There is this difference between us--that I have got `a measure
of success' on easier terms than my father did. I am not a rich man,
and I have no desire to be one--though even that may come in time. But
I stand clear of debt, and I see a fair way to success before me. I
have `got on' well even for this country, where all things move more
rapidly than with us at home.

"I have had two friends who have stood by me all these years. They have
helped me with their money, with their names, and with their influence.
I might, in the course of time, have gotten on without their help, but
they have taken pleasure in standing by me, like true friends.

"Yes, I have liked my work, and my way of life, though to you I will own
that I have sometimes wearied of them--and of everything else. But
one's life must go on till God's will brings it to an end, and I know of
no other way that would suit me better now. And between whiles, as I
have told you before, I find higher work which I am able to help along.

"And now, dear mother--when are you coming home?--For this is to be your
home, is it not? You say you are able to come alone. But if you can
wait a few months longer I will go for you. I have building going on in
different parts of the city, and the foundation of your own house is
laid, on the knowe (knoll), which I have told you of, beneath the
maple-trees, and full in sight, the great lake into which the sun sinks
every night of the year. In six months it will be ready for you, and I
shall be ready to cross the sea to bring you home.

"I long with all my heart to have my mother here. I think I shall be
quite content when that time comes.

"William Bain had told me about his sister before your letter came. He
was wild with anger, and said, some things which he has taken back since
then. I heard from Mr Hume and from Mrs Hume, as well. I cannot
blame them for their advice--or rather, for their silence. And I cannot
blame Allison Bain for what she has seen right to do. God bless her--
Amen."

And so the letter ends, without even his name.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

"Oh! Blessed vision! happy Child."

"Are you sure you are glad to come home, Allie dear?" said Marjorie
Hume, looking up rather doubtfully into her friend's face, for Allison
had said not a word in answer to her exclamations for some time.

They were walking together through a wide street in Aberdeen, and
Marjorie had been amusing herself loo