rose and placed his foot firmly on the floor.
"I am free--the heart may hate me, the tongue may scorn me, the hand may
point at me, but it dare not strike. On the 29th of September I was no
longer amenable to the laws for the crime which drove me to foreign
lands: twenty years free the culprit from the vengeance of man; the last
day of that period was the 29th of September--it is past; and now God is
my only judge." He again paused. "But I must live still as David
Wallace. The name of Scott shall not be sullied by me. As David Wallace
I have made my fortune, and as David Wallace made my supplications to
Heaven. By the same name I have bought Whitecraigs, and by that name I
shall make it over to one who may yet retrieve the honour of our humble
house--to Alice, who should, through other means, have been mistress.
Come to your natural protector, Alice, and tell him if you will consent
to be the lady of Whitecraigs."

The girl, on whom the ordinary occurrences of life now seldom made any
impression, had listened attentively to the extraordinary facts and
intentions thus evolved; and, at his bidding, rose and stood by his
side. He took her hand, and looked into her face.

"I knew," said he, "that I was pledged not to mention a certain name
while you were by; and I kept my word, with the exception of the whisper
I stole into your ear on the day I set out for Peebles. But things are
now changed. The rights of Whitecraigs are now in the act of being made
out in your name. Within a month you will be mistress of that mansion,
and of those green dells and hills you have loved to wander among in joy
and in sorrow. Now, will you answer me a question?"

"I will!" she replied.

"What would be your answer to Hector Hayston--who is now no longer a
husband, and no longer rich--were he to come to Whitecraigs and make
amends for all that is by and gone? Would you receive him kindly, or
turn him from the door of the house of his fathers?"

The question was too sudden, or too touchingly devised. She looked for a
moment in his face, burst into tears, and hid her face in his breast.

"Try her poor heart not thus!" cried the mother. "Time, that as yet has
done nothing but made ravages, may now, when things are so changed, work
miracles. Do not press the question. A woman and a mother knows better
than you can do what are now her feelings. The answer is not
asked--Alice, your uncle has taken back his question!"

"I have--I have!" replied