IT is unnecessary to trouble the reader with transcribing the three letters which Mr Blair's servant delivered next morning at Semplehaugh- house, while the family were seated together at the breakfast table. Dr Muir having laid down his with a face of utter astonishment after he had read it, turned to Mrs Semple, and saw on her countenance the expression not of astonishment merely, but of astonishment mingled with regret, sorrow, perhaps something of indignation to boot. He rose from table, and drew the old lady into the deep recess of a window, too much darkened with heavy and loaded emblazonments to contribute much of light to the apartment. They conversed there in whispers for some minutes, and when they rejoined the party, Mrs Semple's face had recovered its usual benignity of expression, although it was still sufficiently evident that her surprise had not altogether subsided. The carriage was ordered immediately after breakfast. Mrs Semple drove to Cross-Meikle Manse, and made little Sarah dry her tears and accompany her back in it. Dr Muir and his daughter took leave early in the day, and the child found herself established amidst the usual domestic quiet of the household of Semplehaugh, where all her days she had been accustomed to enjoy the ease and the kindness of a second home.

The minister of Cross-Meikle had performed a journey of no inconsiderable extent ere these arrangements took place among the friends he had left behind him.

The first grey light of the dawn found him already several miles below Glasgow, riding at a pace of undiminished celerity close by the river's side. All night long there had been a high wind, and the voice of the breeze, and the perpetual racking of the clouds overhead, had conspired with the murmuring of the great stream rolling near him, to keep up that spring of mental as well as animal excitement, under the influence of which he had quitted his home at the hour of— to all but him—repose. The animal he rode seemed to feel the inspiriting breath of the chill atmosphere, and the roar of the winds, amidst the starry and clouded sky, as if in sympathy with his master, and neither horse nor man had ever for a moment paused or flagged.