Thus fairly admonished, the girl addressed closed her book, not without evident reluctance, and prepared to obey her mother’s injunction. Mrs. Sinclair had been a widow about five years, her husband having died, after a painful and lingering illness, just as he had reached what is generally looked upon as the prime of life. Being well provided for, as soon as affairs could be settled, and her house and belongings disposed of, she left the neighbourhood in which they had for years resided,—and, with her two children, a girl and boy, now her sole charge,—to take up her abode amidst her native hills, a few miles outside the city of Aberdeen. Her son Ralph had been given a position of some promise in the firm of H. & E. Quinion, Broadstone,—where his father had long held a high and honourable post,—with the prospect of a junior partnership in the course of a few years, in the event of all things going on satisfactorily. Jennie, who had not yet reached her sixteenth year, was tall for her age, well proportioned, and, although not what would generally be called handsome, was an attractive girl. And the bright, clear grey eyes, beneath a more than usually broad and expansive brow, indicated a degree of intelligence which was not slow in displaying itself. The house in which they dwelt was one of those old-fashioned ones so often to be met with outside our large towns and cities, possessing no apparent design in its construction, through the numerous additions and alterations from time to time made, to suit the convenience or taste of successive tenants, without any regard for harmony or unity. Spacious and convenient, it was also rambling and not handsome. Surrounded by extensive grounds, and well wooded, it was hidden from view of the ordinary traveller, but well known to the residents around,—who were frequent visitors at Railton Hall,—as well as to cottars and villagers, with whom Mrs. Sinclair kept up a close acquaintance. "What time do you expect Ralph in the morning, mother?" asked Jennie, as she prepared to retire for the night. "The train is due at Aberdeen at nine-forty-five, and if it keeps time we may expect him here about ten-fifteen," said her mother. "I have ordered Donald to have the trap ready to drive me to the station to meet him at that hour; so we breakfast at eight-thirty." "Very well, mother; then I will tell Alice to call me at eight"; and with a good-night kiss the young girl left the room. Before following her daughter’s example, Mrs. Sinclair drew a letter from her pocket bearing a foreign postmark, to read—not for the first time—the intelligence which was already well impressed upon her memory— "DEAR MOTHER,—I leave Antwerp to-morrow morning at six o’clock, and hope to return by the night mail, due in Aberdeen at nine-forty-five the next morning. Your loving son, RALPH." With fond anticipations of the morning, the anxious mother retired to rest. * * * * *