Mr. Foreman paused again. A strange master in Strathoran--the kindly union of the country broken in upon by one who, if they judged rightly, had done grievous ill to Archibald Sutherland. A painful film came over the lawyer's eyes. It seemed like treason to the trust reposed in him by "Old Strathoran" thus to suffer his son's downfall. "You are losing time," said Mrs. Catherine. "Robert Ferguson, the day is wearing on. Ye will not be able to leave Portoran the night. Start with the first coach the morn's morning. Do not tarry a moment. Mind how long the days will be to a spirit in despair; and come to me when you are returning from Portoran if there is time. I will write to the unhappy lad." Thus dismissed, both gentlemen took their leave, the factor receiving a parting adjuration to "take sufficient siller--be not scrimpit. Ye will have many charges in so long a journey; and, as I have said, Robert Ferguson, lay out a pound of your own siller upon this dyvour at your proper peril! I will visit your iniquity upon the head of your young advocate, if ye venture to do such a thing.--Mind!" Mrs. Catherine seated herself at her library table as the factor and the lawyer rode away together, and began to write to Archibald Sutherland--a hurried letter, swiftly written. It ran thus: "I have heard of your transgression and calamity, Archibald Sutherland, and write as I need not tell you, in sore grief. Nevertheless, I have neither time nor leisure to record my lamentations, nor do I think that tears from old e'en--the which are bitter in the shedding--are things to make merchandise of for the mending of young backsliders. At this moment, I have other matters in hand. I see by your letter to Mr. Ferguson (a better man than I fear you will ever be), that you are yourself cast down, and in grief, as it is meet you should be. See that it be for the sin, and not for the mere carnal consequences, and so there will be the better chance for a blessing on your repentance.