about. If you are like all the other young ladies I have
known, you will have an objection to tramps."

"I am sure," said Nora, with confidence, "that I am not at all like the
other young ladies you know; but at the same time I must confess that I
don't like tramps."

"I knew it. And I saw a tramp--I am sure I did--a little while ago in
this very wood. He was ragged and dirty, but picturesque. I sketched
him, but I think he would not be a pleasant companion for you."

"Do you sketch?" said Nora quickly.

"Oh, yes, I sketch a little," he answered in a careless sort of way--for
what was the use of telling this little girl that his pictures had been
hung in the Salon and the Academy, or that he had hopes of one day
rising to fame and fortune in his recently adopted profession? He was
not given to boasting of his own success, and besides, this child--with
her saucy face and guileless eyes--would not understand either his
ambitions or his achievements.

But Nora's one talent was for drawing, and although the instruction she
had received was by no means of the best, she had good taste and a great
desire to improve her skill. So Cuthbert's admission excited her
interest at once.

"Have you been sketching now?" she asked. "Oh, do let me see what you
have done?"

Cuthbert's portfolio was under his arm. He laughed, hesitated, then
dropped on one knee beside her and began to exhibit his sketches. It was
thus--side by side, with heads very close together--that Janetta, much
to her amazement, found them on her return.

CHAPTER VIII.

FATHER AND CHILD.

Janetta had set off on her expedition to Brand Hall out of an impulse of
mingled pity and indignation--pity for the little boy, indignation
against the mother who could desert him, perhaps against the father
too. This feeling prevented her from realizing all at once the difficult
position in which she was now placing herself; the awkwardness in which
she would be involved if Mr. Brand declared that he knew nothing of the
child, or would have nothing to do with it. "In that case," she said to
herself, with an admiring glance at the lovely little boy, "I shall have
to adopt him, I think! I wonder what poor mamma would say!"

She found her way without difficulty to the front-door of the long, low,
rambling red house which was dignified by the name of Brand Hall. The
place had a desolate look still, in spite of its being inhabited.
Scarcely a window was open, and no