al in England, Sandy went down into Hertfortshire. He
visited the place where he had last seen his sister. It was in the hands
of strangers--sold long ago. No one even remembered the name of Harman.
Then he met little Daisy Home, and learned quite by accident that his
Daisy was dead, and that the pretty child who reminded him of her was
her grandchild. He went to visit Charlotte Home, and there made a fresh
discovery. Had his Daisy been alive she would have wanted far more from
his well-filled purse than horses and carriages. She would have needed
not the luxuries of life, but the necessities. He had imagined her rich,
while she had died in poverty. She had died poor, and her child, her
only child, bore evident marks of having met face to face with the
sorest of all want, that which attacks the gently born. Her face, still
young, but sadly thin and worn, the very look in her eyes told this fact
to Sandy.

Yes; his pretty Daisy, whom he had imagined so rich, so bountifully
provided for, had died a very poor and struggling woman. Doubtless this
sad and dreadful fact had shortened her days. Doubtless but for this
monstrous injustice she would be alive now, ready to welcome her
long-lost brother back to his native land.

All that night Sandy Wilson lay awake. He was a hale and hearty man, and
seldom knew what it was to toss for any time on his pillow; but so
shocked was he, that this night no repose would visit him. An injustice
had been done, a fraud committed, and it remained for him to find out
the evil thing, to drag it to the light, to set the wronged right once
more. Charlotte Home was not at all the character he could best
understand. She was not in the least like her mother. She told the tale
of her wrongs with a strange and manifest reluctance. She believed that
a fraud had been committed. She was fully persuaded that not her
long-dead father but her living half-brothers were the guilty parties.
In this belief Sandy most absolutely shared. He longed to drag these
villains into the glaring light of justice, to expose them and their
disgraceful secret to the shameful light of day. But in this longing he
saw plainly that Charlotte did not share. He was puzzled, scarcely
pleased that this was so. How differently little Daisy would have acted
had she been alive. Dear little innocent Daisy, who all alone could do
nothing, would in his strong presence have grown so brave and fearless.
She would have put the case absolute