he is never found out—they think he must be true. When will you come, mother?—oh, I want you, I want you."

All the pent-up sorrow of weeks and months went out in the last bitter cry. Then, as if awakened by his own intensity of feeling, Jeff opened his eyes and was suddenly conscious of his surroundings.

"Uncle Hugh, where am I? Why are you sitting here? Have I been ill? Oh, yes, I remember all now. I heard Brian scream, and I ran down to the lake. He was not drowned, was he? Oh, if I had saved him! mother would be so glad; because he is my enemy, you know. Why does my head ache so much; it all seems confused too. I wish you would believe me, Uncle Hugh; indeed I told the truth."

The man of starch bent down till his face was very near to Jeff. His voice was a little husky:

"I believe you now, my little lad. I could never doubt you again; you have behaved like a hero!"

Then Jeff half raised himself on his pillows, and the dim morning light revealed an elastic [Transcriber's note: ecstatic?] smile on his pale face.

"Oh, say that again. I do want to be a hero before mother comes."

He fell back once more, murmuring,

"I am so tired and sleepy, and so happy now. Uncle Hugh, will you hear me say my prayers? After I had been unhappy mother always heard me say my prayers. And I think—perhaps I have cheated God lately—since you punished me, for I would not say 'forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass against us.' I did not forgive you or Brian, and I could not say it. Now I can, and it will be all right. God will understand."

Soon after Jeff fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. He slept far into a bright morning, and when the doctor came he pronounced his little patient as convalescent.

"You may get up to-morrow, and we shall have you out with the otter hounds on Saturday, my little man," he said with a kind smile.

Jeff's eyes sought Mr. Colquhoun's face with an eager look of inquiry.

"We will see, Jeff"—he called him Jeff for the first time—"but you must make haste and get well."

And Jeff did get well and rode right bravely. Better sport was never seen.

CHAPTER VI.

Jeff was now ten years old, for nearly two years have gone by since he came to England. He has grown very much, and is a tall muscular boy, with a bright smiling face; only when he is alone or unconscious of observation he is sometimes subdued, and there is a yearning wistful look in his big brown eyes that seems to declare he is not quite happy.

"You have news from India to-day, Geoffry," said Uncle Hugh one morning rather stiffly as he met the boy coming down the stairs with a letter in his hand. "Your Aunt Annie has also had a letter from your mother."

Jeff looked rather as if he had been crying, and his voice trembled a little when he answered Mr. Colquhoun:

"Yes, there is news. She is coming—at last. But oh, she is ill!"

Jeff nearly broke down here. "Uncle Hugh, I may go to London and meet her next week."

The passionate pleading of the boy's voice in the last words was indescribable.

He had grown used to negatives presented to his requests during his stay at Loch Lossie, but this was a widely different and an urgent matter.

"I think, my boy, it will be better not. Your aunt has fully discussed the matter with me, and she does not wish it. She thinks that her meeting with her sister will be a painful one; she did not part on very friendly terms with your mother. A reconciliation will be more pleasant at Loch Lossie."

Jeff coloured deeply. He knew what all this meant. Uncle Hugh's carefully-worded speech was clear to him.

"Yes, I know—Sandy told me. You and Aunt Annie did not want her to marry father, because he was poor and only a soldier in a marching regiment. You were all unkind to her about it and made her very unhappy; but she did not care for money and a grand house—and—and she loved father. She is very happy with him—we were all happy together till I had to be sent home. Think of it only, Uncle Hugh, two whole years without seeing her. Didn't you love your mother too? And now to lose a single day or hour, after so long! Oh, do let me go, Maggie will take me if you can't."

Mr. Colquhoun stood a moment in silence looking out of the window. His heart went with the boy, for Jeff had grown dear to him, with his frank impulsive ways and deep strong affections.

"Well, well, perhaps something may be done. You had better go and have a little talk about it to your aunt before you go to Mr. M'Gregor's."

Jeff looked very blank and despairing as he turned round and went slowly up the stairs again. Aunt Annie was one of those superior people who never change their mind. She took a vast amount of pride in her own prompt judgment, and not for worlds would have admitted herself in the wrong. Jeff was sure that the most urgent pleading would not prevail to alter her decision.

No sympathetic throb for the child and mother once more to be united would alter her resolution.

"No, Jeff, I have told your uncle that I have fully made up my mind that the reconciliation to take place between your mother and her family shall be under this roof. It is impossible for a child of your age to understand this matter, and I beg that you will cease to argue. Your mother and I parted in great bitterness, but that is past and forgiven."

Jeff made a little gesture of anger.

"My lips will be closed with regard to bygones, and when Mary is once here I shall never recur to painful matters."

This was all very grand and magnanimous in words, but the effect it had upon Aunt Annie's auditor was anything but soothing.

"But surely mother, when she comes by herself and is ill, would think it kinder of you to meet her at once," he said in hot indignation.

But no words availed, and Mrs. Colquhoun kept to her determination. She probably did not observe the set and dogged look upon the boy's face as he turned to leave the room. He was of the same blood as herself, and something of her own resolute nature formed part of his character.

But Aunt Annie turned back complacently to the translation of her German novel, without giving another thought to the deep strong child-nature with which she came daily in contact. The persistence of her small adversary had, indeed, ruffled her serenity for a few minutes, but her emphatic denial of his request must certainly have convinced him of her strength of purpose. What was the bitter disappointment to the little aching heart in comparison with the maintenance of her own dignity and authority!

But Jeff went brooding down the avenue with his books slung over his back, and on his face there was a set look of despair, which boded no good to Mr. Colquhoun's authority.

The week passed quietly, and without any further pleading on Jeff's part; only, he was unusually quiet and thoughtful.

On the morning before the expected arrival of the steamer from India, Jeff was missing from Loch Lossie. Brian came in hot haste to his father, eager to inform him of the unwarranted disappearance. Brian was fond of establishing his own virtue by declaring the faults of others.

"Mr. M'Gregor must not be kept waiting, Brian. You go down to him at once. Never mind your cousin." This was not what Brian had anticipated, and he departed in great disgust.

"I do believe he's gone up on the moor," said this youngster vindictively as a parting shot, sincerely hoping that Jeff might be called to account for some serious delinquency. He had never forgiven him for having been found out himself in a serious fault last year. The recollection of Jeff's endurance under a false accusation was a continual mortification to his small soul. He knew that his father had never forgotten that episode, and from time to time regarded him with suspicion of a new deception.

All that day till nightfall, though keepers and