known a chance word to produce similar results before, but had never been made acquainted with the real history of his friend's life. He waited now till this excitement was over, knowing by experience that it was the best way; and, after a while, Lauderdale calmed down and came back to his seat, and resumed the conversation where he had left it before his heart within him was roused to make brief utterance of its unknown burden.

"The short and the long of it is," said Lauderdale, "that you're making up your mind, by some process of your own-I'm no saying what it is-to give up our own plan and tack yourself on to a poor failing callant that has not above a month or two to live."

"How do you know he has not above a month or two to live?" said Colin. "You thought the same of me a few weeks ago. One hears of the climate working wonders; and, if he had some one by him to amuse and interest him, and keep him off that book, as-as Miss Meredith says-"

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'Oh, ay, no doubt, no doubt," said Lauderdale, drily. "He has one nurse already bound to him body and soul, and, maybe, if he had another to undertake the spiritual department-! But you're no old enough, callant, to take him in hand, and you're no strong enough, and I cannot say, for my own part, that I see any special qualification for such an office in ye," said the merciless critic, looking at Colin in a seriously contemplative way, with his head a little on one side. After he had shown any deep emotion, Lauderdale, like a true Briton, despised himself, and made as great a leap as was practicable on the other side.

"No," said Colin, who was a little piqued in spite of himself; "I don't suppose I am good for much; and I never thought of being his nurse. It is out of the question to imagine that I could be for Meredith, or any other man, what you have been for me."

"I've kent ye longer than two days," said Colin's guardian, without showing any signs of propitiation, "which to be

sure makes a little difference. Those that are destined to come together need little time to make it up-I've aye been a believer, for my part, not only in love, but in friendship, at first sight."

"There's no question of either love or friendship," said Colin, with prompt irritation. "Surely one may feel pity, sympathy, fellow-feeling, with a man of one's own age without being misunderstood."

"I understand you an awfu' deal better than you understand yourself," said Lauderdale; "and, as I was saying, I am a great believer in first impressions. It's a mercenary kind of thing to be friends with a man for his good qualities-there's a kind of barter in it that goes against my instincts; but, when you take to a man for nae reason, but out of pure election and choice, that's real friendship-or love, as it might be," he went on, without pity, enjoying the heightened colour and air of embarrassment on Colin's face.

"You say all this to make me lose my temper," said Colin. "Don't let us say any more to-night; I will think it all over again, since you oppose it, and to-morrow

"Ay, to-morrow," said Lauderdale"it's a bonnie rare world, and we'll no interfere with it. Good-night, callant; I'm no a man that can be quarrelled with if you tried ever so hard-tomorrow you'll take your own way."

Colin did not sleep till the night was far advanced. far advanced. He lay awake, watching the moonlight, and pondering over this matter, which looked very important as he contemplated it. By thinking was meant, in his mind, as in most minds of his age, not any complicated course of reasoning, but a rapid framing of pictures on one side and the other. On one side he saw Meredith beguiled from his book, persuaded to moderate his words in season and out of season, and induced to take a little interest in ordinary human affairs, gradually recovering his health, and returning to a life which should no longer appear to him a near preparation for dying; and it cannot be denied that there did come into Colin's

mind a certain consciousness of grateful looks and sweet-voiced thanks attending this restoration, which made the pictures wonderfully pleasant. Then, on the other side, there was Lauderdale's sketch of the sudden possibilities filled in by Colin's imagination :-poor Meredith. dying slowly, looking death in the face for long days and lonely nights, sorely wanting all the succour that human compassion could give him; and the forlorn and solitary mourner that would be left, so young and friendless, by the stranger's grave. Perhaps, on the whole, this suggestion of Lauderdale's decided the matter. The thought was too pitiful, too sad to be borne. She was nothing in the world to him; but she was a woman, and Colin thought indignantly of the unchristian cowardice which, for fear of responsibility, would desert a friendless creature exposed to such dangers. Notwithstanding, he was prudent, very prudent, as was natural. It was not Alice, but Arthur Meredith who was his friend. She had nothing to do with this decision whatever. If such a melancholy necessity should happen, Colin felt it was in him, respectfully, sympathetically, to take the poor girl home; and if, somehow, the word "home" suggested to him his mother, who that knew anything of the Mistress, could wonder at that thought? Thus he went on drawing the meshes closer about his feet, while the moonlight shone on the sea, and poor Meredith wrote his book, and Lauderdale, as sleepless as his charge, anxiously pondered the new state of affairs. At home that same moon suggested Colin to more minds than one in the peaceful country over which the March winds were blowing. Miss Matty thought of him, looking out over the Wodensbourne avenue, where the great trees stood stately in the moonlight streaming a glory on their heads. She was so late because she had been at a ball, where her cousin Harry had made himself highly disagreeable, and when, prompted by his sulky looks, she had carried a little flirtation a hair's

fortable consciousness. Why she should think of Colin under such circumstances it would be hard to say; but the thoughts of a young woman at two o'clock in the morning are not expected to be logical. She thought of him with a shadow of the same feeling that made the Psalmist long for the wings of a dove; though, if Miss Matty had but known it, her reception-could she have made her escape to her former worshipper at that moment-would have been of a disappointing character. And about the same time the Mistress woke out of her quiet sleep, and saw the broad, white flood of light streaming through the little square window of the room in which Colin was born. Her fancy was busy enough about him night and day; and she fancied she could see, as clear as a picture, the ship speeding on, with perhaps its white wings spread over the glistening sea, and the moon stealing in at the cabin window, and caressing her boy, who was fast asleep, resting and gathering strength with new life breathing in upon him in every breath of favourable wind that crisped the sleeping sea. Such was the vision that came to the mind of the Mistress when she woke in the "dead of night," and saw the moonlight at her window. "God bless my Colin," she said to herself, as she closed her tender eyes;, and in the meantime Colin, thinking nothing of his old love, and not very much of his home-life, was busily engaged in weaving for himself another tangle in the varied web of existence, although none of the people most interested in him-except Lauderdale, who saw a faint shadow of the future-had the least idea that this night at sea was of any moment in his life. He did not know it himself, though he was conscious of a certain thrill of pleasant excitement and youthful awe, half voluntary, half real. And so the new scene got arranged for this new act of the wonderful drama; and all the marvellous, delicate influences of Providence and will, poising and balancing each other, began to form and shape the further outlines of Colin's life.

mind a certain consciousness of grateful looks and sweet-voiced thanks attending this restoration, which made the pictures wonderfully pleasant. Then, on the other side, there was Lauderdale's sketch of the sudden possibilities filled in by Colin's imagination :-poor Meredith dying slowly, looking death in the face for long days and lonely nights, sorely wanting all the succour that human compassion could give him; and the for-. lorn and solitary mourner that would be left, so young and friendless, by the stranger's grave. Perhaps, on the whole, this suggestion of Lauderdale's decided the matter. The thought was too pitiful, too sad to be borne. She was nothing in the world to him; but she was a woman, and Colin thought indignantly of the unchristian cowardice which, for fear of responsibility, would desert a friendless creature exposed to such dangers. Notwithstanding, he was prudent, very prudent, as was natural. It was not Alice, but Arthur Meredith, who was his friend. She had nothing to do with this decision whatever. If such a melancholy necessity should happen, Colin felt it was in him, respectfully, sympathetically, to take the poor girl home; and if, somehow, the word "home" suggested to him his mother, who that knew anything of the Mistress, could wonder at that thought? Thus he went on drawing the meshes closer about his feet, while the moonlight shone on the sea, and poor Meredith wrote his book, and Lauderdale, as sleepless as his charge, anxiously pondered the new state of affairs. At home that same moon suggested Colin to more minds than one in the peaceful country over which the March winds were blowing. Miss Matty thought of him, looking out over the Wodensbourne avenue, where the great trees stood stately in the moonlight streaming a glory on their heads. She was so late because she had been at a ball, where her cousin Harry had made himself highly disagreeable, and when, prompted by his sulky looks, she had carried a little flirtation a hair's

fortable consciousness. Why she should think of Colin under such circumstances it would be hard to say; but the thoughts of a young woman at two o'clock in the morning are not expected to be logical. She thought of him with a shadow of the same feeling that made the Psalmist long for the wings of a dove; though, if Miss Matty had but known it, her reception-could she have made her escape to her former worshipper at that moment-would have been of a disappointing character. And about the same time the Mistress woke out of her quiet sleep, and saw the broad, white flood of light streaming through the little square window of the room in which Colin was

born. Her fancy was busy enough about him night and day; and she fancied she could see, as clear as a picture, the ship speeding on, with perhaps its white wings spread over the glistening sea, and the moon stealing in at the cabin window, and caressing her boy, who was fast asleep, resting and gathering strength with new life breathing in upon him in every breath of favourable wind that crisped the sleeping sea. Such was the vision that came to the mind of the Mistress when she woke in the "dead of night," and saw the moonlight at her window. "God bless my Colin," she said to herself, as she closed her tender eyes;, and in the meantime Colin, thinking nothing of his old love, and not very much of his home-life, was busily engaged in weaving for himself another tangle in the varied web of existence, although none of the people most interested in him-except Lauderdale, who saw a faint shadow of the future-had the least idea that this night at sea was of any moment in his life. He did not know it himself, though he was conscious of a certain thrill of pleasant excitement and youthful awe, half voluntary, half real. And so the new scene got arranged for this new act of the wonderful drama; and all the marvellous, delicate influences of Providence and will, poising and balancing each other, began to form and shape the further outlines of Colin's life.