Alice must work for her bread, and a stranger will call the very graves of my fathers his! But there is a God. Grahame-do you not think there is a God-just and holy?"

Assuredly, my dear Montrose."

"Then this great wrong cannot be. I may suffer, for I have sinned, but my father and mother, and Isabelle and Alice-they have done nothing, you know; why should they suffer? My father, who trusted me so entirely "- his voice faltered, his manhood gave way, tears rushed to his eyes, and his chest heaved; had he been alone, he would have wept, but, as it was, he rose, walked to the window, stood there till he was comparatively calm, and then, taking his hat, held out his hand to Grahame, saying, "You will excuse my leaving you so abruptly; I am too much stunned by this intelligence for any company-even yours—I shall set out for home this afternoon."

"That you must not do. Do not despair, for, though you spoke wildly just now, you spoke truly; there is a just God above us, and such fraud as I am convinced has been practised toward you never

prospers. Come home with me, consult Mary; a woman's intuitions are often worth more than a man's reasoning in such a case: then, three days hence, I may be able to introduce you to that rara avis, an honest lawyer, and we will get his opinion on the case. We might see him this afternoon," he continued, consulting his watch, "for he is a Boston man, but at Springfield we shall have him all to ourselves, and he has promised to be there to assist at the most joyful event of my life. I want your presence on the same occasion."

"Your marriage?" questioned Donald, with a smile that was almost cheerful, for already the buoyant spirit of youth had seized the hope which Grahame had thrown out, and was rising above the despair that had threatened to ingulf it.

"I will tell you what the event is as we ride along this afternoon, for I have finished my business, and, if you can be ready, I think we had better set out as soon as it gets a little cooler-say about five o'clock."

"Is there any coach leaving at that time?" "No, but I have Ebony here, and you can hire

a good hack for a week for what your coach-fare would cost you, and in this way we shall have a great deal more liberty, both of movement and speech; do you not think so?"

"Oh, yes! I shall like it a great deal better, and I should like to set out at once. I want to feel that I am doing something."

'Well, you shall be doing something. Send your trunks over here, that they may go with mine by the coach to-morrow; they will be at Springfield nearly as soon as we shall; then we will go to the Tremont stables and order our horses. That will leave us little time unoccupied before five o'clock."

"So much the better. It is hard to keep a still body, with the mind in a ferment; if I could only meet George Browne on the way, and make him acquainted with my cane-it would be the exercise I should like best.”

“I should be glad to see you enjoy it, if it were not that it would be a somewhat expensive pleasure. We pay high for such things here."

"Even with my new notions of the value of

money, I fear I should hardly be able to deny myself such a gratification, if the temptation were set before me, but I suspect he will take care to keep himself out of my way. Well, I will be with you again as soon as I have packed my trunk and ordered it here."

One thing more Donald did, however; he added a postscript to his letter to Alice, saying, “I am just setting out for Springfield with Robert Grahame, who, I think, from something he said to me, must be about to be married.”

CHAPTER III.

"No tears

Dim the sweet look that Nature wears."

"An honest man's the noblest work of God."

WHILE Robert Grahame and Donald Montrose are proceeding leisurely on their way towards Springfield-over a road now winding over hills yellow with the ripened grain, and now through dales where substantial farm-houses, with ample barns and orchards ruddy with the ripening apples, or a saw-mill with its pretty pond and fall of water, occupied the places on which thriving towns now stand-we will disclose to the reader the event to which the former had referred as the most joyful of his life. Long and wearisome had been the toils of Robert Grahame in the execution of his father's will, and the fulfilment of that vow which