h-time silence, had stolen from that city by the Glasgow road. In
the face of these changes it were impious to doubt fortune's kindness.
All would be well yet; the Mackenzies would be found, Flora, younger and
lovelier and kinder than before; Alan would be found, and would have so
nicely discriminated his behaviour as to have grown, on the one hand,
into a valued friend of Mr. Nicholson's, and to have remained, upon the
other, of that exact shade of joviality which John desired in his
companions. And so, once more, John fell to work discounting the
delightful future: his first appearance in the family pew; his first
visit to his uncle Greig, who thought himself so great a financier, and
on whose purblind Edinburgh eyes John was to let in the dazzling
daylight of the West; and the details in general of that unrivalled
transformation scene, in which he was to display to all Edinburgh a
portly and successful gentleman in the shoes of the derided fugitive.

The time began to draw near when his father would have returned from the
office, and it would be the prodigal's cue to enter. He strolled
westward by Albany Street, facing the sunset embers, pleased, he knew
not why, to move in that cold air and indigo twilight, starred with
street-lamps. But there was one more disenchantment waiting him by the
way.

At the corner of Pitt Street he paused to light a fresh cigar; the vesta
threw, as he did so, a strong light upon his features, and a man of
about his own age stopped at sight of it.

"I think your name must be Nicholson," said the stranger.

It was too late to avoid recognition; and besides, as John was now
actually on the way home, it hardly mattered, and he gave way to the
impulse of his nature.

"Great Scott!" he cried, "Beatson!" and shook hands with warmth. It
scarce seemed he was repaid in kind.

"So you're home again?" said Beatson. "Where have you been all this long
time?"

"In the States," said John--"California. I've made my pile though; and
it suddenly struck me it would be a noble scheme to come home for
Christmas."

"I see," said Beatson. "Well, I hope we'll see something of you now
you're here."

"I guess so," said John, a little frozen.

"Well, ta-ta," concluded Beatson, and he shook hands again and went.

This was a cruel first experience. It was idle to blink facts: here was
John home again, and Beatson--Old Beatson--did not care a rush. He
recalled Old Beatson in the past--the merry and affec