volume I speak of is on the eve of publication, and no doubt it will be

issued simultaneously in England. That is all I have to say, on a subject which at present seems to me to have something of a painful aspect--though I hope a satisfactory explanation may be forthcoming. In conclusion may I beg of you to keep this letter private? The facts are as I have stated; but I would rather Mr. Bethune did not know you had them from me.

"Yours faithfully, "HUGH ANSTRUTHER."

For some time Vincent sat with this letter in his hand, in a sort of stupefaction. Curiously enough his first question to himself was--What if Mrs. Ellison should get to know?--would she not triumphantly declare that her worst suspicions had been confirmed? That was but a first thought. There must be some explanation! He had not associated so continually with George Bethune--he had not heard the old man's voice thrill with proud emotion as he spoke of Scotland's hills and dales--he had not seen his eyes fill with unbidden tears as he talked of his granddaughter and the loneliness that might be in store for her--all for nothing: not at once could he be convinced that this old man was a mere charlatan, a thief, a begging-letter impostor. But he had been startled; and when he reached his lodgings in that small thoroughfare, he hardly dared look across the way: he knew not what to think.

END OF VOL. I.

LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.