es must cease.'

"That is the story, Angus," continued Charlotte Home, suddenly changing
her voice, and allowing her eyes, which had been lowered during her
brief recital, to rise to her husband's face. "My dear mother died a day
or two afterwards. She died regretting having to own even what she did,
and begging me not to think unkindly of my father, and not to unsettle
your mind by telling you what could do no good whatever.

"'I do not think unkindly of my father, mother,' I answered, 'and I will
not trouble my husband's mind, at least, not yet, never, perhaps, unless
fitting opportunity arises. But I know what I think, mother--what,
indeed, I know. That was not my father's real will; my brothers John and
Jasper have cheated you. Of this I am very sure.'

"Mother, though she was so weak and dying, got quite a color into her
cheeks when I said this. 'No, no,' she said, 'don't harbor such a
thought in your heart--my darling, my darling. Indeed it is utterly
impossible. It was a real, real will. I heard it read, and your
brothers, they were gentlemen. Don't let so base a thought of them dwell
in your heart. It is, I know it is, impossible.'

"I said no more to trouble my dear mother and shortly afterwards she
died. That is six years ago."

CHAPTER IV.

TWO WAYS OF LOOKING AT IT.

After the story was finished the husband and wife sat for a long time
side by side, in absolute silence. Both pairs of eyes were fixed on the
glowing embers in the fire; the wife's reflected back both the lights
and the shadows; they were troubled eyes, troubled with possible joy,
troubled also with the dark feelings of anger. The husband's, on the
contrary, were calm and steady. No strong hope was visiting them, but
despair, even disquietude, seemed miles away. Presently the wife's small
nervous fingers were stretched out to meet her husband's, his closed
over them, he turned his head, met her anxious face, smiled and spoke.

"So it seems on the cards that you might have been rich, Lottie. Well,
it was unjust of your father not to have made some provision for your
mother and you, but--but--he has long been dead, the whole thing is
over. Let it pass."

"Angus! do you know what I should like?" asked his wife.

"No. What?"

"I should like to meet those two men, John and Jasper Harman, face to
face, and ask them without the least preamble or preparation, what they
have done with my father's real will?"

"Dear Lottie, you must