call, with a painful acuteness, certain terms of Mrs. Cowan's letter; and the fancy that his young wife might be suffering all kinds of mental and moral torture in some unknown place, and thinking of him, and wondering why he did not come to her rescue—all this drove him to the verge of frenzy. He did not notice that it was now raining fast; and he had neither over-coat nor umbrella. The black night was all around him; and above him the heavy, red-pulsating skies: sometimes one of the iron-works sent up a sudden flame that threw his shadow across the half-seen highway. But while this wild war of piteous commiseration, and indignant wrath, and thirst for vengeance, seemed driving him to distraction, plans were forming too. The very next morning he would go to Edinburgh and see his old friend Balwhinnan, an advocate there. Mr. Balwhinnan would advise him how to put the courts in motion; the conspirators would speedily learn whether they could with impunity steal away a young wife from her husband. Going to jail for conscience' sake sounded very noble and heroic: perhaps when the moment arrived, that fanatical resolution would falter. But if not-if the Minister still remained obdurate-then let the law take its course! If there were any question about the validity of the marriage, if there were any doubt as to the young husband's legal claim, this would be his answer! Perhaps the doubts would be removed when the doubter found himself within the compass of a prison-cell.

And sometimes a haunting voice would try to say to him, "What is this you are about to do? On whom are you going to wreak your vengeance? In your inmost heart you know that this old man is no fanatic, no maniac, no charlatan, but one who believes in the Divine government of the world, who knows that for every action of his life he is accountable to his Maker, who is ready to suffer all things rather than offend against his conscience. Are you so blind that you cannot perceive the moral elevation— the invulnerable and austere integrity—of such a man? What does he care for your threats? What are your prison-walls to him?"

But he would not hear. Before his burning eyes there was a vision of Alison in her father's pew, her head bent forward, and tears streaming down her face, while that congregation of sanctimonious Pharisees looked on and rejoiced that the Minister's daughter was stricken low and repentant and ashamed of her

transgression. And there was another vision as well-of Aunt Gilchrist's "cunning she-devil "--the cat-like guardian of her pale prisoner, the whining preacher, the wheedling and coaxing matchmaker; and he swore with his teeth set hard that the lawyers should pay a little attention to her also!

By-and-by he turned and set out again for Kirk o' Shields, through the thick rain. There was no chance of his missing his way the sombre red glow was ever present there, in the midst of the black night. When he reached the inn he was drenched through; but with the carelessness of a Highlander he sate down and ate some food; and then he told the people that when he went to bed they must get his clothes dried, for he was leaving early in the morning. It was to Edinburgh he was going.

ON Macdonell's arrival in Edinburgh he drove to a hotel in Prince's Street, where he was well known, left his travelling-gear there, and forthwith set out on foot to seek his friend Balwhinnan, whose house was in Moray Place. There had been rain earlier in the morning, but now wan gleams of sunshine were appearing; and picturesque indeed were those masses of tall black buildings, and the innumerable spires, and the great bulk of the castled rock all rising away into a confusion of golden clouds and moving mists and smoke. But he had little thought either for the outward aspect of this noble thoroughfare, or for the thousand memories and associations that it naturally awakens. His heart was burning with a fierce desire for vengeance-vengeance on those who had taken away his young wife from him, and treated her so cruelly. And when he got to Moray Place, and found that the famous advocate was at home, he rejoiced in his wrath; retribution, swift and dire, was now to be meted out, and that with a firm hand.

He was ushered into a long and lofty apartment which seemed to be partly a library and partly an ornithological museum; for above the shelves of books that went round the walls there ran a continuous glass-case filled with stuffed birds-mostly sea-birds

from the northern coasts and isles-while on a table close up to one of the windows some skins were lying, along with all the implements of the taxidermist's art, pins, sealing-wax, colors, glass eyes, arsenic paste, and what not. Had his mind been less perturbed, he might have sought out in that collection certain specimens that he himself had contributed; but as it was he was waiting impatiently for the lawyer's appearance.

The door opened; Mr. Balwhinnan entered, bawling out a jovial and hearty greeting as he came forward to meet his friend. He was a man of about six feet two in height, spare of frame, with a long, thin, clean-shaven face, a retreating forehead, an aquiline nose, sandy hair, fresh complexion, and gray eyes that were sufficiently merry and good-natured.

"And what's brought ye to Edinburgh, Macdonell?" he cried, as he hauled along a couple of chairs to the central table. "Man, that was a fine velvet duck you sent me—as handsome a fellow as ever I set eyes on; do you see him up yonder?"

Macdonell did not even glance in the direction indicated.

"Look here, Balwhinnan," said he, "I've come to ask you for advice in a very serious affair. You know Gemmill & Inglis do what little law-business we want done; but I could not go to them about this matter; I want the advice of a friend as well as a lawyer; you must tell me precisely what my position is, and what steps I am to take.”

Then Ludovick Macdonell began and told his story; and it might have been remarked that during this narrative a singular change came over Mr. Balwhinnan's expression. He was no longer the bluff, hearty, sportsman-looking person who had noisily come into the room; his eyes had lost their merry good-nature and were keen and scrutinizing; his lips seemed to be thinner; and it may be added that if his forehead was distinctly retreating his head was long-shaped behind. Watchful and silent he sate, until the tale was told; and it was not for a second or two thereafter that he attempted to answer the younger man's appeal.

"My good fellow," said he, slowly, "you have certainly got yourself into a very extraordinary position, and the way out of it isn't as easy as you seem to imagine. I'm afraid the law is powerless to do what you want. You sec, if it were the case of a child who was being kept back and concealed, and if you were her legal guardian, you could petition the Court of Session for

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the custody of the child; you would get a warrant for her recovery, and if the person concealing her refused to hand her over, or refused to tell the court where she was, that person would forthwith find himself or herself in prison. But your wife is in the eyes of the law capable of acting for herself; she is away from you of her own free-will; and the law of Scotland gives the husband no power to compel his wife to live with him against her inclination. Of course," said he, with a swift look of inquiry, "I assume that she is away of her own free-will? You don't suppose that she is locked up anywhere and kept a prisoner by force?"

"No, no; that is too absurd," Macdonell said, hastily; "but if I admit that she is away of her own free-will, I mean that she has been subjected to all kinds of influences, that she has been misinformed and terrorized over; and what is more, I am perfectly certain of this, that if I could compel them to tell me where she is, if I could get to her, I should have no trouble at all in bringing her away from them. None. I know her too well. I know what they have been doing—”

"Yes, yes, my dear fellow," Mr. Balwhinnan said, bluntly, "but in the mean time you must take it that she is remaining away from you of her own choice. Now, I am afraid it is English law that has been running in your head. In England the husband can not only bring a suit for the restitution of conjugal rights, and compel his wife to live with him, whether she is willing or not, but he can also bring an action for damages against any one who is foolish or daring enough to harbor her. Here it isn't so at all. In Scotland the law gives better protection to the wife who, for whatever reason, is resolved to remain apart from her husband; and not only that, but provision is made by which the marriage may be annulled-"

"Good heavens, man, what are you talking about!" Macdonell exclaimed, in sudden dismay. For was this the loop-hole of escape that Mrs. Cowan had spoken of? Perhaps she was not so ignorant after all. "You don't mean to say that a legal marriage can be dissolved for that reason alone?"

"In Scotland, yes," Mr. Balwhinnan replied, calmly. "And why not? It is a just and a reasonable statute. What is the use of compelling husband and wife to live together when either is unwilling? What happiness can result from that? Our Scotch

law protects the wife, certainly; but it also gives the husband his remedy. It does not say that the wife, if she chooses, may remain apart from her husband and the husband still remain tied by the marriage-bond. No. That would be obviously and monstrously unfair. What he is entitled to do is to bring an action for adherence; then if she doesn't obey the order of the court-that is to say, if she refuses to come and live with him—at the expiry of four years he can get a divorce from her, and both are freed." "Do you mean that he can get a divorce from her for that reason alone?" Macdonell demanded, with not a little consternation-for it was becoming clear to him what the woman Cowan had meant.

"Undoubtedly," was the lawyer's answer. "And that is all he can do. He has no compulsory power over her whatsoever. And that is the awkwardness of your position, my good friend. By George, I wish I could help you! But I can't; all the lawyers in the kingdom couldn't. What you've got to do is to find out for yourself where your wife is, and then you can reason with her, or perhaps get her away from any terrorism that may be held over her. But that is for herself to say; they cannot keep her, you cannot take her, against her will."

Macdonell rose and began to pace up and down the floor in the greatest perplexity and perturbation.

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Oh, I know what she would do if I could only get hold of her hand for a moment!" he exclaimed, presently. "Do you think I don't know that? Do you think she married me for nothing? It was to be a bond between us forever, just in case her friends should interfere. They have interfered; they have told her lies; they have frightened her with the horror and sanctimonious lamentation of those elders and their wives; then she has been accustomed to obey her father; and this she-devil of a woman has coaxed or wheedled or threatened her into compliance. I have no doubt she said to herself, 'Well, what does it matter? I will obey them; the bond between my husband and myself remains all the same; they cannot break that; and he will come and take me away before long.' And do you mean to tell me," he continued, passionately, "that I have no means of claiming my own? The law gives her to me, but gives me no power to claim her, even if she is willing to come! I cannot compel those people to say where she is? I cannot send them