we always
feel that the same or any censure coming from an outsider is more or
less unjust; and, too, although the faults of near relatives grieve us
more bitterly than the crimes of strangers, yet most of us have an
easy-going way of forgetting all about the offence at the first
opportunity. There is nothing in the world stronger than the quiet force
of the family tie, which, except in case of need, lies usually so
passive that its strength is overlooked by the superficial observer. It
was by virtue of this tie now that the two brothers, although they had
so great a difference, although they were so constituted as to see most
things very differently, found themselves glad to be in each other's
company. Their hearts grew warmer by mere proximity; they talked of old
family incidents, and of the incidents of the present, with equal zest.
The one thing they did not immediately mention was the subject of the
quarrel about which they had not yet come to an agreement.

One thing that fretted Alec considerably during that Sunday and Monday
was that Bates had arrived at Chellaston in such a weak state, and had
had so severe an attack of his malady on the Sunday evening, that it was
impossible to take him to see the body of the old man who went by the
name of Cameron. It was in vain that Bates protested, now more strongly
than ever, that he was certain the man was not Cameron; as he would give
no proof of his certainty further than what had already been discussed
between them, Alec could not but feel that he was unreasonable in
refusing to take any interest in the question of identity. However, he
was not well enough to be troubled, certainly not well enough to be
moved. Alec strode over to Cooper's farm alone, and took a last look at
the old man where he lay in a rough shed, and gave his evidence about
the death before the coroner.

What few belongings the old man had were taken from the Harmon house by
the coroner before Harkness left, but no writing was found upon them. A
description of the body was advertised in the Monday's papers, but no
claim came quickly. Natural law is imperious, seeking to gather earth's
children back to their mother's breast, and when three warm days were
past, all of him that bore earthly image and superscription was given
back to earth in a corner of the village cemetery. An Adventist
minister, who sometimes preached in Chellaston, came to hold such
service as he thought suitable over the grave, a