, and directed her steps to Mill's Court, where she found Mr.
White, even as she had Mr. Dallas, busy poring over law papers. She was,
as we have seen, one of those people who can make their own introduction
acceptable, and, moreover, one of those women, few as they are, who can
tell a story with the continuity and fitting emphasis necessary to
secure the attention of a busy listener. So Mr. White heard her
narrative, not only with interest, but even a touch of the pervading
sympathy of the spirit of romance. And so he might; for who doesn't see
that the charm of mystery can be enhanced by the hope of turning it to
account of money? Then he was so much of a practical man as to know that
while every string has two ends, the true way to get hold of both is to
make sure in the first place of one. Wherefore he began to interrogate
his client as to who could speak to the doings in the house in Meggat's
Land on that eventful night when the child was born; and having taken
notes of the answers to his questions, he paused a little, as if to
consider what was the first step he ought to take into the region of
doubt, and perhaps of intrigue, where at least there must be lies
floating about like films in the clear atmosphere of truth. Nor had he
meditated many minutes till he rose, and taking up his square hat and
his gold-headed cane, he said--

"Come, we will try what we can discover in a quarter where an end of the
ravelled string ought to be found, whether complicated into a knot by
the twisting power of self-interest or no."

And leading the way, he proceeded with his client down the High Street,
where, along under the glimmering lamps, were the usual crowds of
loungers, composed of canny Saxon and fiery Celt, which have always made
this picturesque thoroughfare so remarkable. Not one of all these had
any interest for our two searchers; but it was otherwise when they came
toward the Canongate Tolbooth, where, out from a dark entry sprang a
young woman, and bounding forward, seized our good dame round the neck.
This was no other than Henney Hislop herself, who, having been alarmed
at the long absence of her "mother," as she called her, and of course
believed her to be, was so delighted to find her, that she sobbed out
her joy in such an artless way, that even the writer owned it was
interesting to behold. Nor was the picture without other traits
calculated to engage attention; for the girl whose fortunes had been so
strange,