This was said in Laura’s sweetest tone, but it was not a satisfactory answer in the ears of the Scottish Doctor of Divinity. ‘There is a false peace as well as a true peace, Miss Mowbray,’ he said somewhat severely. ‘I believe Mr. Lindsay’s peace was well founded. He knew the way of salvation. But a mere general trust in the goodness of God is worthless--utterly worthless.’ This startled Laura, and, anxious to reassure the minister, and to prevent the conversation taking a more personal turn, she said: ‘I have been reading such beautiful sermons in a book Miss Lindsay gave me. I am sure you would like them. They are by a Mr. Robertson.’ ‘You don’t mean Robertson of Brighton?’ Laura saw that she had made a mistake. ‘Ye--yes; I think so.’ ‘Poison! Rank poison!’ cried the minister, unconsciously raising his voice. ‘I cannot understand Miss Lindsay putting such a book into your hands, or into the hands of any young person. I trust you did not agree with that writer. But he is most seductive, especially for the young. Did you read many of the sermons?’ ‘No.’ (This was true enough. Laura had read about a page and a half of one of them.) ‘And I will not read any more of them, since you do not approve of them. Have you published any sermons, Dr. Mackenzie?’ ‘I did--some time ago.’ ‘I _thought_ I had seen them somewhere,’ said Laura, knitting her brows as if she were making a great effort of memory. ‘I wish I knew where I could get a copy.’ ‘I will send you a volume of them, if you like,’ said the minister. ‘Oh, thank you _so_ much!’ replied Laura, with a look of gratitude. ‘How we misjudge people,’ said the minister to himself. ‘I had thought this young lady had been of a rather frivolous disposition;’ and he helped himself to another glass of port. As he did so, Mr. Hatchett opened the door, and proceeding to the top of the long table, amid a universal silence, took his seat. ‘There seems to be no document of a testamentary character, ladies and gentlemen, among the papers of the deceased. This is a will which he executed a few weeks ago. It was drawn and engrossed at my office. With your permission I will read it to you.’ When the lawyer finished his preface, everybody assumed an attitude of polite indifference, listening intently all the while. Laura, who had not expected to understand much of it, found that it was quite intelligible. Her own name was among those of the legatees. ‘And I leave and bequeath to my ward, Laura Mowbray, the sum of two thousand pounds.’ ‘Well, it is always something; with what I have I shall be independent, at any rate,’ said Laura to herself. Then came one or two other small legacies, and then the lawyer proceeded: