of fear, that
in the hands of God we are nothing.

One day Mr. Wallace was seated at breakfast; he had been away for two
nights; Alice was sitting by the side of the fire, looking into the
heart of the red embers, and the mother was superintending the
breakfast; he took out a newspaper from his pocket, and, without a word
of premonition, read a paragraph in a deep, solemn voice.

"Died at ---- Street, London, Maria Knight, wife of Hector Hayston,
Esq., of Whitecraigs, in the county of Peebles, in Scotland."

A peculiar sound struggled in the throat of Alice; but it passed, and
she was silent. The mother sat and looked Wallace in the face, to
ascertain what construction to put upon the occurrence which he had thus
read with an emphasis betokening a greater interest than it might
demand from one, as yet, all but ignorant, as she thought, of the true
circumstances of the condition of her daughter. He made no commentary on
what he had read; but looking again at the paper, and turning it over,
as if searching for some other news, he fixed his eyes on an
advertisement in the fourth page. He then read--

"On the 1st day of October next, there will be exposed to public roup
and sale, within the Town-Hall of Peebles, by virtue of the powers of
sale contained in a mortgage granted by Hector Hayston, Esq., of
Whitecraigs, in favour of George Colville of Haughton, all and hail the
lands and estate of Whitecraigs, situated in the parish of ----, and
shire of Peebles, with the mansion-house, offices, &c."

He then laid down the paper, and, looking the widow full in the face--

"The day of sale of Whitecraigs," said he, "is the _second_ day after
the 29th of September. It would have been too much had it been on that
day itself."

No reply was made to his remark. The announcement called up in the mind
of the dame more than she could express; but that which concerned more
closely herself, was too apparently veiled with no mystery. The sale of
Whitecraigs was the ejection of herself and daughter from Homestead; and
she knew not whither she and her daughter were now to be driven, to seek
refuge and sustenance from a world from which she had been so long
estranged.

"All things come to a termination," she said. "For many years I have
lived here, wife and widow; and if I have felt sorrow, I have also
enjoyed. The world is wide; and if I may be obliged to ask and to
receive charity, the God who moves the hand to give it, may not
ag