ments Leslie pored over the ancient diary,
and found more suggestive paragraphs than the entry indicated: "Abel
Furness has sent me a waistcoat an inch and a half shorter, and a pair
of clouded silk hose for the black ditto, ordered." There were--"Three
pounds English to my boy Hector, to keep his pocket during his stay at
Ardhope." "A crown to Hector as fee for fishing out the black stot that
broke its neck over the rocks." "A letter from Utrecht from my son
Hector; a fair hand and a sensible diction." "Forty pounds over and
above paid to please Hector on the bond over the flax-fields of
Ferndean." "A small stipend secured to my thriftless kinsman, Willie
Hamilton, by the advice and with the aid of my son Hector." "To
Earlscraig with Hector:" this notice was repeated many times, until the
record closed abruptly with the tremulous thanksgiving--"My dear son and
heir, Hector, recovered of his malady by the blessing of God."

Very plainly lay the life-clue of that silent heart, traced in the faded
ink of those yellowing pages. How old men cherished their offspring!
What did Hector Garret think of those mute but potent witnesses of a
regard that he could know no more on earth? She knew he prized the book,
for she had seen it carefully deposited in one of the private drawers in
his study. She opened it at the beginning, and slipping her fingers into
its gilded pockets, discovered a folded paper. It contained merely a
sprig of heather, and written on the enclosure--"From my dear wife,
Isobel; her first gift." Two dates were subjoined, with thirty years'
interval--that of the receipt of the token, and that of the inscription
of the memorandum.

With flushing cheeks Leslie sat, and spread out the crushed, brittle
spikes, so fondly won, so dearly held. She was sure Hector had not one
leaf, riband, or ring which she had given him. Once when he was gayer
than his wont, and plagued her with his jesting petting, she took up the
scissors and cut off a lock of his hair. He did not notice the theft
till it was accomplished, and then he stood half-thoughtful,
half-contemptuous. He had not a hair of hers, but of course the whole
head was his; his father had judged otherwise.

This earlier Hector Garret--she had heard Bridget enlarge upon his
merits. "A fine man, like the master, but frank and light of heart until
he lost the lady--ay, a real lady! grand and gladsome--the old lady of
Otter." Leslie longed for a vision of those old occu