Alison speculated deeply. If Bevil Goring was in England, how was it that he made no effort to trace her? Could it be that stung by her father's imperious manner, and hopeless of ever being rich enough to please him, he had relinquished her and her love, and perhaps given himself up to the adoration of another? She had heard and read of such things, and these surmises saddened and agitated her. Laura had left Chilcote Grange, none knew for where, thus Alison could not learn from her any knowledge of Goring's movements, or whether he was at the camp, or in Africa. She was, in her isolation, without the means of knowing if he were in the land of the living. So she was back again to Chilcote and monotony, but a monotony that was not without an infusion of hope that she might ere long hear something of her lover; for Chilcote and its vicinity were full of associations connected with him, particularly their trysting-place, the old beeches that were leafless still, and looked so lonely when she lingered there, and watched the brown rabbits scudding among the last year's ferns; back again to old Mrs. Prune's frugal repasts, and watching for letters that never came, or those that were not wanted--letters in blue envelopes, at the sight of which Sir Ranald shivered. He hated all letters; of what use were they to anyone--all he wanted was his morning paper. Severely ailing now, the old man had become more querulous than ever, and more than ever was Alison sweet in temper, gentle and patient with him, for she had more than an intuition that she would not have him long with her, and when he passed away what was to become of her _then_? And she would look up beseechingly at the portraits of the two brothers--the Ranald and Ellon of other times--as if seeking succour or counsel from them. 'I wish I had been born, papa, when these two kinsmen lived, and when the world was younger,' she said one day. 'A strange thought for a young girl,' he replied; 'if you had been born then you would have lived in stormy times, and, instead of living now, be lying in St. Mary's Kirk at Ellon. But why this wish?' 'Because I think people were truer and more single-hearted then than they are now--more simple, honest, and less inclined to make shams of themselves for appearance sake.' 'Hum,' said Sir Ranald, after a pause, during which he had been eyeing her suspiciously through his gold _pince-nez_; 'have you met anyone during your protracted walk this afternoon?' 'Whom have I to meet in this lonely place, papa?' she asked, with a little pang of annoyance in her breast. 'No one you think worth your attention now, perhaps; but you were most anxious to return here, anyway.'