wnstairs.

Opening the parlour door, she stepped in, and with a little courtesy
said,--

'Please, sir, the young mistress--Miss Ruthyn.'

Draped in black and very pale, tall and slight, 'the young mistress'
was; and as I entered I heard a newspaper rustle, and the sound of steps
approaching to meet me.

Face to face we met, near the door; and, without speaking, I made him a
deep courtesy.

He took my hand, without the least indication on my part, in his hard lean
grasp, and shook it kindly, but familiarly, peering with a stern sort of
curiosity into my face as he continued to hold it. His ill-fitting, glossy
black cloth, ungainly presence, and sharp, dark, vulpine features had in
them, as I said before, the vulgarity of a Glasgow artisan in his Sabbath
suit. I made an instantaneous motion to withdraw my hand, but he held it
firmly.

Though there was a grim sort of familiarity, there was also decision,
shrewdness, and, above all, kindness, in his dark face--a gleam on the
whole of the masterly and the honest--that along with a certain paleness,
betraying, I thought, restrained emotion, indicated sympathy and invited
confidence.

'I hope, Miss, you are pretty well?' He pronounced 'pretty' as it is spelt.
'I have come in consequence of a solemn promise exacted more than a year
since by your deceased father, the late Mr. Austin Ruthyn of Knowl, for
whom I cherished a warm esteem, being knit besides with him in spiritual
bonds. It has been a shock to you, Miss?'

'It has, indeed, sir.'

'I've a doctor's degree, I have--Doctor of Medicine, Miss. Like St. Luke,
preacher and doctor. I was in business once, but this is better. As one
footing fails, the Lord provides another. The stream of life is black and
angry; how so many of us get across without drowning, I often wonder. The
best way is not to look too far before--just from one stepping-stone to
another; and though you may wet your feet, He won't let you drown--He has
not allowed me.'

And Doctor Bryerly held up his head, and wagged it resolutely.

'You are born to this world's wealth; in its way a great blessing, though a
great trial, Miss, and a great trust; but don't suppose you are destined
to exemption from trouble on that account, any more than poor Emmanuel
Bryerly. As the sparks fly upwards, Miss Ruthyn! Your cushioned carriage
may overturn on the highroad, as I may stumble and fall upon the footpath.
There are other troubles than debt and privation. Wh