r to
him--the subject was too painful even to be broached in their hearing.
Where, then, should he commence?--for his time was but short ere his
vessel would be refitted, and he must join. The old steward, McCray?
No; he had found him close and reserved. Jane--Mrs McCray: the woman
of whom Isa always spoke so tenderly--who had nursed her from a child,
and had been Lady Gernon's confidential maid? She could help him,
perhaps; but would she? He could try, without waiting for Isa.

Brace Norton pondered long as he strove to contrive a plan for seeing
Jane, but only to decide at last that he must write.

He wrote a long, earnest appeal, such as he felt he could write in
safety to so staunch a friend of Isa's. He told, in frank, earnest
terms, of his love, of his sorrow for the dense cloud that existed
between the two houses, and of his determination to pierce it. His
letter breathed throughout his firm faith in his father's honour--words
which, of course, to Jane McCray, would convey the young man's faith in
her mistress, though her name was not mentioned; and Brace concluded by
imploring Jane to tell him all she knew, keeping back nothing that might
aid him in his endeavours to find a clue that should bring to light the
causes of the sorrows that had so long overshadowed the houses of Gernon
and Norton.

He sent his letter, and waited one--two--three days; on each of which he
had the misery of seeing Isa at a distance riding out, accompanied by
Lord Maudlaine.

On the fourth day, though, an answer came, written in very guarded
language, but all the same, whispering of pity and a plainly-expressed
hope that for Isa's sake Mr Brace Norton might be successful in his
quest; but help, Mrs McCray said, she could give him none--she had
nothing she could tell more than was known already by Mrs Norton.
Simple facts, these; and with one exception--that of Jane's suspicions--
Brace was already well-informed, every word being treasured deeply in
his heart.

Brace Norton's brow knit as he thought over again and again the
narrative of his mother. If his father would but take counsel with him,
and they together tried to investigate the matter, he felt that all
would be well; but he dared not broach the subject in his presence, and
once more he turned to himself for aid.

There was the disappearance of that cross: what could have become of
that? The answer was plain enough--his parents' and his own suspicions
must be corre