in his element again. He found out the holder
of the mortgage, he had it transferred into
his own name, with all the arrears. He wrote
a notice that he should require the money at
once, or that he would be forced to foreclose.
And the major, who by this time was more
bent than ever, more rheumatic, more gouty,
more short in the breath, more bald in the
head, and quite as ignorant of business, was
thrown into great distress. He grew ill, a
fever made him for a few days delirious, and
then left him so weak, that the farrier, who
came over to see a lame cart-horse, thought
he couldn't live long, and advised the
housekeeper to send for Master Charles.

Three years had passed since Sir Douglas's
first appearance. It was now the warm and
genial month of August once more; and
while poor Major Harburn was dying at
Glen Bara, the baronet was in the noble
library of Falder Castle, with a map of his
territory before him, in the centre of which,
coloured bright red, to distinguish it from
the Brand property, was enclosed the angular,
independent-looking, and diminitive Glen
Hara. This was the Mordecai at the gate
that made all Sir Haman's happiness of no
effect. He struck his hand on the red-coloured
enclosure. "I will have you in green, like
the rest, before a week is out. I will turn
this proud major out of house and home. If
he refuses the price I offer, I will seize it by
legal process;" and he looked in a very self-
satisfied manner towards a tin case on one of
the shelves, in which reposed the mortgage
he had lately bought. As if the business
were already concluded, by means of this
energetic declaration of his intention, he
determined to go out for a walk among his
newly-planted gardens and newly-levelled
fields. On passing the housekeeper's room,
he heard voices. Sir Douglas was never
above picking up information. He paused
and listened.

"He is the handsomest man I ever saw,"
said the housekeeper; "don't you think so,
Miss Mary?"

"The horse, Mrs. Elgett, the horse, is
handsomer than the man. I never saw such
a noble horse. Where did you get it?"

"I found it with a great deal of rubbish
left by the late family in a room above the
stable. I was struck with the beautiful man,
and have pasted it on the wall. I wish just
such another youth would present himself
here, Miss Mary. What would you do
then?"

"You are a foolish old woman," said Sir
Douglas, entering the room, "and you, Mary,
I'm ashamed of your listening to such
nonsense."

"See, papa," said Mary, "it is only a daub
of a young man and—"

But here the beautiful lips of Mary Brand
grew rigid with surprise, the blood left her
cheek, and she said,

"Father! what's the matter ? are you ill?"

"Who did this?" said Sir Douglas, gazing
on the portrait. "The same look and form!
Have I been ungrateful? Have I forgotten
you? No! not for an hour. Come, take all!
you shall share it with me!"

"Father, father! oh! what does this
mean?"

"It means that he is there! That—that's
the man I have longed to see for forty years!
Who is he? What is his name? Ten thousand
pounds to the person who brings me to
his presence!"

"Alas! sir, see the date," said Mary,
"seventeen hundred and eighty; and the
name's in white paint—Dumbarton, Ailsa
Craig."

"I remember," cried Sir Douglas, "he
made me pray that they might be united. I
had forgotten the names; but now it is all
clear. Do you know whose likeness it is?
Does any one on the estate ? Find out, and
I will reward them beyond their dreams."

And for an hour he gazed on the poor old
presentment of Charles Harburn, mounted
on black Angus, painted in the joyous time
by Nancy Cleghorn, and shamefully left
neglected in a lumber-room of Falder Mains
by the much-changed Lady Nobbs. After he
had set all engines at work to find out the
original, he ordered the carriage, and, by way
of diverting his thoughts, determined to take
his daughter with him, and show her the
small property he was so soon to get possession
of; though, we must remark, that he
never informed the young lady of the means
by which he hoped to obtain Glen Bara.

Meanwhile, faint and slow came the breath
of Major Harburn. He lay on a sofa in
the parlour and looked out upon the opposite
hill, apparently counting the shadows of the
clouds that flitted over its face. An
unprofitable occupation if he had been engaged in
it; but his thoughts were elsewhere—with
his young wife in Canada. Beside his bed,
there she lay, cold—in the little churchyard.
Then they went farther back, and he was
running out and in at Falder Mains. Nancy
met him at the door, and made up by kind
looks and warm hand-shakes, for the cold
reception of old George. He walked with
her in the woods, and they exchanged their
vows; and then a great broad-backed old
lady stuck in the doorway of a post-chaise;
and a lawyer's letter presented itself, with
threats of immediate expulsion from his
home.

"I must die here," he cried of a sudden.
"I will die nowhere else. Will Charlie never
come ?"

As if in answer to his wish, wheels stopt
at the door. His son, now aged twenty-one,
dressed in his blue frock and stiff red collar
and cuffs of his regiment, entered the room,
and knelt at the side of the sofa.

"You come, Charlie," said the major, "too
late to lengthen out my life, but not too late
to let me die in peace. Ride—ride to Falder