ng of Magna Charta." Robert had a weakness for
large subjects and broad effects. If his ambition was greater than
his skill, he had still all the love of his art and the patience under
discouragement which are the stuff out of which successful painters are
made. Twice his brace of pictures had journeyed to town, and twice they
had come back to him, until the finely gilded frames which had made such
a call upon his purse began to show signs of these varied adventures.
Yet, in spite of their depressing company, Robert turned to his fresh
work with all the enthusiasm which a conviction of ultimate success can
inspire.

But he could not work that afternoon.

In vain he dashed in his background and outlined the long curves of the
Roman galleys. Do what he would, his mind would still wander from his
work to dwell upon his conversation with the vicar in the morning. His
imagination was fascinated by the idea of this strange man living alone
amid a crowd, and yet wielding such a power that with one dash of his
pen he could change sorrow into joy, and transform the condition of
a whole parish. The incident of the fifty-pound note came back to his
mind. It must surely have been Raffles Haw with whom Hector Spurling
had come in contact. There could not be two men in one parish to whom so
large a sum was of so small an account as to be thrown to a bystander in
return for a trifling piece of assistance. Of course, it must have been
Raffles Haw. And his sister had the note, with instructions to return
it to the owner, could he be found. He threw aside his palette, and
descending into the sitting-room he told Laura and his father of his
morning's interview with the vicar, and of his conviction that this was
the man of whom Hector was in quest.

"Tut! Tut!" said old McIntyre. "How is this, Laura? I knew nothing of
this. What do women know of money or of business? Hand the note over to
me and I shall relieve you of all responsibility. I will take everything
upon myself."

"I cannot possibly, papa," said Laura, with decision. "I should not
think of parting with it."

"What is the world coming to?" cried the old man, with his thin hands
held up in protest. "You grow more undutiful every day, Laura. This
money would be of use to me--of use, you understand. It may be the
corner-stone of the vast business which I shall re-construct. I will use
it, Laura, and I will pay something--four, shall we say, or even
four and a-half--and you may