a strange light in her
eyes, which was not confined to her eyes, but shone in a measure from
her colourless forehead and cheeks as well. It was long before Robert
was able to interpret that change in her look, and that increase of
kindness towards himself and Shargar, apparently such a contrast with
the holocaust of the morning. Had they both been Benjamins they could
not have had more abundant platefuls than she gave them that day. And
when they left her to return to school, instead of the usual 'Noo be
douce,' she said, in gentle, almost loving tones, 'Noo, be good lads,
baith o' ye.'

The conclusion at which Falconer did arrive was that his grandmother had
hurried home to see whether the title-deeds of the factory were still in
her possession, and had found that they were gone--taken, doubtless,
by her son Andrew. At whatever period he had appropriated them, he must
have parted with them but recently. And the hope rose luminous that
her son had not yet passed into the region 'where all life dies, death
lives.' Terrible consolation! Terrible creed, which made the hope that
he was still on this side of the grave working wickedness, light up the
face of the mother, and open her hand in kindness. Is it suffering,
or is it wickedness, that is the awful thing? 'Ah! but they are both
combined in the other world.' And in this world too, I answer; only,
according to Mrs. Falconer's creed, in the other world God, for the sake
of the suffering, renders the wickedness eternal!

The old factory was in part pulled down, and out of its remains a
granary constructed. Nor did the old lady interpose a word to arrest the
alienation of her property.

CHAPTER XXIV. BOOT FOR BALE.

Mary St. John was the orphan daughter of an English clergyman, who had
left her money enough to make her at least independent. Mrs. Forsyth,
hearing that her niece was left alone in the world, had concluded
that her society would be a pleasure to herself and a relief to the
housekeeping. Even before her father's death, Miss St. John, having met
with a disappointment, and concluded herself dead to the world, had been
looking about for some way of doing good. The prospect of retirement,
therefore, and of being useful to her sick aunt, had drawn her
northwards.

She was now about six-and-twenty, filled with two passions--one for
justice, the other for music. Her griefs had not made her selfish,
nor had her music degenerated into sentiment. The gentle s