ft the house. Next
morning, William visited his friend, and was grieved to find that he was
rather feverish. His wound was still painful. The occurrence of the
preceding evening occupied both their minds. William had no doubt of his
being the lawful son of Henry Seaton by Miss Somerville; but was as much in
doubt as to whether his father was alive as ever. In a few days, the
Colonel was enabled to leave his bed-room, and became convalescent. He
urged the propriety of William's proceeding to France in quest of his
father; and, as the vessel was not yet to sail for a few days, he resolved
to pay a visit to his friend, the minister, to inform him of his
intentions, and relate the history of his mother's murderers. The Colonel
would have accompanied him; but he could not ride. He rode along to the
manse, with feelings very different from those with which he had left it.
The worthy minister rejoiced to see him, and held up his pious hands at
the horrid recital. He approved of William's determination of going in
quest of his father, and, after paying a visit to his mother's and foster
parents' graves, he once more mounted to return to Edinburgh. As he rode
slowly along, musing upon the wayward fate of his parents unconscious of
all around, he was roused by the tread of horses' feet behind him. He
looked back, and saw a gentleman, attended by a servant in livery,
approaching. He roused himself, and put his horse off the slow pace at
which he had been going. The stranger and he saluted each other, and
entered into conversation upon indifferent subjects. At length they became
interested in each other, and found that they were both on the eve of
sailing for France in the same vessel. The stranger requested to have the
pleasure of knowing the name of his fellow-traveller.

"Seaton," said William, "is my name."

"Seaton, Seaton," said the other--"I am surprised I did not recognise you
before. I thought we had met before; but your youth made me always doubt
the truth of my surmises. Colonel Henry Seaton was an intimate acquaintance
of mine--have I the pleasure of seeing his son?"

"I hope you have," replied William. "Pray, sir, when saw you him last? Was
he in good health?"

"It is some time since I left France," said the other. "At that time he was
in his ordinary health; but not more cheerful than usual--always grave and
sad as ever."

"Thank God!" cried William; "he is, I trust, then, still alive." And he
pressed the strange