was not entirely pity, because those eyes--the bluest,
he remembered, that he had ever seen--brought back to him, suddenly
and vividly, the memory of the exquisitely fresh and lovely girl who
had married her elderly guardian nineteen years since.

He recollected that some members of the Crewys family had agreed that
Lady Mary Setoun had done well for herself, "a penniless lass wi' a
lang pedigree;" for Sir Timothy was rich. Others had laughed, and said
that Sir Timothy was determined that his heirs should be able to boast
some of the bluest blood in Scotland on their mother's side,--but that
he might have waited a little longer for his bride.

She was so young, barely seventeen years old, and so very lovely, that
John Crewys had felt indignant with Sir Timothy, whose appearance and
manner did not attract him. He was reminded that the bride owed almost
everything she possessed in the world to her husband, but he was not
pacified.

The glance of the gay blue eyes,--the laugh on the curved young
mouth,--the glint of gold on the sunny brown hair,--had played havoc
with John's honest heart. He had not a penny in the world at that
time, and could not have married her if he would; but from Lady Mary's
wedding he carried away in his breast an image--an ideal--which had
perhaps helped to keep him unwed during these later years of his
successful career.

Why did she look so sad?

John's kind heart had melted somewhat towards Sir Timothy, when the
poor gentleman had sought him in his chambers on the previous day,
and appealed to him for help in his extremity. He was sorry for his
cousin, in spite of the pompousness and arrogance with which Sir
Timothy unconsciously did his best to alienate even those whom he most
desired to attract.

He had come to Devonshire, at great inconvenience to himself, in
response to that appeal; and in his hurry, and his sympathy for his
cousin's trouble, he had scarcely given a thought to the momentary
romance connected with his first and only meeting with Lady Mary. Yet
now, behold, after nineteen years, the look on her sweet face thrilled
his middle-aged bosom as it had thrilled his young manhood. John
smiled or thought he smiled, as he came forward to be presented once
more to Sir Timothy's wife; but he was, nevertheless, rather pleased
to find that he had not outgrown the power of being thus romantically
attracted.

"I hope I'm not late," said the soft voice. "You see, no one expected
Sir