ly migrated from Newlands to Sandyfield.
But Ormiston's voice broke in upon the inquiries with a determination
to claim her attention.

"Miss Cathcart," he said, "forgive my interrupting you. I can tell you
more about the Spratleys than March can. They're all right. Iles has
taken the man on as carter at the home-farm, and given the eldest boy a
job with the woodmen. I told him to do what he could for them as you
said you were interested in them. And now, please, I want you to drink
my small nephew's health."

The girl pushed forward her wine-glass without speaking; and as he
filled it Ormiston added in a lower tone:--

"He, at all events, unlike some of his relations, is guiltless of
foolish words or foolish actions. I don't pretend to share Ella's
superstitions, but some people's good wishes are very well worth
having."

Unwillingly Mary Cathcart raised her eyes. Her head was still carried a
little high and her cheeks were still glowing. Her god might not be of
pure gold throughout--such gods rarely are unfortunately--yet she was
aware she still found him a very worshipful kind of deity.

"Very well worth having," he repeated. "And so I should like that poor
little chap to have your good wishes, Miss Cathcart. Wish him all
manner of nice things, for his mother's sake as well as his own.
There's been a pretty bad run of luck here lately, and it's time it
changed. Wish him better fortune than his forefathers. I'm not
superstitious, as I say, but Richard Calmady's death scared one a
little. Five minutes beforehand it seemed so utterly improbable. And
then one began to wonder if there could be any truth in the old legend.
And that was ugly, you know."

Dr. Knott glanced at the speaker sharply.--"Oh! that occurred to you,
did it?" he said.

"Bless me! why, it occurred to everybody," Ormiston answered
impatiently. "Some idiot raked the story up, and it was canvassed from
one end of the county to the other last autumn till it made me fairly
sick."

"Poor boy!" cried Mrs. Ormiston, "and what is this wonderful story that
so nauseates him, Dr. Knott?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you," the doctor answered slowly. A nervous
movement on the part of Julius March had attracted his attention. "I
have never managed to get hold of the story as a whole, but I should
like to do so uncommonly."

Julius pushed back his chair, and groped hurriedly for the dinner
napkin which had slipped to the ground from his knees. The subject