In a few minutes a sudden sharp cry escaped him. He put the paper in his pocket, and, hastily resuming his old army cloak and Scotch bonnet, went out without a word to anyone. The truth was that he had read a personal notice which greatly disturbed him. It was to the effect that, "If David Morrison, who left Aberdeen in 18--, was still alive, and would apply to Messrs. Morgan & Black, Wall street, he would hear of something to his advantage." His long-lost brother was the one thought in his heart. He was going now to hear something about Sandy. "He said 'sure as death,' and he would mind that promise at the last hour, if he forgot it before; so, if he could not come, he'd doubtless send, and this will be his message. Poor Sandy! there was never a lad like him!" When he reached Messrs. Morgan & Black's, he was allowed to stand unnoticed by the stove a few minutes, and during them his spirits sank to their usual placid level. At length some one said: "Well, old man, what do _you_ want?" "I am David Morrison, and I just came to see what _you_ wanted." "Oh, you are David Morrison! Good! Go forward--I think you will find out, then, what we want." He was not frightened, but the man's manner displeased him, and, without answering, he walked toward the door indicated, and quietly opened it. An old gentleman was standing with his back to the door, looking into the fire, and one rather younger, was writing steadily away at a desk. The former never moved; the latter simply raised his head with an annoyed look, and motioned to Davie to close the door. "I am David Morrison, sir." "Oh, Davie! Davie! And the old blue bonnet, too! Oh, Davie! Davie, lad!" As for Davie, he was quite overcome. With a cry of joy so keen that it was like a sob of pain, he fell fainting to the floor. When he became conscious again he knew that he had been very ill, for there were two physicians by his side, and Sandy's face was full of anguish and anxiety. "He will do now, sir. It was only the effect of a severe shock on a system too impoverished to bear it. Give him a good meal and a glass of wine." Sandy was not long in following out this prescription, and during it what a confiding session these two hearts held! Davie told his sad history in his own unselfish way, making little of all his sacrifices, and saying a great deal about his son Sandy, and Sandy's girls and boys. But the light in his brother's eyes, and the tender glow of admiration with which he regarded the unconscious hero, showed that he understood pretty clearly the part that Davie had always taken. "However, I am o'erpaid for every grief I ever had, Sandy," said Davie, in conclusion, "since I have seen your face again, and you're just handsomer than ever, and you eight years older than me, too." Yes, it was undeniable that Alexander Morrison was still a very handsome, hale old gentleman; but yet there was many a trace of labor and sorrow on his face; and he had known both.