“Na--no’ that I ken of,” said the Mistress; “stranger news than that; do you know of any bond between your mother and this house of Melmar? for that is what I am come to tell you of now, as maybe she has done herself before this time by hand of write.” From pale, Desirée’s cheeks became burning red--her eyes sank beneath the look of the Mistress, her heart beat loud and wildly. Who had found her out? but she only turned her head aside with an uneasy movement and did not speak. “I may guess you’ve heard tell of it by your face,” said the Mistress; “Melmar was left by will to my family--to my Huntley, the eldest and the heir--failing your mother, that was thought to be lost. When he heard tell of that, my Cosmo would not rest till he was away on his travels seeking her. He’s been through France and Italy, and I ken not what unlikely places a’ to look for your mother, and at last he’s found her; and she’s coming home with little mair delay to be enfeoffed in her ain lands and prove herself the heir.” Bitter tears, which still had a certain relief in them, fell heavy from Desirée’s eyes--_she_ had known it all, but had not been the means of bringing this fortune to her mother. Her first impulse was not the delighted surprise which the Mistress expected, but she threw herself forward, after a moment’s pause, at her visitor’s feet, and seized her hand and cried--“Is it true?” with a vehemence which almost scandalized the Mistress. Cosmo’s mother took her hand away involuntarily, but moved by the girl’s tears laid it on her head, with a hasty but kindly motion. “It’s true,” said the Mistress; “but being true do you no’ see you canna stay here? It is your mother’s house--but though I hold this Me’mar for little better than a knave, yet I would not deceive him. You canna remain here when your mother’s plea against him is begun. You should not stay another day without letting him ken who you are--and that is why I’m here to bid you come back with me to Norlaw.” “To Norlaw!” cried Desirée, faintly; she had no words to express her amazement at the invitation--her shame for the deceit which she had practiced, and which was worse than any thing the Mistress supposed possible--her strange humiliation in comparing herself, Oswald Huntley, every one here, with Cosmo; somehow when this sudden burst of honest daylight fell upon her, Desirée felt herself as great a culprit as Melmar. Her place seemed with him and with his son, who knew the truth and concealed it--not with the generous and true hearts who relinquished their own expectations to do justice to the wronged. In an agony of shame and self-disgust, Desirée hid her face in her hands--she was like Oswald Huntley whom she despised--she was not like Cosmo Livingstone nor Cosmo’s mother.