Then he saw that his rough-spoken comrade was paying no attention to him, but was striding off to discover what the news was that had travelled so many thousand miles to find him. So Alec rubbed down Brown Jim, his horse, and fed him. After that he went to the brook and washed himself, and then he walked into the hut. Supper, the never-changing supper of tea, chops, and unleavened bread, was ready cooked; and when that subject had been adequately discussed, Alec lit his pipe and sat down on a log outside the hut to ruminate. Much had happened during the two years of his exile. His father had died, and Margaret had let the Castle Farm, and the others which the laird had bought back before his death, and had gone to live with Miss Lindsay in Glasgow. Old Mr. Blake, too, was dead; and Hubert Blake and Sophy had been married for some time. The letter Alec had just received was from Blake; and pulling it out of his pocket he began to read it once more. ‘MY DEAR LINDSAY’ (so ran the letter), ‘I see it is of no use to blow you up for not writing--so I spare you. But I have news for you. Your cousin Semple is dead. Poor fellow, I fear his wealth did him little good. You know, I dare say, that he managed to hear of an attorney while he was in Spain, and through this man he succeeded in recovering the quarter of a million to obtain which he did you so grievous a wrong. But he never dared to show his face in England, knowing that if he escaped imprisonment he would have been shunned by everybody. ‘I have seen his lawyer, who seems a fairly respectable individual; and he tells me that the two hundred and fifty thousand pounds are intact; and that your cousin left no will. So you and your sister inherit this property. You must come home at once, and see about it. I believe your sister is to be put into possession of her share very shortly.