“Touching the matter that was under discussion betwixt us the last time I saw you, I have just this to say, namely, that I hold your receipts and acknowledgments for money in the interests of your wife and family, and not in my own. I know well what would happen if you knew yourself free to incur more responsibility; so, mind you, though you’ll get them all at my death, and most likely Melmar to the boot, I’ll take care, as long as I’m to the fore, to keep my hand over you for your good. You can let the Mistress see this if you please, and I’ll wager a bodle she agrees with me. I can not give you them back--but unless you behave all the worse, they’ll never leave my hands until they return to your own. “H. HUNTLEY.” “Eh! what’s that?” said Mr. Cassilis, looking up from his little lot of papers, as he saw the two brothers pass this letter between them. They were half reluctant to show it; and when Huntley at last handed it across the table it was with a proud apology. “My father was generous and liberal to the extreme. I suppose he was not what people call prudent; few understood him,” said Huntley. The lawyer took the paper with a half perceptible smile. He knew already what other people said of Norlaw. However, he added old Melmar’s letter with care to his own heap of scribbled memoranda. “It’s not very much good,” he said, “but it shows intention. Unquestionably, neither the giver nor the receiver had any thought of payment for these loans. I had better see the present man to-morrow. What with the will and these he ought to come to reason.” “Me’mar?” cried Huntley--“no, I can have no appeal made to him on our behalf. Do you know how he persecuted my father?” “I’m not much of an appealing man,” said Cassilis, “but I had better see him. Don’t be afraid--I’ll not compromise you. You did not know much of the matter yourself, I understand, till recently. Be charitable--suppose he were as ignorant as you?” “Stop!” cried Patie, “never mind personal feelings--is that all the value of the will?--to bring him to reason?” “Not if I find Mary Huntley,” said the young lawyer. If _I_ find. The young men exchanged glances--not quite sure that they were pleased with this transference of their interests. “If she’s to be found alive--or if she’s dead, and we can prove it, every thing, of course, becomes as clear as daylight,” said the minister’s nephew, “and many a man would tell you that in these days either the one thing or the other is certain; but I’ve had some experience. I know there have been cases in which every effort was baffled; and failing either, I don’t see at this moment what’s to be done. You expect me to say, go to law, of course, but who’s to pay the piper? Law’s a very expensive luxury. Wait till you’re rich, and then come down upon him--that is to say, if this search fails.”