"Na, na!" said McCray, as he leaned against a gate and took snuff. "I'm sorry for ye--I am indeed, for I ken a' aboot it. I had it frae the gudewife, who nursed the bairn oop yinder, ever sin' she was a babe--at a time, too, when my ain hairt was sair. Ye lo'e the sweet flower weel, I've nae doot; but it canna be, young man--ye must goo awa' and try and forget her. There's a sair black pit atween ye twain, and I canna see that it will ever be filled up or bridged ower. Ye must try and bear it all as weel's ye can." "But do you believe the story, McCray?" exclaimed Brace. "I dinna ken--I winna say. All I can say is, I wush ye micht put a' reet and win the sweet lassie; for yon loon wi' the title--There, dinna say anither wurd to me, Meester Norton, for I'm forgetting whose sairvant I am. Tak' my advice: join your ship, and go try and forget it a'; for it's an awfu' black affair a'thegither, and I'm sair afraid that the mair ye try to put it reet the waur ye'll mak' it. "He'd ha'e made her a bonnie jo," muttered McCray, as he went off, shaking his grey head. "And he's a fine, fair-spoken young fellow; but Sir Mooray hates him like poison, and it can never be." He turned once, to see Brace Norton standing against the gate; and his heart swelled, as he thought of the days of old and his own misery. "Puir lad--puir lad!" said McCray, as he strode on. "There was a wee bit of hope for me, but it's a sair case for him, and for her too--bless her bright e'en! for I fear she lo'es him weel!" Brace Norton never stirred for an hour, but leaned there, in one of the most secluded lanes round Merland, trying to form some plan of action, but in vain. He had determined to see McCray, and had long watched for the opportunity; while now, that he had had his interview, what had he gained? If he could obtain an interview with his wife, he might perhaps learn something of her; but how could he do it? Writing was such poor satisfaction. Could he do it by other means?--could he depute some one to question Jane McCray--one who would possess sufficient influence to gain from her some information? For he felt that it was only by constant search that the clue could be obtained--for that there was a clue, and that the mystery might yet be cleared up, he felt sure. The answer to his question came in a way he little expected, for just then he heard the sound of a horse's feet, and his heart bounded, as slowly round a bend of the lane, the chequered sunshine playing upon her riding-habit, came Isa Gernon. Her head was bent, and her lithe, graceful form swayed in gentle undulations to the well-trained pace of her highly-broken mare. Would she pass him? Would she ride on without a word? It almost seemed that she would, for, buried in thought, Isa Gernon had not seen the figure by the green lane bank; when moved by an uncontrollable impulse, Brace darted to her side, to catch her gloved hand in his, and stand at her saddle-bow gazing up into her face.