"The particulars I have gleaned from Messrs. Green and Richardson's letter have certainly led me to the conclusion that Mrs. St. Clair is really Lady Redmond. Mrs. St. Clair is certainly not nineteen, and her baby is eleven months old; she is very small in person--indeed, in stature almost a child; and every item in the lawyer's letter is fully corroborated. "We have not been able to gain any information from Mrs. St. Clair herself; she declines to explain why she has left her home, and only appears agitated when questions are put to her. Her fixed idea seems to be that her husband does not want her. Her health has suffered much from ceaseless fretting, but she is better now, and the child thrives in our mountain air. "As the sight of your handwriting would only excite Mrs. St. Clair's suspicions, it would be as well to put your answer under cover, or telegraph your reply. I need not tell you that you will be welcome at the Manse, if you should think it well to come to Rowan-Glen--I remain, dear sir, yours faithfully, "FERGUS DUNCAN." A few hours later a telegram reached the Manse. "I am on my way; shall be at the Manse to-morrow afternoon. No doubt of identity; unmarried name Mordaunt. "H. REDMOND." "Aunt Jeanie must be taken into counsel now," was Fergus's first thought as he read the telegram; his second was, "better sleep on it first; women are dreadful hands at keeping a secret. She would be fondling her with tears in her dear old eyes all the evening, and Mrs. St. Clair is none so innocent, in spite of Jean and Lilian calling her a woman-angel. Ay, but she is a bonnie lassie, though, and brave-hearted as well," and the young minister's eyes grew misty as he shut himself up in the study to keep himself safe from the temptation of telling Aunt Jeanie. He had a sore wrestle for it, though; but he prided himself on his wisdom, when, after breakfast the next morning, he led the old lady into the study, and, after bidding her prepare for a shock, informed her that Mrs. St. Clair's husband, Sir Hugh Redmond, would be down that very afternoon. He might well call Aunt Jeanie soft, to see her white curls shake tremulously, and the tears running down her faded cheeks. "Eh, my lad--eh, Fergus," she sobbed, "Mrs. St. Clair's husband--the father of her bairn. Oh, whatever will Jean say? she will be for running away and hiding them both--she can not bide the thought of that man."