As their looks met, that of William Henry was so full of tender triumph that Maggie’s face became crimson, and she cast down her eyes. For the first time she began to believe in the possibility of the realisation of the young man’s dream. Notwithstanding what had passed between them, she had hitherto felt more like a sister towards him than a lover; it was not that she feared to risk the wreck of her own happiness by trusting it to so slight a bark, but that, while matters were so uncertain, a natural and modest instinct prevented her from regarding him as he regarded her. There had been a sort of false dawn of love with her, but, now that her uncle seemed to give such solid ground for hope, the sun which had long lain in wait behind those clouds of doubt came out with all the splendour of the morn. Love arose within her. As Mr. Erin reverently placed his treasures in the iron safe, William Henry stole his arm round Margaret’s waist:— ‘Is there on earthe a manne more treue Than Willie Erin is to you?’ he whispered softly: and for the first time she did not reprove him. CHAPTER XII. A DELICATE TASK. GREAT as had been Mr. Erin’s joy when he first looked on Shakespeare’s love-lock and love letter, it by no means wore off—as our violent delights are apt to do—as time went on. What was wanting in the way of novelty was made up to him perhaps—for we may be sure Margaret did not insist upon her rights in the matter—by the sense of possession. For what was the position of the man who had in his cupboard some unique pieces of china, or even in his coffers the biggest ruby or diamond in the world, as compared with his own? Only, as in the latter case, he grew not a little nervous for the safety of his unrivalled treasure. He was a _virtuoso_ and antiquary himself, and therefore recognised the full extent of his danger. In his iron press he caused a little well to be sunk, in which the lock of hair was placed under glass, for the contemplation of the faithful, and none was ever permitted to behold it save in his presence. Even then he did not feel safe, but compelled himself to adopt a plan to ensure security which galled him to the quick. Just as in old times black mail was wont to be given by the rich to leading and powerful robbers as an insurance on their goods, so Mr. Samuel Erin did not hesitate to offer to the more audacious and formidable of his learned brethren bribes, and those of the most precious kind imaginable. Though every thread taken from Shakespeare’s lock gave him a pang infinitely keener than the drawing out of his own beard with pincers would have done, he actually distributed a few of these precious hairs among his friends, which they placed reverently in rings and lockets. We may be sure that Sir Frederick Eden had a genuine hair or two; but it was whispered by the envious (who were many) that upon applications becoming numerous Mr. Erin’s favours grew in