etween whom and myself some confusion arose, till we became
intimate, and discovered that we were most likely distant, very distant
cousins. He came from St. Andrews, and was head clerk in a firm here,
doing a very good business in tea and silk, until they mixed themselves
up in the opium trade, which Mr. Roy, with one or two more of our
community here, thought so objectionable that at last he threw up his
situation and determined to seek his fortunes in Australia. It was a
pity, for he was in a good way to get on rapidly, but everybody who knew
him agreed it was just the sort of thing he was sure to do, and some
respected him highly for doing it. He was indeed what we Scotch call
'weel respeckit' wherever he went. But he was a reserved man; made few
intimate friends, though those he did make were warmly attached to him.
My family were; and though it is now five years since we have heard
anything of or from him, we remember him still."

Five years! The letter dropped from her hands. Lost and found, yet
found and lost. What might not have happened to him in five years? But
she read on, dry-eyed: women do not weep very much or very easily at her
age.

"I will do my utmost, madam, that your letter shall reach the hands for
which I am sure it was intended; but that may take some time, my only
clue to Mr. Roy's whereabouts being the branch house at Melbourne. I can
not think he is dead, because such tidings pass rapidly from one to
another in our colonial communities, and he was too much beloved for his
death to excite no concern.

"I make this long explanation because it strikes me you may be a lady, a
friend or relative of Mr. Roy's, concerning whom he employed me to make
some inquiries, only you say so very little--absolutely nothing--of
yourself in your letter, that I can not be at all certain if you are the
same person. She was a governess in a family named Dalziel, living at
St. Andrews. He said he had written to that family repeatedly, but got
no answer, and then asked me, if any thing resulted from my inquiries, to
write to him to the care of our Melbourne house. But no news ever came,
and I never wrote to him, for which my wife still blames me exceedingly.
She thanks you, dear madam, for the kind things you say about our poor
child, though meant for another person. We have seven boys, but little
Bell was our youngest, and our hearts' delight. She died after six
hours' illness.

"Again begging you t