strange thing—that he could even now hardly imagine to himself. Nay, it was a thing that he looked forward to with such an unreasoning dread and dismay that he began to construct all sorts of mad schemes for defeating any such possibility; and at last he hit upon one that seemed more or less practicable, while it would in the meantime virtually absolve him from his promise to Maisrie. On the morning after the meeting of the Mendover Liberal Association, the two young men were returning to town by train; and Vincent said to his companion— "You were telling me the other night of the Scotch newspaper-man whom you got to know in New York: what did you say his name was?" "Oh, you mean Hugh Anstruther? I hope I spoke no ill of him; for an enthusiastic patriotism such as his is really something to admire in these days. A capital fellow, Hugh; until I fell across him in New York I did not know that I had one virtue transcending all the other virtues, and that was simply my being a brother Scot." "What did you say was the name of the paper that he edits?" "The _Western Scotsman_." "And it was he who gave Mr. Bethune a letter of introduction to you?" But here Lord Musselburgh’s manner instantly changed: he had been answering these questions in a careless way, looking out of the carriage window most of the time: now he turned to his companion, and regarded him with some scrutiny. "Why do you ask, Vin?" he said. "Do you want to find out something further about the old man?" Vincent’s forehead flushed; and his eyes gloomed dark. "I do not," he made answer, in distinct tones. "I thank goodness my nature is not so suspicious. It seems to me extraordinary that two human beings who have done nothing in the world to deserve it should be regarded with a constant mistrust and doubt. Why? Do you suspect everybody else in the same way?" "Oh, don’t say that I suspect them," Lord Musselburgh exclaimed at once—for he was an exceedingly good-natured young man and had no wish to offend. "I don’t know them well enough—don’t know anything at all about them, in fact." "You told me yourself that my aunt and you had been talking them over; and I gathered enough from what you said," was the younger man’s retort. "Mrs. Ellison is naturally anxious about anything that concerns your future, Vin—or seems likely to concern it," Musselburgh said. "And you should be the last to object."