comes to the lad, it will be as hard to me, as if evil were coming upon you." CHAPTER III.