ve him. She
might come, in time, to take the good of her fine house and of the fine
things, of which there was like to be no stint in it, and live her life
like the rest, when her first anger at his treacherous dealing was over.
For her own sake, for the sake of her good name, and the respect he
owed to the memory of her father, Mr Rainy left no means untried, that
might avail to discover her. He never imagined it possible that she
would remain within a short day's journey of the place where all her
life had been spent.

Of late he had come to believe that she was dead. And he said to
himself, that if she could have been laid to her rest beside her father
and her mother, no one need have grieved for her death. For her
marriage could hardly have been a happy one. All her life long she had
forgotten herself, and lived only for her father and mother, because she
loved them, and because they needed her. For the same reason she would
have laid herself down in the dust, to make a way for her young scamp of
a brother to pass over to get his own will. But for the man who had
married her she had professed no love, and even in his fine house it
might have gone ill with them both.

"But it is different now," he said to himself, as he went down the
street. "Brownrig is a dying man, or I am much mistaken, and he has
known little of any one belonging to him for many a year and day. And
his heart is softening--yes, I think his heart must be softening. He
might be brought to make amends for the ill turn he did her when he
married her. As for her, she will hear reason. Yes, she must be
brought to hear reason. She seemed to ken Dr Fleming. I will see him.
A word from a man like him might have weight with her. I will see him
at once."

Mr Rainy lost no time. He needed to say his say quickly, for the
doctor had much before him in his day's work. The patience with which
he listened, soon changed to eager interest. "It is about Brownrig--the
man whose horse fell with him in the street--that I want to ask. He was
brought to the infirmary lately. You must have seen him."

Then in the fewest possible words that he could use, Mr Rainy told the
story of Allison Bain.

"I met her in the street, and the sight of me hurt her sorely, though
she did not mean that I should see it. I came to you because she named
your name, and I thought you might help in the matter."

Dr Fleming listened in silence. He had never forgotten A