kind o' thing—and ye'd ha' been nene waur o' yer clairk's brains, either."

"I'm ower old to change now," Edmund said, "I've lost my time."

"I dinna ken that ye're needin' to say so-though, if ye'd been makin' for't, ye mith ha' been sattled down snug eneuch by this. Ye're nigh upon thirrty-one, arena ye? Time ye was sattled some wye."

And then both remained silent, leaning against the fireside, for a few minutes; till at last Fernytofts, turning round to shake the ashes out of his pipe, said rather abruptly: "Fat wye are ye passin' a' yer best years ohn seekin' a wife till yersel'? Is there niver a lass to yer mind, this side nor Rannaside?"

Edmund did not answer immediately. He had been considering before about taking "old Jemmie" into his confidence and this seemed the very opportunity. So after thinking a minute or two, he began, without looking up, and with, for him, an unusually shy and shamefaced manner, but in straightforward simple words, to open his heart to his brother.

He told him the whole story, from first to last-Fernies having only so far known that his brother had been once engaged, and that the match was broken off. Edmund wound up by asking his advice as to whether it would be at all justifiable or profitable to take the voyage to Melbourne to gather tidings of his lost love.

Fernies heard him all out with silent attention; but when it came to the last question he shook his head with just the faintest shadow of a pitying smile: "I doubt ye'd just be losing yer time and yer trouble, Eydie, lad. If she be livin' -which at best appears to be maist unlikely-she'll may be come back, as ye go out."

"I was just frightened ye would say so, Jemmie,” said Edmund, with a quiet dejected sort of acquiescence. "But I ken she's nae dead, whatever-if she was, I be to know." "Eh, lad, ye're suppersteetious, I doubt ?"

"No, I'm nae supersteetious ava. But I believe that much, and if I'd the slightest clue-" he began, then stopped thoughtfully.

"And supposin' she's livin' oot yonder-ye canna gae

awa' to the Anteepodes ohn havin' an idea far to seek her. Just consider the size of yon place-why it's mair nor the hail o' Europe! It would be like sairchin' for a needle in a hay-sou."1

Edmund laid his pipe on the mantlepiece and turned, leaning his head against the wall and looking down at his feet. "I wouldn't mind the trouble-neither the expense-if it was nae onreasonable," he said at length. "Of course the appointment goes-I made up my mind to that-."

Fat? throw ower the like o' that, fan they've kept it open for ye—na, na, that winna dee. It's a great maitter they have kept it for ye."

"Ay, I ken that.

But--"

"It's just impossible for ye, Edmund. Forbye that it disna seem to me like right dealin' to throw over yer employers, and yer own prospects for life, just for a maggot-" "What do ye mean speakin' o' maggots ?"

"Well, I ca't a maggot, lad. Ye've no sairtainty to go on, and naethin' to guide ye. And supposin' ye was findin' her aifter a', I dinna believe honestly it wad be for yer good, Edmundie-and that's the truth."

"Well if that's a' I'se get fro' ye, I've had eneuch, Jemmie," said Edmund, for once really offended; and he went out of the room, leaving Fernies considerably more moved than his impassive exterior showed. He was a good deal disturbedhe would have called it disappointed-to find that this story lay under the apparently smooth current of his brother's happy and prosperous life; that he should suffer his hopes to be destroyed, and his prospects marred for ever, for the sake of a woman who had treated him so ill, and whose existence now seemed to be at the very best but mythical.

But Edmund's offended mood did not last long; and the next time they were alone together he began immediately, "I'm feared I was right ill-natured t'ye eynow, Jemmie. I'm real sorry, for I ken it was for good ye'd said yon."

"It wasn't for anything else, sairtainly," said Fernies. "I doubt it was nae welcome, e'en tho' it had been truth: but ye ken I aye speaks my mind."

"I wouldna give very much for one who didna speak his mind, Jemmie. Maybe ye're right after a'-though I'd ha'

1 Hay-rick.

been glad an' ye could ha' given me other coonsel. I dinna ken whiles what to be deein' wi' mysel'-'fact, my life's just spoiled to me, Jemmie, and that's the long and short o't."

He was in one of those reactionary moods which come to almost every one in a state of convalescence, even without the abiding sense of disappointment and void in life which Edmund had carried about with him for so long: he was ready to look on the dark side of everything just now, even as in his happier moods he felt full of new life and hope and spring. Fernytofts felt grieved and anxious about him, and would fain give him what comfort lay in his power.

"I well believe it's been right hard for ye, lad," he said in the kind honest grave tone that conveyed more than his actual words." But believe me, ye're nae deein' well to hold yerself aye frettin' and fashin' for fat's gone and past. It's been th' Almighty's Will that you and she should tyne—it's been the best thing, likely, for baith o' ye, only ye canna think it. And noo as things are, I div think ye should just try and pit the thocht frae ye, and bring yer mind to think o' seekin' to get richt sattled. There's naething ava' like a good wife, Eydie, for makin' a man's life a blissin' till him— I ken fat am sayin'. He lairns syne that he's got to put awa' feel notions, and live for others aside himsel'. Forbye that, it's a duty, maist, ye owe to yersel' and yer faimily—to mak' the best o' yer life that ye can.

It was a long speech for a man of as few words as Fernies habitually was, but his heart was in the subject. Edmund listened patiently, but with the same dejected air. It was Mrs. Ross's old cry-only repeated more sensibly, and by a different person.

"If she'd been dead-" he said at length, as if considering.

"Ye're nae needin' to vex yersel' wi' that if," said his brother. "Gin ye were weel shuited and happy, ye'd feel that. It wouldna hinner ye givin' her ony assistance, if so be that she cam' across your path, afterhin'. Ye're nae needin' to hurry yerself, and nae to take time to think o't. But 'deed, to my mind, ye would be actin' maist properly, on every accoont, till resign yersel' to fat has taen place, and nae weer oot yer best years in frettin'. It's nae for this, surely, that ye've been raised up fra' yer bed o' sickness!"

Edmund was tired and out of sorts, and said no more then. It does not therefore follow that he should not ponder over what his brother had said; and indeed he gave a good deal of thought to it that night-his mind swaying sometimes one way, sometimes another. There was a good

It

deal of solid sense in what Fernies had said to him. might be indeed that he was only kicking against the pricks -rebelling against the set purpose of the great Disposer of all things. It would be a wonderful relief, even if he should not experience again the fresh bright happiness and sweetness of his first young love, to feel himself settled, anchored as it were, beyond the reach of doubt and anxiety and chance and disappointment. His old theories of loving once and for ever seemed to him now rather boyish and romantic after all they did not suit with the realities and practicalities of this unromantic, work-a-day world. Surely that world might contain one woman with whom he could live a peaceful happy affectionate home life, and who would make him happy as bonnie Mary Allardyce made the joy and brightness, the steadfastness and repose of his brother's homely life even though she might not to his maturer judgment be clothed with all the charms and attractiveness with which his young fancy had surrounded Christina Cameron.

:

And then he mentally ran over the catalogue of the Inverranna young ladies, and turned away from the thought with weariness, distaste and contempt falling asleep at last to dream that he was being watched by a Sister of Mercy--but the face under the veil was not Isie's, but Christina's.

Poor Edmund! his brother and sister talked over his case together, when they were alone, with pity and concern, and of what was to be done for him: both agreeing that in a wise, sensible, even if unromantic marriage lay the only hope of his cure. And after a good deal of harmless wellmeaning speculation Mary suddenly remarked in her quiet way : "And wouldn't Miss Maitland be a right wife till him ?"

CHAPTER II.

THE SIREN.

MISS Maitland was the sister of the Episcopal clergy

man who held the incumbency of the church where the Fernytofts' family had worshipped for generations back. The old parson who had baptized Edmund and all his brothers and sisters, had been gathered to his fathers; and the Reverend Alexander Maitland had been appointed in his room. Mr. Maitland was a young man: a farmer's son, belonging to the country, who had raised himself by his own abilities had attained a scholarship, taken a high place at a Theological College, and being duly admitted to Holy Orders in the Church in Scotland, according to his earnest desire, had been rather recently appointed to his present living. He had been still more recently joined by his only sister, two years his junior; who, having lately completed her education at a Continental boarding school, had come to keep house for him.

Mr. Maitland found himself in possession of a good-sized church, wind and water-tight, but certainly ugly: it possessed however, an unusually large, regular, country congregation, the majority of whom would have been strongly opposed to changes; and Mr. Maitland, though he would have preferred, and hoped to see in time, a more orthodox state of things, was too wise and self-denying to alienate his flock by what might be considered sudden innovations and fancies of his own. So he worked away quietly and unaggressively amongst his people carried on the existing order of services, and preached somewhat long prosy sermons, suited to the taste of his worthy listeners; while his sister Maggie presided at the asthmatic little organ in the west gallery, and used her musical abilities and her powerful voice to lead the psalmody of a mixed and not very tuneful choir.

Certainly the church which had turned out two such members as James Allardyce and his brother was not to be despised, even if it left something to be desired in the way of ritual. Fernies was true as steel to his principles, and would