ister, on a visit, I understood, to
some friends in Scotland, and had not, I concluded, been made acquainted
with the major's illness, which had only assumed a dangerous character a
few days previously. The old soldier was dying calmly and
painlessly--rather from exhaustion of strength, a general failure of the
powers of life, than from any especial disease. A slight flush tinged the
mortal pallor of his face as I entered, and the eyes emitted a
slightly-reproachful expression.

"It is not more, my dear sir," I replied softly but eagerly to his look,
"than a quarter of an hour ago that I received your message."

I do not know whether he comprehended or even distinctly heard what I
said, for his feeble but extremely anxious glance was directed whilst
I spoke to a large oil-portrait of Rosamond Stewart, suspended over
the mantel-piece. The young lady was a splendid, dark-eyed beauty,
and of course the pride and darling of her father. Presently
wrenching, as it were, his eyes from the picture, he looked in my
face with great earnestness, and bending my ear close to his lips, I
heard him feebly and brokenly say, "A question to ask you, that's
all; read--read!" His hand motioned towards a letter which lay open
on the bed; I ran it over, and the major's anxiety was at once
explained. Rosamond Stewart had, I found, been a short time
previously married in Scotland to Henry Thorneycroft, the son of the
wealthy East India director. Finding his illness becoming serious,
the major had anticipated the time and mode in which the young people
had determined to break the intelligence to the irascible father of
the bridegroom, and the result was the furious and angry letter in
reply which I was perusing. Mr. Thorneycroft would never, he
declared, recognize the marriage of his undutiful nephew--nephew,
_not_ son; for he was, the letter announced, the child of an only
sister, whose marriage had also mortally offended Mr. Thorneycroft,
and had been brought up from infancy as his (Mr. Thorneycroft's) son,
in order that the hated name of Allerton, to which the boy was alone
legally entitled, might never offend his ear. There was something
added insinuative of a doubt of the legality of the marriage, in
consequence of the misnomer of the bridegroom at the ceremony.

"One question," muttered the major, as I finished the perusal of the
letter--"Is Rosamond's marriage legal?"

"No question about it. How could any one suppose that an involunt