"Come, light the gas, Maisrie; and let us talk about something else. What I say is this, that if anyone, recognising the injustice that I and mine have suffered, should feel it due to himself, due to humanity, to make some little reparation, why, that is as between man and man—that ought to be considered his privilege; and I take no shame. I ask for no compassion. The years that I can hope for now must be few; but they shall be as those that have gone before. I abase myself before no one. I hold my head erect. I look the world in the face; and ask which of us has the greater cause to complain of the other. ’Stand fast, Craig-Royston!’—that has been my motto; and so, thank God, it shall be to the end!" Maisrie lit the gas, and attended to her grandfather’s other wants—in a mechanical sort of way. But she did not take up the violin again. There was a strangely absent look on the pale and beautiful and pensive face. CHAPTER II. NEIGHBOURS. The young man whom Lord Musselburgh had hailed came into the middle of the room. He was a handsome and well-made young fellow of about three or four-and-twenty, with finely-cut and intelligent features, and clear grey eyes that had a curiously straightforward and uncompromising look in them, albeit his manner was modest enough. At the present moment, however, he seemed somewhat perturbed. "Who were those two?" he said, quickly. "Didn’t you listen while the old gentleman was declaiming away?" Lord Musselburgh made answer. "An enthusiastic Scot, if ever there was one! I suppose you never heard of the great Bethune lawsuit?" "But the other—the girl?" "His granddaughter, I think he said." "She is the most beautiful human creature I ever beheld!" the young man exclaimed, rather breathlessly. His friend looked at him—and laughed. "That’s not like you, Vin. Take care. The Hope of the Liberal Party enmeshed at four-and-twenty—that wouldn’t do! Pretty—oh, yes, she was pretty enough, but shy: I hardly saw anything of her. I dare say her pretty face will have to be her fortune; I suspect the poor old gentleman is not overburdened with worldly possessions. He has his name, however; he seems proud enough of that; and I shouldn’t wonder if it had made friends for him abroad. They seem to have travelled a good deal." While he was speaking his companion had mechanically lifted from the table the card which old George Bethune had sent up. The address in Mayfair was pencilled on it. And mechanically the young man laid down the card again. "Well, come along, Vin—let’s get to Victoria." "No, if you don’t mind, Musselburgh," said the other, with downcast eyes, and something of embarrassment, "I would rather—not go down to the Bungalow to-night. Some other time—it is so good of you to be always asking me down——"