Left alone with the girl, Everage was sorely tempted to question her, but a sense of honor and delicacy prevented his doing so. After a few minutes, Alexander returned to the spot, leading the little boy, who had his hands full of toys. “Take him home to his mother now, nurse. The air is too sultry to keep him out longer,” he said, kissing his child and delivering him over to Pina. When the girl had carried off her charge, the two gentlemen walked on a little while in silence. Everage, in his anxiety, was the first to speak. “That is a very handsome little boy,” he said. “Yes, he is a fine little fellow,” answered Alick. “He is very like you,” continued Everage. “I suppose he must be since even I can see the likeness.” “And he is very fond of you,” persevered Everage. “Yes,” answered Alick in a very low tone. “Your nephew, of course?” inquired Everage, after a little hesitation, hoping that, after all, such might be the relationship of the baby to the man. “No, he is not my nephew. I have not, nor ever had, sister or brother to give me niece or nephew. I am a lonely man, Everage.” “Ah!” sighed the other, with a look of sympathy—but he thought in his heart, “So much the better!” “But—he is my son, Everage!” said Alick, with emotion. “Your son?” exclaimed the would-be heir of the barony. It was what he had at first suspected, even when he thought Lord Killcrichtoun was unmarried; but yet he was ill-at-ease, and, out of his anxiety, burst this exclamation: “I did not know that you had a wife.” “Nor _have_ I! nor can I _ever_ have—that is the curse of my life! But I had one once. The subject is a painful one, Everage!” “I _beg_ your pardon,” said the poor gentleman, with real regret that he had torn open an unsuspected wound, and real sympathy for the evident sufferings of the victim, felt amid all the disappointment and dismay with which he heard of the existence of Lord Killcrichtoun’s son and heir, and the consequent blasting of all his own hopes of the inheritance. The tone and look of sympathy touched Alexander’s lonely heart. He longed to speak to some one of his sorrows; to some one with whom it might be discreet and safe to deposit the secret troubles of his life. To whom could he so well confide them as to this poor gentleman, who seemed to possess some fine feelings of delicacy and honor, and who was certainly by circumstances far removed from those circles in which Alexander would abhor to have his domestic miseries made known. “There is no offense,” said Alexander, answering the last words of Everage, “you could not have known the tenderness of the chord you touched. And I thank you now for the kindness your tones and looks expressed. Come! shall we hail a hansom, and go to Véry’s to lunch?”