on him that warmth of temporary friendship, often worth little, but always pleasant for the moment. This young man met Ninian at his office-door.

"Ha, my good fellow, I was just coming after you. I am longing to go to Roslin this fine autumn morning. What say you-shall we take a holiday?"

"Your life seems to be one long holiday, Mr. Ulverston." "Not at all. When I'm at home, I see after my property, and study and write." He had, indeed, the look of a man of some brains; but it was a fashionably intellectual look, indicating one who made literature the mere coloring and adornment of life, not its whole aim and end. He was evidently not that individual, most miserable yet most happy-a poor author. "Come, Græme, you'll go, won't you? You can put off business for a day?" he said, in a tone of persuasive confidence, which marked the man accustomed never to deny himself, and agreeably confident that his pleasure must necessarily be that of every body else.

"Indeed, I regret it, but I can not. I have "-here Ninian took up a heap of letters on his table-"I have an hour's work here, which must be attended to. Then I must run down to Musselburgh.”

started, and bent "Oh, that is some

"To Musselburgh!" Mr. Ulverston down, tapping his boot with his cane. place near Edinburgh, isn't it? Do you know any one there, or are you going on office-business?"

"Partly on both. I have some law affairs to settle, and must meet a friend who lives there, Mrs. Forsyth."

66

Any relation to the Mr. Forsyth to whom you introduced me the other night at Professor Reay's?—a young minister, I remember."

"He is Mrs. Forsyth's only son. John Forsyth is one of the best among our rising preachers, and his mother, a widow, has need to be proud of him."

"No doubt. Have you known the family long?" asked Ulverston, who seemed to think he had a right to put any question to any body, and often did so in a manner that would have been positively rude in any other man. But

he had about him such a winning way, that no one was ever offended and every one charmed with Mr. Ulverston.

"John and I were school-fellows, and I have long been his mother's adviser, both in legal and friendly matters. She sends for me to consult me now on a somewhat strange circumstance."

Ah! do let us hear it." And Ulverston, turning his back to Ninian, set one foot on the fender, and poked the fire with the toe of the other boot.

"Excuse me," said Mr. Græme; "it is a private and rather painful matter, which can not interest a stranger." The words were courteous, but the young Englishman saw at a glance that, with all his gentleness, you might as well try to pump water out of a rock as to coax a secret out of Ninian Græme; so he took up his hat to depart.

"I am sorry I can not accompany you, Mr. Ulverston. Unless you like to wait here a little, and go with me to Musselburgh-it is rather an interesting town to strangers, and I know all its queer old nooks."

66

'No, no, I'd rather not. Well-yes-I think I will," said the young man, on a second thought; and, as he always seemed to follow the last and newest impulse, after some little hesitation he came back and settled himself at the office fire.

He was a very handsome man -the perfect type of that Norman beauty still seen, though rarely, among the ancient gentry of England. There was something grand and mediæval in the turn of his head, with its curling brown hair; you might have fancied a baron's casque set there. The long, fair mustache-a pitiable resource in improving most modern faces-looked natural and suitable on his, and hid what might have otherwise marred its correct beauty-the large, somewhat too prominent lips, which, however suited to the sensual Norman baron, showed ill on the refined gentleman of the nineteenth century. Altogether, Mr. Ulverston's face was a strange compound of power and feebleness, of the intellectual and the animal. He sat there, twisting his figure-perhaps more stylish than graceful-into all sorts of restless atti

tudes, looking at his watch, poking the fire, reading by snatches at the newspaper, then tearing it up and making it into paper boats, out of very waywardness and want of occupation, till the hour had slipped by.

Ninian kept punctually to his time-he always didand they both started for Musselburgh. The young Scotsman took an infinite deal of trouble to explain all concerning the town, from Prince Charlie's bridge down. to the traditional rhyme,

“Musselburgh was a borough when Edinburgh was nane,

Musselburgh shall be a borough when Edinburgh's gane;" which seemed the only thing that interested or amused the fitful disposition of Mr. Ulverston, for he kept humming it to himself in an idle way. His conversation was usually rich and sparkling, full of romance, power, and feeling; so that in their walks even the quiet Ninian was often carried away by it, and wondered what could be the reason he did not altogether like such a pleasant companion. But to-day it was maintained by snatches, and at last altogether ceased.

"I must leave you soon," said Ninian, as they walked along; he taking the wet grassy edge of the footpath, while Mr. Ulverston's marked footsteps-he had rather a peculiar gait-sounded heavily on the gravel - walk. "Here is Mrs. Forsyth's garden."

"Is it ?" He said no more till they reached the gate. "Can you wait for me? I will not be long, if possible," observed Ninian..

"Oh, no, I am going back to Edinburgh. And, by-theby, I think I shall be off to London in a few days. However, I'll see you once more. Good-bye, my dear fellow."

He strode away-his steps once more crunching the gravel, and resounding all along the wall.

Mr. Græme entered the garden, after waiting some time, for the gate was kept carefully locked. Passing along, he saw in the walk underneath the garden wall the figure of a lady.

"Who is that ?" he asked of the servant.

"It's just the young leddy that's comed here-Mrs.

Armstrong. Dinna gang till her―ye'd better not. She's daft, ye ken !"

"Poor soul!" But though from a sense of delicacy Ninian did not approach, he could not help casting a glance at the "daft leddy." She did not notice him; she was listening, with all her ears and all her soul, to some distant sound. Her figure was stooping, her hands crushed together, and her head, turned aside, was bent forward in an agony of intentness. It was a touching picture of melancholy madness, perhaps haunted with visions imper ceptible to the sense of all other human beings.

Mrs. Forsyth, a kindly-looking widow, greeted Ninian warmly. She talked a good deal about "John." He was evidently "John the Beloved "—truly named after him of all the disciples the most "divine," who ever seems to cast the shadow of his sanctity over that simple, commonsounding Christian name. Then Mrs. Forsyth asked Ninian about his own family-but formally, she being not very intimate with them. And at last, coming to the point, she began upon the business concerning which she had. sent for Mr. Græme--the matter of her insane guest.

"I saw her in the garden. It seems a very quiet madness, as you told me. But what made you take such a charge upon yourself, Mrs. Forsyth ?"

"Oh, poor young thing, she was a distant cousin of my own. Do you mind of her coming here for a day or two, many years ago-a wild sort of a lassie-Rachel Armstrong?"

"Armstrong-that was her maiden and married name too, then? I heard your servant speak of her as Mrs. Armstrong."

"Her married name!-Well, God knows all; but I think no human being ever will. We call her Mrs. Armstrong just to humor her. That's her delusion. She thinks she is married, and that her husband is abroad, though not one of her friends ever heard of any living soul courting or marrying Rachel Armstrong. She was too proud for her station. She frightened all the young farmers away."

"I wish you would tell me the whole story," said Nin

ian, sitting down and putting on what Tinie called "his W. S. face"-that is, his attentive, penetrating, business look.

I

"The story is just this: Rachel was the daughter of a small Border farmer-a douce, common sort of man. suppose she was brought up much like the rest of farmers' daughters in those parts-carelessly enough-for at thirteen I know she could scarcely read or write. Her father died then, and she was taken to live with some other of the Armstrongs. These people tell me she went on much as usual till she was seventeen, when she got a new whim; grew softened in her manners; tried to educate herself; and in a few years improved so, that my John, when he was in the Border country last, hardly knew his Cousin Rachel. Since then, she took a brain fever-with overmuch study, the Armstrongs think-and she came out of it the poor daft lassie you see. The doctor says she may outgrow it, though most likely she'll remain queer all her life. And she's only two-and-twenty!"

"And so, as you told me, her friends consigned her to you, and you are to have the interest of her little fortune for her maintenance ?"

"It's just that, Mr. Græme. And surely I will be kind to her, for she's a harmless, melancholy creature!"

I would like to see her," said Ninian, thoughtfully. "It will be of little use, for ever since she entered my doors, a month ago, she has not uttered a single word. She sits for hours looking at the sky, or twisting about a ring, that for some whim she has got on her wedding-finger." "It may be really her wedding-ring."

"Impossible! for it was the guard of her mother's. Rachel must have had it for years. No, no," said Mrs. Forsyth, with the air of a woman who had thoroughly fixed her opinion and will not be swerved therefrom, “it is utterly out of the question that Rachel Armstrong can have been really married-or-any thing, perhaps worse. It's just her romance that has turned her brain; for a time only, perhaps, and then she'll come into her right mind.” "Let us hope so," answered Ninian. But further con