"No. I've heard they lived in England, in London, in fact, but we knew nothing about them. I have been told that they were a large family, and came here during the three summer months, but that's twenty years ago now, and so nothing is known." "And they have not been here during your time?" asked Paul. "No," was the reply. And this was all he learnt. He asked many questions, but the answers were all vague and tentative. From "Highlands" he went to Willie Fearn's farm. He thought perhaps his mother's one-time admirer might be able to give him some information, but Willie Fearn was a dour Scotsman, who said he knew nothing. When Paul approached the subject of Willie's former relation to Jean Lindsay and his hopes of making her his wife, the Scotsman set his lips firmly together and refused to speak. He admitted presently how he had heard "that the lass had gut into sore trouble, and then went away and died. But there's nae proof," he said, "there's nae proof. And it's a warning to Scotch lasses to have nothing to say to Southern strangers. And Jean was a good lass," he added confidentially, "and would have made a good saving wife for a sober man with a little siller. She had a grip of doctrine, too. She was well versed in the fundamentals and would have made a good elder's wife. But, ay, man, the tempter comes in many a form, and it behoves us all to be very careful." So far, Paul's visit to his mother's old home had been entirely without result. As far as he could see, he could make not one step forward. Moreover, in spite of the looseness of thought concerning Scotch marriage, he saw that there was a doubt as to whether the wedding was legal or not. But he had not finished yet. He had from time to time read such books as came in his way bearing upon Scotch law, and in one of these was a definite statement that if a man and woman were known to take each other as husband and wife, this was proof that their marriage was legal. So, remembering his mother's words, he made his way towards the little inn where they had stayed on the night of their marriage. He took the road which she had told him of, and presently came to the spot where she and Douglas Graham had taken each other as man and wife. The woman must have described the scene with great accuracy, for he recognised it the moment he came to it. The patch of lonely pine trees, the little lake by which the road ran, the burn coming down the rocky valley, and the great wild moorlands stretching away northward. And they had stood within the shade of the pine trees while the setting sun sent its rays of light through the branches. He believed he recognised the spot on which they knelt when Douglas Graham prayed that their union might be blessed. A shiver passed through him as he stood there, and he called to mind the words they had spoken: "I, Douglas Graham, take thee, Jean Lindsay, to be my wife, and I promise to be faithful to thee as long as I live." In